Written In Blood

Chapter Thirty-Four

Malcolm Wright slammed the phone down angrily, not caring that he was in danger of breaking it, and stood there in the darkness of the living room, his mind racing. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs, he had no idea his son was there until he spoke.

"What's up?" Kieran asked from the doorway of the living room. Having been woken by the ringing of the phone, he had arrived in time to hear part of the call, enough to know that something was up, without knowing what.

Malcolm scowled as he turned towards the doorway and his son. "That was Lewis," he said. "He's had to let Wild go, again!"

"What the hell! So, he kills Georgie and Lucy, and he kidnaps Em, but he's still free? What the hell does he have to do before Lewis puts him away where he belongs?"

"He said Wild's got some kind of alibi; he can't prove it's fake at the moment, but he will, and when he does he'll arrest Wild again, which'll be too late for your sister. It's probably too late for her already." The expression on his face was a mixture of anger and frustration, and his hands were clenching and unclenching themselves into fists; he looked around the dark room as though searching for something to either throw or smash.

Kieran was reluctant to draw attention to himself, when it was obvious that his father was looking for something on which to vent his feelings, he couldn't help asking, however, "What are you going to do?" Given the way his father was fidgeting about, Kieran was sure he was planning on doing something, even if he hadn't quite decided what.

"I don't know," Malcolm admitted. "You go on up to bed, though, I'll be alright, I just want some time to think."

It was hard to tell the passage of time at night with nothing to provide a frame of reference, but about fifteen minutes later, Kieran watched from the window of his sister's bedroom as his father crossed the yard and started down the road. He hadn't heard the front door either open or close, but he hadn't needed to, he had already been in Emily's room, anticipating, and waiting for, his father to leave the house and take matters into his own hands, which the shotgun he appeared to be carrying strongly suggested he was going to do.