by Amy Cross
“Nick?” she whispered.
Silence.
Rain was starting to fall more heavily now, as she reached out and touched the side of his face.
“Nick?” she said again, as a slow sense of horrified realization began to creep through her body. She didn't want to admit it yet, she didn't want to face what had happened, even though there was a pulsing sense of fear in the back of her mind, threatening to break through at any moment.
“They're on their way,” said someone standing nearby. “The police, too. I checked for a pulse, I think he's still alive.”
“Nick?” Laura whispered, with tears in her eyes. Putting two fingers on the side of his stubbly, rain-soaked neck, she felt the faintest of pulses. “Nick!” she shouted, as the shock finally began to set in. Leaning closer, she searched for any sign of life, for a breath or a flicker in his eyes, and finally he blinked again and his lips moved slightly.
“I think he's dead,” said someone nearby.
“How could someone just drive off like that?” asked another voice.
“He's not dead,” Laura stammered, leaning closer to his face. “Nick, can you hear me? It's Laura. An ambulance is coming, you're going to be okay!”
His lips moved again, but she couldn't quite make out what he was saying.
“I swear,” she continued, with tears in her eyes as she leaned closer. “You're going to be just fine!”
“It was him,” he whispered.
“What do you mean?” she waited for an answer, but his eyes simply stared straight ahead. “Nick? Did you see the driver? Nick!”
“Oh God,” said a woman nearby, “I can't watch. It's too horrible.”
“Nick!” Laura shouted, nudging Nick's shoulder before finally rolling him over. Panic was building and she realized she had to act fast. With rain still falling, she straddled him and began to give him chest compressions, before leaning down and trying the kiss of life. “Come on,” she continued, as sirens sounded in the distance, getting closer. “Please, you have to stay with me! Nick! Stay with me!”
Chapter Thirteen
“Here,” Tricia said, holding a paper cup out to her, “I thought you could use this.”
“I'm okay,” Laura replied, turning to look along the corridor. “Is there any news?”
“Not yet.” Setting the cup down on the table in the waiting room, Tricia took a seat. She seemed momentarily lost for words, as if she couldn't even begin to find the right thing to say. “I've got a friend who works here, she's going to try to hurry things up. You know, sometimes they're a bit slow with information, so...”
Her voice trailed off.
“Is Nick still in surgery?” Laura asked.
“I don't know.”
“What did they say about his injuries?”
“They said they're doing everything they can.”
“But what if -”
“Laura,” she said firmly, putting a hand on her shoulder, “I think you're in shock.”
She shook her head.
“Yes,” Tricia continued, “you are. You saw the accident, you -”
“That doesn't mean I'm in shock,” she replied quickly. “I've seen accidents before, I've seen dead people, I... Not dead people, people who are hurt, people who...” Leaning forward, she put her head in her hands and tried to make sense of the thoughts that were rushing through her mind.
“The paramedics said the CPR really helped,” Tricia said after a moment. “They said he never would have made it this far if you hadn't done that.”
“That doesn't make me feel any better.”
“You're definitely in shock. I think you need to talk to someone.”
“I'm talking to you, aren't I?”
“To someone who can actually help you,” she replied. “I mean, Nick, for all his rough edges, isn't a bad guy, and I know you were starting to become pretty good friends. I know we all see this kind of thing every day, it's nothing new, but when it's one of us.” She waited for a reply, before putting a hand on Laura's back. “I think the first stage of being in shock is the part where you deny you're in shock, so if that's what you need to do, go for it. Just don't be afraid to ask for help when you realize you need it, okay?”
“We -” Laura began, before stopping herself. She'd been about to say that she and Nick weren't friends, that they were just colleagues, just two people thrown together by their job, but suddenly she realized that wasn't true. He had become a friend, which was an unusual realization for someone who could count the number of friends she'd had in her entire life on the fingers of one hand.
“We got a good description of the car that hit him,” Tricia continued. “Not a numberplate or anything like that, but we're pulling cameras from the area now. We're pretty confident we'll get a hit.”
“It slammed straight into him,” Laura replied. “It's like it was aiming at him, going right for him, and then it came toward me but...” She paused again, thinking back to the sight of Nick's body being thrown through the air. “It swerved at the last moment. It aimed for him, but it swerved to avoid me.”
“You can't blame yourself for any of this.” She waited for a reply. “What was he doing at your place, anyway?”
“We were just talking.”
“About the copycat case?”
She nodded.
“Have you seen anyone about the stress you're under?”
“I don't need to see anyone,” she spat back, clearly unimpressed by the suggestion.
“I think you do. I think you're so used to dealing with things alone, and you're good at that, but this time it's all too much, Laura. You're going to crack.”
“It was him,” she whispered.
“What was that?”
“It was him,” she continued, turning to Tricia. “Those were the last words he said to me. I think he saw the person driving the car.”
“But that's all he said? Did he -”
“There's a doctor,” Laura said suddenly, cutting her off and getting to her feet. As soon as she made eye contact with the gray-haired man walking toward her, however, she already knew the news he was going to deliver. There was just something about the look in his eyes.
***
“Where have you been?” Maureen asked, shuffling out of the living room as Laura started taking off her coat in the hallway. “I was starting to get worried. I thought maybe those bullies were following you home again.”
“No,” Laura replied, hanging her coat on the hook before reaching up to make sure she'd dried all the tears from her cheeks. She paused for a moment; all the way home, she'd found herself stopping for a few seconds at a time as her mind emptied completely, almost as if it was stalling. “Sorry, I...”
“Were you with that nice young man?” her mother continued, with a smile. “I might be wrong, but I think he's rather keen on you.”
“Mum -”
“I should make dinner,” she added, turning and heading toward the kitchen. She took slow, shuffling steps, and she had to stop next to the armchair and rest for a moment. “I don't know what's keeping your father, but he'll just have to have a cold dinner when he gets back, won't he? That'll teach him to stay at work late and not call. He's always been like that, though.”
“It's three o'clock in the morning,” Laura pointed out.
“Do you want lasagne?”
Following her through to the kitchen, Laura saw that various items were already laid out on the counter. Her mother was genuinely trying to make dinner, but the items assembled – which included a cucumber, a box of matches and some frozen fish – didn't look too promising.
“Now...” Maureen paused, looking around the kitchen for a moment, clearly struggling to remember quite what she had in mind. “I was... I was going to...”
Usually, Laura would step forward and take charge, and tell her mother to go and watch TV. This time, however, she simply stayed in the doorway and watched for a couple of minutes as the old woman shuffled back and forth across the
kitchen, fetching various pots and pans that were clearly going to be no use at all. After a few minutes, all the pots were out of the cupboards and laid along the counter, along with a couple of baking trays and an old box of birthday cake candles.
“What are you doing?” Laura asked finally.
“I'm...” Staring at the frozen fish, Maureen paused for a moment, before turning to look at the pans. “I'm making dinner. Your father should be home soon.”
“Should he?”
“Well... Yes. Shouldn't he?”
“Dad's not coming home,” Laura replied. “You know that, right? Deep down, you know it. Dad's been dead for years. He died after we'd been out to dinner one night, remember?”
“What?” With wide-eyed surprise, Maureen seemed shocked by the news. “What are you talking about? He went off to work this morning!”
Laura shook her head.
“I made him a packed lunch!”
“Mum -”
“You should do your homework! How do you ever expect to get into law school if you spend all your time standing around like this, making up obscenities?”
“Law school? Mum, I'm not -”
“Go to your room!”
“Dad's dead,” she said firmly.
“Why are you saying such awful things?” Maureen asked. “My God, whatever has possessed you? You're being quite wicked this evening, Laura. Any more nonsense, and I might have to pack you of to bed without supper!”
“Dad's dead,” she said again, “and...” Her voice trailed off for a moment as she thought back to that moment in the hospital an hour earlier when the doctor had delivered the news about Nick. She'd replayed his words a thousand times during the drive home, and she could still feel the sensation of chilled horror that had hardened in her chest. There had been a lot of information, too much, but now she wished she could remember every word.
And then there had been the identification.
The moment the sheet had been pulled back.
Nick's face.
Eyes closed.
Calm.
Peaceful.
Gone.
“Right,” Maureen said firmly, heading over to her, “that's it. If you're going to be stupid and say horrid things, I'm not making dinner! I'm going to bed early and you can fend for yourself! When your father finally deigns to bless us with his presence, say the same thing to him!”
“It's three in the morning and I'm not hungry.”
“You're a wicked child sometimes.”
“Fuck you,” Laura whispered. As soon as the words had left her lips, she closed her eyes. She'd come so close to snapping at her mother over the years, but she'd usually been able to hold back.
“I beg your pardon?” her mother asked after a moment. “What did you just say to me?”
“Nothing,” she replied, turning to see the shock in the old woman's eyes. “I'm sorry, I didn't -”
Before she could finish, her mother slapped her hard in the face.
“Don't you ever use language like that with me, young lady!” the old woman shouted, before pointing to the stairs. “Go to your room right now, without supper!”
“Mum -”
“Get up there!”
“Mum, do you even know what year it is?”
“When your father gets home -”
“Dad is dead,” she said firmly. “Mum, he -”
“Stop it!” Maureen shouted. “Stop it right now!”
“Dad is dead,” she said again, stepping toward her, “and so are a lot of other people, so's -” Spotting the whiskey glasses from earlier, she thought back to when she and Nick were sitting at the kitchen table. “Nick's dead,” she added finally, turning to look into her mother's tear-filled eyes. “Nick is dead,” she said again, as her voice trembled with shock. “He's dead.”
“Who?” Maureen asked.
“The guy who was here earlier. My friend. Remember?”
“You don't have any friends.”
“I did. I...” Pausing, she felt a shiver pass through her chest. “I did, and someone...”
“You're talking nonsense,” Maureen replied. “You did not have any boys over tonight, I can promise you that. And your father is coming home from work any time now, so -”
“He's not.”
“Oh, what do you -”
“Dad's dead,” she said firmly. “Nick's dead too. And you, Mum... You're losing your mind, piece by piece, with every passing day, and I don't know how much longer...” She paused, seeing the utter confusion in her mother's tear-filled eyes. “You're not going to remember this, are you?” she added after a moment. “It just goes in one ear, and then in a few minutes you'll be back to trying to cook dinner at three in the morning and waiting for Dad to come back, and telling me to go and do my homework for law school.”
“I don't know what you mean,” her mother replied.
“I know you don't,” Laura told her, “and that's something we have to think about, because we can't keep going like this. You're disappearing right in front of my eyes, it's like flakes of your mind are falling away with each passing day, and soon...” She paused for a moment, seeing the expression of pure confusion in her mother's eyes. “It's not your fault,” she added finally. “You know that, don't you?”
“Your father will be home soon,” her mother said, her voice trembling with uncertainty, “and then... I should make dinner...”
A couple of minutes later, with the bathroom door locked, Laura stood over the sink and cried quietly as tears dripped down around the plughole. She was determined not to make a noise, but finally she gulped for air and let out a few brief sobs before getting herself back under control. Tempted to look at herself in the mirror, she realized there was no point, that she already knew what she looked like when she was crying anyway. All she could think about was the evening with Nick, and how suddenly he was gone.
“I don't get hangovers,” she remembered him saying with a smile as he headed off into the night.
And then the sound of the crash.
“Get a grip,” she whispered, grabbing some toilet paper and dabbing at her eyes. “You can't do this now. You have to be strong. You have to -”
Breaking down again, she took a step back and sat on the edge of the bath, before putting her head in her hands.
***
“Okay, Mum,” she said a few minutes later as she headed through to the kitchen, “it's late and -”
She stopped as soon as she saw that her mother was frying the frozen fish. It wasn't a bad effort, although she hadn't taken them out of the box and now she was trying to peel an onion with a screwdriver.
“Mum?”
“There you are,” her mother replied with a smile. “I thought I'd make dinner. Your father should be home soon and -” Glancing at the window, she frowned for a moment. “It's very dark outside, isn't it? That'll be winter closing in, I suppose. Maybe we have to change the clocks soon, eh?”
Looking at the clock on the wall, Laura saw that it was almost four in the morning.
“Why don't you let me do this?” she asked wearily, taking the box out of the frying pan and carrying it over to the sink.
“Nonsense, I can manage. You can help, though. Why don't you invite that boy over?”
“What boy?”
“The one who was here earlier.”
Opening her mouth to explain once again that Nick was gone, Laura held back at the last moment. She knew the information wouldn't stick, that her mother would just ask again in a few minutes' time, and she was already exhausted. She didn't even want to eat, but the idea of leaving her mother in the kitchen alone was terrifying, and as she slid the frozen fish out of the box she made a mental note to check all the fire alarms.
“Your father loves a nice bit of fish,” Maureen said after a moment.
“Yeah,” Laura replied, “he does.” Staring down at the box for a few seconds, she felt a strange sense of nausea as she imagined the car mounting the pavement and hitting Nick.
“It wasn't an accident,” she whispered finally. “Nick was murdered. It was a message.”
Chapter Fourteen
Five years ago, a terrified, sobbing girl clambered over the low stone wall and ran for her life. Today, with the sun slowly starting to rise on the horizon, that same girl stopped by the wall and stared at the farmhouse.
The place hadn't changed at all. With her backpack weighing her down, Ophelia stood and watched the building, keeping her eyes trained on the windows in case there was any sign of movement inside. She knew the place had long since been abandoned, that it was likely no-one had been near, but she couldn't help herself. She was terrified that somehow he might still be in there, that he might have survived, that suddenly he'd step up behind her and clamp a hand over her mouth.
After all, it had happened before.
But not this time.
Climbing over the wall, she approached the house cautiously. When she reached the back door, she saw a piece of yellow tape stuck to the frame, fluttering in the breeze. Before she got to the door and pulled the tape away, she already knew what it was: the remnants of a police cordon. A cold shiver ran through her bones as she realized that someone must have been to the house after all, which meant...
Nearby, the old wooden gate was suddenly pushed shut by a gust of wind, clattering against the latch before slowly swinging open again.
Reaching out, Ophelia tried the door handle and found that it was locked. After a moment, she realized the entire door was new, which meant someone had removed the old one, which in turn meant the place wasn't as abandoned as she'd assumed. Then again, it was clear no-one lived there at the moment. Making her way around the side of the building, she finally understood what was happening. Up on the side of the stone building, an auctioneer's sign announced that the entire farm was to be sold off in a month's time, and a separate sign noted that the auction was on behalf of a police compensation fund. She realized immediately what that meant: the police had found the body, and since Andrew Renton had no family, his assets had been returned to the state.
