His Silence - Chapter 68

Someone’s shouting. I open my eyes, blinking rapidly. The ice pack I was holding against my neck has slipped onto the sofa, forming a wet patch on the fabric. Mary looked me over earlier and was convinced I didn’t need to be seen by a doctor; of course they don’t want me to see a doctor, they don’t want to risk the police coming back here again. Callum’s still sitting beside me; he’s flicking through a book. It must be at least forty minutes or so since I left Oliver in the annexe with Abraham.

‘What’s happening?’ I ask, getting up, a cushion falling off the sofa and onto the floor.

‘Woah, take it easy,’ Callum says.

I ignore him and go to the window. There’s a crowd outside on the driveway. Someone shouts again, making me jump. Oh shit, it’s Abraham.

‘C’mon,’ I say.

‘Danielle, wait,’ Callum says, pelting after me as I sprint to the front door.

The moment I’m outside I spot Abraham at the foot of the drive; it looks as though no effort’s been made to tidy up his face since Oliver pummelled into him earlier.

‘Please, Oliver. Please forgive me,’ he cries, holding his hands out in front of him.

Oliver’s advancing towards him, his face full of fury like it was in the annexe. There’s still blood on his fists. ‘How on earth do you think we can trust you again after what you’ve done?’ Oliver stamps his foot into the gravel. ‘How can we trust you?’

Abraham sobs hard now. ‘You can’t throw me out. This . . . this is my home; I haven’t known anything else for twenty years, I’ve got nowhere to go, please, Oliver.’

I scan the crowd. No one appears to have noticed I’m standing here yet. My eyes fall on Abigail; she’s covering her face with her hand; she’s crying, but she’s trying her best not to show it.

‘You should’ve thought of that before you tried to kill Grace,’ Oliver snarls. ‘You’ve violated everything we stand for. How can we possibly allow you to stay here?’            

Abraham falls to his knees, mud splattering across his jeans as he collapses into the ground.        

‘I’m begging you, Oliver. I’m begging you, please let me stay, I’ll do whatever I can to make up for my mistake.’

‘Go,’ Oliver says. ‘Perhaps you can find some way to repent for your sins out there.’

Oliver says ‘out there’ as though we’re somehow disconnected from the rest of the world. The gates ease open, squeaking. Abraham stands there, disbelief still etched into his face. I shrink back, not wanting him to spot me standing here. He might come for me again if he sees me.

An age seems to slip past before at last Abraham seems to realise he can’t do anything. He’s not got anything with him, just the bloodied clothes he’s wearing. What will people think of him when he does make it back to the town? It’ll take at least a couple of hours, maybe more to walk.

He trudges towards the gate, still sobbing. Before he gets there he looks over his shoulder one last time, as though hoping this has all been a nasty trick, and Oliver will welcome him back with open arms. Oliver says nothing.

Abraham keeps his head down and edges out onto the main road. The gates clang shut behind him.

A few seconds pass before everyone turns and begins to trudge back towards the house. As Oliver turns round, he fixes his gaze on me and a coldness sweeps through my body.