Wish Me Dead

by Malcolm Richards

  Emily increased the speed of her descent. Suddenly her foot slipped on a wet and mossy rung, and for one terrifying second, she found herself dangling in the darkness from one hand. The torch slipped from her mouth as she screamed, then bounced off the ladder and hit the ground next to Charlotte, who made no move to pick it up. By some miracle, the bulb hadn’t shattered.

  Emily swung herself towards the ladder. Her feet and hands now safely back on the rungs, she continued downward. When she reached the ground a few seconds later, Charlotte still had not moved. Scooping up the pen torch, Emily pointed the light at the body on the floor.

  “Becky. . .” She was by her side in a second, crouched over, two fingers pressed into Becky’s jugular.

  “She’s alive!”

  She shot a glance at Charlotte, who was caught between darkness and light, looking grey and sickly, her eyes two unseeing hollows. Setting the torch on the ground, Emily lifted Becky’s head into her lap and examined the damage. The hair on the right side was matted together with dried blood. More blood caked her face.

  A noise came from Becky’s throat, low and guttural, as her eyes rolled beneath their lids.

  “Becky? Can you hear me? It’s Emily. You’re safe.”

  Becky’s eyelids flickered open. Her pupils were two small points. Emily raised her voice, calling her name again.

  “Em...”

  Becky stared up through a veil of confusion.

  “Don’t speak. We’re going to get you out of here. We’re going to take you to a hospital.”

  “No . . . hosp. . .” Becky’s voice trailed off. Her breathing didn’t sound right and her cracked lips were tinted blue.

  “Becky?” Emily tapped her gently on the cheek. Pulling out her phone, she checked the screen. There was still no signal.

  Emily yelled with frustration. The ladder was the only way out. But how were they going to get her up it?

  Becky’s eyes were closing again. Emily gave her a short, sharp shake.

  “Stay with me, Becky. You have to stay awake.”

  Becky’s eyelids fluttered.

  “Damn it! We need to get her help now, Charlotte!” Emily shot a glance towards the ladder and her breath caught in her throat.

  Charlotte was no longer standing by the ladder. She was halfway up it, climbing back to the surface.

  “Charlotte!”

  Emily froze, watching her make the ascent. She was moving slowly, but with every passing second, she was heading closer to the light. Emily moved quickly, laying Becky on the ground.

  “I’ll be back!” she called, racing to the ladder. “I promise!”

  Reaching up, Emily started to climb.

  Charlotte was above her, daylight bathing her body as she reached for the next rung.

  Emily climbed faster. Her feet slipped in the water, but her hands were iron grips. Finding her footing again, she continued to climb.

  Charlotte reached the top of the ladder and hoisted herself out.

  A cry escaped Emily’s lips. She pulled herself up, hand over hand, foot over foot. She was almost at the top.

  Charlotte was on her knees now, hanging over the edge, struggling for breath.

  Their eyes locked, just for a second. Then Charlotte staggered to her feet.

  “Charlotte, no!” Emily hauled herself up. Her fingers flew out and grasped the top rung.

  She looked up in time to see Charlotte heave the hatch door up and over.

  “I’m sorry!” she wailed.

  The hatch door came crashing down.

  23

  THE ROCK. Emily’s fingers wrapped around it, tearing it from her pocket. She slammed it on the edge of the hatch, just as the door came smashing down. The din of metal landing hard at close range was like thunder cracking in Emily’s ears. She shrieked and almost lost her grip.

  Then she looked up. The rock had split in half but part of it remained wedged between the hatch and the rim, preventing the door from sealing shut.

  Instinct took over. Gripping the ladder with both hands, Emily forced her feet up a rung, then another, until she was hunched up like a clam, her back pressed against the hatch door.

  Channelling her adrenaline-fuelled strength into her back, she pushed up. The hatch door lifted a few inches. She straightened her body, this time thrusting up with her shoulders.

  The door opened far enough for her to get an arm through.

  Emitting a desperate cry, Emily launched her body upward one last time. The door flipped ninety degrees, pivoted momentarily, then slammed down onto the cold, wet ground.

  Light rushed in. Emily grabbed both sides of the hatch. She dangled there for a second, nothing but empty space beneath her. Lifting her legs, she swung them over and rolled onto solid ground.

  She gave herself half a second to recover before staggering to her feet.

  Charlotte was already on the trail but had stopped still, terrified eyes fixed on Emily.

  Emily stumbled forward, picking up speed.

  Charlotte turned and bolted. She was heading out of the forest, back to the car. She was going to get away.

  Emily’s feet hit the trail, kicking foliage into the air as she pumped her arms and legs. Tree trunks blurred as she raced forward. The edge of the forest came up to meet her and she burst through, heading straight for the car.

  Charlotte was at the driver door, keys in hand.

  Emily raced up behind her, stumbled into a pothole, and flew forward.

  Her body slammed into Charlotte’s.

  They hit the ground and rolled.

  Heart smashing into her ribcage, Emily pushed herself onto her feet. The car keys were lying in a pool of muddy water. She lunged forward, scooped them up, then spun on her heels.

  Charlotte was sitting with her back resting against the car, her legs splayed in front of her like a toddler.

  The two women remained rooted to the ground, chests heaving, lungs gasping for air. Then Charlotte began to cry.

  “I’m sorry,” she wailed as tears flooded her face.

  Emily heaved her shoulders. She was furious. “For leaving Becky for dead or for trying to turn me into Tutan-bloody-khamun?”

  Charlotte wiped her tears. More came. “What happens now? Will you call the police?”

  The car keys were clenched in Emily’s fist. “We can talk about that later,” she said between breaths. “Right now, you’re going to help me get Becky out of that hole.” She stabbed a finger at Charlotte. “And no more funny business.”

  ***

  Perhaps she was wrong to trust Charlotte but Emily had little choice. Grabbing bottled water from the car, she hurried back to the bunker. Charlotte followed behind like a scolded child. Reaching the hatch, Emily stared into darkness once more.

  “I don’t know how we’re going to get her out,” she said, unable to disguise the panic in her voice. Even if she had the strength to carry Charlotte in a fireman’s lift over her shoulder, there was no way she could get her up the ladder. The alternative was to drive until she had a phone signal, then call for the emergency services. But there was no chance in hell she was going to leave Charlotte alone with Becky or trust her to be the one to go for help.

  “There’s another way,” Charlotte said, as if reading Emily’s mind. She had turned and was peering down the slope at the forest floor below. “Another door.”

  “Show me.”

  Grabbing Charlotte by the arm, Emily plunged down the slope. They found the door a few seconds later, covered up with broken branches. Once they had removed them, they were faced with a padlocked chain.

  Emily looked around on the ground, found another rock, and brought it crashing down. The chain, which was weakened and rusty, snapped on impact.

  The door was open. Light flooded the bunker.

  “You’re first,” Emily said, nudging Charlotte with her arm.

  Charlotte nodded, there but not really there.

  It didn’t take long to find Becky. She was barely conscious. Emily m
ade Charlotte scoop up her head and feed her a bottle of water in slow sips, while she assessed the rest of the damage. She was no doctor, but the way Becky’s ankle had swollen like a balloon, it was reasonable to assume it was broken. Her left arm and hand, too. Emily wondered how she had survived for so long down here in this dank, terrifying place.

  Once the water bottle had been drained, Emily removed her jacket and used it to secure Becky’s legs just below the knees.

  “We’re going to carry her,” she said.

  Guilt soured Charlotte’s features. “Will she live?”

  Emily stared at Becky’s now unconscious form, unable to answer.

  ***

  It was another ten long, painful minutes before they emerged from the forest, carrying Becky stretcher-like between them. Reaching the car, Emily hit the remote unlock button on the key fob, and together they hoisted her gently into the back seat.

  The engine started on the first attempt. Emily made a three-point turn, glancing at Charlotte, who sat with Becky’s head resting in her lap, then drove them away from the forest.

  They reached the hospital thirty minutes later. Emily parked and switched off the engine. She twisted around to face her passengers. Except for the muddy streaks on her face, Charlotte was as pale as cotton. Becky was a broken mess of dirt and dried blood and matted hair. She was still unconscious.

  A decision needed to be made, but Emily didn’t want to be the one to make it.

  “The way I see it, you have two choices,” she said, glancing out the window. “One, we go in there, tell them exactly what happened, and you both deal with the consequences of police involvement. I think we all know the outcome isn’t going to be good for either of you.”

  She let the thought rest for a moment.

  Charlotte began to cry. “I don’t want to go to prison!”

  “Or two, you come up with a story about how you happened to find Becky in this state and then hope to God that ‘A’, she doesn’t screw it all up when she’s conscious, and ‘B’, she doesn’t go ahead and share your night of passion to the world anyway.”

  A strange looked passed over Charlotte’s face. “Where would I have found her?”

  “Use your damn imagination.” Irritation crept into Emily’s voice. She was furious with both of them. “You’ve done terrible things to each other. It doesn’t matter who did what first.” Charlotte began to protest, until a cutting glare from Emily quickly silenced her. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, but you lost that right when you beat Becky half to death and threw her into an abandoned bunker. You were about to move away without telling anyone what happened. And did I mention the part where you tried to lock me in there with her? That’s two counts of attempted murder.”

  The realisation of what Charlotte had tried to do was only now hitting her, leaving her nauseous and panicked. “I honestly can’t decide which of you is worse. But the fact remains, if either of you speak out, you’ll both be facing criminal charges. Those are your choices. Either way Becky is getting medical treatment whether you think she deserves it or not.”

  Exhausted and spent, Emily removed the keys from the ignition and tossed them back to Charlotte. All she wanted was to go home, take a hot shower and scrub herself clean. The events of this past week had left an indelible stain that would sully her mind each time she reminisced about her university days. As strange as it seemed, it pissed her off more than Charlotte trying to kill her.

  She glanced in the rear-view mirror, catching the wretched expression on Charlotte’s face.

  “Why would you help me? Why aren’t you calling the police?” she croaked.

  It was a good question, and one Emily was asking herself right now. She supposed that despite Charlotte’s actions, she pitied her. Becky had forced her into an impossible situation. She had pushed her to the edge of reason and then pushed again, until Charlotte had snapped and retaliated. It seemed to Emily that Charlotte had been running scared ever since, her actions driven by shock and terror. Did she deserve to go to prison? Possibly. But would any of them be sitting here right now if Becky hadn’t played Charlotte that tape and demanded money in exchange for her silence?

  Charlotte, Becky, Damien Harris, Vice Chancellor Eriksson, Councillor Beaumont: they had all committed punishable crimes. And yet, in one form or another, every one of them was already paying for their actions.

  “One, turn yourself in,” Emily repeated, tiredly shaking her head. “Or two, make up a story. Either way, I’m done.”

  A voice, cracked and gravelly from dehydration, disturbed the silence. “Or three, you leave me at the door and you drive away.”

  Emily spun around to see Becky had opened her eyes and was staring up at Charlotte.

  “Maybe then we’ll both...avoid getting arrested,” she croaked. Slowly, she turned her head in Emily’s direction.

  “Why, Becky?” Emily gasped, tears welling in her eyes. “Why have you done all these terrible things?”

  Becky’s eyelids fluttered.

  “Why not?” she said.

  A minute later, they were out of the car and carrying Becky’s unconscious body through the hospital doors. Emily hung back as a nurse rushed to Becky’s aid. She didn’t wait to see what happened next. Instead, she glanced down at her filthy clothes, then walked out through the hospital doors.

  Stopping beside Charlotte’s car, she dug a hand into her pocket and pulled out the silver crucifix. Emily stared at it for a long while, then slipped it over one of the windscreen wipers and headed towards the exit.

  Behind her, the hospital doors opened and Charlotte came hurrying out. She glanced up, catching Emily’s eye. A look passed between them: a collision of guilt and anger and betrayal. Then Emily turned and walked through the gates, in search of a bus to take her home.

  24

  THE WEEKEND CAME and went with Emily sat at her desk. The time she’d spent searching for Becky had put her seriously behind with her studies. Her final exams were now less than two weeks away. Emily didn’t return to the hospital. She felt guilty for dumping Becky there like an unwanted dog and conflicted for not reporting anything to the police. But she had her future to think about, and right now, she was in danger of screwing it all up.

  She had not heard from Charlotte again, which was probably for the best. Becky was alive. Whatever new web of lies she’d spun had obviously done the trick. It wasn’t until Becky’s mother showed up at the house on Monday morning, announcing she was here to pack up Becky’s room, that Emily learned ‘where’ Becky had been all this time.

  “Mugged and left for dead!” Mrs Briar said, as she unfolded flat pack boxes. “She doesn’t remember anything, just arriving at the station to take a train home, then stepping outside for a cigarette and being accosted by two men. I always told her smoking was a dangerous habit. If only she could recall what those animals looked like. She’d been unconscious out in that wasteland behind the station for days. She’s lucky that girl found her! A proper Good Samaritan, she was. Disappeared before the nurses could even get her name...”

  It was a believable story, Emily supposed, if you didn’t overthink it.

  “Well, Becky will be coming home with us now,” Mrs Briar continued. “I had no idea she was failing. What a disappointment!”

  The removal men came the next day.

  The rest of the week rushed by. Emily delivered her final classes to her cohort of young students. On Friday, they gave her cards and gifts, and Principal Talbot gave her a special mention in the school assembly. He called her into his office later that afternoon, asking if she’d made a decision about his job offer. Emily told him that she had.

  The rest of her time was spent poring over books and online resources. Her mother called several times, anxiously demanding to know if her only child would be returning home.

  “Mrs Skinner says there’s a job for you over in Bishopstown if you want it. They need someone to teach the Year Sevens.”

  “But I –”

  “I�
�ve told her you’ll phone to arrange an interview.”

  The day of the finals arrived. Emily used the walk to the campus to clear her mind of thoughts outside the arena of educational studies.

  Angela was waiting for her in the quad, nervously pacing up and down, sucking on a cigarette.

  “Since when do you smoke?” Emily asked.

  Angela shrugged. “Since just now. I can’t believe we’re finally here. God, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown, I swear.”

  “You’ll be fine. Just breathe.” Emily stared at the ground. “Listen, I’m sorry about the other day. I guess sometimes I’m a little impulsive.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Angela said, stooping to crush the cigarette under her foot. “You take Bessie off my hands once the exams are over and we’ll call it even.”

  “Bessie?”

  “My car. I can’t take her to Africa, and I’d hate to think of her going to a stranger. I’ll do you a good deal.”

  Emily stared at her. “You’re going to Africa?”

  “Yes, I am. Volunteering with the Red Cross.” She flashed a smile. “I guess you’re not the only one who can be impulsive.”

  It was almost time. They headed to the examinations hall, Angela filling the journey with anxious chatter. Neither mentioned Becky Briar, as if the mere utterance of her name would place an immediate curse on them.

  Arriving at the main doors, Angela fell silent and squeezed Emily’s hand.

  “Good luck,” she whispered.

  Emily squeezed back. “Good luck.”

  ***

  A few hours later it was all over. Emily stepped out into the sunshine feeling frazzled and exhausted. Angela appeared beside her, looking as if she’d been pulled from a car wreck.