Friend From the Internet

by Amy Cross

  “Move!”

  Grabbing me again, Paula forces me along the street and into the supermarket's car-park When I try to pull away, she shoves me a couple more times, and I can't help noticing how real she feels. She's not real, of course, I know that now, but my madness is making me actually feel her touch. I felt her touch last night, too, but somehow I must have been locked in some kind of fantasy while I was in the bed. I must be seriously out of my mind.

  “I need to get to her,” Paula sneers, pulling me over to the side of the supermarket, to a spot where a ladder leads up toward the roof. “Fuck, I need to think. I need to figure this out.”

  “You're not real,” I whisper, trying to get free of her grip but not quite managing. “What happened? Why did I start imagining you?”

  I look at the knife she's holding.

  “I must be holding that,” I continue. “I must have stabbed that police woman, I must have killed Rose.”

  I feel a terrible shock pounding in my chest, and for a moment the whole world seems to be spinning all around me.

  “I'm not real, huh?” Paula says. “Is that right? Well, how about this?”

  Before I can respond, she punches me hard in the side. I fall back and let out a cry of pain as I feel a cracking sensation in my ribs. And then, as I try to turn away, she comes closer and grabs me by the throat.

  “I don't have time for this!” she says firmly. “Do you want to ask me again whether I'm real or not?”

  “You can't -”

  She hits me again, and this time I feel more ribs crunching. I slip from her grasp and slump down against the ground. The pain feels real, and I can only assume that I must have been punching myself.

  “This is not the time or the place,” she says as she towers over me, “to have an existential fucking crisis. Do you understand?”

  “You're not real,” I gasp through the pain, as I look up at her. “I imagined you all along!”

  “Oh honey,” she replies with a faint smile, “why would someone like you imagine someone like me? Don't you think it should be the other way around?”

  With that, she turns and grabs the bottom of the ladder, and then she starts climbing up.

  “Wait!” I gasp, struggling to my feet despite the pain in my ribs. “Paula, stop!”

  She doesn't reply, and when I look up I see that she's already about a third of the way toward the roof.

  “Paula, stop!” I yell.

  “Make me!” she shouts back. “If I stay down there, they'll get me before I can finish what I started!”

  “But you're not real!” I call out. “You can't be real!”

  I watch with a growing sense of horror as she gets higher and higher, and finally disappears over the top and onto the supermarket's roof. I hesitate for a moment, as the sirens get closer and closer, and then without really knowing why I start climbing the ladder.

  This is insane, but I need to get away from the police for a moment so that I can figure out what's happening. And, more importantly, so that I can figure out what I've been doing over the past few days. Every moment with Paula must have been all in my head, and must have been a way for me to cover whatever I've really been doing. Deep down, some primal urge is telling me that I have to get away from the police, and right now climbing is my only option.

  Wincing as I get to the top of the ladder, I try to haul myself onto the supermarket's roof, only for my broken ribs to pinch tight on the right side of my chest. I can't help myself: I scream, almost losing my grip. At the last moment I manage to cling to the metal rungs, and then I make the mistake of looking down.

  I'm at least fifty feet above the car park.

  If I fall now, I'll have no chance.

  Despite the pain in my chest, I adjust my grip and then I start once again hauling myself over the top of the ladder and onto the roof. I grit my teeth and try not to cry out as I push my way through the anti-seagull netting, and then I manage to stumble a few feet before dropping to my knees. I clutch my chest on the right side, waiting for the worst of the pain to subside, and then I look around at the bare, flat expanse up here.

  And I see her.

  She's over on the other side of the roof, limping badly and clutching her belly.

  Getting to my feet, I briefly look down at the slate roof and I spot dark spots of liquid. In the cold gray sunlight, it's difficult to be certain, but I'm pretty sure that's blood.

  “Paula!” I gasp, struggling forward despite the pain in my chest. “Wait!”

  I manage a few more steps before stopping as I feel dizzy. The sensation builds for a moment, and I feel as if I'm about to topple backward. Finally I manage to steady myself, and I once again spot Paula ahead, except this time she's all the way on the far side of the roof and she's limping straight toward the edge, almost as if...

  No.

  “No!” I shout, stumbling after her, almost screaming. “Paula, wait! Don't do it! Stop!”

  I trip and fall, landing hard on my knees, but I immediately get back up. Hurrying forward even though I feel I might collapse at any moment, I reach toward Paula, but I'm still too far away. I trip again, and this time I feel a jolt of pain in my knees as I drop down.

  “Paula, stop!” I shout, as she stands at the very edge of the roof, silhouetted against the gray sky.

  I can hear police sirens getting closer and closer.

  “Don't do it,” I stammer, unable to find the strength to get to my feet. “I'm here. Please, Paula, don't do this.”

  I wait, but for a moment she simply stands there with her back to me. Finally, however, she turns just as I'm about to cry out again, and now I see the absolute terror in her eyes. She's clutching her belly, and there's blood not only soaking through the front of her shirt but dribbling between her fingers and trickling down onto the roof. There's more blood on her face, running from one corner of her mouth and onto her chin, and she looks deathly pale.

  “I know,” I tell her, hoping to stop her from jumping. “I figured it out.”

  I wait, but she's still just staring at me as if she's terrified.

  “I know,” I say again, trying to find the strength to get to my feet. “It's okay. I figured it all out, Paula. I finally know why you came. I know what you want. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry it took me this long.”

  I pause, hoping against hope that she'll say something.

  “I know who you are,” I add desperately as tears start streaming down my face. “Paula, I know who you are.”

  I wait, convinced that she'll tell me everything will be alright. She's staring at me with an expression of pure fear, and the sirens are so close now they must be in the car park far below. Paula doesn't seem to care about any of that, however, and after a moment she straightens herself up a little while still clutching her belly. Then, slowly, she moves her hands away from the blood-stained patch of fabric and holds them out, and I watch with a growing sense of relief as I see a faint smile reaching her lips. It's almost as if she's about to come to me, as if she's about to walk over and embrace me and tell me everything she knows.

  And then, to my horror, she falls back and plummets from the edge of the roof.

  I scream.

  Then I fall silent.

  Wind howls all around me, and then...

  A loud crashing sound makes me shudder, then another, and then I hear screams from down in the car park.

  I stay right where I am, still trying to make sense of this madness. I know that Paula isn't real, that there was only ever one of us, so maybe her throwing herself off the building was some way for my subconscious mind to end the illusion. At the same time, I can hear more cries in the car park, and more and more sirens are coming closer. Finally, slowly, I make my way across the roof until I reach the edge, and then I look down.

  Paula is on the ground.

  There's blood on her face.

  Two women are kneeling next to her, checking for a pulse, and a moment later two police officers rush over and start helping.
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br />   For a girl I imagined, she sure seems to be attracting a lot of attention. Which means that either I'm even imagining this, or...

  Extract from chat log

  Friday February 22nd 2013

  From AardvarkQueen310293:

  BITCH!

  WHORE!

  SLUT!

  I'LL FIND YOU!

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Hey! Stop! Where are you taking her?”

  Stumbling across the car-park, feeling a strange nausea in my belly, I try to reach the ambulance as the doors swing shut. I almost get there in time, but suddenly my knees buckle and I drop down, landing with a heavy thud. I immediately try to get up, but the whole world seems to be whooshing and swishing all around me and a moment later I hear the ambulance's engine start running.

  “Wait!” I shout. “I have to come with you!”

  It takes a moment before my blurred vision begins to clear, but finally I spot the ambulance driving out of the car-park A split second later, the blue lights start flashing and the sirens ring out, and I watch astonished onlookers stepping out of the way as the ambulance speeds up and swings a left turn out of view.

  “Where are they taking her?” I ask, looking around at the people nearby before spotting several police officers over at the spot where Paula landed. “Hey! Which hospital are they taking her to?”

  I start making my way over, although I have to take care as my legs feel like they might buckle again at any moment.

  “Where are they taking my friend?” I ask as I get closer. “What -”

  Before I can finish, however, I spot blood on the ground. I stop for a moment, utterly horrified, and as I stare at the blood I realize that the ground seems to be trembling under my feet. It's almost as if I'm in a car that's bumping along a road, but I look around and see several police officers examining the blood. They don't seem to have noticed me at all, which seems strange since I'm right in the middle of a crime scene, and then a moment later I hear voices up high.

  I look up, toward the roof where two officers are -

  “Get a tube into her!”

  Suddenly the sun becomes an electric light and the world shudders. I fall back, slamming against a wall and slipping down onto the floor of a fast-moving ambulance. Trolleys and trays clatter all around me, and this time when I look up I see several paramedics struggling to get past one another and reach a body on the nearest trolley. I have no idea how I got here, but as I scramble to my feet I see that the body on the trolley is a bloodied and battered Paula. There are already tubes and wires running into her, and blood is caked across her face. The paramedics are yelling at one another and a sense of panic is palpable.

  “Paula!” I stammer, struggling to get around to the other end of the bed as the ambulance continues to shudder. “It's me! I'm here!”

  Finding a gap between two of the paramedics, I look down and see her face. As I do so, her eyes start to flicker open and she looks straight up at me. Furious work is continuing all around us, but for one moment we simply stare at each other. I don't know what to say or do, so finally I simply reach down and take hold of her hand, while trying to make sure that I don't knock the drip that runs into her wrist.

  “I'm here,” I tell her. “You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine!”

  “Where's that line?” a paramedic shouts.

  Paula stares at me for a moment, and then slowly her eyes close again. I squeeze her hand, but this time she doesn't respond and I feel another rush of panic. And then, before I can say another word, the whole world goes black around me. When I look down, I can't even see my own hand, although I can still feel Paula's.

  “I always knew there was something wrong with her.”

  I blink, and suddenly I'm standing in the living room of a dimly-lit house. The ground beneath my feet is no longer shuddering, and when I look round I see that there's a man sitting slumped in a large armchair. He's smoking, and he has a cup of tea in his hands.

  “Right from when she was a child, I knew something wasn't right in Paula's head,” he murmurs. I look around, but he seems to be talking to himself. “It wasn't anything to do with how we raised her. It was just inside her from the very beginning. She was very clever in some ways, but so very dumb in others. At first I thought it was something she'd get over, that she'd grow up and become normal. Later I figured I'd have to find a way to fix her. I thought about getting her professional help, but I thought I could do it myself. I told her over and over again, I told her what was wrong with her, but did she listen?”

  He sighs.

  “Of course not,” he adds. “I mean, what else could I have done?”

  He takes a sip of tea.

  Beneath my feet, the carpet is shaking harder than before, as if it's speeding up.

  “Well, I did what I could,” the man adds with a shrug. “Turns out, I couldn't fix her. No-one could. She was just like this from the start. No-one can blame me for how she turned out.”

  Spotting a flickering light nearby, I turn and see that the TV is running with the sound turned off. On the screen, a news reporter is speaking into the camera, while a photo of Paula is on the wall behind him.

  “She was beyond help,” the man continues. “Nobody could have fixed that girl. She was wrong from the start.”

  I turn to him, but suddenly everything goes black and I realize I'm drowning. Panicking, I reach out and feel cold pebbles against my hands, and I start crawling. Strong currents are trying to push me back, but after a moment I realize I can just about breathe in the water. I take in vast gulps, but somehow there's just enough oxygen. I can feel my body starting to get heavier and heavier, but then after a moment I finally start crawling out of the water and onto a beach. The air around me is warm, and I take several desperate breaths as I look around and see that there's nobody else here.

  I try to stand, but I can't make my spine bend.

  Looking down, I see that my hands are strangely twisted, and that my skin is covered in scales.

  I try to cry out, but all that emerges from my mouth is a strange, animal-like cry filled with harsh gurgles. I stumble forward before flopping down against the pebbles, desperately gasping for more air. And then, slowly, I realize I can feel my own long tail splashing in the water behind me.

  What am I?

  Before I have time to think, I feel an icy wind blowing against me. In a fraction of a second, I go from being on all-fours on a warm beach, to standing up straight on a much colder, more windswept beach late at night.

  And my tail is gone.

  Startled, I step back across the pebbles, just as waves crash against the shore. The water almost reaches my feet, and then I realize I can see blinking lights in the distance. There are boats out there, miles away in the English Channel. I open my mouth to ask out loud where I am, but then I find that the sight of those lights is somehow calming me down. Even though I have no idea what's happening, I stand completely still and watch the lights.

  Some of them are red.

  A few are white.

  They're the lights of boats – cargo vessels, probably – making their journeys through the night.

  For a moment, all I can think about is the people on those boats. I'm sure it's a hard life, I'm sure they're exhausted and they just want to get back to shore and go to their families, but standing here right now I feel a huge urge to swim out there and climb onto one of the boats, to get away from the world and just float through darkness forever. I know I could never actually get all the way out there, I know I'd drown first, but the prospect of at least trying is enough to make me start taking stumbled steps down toward the water's edge.

  I'd rather have a 1% chance of succeeding, than a 100% chance of failing.

  And hey, maybe I could swim all the way. The water's rough, but it's not that rough, and the boats are probably only five or six miles out on such a stormy night. Water is rushing around my ankles now, and I know I'm probably deluded, but I start running and finally a huge
wave knocks me off my feet. I crash down into the icy water, and I immediately feel myself getting drawn out to sea. I try to raise my head above the surface and take a breath, but I don't even know which way is up. I'm getting spun around in every direction, and when I open my eyes I see only darkness. I try again to breathe, but cold water rushes into my mouth and I feel tiny particles of dirt and sand and dead seaweed sticking to my tongue.

  I try to turn and go back the way I came, but all that happens is that I bump against the seabed. I look up – or in the direction that I think is up – but I see only darkness. Feeling something scratching against my eyes, I turn the other way, but then I reach out and feel the pebble-covered seabed rushing past. I'm being swept away fast, and I can feel the pressure getting stronger as I'm drawn deeper and deeper into the water.

  When I try to cry out, I have no breath to cry out with. I inadvertently suck in more water, swallowing gallons, and now my throat feels as if it's expanding to the point where it's about to burst.

  I turn, or at least I think I turn, and I try to dig my hands into the pebbles. No matter what I do, however, I can still feel myself getting drawn further and further out to sea, and after a moment another rush of turbulence spins me around and sends me crashing through the icy void. I try again to cry out, but now it's as if my body is panicking and I can't stop swallowing mouthful after mouthful of water. My lungs are burning and about to burst, and I feel as if my eyes are about to explode from their sockets.

  I can't fight.

  Now anymore.

  The vast underwater currents are pulling me along, and I'm never going to reach those boats.

  I can't even close my mouth.

  “Okay, clear!” a voice shouts. “Everyone clear!”

  Suddenly I realize I've got my eyes closed. When I open them, I find myself still standing in the ambulance as one of the paramedics puts some pads against Paula's chest. The others stand back, and the paramedics delivers a shock in an attempt to restart her heart. All I can hear now, however, is a growing flat whine from one of the nearby machines, punctuated by occasional cries from the paramedic about how he's going to try again. No matter what he tries, however, the whine is getting louder and louder until I have to put my hands over my ears. Even this doesn't stop the sound, which is starting to split my skull and seep into my brain, and eventually I cry out.