She's Not Gone

by Sarah Northwood

  The second Jeannie sees me, she knows. “What is it, Katie? Is it him? You’re not going to go back to him, are you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “If I had my way, you’d be going straight to the police station for what he did to you.” Her eyes soften. “Ah, I’m sorry. All that matters is you’re safe now.”

  I tell her everything; there’s no point in trying to hide it, she’ll know anyway.

  “It’s just the same old Daryl, Kat. He’s manipulating you.”

  “He loved me once though,” I reply.

  The shop door opens, a customer walks in and, just as if someone has hit the play button, the world begins to spin again.

  Chapter Five

  Once more behind the wheel of my girl, I slip a little uncomfortably in the seats. The satin fabric of my one nice dress does not agree to compromise with the leather fabric of the seat. As I fumble around trying to get a purchase, I decide the two will have to agree to disagree.

  Seat, meet dress, you’ll have to live with each other for a while. Get over it.

  One thing I have decided on, the girl is getting a name. ‘She’ will no longer be just a nameless entity. My car I always refer to only as her, the woman, is getting a name. The moment I discovered the previous owner was someone called Eva, I decided to research what it meant, and it hadn’t been long before I got the chance.

  Jeannie had been kind enough to let me use the computer again, so long as I agreed to lock up for her. It was Friday night and she wanted to get home to her husband Chris. I envied her a little. But luckily, I had plans myself that night, so I positively shoved her out of the door.

  It turned out the name Eva means life. It feels like fate as I now roll the name around my mouth like a delicious sweet. The vague sense of familiarity washes over me and reminds me of something from one of my forgotten nightmares. It is somewhere in there, in the back of my mind. It doesn’t matter though, from now on the girl is Eva. My shiny red Toyota is a real thing, with a name and everything and tonight we are hitting the town. Hence the dress. In fact, I am going to do something I haven’t done in a long time. I’m going to visit a friend.

  You’d think I’d won the lottery or something equally as monumental, the way I’m dancing about, and to me it really seems like it. You need to understand something; I’ve been living in an emotional prison, cut off from my few friends, and I haven’t spent time with anyone besides Jeannie and Daryl in months. He never wanted me to go out. I couldn’t do anything without him, including and especially going out with friends. He got jealous, thought I was out with another guy or whatever. At the time I’d understood, I couldn’t blame him, but after what happened, my feelings are somewhat different.

  My friend Erica and I met in school. God I’d missed her…she was one of the few girls who didn’t care that I wasn’t popular or had the latest clothes. Or, for that matter, clean clothes. She’d always seen me for me and I’d let her down, hard. I’m likely in for an ear-bashing for taking this long to visit her and leave him. I don’t care, I can’t wait to give her a hug and tell her I love her. This is the first step, or rather first drive, in taking back control of my life. I have my Eva, I can go anywhere and do anything I want. Freedom tastes good.

  We haven’t planned a big night out or anything, but I try to plough my anxieties into feeling excited. I imagine how wonderful it will be to see her. I tell myself I can do this without him, trying hard to feel that I am worthy of friendship, but switching off his voice from my head isn’t that easy.

  Erica lives out of town, a challenge for my driving skills and my nerves. Still, at least the car is running smoothly now, so I turn on the radio and let my heart feel free. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and tell myself to woman-up. I’m not going to let tiredness or him stop me. Just over an hour later, Eric’s house comes into view. I notice that the front door looks in need of a lick of paint and the modest garden is becoming something of a small meadow, not much to look at but a beautiful sight for my eyes. I’ve done it. I only hope Erica has forgiven me.

  “Katie, love, let me look at you. It’s so good to see you.” Her short brown hair bobs up and down wildly as she runs and throws her arms around me as if I’m a missing person who’s just been found. I guess she isn’t far wrong. She pushes me back, holding onto my shoulders, examining every part of me. “You look wonderful darling. Too thin,” she says as she pokes my stomach playfully, “but wonderful.”

  “Thanks Erica,” I reply, kissing her cheeks. “So, I’m forgiven then?”

  “Let’s not stand here on the porch, come on in. I’ve got a DVD, a pizza menu, chocolates. All your favourites. And yes, you’re forgiven!”

  I laugh. “How did you know?”

  With her signature chortle…oh how I’ve missed that…she laughs and gives me another hug.

  I’ve always been too embarrassed to tell her everything that had gone on with Daryl. Though I know she noticed a few things when we got together, back when I was still allowed to see her. A bruise on my arm, my fingers strapped together, those kinds of things, but I thought she believed my lies.

  Oh, I knocked into the door handle. I tripped on my bag. Clumsy me!

  I never told her the truth about why we could no longer be friends. Instead, I’d protected him. Daryl and I had been together for less than a year, but in that time I’d changed and aged a lifetime.

  Visiting her feels a bit like coming home, and in a way, it is. I’ve spent more nights than I can count sleeping over with her and her parents, back when I was at school. I guess you can say I am the friend who always outstayed her welcome, but I have to give it to Erica’s Mum and Dad, they never let it show. Perhaps they understood that I didn’t want to go home only to be alone.

  I know Erica thinks Daryl and I went too fast, moved in together too quickly, but we’d fallen in love, and I’d desperately needed that. I’d followed my heart, but now it is cracked. I only hope she understands that too. Still, I vow she will never know the whole truth. I fear it will break her heart and, as selfish as it sounds, I need her.

  The night goes by in a blur and surprisingly Erica’s lectures on life are brief. I needn’t have worried about how things would be between us. Instead, it’s like slipping on an old pair of slippers. The two of us pick up where we left off and fall into a comfortable rhythm, just like the old days. We eat, we laugh and we watch TV together.

  We make plans for Erica to come and visit my new flat. She seems proud of me for finally getting out and doing it by myself. I keep it to myself that she looks tired and I don’t ask why she is still living with her folks. Erica says something about her mum being ill but her eyes tell me not to dive deeper. Tonight is about having fun, as they say. Tonight is about letting the hurt go and I love her too much to pry.

  All too soon though, it’s time for me to say goodbye. It’s late, much later than I’d meant to leave, but I feel alive with adrenaline. The good kind that comes from seeing those you love. I kiss her goodnight and tell her I love her. I promise her I won’t abandon her again. I hope it’s a promise I can keep.

  Buzzed, Eva and I hit the tarmac and instead of music, I let the sound of the road falling away and thoughts of childhood memories be my song. I flip on the lights and settle in for the ride home.

  I jerk, blinking rapidly. I suddenly can’t remember if any of the sets of traffic lights I’ve passed through were on green. Must have been, I think. No biggie. I chastise myself and promise to pay more attention. It’s easy to go on automatic pilot and I don’t want to crash and end up in a ditch.

  The road feels smooth beneath the tyres and we glide along. The headlights of the passing cars are almost hypnotic as I focus hard on looking ahead. My eyes grow heavy and I shake my head. This is what happens when you don’t sleep. I wonder if I might need to stop and rest for a bit. Looking around, I can’t see anywhere to pull over. To be honest, I don’t fancy being in the middle of nowhere, on my own. So I push on instead.

 
; I don’t hear the rumble as the car slides towards the side of the road and my head starts to loll. I don’t notice because my eyes are closed.

  I wake up screaming. Another nightmare. The girl was there again. Feeling a chill, I search around for my covers. Disorientated, I scrabble around for them. I’m cold, where are they? That’s when I remember, I’m not at home. Instead of the softness of my springy mattress, my seat is hard and unyielding. Instead of my legs stretched out and sprawled on the bed, my knees are drawn up, hitting the unrelenting steering wheel. I have a crick in my neck from sleeping awkwardly. Looking up, I see the closeness of the fabric covered roof. I am in the car.

  I scream again. Sharply, my mind springs into action. My heart thudding in my chest, I am wide awake. The thoughts come thick and fast: shit…fell asleep. Then, how am I not dead? I look around but it’s impossible to see anything in the pitch black. I have no idea how I am even still alive. Am I in a ditch? As my eyes begin to adjust to the lack of light, I can make out white lines on the ground around me. I haven’t run off the road into a ditch, I am in a car park. Trembling, my body rejects the notion that I fell asleep…but how else did I get here.

  The full beams of the car spring into life, as if they have been turned on by remote control. Are those my lights? Momentarily dazed, I bring my hand to cover my eyes. I gaze out into the cast of the beams and see a wooded area in front of me. Woods? What the fuck? I have no idea how I got here, or even where here is. My breathing goes from panicked to terrified, speeding the air to my lungs and making my head feel light. I turn around to the back seat to see if someone else is in the car with me. Only the blanket I keep on the back seat is there, I am alone. Sighing, I relax a little, knowing there isn’t a murderer lying in wait for me.

  Still, nothing makes sense. I can’t understand how I’ve got here without killing myself, or someone else. How I didn’t crash. Did the car bring me here? Shrugging off the most ridiculous idea I think I’ve ever had, I look out into the woods, trying to work out where I am. My eyes are beginning to adjust to the gloom around me; beyond where the headlights are shining out into the distance, I catch sight of something. A mound of some kind, a large covering, perhaps a carpet or a rug. Has someone been fly tipping? People don’t care for the beauty of the place anymore, they have no damn respect.

  With some trepidation, I decide to get out of the car. I tell myself I’m not going to go into the woods in the dark by myself to investigate. That would be stupid for anyone, let alone a girl on her own, with no idea how she’d got there. But I do need to stretch my legs and make sure I am properly awake. I don’t think a repeat performance of me falling asleep at the wheel will go so well a second time around.

  Plus, there is a part of me that’s worried I’ve hit something. Looking around thoroughly, I can’t see anyone, no other cars and no people. I click open the glove box and rummage around, there is a torch in here somewhere. Craning over to the passenger side, my fingers analyse the contents until they encounter the one solid item. The heavyweight torch is strong enough to double as a weapon if necessary. I flip off the headlights and leave the engine running, it will be good to come back to a warm car. If there is someone waiting to kill me, they are hiding well. The thought isn’t reassuring. Freaked out and creeped out, I am downright scared.

  My legs groan as they take my weight and I pull my coat tightly around me to stave off the cold. Shivering hard, the night air is not only biting but positively chomping. It is harder examining a car in the dark than I’d thought, although my eyes have adjusted to the lack of light. I’m not sure if a full moon would have reassured me but it would have helped me see.

  The whole endeavour is totally pointless in the black void of the night. I look up to identify where the Moon might be found but see only clouds and spring’s promise gone. The starless sky is broken only in one patch over the trees, over the unidentified mound. Nothing weird about that, I think sarcastically. Abandoning the examination of the car, I feel sure that if I’d hit something I’d have woken up. Yet the ride had been as smooth as gliding on ice, I can’t have hit anything.

  As sure as if I am a magnet being pulled towards its significant other, the headlights come back on, making me jump. So much for it just being a fuse, I think. Turning my head in the direction of the lights, I’m inexplicitly drawn to the direction of the beam. I think about going over there and although I’m already scared, how much worse can it get? Realising I don’t want to know the answer to that ridiculous question, I walk back to get in the car and drive the hell away. Things can get way worse, I know that first hand. What good can come of going over there? Absolutely none, that’s what.

  But as I turn towards the car, Eva begins to flash her lights as if crying out in silent protest. I shake my head in disbelief and continue towards her. If the car is trying to tell me something, she’s picked the wrong girl. Then the horn starts to blare out. If there isn’t a killer already out here, the sound of a horn is going to attract one, or a wild animal or something. I prefer to enjoy nature from the comfort of the vehicle or inside my house on the television. It is about that moment I pinch myself to see if I am still dreaming. That would explain everything, this whole madness. Ow. Apparently, I really am awake.

  I feel like screaming, OK, OK, I get the message. You want an anxiety-filled girl to go check out that strange mound in the middle of a deep dark wood, then sure, I’ll go, but don’t expect me to act like a stupid teenager in a horror movie. The first sign of trouble and I’m out of here. Of course, I don’t say that out loud, that would be crazy. Instead, I turn around and begin to walk back towards the ominous shape. The lights on the car flip back on to a constant beam, and my ears sigh in relief at the absence of the horn.

  As I get closer, the lights dart in and out of the trees, creating eerie shadows that do nothing to stave off my fear. I approach cautiously. With each step, I get closer to the strange object that is illuminated by the car lights. I see that the shape looks less like a weird heap and more like something tangible. Some dreadful thing that my conscious mind does not want to know. I think I can make out a blanket or perhaps a piece of carpet. The thought comes again. Has someone dumped their rubbish here? Now, pulled on by an urge to discover what it is, which in light of my predicament strikes me as frankly mad, a feeling of awareness, familiarity washes over me. I’ve seen this before. But where? Hesitantly stepping over the twigs and undergrowth, which snag at my dress and leave their marks on my naked legs, I move closer. Less than a meter away now.

  My dreams.

  That’s why this feels familiar. I have seen it before but not in the real world, only in my twisted imagination. At least I’d thought it was my imagination. I peer down at the object. It’s a deep black rug, the kind you might throw in front of a fireplace to add warmth and comfort to a room. The smell hits me first, putrid, overwhelming. I rush to cover my nose and mouth with my hand. I’m sure my face has gone green.

  Flopped on one side, half uncovered, poking out from beneath the blanket, I see a ragged piece of material sticking out. Emerging from the end of this is something that looks like…I rub my eyes in disbelief…it’s an arm. At its end, dangling like a forgotten limb, is what is left of a hand, the fingers bent in such a way that leaves my body reeling. I jerk my head away in revulsion; I don’t want to look. I rub harder at my eyes until they sting with tears but force myself to face it once more. Starting with the hand, I let my eyes trace over the sight before me, I have to be certain it’s what I think it is. Although there will be no satisfaction in being correct. The dry withered thing lies half buried amongst the twigs and leaves. Discarded like the rubbish my curiosity had led me to believe it was. Except this had once been a person, the opposite of junk, now discarded with no more respect than an empty wrapper.

  The exposed white bones are rotten, knitted together with half eaten skin, which trails down to the hanging flesh; at the end of the threads are what had once been fingers. Some with the nails still attached
. I don’t want to go any closer, my head knows what I am seeing.

  Whoever this is, is dead.

  Still, I feel compelled to look. Wondering if perhaps I’ve lost my mind, I step in, careful not to tread on any part of the body, and bend my head lower. Large hard-shelled beetles crawl across the delicately painted, pastel pink nail polish, and worms appear to be burrowing through the fraying blanket. Is this a woman? I think so, given the nail polish and the shape of the hand, but who knows these days?

  Any residual trace of warmth left in my body drains away in an instant. Frozen in time and feeling, a numbness comes over me. For a moment, I feel like I am drowning, disgust and fear threatening to make me lose my mind. I’ve seen enough. Bile and the pizza I’d had earlier that evening with Erica rises up and into my gullet. I jerk my head to one side and throw up.

  Stepping back, almost tripping over the forest’s debris, the blood in my body seems to pool into my frozen feet. I withdraw as quickly as my legs can go but retreat clumsily, with lead weights for legs and twigs and branches to negotiate.

  Having put a safe distance between myself and the dead body, I collapse to the floor, trembling in disgust and shock. I place my head between my knees and try desperately to stay anchored to the world that is spinning around me. Breathing as slowly as I can, I focus on the ground in front of me. Every time I blink, I can see the darkness of the beetles crawling over the white skin.