I leave my picture-book image and return to the reality of dust and grime, eventually finding Noah in the room across the entrance hall from the kitchen. The lounge has a pile of old blankets and sleeping bags at the far end. And there's a long table pushed up against the wall with papers and other debris littered over it.
“What’s that?” I point to an engine or metal box sitting on the floor with cables running from it.
“Diesel generator. Small, but it would do for powering a laptop or other small device.”
“So someone’s been here recently? Lewis?” I ask, my voice rising in hope. This is what we’re looking for, right? Evidence of where he’s been.
I look around and take in the state of the sleeping area. Someone didn’t bother to tidy up after themselves, but I guess if you’re squatting in an abandoned house, you wouldn't worry about making the bed.
“There’s a box of ammo. What gun did he have?” Noah asks.
I shake my head and turn away. The gun was a gun. Black. Gun shaped. Not a shotgun. I wouldn’t know how to tell the difference between one handgun and another.
“Neve?”
“What? I don’t know what gun he had. He was pointing it at my father or at me. I didn’t stop to take in details.” Emotion starts trickling through the dam I’ve built, the same dam I hoped would keep all the pain and anguish buried. “If you have the ammo, what difference does it make.”
“What difference?” He grabs my arm, making me look at him. “How about, is this really Lewis? Is he working with someone else? Does he have more than one weapon?”
I snatch my arm back. “Alright. I get it.”
I don’t want to be here anymore, and I can't deal with more questions right now. I have to barge against the front door to open it again, the wood warped and distorted from neglect. I stand outside and take a few deep breaths, my gaze cast out and over to the old buildings, and before I know it, I’m walking back down the drive and across the field to the old sheds.
As I get closer, more blue and white tape encompasses the buildings. I walk between two brick structures and find myself in a small courtyard area. Not a lot is left here. Just the empty shell of a working farm. I peer inside the most prominent building and see the decay and rot continue. Broken windows, broken pipes. But also a red stain just to the left.
I turn away from what I assume is blood and catch sight of a figure standing at the other end of the courtyard. My blood turns to ice as I recognise him. He’s not the smart and put-together man I first knew him as, but he's still the same man.
We stand, at opposite ends of the courtyard, neither of us moving, and everything in my body screams to do something. Yell, chase, tackle him to the ground, but I’m frozen. The fear that he instilled in me is still paralysing - the coolness of the metal gun as he wiped it over my face, the grin on his face, the threats.
My eyes flick to his hand, and sure enough, there’s a gun in his grasp.
“This isn’t a place to go off on your own, Neve.” I turn to Noah’s voice, only for a second, but when I turn back to where Lewis was, he’s not there.
“Lewis … he was-” I gasp.
“He could be anywhere, according to you, and you’re just wandering off?”
“Here! He was here.” I point furiously to the spot on the courtyard and run over to where he just was.
“Neve, calm down. Wait! Don't be fucking stupid again.”
“I saw him. He’s here.” I go to peer around the corner of the building to follow him, but Noah pulls me behind him. He edges around the corner of the building, his stance firm.
“There’s nobody here. The police have been all over this place.”
“I’m not crazy, Noah. I saw him.” I grit my teeth and fight off the tears that are always ready to burst free. “He’s here. He’s playing games or hiding. But I know what I saw.”My voice trembles.
“You want to call the police? Have them back down here? Take your statement while they’re at it?” he challenges. My hands clench and flex because right now, I want to rail on him. On someone.
“He has a gun. It’s a handgun. It looks black, square-ish.” Panic clouds my voice. “He was here. It was him. I know it. I’m not making this up. Why would I?” I grip his arms, willing my fingers to compress the truth into his flesh. “Noah!”
Finally, he looks at me. My eyes plead with him to believe me. To listen to what I’m saying and believe in the possibility. After all, we saw someone's been staying at the house. Why couldn’t he be lurking?
We stay, staring at each other for what feels like an eternity. My vision blurs, and the tremble that infected my voice seeps into my whole body.
“Okay. I believe you.”
But the words don’t register. My limbs shake, and my breathing becomes laboured.
