Deadly Silent

Deadly Silent Ann Girdharry This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author. The right of Ann Girdharry to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Copyright © April 2023 Ann Girdharry Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Epilogue Deadly Motives (Grant and Ruby Book 1) Deadly Secrets (Grant and Ruby book 2) Deadly Lies (Grant and Ruby book 3) The Couple Upstairs The Woman in Room 19 Hello Dear Reader, Acknowledgements My Titles Chapter 1 Some days were good and some were bad. It was like that when you were a survivor. Emma was glad there were getting to be more of the good ones. But it didn’t change how some days were still so bad they felt like a living hell and well shit, today had been one of them. Emma sat on the edge of her sofa bed and sank her face into her hands. Fifteen years since the trauma and it still had the power to drag her down. She grabbed a bunch of her hair, tugging hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Dark days like this were a test of her determination to never go back to Moorlands Psychiatric Hospital. She’d dealt with post-traumatic stress disorder from a child aged six all the way through to the young woman she was now. She knew that if the day had been bad, the night would be worse. She still had the hours of darkness to get through. You can make it. You’re stronger. You can handle this. But could she? The light was fading, as a long summer day came to an end. It meant the darkness would be short, which was a blessing. Closing her eyes, she took deep breaths. Then braced herself. Don’t be afraid. Your hands are going to be normal. And there will be no noises, I promise. If there are, you know it’s not real. Her breath was ragged as she cracked open her eyelids. Her palms were shaking. But they weren’t red. They weren’t slick with her sister’s blood. There were no sounds. No rasping and bubbling as her sister struggled to hang on to life. As Emma sagged, a muffled sob escaped her lips. A while later she crossed to the window and gazed down at the street. Her apartment was in the shabby part of Himlands Heath, where only groups of young people ventured out at night. The area was deserted. She let down the blind with a clack. She must do her best not to fall asleep and then she could keep away the recurring nightmare of the day her mother and sister died. Tomorrow would be a better day. Her tried and tested method was to watch her favourite sci-fi series and curl up waiting for daylight. A giant bag of potato crisps was what she needed. She was a no-alcohol and no-drugs kind of gal, but comfort food could be a lifesaver. Emma was rummaging in the kitchen cupboard when her phone rang. Shit. She hadn’t turned up for her evening shift at the fast-food place and she hadn’t bothered to call in sick either. She needed the job and she really needed the money but what could she say? That she couldn’t toss burgers because she was having a bad day and would end up burning the food or herself, or both? That she had to stay inside until she felt better? It was the first time she’d skipped a shift since she started work a month ago but hey, they’d be bound to give her a hard time. It was too much to deal with right now. Grabbing the bag of crisps, she was about to toss her phone onto the sofa when she saw who it really was – her best friend – Phoebe. ‘Hey,’ Emma said. ‘Hey,’ Phoebe replied. Emma had met Phoebe when they were both fourteen and doing a therapy week at Moorlands. Back then, they’d both been in the children’s part of the hospital. Emma had been going there off and on since she was six, but it was Phoebe’s first visit. Right from the beginning there had been a bond between them, which was strange because Emma was used to being a loner. They had a special connection and knowing Phoebe had made Emma’s life so much more bearable. There had followed several years when they were both in and out of treatment. They had progressed to adult services and Phoebe was staying at Moorlands at the moment, whereas Emma had not been there for months. She knew Phoebe’s trauma well enough to not ask inane questions like, how are you doing? Instead, she