The New Girl

by Ingrid Alexandra

  I say nothing and Rachel runs a hand over her face, looks suddenly tired.

  ‘She didn’t recognise me, of course. I knew she wouldn’t; I was invisible to the pair of you at school. At least this time that worked in my favour. But, in the end, it was me who fucked up. Mark wasn’t giving up and I gave us away. I was careless, I’ll admit it. I’d turned off location settings on my phone, changed the number, but I should have straight up got a new one. He’d found some way to track the phone itself – fucked if I know how that works, but technology makes it easy for stalkers these days.

  ‘So to pre-empt things I got in touch with him, thought I’d try to keep him at bay. He wasn’t having it – he was obsessed. He’d have done anything to get you back. Mainly to save face, of course.’ She laughs bitterly. ‘So I became the enemy. For one thing I’d left him, and you know how he hates to lose. But on top of that he thought I was going to mess things up for him. He knew I was a little … preoccupied with you. I wasn’t the best at hiding it. He thought I was going to tell you about us, that it would ruin his chances of getting you back. He wanted me out of the picture.

  ‘Whether he meant to kill me with that car or not, who knows? Maybe he saw me and just lost his shit. He doesn’t care about people – psychopaths don’t. They’ll do anything and everything to get what they want and whoever gets in the way is just collateral.’

  I watch Rachel stub her cigarette out on the bench. When she lifts her head, her eyes are hard. ‘I tried everything, but it was you he wanted. He’d never leave. Not because he loved you, but you know that already – people like that aren’t capable of love. They’re opportunists. They take what they can get, when they can get it and it’s all for one purpose – to serve themselves.’

  I stare at the liquid in my cup, feeling sick.

  ‘It wasn’t just your money, though he knew he had a sweet deal with that. It wasn’t just that you were arm candy, making him look good. Any bitch with a pretty face and money could’ve given him that. But you were different. You and your … condition.’

  I glance at her sharply. ‘Condition?’

  ‘He said once he could do things and you wouldn’t remember, because you don’t remember things. You don’t remember sometimes, do you?’

  ‘I remember now,’ I tell her. ‘I remember enough.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Not everything – not yet. But you will, soon enough.’ She sighs. ‘Cat told me everything about your parents, about you. She made me promise not to talk to you about it … not to upset you.’ She gives a scornful laugh.

  ‘Everyone was lying to you, Mary. Everyone thought they were doing the right thing, protecting you, but I thought you deserved to know the truth. That’s why I brought you here. I wanted to help you. Believe me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I know what it’s like not to remember … to have a part of yourself you don’t trust …’

  Something rises in me: a strange, sick feeling.

  ‘It happens to people like us. When someone hurts you like we were hurt, sometimes the only way to cope is to block it out – so you can forget. So you can pretend it didn’t happen.’

  Though it’s humid, I feel cold all over.

  ‘Don’t you ever have gaps … periods of time you can’t recall? Aren’t there things you wish you knew but can’t remember?’

  I shake my head angrily. ‘Stop it! I don’t want to hear this. This isn’t about me. This is about you. What happened that night, Rachel? Or should I say Sophie?’

  Rachel’s eyes widen. Then she laughs, a short, sharp bark.

  ‘You can cut the bullshit. I know you’re the girl I’ve been looking for – the one who was there that night, with him, when it happened. That’s why you took my shoes, isn’t it? Because that blood would have been pretty fucking incriminating. You took them to protect yourself. I know it now, so don’t bother trying to deny it. Just tell me what you did.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, I was protecting you!’ Rachel’s voice is sharp, almost a shriek.

  I shrink away from her.

  She shakes her head, her eyes unfocused as she stares into her cup. ‘I had to. In case you remembered and gave it away. In case the cops figured out the truth.’ She sighs, a world-weary sound. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. He was attacking you, Mary.’ Her voice is hoarse, the way she says my name is drawn out, strange.

  My head aches. I’m tired of mind games. ‘For God’s sake … What do you mean?’

  ‘Tom. I saw what he was doing. And I … I was so angry. He was hurting you …’

  ‘Tom? Tom was hurting me?’

  Pain, splintering through the back of my head. Fear.

  ‘Get up, you stupid bitch.’

  Rachel nods. Her eyes are wet.

  My heart pounds. ‘Did I see what happened?’

  Another nod.

  I screw my eyes shut, grit my teeth. ‘There was blood on me, where did it come from?’

  Rachel gives me a funny look. ‘I told you,’ she says in a quiet voice, speaking slowly, ‘I went looking for you. By that stage you’d been missing a while, and I knew you’d had a lot to drink earlier. I was worried. Mark was high as fuck and angry, he kept saying you had his drugs and he wanted them. I wanted to warn you …’

  I nod. I remember him harassing me about some eight ball I couldn’t recall ever having.

  ‘I went looking where Mark said he’d left you. I could hear voices in the distance. When I found you …’ She pauses, swallows. Her eyes dart away. ‘I only saw the end of what happened, but I could figure out the rest. If I’d only got there a minute earlier …’ she trails off.

  The room grows darker.

  ‘I called out to you, but you ran.’ Rachel’s voice is barely audible now.

  Sophie!

  The waves hiss and crash against the shore below, the ocean whispers its secrets. And then it hits me, like lightning, sending shockwaves through my body.

  ‘I know what you did. And I don’t care. I only ever wanted to help you. I wanted to save you,’ she whispers.

  Run, Sophie.

  ‘But it was too late.’

  Through the ringing in my ears, there’s the whoosh and suck of the retreating tide. Soon the shore beneath will be washed bare, with only a scattering of shells and seaweed left behind. Soon it will be nothing but a graveyard.

  A sharp keening breaks the spell. I can’t pinpoint the sound; it seems so far away. Then suddenly it’s here, right nearby – the sound vibrating inside my head. Someone screaming. Me.

  My surroundings come back into focus – darkness, candlelight, the cool night breeze on my skin. I’m shivering, panting. My throat feels raw. Rachel stands before me, her mouth wide. She’s saying something, shouting maybe, but I can barely hear her over the roar of blood in my ears.

  ‘It’s okay. Please, calm down …’

  I look around. We’re near the edge of the deck now, though I don’t know how we got here. I’m standing near the broken railing, hands clenched at my sides. My chest is tight. My head throbs.

  ‘Just come back from the edge. Please. Come on.’

  There’s a rhythmic pummelling over the whispers and the waves. Footsteps on the front path, several pairs.

  The cops have come. Adrenalin spikes in my veins. They can’t find me – not now.

  I turn and grip the rotten, splintered wood of the railing and look down. The sea is black tonight. Only the tips of the waves are illuminated by silver light. My heartbeat roars louder than the waves and I feel like I’m down there, like I’m drowning in the deep, cold water.

  The footsteps grow louder; they’re getting close.

  I take a step towards the edge. There’s a crunch as the rotting wood disintegrates under my foot.

  ‘No!’ Rachel shouts. I look over my shoulder and she’s staring me dead in the eye. She reaches out a hand, speaks calmly, softly. ‘Come back here where it’s safe. It will be okay, I promise. Nothing bad is going to happen, I’ll make sure of it.’

  Th
ere’s a loud knock at the door, a booming voice shouts, ‘Hello?’

  I look down at the water and back to Rachel. ‘How can I trust you?’ My voice trembles. ‘I can’t even trust myself.’

  Rachel smiles, her eyes never leaving mine. ‘Because you have to. I can help you. I can make things right.’

  The door rattles and the house shakes; a plank breaks away from the deck and falls to the ocean below. Any second the door will cave in.

  ‘It’s the police! Open up!’

  The clouds overhead have parted and Rachel’s round eyes gleam in the silvery light. ‘We’re even now, can’t you see? We’ve both fucked up. But we deserve a second chance. I can give us that. But only if we’re in this together.’

  I look down at the churning black sea. My head swims. I feel faint.

  ‘Please,’ Rachel says, her voice mingling with the whispers of the waves. ‘You have to trust me, Sophie.’

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Four months earlier

  20th August 2016

  12.48 a.m.

  I don’t remember having a single drink and yet I’m stumbling in my heels, my stomach churning with acid. Mark’s holding onto my arm; he’s practically dragging me. ‘Pull yourself together,’ he mutters. ‘Bruce will be here any second.’

  As if on cue, a beat-up, pale blue Ford pulls up at the curb and a fat, ginger-haired man of about fifty gets out. ‘G’day,’ he greets Mark, then nods at me.

  ‘Sophie,’ I say, reaching out a hand. Mark slaps my hand away and glares at me. I’d forgotten – I’m not supposed to use my real name.

  ‘Got a niece named Sophie,’ Bruce volunteers, although no one asked.

  ‘You don’t say.’ Mark has that sneer in his voice he gets when he thinks someone’s a waste of skin. He puts his arm around me and pulls me close, marking his territory. Bruce merely smirks.

  They make the exchange, looking over their shoulders like the shifty bastards they are, then Mark and I trudge over the sandy foreshore, back towards the party. He’s looking at the goods, muttering to himself about how he got screwed. He’s always like this right before he gets a hit. I don’t know why he doesn’t just do it now.

  I slip in my heels and grasp his arm for balance. He swears angrily and shakes me off, so I stumble and land on my knees.

  ‘Hurry up,’ he snaps.

  I get to my feet and hurry after him, anger fizzing inside me.

  ‘Shouldn’t use that old fucker, he’s useless,’ Mark complains.

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ I mutter, and, without warning, Mark turns and whacks me across the face with the back of his hand.

  ‘No one asked you, did they? Dumb bitch.’

  My cheek burning, I stand there as he storms off, lighting a cigarette as he goes, putting his phone to his ear. When he speaks again, it’s in a soft voice. He’s suddenly calmer, warm even. He doesn’t look back.

  It’s enough. It’s enough now, I tell myself. While I still burn inside and out, I make a decision. It’s now or never. Fuck it that I don’t have any clothes – I’ve got money. I’m the one with money – not him; he needs me. Ha! Imagine the look on his face when he realises I’m not coming back, when he realises he’ll have to come up with a way to pay the rent. And he’s forgotten I still have that eight ball in my purse. He’s going to be sorry.

  But my triumph is fleeting. The familiar quiver of fear creeps through me as I think, Where will I go? What will I do? I’ve alienated myself from all my friends. I barely speak to Aunty Anne anymore. Cat’s been off the radar for months.

  I’m alone.

  I shiver, suddenly cold. Picking up my pace, I head back towards the party. I shouldn’t be out here – it’s dark and no one’s around. Just as I’m thinking this, I hear footsteps behind me.

  I whirl around to see a shadow move amongst the trees. There’s the sound of twigs breaking and then a figure appears – a guy, younger than me, with long hair, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. He walks towards me. ‘Hi.’

  I take a step backwards.

  The guy smiles; all I can see are his teeth in the dark. ‘You lost?’

  ‘Uh, a little.’ I glance over my shoulder, take another step backwards.

  ‘Are you heading to the party?’ he asks. He steps further into the light cast from a street lamp and I can see his face. He’s young, lanky, with a friendly, open face.

  I sigh with relief. ‘Yes! Yeah, I’m on my way back there … I am a bit lost, actually.’ And more than a bit drunk.

  ‘I’ll walk you,’ Lanky Guy says, pointing ahead. ‘It’s just up there. I know the place well.’

  ‘Thanks so much,’ I say, turning to head in the direction he points in, but I stumble and fall in my shoes.

  Lanky Guy catches my arm and steadies me. I sense that he’s surprisingly strong – his hands are huge and calloused, his grip tight. I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow. ‘Careful,’ he laughs. ‘I want you in one piece.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, then think that’s a weird-arse thing to say, isn’t it? I’m starting to feel dizzy and I want to go home. I just want to sleep.

  ‘Actually, I think I’ll just go somewhere and get a taxi,’ I say. ‘I’m not feeling well.’

  ‘It’s too late for that,’ Lanky Guy mutters.

  It’s then that I get a swirl of dread in my stomach. I don’t know where we are and I don’t know where we’re going. I can’t hear the ocean anymore.

  I try to pull away, but Lanky Guy grips me tighter. Panic blooms.

  ‘Please, I just want to go home.’

  Lanky Guy doesn’t say anything and that frightens me more. He faces straight ahead, pulling me along as I stumble and trip. It’s darker here, so I think we’re in a park, or maybe a reserve. There’s a clearing and a building of some kind – it looks like a house until we get closer, and I realise that it’s a church, still under construction.

  ‘Please.’ The word comes out as a sob.

  ‘Shut up,’ he hisses, looking around before hauling me by the arm and into the half-built structure. There are objects in the way and I keep tripping over things, hard things, on the ground. Bricks.

  Lanky Guy shoves me hard against the wall and my head cracks against the cold bricks. Shoving his forearm against my throat, pinning me in place, he reaches down, then lifts his arm again. Something glints in the moonlight. The blade of a knife.

  ‘Don’t fight me.’

  My body gives an involuntary jolt.

  ‘I said don’t fight me.’ I can’t see his face clearly, but I can hear the hate in his voice. ‘You got that?’

  I nod dumbly and he grunts, letting go of me for a moment. Without the support of his arm, I wobble and slip, landing painfully on my tailbone. My hand touches something cold and hard. Something with sharp edges.

  ‘Get up, you stupid bitch.’

  I hear a belt buckle clinking and it triggers a memory. Some ancient thing, buried deep, surges to life. My father’s face flashes in my mind and rage comes in a white-hot burst. As I shake my head, desperate to blink it away, I am back in the church and he is leaning towards me. My fingers close around the object beside me and I swing my arm upwards until the object connects under his jaw, snapping his head back with a crack. He wails and pitches forward, the knife clattering to the ground, and I duck out of the way just as he falls to his knees. He’s making a horrible sound, like he’s choking, and the next thing I know I’m holding the brick above my head, standing over him, chest heaving.

  What am I waiting for? I turn to run, but then something closes around my ankle and pulls me to the ground. I scream and yank my leg back, but his grip is steel. Swivelling my body, I raise the brick and slam it down on his skull. This time there’s a sickening crunch.

  Something comes over me – it’s like I’m in a dream. Anger squeezes like a fist inside my chest and I don’t stop. I can’t. I keep pounding the brick into his skull, striking him again and again and again. My ankle is released. He is slumped face down o
n the ground. He doesn’t move.

  There’s a rustle in the bushes nearby and I turn my head sharply.

  A girl’s pale face, illuminated by moonlight, stares out at me from the darkness. I stand in shock, my breath loud in my ears. At first I’m not sure I’m seeing straight. But then the girl snaps out of her trance and steps forward.

  A wave of panic hits me and I turn and run, tripping over the uneven ground, heading towards street lights in the distance.

  ‘Wait! Please wait, it’s okay!’ the girl’s voice calls after me.

  But I don’t stop. I follow the lights until I reach a road, and there are houses and I can hear the ocean again. I run towards the sound, towards where I think the house was, where people are, throwing glances over my shoulder, waiting for the stranger to appear. I reach the shore, my heels sinking in the sand. Then I realise I’m still holding the object – a brick, wet with blood – and terror seizes me.

  What have I done?

  Dizziness takes hold, the world sways. I stumble along the sand, towards the sound of people partying. The lights are closer now and there’s some kind of low wall next to me. I drop the brick and hold onto the wall to stay upright. I can hear music and laughter; it can’t be far, maybe someone will come. Maybe someone will find me.

  And then someone does come, materialising from the darkness, running towards me. It’s Mark, his face like thunder in the glow of a street lamp.

  There’s someone else coming – a girl, running, pale hair flying. The girl from the woods.

  Mark kneels in front of me, picks something up from the ground, and stares at it. The brick.

  ‘Run, Sophie!’ the girl shouts.

  The ocean roars in my ears, my eyes slip shut and all I see is blackness.