The Other Sister

THE OTHER SISTER JANE RENSHAW Published by Inkubator Books www.inkubatorbooks.com Copyright © 2023 by Jane Renshaw ISBN (eBook): 978-1-83756-158-2 ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-83756-159-9 ISBN (Hardback): 978-1-83756-160-5 Jane Renshaw has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work. THE OTHER SISTER is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. CONTENTS Inkubator Books Prologue 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 Epilogue Free Thriller NO PLACE LIKE HOME From Jane About the Author Also by Jane Renshaw JOIN THE INKUBATOR MAILING LIST You will be the first to learn about new releases plus the many FREE and discounted Kindle books we offer! bit.ly/3dOTSW2 PROLOGUE JULY 2022 - SAM At last, Sam succeeded in rolling over on the bed and flopping his hand down on the phone. Grasping the handset was another matter. His fingers were numb, unresponsive. They would hardly move, but somehow he managed to fumble up the handset and poke ‘0’ for reception. ‘Mr Osbourne, good evening again! How may I help you?’ It was as if there were a huge marshmallow in his mouth, stopping him from getting his tongue around the words he had to say. ‘Nuh ell. Nuh fee… ell a aw.’ ‘You’re not feeling well?’ she translated. ‘You need help? Okay, don’t worry. I’ll be right up.’ He could have wept with gratitude. Thank goodness for that. Thank goodness for this bright, empathetic young woman. Kayleigh. That was her name, wasn’t it? ‘Tha oo, Kay-ee.’ The phone tumbled from his hand to the carpet. He lay on his side, staring at the far wall and the half-open door to the darkened en suite. He could see part of the shadowy mirror, the towel rail and its fluffy white towels, the side of the cabinet housing the wash-hand basin, and the taps, gleaming invitingly. A drink. Suddenly, he was desperate for a drink of water. But when he tried to get up, he found he couldn’t. He couldn’t move at all. Not his legs, not his arms, not even his head. All he could do was stare through that half-open door at those gleaming taps and the shadows in the mirror. One of the shadows moved. No. It was just his woozy brain making his surroundings sway. But why wasn’t anything else moving? Just that one shadow in the mirror? Which now seemed to be expanding. As it did so it resolved itself, and he could see now that it wasn’t a shadow at all, it was the reflection of a person, moving slowly and quite silently forwards towards the half-open door. He tried desperately to move, to get his feet over the side of the bed, but all he managed was a slight twitch of one knee. He was paralysed, his body not so much dead weight as absent, as if there were no substance to him at all, nothing he could bring to his aid. Was this, then, the end? Here, now, before he even had a chance to warn them, to tell them – He flashed on his wife Daisy’s beautiful face, her big blue eyes, her brittle smile; on Iris, the way she looked when she was frightened. Her definite brows would be drawn together slightly as she tried hard not to let it show, to be strong. When she looked like that, he wanted to fight the whole world for her. But there was nothing he could do to help them now. If this was the end, Iris wouldn’t rest until she’d got to the bottom of what had happened. She’d blunder in with her usual lack of subtlety, and he wouldn’t be able to stop her. Because he’d be gone. The figure in the en suite was moving past the washbasin. And then suddenly the door to the corridor came open and Kayleigh breezed into the room, smart in her black and white uniform, and bent over him on the bed, her perfectly made-up face full of concern. She put a warm hand on his shoulder. ‘Mr Osbourne? Feeling poorly, are you?’ The figure had retreated, but he could still see its shadowy reflection in the mirror. There’s someone in the toilet. He tried to say it. But he couldn’t even open his mouth. Through closed lips, ‘Hnmm’ was all that came out. Kayleigh’s smile didn’t slip but it became fixed, her eyes betraying her concern. ‘Oh dear! Well, don’t you worry, sir! To be on the safe side, I’m going to call an ambulance. And one of our guests is a doctor – I just saw him and his wife in the bar. I’ll go and fetch him, and while we’re waiting for the ambulance he can have a look at you. Let’s get you checked out.’ No! he tried to say. Don’t leave me! But all he could manage was a disgusting snort through his nose. ‘I’ll call the ambulance. And I’ll be back with the doctor in two secs!’ He tried to lift his arm, to point at the half-open door to the en suite, but he couldn’t move it a single centimetre. She smiled and squeezed his shoulder. And then she was gone, out of his line of vision, and he heard the door to the corridor open and shoosh closed on the thick pile of the carpet. The