Читать книгу Saving Sophie: A compulsively twisty psychological thriller that will keep you gripped to the very last page - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 26

The memory was fleeting – a sudden image striking her while she was washing her hair in the shower. Black hair extensions. A chair. Erin. The words: What does it matter she wanted to be Amy? Her own words, uttered in what everyone assumed to be a drunken stupor, repeating continually in her head. Was it a real memory? Or some horrible vision her mind had constructed, knowing now the body – the dead, murdered body – was Erin’s? It disappeared as quickly as it came to her. As hard as she tried to go back to it, make sense of it, it had gone. Despite the hot water hammering her body, Sophie shivered. Something was there, nudging right at the edge of her consciousness. Fear wrapped itself around her, crushing her – how had she conjured a memory like this? For now, the flashback, if that’s what it was, was out of reach, she’d lost her grasp on it.

She’d decided to go to work, regardless of the developments, regardless of her lack of sleep. She needed to be around others and keep active to stop the thoughts. Last night’s news had spread through every social network, the majority of her night taken up with messaging, shocked reactions, never-ending questions. The biggest, most asked question: who last saw Erin?

She’d see Amy at work. She craved contact with her. If she arranged her lunch break for the same time, she could go over Saturday night with her, try to unlock some memories. Real, helpful ones.

Avoiding both her parents so far this morning had been a challenge; a deep sigh of relief escaped her upon hearing the door slam as her dad exited. So, only her mother to face before she left. She’d prolong leaving her room until the last minute.

Sophie’s shoulders dipped. What an awful daughter she was. She should really be offering comfort to her mum. It’d been her best friend’s daughter – her godchild – who had been brutally murdered. The news was bound to be full of it today and her mum was going to be alone in the house for most of it. Sophie knew Mondays were bad for her mum. Counselling. Every weekend the build-up began to affect her. It started around Saturday afternoon, like she was tensing up for it; her moods would flare, she’d be unpredictable. The inevitable accumulation of fear usually erupted by Sunday evening. Of course, her mind had been occupied this weekend; the usual effects hadn’t been observable. This morning, though, she’d be in full panic mode. Sophie wondered whether she’d even make this morning’s session. Maybe she would attempt to venture to Rachel’s instead, to be with her?

Sophie’s stomach roiled. Thoughts of how this was going to progress, this awful situation, whizzed through her head. So many people were going to be pulled into it. This was just the beginning, the immediate aftermath of the shock. What was to come was unknown. This sort of thing had never happened before. It was a first. A first no one had seen coming, an unexpected blackness that hadn’t been forecast. The fallout was going to be huge.

A ping. A notification on her laptop. A cold sensation shot through her. A new email. Sophie knew, even before picking it up, what it was. She hesitated. Her breathing uneven. Swallowing rapidly, she opened the mail.

Another one.

No doubt remained now. It was her.

Who was sending these?