Remember Me: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller with a brilliant twist. D. White E.

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СКАЧАТЬ the control room she heard the clicking of keyboards, and the repetitive murmur of voices as the emergency dispatchers dealt efficiently with incoming 911 calls, their trained responses smooth and calm. There was a buzz of chatter from the crowd round the coffee machine, and through the open door she could see an elderly cleaner in a blue overall pushing a mop round the reception area.

      But even the yells and crashes of the drunks in the cells couldn’t pierce the sudden mist that engulfed her mind. A male voice came from miles away, but the hand on her backside was much too close.

      ‘Hey, Ava, much as I welcome your cute bum on my desk at any time, I need to get this paperwork, so if you wouldn’t mind, honey…’

      Fighting her way back to reality as the cop grinned before snatching up the pile of printed notes and heading back to the conference room, Ava walked over to her own neatly organised desk. She grabbed her now lukewarm coffee and downed it in one gulp. The Los Angeles sun slashed a golden knife blade through the dirty blinds, picking out the empty takeaway cartons, piles of paperwork, blinking computers, and jumbled family photos that cluttered the other desks. Ava had one photograph, framed in white wood, of her with her parents at graduation. No boyfriends or kids watched her as she worked, or distracted her with ‘I love you, please come home’ phone calls. Usually she didn’t mind; this was her and this was the life she had finally chosen. But today, she would have given a lot to get one of those phone calls. Occasionally, in unguarded moments, she would drift off to sleep imagining an email or text from Stephen that began, ‘Dear Mum…’

      * * *

      The sound of singing snapped her out of her memories. Soft, lilting and slightly disturbing, the voice reached out through the icy air. The track had widened and she was passing the old garage – ‘Mick’s Place’, it had always been called. But now the sign was hanging by one nail, and the petrol pumps were surrounded by a tide of rusty vehicles in various stages of disintegration. The smell of fuel was still strong, and it mingled alarmingly with the smoke from a fire.

      Ava paused, straining her eyes in the darkness, peering past the crackling flames. The fire, in an old oil drum, was bright and pure against the sullen winter evening. The warmth reached out to her. The soft chant continued, but whilst she was drawn by the brightness and promise of defrosting her numb hands, she was repelled by the words.

      ‘From starlight, to flame-bright,

      Who will be burning tonight?’

      The song floated like smoke dancing on the cold air, and the crunch of boots on gravel stamped out the beat. A few moments later a guitar joined the song, its melancholy thrum adding to the menace of the words.

      ‘Burning to the death,

       Until a last dying breath,

      Brings redemption to us all.’

      The singer halted abruptly but carried on strumming his guitar. The fire crackled and spattered a handful of glittering sparks onto the dirty concrete of the yard.

      ‘Oi! You… didn’t you used to be Ava Cole?’

      ‘I… oh, Christ, it’s Rhodri, isn’t it?’ Close up, his mop of red hair was unmistakable, even if his shadowed, weather-beaten face and slumped shoulders were that of a much older man.

      Rhodri stopped playing and set his guitar down. She could see that there were several small animals roasting on a spit over the flames. Or to be more exact they were being burned to charcoal.

      ‘Your dinner’s burning,’ Ava told him, walking across to his side of the fire. The heat scorched her cheeks, and she stretched icy hands to the blaze.

      He spluttered with laughter, ‘That’s not my dinner, love, that’s just a few rabbits from number four. The kids got bored of them.’

      ‘Right.’ Apparently, Rhodri was a long way from the cheeky, freckle-faced boy she had known at school, or even the wayward flame-haired teenager who would sit playing his guitar next to Big Water. Always on the edge of Leo’s group, he would smile vaguely at them, lost in his music, but good-naturedly taking requests for all the latest hits.

      ‘They were still alive you know, when I skewered them. I like it when they turn to black, and then tomorrow they’ll be just soft little flakes that blow in the wind.’ His voice was low, husky, and his strongly accented words seemed to hang in the darkness. He could have been an actor on a darkened stage, revelling in the drama, his audience hanging on to every word.

      Ava narrowed her eyes, studying his face by the light of the flickering orange flames. Clearly, Rhodri had taken something, and was flying high over the valleys tonight. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. They had all taken pills back in the day – hell, for a while pills had meant everything – but Rhodri had been more than fond of a smoke. It used to make him mellow, not a murderer of small creatures, though.

      ‘Don’t try and freak me out, Rhodri, because it never worked. I don’t give a shit if you roast the entire rabbit population of Aberdyth.’

      ‘I suppose not, but it was always fun trying to play games with you. So why are you back? Because of Paul, I suppose. I heard he asked you to come back, but I never thought you would. Is it strange, being the angel of death riding in to kiss your ex goodbye before he drops down to the fires of hell? Why bother to bring Ava back, when she probably wants to kill you anyway, I told him. Nobody could fight like the two of you, could they?’

      ‘I’m sure that went down well. I have never wanted to kill Paul, and I certainly haven’t come back to argue with him. Bit of sympathy for a condemned man, Rhodri.’

      ‘Paul knows I’ve got his back, and I don’t give him all the shit the others do. They carry on with this “I’m sure you’ll pull through” crap. Like Penny, she keeps chirruping on about miracle cancer patients, who just get better and nobody knows why. Well, he won’t. I’ve seen it before and when you’ve got that death sentence you just have to deal with it in any way you can.’

      Ava vaguely remembered that Rhodri had a close family member he had lost to cancer when they were at primary school. His aunt, maybe? She didn’t want to probe what was obviously still a painful, bitter memory. He was entitled to his opinions. ‘I’m back because of Stephen, not for Paul. He’s got Penny,’ she corrected.

      Rhodri shrugged, reached down and grabbed a bottle of beer from a crate. ‘You never cared about the kid all these years, so why now? You know, you sound like an American. That’s crap, cariad. Your Welsh has all gone. Want a drink, love?’

      She barely hesitated, lifting a beer quickly from the crate. ‘Thanks. I always cared about Stephen, I was just screwed up and he was better off without me.’

      ‘You left him in Aberdyth, love. How is that better? You should’ve taken him with you. Paul was pissed off when you went to America. He thought you’d come back.’

      ‘I know.’ She was fighting the painful coils of guilt that wormed their way through her chest. Rhodri have never been one to skirt around a subject. Why hadn’t she taken her baby? Because at the time she was blinded by her feelings of inadequacy. At one point she had become sure she would kill her own child, checking him constantly night and day, fussing over formula milk and sterilising bottles over and over again until Paul yelled that she was a crazy cow.

      ‘You seen Leo yet?’ His glance was sly now.

      ‘Yes.’

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