We All Fall Down: The most gripping thriller you'll read this year!

By Cynthia Clark

Many years ago orphans Bea, her brother Sebastian, Helen, Sandra and John lived together in a home, with their carer Miriam. But Miriam didn't care at all. If you asked the children, they would have said that Miriam hated them. And it's no fun living with someone who hates you, so the children decided to do something about it... Then a terrible accident changed everything, and the children were ripped apart from each other.

Many years ago Ronnie Moss made a mistake he can never take back, no matter how much he wishes he could, so instead he runs for his life. But he can't run forever.

Many years later the secrets of the past are finally being revealed, and nothing will ever be the same again.

Cynthia Clark has written a breathtaking suspense novel for all fans of B A Paris and Sophie Hannah.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Dec 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781786699664

Cynthia Clark

Cynthia Clark was born and brought up in Malta, where she graduated in Communications and went to work for a daily newspaper. She has since lived in the US, where she worked as a writer in online business journals. She and her husband now live in the States with their twin daughters.

Book preview

1

1989

The sound was deafening. It rang in Bea’s ears in a never-ending echo. The screeching of brakes, the clanging of metal, the ear-piercing screaming. Bea’s brain hurt as she attempted to make sense of what was happening.

She tried to look around but was surrounded by darkness. Her breathing started getting heavier as panic set in. Where was she? And then she realised that her eyes were closed. She tried to open them, wondering why such a simple action required so much effort. Terrified that it did. Her eyelids felt heavy, as if they had been glued together. Her cheeks burned. Her mouth felt like parchment. She licked her lips to ease the dryness. Why did they taste like metal? And what was that warm, sticky substance covering them?

Clenching her teeth, she winced as she finally opened her eyes. It was still dark. Bea’s heart started beating faster and faster. So loud that she could hear it thumping in her ears. Boom boom, boom boom, boom boom.

She started moving her right arm towards her face, wanting to find out what was obstructing her vision. The slight movement sent a sharp stabbing pain through her shoulders, shooting all the way down her spine. ‘Aargh,’ she cried, unable to keep the scream from escaping. She wanted to just lie there, not move, avoid any more pain. But the noises that surrounded her were petrifying. She had to find out what was happening. If this was a nightmare, she needed to wake herself up.

For a few moments she remained still, trying to put the fragmented puzzle pieces together, distinguish between the cacophony of noises. The most obvious were sirens. A lot of them. One merging into the other. She could hear muffled voices. Straining her ears, she tried to make sense of what they were saying, but she couldn’t make out the words. She could only discern a sense of urgency. Short sentences, staccato orders.

Again she tried to move her arm, wincing through the pain until her hand landed on her face. There was nothing covering her, nothing obstructing her vision. Why couldn’t she see? Why was it so dark? Wasn’t it supposed to be daylight?

Closing her eyes tightly, she allowed her mind to go back to the events of that morning. Bea remembered the knock on the door and the feeling of dread when she realised that she’d overslept. She quickly jumped out of the small bed, oblivious to the creaking sound coming from the too-old mattress. Her uniform was hanging on the door. Bea hastily removed her nightgown, throwing it back on the bed behind her, and slipped on her shirt, her fingers trembling as she fumbled with the tiny buttons, the anxiety costing her precious seconds. But she couldn’t risk missing even one button. Everything had to be pristine. Miriam would notice even the slightest crease, the smallest scuff.

Balancing on one foot, she pulled up her skirt, struggling with the hook and bar and then pulling up the zip, twisting the garment round so that the opening was perfectly centred. It was cold, that January chill that seeped into your bones, but she didn’t have time to put on tights. Instead, she grabbed a pair of ankle socks, pulling them on before quickly slipping her feet into the black T-bar shoes as she wrapped the tie around her neck, knotting it expertly, her fingers flying over the thick fabric.

She quickly made the bed, pulling the bottom sheet tight over the mattress and then straightening the quilt, making sure there were no creases. Miriam would check. She always did.

Turning round, she grabbed her blazer and put her right arm into the sleeve, picking up her bag as she continued putting it on. With trembling fingers, she opened the zip on her bag and peeked through a small, hardly visible tear in the lining, heaving a sigh of relief when she saw what she was looking for. Today it was her turn. And she was ready.

As she sprinted the couple of steps towards the door, she caught a glimpse of her face in the tiny mirror. Her heart sank. Her face was lined with creases. But that wasn’t the biggest problem. Her hair! She had forgotten all about it. The thick brown tresses were coming out of her ponytail, forming a halo round her face. For a second she stood still, taking stock of the situation, trying to figure out what to do. Did she have time to brush it?

The sound of a bell ringing filtered into her bedroom. She had exactly one minute to get downstairs for breakfast. Quickly she removed her hair band and ran her fingers through her long hair, pulling it back into a high ponytail. Spitting in her hands, she tried to smooth down the flyaways, but the stubborn strands escaped again, curling upwards as if they had a life of their own. Shaking her head, she picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder and ran down the corridor.

‘You’re late.’ The words were spat at her the moment she walked into the kitchen, quashing any hope of going unnoticed.

Bea stopped, her head bowed, looking straight down, trying to focus on the small hexagonal black and white tiles, her eyes following their geometric outline.

‘Look at me.’ The voice sent shivers down Bea’s spine.

Her head was jolted upwards before she could move, pain spreading through her scalp as her ponytail was tugged ferociously down. Miriam’s face was scrunched up, her eyes blazing angrily, her lips twisted in disgust.

‘Is this how you present yourself? Is this how you go to school?’ Miriam screamed, her voice making Bea’s ears ring. ‘Aren’t you embarrassed?’

Bea didn’t say anything, knowing better than to take the bait. Instead she continued standing there, not daring to move even a millimetre, barely breathing, her eyes downturned.

‘Did you even wash your face?’ Miriam’s tinny voice was getting louder.

A large hand grabbed her chin, tilting her face upwards until Bea had no choice but to stare right into Miriam’s hate-filled eyes. Her face was so close that Bea could see the short dark hairs on the side of Miriam’s lips, the piece of apple skin stuck between her teeth. ‘Answer me, you stupid little girl.’

‘I… I…’ she stuttered, unsure what to say, how to get out of this certain mess.

‘Why are you stammering? Have you forgotten how to speak? Or are you just dumb?’

Bea swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked, willing the tears away. Crying was not an option. Nothing good would come out of that. It would only make matters worse. Miriam fed on weakness, it made her feel more powerful, gave her the drive to be more cruel. And today, more than any other time, Bea needed to be strong.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t have the time,’ Bea said, exerting tremendous effort to keep her voice steady.

‘That’s because you woke up late. You lazy, lazy girl.’

The first slap across her left cheek took her by surprise even though she should have been expecting it. There was a sharp pain in her neck as her head spun to the right. She pursed her lips tightly to keep herself from screaming with pain and frustration. Looking round, she saw the other children sitting at the table, their heads bowed, staring at their plates, their greyish-looking oatmeal untouched, going cold. Nobody was eating. Nobody dared to. Even if they were starving.

‘Go wash your face,’ Miriam yelled. Obediently Bea started walking towards the kitchen sink, shuddering slightly at the thought of the cold water. Rolling up the sleeves of her blazer, she stood on her toes and reached for the tap, turning it on.

‘What are you waiting for? We don’t have all day,’ Miriam spat at her.

Bea put her hands underneath the tap, shivering as the icy stream of water hit her skin. She gritted her teeth, not daring to give into the instinct of pulling them back. Instead she brought her cupped palms to her face and splashed the frigid water onto her cheeks and forehead. ‘Aaah.’ The word escaped before she could stop it and Bea bit her lip in fear.

‘Isn’t the temperature up to your standards?’ came the sarcastic remark. Bea said nothing, but continued splashing the icy water onto her face, rubbing her eyes.

‘Answer me, child!’

‘No, no, it’s OK,’ she responded quickly, the lie stinging her tongue.

Turning round, she was reaching out for a towel when Miriam snatched it away. The woman’s lips curled into a smirk. ‘Go wait outside. And don’t you dare get on the van before we’re ready.’

Bea’s eyes flitted towards the door. Freedom, at least for a few hours, was only a few steps away. But then she remembered. She couldn’t leave yet; there was still something she needed to do. She couldn’t let the others down. ‘But I’m hungry.’ The words spilled out of her mouth as she tried to formulate a plan. Anything to buy her time, give her a moment to think, to seek the opportunity she needed.

‘You should have thought about that before sleeping in.’ Drops of spit flew out of Miriam’s mouth as she screamed, her face contorted, her eyes so wild they looked demonic. Before Bea realised what was happening, Miriam had reached behind her and snatched a frying pan from the counter. Grabbing Bea by the arm, her fingers digging into the girl’s flesh, Miriam raised the frying pan over her head and brought it swiftly onto Bea’s bottom.

A strangled scream escaped her lips, tears springing to her eyes, fear bubbling inside her chest. She closed her eyes tight and tried to stiffen her body. ‘Aargh,’ she cried when the frying pan hit again. And again. Bea bit her lip to stop herself from screaming in pain, the signs of weakness that would give Miriam fuel to continue. And then, a loud bang. Bea opened her eyes and saw the frying pan on the ground, Miriam holding her hand against her chest. ‘See what you’ve made me do!’ the woman exclaimed.

The noise of porcelain smashing on the hard stone floor filled the kitchen. Bea did not dare look up, but from the corner of her eye she saw Miriam stop, pivot round. ‘What was that?’ she screeched.

The blue-eyed boy pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I dropped my bowl. I’ll clean it up.’

In seconds Miriam was standing next to him, her hand grabbing his too-long hair, pulling until he was bent double, his face dangerously close to the shards of ceramic. ‘You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Thought you were going to distract me, save your sister.’ With her last statement she pulled hard at Sebastian’s hair until his head jerked towards Bea. He looked at her, his mouth set in a thin line but his eyes sparkling. Bea knew he was in pain. And she was even more grateful.

The seconds ticked by. Nobody dared speak, say anything, make a noise. They almost held their breath, not wanting to be noticed, for Miriam to turn her ire on them.

‘Clean it up.’ Bea could see the older woman’s spit shower upon his upturned face. Miriam’s eyes were wild, her mouth twisted in anger. But he didn’t look frightened. Slowly, he straightened up, his eyes locked on Miriam. He started picking up the pieces of porcelain and placing them on the table. Then he took a paper towel from the table and squatted back down, wiping the floor. In seconds the towel was soaked. Standing up, he took a step towards the kitchen counter.

She grabbed his arm so forcefully that he almost slammed into her when he turned round. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

He smirked. ‘To get more towels.’

Miriam’s eyes flickered as she took stock of Sebastian. ‘You’re not wasting more money. Remove your jersey.’

The gasp was almost inaudible. Bea felt her heart squeeze. She knew how much that jersey meant to Sebastian. It had been their father’s and he had longed to grow big enough to fit in it. Bea held her breath as she looked at her brother. His mouth was set, his eyes narrowed. She knew that he wanted to refuse, to stand up to Miriam as they should have a long time ago. It was getting late and they needed to leave for school soon. Miriam hated tardiness, didn’t want people questioning her ability to take care of the children. She’d come at Sebastian later, but he’d think of some way to defend himself. Out of the five of them, he was the most defiant. The only things that scared him were Miriam’s threats of sending him away, of separating him from the only family he knew.

Bea closed her eyes. When she opened them, Sebastian was looking right at her. He bobbed his head slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. She knew this was the moment she’d been waiting for, the opportunity that she had to snatch. She nodded back. Quickly, he removed his sweater and bent down to the ground.

Knowing that she didn’t have one moment to waste, Bea put her hand into her schoolbag. Her forefinger slid into the small slit in the lining. With care she pulled out a small bag, holding her breath as she tiptoed towards the head of the table and leaned forward, emptying the bag into Miriam’s waiting bowl.

Sebastian coughed. Once. Twice. Three times. Bea gingerly picked up the spoon and mixed the powder into the gluggy oatmeal.

‘What are you waiting for?’ There was a sharp edge to Miriam’s voice. Bea stepped back and Sebastian bent over and sopped the oatmeal with his favourite jersey.

Miriam turned round and focused back on Bea. ‘Get out of my sight.’ The words were music to Bea’s ears. The beating was over, thanks to Sebastian. She started walking towards the door, aware of the pain radiating from her bottom. Sitting down was going to be excruciating. As it always was.

She was close to the door. In two steps she’d be outside, away from her, at least for now. But suddenly her arm was yanked backwards and she was forced to turn round. Miriam was glaring at her, her eyes narrowed. ‘Did you touch my bowl?’

Bea’s eyes searched the table, the faces of the other children, sitting with their heads bent, not making a sound. Sebastian, still wiping the floor with his woollen sweater. And then she looked at where Miriam was pointing. The spoon was in the bowl instead of resting on the napkin, where it had been.

‘No, I wouldn’t dare,’ she responded. It was the truth. Nobody dared. Until they had to. Until they had no choice but to take action to save themselves from the continuous abuse, the constant fear.

‘Who touched my bowl?’ Miriam’s hand was still wrapped round Bea’s arm, her nails digging into her flesh through the thin fabric of the third-hand blazer. She turned and looked up and down the table. Nobody spoke. They barely dared to breathe.

Dragging Bea with her, Miriam marched towards the table. She took out the spoon and touched it to her lips. ‘You put something in here. You’re trying to poison me, aren’t you? Who was it?’

She glared at them, looking at each one for long seconds, searching their faces. But nobody spoke.

The clock chimed, breaking the silence. ‘Don’t think you’ve got away with this. I’m going to find out who is trying to kill me. And if nobody comes forward, then you’re all going to pay.’ She motioned towards the table: ‘Now, clean up this mess.’ Turning towards Bea, she screamed, ‘You, wait outside.’

The cold air hit her still-wet hairline, diverting her attention from the pain of the beating. Rubbing her sleeve over her temples, she dried them as best she could before walking behind the van, trying to get cover from the whipping wind. The door was open, but she didn’t dare go against Miriam’s orders and take shelter inside. Nothing good would come out of that.

The minutes ticked by endlessly. Bea wrapped her arms across her chest, trying to keep herself warm. She paced to and fro next to the van, hoping that the movement would help her warm up. Her teeth chattered as she shivered uncontrollably. Finally, after what seemed like an interminable time, the door opened and the other children started filing out, slowly getting in the van. They glanced at her, their eyes soft with pity. She felt her arm being squeezed and looked up. John smiled at her. ‘You did good,’ he whispered. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Get in the van,’ Miriam roared at Bea.

Careful not to let her bag bounce against her aching bottom, Bea climbed the two steps into the van. It was still terribly cold, but at least the wind was no longer whipping. She found a seat and lowered herself gingerly onto it, scrunching her face in pain as her bottom hit the hard vinyl.

A hand reached out and covered hers, squeezing slightly. Sebastian was looking straight ahead, his chin raised, his jaw set. ‘You’ll get her next time,’ he whispered, his lips barely moving. She squeezed his hand back, thankful for his intervention this morning, even though the diversion didn’t lead to the desired results.

The van rumbled as Miriam turned the key in the ignition. They were off. Soon they would be in school and for a few hours Bea wouldn’t have to worry about Miriam. She could focus on learning all that she could, making sure that she continued paving her way out of this horrible situation she was in.

Huddling next to Sebastian in the van, Bea could still not relax. As the van meandered through the streets, she wondered what punishment Miriam would concoct, what would be awaiting them when they got back to the house this evening. ‘Do you think she’ll call the police?’ she whispered to Sebastian.

‘Shhh.’ His hand tightened over hers. ‘She wouldn’t dare, don’t worry about it.’

He was probably right. Miriam would never risk drawing attention to herself. She’d be too scared one of the children would say something about the way she treated them. Or that the police would notice a bruise too many, or the children’s too-thin frames.

‘What if she finds it?’ she muttered.

Sebastian said nothing. She looked at her brother and saw him staring straight ahead, his face immobile, his mouth set in a thin line.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he finally said.

She tried to focus on the here and now. Sebastian’s hand covering hers, helping her feel safe. The swaying of her body as the van rocked from side to side. The cars zooming past. But she couldn’t erase the image of Miriam speeding back to the home, going through their things, looking for something, anything that would give up what they’d been trying to do.

Bea shivered as her body erupted in goosebumps. Her heart missed a beat at the thought that Miriam would act on her biggest threat and send one of them away, separate them from the only family that they’d known for years – each other. She had made the threat many times. She’d pick up the phone, shake the receiver at them, tell them it would only take one call and they’d be at the mercy of the system. That one word from her and they would end up in different homes and might not see each other again. They heard this mantra over and over, a persistent reminder that their future depended on her.

She felt her hand being squeezed and looked at her brother. Sebastian curled his mouth in the smallest of smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Bea longed for the years to go by, for them to grow up, to become independent, able to leave that place, take decisions for themselves. But for now they just had to survive from one day to the next.

2

Ronnie Moss had been awake for thirty-seven hours. A whole night with not even a glimpse of his bed. Or any other bed for that matter. He’d tried to take a snooze in the lorry while waiting for the delivery to be loaded, a process that had taken hours longer than it should have. But he couldn’t. There was too much noise at the furniture factory just outside Aberdeen. So instead he’d gone to a cafe and drunk one coffee after another, hoping that the caffeine would be enough to keep him awake for the drive back to London.

Finally the lorry was loaded. ‘There’s a bed and breakfast a ten-minute drive down the motorway,’ the foreman said. ‘Tell them you were picking up from here and they’ll give you a good price.’

But Ronnie just shook his head. He had another job the following day and he didn’t want to miss it. He’d have to drive all night to get back to London and hopefully have enough time to catch a few hours’ sleep before leaving again. This job wasn’t ideal, but it paid well, and he was not going to risk losing it. Laura wanted to get married soon and she’d already started talking about buying a flat in Whitechapel.

He was about to get into the lorry cab and start driving when he spotted the telephone box. It was just before nine; Laura would still be awake, studying for her upcoming exams. She was determined to become a teacher and a steady income would be helpful. His heart filled with love and he felt the urge to hear her voice.

The telephone booth’s door was broken. Ronnie huddled in the corner, pulling his jacket tightly around him, trying to protect himself from the whipping wind. It had been a cold winter, but here in Scotland it was even worse. He wasn’t sure what the temperature was, but it was certainly below freezing. His breath burst out of his nostrils in two streams of vapour.

Ronnie removed his gloves and put some coins into the telephone before dialling the familiar number, hoping Laura’s dad wouldn’t answer. Mr Yates didn’t like it when Ronnie called so late. Still, his heartbeat accelerated with every ring. He couldn’t wait to hear Laura’s gentle voice. Her sweet whispers were the push he needed to make the drive back.

‘Hello.’ He heaved a sigh of relief when he heard Laura’s breathy voice, his heart filling with love for his girlfriend. Soon to be fiancée, he thought. He couldn’t wait to propose, to take the next step in their relationship. She was everything he had ever wished for in a girl and he couldn’t believe his luck when she agreed to go out with him. He thought about her soft skin and gentle blue eyes, her golden hair that glowed in the light.

‘Hey baby, how are you?’ he whispered into the receiver, cradling it gently in his big hands.

The seconds ticked by, the silence only broken by noise from the passing cars. Ronnie shuffled his weight from one leg to the other. ‘Hello, are you there?’

‘Yes, yes, uhm, hi,’ Laura finally responded.

‘What’s up, baby? Did I wake you up?’

‘Uhm, no.’ Another pause. ‘Where are you?’

‘Just outside Aberdeen. It’s friggin’ cold up here. I can barely feel my fingers.’ As he spoke, Ronnie huddled even further in the telephone box, bending his head and trying to keep his face out of the blowing wind. ‘What have you been up to today?’

‘Oh, the usual.’ Laura’s voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear it over the din of traffic. ‘I spent the day at the library and then home to continue studying.’

‘Sounds like my girl!’ His heart filled with tenderness as he imagined her sitting on her bed, surrounded by books, her long neck bent over the one she was reading, fingers wrapped round a pen ready to take notes. ‘I’m off this weekend. How about I take you to dinner?’

Moments passed without an answer. Ronnie could hear her breathing from the other end of the line. Something started to feel wrong. This was not the Laura he was used to, the one whose eyes shone brightly whenever she saw him, who would talk so fast every time he called her that he could barely keep up. The girl who wrapped her arms so tight round his neck that he felt the breath knocked out of him. ‘Baby, what’s up?’ he coaxed.

‘Uhm, nothing, just tired that’s all.’ Her voice sounded shifty, as if she was hiding something.

‘Come on, baby, speak to me. Tell me what’s up. How can I help?’

‘It’s nothing. When will you be home?’

‘I’m leaving now, should be back by eight, or nine at the latest. Plan to sleep for a few hours, then I have another job in the afternoon. Just to Wales and back so it should be quick.’

The line crackled and then silence. ‘Laura, are you still there?’ he asked, shaking the receiver in his hands.

‘Uhm, yes.’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

‘What’s wrong? You don’t sound yourself.’

‘Let’s talk this weekend.’

‘No, tell me now. I can’t wait that long.’ Suddenly the need to know became overpowering, the most important thing in his life.

‘It’s just… I don’t know…’ she started.

Ronnie could hear the tremble in her voice. A knot formed in his throat and he swallowed hard to get rid of it. ‘Please, baby, just tell me.’

‘I… I don’t think we should see each other any more.’ The words came out in one gulp, as if she was afraid that if she stopped to think she would never utter them.

Ronnie put his hand against the telephone box wall, using it to steady himself. His legs felt like jelly, his knees shaking so badly that he worried they would buckle under his weight. He felt the blood drain from his head. ‘But… I thought things were going well.’

‘They were, but you’re always away, driving for days. It’s not working.’

‘But, baby, this is until I can find a steady job. It’s only temporary. I’m saving up so we can buy a flat.’

‘You’ve been saying that for months. It was always meant to be temporary. But we both know that it isn’t, that you will continue doing this because it’s easier than looking for another job.’ There was an edge to her voice that Ronnie had never heard before. Condemnation mingled with resignation.

‘I’ll quit. As soon as I get back. I promise. I’ll come straight to your house after I drop the lorry so we can talk.’

One, two, three. The seconds ticked by. She made no sound. All Ronnie could hear was the wind blowing inside the telephone box and the cars whizzing by outside.

‘I’m sorry,’ she finally said. ‘It’s just, I don’t know, it hasn’t felt right for me for a while now. It’s better to break it off now, before we get even more involved.’

‘But we are involved.’ He hated how raspy his voice sounded, how the words seemed to shake slightly. But still, he continued. ‘I was going to ask you to marry me, for fuck’s sake.’

‘I’m sorry, Ronnie. It’s better like this. Have a safe drive back.’ The click of the line felt like the last nail in the coffin holding their relationship.

*

The wind threatened to knock him off his feet, but he could barely feel it. He walked right to the lorry and fumbled with the keys, his trembling hands making it hard to find the ignition. He was determined to drive back and go straight to Laura’s house, talk to her, make her see sense, promise to quit this job, find a better one.

But as the hours went by, he started feeling less confident. She had sounded so determined. She had not even said goodbye, just hung up. Maybe he’d give her a couple of days to think about it. Take the next job, make some more money, then quit and go find her.

But what if she still didn’t want him back? Laura was the love of his life. He felt so lucky to have her. And now she was walking away from him.

‘Damn!’ He banged his fist against the steering wheel, wanting to be anywhere but in the lorry. He was exhausted, tired to the bone, but he had no choice other than to keep on driving.

He was thirsty. Reaching for his water bottle, he realised it was empty. ‘What the fuck!’ He could stop, find a twenty-four-hour shop. But that would waste time that he didn’t have.

And then he had remembered the small bottle of Scotch he had bought for his father. He’d take a small sip, just to wet his dry throat.

Ronnie rummaged inside his bag, his eyes not leaving the road. Holding the top tightly between his right molars, he turned the bottle with his hand until the seal gave way. He took a sip, the burning sensation in his throat momentarily making him forget the pain in his heart. One sip, then another, and another. Until the conversation with Laura started to seem hazy. Perhaps she was just having a bad day. He’d go to her house and speak with her. In fact, he’d go straight there, not even bother dropping off the delivery, getting rid of the lorry. She’d be pleased to see him, of that he was sure.

He needed to go to the bathroom, but didn’t want to stop. He was bone tired. His eyes kept fluttering shut and he had to fight to stay awake, to keep his focus on the road ahead. His knuckles were white as he tightened his fingers around the steering wheel, willing the journey to come to an end.

Might as well finish this, he thought, looking at the amber liquid. Bringing the bottle to his mouth, he took a deep swig.

And then, as he put the bottle down, he saw it. The blue van right