Playing Dead: Book One of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 23

"We have to get out of here now!" Harper hissed into my ear, desperately trying to hold onto me as I pushed against him, clawing at his arms. I was stronger now. I could feel it. Maybe it was the anger helping, but Harper was struggling to hold onto me and I knew it. He knew it. Surging with a new-found confidence, I kicked out; making contact with his shin and hearing him suck in a breath. His grip tightened.

"Don't make me hurt you, Megan. Because I will if I have to. I told you not to come here, didn't I? I told you not to come searching for your old life. And now you've put us both in danger. I'm not going to risk my life for you and I'll leave you here to rot into the ground if I have to."

I tried to wriggle out of his grip some more but he held me too tight. I wrenched his hand from my mouth, feeling a small rush of air to my lungs.

"I never asked you to follow me," I whispered furiously. "Leave if you want, but I'm staying. They owe me."

Twisting me around, he pushed me up against the fence, his fingers digging into my shoulders and his eyes wild and fevered. "Forget what you've seen," he urged. "Forget them."

"How can you say that?" I gasped. "I can never forget this. Never. You can't expect me to just walk away. He is my husband. And she's stolen my life."

"He isn't your husband anymore, remember? And this is no longer your life to steal. You have to forget them. Forget them and their lies. Whatever they've done means nothing anymore."

He pulled on my arms, trying to drag me away from the house, but I held firm, staring at him incredulously. "Wait," I said, eyes narrowing. "You knew didn't you?"

He wouldn't meet my gaze but I could see it etched across his face. "Megan, please, believe me when I say none of this matters now. We have to leave this place."

"It matters to me!" I snapped, raising my voice slightly and he clapped his hand over my mouth once again and moved his face close to mine until our noses were practically touching.

"Shut up," he hissed but it wasn't anger I saw in his face this time. It was fear. A real streak of panic racing through him, his brash confidence all but gone and replaced by something that unnerved me.

"What is it? What's wrong with you?" I frowned, pushing at his chest, sending him stumbling backwards a few steps.

"We have to go. Before it's too late," he insisted, his eyes pleading.

It was then I heard shouts coming from the house, the music had ceased and had been replaced by loud voices, full of anger and alarm. Looking through the bushes, I saw Brandon's friends filling the kitchen, all looking out towards the garden, eyes searching the darkness. Dan was among them and other faces I recognised from Brandon's workplace. Clara clutched at Brandon as he stood by the patio door, his hand on the handle, pulling back the glass.

I don't know what is was, whether I was feeding off of Harper's state of panic, but I felt a wave of fear suddenly consume me that I didn't understand. I knew these people. I knew them all. Yet why did they frighten me so?

"Fuck," growled Harper, backing away. "Run, Megan."

"What?" I stammered. "Why?"

But I didn't wait for him to answer. I just knew I had to run. All my instincts were screaming at me to just do as he said, so I turned and grabbed hold of his hand and we ran, my murderer and me, scrabbling through the undergrowth at the sides of the garden, not worrying about stealth now. The main objective was to flee, to escape this place where we clearly did not belong, where we trespassed on land that shrieked out our presence to our enemy.