Last One To Die

by Cynthia Murphy

  “What do you mean, Will’s gone missing?” I ask. Jess hands me a cup of strong tea in a chipped mug. I check my watch; I need to be at the museum in an hour.

  “He just vanished.” Jess lowers her voice so Ruth, who’s hovering protectively behind the library counter, can’t hear her. “I heard Mum talking to Detective Moran and she said there’s been no sign of him at all. It’s like, poof.” She makes exploding little fireworks with her fingers. “The police can’t find him anywhere.”

  “Weird.” I chew the plastic cap on the end of my pen. “Do you really think it was him who attacked Tasha?”

  “I think so. You saw the marks on his hands. We know he’s been in the antique books section. Yeah, it makes sense. Plus, what Tasha said about the smell – he really did smell like that. Not bad, but, like, woodsy or something. Like the tree air freshener in my dad’s car.” She eyes me. “Why, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I’d definitely feel better if we knew where he was.”

  “I think Mum would, too.” I can barely hear her now, her voice a wraithlike whisper. “She’s been beating herself up pretty badly, said she always thought she was a pretty good judge of character.”

  “It’s not her fault he’s a total sociopath.”

  “No. But try telling her that.”

  We both watch Ruth pretending to look busy at the computer, though we know she’s only there to keep an eye on us. Jess won’t say anything, but I feel as though Ruth has gone off me a bit. I wonder if she’s worried about me and Jess spending time together after all that’s happened.

  “Are you coming for dinner tonight?” Jess’s voice is back to normal. “Dad’s making his famous jerk chicken with rice and peas.”

  “Sounds amazing. I’ve been living off pot noodles for the last three days.”

  “I hope you can handle spice. Do you want to stay over? We can pretend to be normal, do Korean facemasks and watch something cheesy on Netflix.”

  I hesitate for a second, before Meghan’s voice in my head tells me to stop being so pig-headed and accept help once in a while. “You know what, that sounds perfect.” Jess beams at me. “As long as your parents don’t mind?”

  “Don’t be silly! Mum might actually relax if she knows you’re in the next room.”

  “She’s worried about me?”

  “Of course she’s worried about you!”

  “Well then, I guess I’ll have to stay.” The thought of being in a real house, eating a real, home-cooked meal, is the kind of excitement I need in my life right now. “Anyway, I’d better go, I’m doing the afternoon shift at the museum.” I gather up the notebook I haven’t used again and shove it in my bag. “Can we come in tomorrow so you can show me the old newspapers on the microfilm thingy? I need to do some actual research if I’m ever going to write this essay.”

  “Yep, no probs. We can have a lazy morning and come in later. It’s always quiet on the weekend.”

  “Cool.” I swing my bag on to my shoulder and push away from the table. “Meet you back here later?”

  Jess shakes her head, curls dancing. “No, I’ll meet you at the museum.”

  “Jess, there’s really no need. It’s miles away!”

  “No arguing, I don’t want you on your own too much. See you at six?”

  “Yeah, OK.” I pause before tucking my chair in. “Thanks.”

  “Of course. Plus, I might finally get a sneak peek at lover boy.”

  “Ah, now it makes sense!” I don’t blame her, I have talked about Tommy roughly every five seconds since my last shift. “Just don’t drop me in it, OK?”

  “As if I would.”

  I can still hear her laughing as the door swings shut behind me.

  “Niamh, my dear, wonderful to see you.” Geoffrey’s voice booms over the cobblestones as I emerge into my other life. I automatically scan the room for Tommy and my heartrate speeds up as I spot him chatting to some visitors, cap in hand, blonde hair tousled and shining.

  “Hi, Geoffrey.” He looks a little worse for wear today, leaning heavily on his stick. I always assumed it was a prop, but maybe he actually needs it, like Ruth. “Is everything OK?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, just a bit of the old gout playing up. Happens occasionally after spending the day on my feet.” He removes his top hat. “I am going to call it a day, though. It’s been quiet today and I’m sure you and Thomas will do a grand job without me.”

  “Of course, don’t worry about us.” I blurt. Me and Tommy? Alone? In a quiet museum? “You go home and rest.” Subtle, Niamh. I might as well push him out the door.

  “Thank you, dear. Now,” he wags a finger at me, like I’m a naughty pup, “don’t work too hard.”

  I smile. “I won’t, don’t you worry.” He chuckles and waves his hat regally, then begins to tap towards the staffroom.

  “Just us two, then?” Tommy’s voice teases my ear and my insides immediately begin to melt.

  “Hey,” I stutter, turning. He is smiling. “Yeah, looks like it.”

  “Great.” He gently nudges me with his shoulder and the physical contact leaves my mind blank and my skin singing. I don’t think my heart can take four whole hours of this. “So, what do you want to do, my lady?”

  “Do?”

  “Yeah, it’s dead in here. Those two visitors have just left and the weather is amazing today, or so I’ve heard. I don’t think we’ll see anyone else for a while.”

  “Seriously?” I fall into step beside him as he meanders along the cobbles. His hands are jammed deep into his trouser pockets and they pull around his bottom half in a way I pretend not to notice. His hair looks soft, clean. I bet it feels amazing.

  “Niamh?” Uh-oh. What did he say? He’s speaking slowly, clearly repeating himself, the words coming out all slow and pronounced. “I said I have an idea.”

  “Er, OK.”

  “I’ll be back in five. Meet me in the Temperance Bar?”

  He’s gone before I can answer.

  The Temperance Bar is at the other end of the museum, in its own little corner. The lights are dimming as I start hesitantly towards it. I wish I had a torch or something. There’s no direct route; the museum has been laid out so visitors have to walk in and out through different shops in order to get anywhere.

  I enter the apothecary, which is the start of the route to the opposite side of the street. I pause in the shop, like I do every time I’m here. The shelves behind the scarred, wooden counter fascinate me, rows upon rows of cloudy glass flasks and bottles. Most are empty, though some have remnants of who-knows-what in the bottom of them. A few even have their original hand-written labels, the ink faded and edges curled and brown. It feels like a magic shop, a far cry from a chemist on the high street, which is what it would have been. I could spend hours in here, but I pick up my pace again and leave through the back door, into a small, cramped alleyway.

  This bit, Geoffrey explained, isn’t real like the rest of the museum, but weirdly it’s always felt the creepiest to me. Above my head, white cotton tunics faintly sway on a washing line strung between two windows. There never seems to be a breeze here, so the swaying always creeps me out, like the alleyway is breathing. I think I see a long-haired figure, a swish of dark cloth out of the corner of my eye.

  “Hello?” I try, just in case it’s a visitor who has got lost.

  Nothing.

  I open my mouth to call again but stop myself. What if it’s Jasmine? Or J—

  Stop it. I shiver and hurry through with my head down, passing by the tailor’s and emerging into a small village square, complete with a large oak tree, encircled by a wooden bench. It’s nearly dark now, and an old streetlight casts a muted glow over the area.

  The timeworn, mint green facade of the Temperance Bar is partly hidden behind the tree’s fake foliage. I duck around it and enter the store, inhaling the scent of cocoa that still seems to linger after all these years. I’ve not really spent much time in here, so I have a good look around while I wait for
Tommy.

  The faded pink walls are decorated with old tin adverts for tea and cocoa. I gather my skirts and sit down on a wooden chair at a small, round table. This reminds me so much of the little local pub back home, I get a twinge in my stomach. The smell of cocoa seems to grow stronger and Tommy appears in the doorway, a steaming hot mug in each hand.

  “Fancy meeting you here.” He winks and puts the earthenware cups on to the table. Then he drags a stool over and sits, almost indecently close.

  “Hey.” Is that all I can say? Hey?

  “Hot chocolate for the lady.” He pushes a cup towards me and the smell sets off a rumble in my stomach. I clutch my hands to it, shoulders tense, praying he hasn’t noticed, but he laughs and my muscles relax. “I hope it’s all right. I couldn’t find any proper stuff so had to nick some of Sue’s from the front desk’s diet rubbish.” He holds out his mug and clinks mine, the brown liquid sloshing down the side.

  I smile and clink back. “Slainte, then.” I blow on the hot chocolate as his glorious eyebrows knit together.

  “Slancha?”

  “Yeah, it’s Irish. For cheers.”

  “I like it. Slancha!” He clinks my cup again and I giggle. Ugh, God help me, I am not usually a giggler. “What you laughing at?”

  “Nothing.” I smile. He puts his cup back on the table and his face suddenly grows serious. He reaches a hand towards me and I hold my breath. What’s he doing?

  “Here, let me get that.” Tommy’s fingers whisper against my cheek as he brushes a single stray hair from my face. They linger there for a second and I feel as though I’m going to burst into flames when he traces them down my cheek and over my jawbone. “You are so beautiful.”

  Is this really happening?

  I close my eyes as he traces a line down the side of my neck, setting off little flurries of excitement through my body. I hear, rather than feel, my little gasp of breath when he reaches my collarbone and leans closer, pressing his warm, soft lips to the dip there. My eyes fly open and he pulls away, looking directly into my eyes.

  He almost looks sad.

  “Is this OK?” he murmurs, fingers still on my neck. I nod, mainly because I’ve forgotten how to speak. He runs his hand gently down my arm and wraps his fingers around mine. I hold on to them for dear life as he leans towards me, our eyes meeting for a fraction of a second, before his lips finally join with my own.

  “Why so glum, my lady?”

  I jump. I didn’t notice Tommy outside the museum.

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” I shove my phone into my bag. “Just a party.” It’s the party Jasmine mentioned the other day. Someone has put up the address on social media. Seems like loads are going.

  “A party? Cool. Where is it?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going.” He turns me around to face him and looks at me closely.

  “But you’d like to, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but. . .” I sigh. “I don’t really know anyone yet.”

  “All the more reason to go, then.”

  “No, really. I’m supposed to be sleeping over at Jess’s. Plus, I’m shattered. . .” I fake a yawn and don’t even get halfway through before Tommy’s face crumples into laughter.

  “Oh, please, you’re desperate to go.”

  My face is starting to burn and I try to shrug it off. “Well, it could be cool, I guess.”

  “You should go.” He smiles and hitches his bag higher on his shoulder. He’s wearing a tight black T-shirt beneath an unzipped hoodie. The hem lifts and flashes me a brief glimpse of toned, tanned stomach. A lump forms in my throat.

  “Unless. . .” Should I? Would he?

  “Unless what?”

  There are those dimples again.

  “Unless you want to come with me? Just for an hour, like,” I venture, barely able to hear my own voice over the violent thudding in my chest.

  “Where did you say it was again?” My heart slows a little. I should have known he wouldn’t want to come to some stupid drama party.

  “Near here, I think. Some old theatre with an abandoned basement studio.” Eww, even saying it out loud makes me shudder. Why do I want to go so much? Something like this is way more Meghan’s scene.

  “The old Regency?”

  “Yeah. Do you know it?”

  “Yeah. It’s near here.” He lowers his voice, taking a step closer and brushing my shoulders with gentle hands. “They say it’s haunted.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I breathe, tingles shooting out of his fingers and directly into my nerve endings. “It’s not really my thing, anyway.” I’d much rather stay here all night, waiting for a glimpse of that stomach again. Tommy’s eyes are liquid yumminess and I blink quickly, trying not to drown in them. “Besides, there’s this girl Jasmine who’ll be there and she loves making me miserable.”

  “Jasmine?”

  Ugh, what did I mention her for?

  “Er, yeah. She’s just this girl on the course.” I brush it off but I’ve piqued his interest.

  “And she’s what? An entitled brat?” He smirks at me as I start to laugh. Talk about hitting the nail on the head.

  “Pretty much,” I agree, filling him in on cardigan-gate. “She’s taken a dislike to me for some reason. So, there’s not much point in going, I’d only be punishing myself.”

  “Hmm.” Tommy thinks for a second. “Wait here,” he says, turning back to the museum entrance. “I’ll be right back.”

  “OK.” I’m left on the street, more than a little confused. I lean back against the wall as the minutes tick slowly by and watch dark-suited office staff rushing home from work. Jess! I tap out a quick text and fill her in on the situation and as I do my phone pings – it’s her. She’s stuck at the library, there’s been a leak or something and she’s on operation save the books. I try not to be too happy about the turn of events and let her know I’ll call her after the party. After what seems like forever, Tommy emerges from the sliding doors, his bag looking much fuller than it did before.

  “Come on, then.” He holds out a hand for mine. “Let’s show this Jasmine who’s boss.”

  “Come in.” A deep, theatrical voice booms up from the depths, scant torchlight flickering from the cellar. The metal rail is cool in my grip as we climb down, feet echoing as we descend from the street into a basement.

  The flashlight flickers as I arrive at the bottom, illuminating the face of one of the lads from the course. Ben, I remember.

  “Hey,” I try, but my voice is swallowed by the thick, black silence. “Hey,” I repeat, louder, trying to sound more self-assured. “We’re here for the party?” Tommy clatters down behind me and his presence makes me a tiny bit braver.

  “Duh,” Ben says, but he’s smiling and beckons us to follow him. “Niamh, right?”

  “Yeah. And this is Tommy.”

  “Cool.” He nods and Tommy copies him in that weird way lads do.

  “This place is great,” I say.

  “I’m doing a work placement here,” says Ben. “That’s how I got the key.”

  We follow the bobbing light down a dark corridor, the beam flashing over whitewashed brick walls. I trail a hand out and my fingers come back damp and smeared with dust. I wipe the grime hastily on my jeans. We follow in silence until Ben stops and pushes a door open, holding it with one hand as he clutches the torch under his chin with the other, gurning at us like we’re at a five-year old’s Halloween party.

  “Enter . . . but beware!” He chuckles to himself as he walks back to the entrance, the door creaking shut behind him.

  I blink a few times, trying to acclimatize my eyes to the darkness. It’s a large studio and everything – the floor, walls, even the ceiling – is painted black. There are a few small knots of people, some who I recognize from the course, scattered around the room, clutching cans and making hushed conversation over dozens of tealights. The welcome warmth of Tommy’s hand on my lower back reminds me that I’m not on my own and I start to sink into it, until
I hear a familiar, sneering voice.

  “Ugh, what is she doing here?” Jasmine emerges from the gloom, her hair golden and gleaming in the candlelight. Her eyes are nasty, narrow slits, but then she sees Tommy and they widen.

  “Well, hi there,” she purrs in a voice I’ve never heard. She holds out a hand, like she’s royalty or something. “Jasmine.”

  Tramp.

  “Come on, Niamh.” Tommy grabs my hand and brushes past Jasmine as though he hasn’t even seen her. “Let’s check this place out.”

  I stifle my giggles as we start to explore the room, stepping around the little pockets of people cradling cans and bottles. A few people throw me a wave but on the whole, they are gawping at Tommy.

  Can’t say I blame them. I straighten my shoulders and flick my hair in a way that says, “That’s right, he’s with me.”

  “It’s freezing down here,” I murmur, as we find a spot in the corner. Someone has thrown down some cushions, which on closer inspection are actually old, backless theatre seats, their red velvet threadbare, golden studs tarnished and dull. I thud down on one, careful to avoid the stumpy candles on the ledge behind us (I learnt my lesson when Auntie Donna caught her hair on the Advent wreath last year – she still won’t wear hairspray) but I regret it immediately when Tommy disappears behind a grey cloud.

  “Ewww,” I splutter, “dusty.”

  “Just a bit.” Tommy drops down much more gracefully than I managed and shrugs his hoodie off as the air clears. I see Jasmine glaring at me from the other side of the room, her face petulant. “Here,” he says. “Take this.”

  The look on Jasmine’s face is just priceless. I shrug it on, relishing the warmth and the way the arms are slightly too long on me. Emboldened, I lean forwards and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” he says, pulling his seat closer, his long lashes lowered. His eyes are firmly on my lips. “So,” he leans in, “what do you want to do?”

  My eyes have barely fluttered closed when a jarring squeal of static tears through the air.

  “Come on, people.” Jasmine has an old microphone in hand, the lead disappearing to an ancient sound system in a tangle of wires. “This is boring. We need to do something fun.”