After She Died

by Collette Heather

  “Hey, baby, how are you? I miss you,” he said in his rich, deep voice.

  “Hi,” she said, unable to stop the quaver from creeping in. “I miss you, too. How’s the case going?”

  “Fine, fine. In fact, I might even be home a day earlier than I thought, but we’ll see how it goes. How are things there? How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

  Her words were met by a brief silence on the other end of the line.

  “Cassie? What is it? What’s happened?”

  “Happened? Nothing’s happened. I’m fine.”

  ‘Come on, baby, you can’t lie to me.”

  Cassie closed her eyes for a second with the phone pressed to her ear as the comfortable familiarity of his deep, rumbling voice washed over her.

  Yes, she loved everything about the man.

  But if she loved his voice so much, then why was she suddenly thinking about Ethan? Why was she suddenly comparing her husband’s voice to his? Ethan, whose voice was so filled with humour and life.

  “Cassie? Are you still there?”

  “What?”

  “I thought you’d dropped the phone or hung up on me, or something.”

  She shook her head slightly to dispel the images of Ethan – the way his blue eyes constantly glittered with ill-suppressed humour, and the way the righthand corner of his mouth constantly tugged upwards in the beginnings of a grin.

  “No, I’m still here.”

  “Great. So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she said breezily, hoping that he would buy it.

  Because she didn’t want to get into it. She didn’t want to tell him about the letter in the kitchen drawer from persons unknown. She didn’t want to tell him about the phone call, and the fact that thoughts of Chloe had been playing on her mind lately far more than usual.

  And she especially didn’t want to tell him that for a crazy moment there, she had actually entertained the notion that her dead twin herself had been the one to make the call.

  Neither could she exactly tell him about Ethan.

  “Well, if you’re sure…”

  “I’m sure. I’m fine, really. Where are you calling from, anyway?” she asked, to change the subject more than anything.

  “From court, I’m out in the hallway… Oh God, I’m so sorry, Bob’s just come out, there’s a problem, can I call you back?”

  “A problem? What kind of problem?”

  “Oh, nothing,” he said, but he sounded agitated. “Just something that’s come up with the Gavin Henderson case.”

  A bad feeling churned in her guts – one which she couldn’t quite place. She knew perfectly well that Gavin Henderson was the name of the guy he was defending – a guy who, according to Hugh, had been wrongfully accused of murdering his wife – but a shiver skated down her spine nonetheless.

  “Will you call again tonight?” she asked.

  “Of course I will, I love you baby, I’ve got to go. Speak later, okay?”

  “I love you, too,” she said, but he had already gone.

  Just before she hung up, she thought that she heard a voice in the background. A female voice.

  No. It couldn’t be. He had said it was Bob, aka Robert Logan, who was his partner at the law firm.

  Clutching the cordless phone to her chest, she closed her eyes with her backside resting against the counter top. Of course it was Bob she had heard in the background.

  What if he’s having an affair? What if he’s lying to me about working in Scotland?

  The unbidden thought caused her eyes to snap open and knocked her sick.

  No, no, no. That was just stupid. She could trust Hugh with her life, she knew this. And besides, what about her, anyway? She was a fine one to think such a thing, considering that she was lusting after another man.

  I am not lusting after another man, she told herself sternly.

  Assertively, she marched into the living room and scooped up the laptop which was resting on a cushion on the sofa. Sitting down with the computer on her knee, she logged into her newly-activated facebook account, aggressively punching at the keys as she did so.

  She clicked on Ethan’s profile – her only friend on facebook, not that he would know that – and opened the chatbox. She thought of the scrap of paper in her bag with his address and mobile number scribbled down on it, but she really didn’t fancy talking to him. It wasn’t like she could text him anyway, seeing as she didn’t have a phone but wasn’t sending a message via facebook much the same thing? Despite only being twenty-six, she was out of the loop regards technology, just as she was in most areas of her life.

  You are out of touch with reality, a voice scolded in her head. You really need to be more with it.

  But she was happy being ignorant.

  Or at least, she thought she was. She certainly had been, up until now.

  She groaned, the sound of it alarming to her own ears, like that of a whimpering animal. How she hated it when her thoughts spiralled into idiocy. Focusing fully on the matter at hand, she began to type:

  Hi Ethan. Thanks for coffee today, I enjoyed the chat and the company. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it tonight. Something’s come up.

  She stared at the blinking curser for many seconds before pressing send.

  So. The deed is done.

  For the first time in a long time, she itched to light up. She hadn’t smoked since University and the urge to do so now was strong. She stared at the screen, her heart fluttering in her chest in such a way that it was making her feel lightheaded.

  She gasped aloud when a little number one, ringed in red popped up under the heading of ‘messages’.

  Why does he always reply so quickly? she wondered, quickly reasoning that, unlike her, he was a typical twenty-something with his phone permanently grafted to his hand. Shakily, she extended her hands towards the keyboard to read his message:

  So sorry to hear that. Can you make tomorrow instead?

  She stared at the words, not even realising that she was holding her breath until she exhaled in a shaky sigh. Can I make tomorrow? she wondered.

  No. Of course I can’t.

  Because saying yes would defeat the whole object of this exercise. The whole point of messaging him was to cut this stranger swiftly and cleanly out of her life. To never see – or think – of him again.

  Her fingers gripped the laptop lid, on the brink of slamming it down. Yet she didn’t. She stared at the screen until it blurred before her eyes. She owed this man nothing, after all. No explanation, no niceties, not a single, solitary thing.

  And yet.

  As much as she understood the truth of this, the compulsion to contact him was still there. Just as she was about to tap out a reply, another message appeared:

  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be pushy. I think you’re a cracking girl, that’s all, and I really enjoyed spending time with you earlier. I’ll stop pestering you now, but I will ask you again later. Stay tuned…

  A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips as she read his message. Stay tuned indeed. He had given her a decent out – she didn’t have to reply to him right now.

  And if she changed her mind later, the offer would still be there.

  I’m not going to change my mind.

  As if to most emphatically emphasise this point, she slammed down the laptop lid.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Two hours later at seven p.m., Cassie was already nearly a bottle of wine down. She just couldn’t stop her brain from working overtime. Thoughts of Ethan and Hugh jumbled together in her mind. Guilt and lust went round and round in her head, a never-ending merry-go-round of misery that she couldn’t switch off.

  She sat there, slumped on the sofa, staring at the bright light of the TV, but not really seeing it. It was just a lot of bright, moving colours and meaningless patterns. It might’ve been a documentary, but she didn’t know and she didn’t really care.

  She rea
ched for her glass on the coffee table – it was near empty and the bottle was gone.

  I really shouldn’t drink so much, she thought.

  But more than anything, it was thoughts of her dead twin that kept her reaching for her glass.

  Chloe did not send me that letter…

  Whoever sent it was trying to fuck with her head, of that she was sure. But who would do such a thing? It wasn’t like she had any friends, or even knew anyone in Whitstable on anything more than the most superficial of levels.

  Maybe Jon sent it.

  The unwelcome thought slammed into her mind with all the subtlety of an eighteen-wheeler slamming into a motorway barrier doing eighty. She lurched upright on the leather sofa, sitting there ramrod straight as she digested the possibility, not knowing why the thought hadn’t occurred to her up until then.

  Maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence after all that Jon Anderson had miraculously turned up in her local library on the day that she had just happened to be there; the boy with whom she had lost her virginity at eighteen-years-old when they had both been freshers at Bristol University.

  The man she hadn’t even recognised.

  Maybe he had been stalking her.

  She shivered, suddenly icy cold. Her skin crawled at the thought. Surely not, after a five-year hiatus?

  But there was no denying the possibility of it. Maybe he was still angry at her for deserting him without a word. Maybe he was out for revenge for the hurt that she had caused him. Maybe he had sent her the letter…

  Shakily, Cassie drained her glass. No more wine – at least, no more wine in the living room, anyway. She stared unseeingly at the TV, thinking about getting up, going into the kitchen and opening another bottle of wine. The man speaking on the TV caught her attention. It had ceased being a meaningless babble and it suddenly snapped into sharp focus in her head, rather like the way in which one sat bolt upright in bed after a nightmare:

  “…has always been the cause of great division between psychologists and social scientists. Inherited genes versus environment and social learning. Nature versus nurture. Few debates in science have raged louder or longer. Is it really possible that some people are simply evil just because they were born that way? Or do environmental factors, like family, teachers, the very city in which we live, friends, determine who we are? Professor Barnes of Michigan University argues the case for nature over nurture.”

  The image cut to another talking head with the words ‘Dr Barnes’ in big, white letters running across the bottom of the screen. The man onscreen was a dull, professor type with no chin and a big forehead. He wore the mandatory tweed jacket and a pair of brown-rimmed spectacles that looked as if they had been lifted straight out of the 1970s. Cassie listened intently, her attention wholly grabbed by the figure on the TV:

  “The pertinent question we must ask is, are we born with a blank slate that is only moulded through environment, or do genes decide what type of person we will ultimately become? We should take the example of identical twins – twins that are genetically identical. Numerous studies have indisputably proven that a set of twins can potentially turn out completely differently, personality wise, to each other when brought up in the same environment, or that they can grow up to be strikingly similar when separated at birth and raised in wildly differing environments. This points to the truth that we inherit genes that are related to certain personality traits, as in, not only do we inherit physical traits from our parents, but we also inherit personality traits, intelligence and preference. Through the study of twins, because of the fact that they are genetically identical and have begun from the same fertilized egg, science has been able to indisputably prove that neuropsychiatric disorders, including schizophrenia and bipolar disorder are at the very least seventy percent genetic…”

  Cassie groaned, her heart hammering hard against her ribcage.

  “Shut up!” she shouted at the TV, diving for the remote control on the other end of the sofa.

  Shakily, she pushed down hard on the red button, inexplicably desperate to just shut the bastard up.

  She sat there for quite some time, not moving, the unease curling around her, rooting her to the spot. She didn’t want to think about Chloe; she didn’t to think about her dead twin ever again.

  But of course, that was impossible. All roads inevitably led back to Chloe.

  She sat there, trying not to think. Trying not to dwell on the past.

  She tried so hard.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TEN YEARS AGO

  Cassie lay on her stomach on the bed, sobbing into her pillow. It hurt too much to lie on her back. She wondered if the beating had induced internal injuries. No, Chloe didn’t want to kill her, she just wanted to hurt her.

  This time anyway, that had been her intention.

  Her twin sister had forced her to lie on her stomach on the floor of her bedroom where she had then proceeded to kick her repeatedly in the back.

  “If you tell Mum and Dad about me, I will kill you,” she had warned.

  Ever since they had been eleven years old Chloe had threatened her with this, and even over the course of five years, the threat had in no way lost its capacity to instil the deepest fear into her heart.

  Because Cassie didn’t doubt her.

  Not for a second.

  Cassie lay there for a moment longer, her face still buried in the pillow, forcing herself back under control. She couldn’t cry like this. If their parents heard, then they would ask what was wrong. And if they asked what was wrong, then Cassie would be put on the spot. She would have to come up with some lame excuse, like her homework was too hard, or some boy at school had said she was fat, or something.

  When she felt that the tears were sufficiently under control, she pulled herself into a sitting position, cringing as she did so.

  Chloe had booted her hard in the kidneys and ever-so-gently, she lifted up her top, tentatively prodding at the skin there. She hissed in pain and got to her feet to go and examine her lower back in the full-length, wardrobe mirror.

  Just as she expected, there were no marks on her body that would leave a scar. The area was a little red and it would inevitably bruise, but there would be no lasting damage.

  This time.

  Since they had hit puberty, the beatings had been getting progressively worse. Chloe had so much pent up rage inside her, and it had to go somewhere. Sadly for Cassie, that somewhere was invariably her.

  The door to her bedroom creaked open and Cassie gasped, letting her top fall back into place and spinning around on the spot.

  “Go away,” she said with far more bravado than she felt.

  Chloe didn’t, instead coming into the room and shutting the door behind yourself.

  “If you scream…”

  “You’ll kill me. Yes, I know.”

  Cassie cringed. She wished that she could take back the words, but it was too late now. Chloe smirked at her, but it in no way touched her brilliant blue eyes. Cassie shuddered at the empty depths of her gaze. Looking at Chloe was like looking in a mirror, except Chloe was the evil version of herself.

  Why am I the only one to see it? she thought, not for the first time.

  But Chloe was a good actress, and she possessed a serene beauty that completely belied her black heart. By recognising the fact that Chloe was beautiful, she also had to recognise the fact that she herself was also beautiful. Her own beauty was of little consequence to her, it was just a face, just a body. Because if having Chloe as a sister had taught her anything, it had taught her that what was on the inside was the only thing that mattered.

  “You’re right, I will kill you if you squeal to them. But answer me this, Cassie, do you really think that they’ll believe you if you do? Because you’ve always been the troublesome one, haven’t you? Unlike me, the perfect one.”

  Her twin spoke the truth, and they both knew it. She was cool, calculated and never let her mask slip unless she wanted that person to see the monster that l
ived beneath.

  “You need help, Chloe.”

  Chloe’s smile dropped and inside, Cassie felt herself wither. Her sister was about to do something horrid to her, she could tell.

  “Take off your top and bra and lie face down on the bed.”

  Cassie’s heart thumped in fear. “What? No.”

  “Do it, now.”

  Cassie began to cry. Fat, silent tears slid down her cheeks. If only she had the strength to stand up to her.

  “But you’ve only just kicked me. And I hurt, Chloe, I really hurt.”

  Whether she was talking about the physical pain of her body, or the mental anguish of her very soul, she wasn’t even sure herself.

  “Oh, boohoo you. Do as your told or things will get so much worse for you.”

  Cassie looked at her twin, who appeared blurry through her tears.

  “You can’t keep doing this,” she said, knowing that it would fall on deaf ears. “It isn’t right.”

  “I’ve told you, Cassie, there is no such thing as right or wrong, there are only choices.”

  “Mum and Dad will find out if you do me any lasting damage.”

  “No, they won’t, because you’ll never show or tell them. And do you really think that they give a shit about you, anyway? No, they don’t. They’re cold people, Cassie. Cold and heartless. They don’t love us, everything they do for us is just for show.”

  “No. That’s not true,” Cassie gasped, her sister’s words stinging even more than the beating she had given her less than an hour ago. “They work hard, that’s all. They love us, in their own way.”

  Chloe let out a harsh laugh.

  “Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. Now, stop procrastinating and take off your top and bra and lie on the bed like I told you to.”

  “Please,” she sobbed, thinking of her parents downstairs, watching some documentary on the TV.

  Surely what Chloe said was wrong? Surely their parents would believe her if she went downstairs right now and told them everything…