Читать книгу I Dare You - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 10

The envelope, its corner peeping out from within the clump of mail she’d shoved behind the purple key pot – the one neither of them actually used for their keys, preferring instead to spend stressful minutes searching for the last place they’d flung them – glared at her like an accusation. Lizzie snatched it up, then slammed it down on the counter, taking a step back as though it were a dangerous object about to inflict harm.

Something told her it would do her harm. Its content, anyway. Mentally, not physically. She knew physical pain, had endured years of it growing up in various care homes. She could cope with that; was hardened to it. Her mental well-being had never caught up, though. That was still fragile, like butterfly wings – delicate, prone to breaking. She had to guard herself from outside factors.

Guard herself from the words the envelope held within.

She’d ignored it for as long as possible. Hidden it from Dom. Tried to forget about it. She should’ve ripped it up and binned it. Why hadn’t she? Sleep had been impossible, her thoughts, her imagination, keeping her awake hour after hour. She knew this had to be done.

Taking the envelope once again, she stared at the postmark. At the logo. It was definitely from the solicitor.

It’d happened thirty years ago. Lizzie had only been eight years old, but some memories never faded. Some intensified with age. There was much she didn’t remember – but those gaps had often been filled in for her by the people in the children’s home. Carers, teachers, the other kids – they’d all had something to say about it.

A sour taste filled Lizzie’s mouth as saliva flooded it.

She had to face this.

Tearing open the envelope before she could change her mind again, she pulled the crisp, white, headed paper from it.

Dear Mrs Brenfield,

As per your request, I write to inform you that Mr William Cawley is to be released from HMP Baymead, Devon, on the 9th July 2019.

Lizzie’s vision blurred, her grip loosened. Before she could read on, the paper fell to the ground.

Creepy Cawley had been released from his thirty-year sentence three days ago.

He was a free man.