Twist Of Fate

Fifty Five

CHLOE

Harry is manic. His eyes are wide, wild and wet. His mouth is open, his teeth bared, and his hands grip the steering wheel of the car as it screams up the road towards the junction. He slams on the brakes to bring the car to a stop, panting as he looks left and then right, unable to move due to the traffic on the main road. I clutch the dashboard with sweaty hands, stunned into silence by this unexpected turn of events. My stomach churns sickeningly at the unruly motion of the car.

"Which way?" he gasps.

"What? I - I don't know."

"Which WAY?!" he bellows, making me jerk sharply in fear and cower for the first time in weeks. "Which fucking way? You're the one with the fucking atlas for fuck's sake!"

"The atlas is in the boot," I squeak. "We were going to get on the train, weren't we? I - I don't know how to get anywhere by car."

"Fucking hell!" he growls, banging his palm against the steering wheel in fury.

"Left," I suggest. "Go left. Right takes us into town, so left must take us...anywhere else."

He snaps the indicator sharply and as soon as there is a gap in the flow of traffic he pulls out with a screech of tyres and a smell of burning rubber. Amidst my own panic is a voice of reason that tells me I know how to handle him, if only I can find the courage. I have become so used to gentle Harry that I feel winded by the sudden appearance of angry Harry. 

"Harry," I almost whisper, "aren't we playing right into the hands of the police by travelling in a stolen car? The second it's reported missing we'll be traceable via number plate recognition on the Police National Computer."

"It won't be reported missing for ages," he snaps immediately. "The family who own it went into the station in a hurry. It looked like they were going somewhere for a day trip."

I know Harry is in no fit state to be questioned further on this so I must assume that the owners' itinerary is just a guess on his part, therefore I take no comfort in what he has just said. We travel along the main road a little too close to the car in front and approach a roundabout. Immediately Harry throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. 

"Go straight over," I tell him as calmly as I can, while my insides squirm nervously for fear of invoking his wrath.

He says nothing but follows my instructions, his eyes darting left and right, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. I give him a minute to adjust to being forced to drive along in a line of cars at a reasonable speed and use the time to think about how best to get out of Dumfries and as far away as possible without being detected. Too many thoughts are crowding my mind, tripping over each other and making no sense. I need to focus and I need Harry to be calm and rational.

"Harry," I begin, softly and slowly. "When you're ready, I  need you to tell me what just happened when you called home. Take your time, and tell me as much detail as you can remember."

There is a pause of a few seconds while Harry chews on his lip, clearly agitated. "Sofía was acting weird. She kept hesitating before she spoke. I heard a police radio in the background and I asked her if the police were there. She said yes. I hung up and ran." 

"Shit," I breathe. "So you didn't speak to them? How long were you on the phone?"

"I don't fucking know," he replies miserably. "Not long."

"Long enough to trace the call?"

"I said I don't know!" he shouts, and immediately wipes his face with his right hand, his left still clenched around the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He wipes his hand on his shorts before gripping the wheel with both hands, arms locked straight, and takes a couple of deep breaths.