By the time the doorbell rang Howard was feeling better; he no longer felt like throwing up his insides on the soft carpet, a thing that he'd apologised to Eleanor a hundred times over. She'd sighed but told him it was fine.

"That'll be her," Will said brightly. Then there was scuffling on the other side of the door, which told them Will was getting up, probably to open the door for Carabella. Eleanor and Howard waited for his footsteps to recede before speaking.

"I'm sorry about the carpet," Howard said for the fifth time that minute.

"We'll need water to get it out," she replied. "But there's no way we're getting to the bathroom without risking our lives."

Howard smiled grimly. "Or getting out at all." Then he pointed to his phone and flashed nine fingers three times but she shook her head.

"If we call the police, they're going to take me away and they'll put me in jail," she whispered.

"But you'll have a trial."

"There's evidence. You heard Will—"

"But I thought you burnt the fabric." Howard frowned. "If anything we have the evidence because we've got the book and the pills. They'll have to believe us."

"I don't want to risk it." She swallowed, her voice faint. "I don't want Will getting caught."

"He's a murderer!"

Eleanor looked pained. "He's my brother!"

Howard glanced at the door, then leaned in. "You might think you love him but what kind of love means you have to strangle someone to keep them in check? Huh?"

Eleanor stared at him. From downstairs, they heard the sound of the front door opening.

"Will's gone," Howard hissed. "This is our only chance to get out of here. Let me call the police, Elle. At least in prison, you'll be alive, not left for dead on some vomit carpet."

Eleanor didn't stop him as he moved to the window. He dug out his phone, fingers shaking, but managed to dial three numbers.

"What's your emergency?"

Howard glanced down to see the thicket where he and Carabella had hidden the first time they were here.

"I need the police. Now. I'm locked in the room on the second floor – the one overlooking the thicket and"—he heard voices coming up the stairs—"Tenningway House," he finished quickly. There was no time to say any more because there was a knock on the door.

"Howard?" called Carabella, rapping on the door lightly. "Come out right now."

Swallowing hard, Howard hung up and glanced back to the window. It was of a certain type that meant it only went out about three centimetres – not far enough to shimmy through. If he could smash the glass, maybe they could climb down carefully. But he knew that wasn't possible – it was a sheer drop.

No. He would have to negotiate.

"Howard!" Carabella called again.

"Ma, he's going to kill us," Howard blurted out, his voice shaking. "He killed Jonathan. You have to believe me – we have the evidence right here, you just can't see it."

There was a moment of silence.

"Howard, she has a gun," said Will. "And I don't think she's afraid to use it."

Howard's hands were shaking uncontrollably now. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out – only a little stuttering 'uh' that sounded pathetic. Eleanor leaned towards the door.

"Carabella, if you have a gun, place it down now," she ordered firmly.

"Why?" Howard heard his grandmother shoot back. "I told him I'd get revenge on you - here's my chance to do it."

"I didn't kill Jonathan, Will did."

"Good for him."

"So kill him," Eleanor snapped. "You wanted to kill my dad but Will got there first so shoot him, not me."

"I don't want to be shot," said Will. "I want to decide how I die."

"You see?" Carabella said to Eleanor. "He said he doesn't want to be shot."

"Well, I don't want to be shot ei—"

"Howard! Give me the pills," Will burst out. There was another slight knocking at the door. "I'm sorry about what I said – you're right. I won't kill you—"

"I'll still shoot you—" Carabella was saying.

"No, you're going to shoot Will—"

"Howard—pills—now—"

Howard turned to the window. Their voices began to overlap. He willed the police to come faster, scanned the horizon for the flash of blue lights, the wail of a siren. He wanted to hear the crackle of walkie-talkies, of crunching gravel, of someone coming to save him.

And then there was a bang.

The door thudded, a scream. Howard threw himself to the floor, heard the tinkling of metal as the bullet ricocheted off something. He lay there for a few seconds, breathing heavily.

"Did I hit something?" Carabella asked into the silence.

"There's a hole in the door," replied Will. "Poke the nozzle just through there..."

Howard scrabbled to his feet, yanking Eleanor up in the process. She was curled on the floor, hands over her head. There was a small click as another bullet slid into the chamber.

"Up!" he roared and pulled her from the door just as a second shot was fired. He felt his eardrums vibrate, felt the floor rock underneath him and he wondered where the second bullet had gone. But he felt no pain, heard no scream, and so deciding the coast was clear, shoved Eleanor towards the bed. "Get down," he hissed.

Nodding, Eleanor crawled under the frame. He glanced back to the door. Chunks of wood scattered the floor and the wall opposite door had a hole gorged out. Howard glanced to the window. He'd have to smash the glass with something heavy – Eleanor's desk chair would have to do.

"Why don't you blow the lock off?" Will was asking. "Then we can get in easily."

"Okay. It's time I told him who the third man is anyway. Howard?"

Howard drew in a shaky breath and gripped the chair hard. He lifted it up, its legs facing away from him. He prepared to charge at the window.

"Howard, dear, you're the third man."

Dumbfounded, Howard paused. The chair seemed too heavy now; it wobbled uncertainly.

"I had no idea who the third man after the farmer and Jonathan would be," Carabella continued. "I knew I'd get to it when the time came but now I've decided. The third man is you."

Howard gripped the chair so hard he thought his knuckles would break. "Why me?" he said hoarsely.

It didn't fit. There had been a pattern between Jonathan and the farmer with their treatment of women– but Howard hadn't done anything of the sort. Had he? Christ. He couldn't doubt himself now, not when he needed to focus on smashing a window open.

Carabella remained silent.

"I really don't know," she said eventually. "But I have a feeling justice for William will be restored when you're dead."

Howard tensed. Then, with a growl, he charged at the window.

He threw himself against it, felt the thud and the spine of the chair digging into him, but he continued ramming the chair legs into the glass, feeling it shudder until it finally gave in.

The glass exploded outwards, showering the garden below with shards that sparkled in the sunlight. Howard heard the wail of a siren, saw a flash of blue light in the distance, but he didn't look any closer.

Whirling around, he picked up the diary and tub of pills from the floor and threw them through the open window. He intended to follow suit.

There was a slight breeze today and it ruffled his clothes as he turned around and awkwardly lifted his legs through the pane. He kicked out the last shards of glass, hands gripping the window sill so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Then he clambered down, lowering himself gently, his feet skidding against the exterior wall of the house.

He could see into Eleanor's room now. The lacy curtains billowed in his face but he could see the door had been busted open and two figures were pacing the room. One held something dark and ominous in their hand.

Howard adjusted his grip and lowered the rest of the way until his shoulders locked and he was fully dangling from the side of the building. His knees scraped against the brick and he could feel individual debris in his mouth. The sun warmed his back, and he basked in it for a few seconds.

Suddenly he really, really didn't want to let go.

Down below, he could hear the scuffling of feet on gravel, the growl of an engine, the murmur of voices. Straining, he craned his neck up to the fluttering curtains and his eyes found Carabella's. Under other circumstances, her nonchalant poke out of the window could be her checking the weather outside or feeling the breeze on her skin. Her eyes were aglow, lips closed. In any other setting, she would have looked peaceful, but as Howard hung from the side of the house, he knew not to be fooled.

She glanced at his deathly white, clenched hands, then back down to Howard. He opened his mouth but could only give a strained grunt. Then, with the same satisfied smile, she lowered the barrel of the gun to his left hand.

A loud bang echoed in Howard's ears. He felt himself spasm, felt something hot molten iron shoot up his arm, heard an inhumane sound rip through him, causing him to arch his back, screw his face, grip the window harder. The brick tasted like blood.

And then his hand fell from the window.

A few seconds later, he followed suit.