me?”

  I use my stomach muscles to sit up; my chest

  feels as if it’s been stamped on. I sit upright

  and begin to cough. The nurse holds a

  cardboard tub up to my mouth.

  “I won’t throw up.” I say.

  “Okay Mr Milligan. How do you feel now

  you’re sitting up?”

  “Not too bad actually.”

  “Okay that’s good, we should be able to

  discharge you in a couple of hours so take the

  159

  time to recover and get yourself together. You

  are free to walk around but if anything doesn’t

  feel right or you feel faint, just stop and I can

  help you.”

  “Okay, thank you very much.”

  “That’s okay.” The nurse replies, smiling.

  She leaves, leaving me to myself. I fall back

  down onto my back.

  I try to remember exactly what happened last

  night, I remember falling asleep in the sitting

  room on the chair. I held a photo of Tanya

  and the kids. That’s probably just ashes now,

  like the rest of the house.

  I woke up on the bedroom floor; there was a

  lot of smoke in the room. I went to the stairs

  and tripped on the brown bear from the

  basement which will now be destroyed, thank

  God.

  I saw bloody footprints in the house, they led

  to the chair I was in and then into the kitchen

  and out the back door. The piece of wood

  which Shola had was on the table though,

  with bloody screws through the wood.

  He must have done that! Shola, why would

  he have left that wood there though? It wasn’t

  my blood and I doubt it was his. Sam may

  think he’s clever but that was plain stupid.

  I need to get out of here, I need to find him.

  I hope he thinks he killed me.

  I get up from my bed and warily stand up.

  My balance is okay. I need clothes though. I

  look into the cupboard by my bed; it has

  some clothes in it. There are brown leather

  160

  shoes, a pair of blue denim jeans and a green

  polo shirt with a note on top of it.

  ‘Ryan,

  I know you don’t wear anything but shirts

  and black trousers but this is all I could find

  of Simon’s clothes.

  Come and see me when you’re out of here.

  Sandy xxx’

  So Sandra had come in to see me? She must

  at least care about me then.

  I need to be careful who I speak to now

  though, there are many suspects and at least

  one that wants me dead. The person who did

  this is most likely the person targeting blonde

  women in Surrey.

  I mean Shola is involved but is someone

  helping him?

  I pull off my hospital gown and put on the

  clothes Sandra gave me.

  I walk out of the hospital towards the main

  road. To my delight, I spot a taxi. I put my

  arm up and the taxi man acknowledges me by

  nodding his head. He looks down to his lap

  and then fiddles around for a minute as I walk

  over to him.

  “Can you take me to Mulberry Lane?”

  “Yeah sure hop in son.”

  161

  Liam Graynnil

  The Taxi pulls into Mulberry Lane. I look at

  my house. The door is no longer there, the

  rectangular hole is covered with a wooden

  board; as are the windows on the bottom

  floor.

  The window frames have black smears

  surrounding them from the heat. It looks as if

  charcoal has been smudged around them.

  The taxi pulls up in front at the bottom of

  the path. The taxi driver turns to me.

  “We’ll call it eight quid.”

  I look in my wallet and pull out a five pound

  note and three pound coins.

  “Cheers; have a good day.” He says as I get

  out.

  I stand on the gravel path and look up to the

  house.

  At least it’s all in one piece.

  The grass closest to the house is flattened

  with black ash clogged in the blades of grass

  along with glistening slivers of glass from the

  shattered windows. The top of the path is also

  smothered in ash and glass.

  I feel a hand rest on my shoulder. The hand

  tightens slightly.

  “Hello Ryan.” Simon says behind me.

  His voice changes my mood. My stomach

  tightens; the hairs on my neck stand up, the

  feel of guilt.

  “Oh hello mate. How was your trip?” I say as

  I turn to face him.

  162

  “It was okay, a little boring out on the job

  but there you go, was pretty good to get away

  from here.”

  “How come?”

  “Oh you know it’s good to experience some

  change, a break from Sandy as well, no

  nagging whatsoever.” Simon says.

  “Sandy doesn’t nag does she?” I ask.

  “Naa course not. Mate I’m sorry about the

  house I really am. You can stay at ours whilst

  it’s being repaired. You’re more than welcome

  Ryan.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I’m telling you Ryan, you have nowhere else

  to go so come round to ours.”

  “Okay thanks Simon that’s really kind. I’ll

  come over later then.”

  “Yeah sure, see you later mate.” Simon says

  as he pats my back and walks towards his

  house.

  As I stare at my boarded up house, I hear

  Simon’s feet drag as he changes direction.

  “Oh Ryan by the way I read your book whilst

  I was away.”

  “Oh nice, so what did you think?”

  “I did like it. I could tell that you based it on

  your past, you know with your wife and

  children. I’m guessing that Daniel is you and

  Lizzie is Tanya, am I correct?”

  “Yeah sure.”

  “Yeah. I thought it was interesting to see how

  you felt about her and all that you’ve done to

  get her back and to find her. I’m guessing that

  163

  a lot of it wasn’t real though and was

  dramatised right?”

  “Yes of course.” I reply, not really knowing

  which parts of the book he meant.

  “Yes exactly. You also used the current

  stories of around here locally as well which I

  think is very risky to link the recent murders

  to blondes as a reason to why Lizzie was

  taken.”

  “Excuse me?” I reply. I did not use the

  current blonde murders in my book, not at all.

  “You know; the attacks around here recently.

  You used that to make people believe that’s

  how Lizzie was taken, but of course it isn’t, is

  it?”

  I stare at Simon, not having a clue what he is

  talking about. It’s as if he’s talking about a

  different book. I wrote Killing for Your Love

  ages before the recent blonde murders.

  “Errm Si are you sure you mean my book?”

  “Yes of course I do. Daniel on the hunt for

  Lizzie and the kids. He searches for bodies of

  blonde women; he comes across difficult

  situations as he comes across dead bodies in

  the morgue but also discovers some bodies in

  homes and things. A gang is after him because

  they believe that Daniel is the killer of his own

  wife and kids but also responsible for the

  other murders.”

  That’s not my book, yes Daniel is the main

  characters as well as Lizzie and the kids but

  none of the rest of that happens.

  “Yes that’s right.” I say. “Can I have the

  book back please?” I ask.

  164

  “Yeah sure.” Simon puts his arm behind his

  back and pulls out my manuscript that I gave

  to him.

  “Thanks” I say and snatch the papers from

  him.

  “That’s fine. It was an interesting read mate

  and I like the pen name. See you around.”

  “What? You like R. Milligan as my pen

  name?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh come on Ryan, don’t worry, your

  secret’s safe with me, I won’t let anyone know

  it’s you.”

  What is he going on about? The book is by

  me, R. Milligan like on all my books.

  “Simon, please elaborate I don’t know what

  you’re talking about.”

  “How can you not know? Jeeze Ryan, surely

  you remember naming yourself as Liam

  Graynnil?”

  Liam Graynnil? Who’s that?

  “Oh right yes.” I look at the title and author

  name on my manuscript.

  Killing For Your Love

  By

  Liam Graynnil

  I did not write this. This is not my writing. It’s

  my title and some of the characters are mine,

  but the story simply is not me. I did not write

  this.

  “Thanks Simon. Well I’ll see you later then.”

  165

  “Yeah great, we’ll have some drinks tonight

  and try to forget all this shit.” Simon says as

  he looks up to my house.

  “Yeah sure, thanks. See you later,” and I turn

  back to my house.

  “Bye Ryan.” Simon says as he jogs back.

  Who the fuck is Liam Graynnil? It isn’t a

  name I have heard of, it’s no one I know or

  even know of. I wrote on this paper, I wrote

  the title page but on that page I put R.

  Milligan. I did not do this, someone else did

  this. But who?

  I stare at the burnt house and I hear a front

  door shut. I look around. Mulberry Lane is

  empty; Simon is in his house.

  I run up my path and try to move the

  boarded up door but it won’t budge, I can’t

  break in here; it will be too obvious.

  Wow breaking into my own home, what a

  disaster.

  I fold up Killing for Your Love and put it in the

  leg pocket of Simon’s jeans and move around

  to the back of the house.

  Down to the side gate of the house, I enter

  the back garden. All of the back looks

  completely normal except the house. The

  back window is boarded up as is the doorway.

  Again, the bricks are coated with soot from

  the fire.

  I kick the board across the back door

  repeatedly until it collapses, revealing my

  burnt kitchen.

  166

  “What the bloody hell are ya doin’?” I hear

  Paul’s voice ask from over the fence.

  “Sorry Paul, trying to get into my house to

  get some stuff but I know I wouldn’t be

  allowed to.”

  “That’s alright mate I’d do the same.”

  “Paul, thank you so much for saving me. I

  don’t know how to repay you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, the useless twats out

  the front were moaning and running around

  but not doing enough so I just jumped over

  and pulled you out, it’s no biggy.”

  “Thanks Paul. Well if I ever need to, I’ll

  return the favour.”

  “Cheers mate that’s good to know.” Paul says

  and he laughs. “Well I’ll leave you to it mate,

  have fun breaking in.” Paul says as he jumps

  behind the shed, still laughing.

  Inside the kitchen, it smells of smoke. I

  remember the smell, I remember the heat. My

  skin heats up and beads of sweat form on my

  forehead and neck. I breathe slowly, to

  compose myself.

  Past the kitchen to the hallway; the decor is

  completely gone and nonexistent. If

  somebody came here not knowing how it was

  before, they would not have an inkling of an

  idea what it used to be like. The old fashioned

  feel of the house has burned away.

  I look up the stairs; the carpet on the stairs

  has also completely melted revealing the

  wooden steps leading up the stairs.

  I poke my head into the sitting room which is

  completely obliterated by the flames.

  167

  I look over to the partially burnt drawers and

  furniture and spot the locked box.

  “I completely forgot about you.” I say out

  loud.

  The black paint has peeled off revealing silver

  metal with bronze patterns. The bronze areas

  curl along the silver patterns. One corner of

  the box has melted from the heat, it is no

  longer rigid; instead it’s lumpy and bubbly and

  the pattern has melted.

  I try to open the lid but it does not open,

  shame the lock didn’t melt.

  I really need to find the keys to this.

  I pick up the box and lift it above my head. I

  launch it onto the floor in front of me, to no

  affect.

  “Bloody thing.”

  The arm chair is ruined.

  “I can’t even bloody sit down.”

  I leave the sitting room and look at the

  garage door which is still standing. I push it

  open and I’m surprised to see the garage is

  untouched.

  I look at the basement door which is also still

  standing. I open that door and go down the

  creaking steps. I switch on the light and

  everything is normal down here too.

  I walk back up into the hallway up the stairs.

  I look up to the ceiling; it has black patterns

  across it. The patterns curl and twist on the

  grubby white.

  I look in each room on the upper floor,

  they’re all completely untouched.

  168

  So really, I am lucky that I woke up just

  before the fire spread up here. If I hadn’t, I’d

  be dead now. What a lovely thought.

  I sit on my bed and pull out Killing for Your

  Love from my pocket.

  I look at the name again.

  Liam Graynnil.

  Who is this Liam Graynnil? I’ve never heard

  of the surname. I look around for my laptop.

  God I hope it wasn’t downstairs in the fire.

  I get up from the bed, drop to my knees and

  look under the bed. Here it is, thank God.

  I pull the laptop bag out, place it on my bed

  and unzip it revealing the laptop.

  I open it up and wait for the thing to load.

  The fan turns, it makes a high pitched droning

  noise, the intensity and loudness quietens and

  I can eventually load the internet.

  I open up Google and type in ‘Liam

  Graynnil’.

  ‘No results for Liam Graynnil

  Showing results for Liam Gray Nail.’

  Damn.

  I then type ‘Liam Graynnil Author’ which

  concludes in the same result.

  I then type ‘Graynnil’ - same outcome.

  The name is not recognisable, not even on

  the internet. Someone is messing with me

  169

  with all the writing on the tables and walls,

  with the fox in the shed, the person following

  me and watching me and now the fire. It must

  all be linked and it must be Shola, I mean

  there isn’t anyone else it can be.

  I close the laptop and toss it to the end of the

  bed. I pick up ‘Killing for Your Love’ and I

  read the beginning of the book.

  Killing For Your Love

  Chapter 1

  I look at her undulating blonde hair blow as we

  walk against the breeze.

  “You look beautiful tonight Lizzie.” I say to her.

  “Oh thanks Daniel.” Comes her timid reply.

  I wrote that, that’s for sure.

  I turn a couple more pages, this is all my

  writing. I get to chapter 5 and that is when it

  all changes. From chapter 5 onwards, that is

  not my work. Someone has tampered with my

  writing, but who?

  The writing itself is very similar to mine it

  could easily be my work but I do not

  remember writing it; the aggression from the

  main character, the negativity toward the

  police and investigation to find Lizzie and the

  kids.

  I read on, I reach chapter 6, which sends a

  shiver down my spine.

  170

  Killing For Your Love

  Chapter 6

  … I stand in the room of a dead woman. Her

  body is sprawled out on the bed. She’s been

  beaten to death and most likely raped.

  I look at her rope-burnt wrists and ankles, her

  scratched thighs and arms and her swollen face.

  Her lips have split; the skin from her lips has

  lodged onto her bloody teeth that are attached to

  her bloody gums.

  I put on my leather gloves to move her red

  stained hair to reveal all of her lumpy face.

  The thought of me not writing this is odd.