Episode EIGHT
SIXTY SECONDS
My house was about twenty minutes away from the nearest police station, but given the lack of other vehicles on the road and the speed I was driving, I was on track to cut that in half. Isobel was hunched over in the passenger seat, still shakily clutching the pink rucksack to her chest as if it were a life jacket.
“Hey, are you warm enough?” I asked, more to fill the silence than anything.
She nodded, her eyes firmly fixed on the windscreen. “I’m fine.”
“I can crank the heat up if you’d like. I’m a bit chilly myself.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Listen,” I said, taking one eye off the road for a second. “The police will want to know everything.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know—how long you were in the van, where Mark picked you up, what…happened in there.”
“I can tell them,” she uttered. “Just promise he won’t be there.”
“He won’t,” I assured her. “He’ll be in cuffs by the time we’re done.”
She gripped the backpack even tighter. “Who is he to you, anyway?”
“I’m—” I paused. “I’m his wife.”
The colour drained from Isobel’s face.
“Let me out!” she ordered, already trying the door handle. “Now!”
“Isobel—wait!” I said, trying to put a hand on her arm to calm her down.
“Don’t touch me!” she shouted.
With some hesitance, I pulled up the car at the side of the road and took my seatbelt off.
“Please listen to me, Isobel,” I said softly. “I’m trying to help you.”
“How can I trust you?” she asked, pressing herself against the door to put some distance between us.
“Whatever Mark did, I promise I’m not involved in it,” I explained. “Let me just take you to the police station, okay?”
Isobel looked off into the distance for a moment, then slowly clicked her seatbelt back into place.
“Fine,” she mumbled. “Let’s go.”
I checked the wing mirror to make sure it was clear to go, but I saw a pair of bright headlights coming up fast behind us in the reflection. I waited for them to pass, but the vehicle stopped directly behind us, and it was only when the driver got out that I recognised the van.
It was Mark.
My heart jackhammered against my ribcage. He was approaching the car, holding a claw hammer in his hand, so I put the car back into gear and floored it before he reached the passenger side door. I almost struck the kerb as my eyes flicked between the road and the mirror, where Mark was hopping back into his van to quickly give chase.
Isobel frantically twisted around. “Oh my God! It’s him, isn’t it?”
“I know.”
She clutched the rucksack, breathing so fast I thought she might pass out. “Faster!” she pleaded.
“I’m trying!”
Although the engine whined in protest as I pushed my battered, old hatchback as hard as it would go, he quickly caught up, then began swerving left and right in a clear attempt to get in front of us. To my relief, I managed to hold him off until the road narrowed on the approach to the main roundabout in town, and he had missed his opportunity. He started wildly flashing his lights again, this time holding the beams on, flooding the mirror and blinding me in the process.
“Why’s he doing that?” she whimpered.
“He wants us to stop,” I said, barely able to concentrate on the road.
“No! You can’t!”
We approached the junction at the end of the road, and my tyres screeched against the tarmac as I took the bend far quicker than I should have. Mark took the same turn seconds later, almost losing control of his vehicle himself, but managed to steady his van before rapidly closing the gap between us. He attempted to drive around us again, and I swerved to block him, but I knew I couldn’t stop him for much longer. To my relief, I saw the welcoming lights of a petrol station illuminating the horizon, so I welded my foot to the floor to get there before he tried to ram us off the road. As soon as we reached the turning for it, I spun the steering wheel to the left and came to a screeching halt between the pumps.
“What’re you doing!” Isobel screamed. “He’s going to get us!”
“This car isn’t going to make it that long.”
Isobel’s breathing came in ragged bursts. “Don’t leave me.”
“Just lock the doors behind me, okay?” I said, grabbing my phone from the cupholder and jumping out of the car.
The forecourt was empty, save for the bleary-eyed attendant inside moving closer to the glass to see what was going on. Mark parked his van at the far end, stuck his hazards on, and stepped out of the van. He actually looked relieved to see me as I approached him, throwing his hands up in the air and pacing on the spot.
“Jesus, Dolcie! What the hell are you playing at?” he shouted, throwing the hammer back in his van. “I thought someone had nicked your bloody car!”
“Why did you do it?” I shouted, already dialling 999 on my phone.
“Do what?”
“I found that missing girl, Mark! In your fucking van!”
Mark’s face dropped. “I have no idea what—”
“Save it,” I spat. “You can explain it to the police when they get here!”
I took my eyes off him for a moment to jab the green button to connect the call.
“Wait…” he said, reaching out to me.
“Back off!” I shouted, putting the phone to my ear.
“Just hang up,” he said before taking a deep breath. “And I’ll tell you everything.”
“Hello, what’s your emergency?” a voice on the line said.
I hesitated.
Everything inside of me was screaming to tell the operator where I was, tell them that I had found the missing girl, and that my husband was responsible for her disappearance, but I couldn’t form the words. Mark leaned against his van, eyes glued to the floor, folding his arms over his chest while avoiding eye contact with me at all costs. I owed him the opportunity to explain himself, right? I pictured the detectives’ faces, the blood-smeared phone, and the locket spinning in the wash. Every scrap of evidence said that Mark was lying through his teeth, yet here I was, debating whether to let him get away with it.
“Sorry,” I mumbled down the line. “My mistake.”
Mark pushed himself off the van, relief washing over his face.
“You have sixty seconds, and then I’m calling right back.”
“Isobel isn’t who you think she is,” Mark abruptly said.
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s done this before—different towns, different names. She latches on to people and twists things.”
“She’s just a girl, Mark.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head gravely. “She’s dangerous.”
“How did she get in your van?”
“I don’t know!” He threw his hands in the air. “She probably broke into it herself.”
“And the locket?”
“What locket?” he said, scrunching up his face.
“What about her phone? Did that miraculously appear in our garden too?”
“Y—you have to believe me,” he stammered.
Before I could answer, the hatchback roared to life.
We both swivelled our heads only to see Isobel throwing my decrepit hatchback into reverse, swinging it around the pumps, and then peeling back onto the road before either of us could even attempt to stop her. As I watched her speed down the road, Mark’s cold hand rested on my shoulder, and he pulled me into his chest.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered in my ear. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Thank you to Emma Chadwick from Burnley, UK for her contribution to this episode!