by Amy Cross
I wait for her to continue, but she seems lost in thought. I'm not entirely sure that I understand what she just said.
“I guess I'm just being pretentious,” she says with a sigh. “People should just stick near beaches, is all I'm saying. That's where all the cool new stuff happens. Maybe another new thing'll start at a beach some time.”
“I guess,” I murmur.
“Think about those people out on the boats,” she says suddenly. “Miles and miles out, just floating along. I'd love to be one of those people right now. A boat's a much safer place, isn't it? Everything's more contained.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I tell her, shivering as I turn and look both ways along the dark, deserted beach. “We shouldn't be out here,” I add, turning back to her. “What if that nutter with the knife shows up? Let's get back to the cottage, and then we can talk. You can tell me what's bothering you.”
Again I wait, but she doesn't say anything. The wind is picking up, causing her coat to flap wildly, but Paula's gaze seems fixed on the horizon. Her lips are trembling slightly, as if she's saying something under his breath, and after a moment I spot a single tear being blown sideways from her eye and over to her hairline.
“Hey,” I continue, reaching out and grabbing her arm, “let's -”
“No!”
She steps forward, quickly tripping and landing on her hands and knees just as a large wave crashes against the shore. I instinctively step back, but I'm horrified to see Paula getting engulfed by the wave and disappearing from view. Stumbling, I hurry forward, but for a moment she's nowhere to be seen and I look around in the hope that I'll spot her somewhere.
“Paula!” I yell, terrified that she's been washed out to sea. “Paula, where -”
Suddenly I hear a loud gasping noise, and I turn just as another wave slams against the shore. This time I rush through the spray and grab Paula's arm as she struggles spluttering on the pebbles. She's soaking wet and short of breath, and it takes all my strength to haul her back up the beach a few meters before finally her slippery arm falls from my grip. She lands coughing wildly against the pebbles and quickly rolls onto her front, as another wave hits the shore but doesn't quite manage to reach us.
“Are you insane?” I yell. “You could have been washed away!”
“You should have let me,” she replies, spitting out seawater. “You have no idea what's going to happen now.”
“Come home with me!” I shout. “Paula, please!”
She looks up at me for a moment, with fear in her eyes, before shaking her head. At the same time, she wipes matted wet hair from across her forehead.
“You can't stay out here!” I tell her. “I won't let you! I'm scared of what you might do!”
“You weren't scared all those years ago!” she spits back at me.
“What?”
“You weren't scared when you ignored my messages!” she continues, before starting to get to her feet. “I know I said I wasn't angry, but that's a lie. I was...”
She hesitates, as if she can't think of the word, and then she lets out a furious cry of rage. Before I can react, she stumbles toward me and pushes me hard in the chest, sending me tripping back until I land hard on the pebbles.
“You didn't care then!” she screams, towering above me and silhouetted against the starry night sky. “You didn't give a shit! I might as well have died for all you knew, and you just ignored every message I sent you!”
“I told you, I -”
“I don't give a shit about your lies!” she yells, and suddenly she kicks me hard in the side.
Feeling a sharp, splitting pain in my ribs, I roll away as another strong gust of wind blows against me.
“You just dropped me like I'd gone out of style!” Paula shouts against the growing storm. “You tossed me aside like I didn't matter anymore!”
Wincing, I look back up at her, and I realize she's starting to cry. I can't quite make out her features in the dark, but I can hear her sobbing and gulping for air.
“I thought you were my friend,” she whimpers finally. “Maybe I got a little carried away, sure, but that doesn't mean I was completely wrong. I thought you cared as much as I cared.”
“I did!” I tell her. “I did, I don't know what happened, I just got distracted!”
“You wouldn't get distracted from a real friend,” she replies. “You wouldn't forget a real friend.”
“I didn't forget you,” I say breathlessly, too scared to dare getting up in case she kicks me again. I just need to get away from her, but she's terrifying me right now and I don't know how to calm her down. “I swear,” I continue finally, hoping to persuade her. “I got distracted, and that was bad of me, but when I tried to make it up I found that the website had closed. And because we'd never exchanged details, there was no way to find you. I searched for your username on other sites, but it was like you'd vanished.”
“I hadn't vanished,” she replies, still sounding as if she's crying. “I was still right there, where you left me.”
“I didn't know where you lived.”
“You could have found out!” she shouts. “I found you! Why couldn't you find me?”
I open my mouth to reply, before realizing what she just said.
“You found me?” I stammer. “It wasn't a coincidence, was it? You actively set out to find me!”
“Of course I did!” she hisses. “You didn't seriously believe all that bollocks about coincidences, did you? Come on, May, you're lots of things but you're not dumb.”
I pause, before finally daring to get to my feet. At that moment, the clouds clear just enough to let me see Paula's face, and I'm shocked by the sight of tears streaming down her face and getting blown across her cheek. She looks utterly distraught, and her bottom lip is trembling. If I didn't know better, I'd think she's having some kind of meltdown.
“Hey,” I say, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “I -”
“Don't touch me!” she splutters, taking a step back.
“I want to help,” I continue, lowering my hand. “Okay? I really, really want to help, but I can't do it out here on a beach in the middle of the night. Come back to the cottage and we can talk. We'll talk all night, and then all day, and we won't stop until everything's fine again.”
I wait, but she simply stands sobbing in front of me.
“I want to do that,” I add finally, almost reaching out for her again but managing to hold back. “It's what friends do.”
Again I wait, and again she simply stares at me. As she starts sniffing back tears, however, I notice that her bottom lip is no longer trembling.
“Do you mean that?” she asks.
I nod. “Of course I do.”
She swallows hard, before wiping more tears from her face.
“So you'll come with me?” I ask. “Please?”
“I'll be there in an hour,” she replies.
“Paula, I -”
“One hour.” She takes a step back. “I really want to talk to you, but there's something else I've got to do first. I'll come to the cottage in exactly an hour, okay?”
“I'll come with you.”
“No.”
“I don't want to let you go by yourself.”
“What, are you worried I'll off myself?” She shakes her head, and at the same time she allows herself a very faint smile. “I promise I'll come in an hour,” she continues. “I swear on my life, I'll be there. There's just something I need to do, to make things better, and then I'll come to the cottage.”
She pauses, before stepping toward me and putting her arms around me, giving me a big wet hug.
“I promise,” she whispers into my ear, “with all my heart.”
She lets go and steps back, and somehow – even though I'm still worried – I realize that I actually believe her. After all, Paula might be a lot of things, but I don't think she's a liar. Although, as I realize after a moment, she actually has lied to me already.
“Meet you
there,” she says, and now she sounds exhausted as she turns and trudges away along the beach, heading back toward town.
I'll follow her and -
“Don't follow me!” she calls out, as if she read my mind. “Trust me! I'll see you at your place!”
I open my mouth to reply, but now she's already out of sight and I can barely even hear the sound of her traipsing across the pebbles. I could go after her, of course, but this whole mess has made my head spin and I tell myself that I have to let Paula go and do whatever she wants to go and do. Frankly, the past few minutes have made me wonder whether she's entirely right in the head, and I think I could do with some time to think and figure out exactly what's happening here.
I don't know whether it's the cold wind making me shiver, or shock, or both. Whatever it is, I stumble back up the beach and over the sea-wall, and then I start walking alone along the street that leads back to my parents' cottage. I keep replaying Paula's sobbing cries over and over in my mind, trying to figure out exactly what's wrong with her. It's as if she had a complete breakdown, although she seemed to pull herself back together again – at least partly – by the time she headed off.
I have no idea what she needed to do so urgently, but I guess -
Suddenly hearing footsteps over my shoulder, I realize with a sigh of relief that she must have changed her mind and come after me. I turn, but in an instant I'm horrified to see that it's not Paula coming up behind me at all. Instead, it's a tall figure, and I'm just about able to see his dark eyes before I'm distracted by the flash of a blade.
I cry out, but it's too late.
He grabs my shoulder to hold me in place, and then the knife flashes again. The blade slices straight into my chest, and I swear I feel my heart pop as the tip rips through.
Extract from chat log
Saturday February 9th 2013
From AardvarkQueen310293:
Hey!
So it's been a week since I sent you that message, and I didn't get a reply back yet, so I thought I should check you're still in the land of the living.
I hope I didn't come across too strong in my last message. When I said we could meet up, it was only a suggestion. I actually think it'd be fun, and from our messages I get the feeling we'd get on really well, but of course it's totally up to you. If you'd rather keep things the way they've been, I'd be cool with that too. It's just that (getting personal ahead, warning!) I feel a connection with you, and I'd really like to get to you know in the 'real world'.
Whatever that is...
Is this all too personal? Am I totally embarrassing myself? Maybe, and please let me know if I am. And if you want to go back to just being internet friends, that's fine. I just thought I'd stick my neck out. To be honest, when you don't reply to a message for a while, I start worrying way too much for it to be healthy LOL. We could even exchange phone numbers, if you like. I've never even heard your voice!
Anyway, let me know. I want to hear from you soon.
Peace,
AQ
Chapter Fifteen
Today
Stumbling back, I bump against the side of a house and then half turn, tripping and dropping to my knees. I let out a gasp as I reach for the knife, only to find that somehow it must have slipped out. My shirt is wet from the beach, and I fumble for the wound in my chest before realizing that my shirt doesn't even seen to be torn.
I reach under my shirt, but there's no wound.
I swear I felt that knife go in, I felt it pierce my heart, but now there's nothing. Convinced that I have to be wrong, I keep searching until I realize that somehow I must have been lucky. And then, suddenly filled by the realization that this madman is after me, I scramble to my feet and start running along the street, not even daring to look back. I know he's after me, I know he's going to grab me at any second, but -
Suddenly I see the figure again, ahead of me this time.
I don't know how he managed to get past, but I barely manage to stop in time. I turn to run away, but he grabs me from behind and pulls me back.
I scream, and then I feel the knife slice into the right side of my neck and all the way through until the blade is forced out on the left side. I try to cry out again, but all that emerges from my mouth is a faint gasp, and I can feel the cold metal running all the way through my neck. I try to pull away, but my legs are starting to weaken, and then the knife shudders slightly as the man adjusts his grip.
A moment later, he starts slicing the knife out toward the front of my neck, carving through my flesh until finally the blade comes out and my throat is torn open. Now, finally, he lets go of me and I stumble forward, and I reach up to my slit throat just as jets of blood start spraying from the wound and splattering the white wall ahead.
Desperately gasping for air, I take a few more steps before dropping to my knees. I try to press my hands against the cut, to somehow keep the blood in, but I can feel the jets bursting through the gaps between my fingers. I press harder, but now my fingertips slip between the flaps of sliced skin and I feel more and more hot blood rushing from the wound and running all the way down to my wrists. I try to breathe, but the base of my tongue seems to be stuck to the back of my throat and finally I fall forward and bang my forehead heavily against the pavement.
I roll onto my side, still spluttering and gasping for air.
The dark figure is towering above me, still holding the knife.
I try to shout for Paula, hoping against hope that she'll come and rescue me, but I can't get a single word out. Then, when I try to get back up, the whole world seems to spin around me and I fall again, slamming hard against the pavement and letting out a wounded cry. I wince and roll onto my back, and then I look up at the dark figure that's still towering over me.
Except, he's gone.
All I see is rain starting to fall, and a moment later I realize I can breathe again.
Gasping, I sit up and clutch my neck, and by some miracle I find that the wound has healed. I must have dreamed the whole attack, but there'll be time later to figure that out. Right now I have to get back to the cottage, so I stumble to my feet and start tottering toward the next corner. I have to support myself against the wall, and I keep looking over my shoulder to make sure that I'm not being followed, but finally I reach the corner and start making my way along the next street. I'm just a few minutes from the cottage now, and I know I can figure this out once I'm safe.
I just need to get through the front door and then slam it shut.
Then I can sort this out.
Then I can -
Suddenly the figure lunges at me again, appearing from the darkness ahead. Before I can react, he slams me against the wall and presses my throat hard, pinning me in place. I see the flash of the blade, and then I feel an agonizing pain as the knife is sliced straight into my crotch. I tilt my head back and scream, but he pulls the blade out and then stabs me again and again between the legs until I start to feel metal grinding against my pelvis.
“Paula!” I shout. “Help me!”
Just as I think I'm about to pass out, the knife twists around and then slices out from my vagina. Shaking with fear, I watch as the blade is brought up to my face, and then slowly the edge is pressed vertically against my forehead and down onto my nose.
And then slowly, as blood dribbles from my crotch, the man slices the knife down my face and onto my neck, then onto the front of my shirt and down until the tip touches my belly.
“Please please please,” I sob, “don't do it. Don't hurt me. Please, please...”
My voice trails off as I hear more and more of my blood splattering against the pavement. Rain is falling harder than ever, and I'm desperately trying to think of a way to get free. At the same time, in the back of my mind another thought is starting to grow: I'd rather die than go through this. I'm twenty-one years old and I'd rather just lose my life right here and now, instead of going through whatever this maniac has in store for me.
Whimpering and sobbing, I star
e into his shadowy face and try to see his eyes.
“Please,” I whisper, “kill me. You can do anything to me after, but kill me now.”
I wait, but for a moment he seems to have frozen, as if he doesn't know how to respond. The knife's tip is still pressed against my belly, its sharpness pushing against the front of my shirt and threatening to tear through the fabric at any moment and slice into my skin. I feel the tip move slightly, over my belly button and then down to a spot just above the waist of my jeans.
“Please,” I whisper again, “just let it end. Just let it be over. I don't know who you are and I don't know why you're doing this to me, or how you're doing it, but please just stop torturing me.”
Again I wait, as tears stream down my face.
“Please, don't -”
Suddenly he thrusts the knife forward, forcing the blade deep into my belly. I scream as I feel him dragging the knife to the left side, catching the fabric of the shirt in the process, and then he starts slowly carving back over to the other side. I wriggle furiously, trying to find some way to get free as hot blood floods from the gash and starts soaking my shirt and the top of my trousers. All I can manage, however, is to let out an agonized groan as the knife reaches my right side, and then I feel him pulling the blade free and lifting my shirt out of the way.
He plunges the blade into me again, and this time he cuts down. I feel several more quick, clear slices, and then he starts tugging on something. The agony is intense, and finally I feel my intestines being pulled out loop by loop through the slit in my belly. There's a loud, constant splattering sound on the pavement now, and I manage to look down just enough to see my guts glistening in the rain.
