She’d been taken by the British Government. They weren’t going to harm her. She was probably in a nice cushy safe house somewhere. But doubt niggled at Faith. However comforting she found this idea, her subconscious wasn’t convinced.
Did they hope to use her to trade for information, to maybe to get Christian Roth to admit to whatever crimes they thought him guilty of?
While waiting for clearance, she researched the people he worked with. Most appeared normal, but she stopped short when she reached her new friend Carl. Carl had been with him from the start.
She stared at the screen shaking her head. They had to be kidding. Carl was a goddamn werewolf? She almost laughed out loud at the word.
Then, she punched in her own name and was unsurprised to find she had a file. At first, she flicked through the details quickly but then slowed to a halt. Going back, she read the words again.
Mother murdered. The file had an internal reference F and was cross-referenced to another—the main file on her mother’s death she guessed. She clicked, almost afraid of what she would see.
A picture flashed on the screen. Her mother’s body. Instantly, Faith was transported back to that night. She’d been twelve and they were living in Carlisle, in the north of the country, renting a house on the edge of town.
It had been a Saturday night. Someone came to the house and her mother had let them in. A man—Faith had caught a brief glimpse of him as he entered—which was unusual. Her mother didn’t have boyfriends. Well, Faith’s father, but she never talked about him, and there was no name on her birth certificate.
There had been no screams, no sounds of a fight. Faith wasn’t even sure why she had gone to look. Maybe just prurient interest. But the night had been so quiet.
The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Through the gap, she had a clear view of the bed. The body. So much blood.
Then something behind her. Something so terrible she didn’t want to see. Despite that, her feet shifted on their own accord. She turned.
And…nothing. She couldn’t remember. Instead, there was a huge, impenetrable wall in her mind blocking the scary thing. The psychologist they sent her to afterward had told her it was a defense mechanism. They’d tried everything to make her remember, because the police were pretty sure that she’d come face-to-face with her mother’s murderer that night. He had spared her, but so traumatized her that she’d cut him from her mind.
Shit. However hard she tried, she couldn’t get through the wall, could never remember what happened next.
She flicked quickly through the photographs, showing the wounds on her mother’s body, teeth marks at her throat, wrist, and inner thigh.
Similar to her case. Faith had never before considered that the two were connected. They were too far apart time-wise for that to be likely. A copycat? But why?
She flicked to the next picture, and again shock held her still. It was a photo of her twelve-year-old self, taken the night of the murder. Her head was raised, so her neck could be seen showing the puncture marks in the smooth skin of her throat. The marks were clean, not bleeding, but clearly teeth marks.
She stared, and then shook her head. She had no memory of that photo being taken. Certainly no memory of ever being bitten. How the fuck did she forget something like that?
She slammed her palm down, clearing the screen.
Raising her hand to her throat, she stroked the skin almost expecting to encounter a wound, but there was nothing. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her forehead.
She had to get out of there.
The walls were closing in, the weight of the building above bearing down on her.
She got up, stumbling on shaky legs. Across the room, the young priest glanced her way. He frowned and hurried over.
“Are you okay?”
She took a deep breath and forced a weak smile. “I’m fine. Just a sleepless night catching up with me. I’ll go and…” She waved toward the restrooms across the way, and strode away without waiting for him to say anything further.
After splashing cold water on her face and neck, she leaned against the cool tiles.
God, she needed some fresh air.
First, she had to talk to the colonel.
She knocked lightly on his door and heard him call come in.
Father O’Brien sat on one of the upright chairs in front of the desk. Faith took the vacant seat beside him, facing the colonel.
“You look pale. Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I’m fine. Tired, that’s all. I’ll head home after this if that’s okay.”
“Of course. And so have we convinced you yet?”
“Of what?” she asked warily.
“That the monsters do exist?” Father O’Brien said softly. “And that it is our sacred duty to fight them and smite them down?”
She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes while she tried to decide whether they actually believed this crap, or whether they had some other agenda.
“You have a file on my mother.”