by M. D. Bowden
“Do you want a drink?” Alfie says, as we walk out into the drizzly evening air.
“Thanks, but I’m tired. I don’t think I’ve quite recovered yet.”
“No problem, I’ll walk you back then.”
We walk back to the High Street and as we turn the corner I catch a glimpse of someone behind in the shadows. He looked a bit like the guy who was sitting on the steps near where I was attacked. I shiver.
“Are you alright?” Alfie says.
“Hmmm? Yeah, but think it will be some time before I get my head completely straight about all of this.”
“I think knowing the truth will help.”
I let that go for now, not sure there is much point continuing with my questioning. I feel like I want to wrap myself up in a ball on my sofa and watch a chick flick to take my mind off everything. I am not very communicative on the way back, and Alfie doesn’t push me to talk. Without the distraction of our conversation I feel more aware of my surroundings, the halos of streetlights, the buzz of traffic, footfalls of other people. And a sense that I’m being watched. It’s eerie. I think Alfie senses something too, as he keeps looking back over his shoulder.
I consider whether it is sensible letting Alfie know where I live, but to not let him know would mean walking some of the way alone, so I decide letting him know is the safer alternative. When we reach the weir, and I have to raise my voice above the sound of the water, I turn to the left and say, “I live up there,” pointing to my top floor flat.
“You live there on your own?” Alfie says.
“I do. I like it that way.”
He shrugs.
“Where do you live? Do you have far to go home?” I ask.
“It’s a way, but no problem. We’re staying a bit outside the city – I have a cabin; it’s cosy.”
“Cold?”
“I don’t get cold remember! Anyway, when can I see you again?”
I shrug. “Don’t you have something you want to show me?”
“My transformation – yes! I’ll have a think about the best place to let you see, then will get back to you.”
“OK,” I say, wondering what he will do. I obviously don’t believe him. I think. I’m feeling very confused.
I give him my new phone number and then he leans forwards and kisses me on the cheek. “Night Ava.”
“Good night.”
He stands there watching until I have closed the door behind me. I watch through the glass window as he waves, then ambles away.
KISS
The next day my phone beeps while I’m working:
‘Ava, it’s me Alfie. Let me pick you up at 2 on Saturday and I’ll prove it’
I drum my fingers on the keyboard absentmindedly; I spent the night tossing and turning and wondering about everything he said, and all that had happened; wondering what I believed, what seemed right and what was possible. I could think about this situation forever and it would not get me to the truth.
‘See you then,’ I type back.
Four days and I would find out.
***
The buzzer at the entrance to the block of flats goes off and my heart leaps; I’m so jumpy since the other night. I run down the stairs to open the door and Trish and Mark are standing in the dark with big grins. Trish holds up a bottle of tequila, Mark a bag of ice and a bag of limes.
“Margaritas – yum,” I say, and stand aside so they can come in.
“Margaritas and dancing!” Trish says. “Let’s go to the same club again – it was so much fun, well, until the way home for you. We will come back here with you after so you’re not alone,” Trish quickly adds.
“It was fun,” I say, “I’m up for that – I need to move about after sitting at the computer all day.”
I had already filled them in, over the phone, on the details of my meet up with Alfie. They have insisted I keep my phone on so they can use it to track me if I end up dead. Very thoughtful. And reassuring.
Mark gets out the blender and throws in the ice, while Trish opens my cupboard in search of cocktail glasses. I juice the limes, then let her take over with the mixing. Mark pulls a chair back from the table and takes a seat, watching, looking far happier than the situation warrants.
Trish sees me watching him. “Mark met a girl yesterday – she said she’s going to go to the club tonight!” she says.
Mark blushes, his eyes all twinkly.
“Really, what’s she like?” I ask.
“Cute, very cute,” says Mark.
“She’s in one of our physics classes,” says Trish, handing out the cocktails.
We all raise our glasses and Mark says, “To best friends,” then we chink them against each other’s.
I take a sip, it’s so sour and salty, but with tequilary yumminess.
“So that’s why you’re up for going out on a Thursday,” I say.
“Hey, I’m always up for going out – I don’t take uni that seriously! And anyway – don’t have to be in until tomorrow afternoon.”
I laugh. He looks excited, and I hope he does see her so he doesn’t end up disappointed.
“When will we get to meet Alfie?” Mark asks.
“I’ll see whether or not he’s crazy first; but I think you’ll like him; he’s definitely very likeable.”
Trish and I sit down at the table with Mark, and his face falls serious.
“Have you seen the news today?” he says to me.
I shake my head, feeling a wave of cold pass over me. “What’s happened?”
“Two more people were killed last night; students from uni. They were found on the campus with neck trauma and blood loss,” he says, giving me a meaningful look.
“Oh God, I wonder if it was the same guy … or whether there are more … of them … out there,” I say.
Trish sits forward. “You have to both promise – no leaving the club tonight, not without us all together. Not even for a moment.”
“I promise,” Mark and I both utter.
“Were the victims together, or at different places on campus?” I ask.
“Different places. They didn’t know each other,” Trish says.
“I was just wondering how safe it is even going out in a group…” I say.
“But … I know this is awful … but there are thousands and thousands of people in Exeter. The chances of something happening to us … or happening again,” she says, looking at me, “are very, very small. The victims have all been found alone; no groups; and no-one has reported seeing what happened, or having escaped. We have no idea how long it will be until this stops … and we can’t stay in forever!”
“You’re right,” I say.
“Live for the moment,” Mark says, raising his glass.
We all chink glasses again, but this time in a more sombre fashion.
While we drink our drinks our conversation strays to the feasibility that vampires and werewolves could be real. We go through the same things over and over but none of us have a clue what to believe….
Three cocktails later and our mood has considerably lightened. We go out, wrapped up in warm coats and scarves, chatting and laughing. It is the first time I have been out after dark since Alfie walked me home after the cinema, and it feels liberating. I have spent too long cooped up at home.
We walk through the city centre; it is ten p.m. but there are still plenty of people about, although I notice there are not many people walking alone. We reach the club and stand outside queuing for five minutes before being ID’d and then finally let into the warmth. We deposit our coats in the cloakroom and then head into a dark corridor with little pinpricks of light guiding us towards the main room. I push open the double doors at the end and loud music pounds around us, lights flash and there are people jammed up against each other everywhere.
“I love this song!” shouts Trish, “Let’s dance, come on.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me towards the packed dance floor, while Mark winds around people to get closer to the
bar. After a moment there are too many people between us to see him anymore, and I let myself be dragged into a tiny gap that Trish has found. The song is fast and I let it wash over me, through me, feel my body let go and just move with it. It is over a minute later, but I feel invigorated by the movement, and when the next song comes on I am moving again, and Trish is jumping around like the wild thing she is, creating a bigger space for us as people try to avoid her.
Trish waves and I look to see Mark by the side of the dance floor, putting our bottles of vodka and coke on a shelf. We dance over to him, or more like try to, as we squeeze our bodies between other people. Our dance space disappears in a second.
“Thanks!” I shout, and then glug back the sugary mixture.
Trish beams, and shouts something in Mark’s ear, gesturing to the side. Mark looks that way and blushes, making him look very brightly coloured with the blue in his hair. I figure it must be the girl they were talking about earlier so follow his gaze but can’t see who he is looking at, just lots and lots of people. He visibly takes a deep breath, and shouts something back in Trish’s ear, then picks up his drink and walks towards the girl he likes.
“He’s being brave,” I shout to Trish, and she nods. “Who is it?”
There’s no need for her to answer as I see Mark approach someone who is small and wearing a baby-doll white dress, and has gorgeous olive skin, but then some people move between us and he’s obscured from view.
“Ah, now we can’t watch him!” Trish says.
“He’d probably prefer it that way,” I say, and laugh.
We watch the people on the dance floor move as we finish our drinks, and it makes me want to join in. “Let’s dance again.”
“Ok!”
This time I lead the way to find a space, wondering how things are going for Mark. I look around, but still cannot see him. I squeeze into the biggest space I can manage, and when I turn around I catch Trish sending a guy her sexy smile. I look the way she’s looking and see someone smiling back; someone very blond and yummy looking; and he’s moving our way. I start dancing and pretend not to notice, turning my back slightly on Trish so she can dance with him without me getting in the way.
For a time I lose myself while I’m dancing, and when I glance back towards Trish she is dancing tantalisingly close to the guy, and he looks like he’s enjoying it. She smiles happily at me. I grin back and keep dancing … until I need to pee. I shout in Trish’s ear where I’m going, and she shoos me away, so I leave her to it.
It takes bloody ages waiting to go to the loo, then working my way back. By the time I get to the dance floor again I can’t see Trish. Mark is still chatting to the girl he likes, and I don’t want to interrupt him, so I decide I had better dance on my own.
The music is loud and I’m surrounded by other dancers – it feels hypnotic. I sway, caught up in the song, but then someone puts their hand on my shoulder. I turn around to see who it is, and my breath leaves me – I recognise him straight away – it’s the guy who was watching me down by the river: the guy I couldn’t help but stare at.
Beautiful but dangerous.
He smiles at me, a slow, almost secretive smile, and starts dancing, looking into my eyes. His eyes are mesmerising and so black I can’t differentiate his pupils. He’s slightly taller than me, something I couldn’t tell last time I saw him as he was sitting down, and he has a fantastic bone structure – prominent cheekbones and jaw. And the way he’s moving to the music, subtle, coaxing, I can’t help but move with him. He puts his hand on my waist and I feel a cool shiver go down my spine; I can’t work out whether it’s from the thrill or from fear.
There’s something about him; it’s almost like he is too beautiful, ridiculous though that sounds. I feel very drawn to him, but scared at the same time; part of me wants to stay put and another part wants to run. But I remember what Mark said: Live for the moment, and decide I’ll take the risk.
As I move my hips to the music his hand stays on my waist, and he takes a step closer so our bodies are almost touching, but not quite. It’s very tantalising. All my nerve endings have become hyper-sensitive – I’m aware of his every movement and his closeness. His other hand brushes mine, and my hand flares with tingles in response. I look into his intense eyes and smile at him, and look down at his lips involuntarily. I quickly realise what I’ve done and look away as my cheeks heat.
He squeezes my waist gently in response and keeps dancing, the same tantalising distance apart. I want to move closer, but a thought occurs to me: I don’t know this guy, I haven’t said one word to him, or him to me. This is all about looks, or how he portrays himself. Silent signals. But that might be why this is such an irresistible situation – it’s such a mystery.
I look back at his face and his eyes meet mine in an instant. He holds my gaze as he slides his hand down from my waist, over my hip, to the top of my thigh, and then puts his other hand on my waist at the other side. Our faces are really close. I can feel his breath – it is cool on my lips, his lips so close, our bodies so close, and mine is almost screaming to move closer; so I do, and his lips are on mine.
For an instant.
Someone screams, not far away; it’s piercing, even over the music. We break apart, and there is another scream.
People are moving back, clearing an area not far from us, and we are pushed back, but I want to see what’s going on as there is a horrible cold dread growing in my heart.
GONE
There’s someone on the floor. I see blood at the same time as I see wild curly hair. I move closer, feeling detached from my surroundings, from reality. I’m on my knees.
“Trish,” I whisper, reaching for her shoulder, touching her, then shaking her.
There is blood on her neck. Lots of blood. More is seeping out, pooling around her.
“Trish!” I shout, pushing her over onto her back.
Her eyes are open. Vacant. “Trish!” I shout again, as if it will make some difference.
My eyes well up and overflow. “Trish,” I whisper again, sobbing, half aware of activity around me, someone pulling me back, lights coming on, and the music stopping. Someone in a uniform is bending over Trish. There are people shouting. There’s more sobbing next to me. Arms around me. Mark’s arms. We are being taken to the side, forced to sit down. Given water. Swarms of police. Paramedics. Everyone leaving.
My eyes clear and I watch as blue and white tape is put up around Trish. A police lady comes and sits with me and Mark; but I can’t say anything. I’m shaking. Someone puts a blanket over my shoulders and forces water into my hand; makes me drink it. I can hear Mark talking, but I can’t hear what he’s saying; I can’t take my eyes off Trish. I can see her curls. Her body. She’s lying there so vulnerable. So still.
No.
How?
Why?
Mark is crying hard by my side, and I can feel he is shaking too.
“I want to see her!” he’s sobbing.
“You can’t touch her body; it’s evidence,” is the reply from the police woman.
“Her parents…” I murmur.
“Mark has given us their number. They have been informed,” she says.
Informed. Imagine… I can’t imagine. I’m here and I can’t take it in; how will her parents understand?
Mark gives the police woman my details, and she says I will need to be questioned tomorrow. She asks us if we will be ok. Mark says he will stay with me. We are shunted away, my eyes on Trish until the last moment. We are put in a taxi. Then we are back at mine. Just like that, my mind out of it. Gaps in time.
We are inside my flat. I make us tea, slowly, numbly. We sit on the sofa, next to each other, holding our drinks. Not talking. Not drinking.
I look up at Mark, and as our eyes meet I can’t stop crying again. Neither can he.
“This feels so wrong,” he says. “How can it be?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how this could have happened. Trish…”
We pu
t our drinks down and Mark holds me in his arms. We sit there like that for a long time. It feels wrong to do anything. I can’t put on the TV; no distractions, no music. Everything feels wrong to do, like it would be disrespectful.
We lay down in the end, my head on Mark’s chest, and after a long time fall into a numb sleep.
When I wake up light is flooding into my living room. I am lying on Mark’s chest still, and can feel his rhythmic breathing and his warmth. My eyes feel puffy and uncomfortable, my head is killing and my throat dry.
Then I remember what happened. My mind freezes. Glazes over. I can’t think about it now. Can’t process it.
Slowly, so as not to wake Mark, I climb out of his arms and go to the sink and fill a large glass with water. I stand in the kitchen, looking out at the grey sky, until I have finished the whole glass. I spend a long time in the shower, hoping the water will wash away what happened, even though I know it can’t.
It did happen.
After I’m out of the shower I go into my room and slowly dress, getting ready for a day, like everything is the same. But my life is not the same. Trish isn’t here, and won’t ever be again.
I can’t believe it.
I hear noises, shuffling feet and a door. Mark is up. I hear the toilet flush and water run.
Part of me doesn’t want to see Mark. It is like seeing him will mean I have to face what has happened. But I know it’s unavoidable.
I go back out there and put the kettle on, keeping to routine, getting out the coffee, doing things as I normally would.
Mark comes out. He doesn’t look at me. He is very pale and has dark circles under his eyes. He sits back down on the sofa. I give him his coffee and sit next to him.
He holds it and sits looking at the TV, even though it is off.
“I’m going to go home,” he says.
“Back to your Hall?”
“No – home. Bideford. I want to see my parents. I don’t want to be here.”
I nod. “What about the police?”
“I talked to them last night – I don’t need to stay.”
