by S M Hardy
I stared out across the bay. It was a sheltered spot and so small that despite its name I doubted very much that fishermen ever came here, other than maybe to shelter from a storm, though it was more likely any vessel would end up smashed against the rocks than be able to wait in safety.
On impulse I stooped and picked up a palm-sized, fairly flat stone and skimmed it out across the water. It was a good throw, bouncing across the surface three times before it disappeared beneath the waves. I had another go and another and soon realised I should have stopped while I was ahead.
How long ago was it that I’d last tried skimming stones? Then I remembered and I let the stone clutched in my hand slip from my fingers.
Kat and I had been away for a weekend break in the Channel Islands and we’d found a bay very similar to this one. The day had been dull and overcast, and with not much better to do we had decided to take a walk along the cliff paths that circled the island to investigate the long-deserted gun emplacements built to protect the islands during wartime.
We’d laughed a lot. I remembered that much. When was it we’d stopped doing that? When was it we’d begun to take life all too seriously? Sadly, I remembered that too.
I gave myself a mental shake, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes for a moment. I was getting maudlin and no good would come of it.
It was time to go home – if I could call it that. I doubted I could ever think of the cottage as my home, too many bad things had happened there.
I took one last look out across the bay. Dark clouds were rolling in and what had started off as a warm and sunny day was beginning to look decidedly stormy. The sea had turned grey, mimicking the sky, and the waves were building themselves up into a white froth as they beat against the cliffs surrounding the cove.
I’d better get back otherwise I was in for a soaking.
I shivered again, but this time it had nothing to do with the chill in the air. I could feel eyes upon me, unfriendly eyes. Someone was watching me and that someone meant me harm, I was sure of it.
I spun around to look towards the cliff top and high to the right of me I saw a movement. Had he kept still I might not have seen him. He was there for only a split second, but it was enough. A large, hulking figure in grey, and I was pretty much sure, even from this distance, he was the man I’d seen through the window at Emma’s.
He was on the cliff path coming from the opposite direction to Slyford, but I had to climb the steep steps and get onto the path before he reached the intersection. I ran. The shingle beneath my feet had me slipping and almost falling, slowing me down until I at last reached solid rock. Even then, in my panic, several times I nearly fell before I reached the steps.
I pounded upwards, chest aching, calves screaming. There were so many steps and they were so damn steep. Halfway I stopped to catch my breath, clinging onto the railing as I stared at the cliff top above me, my eyes searching for movement. If he was there, I couldn’t see him. But he was there, I knew he was. He was coming for me and I knew if he found me here, found me alone in this remote and secluded place, I would never be going home again.
The logical part of my brain said, No, things like this don’t happen in real life – you’re being paranoid, but another insistent little voice was whispering for me to Hurry, hurry, otherwise you’ll never make it.
I forced myself upwards. I’d known it would be a hard slog, but when I’d bounded down the steps I hadn’t considered that when I made the return journey I’d be running for my life.
When I reached the top of the steps the path above me was empty, but I still had the sharp incline to go. I scrambled up practically on my hands and knees. If he caught me here, all it would take was one hefty shove and I’d be joining Krystal in the hereafter.
At the top of the slope I glanced from right to left. There was still no sign of him. Had he passed this point? Had he got ahead of me and was hiding somewhere in the undergrowth waiting for me? I didn’t think so. If it’d been me, I’d have waited at the top of the steps to catch my prey when they were vulnerable and out of breath, when they wouldn’t have much fight left in them.
I started along the path, hurrying as fast as my tortured calves would allow. When I returned to the city I was going to start running again, I was going to get fit. Too late for now, though.
I kept glancing back over my shoulder, half-expecting to see a bulky figure barrelling along the path behind me, but if he was there he was lost from view in the twists and turns of the path amongst the gorse and bracken.
I stopped for a moment, leaning forward to rest my hands on my knees and ease the stitch fast forming in my side. I was beginning to think I was mistaken, that my paranoia had created a grey, hulking figure up above me on the cliff. Surely he’d have made it to the top of the steps before I had?
I stood upright, held my breath and listened.
Long grass rustled in the fast-cooling breeze coming in from the sea. An insect buzzed past my head. A bird twittered then broke cover to fly out of the vegetation to the right of me. Otherwise nothing, nothing except … the thump of boots. For a big man he must have been practically dancing along the path, but I could hear him now and it was almost as though he somehow knew I’d heard him for his feet began to pound upon the path as he picked up speed and began to really run.
But could I outrun him? I had to try. It was now a race for life. Panic spurred me on. Aches and pains ignored if not forgotten, I ran as I’d never run before, careering along the narrow path, swerving around corners as it turned back on itself, blood pounding in my ears – or was it the sound of his boots upon rock?
He was getting closer, I was sure of it. I wasn’t going to make it. He was going to get me, and I was going to die on a deserted cliff top and disappear, probably never to be seen again, like Benji. Whatever had happened to Krystal’s little dog? And I wondered why at a time like this I should even care.
Then ahead of me I saw a flash of red and grey. Krystal? I thought I’d been running as fast as I could, but seeing her had me forcing myself to go that little bit faster than even I thought I could.
The path curved inland, and as I reached a bend I saw another flash of red. I almost called out to her but stopped myself just in time; that really would give my position away. From memory the path would soon stop its zigzag ascent and although it wasn’t exactly straight, he would probably get a glimpse of me, which would give him a pretty good incentive to speed up and catch me.
I swung around one final corner and ahead of me I saw white-sock-covered legs scrambling into the undergrowth. I ran to the spot and despite having no time to waste crouched down. There was a long narrow tunnel within the gorse and shrubbery, and I was just in time to see a white fluffy tail disappear into the dark ahead of me.
Behind me on the path I could hear him coming. He’s going to catch us, Benji, he’s gonna catch us! I dropped down onto my knees and crawled inside. It was narrow, dark and smelt of fresh earth and greenery. I scrambled forward on my elbows and knees, brambles and twigs tearing at my jacket and hair, all the time praying that a pair of hairy hands wouldn’t suddenly clutch hold of my ankles and drag me back. After about two and a half yards I came out of the tunnel and found myself entering what I can only describe as a den. Someone, probably a good few years ago, had crawled into this space carrying planks of wood, nails and other bits and pieces, and constructed a small cabin out of scraps of whatever he could find. Bits of packing cases formed the walls and the roof was made of what looked like it could have been the front of an old shed, including a small window giving me at least some light through the grimy glass.
It was only about four feet tall and about five feet square, but I guessed to a couple of kids it would have been as great as any castle. I crawled into the far corner and sat cross-legged facing the entrance.
He won’t find us here, Benji. He’ll never find us here.
‘Oh, Krystal,’ I whispered, ‘what happened to you?’
If I
’d been expecting a reply, I was to be disappointed. I pulled up my legs and rested my arms on my knees and my head on my arms. I was in for a long wait. My pursuer wouldn’t be giving up so easily. But how long would be long enough? If he was really that tenacious, he could wait all day.
No, he would think I’d made it to the end of the path and into the lane and was on my way back to the cottage. Would he carry on to see if I was there? He’d gotten in before – what was to stop him getting in now and, finding the cottage empty, just sitting there waiting for me to get back? Is that what he did to Krystal? Did he lose her when she and Benji scuttled into this hidey-hole, but instead of giving up went on to her home to wait for her?
Bastard. Fucking bastard.
She deserved it, little bitch.
Whoa – where was that coming from?
Stuck up little townie bitch. Butter wouldn’t melt, little brat.
And he said a whole load of other stuff that had me clamping my hands over my ears in an effort to block it out, but it was a forlorn hope. It was like when I was running after Krystal through the woods, the same vitriolic monologue ran through my head. The same rage, the same cruelty.
What did it mean?
Jed and Emma said I communicated with the dead – could I somehow also hear the thoughts of the living? No, that was one step too fucking far. I was going bonkers; I must be even to consider it.
Then whose voice is it you’re hearing?
‘I don’t know,’ I whispered and covered my face with my hands. ‘I really don’t know.’
I’m not sure how long I sat there for. It must have been hours. I’d stopped wearing a watch not long after I’d given up the job; I’d read somewhere that an important part of de-stressing your life was to make time your friend instead of your enemy, and the best way to do that was to make sure you couldn’t constantly check the time.
Another bit of advice was to ditch the mobile phone so you weren’t at others’ beck and call twenty-four seven and only to check your email once or at most twice a day. Hence my phone was sitting on the kitchen table instead of in my back pocket when I could really do with it for calling for help.
Eventually, when my backside was so numb I couldn’t feel it and I was pretty sure it must be getting dark outside or was seriously overcast as the limited light in my hideout was beginning to fade, I got on my hands and knees and crawled out into the tunnel.
I cautiously stuck my head out of the hole to look along the path. It was empty, but then why wouldn’t it be? My pursuer would have either gone home or could even be waiting for me back at the cottage. If he was still loitering on the path I was done for. I could hardly stand up straight, let alone make my cramped legs run.
It hadn’t rained, that was something, but the heavens were dark and gloomy, and I still reckoned we could be in for a storm. As if to prove me right I felt the first spots of rain on my face as I stepped off the path and out into the lane.
I was in two minds as to what I should do. Return to the cottage and risk being confronted by a madman or return to Emma’s and chance looking like an idiot. If I’d had my mobile, I could have phoned Jed, and I decided from now on wherever I went my mobile went too. I was probably going to feel less stressed with it than without it.
When I reached Emma’s gate I hesitated out on the lane and a horrible thought occurred to me. It wasn’t only me the man had been after – he’d also paid Emma a visit. Shit! I’d been holed up for hours, during which time he could have vented his frustration on her.
I hurried through the gate and up the drive, and with my stomach doing cartwheels and my heart somewhere up near my mouth, I rang the doorbell. I waited a minute then rang again. Maybe she was out.
Maybe she can’t answer.
I looked back to the gate, paranoid that the unknown man would be there watching me. I rang the bell again.
‘Come on, come on.’
Then I saw movement through the bevelled door panes as a shadowy figure approached the door. I took a step back. What if I’d interrupted him in his grisly work? What if he’d known I’d come here instead of going straight to the cottage alone?
A chain rattled and there was a rasp of a bolt being drawn before the door opened a crack.
‘Jim,’ Emma said, ‘hang on a minute,’ and she pushed the door closed to remove the chain. ‘Come in. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.’
‘I hope I’m not interrupting.’
‘Not at all. Come through,’ she said, leading me into the living room. ‘Can I get you a tea or coffee?’
‘No thanks. I was wondering if I could phone Jed from here?’
‘Problem?’ she asked, her smile being replaced with a concerned frown.
‘Possibly,’ I said and told her everything that had happened since I’d left her earlier that morning.
She listened in silence until I’d spilt the whole sad story out, though halfway through she did get up to pour us both a drink and by God I needed one. When I took it I don’t think I was the only one who noticed my hand was shaking.
‘Do you still think it’s a bad idea going to the police?’ she said when I’d finished.
‘And tell them what? Say what?’
‘Well, we both had visits the other night.’
‘And the only evidence of either visit is a near-empty bottle of my whisky. Christ, Emma, even Jed thought it might have been me.’
She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. ‘Well, I didn’t, and Jed didn’t really, not in his heart; he was just being protective, as is his way.’
‘What would the police do, anyway? Nothing, most probably, other than take a few notes.’
‘At least it would be on record.’
‘Yeah, great, so when one of us is murdered in our beds they’d “have a record” that we’d been worried for our lives.’
Emma grimaced as she looked down into a drink and I felt mean. She didn’t need me to make her feel more scared than she already was. The chain on the door and the cautious way she had peered around it proved that she was already nervous.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, dragging my hand through my hair and dislodging a bit of bracken. I picked it off the arm of the chair, then wasn’t sure what to do with it.
Emma began to giggle. ‘Did you really crawl through the bushes?’
I placed the piece of vegetation on the edge of the coffee table. ‘Yes,’ I told her, ‘I followed Krystal and Benji.’
‘I don’t understand what this all means.’
‘Nor do I. And I could hear him, Emma. I could hear what he was thinking inside my head.’ Then something dawned on me. ‘No, not what he was thinking, what he had thought. What he’d been thinking when he had chased Krystal.’
‘Like a memory?’
A cold draught tickled the back of my neck and I shuddered, suddenly cold. ‘Oh my God,’ I murmured to myself. ‘Oh my God.’
‘Jim, what is it? What have you thought of?’
‘What if he wasn’t chasing me at all? What if he’s still chasing Krystal?’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Emma called Jed while I was using the bathroom, and ten minutes later we were sitting in the kitchen while Emma rustled up something for us to eat and I told Jed everything that had happened. Like Emma he listened in silence, only speaking when Emma asked whether we’d like cheese and ham in our omelettes.
‘And you think it was the same man you saw at the window?’
I nodded. ‘Though I didn’t really get a good look at him. It’s just a feeling.’
‘Hmm. And you could hear him speaking?’ Jed said, his expression dubious. ‘Are you sure you weren’t just remembering what he’d said before.’
‘Like I’m imagining things?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘It would help if we knew who this man was,’ Emma said over her shoulder as she pottered around over the stove.
‘Well, he certainly doesn’t come from Slyford,’ Jed said. ‘We’d know him
if he did and from your description he doesn’t sound like anyone from the village.’
‘Jim said he saw him up on the point. It could be he was coming along the path from Chalfont.’
‘Chalfont?’ I asked.
‘Chalfont St Mary, it’s the next village up the coast.’
‘It’s where all the local children go to school,’ Emma said as she placed a steaming plate in front of me and then Jed.
‘Did Krystal?’ I asked.
Emma and Jed shared one of their looks as she sat down at the table with her own plate. ‘Yes,’ Emma answered. ‘They all do until they go off to seniors.’
‘So this could be how he knew Krystal. He saw her on her way to and from school.’
Jed uttered a curse, then immediately apologised to Emma for the profanity. By her expression and the dismissive flap of her hand I think he only said what we were all thinking, including Emma.
‘But why would he target me? And why would he target Emma? I never knew he even existed until—’
‘Until you heard his voice in your head,’ Jed said.
‘Maybe he somehow knows you’ve connected with him. Maybe he felt you too?’ Emma said.
‘Ah, come on, Emms – now we are flying into the realms of fantasy,’ Jed said. ‘Jim may be a truly talented psychic, but no one can read the thoughts of the living, let alone it go both ways.’
‘Thought transference,’ Emma said.
‘Not possible.’
‘Some people say the same thing about communicating with the dead.’
‘That’s different,’ Jed said through a mouthful of egg.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘somehow Jim’s heard the thoughts of this unknown man and somehow the man knows it, otherwise why the attempt on his life? Why follow him today?’
‘I still don’t understand why he would have come here that night?’ I said. ‘What had you to do with anything?’
She tapped her forefinger against her lips. ‘I think you were right before. He wanted to make us distrust you if he didn’t manage to blow you to high heaven. Alienate you from us.’
