Ashes and Echoes

Chapter 1

By the time Mara reached the estate, the rain was coming down in sheets, hammering the windscreen like it meant it. The wipers screeched with each pass, barely holding the night at bay. Her satnav had frozen somewhere along the last gravel track—screen grey, buffering—then blinked out for good. Like even it had decided not to bother.

She leaned forward, squinting through the dark. Trees clawed at the headlights. And then—there it was. The house. Bigger than she remembered. Elise had called it an “estate” in her message, breezy, offhand. But it looked old. Abandoned, almost. Ivy choked the stone. The roof sagged. The windows stared back—black, hollow. Waiting.

She turned onto the drive. Gravel crunched. The car eased to a stop. Mara sat for a moment, fingers stiff on the wheel, engine ticking as it cooled.

Was she early?

Elise hadn’t said much. A time. An address. A wine glass emoji.

She checked her phone. No signal. Just Searching… Of course.

She stepped out into the rain. Cold slapped her full in the face. Within seconds, her jeans were soaked. She grabbed her bag from the boot and turned towards the porch. The wind caught her coat and shoved.

Last week, she’d almost cancelled. She’d typed out half a message—Sorry, can’t make it. Work. But what work? A dead-end admin job and a flatmate who thought “dinner” meant three flavours of noodles?

The porch roof bowed with age. A dead plant slouched in a pot. Elise had said the key would be underneath.

It was. In a brittle plastic bag, rust kissing the edges.

The lock fought her. Then gave. The door creaked open. Not spooky. Just tired.

“Elise?” Her voice felt too loud.

Nothing.

She dropped her bag and tried the light switch. Dead. Another—same.

Brilliant.

She pulled the torch from her bag. For once, she was glad she’d packed it.

The beam swept over scratched wood panelling, dust-smeared paintings, a chandelier dulled with neglect.

The narrow beam lit a painting—three girls in a field. The colours had bled out. The glass cracked.

“Elise? Jodie?” she called again, quieter.

Still nothing.

To her left, a door sat ajar. She nudged it with her foot.

A sitting room. High ceiling. Curtains shut tight. Two armchairs, a sofa, coffee table. Everything beige and brown and old.

On the table:

A wine glass.

Half full.

She stepped closer. Red. Still fresh. Not dusty. Not abandoned. Next to it—a handbag. Black leather. Familiar.

Elise’s.

She picked it up. Inside: phone, keys, wallet, lipstick. The usual chaos of someone mid-week, mid-thought. Someone who hadn’t meant to leave.

So where the hell was she?

Behind her, floorboards creaked. She turned sharply, torch raised.

Nothing.

Her chest felt tight. She exhaled—and saw her breath.

She moved into the kitchen. The smell of damp and rosemary. Two mugs in the sink. A bottle of red on the side, open, breathing.

She ran a finger across the table. Dust. A ring of condensation.

Someone had been here. Recently.

Back in the hall, something caught her eye on the sideboard. A folded piece of paper.

She picked it up.

Five words. Neat handwriting.

I know what you did.

Her stomach dipped.

A joke? Elise’s idea of foreplay? But Elise didn’t do cryptic. Not when it was just the two of them.

She slipped the note into her pocket.

The stairs loomed.

She climbed slowly, torch in hand. The landing was darker. Quieter.

First door: a bedroom. Bed half-made. A scarf flung over a chair.

Elise’s.

Second: guest room. Tidy. Soulless. No sign of Jodie.

Third: study. Desk. Old laptop open, screen glowing orange.

1 document recovered after crash. Open? [Y/N]

She hovered. Clicked.

No title. Just bullet points. Jagged thoughts.

Mara – does she know I know?

Can I trust Jodie?

Weekend – last chance.

Her pulse jumped.

Then—

A door slammed below.

Not wind. Not hinges.

Someone was here.

She froze. Torch shaking in her grip.

Footsteps. Gravel.

A car.

Then—

“Bloody rain,” came a voice. Dry. Familiar. Jodie.

Relief hit like a gut punch.

Mara ran downstairs. Slipped on the bottom step. Caught herself.

Jodie stood in the doorway, dry as bone. Coat pristine. Lipstick perfect.

“Oh good,” she said. “You’re not dead. Yet.”

“You’re late.”

“Traffic. And a flock of sheep with boundary issues. I let them win.” Jodie peered inside. “Where’s Elise? No fire? No wine and cheese? What is this, a trap?”

“She’s not here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got here over an hour ago. Her stuff’s here. But she’s not.”

“No power?”

“No phone signal either.”

Jodie scanned the room. “That’s her bag. No doubt.”

“Her laptop’s upstairs. There’s a file. With our names in it.”

Jodie’s brow rose. “Show me.”

Upstairs, the study was just as she’d left it. Jodie read the screen in silence.

“‘Does she know I know?’” she read aloud. “Charming.”

“You think it’s a joke?”

“I think it’s a setup.”

“A trap?”

“Elise disappears. Leaves riddles. A glass of wine. A note. Of course it’s a trap.”

“There was another note,” Mara said. “Downstairs.”

Jodie took it. Read it twice. Set it down carefully.

“That narrows it down.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means Elise knows things we’d rather she didn’t.”

Silence. Long. Heavy.

“So what now?”

“We search. Top to bottom. If she’s hiding, we find her. If not—”

“There’s a shed,” Mara said. “Out back.”

They went. Rain now a mist. The path slick. The key, as always, hidden under the pot.

Inside: tools. Crates. Broken furniture. No Elise.

Jodie exhaled. “Unless she’s in the toolbox, we’re done here.”

Back inside, they peeled off wet layers.

“You think she’s doing this on purpose?” Mara asked.

“I think Elise is angry. And this—this is her stage.”

“And if it’s not a performance?”

“Then we’re the last people to see her. If she’s really missing—it’s on us.”

Mara sank onto the bottom step.

“What the hell is happening?”

Jodie crouched beside her. “Did you ever tell her? About Marcus?”

Mara stilled. “No. Never.”

“Then how did she know?”

“I don’t know,” Mara said. “But she did. And now she’s gone.”

Jodie walked to the sitting room. Picked up the glass. Cool to the touch. A faint lipstick smear.

Merlot. Elise’s go-to.

She set it back down.

“You okay?” Mara called.

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“Elise liked control,” Jodie said. “And we gave it to her.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

“A note. A laptop. A missing person. None of this is random.”

“She might be hurt.”

“She might. But if anyone would fake their own disappearance just to prove a point…”

She looked up the stairs.

“Come on. Let’s check her room again.”

Upstairs, everything looked the same. Clothes on the bed. Charger still plugged in. One earring on the nightstand.

“She didn’t pack,” Mara said. “Not even a jacket.”

Jodie knelt. Reached under the bed. Pulled out a receipt.

“Wine delivery. Two bottles. Two days ago.”

“She meant to be here.”

“She meant to host us.”

They stood.

Then Jodie said, “You remember Brighton?”

“What?”

“When she found your necklace in Marcus’s room.”

“She said it didn’t mean anything.”

“She lied. She knew.”

Rain whispered at the glass.

“This isn’t just about Marcus,” Jodie said. “It never was.”

“I didn’t think she’d find out.”

“She always finds out.”

A creak on the landing.

They froze.

Listened.

Nothing.

“Probably the house,” Mara whispered.

Jodie opened the door. Torch raised.

Empty.

“This place,” she muttered. “Every sound’s got teeth.”

Mara followed. “Should we stay?”

“You want to drive back in this?”

“No.”

“Then we stay. Tomorrow, we search properly.”

She looked back into Elise’s room.

If Elise had left—

She hadn’t gone quietly.

The rain had stopped sometime in the night, but the air still pressed in close. Mist clung to the hedges like it didn’t know where else to go.

Mara stood at the kitchen sink, both hands curled around a mug of coffee gone lukewarm. She hadn’t slept—not properly. Just drifted in and out of shallow dreams that felt more like reruns of memories than rest.

Upstairs, it was quiet. Jodie hadn’t moved when Mara got up before five. If she was awake now, she wasn’t making it known. The house creaked to itself, shifting in that slow, unnerving way old buildings did. Like it had its own language and didn’t care if anyone was listening.

The note was still in her pocket.

She’d looked at it again. Three times? Four? The words hadn’t changed, but in daylight, they felt heavier. More sure of themselves.

I know what you did.

Could’ve meant anything. But she knew it didn’t.

She pulled out her phone again, thumbed the screen. Nothing. Still no signal. She opened the back door and stepped into the cold, holding the handset high, like a kid hoping for magic. Like the sky might take pity and grant her a single bar.

Still nothing.

The morning was flat. Sky the colour of dishwater. The kind of grey that felt like it would last all week.

She walked the garden path slowly, half for warmth, half to move. Moss shifted under her boots. In the hedgerow, something rustled. A bird, probably. Hopefully.

When she came back in, Jodie was in the kitchen. Barefoot, arms crossed.

“You went out alone?”

“Just checking for signal,” Mara said. “Still nothing.”

Jodie frowned. “Let me know next time.”

“I wasn’t going far.”

“I didn’t say you were. I said tell me.”

Their eyes held for a second longer than necessary. Then Jodie broke the moment and reached for the coffee pot, pouring herself a mug like the conversation hadn’t happened.

“Did you sleep?” Mara asked.

“Barely. You?”

“Kept hearing things.”

“Old house,” Jodie muttered. “Every board’s got something to say.”

They drank in silence. Then Jodie set her mug down with the kind of finality that meant action.

“Right. Let’s get on with it.”

“Search the house?”

Jodie nodded. “Every room. Properly this time. Elise didn’t bring us here for a reunion.”

“Or she did. Just not the kind we wanted.”

Jodie didn’t react. “Let’s find out.”

They started upstairs. Mara took the guest room. Jodie went back to the study.

The guest room looked like it had never been touched. Lavender in the air. Clean sheets. No dust under the bed, no forgotten suitcase. Nothing behind the drawers. Nothing in the wardrobe. Just space.

Down the hall, she heard drawers opening. Cupboard doors slamming shut. Jodie’s usual tact.

They met back on the landing.

“Anything?”

“Dead laptop,” Jodie said. “Invoice from last year. You?”

“Spotless.”

They checked Elise’s bedroom again. Same scene. Half-packed clothes. Scarf on the bed. Nothing new.

In the bathroom, Jodie opened the mirrored cabinet.

“Temazepam,” she said, holding up a box. “Strong ones.”

“Think she couldn’t sleep?”

“Or she needed to. Fully. Maybe she was preparing for something.”

That sick feeling came back. The one that had settled in Mara’s gut the minute she stepped through the door last night. This wasn’t a social visit. It wasn’t even a setup.

It was something else. A reckoning.

“Attic?” Jodie said suddenly.

“There’s an attic?”

“There’s always an attic.”

They found the hatch in the ceiling above the upstairs landing. Jodie fetched a chair from the kitchen, climbed up, and pulled it open. A wooden ladder slid down, groaning under its own weight.

“After you.”

“Why me?”

“You’re lighter. And you still owe me for Brighton.”

Mara climbed slowly.

The attic smelled of old dust and dry wood. Boxes lined the walls—some tied up with string, others gaping open. She flicked on her torch.

In the far corner: a trunk.

“Mara?” Jodie’s voice drifted up from below.

“I found something.”

She crossed the attic floor, crouched beside the trunk, and eased it open.

Letters. A few photos. A scarf she recognised from university—the one Elise had worn to death. And at the bottom: a notebook.

She opened it.

The first page was blank.

The second wasn’t.

They think they know me. They don’t. But they will.

Elise’s handwriting. Sharp, precise. That same angled E she always did in cards.

Mara turned the next page.

Scrawl. Crossed-out lines. Rewritten thoughts.

Don’t trust them. Trust no one. They lie. They always lie.

Then, on its own line:

Jodie is watching me. Pretending. Mara doesn’t see it yet. But she will.

The air in the attic suddenly felt too still. Too cold.

“You okay up there?” Jodie called.

“Yeah. Just dusty.”

She kept turning pages. Half-thoughts. Scribbles. Drawings in the margins—stars, symbols. One page had just a single word, centred:

DECISION

It didn’t feel like a journal. It felt like a warning.

She tucked the notebook under her arm.

“I’m coming down.”

Jodie was waiting at the bottom. “What did you find?”

“Letters. Some old stuff. This.” She held up the notebook.

“Elise’s?”

Mara nodded.

“Can I see it?”

“Later. I want to read it through properly first.”

Jodie didn’t argue. But she looked at the notebook like she’d remember every crease.

Back in the kitchen, the clock read 08:17. Still early. Somehow already too late.

“I think we should try to leave,” Mara said.

“Where to?”

“Town. Anywhere with signal. We need to report her missing.”

Jodie nodded slowly. “Alright. Let’s try. If the car starts.”

They grabbed jackets, keys, phones—just the basics. Ten minutes later, they were reversing down the track.

It was worse in daylight. Mud, ruts, standing water in the dips.

They didn’t make it far.

The car jolted. Steering went heavy. Jodie hit the brakes.

“That didn’t feel right.”

“Puncture?”

They got out. Cold bit straight through her coat. Mara walked round to the back.

Left rear tyre—flat. Torn, not worn.

Slashed.

She crouched down. “That wasn’t a rock.”