The Choice

by Lake, Alex

  ‘This is your doing,’ I say. ‘I want you to know that.’

  I push her closer to the edge of the cliff. She resists. She pushes back, hard.

  Good. There is some fight, after all. It won’t help, but it might give me the pleasure of hearing her beg for mercy.

  I reach behind her head and undo the ball gag. I cannot have them find it with her body.

  I get a sudden déjà vu – it’s positively Proustian – of all the other times I have used this gag. It’s my favourite.

  Then I let it drop to the ground. I will pick it up afterwards.

  ‘So,’ I say. ‘Any last words?’

  Annabelle

  The gag dropped to the ground. It was a wonderful relief, although her tongue was swollen and her jaws were sore and were going to take ages to feel better.

  Guy was smiling at her.

  Fucking smiling.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘Any last words?’

  She had nothing to say to him. Nothing at all, ever, just in case it made him happy. Although there was one thing that would let him know exactly how she felt.

  She gathered a gob of saliva in her mouth and spat it into his face. It landed on his left eye and spread down his cheek.

  His head jerked back, and his mouth twisted in disgust. Instinctively, he closed his eyes and wiped his hand across his face, flicking the phlegm from his face.

  She hadn’t done it for any reason other than to do the nastiest thing she could to him, but now, for a split second, his eyes were closed and his focus had switched from her to his disgust at being spat on. It was a hard-coded human reaction.

  And it was her chance.

  Not much of one.

  But a chance.

  And she had sworn she would grab whatever chance she got with both hands and not let go until there was no chance at all.

  She slammed her forehead into the bridge of his nose as hard as she could. She felt a vicious pain – she was sure she must have fractured her skull – and then heard a crack as something broke.

  It was his nose. He staggered back and she saw that it had moved across his face to somewhere beneath his left eye. Already, blood was streaming out of it, and his eyes were wide in shock.

  She rammed her head into his ruined nose, then, when he tried to pull away, she clamped her teeth around his cheek and bit.

  Hard.

  She tasted the metallic taste of blood in her mouth and then there was a lot of blood, and she had to spit it out because it was threatening to choke her.

  Guy screamed, and tried to pull away from her.

  She felt, for the first time since this had started, as though she was in control.

  She felt powerful.

  And she was not going to waste the moment. She bit down again, as savagely as she could, and a chunk of his cheek tore off.

  Which left him free. He stepped back from her, a ragged hole in his face. She let the piece of his cheek fall to the chalky ground.

  ‘You bitch,’ he said, his voice distorted. ‘You’ll pay for this.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘This is the end, Guy.’

  He was only a few feet from the edge of the cliff. He was focused on her, and she was not sure he knew how close he was.

  She frowned, and glanced to her left, as though she’d heard something. When his gaze followed, she threw herself at him. When he saw her coming he held up his hands to hold her off, but he was too late, and she slammed into him, her shoulder in his chest.

  He lurched backwards towards the cliff edge; she thought he was going to topple over it, but he managed to fall sideways, so that he was lying perpendicular to the edge.

  It made no difference. He was at her mercy, now.

  He looked up at her. There was no more than an inch of solid ground behind him.

  She picked up a large rock between her cuffed hands and took a step in his direction.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Annabelle, no. Please.’

  She threw the rock at him. He fended it off with his forearm and she saw him wince in pain. She picked up another, larger, one.

  ‘All I have to do to end this is kick you over,’ she said. ‘That’s it. No one will ever know. You even have a suicide note in your pocket, if they ever find your body. I’ll say I couldn’t go through with it at the end, but you’d already jumped. No crime committed. And if they don’t find your body? Who’s going to care if it’s true when I say you slipped and fell? They’ll be glad to see the back of you. So there’s nothing to stop me, Guy. Nothing at all.’

  He stared at her, his eyes narrow.

  ‘Or I walk away. And let the police deal with you. Maybe I’ll do that. But this is the end, Guy. And I won.’

  He closed his eyes. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘You win, Annabelle.’

  She thinks she has won.

  She thinks she has me on the cliff edge, and all she has to do is push me over. Or leave and hand me to the authorities.

  She is a fool. She does not know who she is dealing with. She thinks she is in control, but there is another option. There is always another option.

  I will take her with me. At the very least, I will take her with me. I will lunge at her and grab a foot. She can kick me and stamp on me, but I will not let go. I will drag her to this cliff edge and we will fall together to our deaths.

  They will find the suicide note and – even though I will have died too – my plan will be complete.

  Her husband will think she betrayed him.

  Yes, they will wonder about the injuries, but my guess is they will put them down to our fall onto the jagged rocks below.

  I will shout this into her ear as we fall, just so that it is her last thought.

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘You win, Annabelle.’

  Then, before she can process my admission of failure, I spring at her. I see her eyes widen in shock, then hear her squeal as my hands grab her left ankle and yank it towards me.

  She stumbles and slips to one knee, kicking out at me to shake me free.

  She has no chance.

  I begin to drag her to the cliff edge.

  ‘Guy,’ she says. ‘No!’

  I do not reply. I see the blow coming; the heel of her right foot, aimed at the side of my head. I take it; it makes me dizzy, but I am OK.

  She does it again; I manage to twist my head out of the way.

  And I still have her ankle. I drag again and we slide another few inches towards the cliff.

  Then I feel it.

  My feet are over the edge. Soon all I will have to do is fall, and gravity will do the rest. I inch further over the cliff.

  ‘No,’ she shouts. ‘Stop it, Guy!’

  She kicks at me again. She cannot use her hands, as reaching down would bring her closer to the cliff edge, and her kicks are nothing to me.

  One more heave, and this is over.

  PC Jessie Chalmers

  1

  PC Jessie Chalmers looked left and right along the path that bisected the field. The car was parked a couple of hundred yards away and she and Toby, her partner, had assumed that the man and woman they were looking for had gone through the gap in the hedge and headed for the cliff.

  ‘I’ll go left,’ she said. ‘You go right. If you see them, shout.’

  ‘I’m not sure we should split up,’ Toby said. ‘He’s supposed to be dangerous.’

  Chalmers shrugged. She had met her husband in a boxing gym; he had come in to get fit and she had trained him. She had been close to the Olympic team in 2012, but a shoulder injury had put an end to that particular dream.

  ‘I’ll be OK,’ she said.

  ‘It’s not you I’m worried about,’ Toby said. ‘But let’s do it. We don’t have a choice.’

  She nodded, and set off to the left. She had not gone more than twenty yards when she froze.

  ‘Holy shit,’ she muttered. ‘What is that?’

  2

  A woman’s head had appeared above the cliff edge, as though she was climbing steps in th
e cliff itself. The head was followed by a torso.

  Her hands were cuffed in front of her and she looked exhausted. She took a few steps towards her – she was limping horribly – then collapsed to the ground.

  That wasn’t what most stood out, however.

  What most stood out was the blood smeared across her face.

  She looked at PC Chalmers and sank to her knees. Chalmers ran over to her and knelt on the wet grass at her side.

  ‘Are you Annabelle Westbrook?’ she said, although she was pretty sure she already knew the answer to that question.

  The woman nodded.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘You’re safe now.’ She glanced up; Toby had seen what was happening and was running towards them.

  ‘Thank you,’ Annabelle Westbrook said. She was glassy-eyed and her breath was short. ‘I can’t believe it’s over.’

  ‘It is,’ Chalmers said. ‘It’s all over. But I have to ask. Where is he?’

  Annabelle pointed to the place on the cliff she had come from. ‘He’s over there,’ she said.

  3

  Annabelle Westbrook was in shock; that much was obvious. PC Chalmers put her in the recovery position, and spoke into her radio.

  ‘We have Ms Westbrook,’ she said. ‘She’s safe. Request ambulance and back-up. Whereabouts of Guy Sanderson unknown.’

  Toby arrived and knelt next to them. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Fine. She’s in shock, but the blood doesn’t seem to be hers – at least, I don’t see any obvious injuries.’ Chalmers put her hand on Annabelle’s neck to feel her pulse. ‘How are you?’ she said. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No,’ Annabelle said. ‘I’m tired. Do you have a phone?’

  ‘Of course,’ Chalmers said. ‘Do you need to make a call?’

  ‘I want to speak to my family.’

  ‘What’s the number?’ Chalmers said.

  Annabelle told her and she typed it into the keypad.

  She put the phone on speaker and lay it on the grass next to Annabelle’s head. Then she stood up.

  ‘You hang back,’ she said. ‘Keep an eye on her. I’m going to find him.’

  4

  There had obviously been a fight. Blood streaked the chalky ground.

  But there was no sign of Sanderson.

  ‘Shit,’ Chalmers muttered. She spoke into her radio. ‘Need an alert on Sanderson. He’s not here.’

  She walked towards the edge of the cliff, studying the scene. There really was a lot of blood.

  So much that no one could have gone anywhere without leaving an obvious trail.

  But there was no trail.

  Just the blood.

  ‘Holy mother,’ Chalmers said, and walked briskly to the edge of the cliff. She looked down and her head swam with vertigo.

  It was a long way down.

  A long way to fall. And someone had fallen.

  She blinked the dizziness away and looked again, then spoke into her radio.

  ‘I found him,’ she said. ‘I found Sanderson.’

  Annabelle

  She lay on the ground, the grass cool against her cheek. Her shoulder ached and her head throbbed where she had butted Guy, but she felt wonderful.

  The tang of the sea air.

  The noise of the gulls.

  The phone ringing next to her.

  ‘Hello?’

  It was Matt. It was her husband, the love of her life, the father of her children.

  It was a voice she had thought she would never hear again.

  ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Who is this? Is it Guy?’

  ‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘Matt, it’s me.’

  ‘Annabelle? Is it you? Where are you?’

  ‘Beachy Head,’ she said. ‘I’m at Beachy Head.’

  ‘Where’s Guy?’

  ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘Gone where? Are you OK, Annabelle?’

  ‘He’s gone forever. And I’m fine.’

  ‘Where exactly are you? I’ll call the police.’

  ‘They’re here.’ She paused, and took a deep breath of the salt air. ‘And honestly, I’m fine. Can you believe it, Matt? This is over.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ he said. ‘Annabelle, I was so worried.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said. ‘But there’s no need to worry now. I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’ He started to cry. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I’m going to get the kids.’

  He called their names and then, moments later, she heard their shouts.

  ‘Mum?’ Norman said. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘It is,’ she said. ‘It’s me.’

  Wynne

  DI Jane Wynne and DS Michael Dudek sat next to each other on a couch at the police station in Eastbourne. Annabelle Westbrook was opposite them. Her ankle was bandaged, but other than that she was unhurt.

  On the outside, at least.

  ‘Are they here?’ she said.

  ‘They’re on their way,’ Wynne said. ‘They can’t be far behind us. Maybe another ten minutes. You talked to them, earlier, I heard?’

  ‘As soon as I could,’ Annabelle said. ‘I wanted to hear their voices. Now I want to see them.’

  ‘I understand. That’s our priority, too. And the minute they arrive we’ll bring them here.’ Wynne sipped her tea. ‘While we wait, would you be OK to answer a few questions?’

  ‘Yes,’ Annabelle said. ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘Thank you,’ DS Dudek said. ‘I think we have a reasonable idea of what happened up until you were on the cliff with Sanderson. We’ll want to go through the details at some point, but that can wait.’

  ‘Yes,’ Wynne said. ‘That can wait.’

  ‘OK,’ Annabelle said. ‘Did you find Guy?’

  ‘We did,’ Wynne replied. ‘PC Chalmers called the coastguard, and they recovered his body.’

  ‘So he’s dead?’

  ‘Yes,’ Wynne said. ‘He is. Would you be able to tell us what happened on the cliff top?’

  ‘I think,’ Annabelle said, ‘that if I just said he fell that would be easier. But I’m sick of all the lies. So I’m going to tell the truth.’

  ‘We appreciate that,’ Wynne said. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He was going to push me off,’ Annabelle said. ‘And then leave a note saying it was a joint suicide. He was not going to kill himself, though. So when he came close to me, I attacked him. I bit his cheek and hit him and did whatever I could. I had no choice.’

  ‘Self-defence,’ Dudek said. ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘And then he grabbed my ankle and started to drag me off the cliff edge. He was going to take us both over’ – her voice faltered, but she collected herself – ‘so I was kicking him, but it made no difference. I was trying to grab onto something, but my hands were cuffed, and then I felt the rock I’d hit him with. I picked it up and leaned down and smashed it onto his hands. I did it again, and again, so hard that I broke something in my ankle. I think I also broke his hands, because he let go.’

  She looked away, tears in her eyes.

  ‘I scrambled away from him, and when I looked back, he was gone. I didn’t know if he’d fallen or if I’d kicked him over or if he’d escaped.’

  ‘He didn’t escape,’ Dudek said. ‘I can tell you that.’

  ‘I didn’t push him over,’ Annabelle said. ‘I was just trying to get him off me.’

  Wynne folded her arms. ‘I think’ – she said – ‘that in the interest of simplicity we can say he fell. You can leave it with us, Mrs Westbrook.’

  There was a knock on the door, and an officer put her head around it.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘They’re here.’

  Matt

  He had thought – really, totally, genuinely believed – that he would never see her again. He had pictured his life without her. Him, Norman, Keith and Molly struggling to find a way to live without her.

  He could hardly believe she was back.

  They walked along a corridor behind an officer – Farida, she’d said her name was
– until they reached a door. Farida opened it, and said something, then turned to them.

  ‘You can go in,’ she said.

  And there she was. He couldn’t believe it was her. She was pale, with a big bruise on her forehead, and dark circles under her eyes, but she was smiling, and it was Annabelle, it was actually her, alive and in the flesh.

  He had never loved anyone more than he did her, at that moment.

  Norman, Keith and Molly froze for a second, and then they ran, arms outstretched across the room. Annabelle sank to her knees and they collapsed into her arms, kissing and hugging her and burying their faces in her neck and chest, as though they were trying to get as close to her as possible.

  That’s what he wanted to do, and then never let go.

  She looked up at him, tears running down her face.

  ‘Matt,’ she said. ‘It’s actually you.’

  He wiped the tears from his cheeks and knelt beside her. He wrapped his arms round them – as far as he could – and felt the warmth of their bodies.

  They were together again. He had feared he had lost his family, feared this moment would never arrive, but now it was here.

  ‘Annabelle,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home.’

  She leaned up and kissed him.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home.’

  Read on for a sneak peek of Alex Lake’s new novel, coming 2021 …

  Early Summer, 2020

  Chapter One

  Carrie Lewis watched her fifteen-year-old daughter, Nancy, walk along the beach, waves lapping at her bare feet. It was an idyllic scene; the late afternoon sun glimmered on the surface of the water, families – suitably socially distanced, of course – talked or played ball or just soaked up the warmth, but she could not enjoy it.