Attached is a link, one I click so fast my thumb moves in a blur.Woman Missing – Have you seen Alexa Clarke?the headline screams.
Beneath it are two images. One is a photo of Alexa, mid-laugh, seemingly carefree and full of life. The other is a photo of Alexa and Otis at what looks to be some kind of formal event, judging by their attire. The image would be lovely if not for the way Otis looks. Tense, with his hand clamped around Alexa’s waist. Despite her height, Alexa looks tiny beside his bulk, and Otis’s stance borders on possessive. It could be nothing, a fleeting awkward moment, or it could indicate something sinister.
Biting my lip, I read the article.
Police are appealing to the public for information on the whereabouts of a woman who went missing from her home in the village of Bramblethorpe on Saturday 20 November.
Friends and family are growing increasingly concerned after almost a week without contact from 35-year-old Alexa Clarke. It’s reported that Ms Clarke’s husband believed she had gone away for a few days but contacted police when he was unable to get in touch with his wife.
Well respected in the tech industry, Otis Clarke hasn’t been available for comment, but sources close to the couple say he is frantic with worry.
Alexa’s friend Sonya West described Ms Clarke as, ‘The best person you could ever meet. She sparkles. She would never disappear like this.’ She also hinted that there were problems in the couple’s marriage, although police are yet to verify this claim.
‘What’s wrong?’ Kamal asks as he climbs into bed.
I lower my phone before I can finish the article or process the fact that Sonya’s quote is made of the same words she used whentalking to me. The rehearsed nature of her concern makes me ill at ease, and I clam up.
Kamal glances at my screen and frowns. ‘I thought you weren’t involved with the Clarkes anymore?’
‘I’m not, but my writing group sent a link to an article about it.’
‘Well, it’s good that Alexa Clarke’s in the press now. Hopefully if more people know she’s disappeared, then more people can help find her.’
‘I know, but seeing it in the news makes it official. Alexa Clarke is missing.’
When my body slumps, Kamal takes my phone and locks it. ‘It should have been official the day she wasn’t at home. Otis Clarke is going to have to answer a lot of questions about how he could have handled this better, especially now the media is involved.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Of course. You know how one clickbait headline can whip up a frenzy of online intrigue.’ Kamal studies my drawn features then kisses my hand. ‘Let’s not talk about this now. It’s late, we should sleep.’
‘You’re right,’ I reply, but even when I close my eyes, I can’t rest. All I can think of is Otis and the questions the world will ask when they discover how long it took him to reach out for help.
I can’t help but wonder what questions they would ask if they knew he purposely avoided mentioning his wife’s diary to the police, too. How long would it take for them to label him as guilty after hearing that?
Scarier still, is ‘guilty’ a label Otis Clarke should have been wearing all along?
CHAPTER 33Alexa
Five days gone
As soon as night fell and she heard thudding footsteps on the stairs, Alexa knew that the captor was coming. This time, she knew that they would not stop at the door.
Immobilised by the chains, with no way to run free, Alexa started to scream. But when light from the hallway filled the white room, Alexa’s scream died in her mouth.
Time slowed as her captor was unveiled. Their appearance was more petrifying than Alexa’s worst nightmares could ever have imagined.
Dressed in all black, the captor looked like the kind of criminal who could seamlessly blend into the night. The absence of colour was foreboding, their thick gloves and chunky hoodie concealing any hints at their identity. But the mask they wore was the scariest part of the ensemble.
The person who clubbed Alexa Clarke over the head had chosen to hide their identity with a generic white mask, the kind sold at craft stores for people to decorate. The blankness of the mask made an already terrifying situation ten times worse. Anyone could have bought that mask. Scarier still, anyone could be behind it.
The slow, rhythmical thud of booted feet echoed out as the captor walked towards Alexa. Her brain screamed, but no sound left her lips. She was simply too scared.
By their third step, the captor was at the foot of the bed.
Alexa pressed her body into the mattress, causing a riot of pain to erupt in her skull, but anything that increased the distance between her and the encroaching threat was worth it.
By the captor’s fourth step, they had passed the end of the bed.