by Amy Cross
And there's a hand on my shoulder.
I wait.
Is it her?
Please, no, don't let it be her. I heard her and saw her, but if I can feel her too...
“Anna?”
A male voice.
With a flood of relief, I realize that it's not Jennifer.
Turning, I see Matt standing behind me, his eyes wide with shock. “Are you okay?” he asks. “I...” He pauses. “What were you doing? You weren't about to...”
His voice trails off, but it's clear that he's suspicious.
“No,” I stammer, looking both ways along the walkway but seeing no sign of Jennifer. “Did you see her?” I ask, turning back to him.
“See who?”
“Did you see her?” I ask again, with desperation in my voice as I take a couple of steps along the walkway. There's still no sign of her now, as if she just vanished into the cold night air.
“There was no-one else here,” he replies. “You were talking, I didn't hear what you said, but it's like you were chatting away to yourself or...” He pauses. “I was calling your name, but it's like you couldn't hear me. You were staring over the edge, and for a moment I thought...”
Looking down at the tracks, I try to imagine what it would be like if I'd jumped. For a moment, I see parts of my mangled body smeared along the metal, with blood splattered all around, and I try to imagine the void of nothingness that would have engulfed me. Then I turn and look the other way, and I imagine the train having come to a stop with a distraught driver climbing out, and I realize his life would have been destroyed. In a flash, I'm filled with relief that I didn't do anything stupid, and it's hard to believe that I even considered the possibility. I swear, it's almost as if Jennifer was somehow in my head, urging me to jump.
“Who were you talking to?” Matt asks.
I turn to him. “I don't know,” I stammer, shivering in the cold night air. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Taking off his jacket, he places it around my shoulders, and I immediately feel warm again. “Come on,” he says with a faint smile. “Let's find somewhere a little nicer.”
With that, he leads me along the walkway. As we get to the far end, I can't help noticing a battered old CCTV camera high up on the wall, watching us.
***
“It's a miracle I found you,” Matt says a short while later, as he sets a cup of tea on the table in the brightly-lit cafe. Nearby, some drunk late-night party animals are screaming their order at the guy behind the counter.
“How did you know where to look?” I ask.
“Karen was worried about you when you ran from the club. We decided to split up and see if we could catch up to you, and by some miracle...” He pauses. “I don't know, it's like, Karen figured you'd just take the main street and go home, but I thought maybe you'd want to keep away from the crowds. When she told me where you live, I felt like if I was in your situation, I'd take the path around the edge of town and past the old station. I guess I was right.”
A faint smile crosses my lips. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“What the hell is that?” one of the drunk guys screeches suddenly. Before I've even turned to look at him, I know damn well that he's referring to me, and sure enough he's already pushing his nose up to make his nostrils bigger. “Where'd your nose go, darling?” he shouts, as his friends giggle. “Bloody hell, done too much coke?”
“Got a problem?” Matt snarls, getting to his feet and stepping toward the guy as I hold a napkin up to cover my nose.
“Easy, mate,” the guy says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I didn't mean to have a go at your girlfriend.”
“She's not my girlfriend,” he says firmly, shoving the guy back against the counter, “and you need to shut your mouth or I'll put my fist right through it.”
“Whatever,” the guy replies, turning to his friends as their order is delivered.
For a moment, I'm worried that Matt is going to punch the guy anyway, but finally he sighs and comes back over. “Sorry about that,” he mutters as he sits down. He's clearly annoyed, and he glances back at the drunk guys as they loudly bundle out of the cafe. “There are far too many idiots in the world.”
“I've got a spare nose at home,” I tell him, with a napkin still covering my exposed nostrils. This whole situation feels ludicrous, almost surreal, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. “I don't think I should have come here, I should -”
“Don't be ashamed,” he replies, taking my hand and gently lowering it to the table. “You're beautiful just the way you are.”
“That's sweet,” I tell him, “but we both know it's not true.” I turn my face slightly and hold my hair back, to give him a better view of the scars around my mangled ear. I feel a shiver of embarrassment running through my chest, but at the same time I somehow don't mind letting him see. Besides, the scars on my neck and face are just the most visible; beneath my clothes, I'm a patchwork mess of stitched-together skin and twisted damage. “I'm used to it now,” I continue, “so there's no need to pretend.”
“I'm not pretending. I think you're...” He pauses, before breaking into an embarrassed smile. “Well, you know what I mean. I just hate seeing drunk jerks having a go.”
With trembling hands, I start tearing apart one of the napkins. “I guess Karen told you about me, then?”
He hesitates for a moment, but finally he nods. “Only the basics, but I remember reading about what happened to you a few years ago. It was, like, all over the news and everything when you first came back to England. I can't even begin to imagine what that was like for you, and I sure as hell don't know what to say.”
“You don't need to say anything,” I tell him. “The truth is... People always feel the need to say something, when really it'd be better if they just acted normal.” Taking a deep breath, I realize that once again the flashes of violence have faded, and I'm no longer hearing voices or seeing things that I know can't be real. I glance across the cafe, just to make absolutely certain that there's no vision of Jennifer sitting nearby, but I guess that was just a brief, hopefully one-off episode. I definitely shouldn't have come out tonight, not so soon after leaving hospital. Hopefully my brain just had a brief spurt of madness and it's all settled now.
Please God, let that be all it was. Let me not have jeopardized my recovery by being so stubborn and dumb.
Turning back to Matt, I see that he's watching me intently, although he immediately looks down at his cup of tea when we make eye contact. If I didn't know better, I'd think that he's a little shy.
“So let me get this clear,” I continue. “When you caught up to me on that walkway, there was really no-one else there?”
He frowns. “Should there have been?”
“No, it's just...”
My voice trails off. If I tell him about Jennifer, he'll think I'm insane. Then again, I guess I'm probably a fair way along that road already, so at least telling the story would give him some context.
“Everyone thinks you're so innocent,” Jennifer's voice whispers, echoing in my mind from that encounter on the walkway. “What if they knew the truth? What if they knew what you did after the cabin burned down?”
What did I do? It's like she's trying to make me remember something.
“Anna?” Matt says after a moment. “Are you okay?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” I ask, realizing that I was getting lost in my thoughts again. “You didn't answer before.”
“Like, actual dead people coming back?” He pauses. “No. No, I've never been into that sort of thing. I think that when someone dies, they stay dead, no matter what. I guess it's scary to believe that, but if ghosts were real we'd have proof by now, wouldn't we? A photo, a recording, some kind of scientific explanation, it's like... I just can't believe that something so massive could exist without someone having found concrete evidence by now.” Another pause, and slowly a smile crosses his lips. “Why? Were you having an argument with a ghost when I found
you? I could hear you talking to someone.”
“Maybe,” I tell him. “Just for a second it...”
Sighing, I realize I can't possibly explain it in a way that would make him understand. I'd have to go back to the very beginning, and the last thing I was is to bore him to death.
“I was just on the phone,” I add finally, hoping to brush it all aside. “I was talking to someone.”
“You were?”
I nod, even though I can tell he's not convinced.
“So do you believe in ghosts?” he asks after a moment.
For a few seconds, I think back to that final night in the cabin, when I saw Karen Lund and Marit stabbing Jennifer. Karen and Marit were dead by then, so there's no way they could have been there, but I have a very strong, very vivid image of them in the darkness, standing over Jennifer as she died. At least, that's what I remember seeing, but now the whole thing just feels so unlikely. The doctors told me I was substituting fantasies for what really happened, they gave a fancy name to it and I know they thought that I was the one who stabbed Jennifer. The memory of those ghosts seems so real, but I guess it's possible that my mind was playing tricks on me, the same way it played tricks tonight.
I can't even trust the things that are right in front of me.
“It's complicated,” I tell him finally. “I mean, who knows, right?” Picking up another napkin, I hold it over my nose.
“I think you're great,” he replies.
I frown.
“Seriously,” he continues. “To still be here, to not be a gibbering wreck in a straitjacket... I can't imagine what kind of coping strategies someone would need in order to keep going. I mean, nine people out of ten would be a total basket case if something like that happened to them. I read about the injuries you suffered in the cabin, I can't even believe that there are people out there who'd do something like that.” He pauses. “Actually, scratch that. I can believe it. I just wish that kind of thing couldn't happen.”
I open my mouth to reply, but suddenly I become aware of a figure approaching the table. Turning, I see that another drunk guy has come stumbling over, making no attempt to hide the fact that he's staring in shock at my missing nose.
“What the actual...” he stammers, before his voice trails off. Reaching out, he tries to touch my face, but I pull away. He tries again, and this time I push his hand away.
“Get out of here,” Matt says firmly, getting to his feet.
“What's wrong with her?” the guy asks, trying again to touch my face before turning to Matt. Swaying slightly, he's clearly wasted. “Is she -”
Before the guy can get another word out, Matt swings a punch and knocks him out cold, sending him clattering back against one of the tables.
“Come on,” he says, turning to me with a sigh, “I think we're about to get thrown out of this place anyway.”
***
“And here we are,” he says a short while later, as he stops in front of my mother's house and turns to me. “One lady, delivered safely to her door. Notice that I didn't describe you as a damsel in distress. I was very clear about that.”
“You didn't have to walk me home,” I tell him with a smile.
“I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I didn't,” he replies. “I guess maybe I'm a little old-fashioned. Good job we didn't come across any puddles, or I'd have had to put my coat down for you.”
I can't help smiling like a goddamn fool. I might not be in the market for any kind of involvement right now, but I can't deny that this Matt guy is seriously charming, and he's not bad-looking either. In another life, one where I felt more ready to deal with complications, I'd be seriously hoping for a kiss right now.
“Seriously,” he continues, “this coat was pretty expensive. I'd have to take it to the dry-cleaners and everything.”
“You're very chivalrous,” I tell him, checking my watch and seeing that it's almost 2am. Somehow my first night out of hospital has zoomed past in a daze, although I still think I should have heeded my mother's warnings and taken it easier instead of throwing myself back into life. Lesson learned. “I'd invite you in,” I add, “but my mother's probably wide awake and trust me, she'd make things awkward.”
“I don't need any help when it comes to making things awkward,” he replies.
We stand in silence for a moment.
“See?” he adds, taking a step back. “I hope I see you around some time, Anna. It was really nice meeting you, and I hope the assholes you bumped into don't make you look back on this night as a total dud. Hopefully you at least got something positive out of the whole experience.”
“I'm sure I did,” I reply, feeling relieved that he didn't try to make a move. He's hot, but I'm definitely not ready for anything like that, and I might never be again. Then again, given the state of my body, I doubt I need to worry too much about guys making advances. I'm not being self-pitying, it's just a fact: I have a damaged body that no-one could ever find attractive. “Now if you'll excuse me,” I tell him, “I have to go inside and find my spare nose.”
A few minutes later, once I'm safely back in the house and I've locked the door, I find my mother sitting in the kitchen. She pretends she wasn't waiting up for me, of course, but she's a terrible liar and I guess I don't blame her. I tell her everything was fine, that I took my nose off when I got through the door, and I carefully omit the more gruesome parts of the night. After several offers of tea she finally goes to bed, leaving me to grab a glass of milk and take a look at some things on my laptop. Sure enough, a few people on social media have posted a photo of me from the club, but it's not like I'm trending or anything so I figure I've dodged a bullet there. Closing the laptop, I lean back and take a deep breath.
Slow down, Anna.
You can afford to take things a little easier.
“You mustn't push yourself too fast,” I remember Doctor Larkin telling me yesterday morning. “You're still fragile.”
I just wanted to feel normal. I hate it when people say that I'm fragile.
And then slowly, I start to become aware of a red light out in the garden, burning through the darkness. I turn, assuming that it must be a reflection of something in the kitchen, but when I look around the room I can't see any red lights inside at all. I pause for a moment, feeling a shiver of concern but reminding myself that I'm probably being paranoid, and then I go to the far wall and switch the main lights off, plunging the kitchen into darkness. Sure enough, the red light is still out there in the garden, at the edge of the lawn, almost as if someone's filming me with a video camera.
It can't be that, though.
I swallow hard.
“Stay calm,” I whisper to myself as I step cautiously toward the window. My heard is pounding, but I know this has to be a mistake. “It's something else, it's just...”
Suddenly the light moves, and I realize that it is someone carrying a video camera. I freeze for a moment, too shocked to react, but finally the light goes off and I see a figure dressed in black rushing out through the back gate. I hurry to the door and reach out to pull it open, before reconsidering at the last moment. Whoever was out there, they're clearly gone now, and besides I don't know what I'd do if I came face-to-face with someone. The thought of a camera watching me, however, makes my skin crawl, and I can't help thinking back to the camera in the cabin, and the way the little red light kept watching while Jennifer, Joe and the others were torturing me.
Taking a step back, I tell myself that I should go to the police in the morning and let them know about the figure in the garden. A moment later, however, I realize that maybe I should just ignore it and hope that I imagined the whole thing. Finally I decide that it probably was just in my head, and that I don't need to go to the police at all. The last thing I want is to get a reputation as someone who's easily scared.
As it turns out, however, the matter isn't really in my hands, because early the next morning the police come knocking on the door anyway. Something else has happened.
/> Five
“The important thing here is for you to not panic,” Detective Bryson explains calmly as we sit at the kitchen table. “I came to you today out of an abundance of caution, because -”
“But it's out there,” I reply, my whole body tense with shock. “It is, isn't it?”
“Anna...”
“You said it!”
“There's a possibility -”
“You wouldn't be here if it was just a possibility!” I hiss. “It's out there!”
Mum reaches over and puts a hand on my arm. “Anna, sweetheart...”
“So anyone can download it?” I continue, pulling away from her touch as I keep my eyes fixed on Bryson. “Anyone in the whole world can go online and download the video from the cabin?”
“It's a little more complicated than that,” he replies. “We've ascertained that the video certainly isn't on any mainstream sites, so there's really no danger of someone stumbling across it. What we're dealing with here is the likelihood that somehow a copy has been seeded on the dark internet, or whatever it's called. Look, I'm not the most technical guy in the world when it comes to these things, but there are sites where people share this type of content using encrypted -”
“And my video's being passed around,” I say firmly, interrupting him.
He sighs. “It would appear so, yes.”
“The whole thing?”
“Our forensic analysis team believe that there are no major edits, it's almost like a dump of raw footage and -”
“So people have watched it?”
“I'm not going to lie to you, Miss Marshall,” he continues. “Yes, I have no doubt that there are people out there who've viewed the video by now.”
“How did this happen?” I ask, as I realize that my hands have started trembling. “Where did it come from?”
“We're still looking into that.”
“I thought it had been destroyed,” I tell him. “The Norwegian police said that all the copies were lost when the cabin burned down. They said they looked for it, but all they found was a broken camera and some melted tapes. They said they couldn't retrieve even one frame!”
