For Rye Gavin Gardiner (best book club books for discussion TXT) 📖

around like teeth in some mad lottery. Maybe, years later, she watched her own teeth flying onto the concrete of her new home in this cellar – her final home – and thought how much fun all those trips to the funfair had been. Maybe it was then, once the pain registered, that she realised her young life was over. The funfair, and with it everything she’d ever cared for: over.

Worlds away, the clock tower struck noon as the girl choked on what remained of her teeth. Renata threw the scissors over her shoulder and pushed Sandie’s head forward, broken teeth spraying onto the girl’s lap from flaking lips.

The chasm of agony into which the girl now tumbled was evident in her eyes. Enlightened to a new definition of pain, these eyes had awoken in a universe dedicated to nothing but fathomless suffering. Renata rubbed an antiseptic wipe between her fingers.

‘Where is your God now, child?’ Sandie looked up to a tinkling sound as the woman stood shaking the bottle of painkillers in front of her. She unscrewed the cap and dropped the pills to the floor one by one, where they rattled down an iron drain. Her gaze locked on Sandie’s sobbing eyes, soaking up every shade of her suffering.

‘I have an errand to attend to, and so you may soon rest,’ whispered Renata, picking the bloody teeth from the girl’s lap and dropping them one by one into the empty painkiller bottle. ‘But first you will write.’ She screwed the lid on tight then shook the bottle again. ‘Write, dear.’

I know now she’s going to kill me. She’ll either go too far or she’ll run out of ways to hurt me. Either way, I’m going to die down here.

 

I also figured out what she wants, what this fucking ‘truth’ is she keeps going on about. She wants me to say who I really am, so I will – but not for her. For God.

 

I’m a sinner. She was right to cut off my finger. Those roses were meant to symbolise the saving of myself for the right man, but it was a lie. The truth is I’ve slept with more men than I can count. I did it because I felt worthless, despite what I convinced everyone. Thousands, millions of dollars poured into my life and all I can do is…well, what can I do? Turns out I give pretty good head. I did it because I wanted to be worth something. And I was – until morning came.

 

Then the drugs started. The look on their faces when I hit a line as my big brown eyes looked up at them. Man, I really felt the bomb. No way would they chuck me now. Didn’t expect to get hooked. But that great head I gave, and everything else…well, my body became my currency. It was the only thing that would get me more blow. Think I looked pretty good for a junkie. Not so much now.

 

So there it is, you fucking bitch. There’s your truth. But, like I said, it’s not for you. God, Daddy, Mom, I’m sorry for all my sins. I hope this counts as confession ‘cause I don’t think I have long left and I don’t wanna burn for all eternity. Forgive me, Jesus. Please forgive me. I repent, Lord. I repent I repent I repent if this is my punishment then let it end take me from here I can’t TAKE IT I CAN’T TAK

29

Millbury Peak had survived centuries of torrential rain, but an air of concern never failed to linger amongst the townsfolk during such weather. Set on an incline, the town’s aged drainage system often allowed a build-up of water on the east side, rendering certain routes impassable and creating miniature waterfalls from street stairways. Tonight, the storm-streaked skies issued forth a downpour of dread-inducing proportions upon the town.

Renata flinched as her cheek tore on the claws of a thorny shrub. Her passage through the undergrowth of this unmaintained marshland of a garden had been slow and arduous, exacerbated by the unrelenting rainfall. The flooded soil hungrily swallowed her shoes underfoot. Renata barely noticed.

She silently congratulated Rye on his performance. His rented manor, its driveway having been full when she first arrived, was serving as the headquarters of the search for Sandie. He knew exactly who had his daughter, but was orchestrating all this purely to show the world the hunt was on. He was going through the motions that were expected of him. In reality, he thought of nothing but what a hermit romance novelist named Renata Wakefield was capable of, and how he may reclaim his daughter from her unhinged grip.

A smartly dressed man and woman clutching wads of papers had stepped out of the side door and huddled under an overhang to suck on cigarettes. Renata had watched, toes tensed in a tight curl, as the pair had examined the papers while shaking their heads gloomily. After gazing into the rain through their final long drags, they had flicked their stubs into the grass and headed for their cars. They’d been the last to drive off into the night.

And now, crouched in the bushes peering through the shrubbery, Renata waited for her moment. Her hands ached from the constant typing. She rubbed her throbbing fingers as the rain fell like pebbles against her face. She’d been acutely aware of the house’s rear facing looking out over the garden, with the risk of stray eyes spotting her through one of its many windows. Now, having watched most of Quentin’s staff leave for the night, she knew she had less cause for concern.

She was rising from the bushes when the largest ground floor window suddenly illuminated the garden like a stadium. She tugged the soaked scarf over her face and dropped back down into the