‘You should have loved her more. Made her feel wanted. You drove her into the arms of another man.’ I brandish the knife in the air, the glint of the blade mesmerising me.

‘What?’ Lauren meets my gaze, her voice a metallic screech. Sharp. Incredulous.

Peter attends to the older lady, cradling her head, telling her she’s going to be just fine. She isn’t. None of them are going to be fine. I’ll make sure of it.

‘Sophia. Nobody from a happy marriage has an affair. He drove her to it. You too. You both drove her away.’

Lauren laughs, shakes her head, closes her eyes and breathes deeply. I can almost hear it – her exhalations, the rush of air that leaves her lungs. In, out. In, out. Out, out, out: small, desperate, dry gasps until they are empty. Devoid of oxygen. Until she is dead.

She looks at me, hisses. ‘Where is the little boy? What the fuck have you done with him?’ Her teeth are small, white fangs. Foamy specks of saliva gather on her lips.

‘He’s fine. Safely tucked up in bed. Not that it’s any of your concern. He’s nothing to you.’ She’s trying to catch me off-guard, hoping to deviate from our current situation. I can read her thoughts, see through her flimsy act. She is a child. A pompous, overbearing woman-child, her experience of life deeply limited. Cushioned from everyone and everything, she is no match for me.

‘You do know that your face is currently splashed all over the news, don’t you? Women who kidnap children don’t fare well in prison. All manner of terrible things happens to them.’ She smiles at me. I return the gesture, wondering if she will still be grinning when she is bleeding to death, her face slashed and torn, her neck ripped wide open.

I step closer, myriad voices in my head urging me on, telling to do it, to stab her first and then finish off the others. I push them away, those sounds, the voices, and continue walking towards the heap of bodies on the floor before me, those terrified, trembling people who thought they knew me. Nobody knows the real me, the one I hide away. The one who wants to hurt people, to maim them. I lock her away, stuff her out of sight, but she always manages to scramble back out, showing everyone that she is made of stern stuff, that she won’t be silenced.

The pool of thick scarlet inches closer to my feet, trickling into the cracks of the flooring, filling the air with a sour, metallic tang that hangs in the back of my nose and my throat. The stench of death as it creeps closer, that’s what it is. She’s on her way out, the older woman. Soon she will be gone, leaving me with less to do. Fewer people to punish. And then I can leave here, be on my way. I can collect Luke. We’ll leave this town, head off together and start a new life, just the two of us. I have money and now I have a son. He is my new family, my little boy. I need nothing and nobody else.

‘I know you, Jade Kennedy. I know all about you. So does the whole of the UK now you’ve stolen somebody else’s child. I always suspected you were unhinged. It took me a while to see through your little act but I see you now. I see you for who you are – a pathetic, desperate individual with nobody and nothing.’

My laughter rings through the room, bouncing off every surface and wiping the superior smile off Lauren’s face. ‘You think you know me?’ I get down on my haunches, the knife poised just inches from Lauren’s pretty little face. I think about how she would look if I carved her up right now, how much blood she would lose, how much glee it would give me, the excitement that would shoot through my system, threading its way through my veins, blooming and warming me. ‘You really think you know all there is to know about me?’ I take the blade and trace it over her throat, circling it around her neck before resting it in the hollow of her clavicle. ‘You know nothing about me or my life. Nothing at all.’

Her groan is soft, a gentle whimper, her eyes never leaving mine. ‘So come on then, Alice, tell me what I’m missing here. What don’t I know?’

A sob forces me to turn around. The older woman is lifting her head, trying to speak. Peter is stroking her face, his hand pressed against her abdomen to stem the flow of blood. I think about how it would feel to press this knife deep into his back, to feel his blood as it pumped through my fingers, departing his body, leaving him an empty husk of a man. Goosebumps rise on my skin. A wave of pleasure runs through me, spasming in my muscles and chiselling its way into my bones, happiness and contentment solidifying inside me, anchoring me to this moment. Oh, God this is glorious. Better than alcohol, better than sex. It thrills me like nothing I have ever experienced and I want more if it, this feeling. I never want it to end. It completes me. So much power. So much glorious control and power.

‘What don’t you know? Oh, there is so much to tell, dear girl. So many secrets. A lifetime of them.’ My voice is a distant echo, a ghostly whisper in my head. I want to tell her. I want to tell her everything but then she will be privy to all there is to know about me. I will have nothing left to hide. I will be empty, the core of me devoid of everything I hold dear. And I need something, a small, special something to remind me of who I really am.

I close my eyes, just for a second, to allow the feeling to pass. My skin is being touched, softly at first, then with more force. I snap open my eyes and I’m falling.

45PETER

She’s going to die if he doesn’t do something. He can’t let that happen. He’s bigger than Alice, stronger. He needs to do something. Anything.

His mum is moaning softly in his arms. He looks down at her, terrified every breath she takes will be her last. She seems so tiny laid there beside him, her face grey and lifeless. Helplessness smothers him: that knife, Alice’s demented frame of mind, all forming a barrier between him and his family getting out of here alive.

And then he sees it – Alice is losing focus, her eyes clouding over, her features slackening as if all of her thoughts are currently tumbling out of her head and leaking out into the ether. He nods to Lauren, an imperceptible sign that she notices. She edges over to her Grandma, places her hand behind her neck to support her head and leans down to stroke the older lady’s face, replacing him as he slides away.

He is freed up, able to do something – anything, to get them out of this situation. He moves, a shuffle at first, gaining some distance, more speed and then with hands outstretched towards the handle, he lunges at Alice, knocking the knife clean out of her hands. It hits the floor with a muted thump, spinning out of her reach and landing close to where Lauren is sitting with her grandma.

Alice lets out a roar – elongated, frenzied, like the cry of a wounded animal. Peter pushes her backwards and sits astride her prostrated body, holding her fast, pressing down on her, thinking how demented and damaged she is, how ugly it must be inside her mind, how fractured her world is. Her skull bangs against the floor as she bucks about trying to free herself. He grabs at her arms and pins them above her head but still she continues thrashing and flapping, pushing back against him, her strength inhuman, her eyes savage.

‘Stop it!’ His voice is close to a sob, energy, adrenaline coursing through him.

‘Fuck you, Peter Saunders and fuck your daughter and slut of a wife!’

He ignores her words, words designed to rile him, hoping that Lauren has the sense to move the knife and is using it to protect herself. He can manage Alice. Lauren needs to take care of herself and her grandma. To do what needs to be done should Alice manage to wriggle free.

The air close by him shifts, an indiscernible movement. He prays Lauren is being wise, not doing anything foolhardy that could endanger them all. Not when he’s finally managed to get Alice under control.

‘Shut up. Lauren’s going to call the police.’ His voice is loud, powerful, the command for his daughter obvious in his tone. ‘Just stop with your stupid games and stop trying to free yourself. You’re not going anywhere.’ His face is close to Alice’s now, their breathing meeting and merging in an invisible, foul-smelling haze as fear and fury swamp them both.

‘This is for you, Peter. Just for you.’

For one terrible moment, he fears she is going to kiss him. Instead, she spits in his face, a globule of hate-filled saliva that lands in his eyes, marring his vision. He tries to keep hold of her but his grip loosens, just for a split second and before he can stop her, she wriggles out from under him and catapults out of view.

‘Lauren!’ Peter spins around, terrified of what he’ll see. Visions of Alice slitting his mother’s throat, sticking the knife deep into Lauren’s guts fill his mind.

Alice is scrambling around on the floor, trying to find the knife. Lauren is holding her phone, her eyes glassy. She is speaking into it, her voice low, clipped as she punches in the number and speaks, asks for help.

‘No!’ Alice throws herself at Lauren and manages to snatch the telephone out of her hand. She smashes it onto the floor over and over before throwing it to one side. ‘I said no calls to the emergency services! Are you deaf or just plain fucking stupid?’

He drags Alice away, a wrestle ensuing as he attempts to restrain her. She’s powerful, there’s no denying that fact, but he’s bigger, has a greater inner core strength, greater muscle density. For such a small woman, she seems to have unlimited reserves of energy, her fists pummelling at his chest, her torso squirming and twisting until eventually, exhaustion gets the better of her and she slumps against him, spent, her skin flushed pink with the exertion.

She is panting heavily. Peter grabs at her wrists, holding them fast. ‘String, Lauren. I need some string! Anything at all that I can use to tie her up.’

Lauren’s voice is a shriek. It pierces his concentration, tugs at his emotions. ‘Grandma is dying, Dad! We need an ambulance.’

He catches his breath, knows he doesn’t have to turn to face them to see that it’s true. ‘Get my mobile. I’ll hold her here. You ring 999.’

Again, as if she has been suddenly injected with a short burst of energy, Alice struggles, her bony limbs writhing and pulling. He holds her tight, sweat coursing down his back. In the next room, he can hear Lauren hunting for his phone.

‘Next to the microwave! It’s next to the microwave, Lauren. Hurry!’ Heart thumping, stampeding through his chest, he leans closer to Alice to hold her in place, pressing his entire weight onto her. Bone, muscle, sinew, meeting, melding together, suctioned together by sweat.

Lauren’s voice filters through from the kitchen, desperation and screamed obscenities echoing as she tries and fails to punch in the passcode.

‘Two six one three!’ He shouts through to her, wills her to get a move on. His mum cannot die like this. He won’t let it happen, silently vows to use every little bit of strength and ingenuity to get them out of here alive. ‘And then come and find the knife, Lauren. We need that bloody knife!’

He listens to Lauren mumbling, her voice muffled and indistinct above Alice’s growling and shouting, the thump of her feet against wood as she batters them on the floor, the gnashing and wailing and shouts that she will kill them all. Then a worrying silence. An unexpected slump as she watches and waits.

At the edge of his vision, Peter can see Lauren as she walks back into the living room, the phone clasped in one hand and another serrated knife in the other. Two knives. Jesus. They’ve already had enough blood spilled in this house. Too much. They don’t need any more.

The blade wobbles about, glinting and flashing as she holds it aloft. Her voice is a murmur, soft and frightened. Pleading. It rises slowly, her strength rapidly returning. The old Lauren. The wilful, capable Lauren. She barks out the details to the person on the other end of the line, telling them to hurry. Screaming at them. A command, not a pitiful request.

And then Alice springs to life once more. Just when he thinks it’s over, that it’s coming to an end. Like a rabid dog, she lets out a howl, her teeth bared. Kicking out and writhing, she manages to break free, but not for long. Long enough, however, to catch his daughter unawares. The phone drops to the floor, slipping out of Lauren’s fingers, but she manages to keep hold of the knife. Underneath the sideboard, Peter spots the other one, the original weapon, the silver tip protruding out from beneath the curved, wooden legs of the old, oak unit. Alice sees it too. They both move forwards, their movements, their bodies synchronised, but he’s too fast for her, a split second only separating them. He grabs it with both hands, waves it at her, telling her to back the fuck away.

It takes a matter of seconds to catch her, to wrap his arm around her waist and drag her over to a chair. He holds the tip of the blade to her throat, muttering that he will slit it in a heartbeat if she tries to escape again. He means every word of it. He’ll kill her if he has to. He will gladly run the knife across her throat and watch her bleed out.

‘My belt, Lauren! Take my belt off and tie her hands to the chair.’ She falters, stays put, eyes wide. ‘The belt, Lauren. You need to do it now. If we don’t hurry, Grandma is going to die.’ He’s trying to keep his voice even but his own fears and anxieties are bubbling up, slowly rising to the surface, trying to pull him under.

Hands grab at his midriff, a tug at his waistband, leather being freed from his stomach. Lauren is beside him. She wraps the belt around Alice’s wrists, looping the buckle through the back of the chair, pulling at it tightly. Securing it. Saving their lives.

‘Make sure it can’t come off. I don’t care if she cries out or if her blood supply gets cut off. Just tie her fucking hands together so she can’t escape.’

It feels like hours, time too difficult, too ethereal to measure. It’s only seconds; he knows that. Seconds to restrain this insane creature, to put a halt to her crazy mission to kill them all, but it feels like an eternity.

He steps back, spins the chair around to look at Alice’s face, to study her expression, try to work out what is going on in that addled brain of hers. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know. Some things are best left unknown and unsaid.