The Silent Twin by Unknown Read Free Book Online Page A

the possibilities. The next person . . . I thought. The next person that says another word to me will feel its force. But the fantasy was quickly forgotten when the detective walked in, and I reluctantly slid my hand from the cutlery drawer, keeping a lid on my emotions long enough to leave the room.
    At what point in my development was I marked out as different from everyone else? Was it from birth? My childhood? And did my family ever notice? We would have these stupid dinnertime discussions about how our day went. On the bad days my words just wouldn’t come. My throat felt too tight to swallow, as I fought to dam the tears. Some days I chewed the same mouthful of food, over and over, hoping my mother would get bored and stop asking. School was no better. The older kids noticed my misery, and when nobody else was looking, they pushed me around.
    While the other children had school dinners, I tucked into my lunch, packed in an old Quality Street tin. Food became my comfort. My only friend.
    My tormentors were experts in sneaking up behind me. I never felt the hands on my back until it was too late, and one day my face made contact with the concrete as I landed on all-fours. A string of blood-tinged spit dribbled from my mouth, and my right knee took the brunt of the fall. I sat back in utter shock as they danced around me, their chants hurting more than the pain in my knee. Loser, loser, they mocked, making ‘L’ signs with their fingers against their foreheads. The rest of my lunch ended up in my hair, and smeared in my face. When they were done, they left me there, my loosened tooth producing a dull throbbing pain, my right knee feeling as if it was on fire.
    My injuries provided a welcome distraction. When the spit balls landed in my hair during class, I’d put my hand under the table and feel my scab. Its bumps and ridges brought me comfort, as my body fought to heal itself. But I didn’t want it to heal too soon. Picking the crust gave me something to focus on, and silenced the chants in my head. Sometimes I would sit in my room as I picked, watching the beads of blood form, the sharp sting providing release. That day I found a new ally in pain.

Chapter Ten
    A cold streak of moonlight flooded through the blinds, casting the kitchen in a monochrome hue. Insomnia crawled over Nick like a nest of spiders, slowing his thoughts and driving his body into a jerky autopilot. He pulled open the cupboard door and closed it again. He wasn’t even hungry. It was two in the morning, and he needed sleep, not food. But sleep was a memory, and the best he could hope for these days was catching an hour or two before dawn. He bumped against the chair, drunk with fatigue. It was nights like this that he could actually feel the weight of his skull.
    No sleep for the wicked, he thought, pulling up a chair. He rested his cheek against the cool plastic table cloth, and the faint aroma of bleach and lemons rose up to greet him. He thought of Fiona, keeping house while the rest of them fell apart. He allowed her to linger in his mind, wondering what she would say if she could see him now. He poked the doily with his index finger. Joanna had bought them when they first moved in, her head full of plans of restoring the farm to its natural beauty. As always, he had abandoned rational thinking and allowed himself to be swept up in her enthusiasm. But now it was difficult to see a way back to normality. Since moving to the farm he had not just lost his daughter, but his wife too. Although there in body, the fun-loving, impetuous woman he had fallen in love with was somewhere out of reach. Even Olivia walked around the house in a daze. Poor little Olly, too grieved to speak since her sister’s disappearance. What had she done to deserve this? What had Abigail? Hot tears threatened to spill, and he swallowed back the pain. A hard lump passed down his throat, and he wondered how mental anguish could be manifested as something so real.