Authors: James Dawson
And then she fell.
She just went down. It was like she dissolved into the earth. She didn’t jump, or even stumble. There wasn’t a gust of wind to sweep her over the edge. The ground beneath her just
crumbled.
Her eyes widened.
She was too stunned to speak.
But true terror was written all over her face. She knew what was happening about a split second before he did.
‘Janey!’ Ben dived forward. His arms made clumsy contact with her body. His first hand grabbed for her dress, but the bodice was sheer corseting and there was nothing for his hand to
gain purchase on. His other hand found her shoulder as her arms reached for his. One hand found her wrist, but the other failed to properly connect with her fingers, and they slipped through his
like sand.
It was only then that Ben realised he had hit the ground and was now sliding across the cool, damp grass. They were both going over the edge and there was nothing he could do to save Janey. It
was all happening so fast . . .
He had to stop himself careering after her. He
could
save himself.
He let go.
He clutched a handful of long grass and clawed at the chalk cliff, just in time to stop his waist from tipping over the cliff.
Janey was falling – silently and so, so fast. It wasn’t dramatic, or graceful. She just
plummeted.
She was already almost at the bottom.
Oh, God.
Ben closed his eyes and heard only the faintest of sounds, like someone skimming pebbles. He opened his eyes. Black stains covered the pale boulders at the foot of the cliff. A
limp ragdoll in a red dress rolled in the ocean.
Ben didn’t know how long he watched Janey, but he was transfixed. The tide was coming in, hungrier by the second, and, with each wave, it carried her further away from the shore. Soon
those waves would pound the cliffs but, by then, Janey would have been swallowed whole.
Ben scrambled away from the sheer drop, backing up until his back smacked into a wooden fence post. Threads of ideas and sentences tangled in his head. Nothing made sense.
Janey was dead. Ben blacked out.
‘I didn’t kill her. I didn’t,’ he repeated for about the sixth time. Tears poured down his face. ‘She fell. I don’t even know how. She just
went off the edge.’
His friends regarded him with a cocktail of horror, disgust and pity. He deserved worse. Alisha perched on the coffee table; Katie was cross-legged on the floor; Ryan sat next to Greg on the
sofa.
‘Janey didn’t kill herself. It was an accident,’ Alisha said, almost as though she were talking to herself. She thought for a moment. ‘Ben, why didn’t you tell the
police?’
He hunched forward in the armchair, already feeling unburdened. It was like he’d purged his veins of something toxic. ‘Why do you think? At first, I guess I must have been in shock.
I don’t remember anything until it started getting light. I must have been there all night. When I came round, I thought that, after what had happened at the ball, everyone would think that
I’d pushed her. But I didn’t. I swear.’
Alisha emphatically shook her curls. ‘You should have said!’
‘I know! Jesus Christ, I know that! It’s
all
I’ve thought about, all year. I made a mistake. I panicked. And I kept my mouth shut. By the time my brain kicked in it
was too late. Everyone was already saying she’d killed herself. Honestly, Alisha, if I could go back . . . God, I’d do everything differently.’ He wiped his nose on the back of
his hand. His unsteady breathing righted itself. With wobbly hands he took another sip of sangria. ‘When the police get here, I’ll tell them what happened. It’s not going to go
away unless I do, is it? I need to set things right.’
Alisha nodded, a tear of her own glittering in the corner of her eye.
Ben stood and pointed at the floor as if he were jabbing the villa itself. ‘But you have
got
to believe me. I guessed that Roxanne somehow knew I was there that night, and I
figured she’d try to pin Janey’s death on me, but I did
not
kill Janey and I did
not
kill Roxanne. I would never,
ever
do that.’
Katie sprung up, flung her arms around him and pressed her face to his chest. ‘I know,’ she said.
He should have known that Katie wouldn’t lose faith in him. He clung to her. God, he actually felt lighter, now. His secret was out. Only one final mystery remained. ‘I didn’t
kill Roxanne,’ he repeated.
Katie took a step back and smoothed Ben’s hair out of his eyes, looking up into his face. ‘I know,’ she said again, calmly. ‘Because I did.’
A
t first, Katie wondered if they’d heard her. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Time seemed to have stopped. The truth was out and she
couldn’t put the genie back in the bottle. She allowed herself a moment to bask in pride. The hatred she felt for these people was a thick, squirming serpent in her gut, but she’d kept
it expertly hidden for four long days.
She considered repeating herself, but Ben took a cautious step away from her, which suggested he was processing the information. ‘What did you say?’
Katie met his gaze, ready now and never more certain of anything. Odd, how easy it was. After so much planning and preparation, she’d assumed it would be more momentous, somehow.
The
Big Reveal.
‘I said, I killed Roxanne. I had to. She was about to ruin everything.’
Ryan laughed a nervous, tense laugh. ‘Are you kidding? I don’t get it.’
She’d expected something a bit more dramatic than idiotic confused faces. God, was she going to have to make a Powerpoint presentation or something? She really must have played her part
flawlessly – even after she’d told the truth they
still
didn’t believe it of sweet little Katie. She thought back over her performance.
I’d do anything for
you,
flailing at the edge of the pool, weeping and wailing like a total effing victim all week. God, how stupid did they think she was?
‘Do you want me to spell it out?’ she tried again. ‘I killed Roxanne. I’m going to kill you. It’s all part of a complicated revenge scheme.’ She shrugged
wearily. The constant lying – having to pretend to be nice to a group of people she detested – it had been such a marathon. And there was still a lot of work to do before bed
tonight.
Reality dawned in their eyes. Alisha welled up
again.
Poor Alisha – but just because she was the most clueless that didn’t make her any the less guilty. Alisha was going to
be the one Katie regretted killing the most, though. Ben, on the other hand, he’d be the easiest. All the love hadn’t quite left her system, but she’d discovered that, when love
is tainted, it leaves nothing but a thick, black tar in the heart.
‘What? But
why
?’ Alisha could only produce a whisper.
Katie rolled her eyes. She dearly wanted to avoid a
Scooby Doo
moment where she ran through her motives while they all somehow escaped. It wasn’t
that
type of finale.
‘That’s the thing. The fact that you don’t even know what you’ve done is why I’m doing all this,’ she told them.
‘I don’t get it.’ Ben backed away from her. How
dare
he look so innocent after everything he’d done? She’d really hoped she wouldn’t have to do the
chat. She had planned for it to be quick and silent. She wanted them dead, no blood or guts necessary. It wasn’t about pain, it was just about settling the score. But now, seeing Ben’s
pious face, maybe she did want him to know how much suffering he’d caused. In fact, she wanted to rip that mask of innocence right off his face.
‘Katie, what are you doing?’ he cooed. ‘This isn’t you.’
‘You don’t
know
me.’ She held back the red-hot, spitting fury that swelled inside her. ‘Once upon a time, maybe you did, but that sweet little doormat died a
year ago. And it’s
your fault
!’
‘I don’t understand. What did I do?’
The volcano erupted. Katie slammed her untouched glass of sangria onto the kitchen counter, the red liquid spilling over the surface. ‘That’s the bloody point, isn’t it? You
don’t even
know.
You’re getting away with it all the time. You’re like Teflon! Nothing ever sticks to you lot, does it? It’s never your fault. Nothing you do has
consequences
.’
Ryan sprang off the sofa. ‘You’ve lost your mind.’ He ran to the patio doors and tugged on the handle.
‘You can’t get out,’ Katie said smugly. ‘I’ve hidden the key.’
‘Katie, let us go!’ he cried.
‘What’s the matter, Ryan? Is it all a bit real? What happens in this episode? How do the characters escape?’
‘She’s off her head.’ Greg joined Ryan by the doors. ‘We’ll smash the glass, yeah? She can’t stop us. It’s only Katie, for God’s sake.’
Katie laughed. He was such an arrogant prick. ‘You might as well sit down, Greg. You won’t get very far.’
‘Oh, yeah? Why? What you gonna do?’
This wasn’t a conversation Katie wanted to have. ‘It’s not what I’m
going
to do, it’s what I already
did
.’
Their faces fell.
‘What?’ Ben asked, his voice unsteady.
Katie raised her untouched glass of sangria and said, ‘Cheers.’ She felt no further explanation was needed.
‘Oh, my God.’ Alisha was shivering; maybe it had already started. ‘What have you done?’
Did it really need further explanation? ‘Vodka isn’t the only secret ingredient, put it that way,’ Katie said nonchalantly. ‘And if you must know, the other one is rat
poison, so sit your arse down. It’ll be just like falling asleep.’
G
reg ran for her, or at least tried. He caught his foot on a chair leg and almost fell.
Ben sat back down, his eyes not focused on anything. Perhaps he’d already accepted his fate.
‘You can’t do this!’ Greg cried.
‘I already did. Don’t make it worse,’ Katie told him.
Greg teetered slightly, using the back of the armchair to support himself. The poison was finally working.
Phew!
For a second there, Katie had been worried she’d given them the
safe sangria, the ordinary batch she’d been serving all week. The last thing she needed was them putting up a fight. Thankfully, though, they were all starting to look like they’d been
well and truly poisoned, now. Greg sank back onto the sofa. Everything was going exactly according to plan. And so it should be. She’d spent the best part of a year getting it right.
Ryan staggered towards her, gripping the kitchen counter. ‘You won’t—’
‘If you’re about to say “you won’t get away with this”, so help me God, Ryan, I’ll kill you twice!’ Katie jabbed a finger in his direction.
‘But the police . . .’ Ryan’s voice tailed off as he realised the police
obviously
hadn’t been called. Katie had made a show of it for Alisha, but that was
all.
‘Will it hurt?’ Ben asked, still staring into the distance.
‘I don’t know,’ Katie replied honestly. ‘But if it does, it’s nothing you don’t deserve,’ she added, although she didn’t quite mean it. She wanted
payback, not suffering. It was weird. She’d been waiting for some sort of remorse to kick in ever since she’d clubbed Roxanne. Right after she’d done it, she’d lain down
next to Alisha and waited to feel
something:
guilt, disgust, the overwhelming godlike power of knowing she’d taken a human life. But nothing. All she’d felt was the splinter of
fury that had been under her skin all year. It numbed every other feeling in her body.
‘What did we do?’ Alisha sniffled.
‘If you don’t know—’
‘Tell us!’ Ben shouted.
‘Oh, all right!’ She couldn’t do anything while they were still alive, anyway. Katie figured she might as well tell the story to pass the time. ‘Ryan, come away from the
knife block. I can see what you’re doing.’
Ryan stopped edging towards the kitchen and came back to the sofa. Like Greg, he was unsteady on his feet, almost drunken. He wouldn’t give her much trouble.
‘First of all,’ Katie said, brushing her hair out of her eyes, ‘I want to make it very clear that I’m not mental, or psycho, or evil. I’m doing this because
it’s the
right thing to do.
You all got away with murder, so don’t for one second think you’re innocent.’
Ben looked at her, and the weight of the disappointment and hate in his expression almost knocked her over. Was he judging her? Oh, that was rich!
‘What happened?’ he asked.
Katie strolled into the kitchen and opened the bread bin. With a vaudevillian flourish, she produced the scarecrow mask like a rabbit from a hat. ‘Does this ring any bells?’
‘The mask!’ Alisha’s gormless expression was starting to grate. ‘From prom night.’
Katie dragged a chair out from the dining-room table and set it down in the spotlight created by the last shards of sunshine breaking over the ocean. ‘Are you sitting comfortably? Then
I’ll begin . . .’
I
t had been the flu, proper flu, the type where your bones ache and freezing sweat soaks the bed sheets. It had come on fast and strong like some
sort of Biblical plague. One second Katie had been shopping for shoes for the ball, and the next she’d been shivering uncontrollably.
She rolled over in bed. Not
her
bed as such, but her bed at the farm. Her mum was away ‘on business’, yet again. Katie knew she was seeing someone in London, but so far her
mother wouldn’t be drawn on the subject. A ‘vital presentation’, she’d called it. ‘Go stay at your gran’s house until you’re better.’
It suited Katie fine; Gran had always looked after her when she was sick. The feel of the patchwork quilt, the smell of chicken soup drifting up from the kitchen, the sound of Radio Four through
the walls – as weak as she felt, she knew she was in safe hands.