The Game You Played Read Online Free

shoulders—a protective mechanism. “It’s possible.”
    “Did you go directly to get ice-creams?” she asked him.
    “Yes. Straight there.”
    “I’m asking because it seems there was a bit of a disagreement between your wife and yourself at the time. Maybe you went to grab yourself a beer first and cool down? Maybe you went somewhere that Tommy couldn’t follow?”
    “No, I didn’t go get a beer.” Luke sounded annoyed. “And that was hardly a disagreement. Tommy said he didn’t want an ice-cream and Phoebe insisted that he did. He thought getting ice-cream meant leaving the water park. I just don’t understand toddler talk like my wife does.”
    “Mr Basko,” said the woman, “I understand. I have a four-year-old at home. I was just framing a likely scenario. I know that when you turn around and your child is gone, often they’ve followed a family member or friend of the family. The child thinks they’re safe, because they’re with a trusted person. Only, they’re not safe, because the person has no idea they’ve got a kid following behind.”
    Detective Gilroy adjusted his microphone. “We agree that it’s the most likely scenario. That Tommy followed his father. But we can’t say that for sure, and we have to remain open to any possibility. We’ve studied all video footage between the water park and the ice-creamery that we’ve had available to us so far, and we haven’t found anything conclusive. We’re following up on a number of avenues of investigation. In short, the person who took Tommy will be in a number of the videos taken that day. It’s just a question of time before we discover their identity.”
    The reporter nodded, seeming satisfied with that, and she sat down again.
    Trent Gilroy breathed deeply and spoke into the microphone again. “The person who has Tommy Basko needs to either present themselves at a police station or release Tommy to a safe place—a school or a hospital. Because we will find out who you are, and the safe return of Tommy will go in your favour.”
    The detective ended the conference there. It was over.
    Luke and I stared at each other as the press shuffled out. Staring at each other was something we’d done a lot of since Tommy disappeared. We’d catch each other’s eye and then we’d just lock , unable to look away. In those moments, we were one, a stone block in which shock and grief were frozen solid.
     
     

4.    PHOEBE
     
    SIX MONTHS LATER
    Late June, Tuesday night
     
    I GLANCED AT THE TIME AND panicked. Almost 6:00 p.m.
    Luke would be home from work any minute. And I looked like I’d slept the day away and had barely been up out of bed. Which was true.
    I changed my clothes, ran a brush through my hair, and applied a minimal amount of makeup. Then dashed out to the courtyard to spray the plants with water. As long as they were wet, the plants gave the appearance of being looked after. Cucumbers were actually growing on the trellis, against all odds. Maybe I could make a show of picking them and putting them in a salad tonight. Wait, no, it was Tuesday. Luke always bought Thai on Tuesdays. My head was fuzzy—so fuzzy. I forgot things.
    Next, I did a tour of the house, moving a few cushions around, switching the TV on, opening a magazine, placing a couple of plates by the sink. Enough to look like I’d been down here during the day. Enough to look like I’d eaten.
    Then I rushed upstairs. The last stop on the tour was for my sake, not for Luke’s. I headed into my bedroom and pulled out the shoebox in my wardrobe. Six packets of sleeping tablets left. I counted the number of tablets in each packet. It was a ritual I performed every day. Maybe I was more like my mother than I thought. She’d had undiagnosed OCD tendencies. 
    I needed those tablets. There was no guarantee my psychiatrist would prescribe me more of them.
    In the drawer in my bedside table, I kept two packets of the sleeping pills and three of the antidepressants. The