Authors: Sharon Sant
He doesn’t look back now, but turns a corner and disappears from sight. I stop on the road and take deep breaths. I’m shaking.
It’s cold, that’s all
, I tell myself. I can end it, I can set those ghosts free and save everyone; all I have to do is follow him. My head is too full of it to contain any other thought. My phone vibrates in my pocket. There’s no time to find out who’s calling, though I can guess Dante has woken up and found me gone. He’ll be hurt and he won’t understand when it’s all over, but I have to remember that I’m doing it for him and I can’t back out now. I start to walk again, slow, deliberate steps.
I turn the corner and the coliseum of crumbling concrete with its wire borders moves into view. Beyond the monolithic grey pillars the interior lies in forbidding darkness. The sound of falling rubble echoes through the blackness and I know where he is. I trail the fence looking for the gap where I can squeeze in. The broken wire scrapes down my back as I duck through and I have to bite back the curse on my lips. I straighten up at the other side and scan the ruins, straining to see in the dim light from the streetlamps out on the main road. Everything is quiet and still. Knife now extended, I begin to make cautious progress over the bed of concrete. Orange lights flash in the blade as it catches the glow of the street-lamps. My breath comes in shallow gulps as I try to make it silent. Everywhere the darkness holds shapes; my gaze flits from corner to gloomy corner and my imagination sees monsters in them all.
The doorway to the old shop where I rescued the drunken girl is still wide, hanging from its hinges.
Rescued
. It’s a strange way to describe what happened, it makes me sound like some superhero and the idea seems so ludicrous that I almost laugh. I hover at the threshold, trying to see through the gloom, straining to pick up any telltale sounds of life within.
Something lifts my hair, like a ghostly hand. I spin around to the sound of running footsteps. I slash at the air, but he’s gone.
Panic saps the strength from my legs but I fight it. I take one last look back at the interior of the shop and make my way out again towards the main concourse. The old tarmac is ringed by concrete pillars holding up a roof that waits to be demolished.
From the darkness, fluorescent warning signs glow back at me. It gets darker further away from the road. I pull out my phone for a flash of light and the fact that the screen shows three missed calls from Dante hardly registers.
Then I see the dark outline of a figure make its way towards me. Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I pull the knife in readiness and duck behind a concrete pillar. My breaths are so loud I feel like they’ll betray my position to the whole world. I hold them in to stop the clouds of steam that might give me away.
I inch around the pillar to see that the figure has stepped into the half-light coming from lamps on the road beyond the perimeter. The knife is gripped in readiness. But then I see his face.
What is he doing here? Was I wrong about this? Have I been following someone completely unconnected or has he just turned up at the same time by coincidence? I tuck the knife back into my sleeve and emerge cautiously from my hiding place.
‘You work with Robert Johnson, right?’ I say quietly. ‘I saw you at my Gran’s funeral.’
He nods.
I narrow my eyes, fear replaced suddenly by indignation. That bastard will do anything for a story, but this is low, even for him. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I hiss. ‘Has he asked you to follow me or something?’
I wait for him to speak but he doesn’t say a word. And then, from nowhere, images begin to form behind my eyes. I try to shake them, try to focus on the here and now, but they’re too strong: images of a face leering above me in the night sky are joined by the pain of stones and glass in my back, of hands at my neck, of the breath leaving my body, every murder I have experienced in sharp detail. I force a tearing scream from my throat, force the pictures away and when I regain my mind, he’s staring at me, head cocked to one side in overplayed curiosity. Even as my addled brain is telling me the truth, he rubs something into his hands, a slow, ritualistic movement. Then he puts a finger up to his lips.
On his wrist is a tattoo of a snake.
Then the smell hits me.
I run blindly, stumbling over chunks of concrete. The dark corners flash by me alongside flickering, disorientating slices of light from the lamps on the road. I catch my foot on something hard. It takes my legs from under me as I crash to the ground with a scream that echoes back at me. The impact jars my whole body and I hear the crack of my arm as I try to break the fall. Immediately, pain fires up its length. It’s not enough to stop my head hitting the rubble, though, and the pain from my arm is dissipated as my vision blurs. I roll onto my side and look up at the ceiling of the station spinning above me. I can hear him follow, but my limbs won’t obey my desperate commands to get me up. I shake my head to clear it and then the pain is back in my arm and shocks me into lucidity. I turn and see his shadow lumbering towards me with no grace but surprising speed. As I push myself up on the good arm, I suddenly realise I’ve dropped my knife. My hands are everywhere, the rubble scoring chunks from my skin until I feel something cold and hard beneath them and I grab it, blade side first, ignoring the pain as it bites into the flesh of my fingers. I manage to scramble up as he’s almost on me, the debris slipping away under my feet as I try to get purchase. Somehow, I manage to get away and onto clear ground. I tear into the interior of the station again, weaving through a line of boarded up shop fronts. The toilets are just beyond them. I can hear his footsteps hit solid ground too and I know he’s gaining. Running for the nearest door, I push against it. Locked. I go to the next one, but that’s locked too. Flailing around, I search for somewhere else to hide.
A voice echoes across the concourse, making me freeze.
‘What do dead girls taste of, Cassie Brown? Cold as ice-cream but still as sweet?’
I search the darkness, trying to pinpoint the source. I know he must be close, but I can’t see him.
‘Do dead girls die again?’ he mocks. ‘The others were tasty but you’ll be sweetest of all.’
Time stops. My reactions are suddenly sluggish, my brain refusing to process the options for escape. What options? I whip my head in all directions but there’s nowhere I can go where he won’t be able to see me. Trying to shrink into the shadows, I flatten myself against the locked door.
Think, Cassie, think
…
There’s only one way out of this now: I have to face him. I have to kill him before he kills me. Inching from the doorway, I start to move along the wall to see if I can get a vantage point where I can see him and formulate some plan.
I’m yanked back by my hair and thrown across the ground, the impact cutting the scream from my throat. My arm is on fire now as it jolts against the wall. He stands before me, his expression unreadable in the darkness.
The knife
. The instant I think about it, he kicks it away. I see it skitter across the concrete, its blade glinting briefly before it disappears into a dark corner. I start to scramble after it, but he pulls me back again. I’m thrown on my back like a ragdoll and he sits astride me with ease, pinning my arms against the floor. I cry out as the pain fires through the one that is injured. The smell of sanitiser is in my head, freezing my thoughts.
‘Nice and clean for the ice queen,’ he chants. ‘Must have clean hands for dirty deeds.’
He presses into my arm with his knee and the pain almost makes me vomit. Before I can scream he’s squirting cleaning alcohol over my lips, rubbing it into my mouth, the taste of it acrid and bitter.
‘Nice and clean,’ he whispers, ‘dirty girls must be clean.’
His kneecap digs into my arm as he leans into me and pushes his mouth onto mine. I clamp my lips shut and try to turn my head away, my good hand flailing madly, unable to reach him. Then his lips are at my ear.
‘Dirty girls must be clean,’ he says, ‘Cassie Brown is the dirtiest of all.’
He pins my other arm with his other knee now and reaches for the button of his trousers. ‘Dirty Cassie will have to be cleansed from the earth, but first she needs to learn a lesson. Naughty Cassie, chasing me with a knife. Naughty, naughty Cassie trying to catch me for the big bad policeman. I couldn’t have you giving away my secret, could I?’
I buck beneath him. I twist and roll to throw him off. He’s too heavy. ‘I’ve seen you with that boy,’ he says, his hands everywhere, making me gag, ‘I’ve watched you. It’s sickening.’
‘You’re sickening,’ I rasp as I try to breathe with his weight on me.
He grins, a leering thing. ‘Cold as ice-cream but just as sweet, let’s have a taste of Cassie Brown.’
I stop pitching and lie still beneath him. ‘Ok,’ I say, trying to keep the fear from my voice. ‘Kiss me. Come and see how nice I taste.’
He seems surprised for a moment. But then he thrusts in and I throw my head forward, connecting with his nose. It’s not hard but just enough to throw him off balance momentarily. I take the slim advantage and roll over, screaming as my weight hits my bad arm. I kick out as I scramble from beneath him, reaching out for the knife I know is in a dark corner not far away. He hooks my ankle and he starts to drag me back across the concrete at the same time as my fingers wrap around something cold and hard. He slides me right back and makes to straddle me again. The knife tears an arc through the air and then briefly hits resistance. I have no idea where I’ve caught him but he howls and lifts a hand to his face. I stab at him but the blade glances off, scoring the flesh of his arm but nothing serious. It’s enough, though, and I manage to kick my way free.
I run for the outer fence. I hear him get to his feet and lumber after me. A storm of thoughts rages through my head. I need to get away. But he’s injured, right? I don’t know how injured, but this could be my best chance to kill him. Even if I get away now, he’ll come after me anyway. I’m injured too, though. Maybe I should get fixed up and come for him again when I’m capable. But he knows where I live; maybe I won’t even get as far as that… More important than any of these things is the promise I made to myself. This is my task and I have to finish it. Nothing else matters.
I’m at the gap in the fencing. I squeeze through and stand at the other side, staring into the black interior of the ruined bus station.
I take a deep breath before starting to circle the perimeter. The pain in my arm is making me gag but I swallow it back. Scanning the length of the fence I look for another way back into the station. If I can find a different entrance I can be behind him. It might be enough to catch him by surprise. All I need is to find him for one second off-guard and I can kill him. It has to be now, it’s my best chance. But what if I don’t get him? That tiny voice of reason nags at me, finally gaining purchase. Maybe I’m really out of my depth after all. The realisation of where I am and what I’m doing is like an icy slap in my face.
I pull my phone out and dial awkwardly with my one good hand. He takes a while to answer and when he does his voice is groggy.
‘Cassie?’
‘He’s here,’ I whisper. ‘At the old bus station. I don’t know how long I can hold him off –’
‘What the bloody hell…’ Karl’s voice is suddenly alert.
‘There’s no time to explain. You want him, you come. I can’t promise I won’t kill him in the meantime.’
‘Cassie, get the hell out of –’
I don’t know what the rest of the sentence is. I shove my phone back into my pocket. At the far side of the station is a site hut. I don’t think I’ll get away now if I run but maybe I can hide in there until Karl comes. The fencing doesn’t reach all the way to it, instead, there’s a handful of fierce warning signs telling me to keep out. As I duck through the gap and emerge on the other side, a hand from behind grips my shoulder.
I spin around and plunge my knife into him. I move quickly and use my weight to shove it in until it will go no further. Shaking, I move out of range; there’s no point in taking any chances.
He stumbles back. The knife is in his ribs. He presses his fingers around it and looks up at me.
‘Cassie?’ he splutters.
Then I see his face and the world starts to spin. He staggers towards me, two uncertain steps. His legs collapse from under him and he falls to his knees. I can’t breathe, I can’t react.
‘Cassie?’ he whispers. Dante’s voice is thick and laboured. ‘What have you done?’ He looks down at the knife and then back at me. A black stain flowers around the blade beneath his open jacket. He drops slowly to the ground and lies on his side with his legs bent awkwardly beneath him. He tries to curl himself around his wound but his legs twitch and don’t respond.
‘Cassie…’ his voice is barely more than a breath now. I run to him. I drop to my knees and pull his head onto them, my own pain forgotten. I feel around the blade but I’m afraid to get it out.
‘I’ll get help. Don’t cry, Dan, I’ll get help.’
I move him gently to get at my phone. Blood smears over the keypad as I dial. My fingers feel like they belong to someone else.
‘Ambulance,’ I whisper. ‘Old bus station.’
The voice at the other end starts to ask for more information but then everything goes silent.
‘Hello?’
I pull the phone from my ear to see that the screen has gone black. I try to shake it into life but there’s nothing. I can barely contain the desperate scream of frustration and fear that builds in my throat, but then there’s a crack and I look up to see another figure moving across the concourse. I don’t know if he can see us but he’s coming this way.
‘I’m sorry,’ I sob, ‘I’m sorry but I have to have this knife…’
His head shakes in the tiniest movement.
‘I have to get it out, we need it.’ I can barely see through my tears but I swallow them and harden my voice. ‘We’ll both be killed if I don’t.’
He says something but it’s more of a gasp than a word.
‘It’s going to hurt,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry.’