The Passengers

by John Marrs

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” Jude teased. Libby’s laugh resembled a snort and her face flushed. “I like to think that’s how it might’ve gone too. But instead, you disappeared into the night like Cinderella only without the glass slipper. And now I’m locked in a car that’s probably going to explode unless you can convince everyone I’m worth saving. Quite the modern fairy-tale romance, isn’t it?”

  She felt a tap against her arm. Matthew pointed towards the countdown clock. Six minutes remained. Libby felt a hollowness in her stomach.

  “I know what you said earlier,” Libby continued. “But I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t ask you some questions that might go some way towards saving your life.”

  Jude sighed. “Go ahead then. But would you like to address the elephant in the room first?”

  “Which is?”

  “Why am I a Passenger? What’s the big secret I’ve been hiding from you all?”

  Libby tried swallowing her fear but it wouldn’t go down.

  “I’m not sure I want to know now,” she said quietly.

  “We could spend our last few minutes talking about why we were brought here today or what might’ve happened had we more time that night. But based on the other Passengers’ experiences, the Hacker is waiting to tell you something that’ll likely change your opinion of me. And I’d rather you heard it from my mouth than his.”

  Libby subconsciously folded her arms as if protecting herself from the answer to come. Jude clasped his hands together and chose his words carefully.

  “You asked me how I was holding up despite everything that’s happening. I suppose it was because I have a reason not to fear death. Before all of . . . this . . . happened, the morning I had planned was going to be very different.”

  “How so?”

  “Because it was going to be my last.”

  “Your last what?”

  “My last morning. I was going to end my life today.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Libby took a sharp intake of breath and a step back from the screen.

  She glared at Jude, hoping he was making a distasteful joke, but instinct told her he wasn’t the type. She turned to Matthew, Fiona, and Muriel to check that she hadn’t misheard. Their equally puzzled faces told her she had not.

  “I . . . I don’t think I understand,” she stuttered. “What do you mean you were going to end your life?”

  “I’m afraid it means what you think it means. I’d given the sat nav the coordinates for Scotland’s Forth Bridge. Have you ever been?” Libby shook her head. “My brother and I used to go up to South Queensferry as kids each summer to stay with our uncle. It’s such a beautiful part of the world and it seemed fitting to call things quits in a place I’ve got fond memories of.”

  Libby’s head was spinning. Jude’s reply was so detached it was as if he were planning a summer holiday, not his death. Her knee-jerk reaction was to try to talk him out of it, until she reminded herself of her nursing training. She must tread carefully.

  “I know it’s an intrusive thing for me to ask and I hope you forgive me for it, but what made you reach that decision?” she asked instead.

  “You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves, Libby,” he replied. “I’m not your patient. I can only speak for myself, but I assume it’s for the same reason most people want to end their lives early. Because I have absolutely nothing I want to live for.”

  “But when we met, you seemed so happy, so confident . . . your smile and enthusiasm were two of the things I remember most clearly about you.”

  “When you’ve had depression as long as I have, you learn how to become a convincing actor. Mine has been crippling me on and off since I was a teenager, and in recent years, it’s become unbearable. Medication, counselling, electroconvulsive therapy . . . everything I’ve tried hasn’t even scratched the surface. So last Christmas, I made a promise to myself that when it all became too much, I was going to take charge of it instead of letting it take charge of me. And after a particularly rough few months, I made up my mind that today was going to be the day I took back control. And here we are.”

  “But what about your family?”

  “My brother is all I have left but there’s a lot of distance between us. We don’t really know one another anymore.”

  “I’m sure he’d still miss you.”

  “Yeah, he might do. But not wanting to hurt him isn’t enough for me to remain here. Nothing is.”

  What about me? Libby wanted to say, but she held her tongue. “You have so much to live for . . .” she began, and stopped herself mid-sentence. She reminded herself that pointing out what someone with depression has to live for would not make a blind bit of difference to their mindset. “I’m sorry,” she continued. “That’s not what you want to hear.”

  “Not really, no.” Jude offered her a genuine smile. “But thank you.”

  “Why have the last few months been so bad?”

  “A lot has changed since we saw each other last. I lost my job, I’ve struggled to find another one; I was evicted from my flat because I couldn’t pay the mortgage, and I’ve been living out of my car. I keep myself clean in supermarket bathrooms, I shower at the community swimming pool when I can afford it, and most of what I eat comes from food banks or leftovers from supermarket bins. I’ve lost my self-respect and my confidence and, above all, my fight.”

  Libby brushed away a solitary tear that fell down her cheek and rested on the corner of her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. I cannot find a way out of how I’m feeling. And even if by some miracle there was, it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing, no one, is enough anymore.”

  “But what if I’d never left the pub that night? Things could’ve been different.”

  “It was just make-believe, wasn’t it? This, now—me here, you there—this is our reality. Part of me wishes I’d died the next morning and at least I’d have gone out on a high.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Because the thought of seeing you again gave me hope.”

  “I’ve been through this before,” Libby said suddenly. “My brother, Nicky. He was tormented by mental health issues. He thought the same as you, that no one would miss him if he died. But we did and we still do, every single day.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Jude. “I didn’t know. What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “He suffered a head injury playing rugby at school when he was fifteen. He landed awkwardly, which started a bleed on his brain. He was in a coma for the best part of a month, and when he finally came out of it and began to recover, it quickly became obvious that he wasn’t the same brother I’d grown up with. Like you, he lost his confidence, he was either choked by anxiety or swallowed by depression. He kept telling us that he wished he’d died on that rugby field. Years later and after his fifth suicide attempt, he disappeared so far inside himself that we couldn’t find him. We were forced to have him placed in a secure unit for his own safety. The day he was released, we brought him home and only a few hours later, he hanged himself in his bedroom. I was the one who found his body. Nicky is the reason why I chose mental health nursing. I was too late and ill-equipped to save my brother, but I can help others.”

  “You can’t save Nicky through me, Libby. It’s not fair to put that pressure on either of us.”

  “I’m not saying that I could. But I’m telling you I won’t give up on you.”

  “You deserve an equal, Libby, someone who can treat you as well as you treat them. And as much as I’d love to be that man, it’s just not me. You’d have a patient, not a partner.”

  “That would have been my decision to make, not yours.”

  Jude gave her another of the calming smiles she cherished. “Whoever you eventually invite to be a part of your life, he will be a luc
ky, lucky man, Libby.”

  Jude’s lips moved as if he were saying something else, but there was no sound. It was only then that she noticed the countdown clock had reached zero. She had done her best to save the life of a man who didn’t want to be rescued.

  CHAPTER 42

  #SaveClaire/#SaveSofia/#SaveHeidi/#SaveSam/#SaveJude—92.3m tweets

  #WhoWillYouSave—86.5m tweets

  #WhoIsTheHacker—2.3m tweets

  #KillThemAll—2.2m tweets

  #BuyLibbyNewShoes—558k tweets

  The Hacker was the first to break the stillness of the room.

  “So, members of the jury and social media. Each of your Passengers has presented their own version of themselves to you, some of whom have made claims that I have contradicted with truths of my own. Now it’s your turn to make a decision. One Passenger will survive, while the others will collide head-on. You must now make a decision on who to save, before your votes are combined and the sole survivor’s name is revealed.”

  Libby anticipated a postscript, a revelation about Jude that he had failed to admit himself. But nothing came. The Hacker had asked for honesty, and Jude had been the only Passenger to give him it, even if it meant losing support from anyone else.

  “Libby, we should make a start,” said Matthew gently, interrupting her thoughts. She turned to find that behind her, Muriel and Fiona had moved their chairs so that they were all around the same desk. They had left a gap for her. She looked at each of them in turn and then up to the wall and took in each of the final five. Turning once more, she nodded to Matthew and drew in her seat. Jack sat a few metres away from them, close to the door.

  “How should we approach this?” Fiona asked. “Because unless anyone has a better idea, I think we should talk through them one name at a time and see where each of us is lending our support. And I’m sure some are going to be easier than others.” With the exception of Jack, they agreed. “Shall we begin with Claire?” Fiona continued. “Who will be offering her their vote?”

  “I’m torn,” admitted Muriel. “While I have my obvious reservations, I feel like I should be supporting her unborn child’s right to have a chance at life.” Libby noticed her rubbing the crucifix around her neck with her thumb and forefinger as if it were offering her guidance.

  “Perhaps your opinion might be a little less biased if your lesbian partner wasn’t pregnant with her child,” said Jack.

  “Wife, not partner, and our child, not hers,” Muriel interrupted.

  “Unless technology has now evolved so far as to assist you in personally providing the sperm to co-create this baby, then it’s a safe assumption that it’s her child,” Jack retaliated.

  Muriel rolled her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it was my fertilised egg implanted into her uterus. Now if we could stick to the topic. We don’t know why Claire has her husband’s body in her car or if she actually killed him.”

  “Well, who else is likely to be responsible?” asked Jack.

  “Perhaps she didn’t know he was in there?” Muriel countered.

  “Oh, come on. How could she not know?”

  “Do you check the boot every time you enter your car?”

  “No, but I like to think I’d know if there was a body in it.”

  “Jack, you’re very quick to turn your back on someone you once supported,” said Matthew.

  “I back winners, and Miss Arden stands less chance of winning this competition than I do of successfully resuscitating the first three dead Passengers.”

  “Or your career,” added Libby.

  “So are you giving her your vote, Muriel?” asked Fiona. “Unfortunately, supporting her baby alone isn’t an option.”

  “I have to, yes.”

  “If there’s anyone else for Claire, could you please raise your hand?” Fiona turned to each juror in turn, and each shook their heads, including Jack.

  “Then that’s one vote for Claire Arden.” She typed the name into her tablet.

  “Do you think once we’ve made our decision, the Hacker will tell us the truth about what happened to her husband?” Muriel asked.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” said Fiona. “I don’t think we’ll ever learn the truth about any of them.”

  CHAPTER 43

  ¡QuizBookOnline!

  news • what’s hot • what’s not • videos • reviews • quizzes

  WHICH PASSENGER ARE YOU?

  By John Russell, Staff

  Which Passenger would you be if you were trapped inside one of the Hacker’s cars?

  Pick your answers from these multiple-choice questions and we’ll tell you whether you’re an out-of-favour film star with a paedo partner or a bawling baby mama with a body in the boot.

  • quiz •

  CLAIRE ARDEN

  Claire’s eyes were sore to the touch, like someone had kicked sand into them and then rubbed it in. She willed herself to cry in the hope that it might offer them some relief. But she was drained; there were no more tears left inside her.

  She remained trapped and helpless in her hijacked car, listening to a group of strangers debate the value of her life. In keeping the truth about Ben from them, she had cheated her baby out of a future. Her one job as a mother was to protect Tate, and she had failed.

  Claire knew as soon as the world saw images of her husband’s dead body that her chance of surviving the ordeal was over. If she had been a juror or at home, glued to her TV screen, watching someone else tangled up in her mess, she too would have sided with the evidence presented. But it wasn’t the truth. It wasn’t even close to the truth. If only she had been given just a minute longer to explain why Ben’s body was in the boot of her car, she and Tate might have stood a chance. But that wasn’t what the Hacker wanted. He wanted to send them to their deaths. The end was coming for Claire, and there was nothing left for her to do to stop it.

  Outside, her car was flanked by armoured army vehicles and marked police cars, preventing any interference from the hundreds of onlookers patiently waiting on the pavements to catch a glimpse of Claire travelling her own green mile.

  She turned away from the window and gazed down longingly at her bump. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her hands working their way around it carefully like a potter at the wheel. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Your dad and I had everything planned out for you. The three of us were going to have this incredible life together, full of exciting adventures. And eventually you were going to fly the nest and have amazing experiences all of your own while your daddy and I grew old together. But then he ruined it all. And as well as losing him, now I’m going to lose you too.”

  Claire thought back six months and to the day when her world fell from its axis. She recalled with clarity quietly closing the front door to their home and letting her handbag drop to the floor. The plastic bottles inside it rattled. She watched as Ben made his way up the stairs, pulling himself up using both bannisters until he turned a corner and disappeared into their bedroom. Then she clasped her hands across her mouth and sobbed in silence. She needed a moment to herself to let it all out before concentrating on her husband.

  Claire patted her stomach, then just a barely protruding bump that had only recently begun to reveal itself. She wanted to reassure her baby that by the time it emerged into the world, everything was going to be alright. She didn’t want to begin their relationship with a lie, but she had little choice. Everything now was about protecting her child at all costs.

  By the time she reached the bedroom, she paused under the doorway to take Ben in. He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his head buried in his hands. This was not the strong, unyielding man Claire had fallen in love with. She no longer saw him as the strapping six-foot-three-inch-tall, broad-chested athlete who excelled at sports and whom she’d cheered on
from the sidelines when he competed in triathlons. Before her was a frightened, vulnerable boy trapped inside a man’s broken body and who desperately needed her reassurance. But she couldn’t give him what he craved.

  Instead, she positioned herself by Ben’s side and draped her arm around his shoulder. He placed her other hand in his and drew it to his mouth to kiss. His lips were icy cold and so were his fingers, which she entwined in her own.

  From where she was sitting, Claire could see into the spare bedroom that was to eventually become the nursery. Only neither of them had the courage to even think about clearing it of old books, CDs, and gym equipment, let alone decorate it. They had made that mistake before. A day after assembling a cot, Claire had begun to bleed until their dreams were taken away from them. Now, without either wanting to admit it to the other, they were waiting for this baby to be snatched like all the others had before it. Each day it remained inside her was a miracle.

  “We will be okay,” Claire soothed, and tilted her head to rest her temple against Ben’s. “You and me, we will get through this together.”

  “You can’t say that with certainty though, can you?”

  “Nothing is certain; you and I know that more than most. But despite everything we’ve been through, we’ve never lost each other, have we? What makes you think I’m going to let that happen now? You’re my DNA Match, remember? We were made for each other.”

  “I wish I could believe you, but you heard the diagnosis. It’s inevitable.”

  “Your surgeon said that it could be a year from now or twenty years. Or with luck on our side, even longer.”

  “Or it could be next week. Or tomorrow. Or even tonight. Why not in the next few minutes?”