Silent - Trapped

Two Years Earlier, Lucy  
 
She returned to the guest room, head aching. Time to think, to plan. Let Brendon ring someone and report her. She would not forget about Dad and the fire ten years ago and her half-brother Pete.  
 
She sat on the bed with her eyes firmly shut, wishing the pounding in her head would stop; an enormous roar that caused her to think of the sea. In her mind, she saw the unsettled waters hurtling towards a shore in the wind under the glare of a half moon. A brilliant shade of white exploded against the edges of her vision, and very slowly, facial features assembled, like dizzying spots, and she found herself staring into Terence Harlesden's steely blue eyes.  
 
Terence Harlesden. Philippa. She must dig deeper, find out what really happened, find out why Philippa had claimed to be Dad's other daughter.  Philippa had to be telling the truth; people wouldn't just make up a story like that.  She needed to make her way back into town, find Philippa and talk to Katie Whittaker again.  
 
Only then would she go home.
 
The cottage was empty. Silent. Back door open. No Arthur.  
 
Nothing, apart from the sense of someone waiting by the trees, watching the cottage, watching her.  A shaft of sunlight fell in the centre of the garden, creating patterns that danced in front of her eyes. The light obscured the person by the trees. She blinked; the next time she looked, the person had gone.
 
A sliver of unease.  Was she really safe in this cottage?  
 
After shutting and bolting the kitchen door, she went back inside. She borrowed seventy pounds from Arthur's bedroom (presumably the amount Brendon had instructed him to give her, all in a pile with an elastic band around and an envelope). She was about to hurry downstairs to write Arthur a note promising to repay the money when she heard sounds.
 
Footsteps on the stairs.  
 
Faint, unlike Arthur's more laboured steps.    
 
She froze, held her breath.
 
Someone coming up the stairs.  
 
Not Arthur.  
 
The figure in the tree, watching, waiting.  Climbing the steps to get to her. But she'd just locked and bolted the kitchen door.  No one could have got in through the kitchen door.  
The footsteps were getting closer.  
 
She glanced around Arthur's bedroom.  Nowhere to hide, apart from the wardrobe.
The footsteps stopped outside the bedroom door.  
 
Door opening.  
 
'Gotcha,' a voice said.