What Happened Next? Episode Five

Episode FIVE

NO REST FOR THE WICKED

I didn’t sleep that night, not really. I lay in bed listening to the wind rattle the windowpanes and the floorboards creak overhead, every shadow shifting into something menacing. At some point, the sky turned that ghostly grey that comes before dawn, and the house, exhausted by the night’s drama, seemed to sigh and settle, but my mind refused to follow. In the end, all I could do was replay the knock at the door and the low, honeyed threat in the strange author’s parting words—be careful who you trust.

When I finally heard the scrape of a key in the front door, it was so soft I almost thought I had imagined it. I remained paralysed for a second, heartbeat pounding so loudly I was certain it would give me away. Then, the heavy footsteps came in the hall, followed by the familiar murmur of someone swearing quietly under their breath.

It was Mark. Finally.

I was up and moving before I could talk myself out of it. I didn’t bother with my dressing gown, I simply trudged down the stairs in pyjamas, clutching my phone in a clammy fist and ready to get answers. There he was, casually hunched over the washing machine at that ungodly hour, peeling off his jeans and shoving them inside along with a muddied hoodie. The acrid smell of damp and sweat hit me before the sight did, and I let out a disgusted retch as Mark finally turned to me. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his discarded trainers were caked in something that looked suspiciously like blood and earth.

“Jesus, Dolcie, you scared the life out of me!” he gasped before reaching for the detergent.

“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded, unable to keep the accusation out of my tone.

“My phone died and I got stuck at the site overnight,” he uttered, unable to hold eye contact.

“Stuck? Why?”

“There was an incident at work. I just—I just need to clean up, okay?”

I let the silence hang for a moment, long enough for him to notice.

“The police were here,” I announced.

“What?” he gulped. “What for?”

“Asking about that missing girl.”

Mark took a moment to answer, resting his forehead on the washing machine before swivelling back around.

“What missing girl?” he asked sheepishly.

“The one that’s been all over the news. They found her phone in our garden.”

He frowned, blinking rapidly, but still not looking at me.

“What? Why would it be here?”

“You tell me.”

“I’ve never seen that girl in my life, Dolcie! I don’t know what they’re talking about.”

For someone who didn’t know what I was going on about, he was talking an awful lot.

“You could’ve called,” I said, my voice breaking. “I had to deal with it on my own.”

“I just told you, my phone died!”

“I thought—” I cut myself off, unwilling to say what I had been thinking all night.

“Listen, I’m not in the mood for a third degree right now. I’ve had enough crap at work, and now this…”

I stepped closer, the smell of mud and something coppery filling the cramped kitchen.

“Mark, if you know something about this, you need to speak to the police.”

“For God’s sake, what has got into you?” he shouted. “Do you honestly think I’d have anything to do with a missing kid?”

“So, what happened to your clothes, then?” I asked as he slammed the machine door and started the cycle.

“It’s the blood of the innocent,” he remarked, rolling his eyes.

“I’m serious, Mark.”

“It’s paint, from the site, okay?” He shook his head. “We had a leak.”

I wanted to believe him, I really did, but there was something in his voice: a note of desperation that I had never heard before.

“I’m going to try to get some sleep,” he said, his tone suddenly soft. “It’s been a long night.”

As he brushed past me, the sense of unreality thickened around me. Everything about him felt wrong—his movements, his voice, and worst of all, the way he wouldn’t even look me in the eye. I turned to follow him, feeling exhausted myself, but as I passed the washing machine, I heard a faint metallic clink from inside, barely audible over the rush of water. I hesitated, then stepped closer and peered into the round, fogging glass of the machine. My heart sank to my stomach when I noticed something small and silver, spinning in the suds and glinting against the denim. It was a locket on a delicate chain, just like the one Mark bought me for our anniversary that year.

I pawed at my chest to see if my necklace was still there.

To my horror, it was.

Thank you to Jenna Whitaker from Bristol, UK for her contribution to this episode!