Puppet Master

Chapter Twenty Nine

The first movement she made all morning was at the sound of her piercing ring tone. She had no idea how long she’d stayed like that, staring at the same four walls from sheets that twisted around her body, shackling her to the bed.

But once that strident tone bore through her misery to her conscious mind, she jumped from her shackles and her memories, and darted to her handbag just in time to hear it ring off.

Hoping to see Jayden’s name on the screen, to call him back immediately and hear him tell her that he’d changed his mind, that he loved her. That he always had and always would.

That he would be hers.

Of course it wasn’t Jayden. Of course her hopes crashed to her feet in tatters for the thousandth time since meeting Jayden Caine.

But something about Shannon’s panicked, tear filled voice had her senses on alert, and she pressed the call button before the voicemail had even finished, frantically pulling on a pair of jeans and a hoody to rush over to pick up her best friend from the train station.

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Nervously Tori stood on the station platform, jangling the car keys back and forth in the pocket of her sweatshirt. Shannon wouldn’t tell her what was up on the phone, but her voice sounded raw, and although she was impulsive, it really wasn’t like her to jump on a train at such short notice, especially weeks before the London Fashion Show.

Shannon had been modelling for the last few years and, although she was not working at an international level yet, she always had free tickets to the catwalk convention, and she’d never miss that opportunity for networking and making new contacts.

Seconds after meeting Shannon, you’d see her inert beauty, and any photographer worth his salt would know how effortlessly she would bring that across through the lens. The months following would always be the busiest part of her working year, as she tended to stay predominately freelance so she could pick up new contracts wherever she saw fit.

In light of all this, why the fuck would she jump on an Express Train straight from Euston to Manchester Picadilly with tears in her voice, and a huge suitcase plastered with a Vivienne Westwood design?

Something was terribly wrong, she could feel it.

Shannon had had a harder life than any Tori could ever think of. Her father’s abuse had ran through all avenues – from psychological cruelty, to beatings, and then, in the final years before his death, a crippling sexual abuse that made a shiver run down Tori’s spine. The man was so far beyond evil he was snacking with Satan. Always, as a child, he’d given Tori the creeps, but she’d never understood until she was older why her mother would never let her visit with her best friend, only finding out when she was seventeen and the stories were starting to fall from Shannon’s lips, that he’d always left her rather intuitive mother with the same effect, and despite many years of trying to forget it, her mother would just not trust the couple to care for her child.

Tori had always wondered why her mother had never spoken up, never tried to find out how evil Mr Keller actually was, but then again, how did you phrase these questions? Who did you even ask? But she knew her own mother had suffered countless sleepless nights fuelled by guilt and remorse since Shannon had begun to share the experiences, and, although the young girl would not bring herself to prosecute her parents, she’d stayed with the Caseys on almost a permanent basis since she turned fifteen.