Roadkill (LiveWire) Read Free Page A

fact a couple of times I had to check it wasn’t just me and my imaginary friend chilling out in the canteen.
    “I don’t know! But for a start why she was on the bloody road in the first place. I mean, we all use the bridge.”
    Our sprawling estate, Whitmoor, was helpfully built on loads of farmland, separated by the road from the nearest town; Broadridge Heath with all its amenities, schools, sports centre. Clever old developers, I wonder how they swung that one. Come and live in the middle of the pretty countryside, oh we forgot to mention your only way out is across a motorway overpass. No wonder the estate is crap, full of bored teenagers and stressed out single mums.
    The computer blinks crossly into life, dust dancing over its screen as sun floods through the window. The room already smells musty, disused.
    “Perhaps she was hitching a lift, or getting dropped off.” Leo suggests, flicking through emails, “Hey this is interesting.”
    “No, if we get a lift they use the slip road and drop us at the top. Nobody would stop on a motorway. You know that!” But I am remembering that there is a lay-by somewhere down near the bridge, possibly even within a hundred yards of the place where she was found…..I’ve seen lorries parked overnight down there.
    Filing this thought away for future reference, I hitch myself up on the edge of the desk, legs dangling, peering at the screen.
     
    ‘Looking forward to it babe, I dare you to go for the big one! Don’t forget to message me on LV. ’
     
    “Who’s Kelly Johnson?”
    “How would I know? She had so many friends, I think she lost count,” I detect a note of bitterness in my voice and hastily swallow, “Seriously, could be anyone she met snowboarding, on the athletics team, street dance….We’re wasting our time. You were right. The police have already been over everything.”
    Energy fading I feel that wave of uselessness, apathy returning, and wonder if I could just spend the rest of my life in bed. It seemed like such a good idea this morning, but the sheer size of the task I have set myself now crushes me. I feel like a beetle under a boulder.
    “Shut it Caz, you need a sugar hit!” he scrunches the bag of sweets under my nose.
    “I hate dolly mixtures,” I tell him sulkily, scratching at my nail polish. Wish I hadn’t been so thorough when I got ready for the party last night. The dark red is always a bitch to get off. And it clashes with my red hair.
    “Eat it and pay attention.”
    Stuffing a handful in my mouth I look where he’s pointing. Leo’s nails are better manicured that mine.
    “Oh my god. Its LV.” Under the email is a little icon, and an advertising banner. The L and V are entwined in silver and black.
    “Click on it!” Behind the LV is an arty shadowy sword and moon, and the icon next to Kelly Johnson’s name was a purple rose with a six in the middle. Weird.
    Leo is amused, “What do you mean click on it?”
    I slap his shoulder, “You know what I mean. Like on those sites that pop up when you’re on the internet. You click and it takes you to a site.”
    “Why do you think it’s a site?”
    Why is he being so deliberately stupid? I lean over and grab the mouse.
    “Wow, it’s a forum! Look at all this stuff….” I start to get excited as adrenalin hits my bloodstream; or maybe it’s excess sugary sweets.
    “LiveWire. Extr eme sports for extreme people. Can you handle it?” Leo reads the bold slogan.
    I am already scrolling down, reading bits of postings, “Oh my god Leo, look, it’s just the kind of thing she loves. This photo is freaky.”
    My best friend peers at the thumbnail I indicate and then enlarges it. Two teenage girls are abseiling down a church. At night. They appear to be using a couple of ropes held by shadowy figures at the top of the crenulated bell tower. One of the rope holders is swigging from a bottle of vodka.
    “That’s crazy! They don’t have any proper safety equipment. How stupid is