by S A Tameez
“Can’t watch a movie without them.” He raised his perfectly shaped eyebrows in seriousness.
“Oh, they have movies out in the country?” Sarah smirked.
“I see the sense of humour hasn’t gone.”
“Can’t have a conversation without it.” She tried to mimic his serious expression. They both chuckled. It was as if the last ten-years hadn’t happened. Sarah was laughing and joking with a friend she thought she had long lost.
“I tried looking you up on Facebook, but I couldn’t find you.” Sarah said.
“What’s that?” Justin looked puzzled.
“What’s what?”
“Facebook.”
“Are you serious?” she said almost choking on her drink.
“Hey, I live way out in the countryside where to watch movies we gather all the strong, burly men to pedal on electric generator bikes to power up the black and white television. And we only receive 4 channels.”
“There he is – Mr Sarcasmo!”
“Oh my God,” he leant back in the chair, “It’s been so long since anyone called me that.” He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head, “I don’t really do Facebook. I don’t have a social media life.”
“How come?”
“Because I’d rather focus on my real life,” he said as if he were a life coach who had travelled to distant lands and returned with infinite wisdom. Inform people that their lives were being destroyed by technology and screen time. And that if they didn’t change their ways, they would lose touch with what is real and what is not. Sarah didn’t need any help from evil technology to do that – she had already lost touch with reality.
He sipped his chocolate mocha carefully, presumably to ensure it didn’t burn his mouth. Something Sarah did way too often.
“Fair point.” She responded and watched him put the cup down rapidly. “Too hot?”
“Understatement – made out of lava more like!”
After a while of talking and laughing, Sarah suddenly felt the familiar feeling of being watched. Her heart raced and beads of sweat formed above her lips. She looked around with blurry eyes. She couldn’t see anyone. The ceiling and walls were closing in.
No! Not this again…
“Sarah, are you OK?” Justin sounded as if he was underwater, “Sarah!”
“I’m fine,” she said in shaky voice and held onto the table as the ground shook – half expecting the ground to split open and swallow everything.
“You don’t look fine.” She sensed the panic in his voice. “You’ve gone pale and you’re sweating.”
“I’m fine…” she lied, “Just give me a minute,” she took deep breaths; each one stabbing her lungs.
“I’ll get you some water,” He rushed off. She was relieved to be alone – she needed to concentrate. She could beat this. She had to beat this. Closing her eyes, she drowned out all other sounds except her breathing. A panic attack. But she knew how to deal with it. Focus on breathing and release the tightened muscles. It felt like a plane hitting the runway too fast but eventually regaining control.
The ground stopped shaking, the ceiling stopped caving, and her heartbeat slowed. By the time Justin came back with a cup of water, she was calm.
“Are you OK?” he said handing her the cup of water. Sarah didn’t respond immediately and gulped the water.
“Thank you,” she said and wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“What just happened?” His face was flustered. She could see the terror in his eyes. He obviously had never experienced anything like this before.
“I’m not sure.” Embarrassed he witnessed a part of her life she was desperate to keep hidden. “I think I should go.”
“Are you going to be OK?” he asked in what seemed like genuine concern.
“Yes,” she forced a smile and stood, “It was really nice to catch up. And I’m… sorry about—”
“It was good to see you, Sarah,” he interrupted and smiled as if sensing her discomfort talking about the episode, “Where you off to now? You think you’ll be OK to get on the train? I mean UCL is still a bit of a journey and you don’t look in any state to be travelling.”
A rush of confusion surged through her and she felt as if she had been punched in the gut.
“How did you know I went you UCL?” She asked instinctively.
His cheeks turned red. A sharp, guilty red.
“Erm… you must have mentioned it,” he said in a shaky voice. She might have just suffered a panic attack; she might even be a nutcase, a complete loon, but she was positive she didn’t mention the name of her university. The very name would have enticed her to explain whether UCL was a university or a college and she had no inclinations to clarify that. He was lying. She didn’t know why, but he was.
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t mention it.” She gazed around the place before walking away.
“Sarah, listen. Sorry… I checked your Facebook profile and saw it on there.”
“What?” She stopped and faced him, “I thought you didn’t do Facebook.”
“I don’t but when I came to London, I thought of looking you up.”
“You know where I live.”
“I know but… I couldn’t just march up to your door after 10 years.”
Pins and needles rippled up her spine.
“So, was running into me just coincidence, or did you know where I would be?”
Justin hesitated for a second. Long enough to know he was about to lie.
“Yes, it was purely a coincidence, I swear.”
Sarah shook her head, “Unbelievable.”
“Sarah,” Justin called as she stormed off, “You have to believe me!”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she mumbled under her breath.
She peered over her shoulders to make sure he wasn’t following. It wasn’t him looking her up on Facebook or even if he had orchestrated running into her that bothered her. It was the lies and deception that made her want to run away. A surge of guilt flowed through her as she realised why she hated lies and deception so much – she was a liar and a deceiver, and there was no one on this wretched earth she hated more than herself.
As she briskly walked to the underground she glanced at her watch, it had just gone five.
She had a choice to make. Walk home or get on the tube and head to St Dunstan's Hill. She had had enough of weird events for the day – she couldn’t handle anymore. The urge to run away from everything returned with a vengeance.
She headed back home. Her head was all over the place and she wasn’t about to spend rush hour on some wild adventure. She could only imagine how it would feel on a suffocating tube of commuters.
No thanks.
She walked the long way home, though it didn’t feel long enough. It never did. Approaching her house during the day, she usually hoped for one of two things, one: the house kept moving further back so she had to keep walking. Two: the house was empty so she could just run up to her room and lock herself away.
Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket snapping her out of her trance.
“Hi Melisa,” she answered.
“Sarah, thank God! Are you OK?”
Sarah wished everyone would stop asking her that. If they stopped, she could stop lying to them. She wasn’t OK. Of course, she wasn’t OK. But no one could understand that – even if she did try to tell anyone that the world looks upside down to her. She has no balance. She can’t make sense of things. She hurts herself.
“I’m fine,” she said robotically. “Listen, about the other night—”
“Yes, about that,” Melisa jumped in, “I spoke to Jane – she told me all the nasty things she said to you. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
She told her? Told her about the nasty things? What about the other things? She glanced at her wrists. Did that bitch tell Melisa about her pain relief methods?
“I’m the one who is sorry.” She had to hope she didn’t and say the things she is suppose
d to say. Play the role. Move forward. “I’m sorry I ruined your night and sorry for being such a rotten friend.”
“You’re my besty and nothing is going to change that! Are you really OK?”
For crying out loud!
“I’m fine, honestly.”
“OK. Listen, my uncle is not well, and I have to go back to Saint Vincent to see him.”
“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Guilt crawled all over her like ants. But she quickly squashed the ants. The truth was, she wasn’t sorry. How could she be? She didn’t know her uncle and she didn’t cause him to be sick. It was terrible he was sick but not for her – she had her own shit to deal with.
“Thanks, but I’ll just be gone a few days and I’ll catch up with you when I get back. I told Jane to back off, so she won’t be bothering you again.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” No, you really fucking shouldn’t have!
“I know but what are friends for, right?”
“Thanks. I don’t deserve you as a friend.” Perhaps the first honest thing she ever told Melisa.
“I know. But you’re stuck with me. OK, hon, see you when I get back.”
“Ok. Have a safe flight,” she said in a bubbly voice because that’s what people said. Normal people.
Deep down, she was glad she spoke to Melisa. She was kind and had so much energy. Whenever Sarah was going through something challenging, Melisa was always there for her. She never knew what was going on and could never really help, but she was always there – it was both comforting and stifling. A guardian angel, protector, and babysitter, all scrounged into one.
Melisa’s uncle was unwell – must be seriously ill for her to fly out to see him. She was clearly going through a lot and yet her so-called ‘besty’ was too busy dealing with her own demons to be there for her. Melisa probably expected her to step up, say more comforting things, the way she did. Insist on going with her to the airport, something. But Sarah was not that person. She wasn’t caring, she wasn’t dependable, reliable – she wasn’t any kind of “able”.
She wasn’t a good friend.
They had nothing in common – it didn’t make sense that they were friends at all. It was an anomaly in the Matrix, a glitch that would have anthropologists baffled. Melisa always claimed that they just clicked, fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, but they didn’t – not really. She clicked with the persona of another Sarah, a Sarah that didn’t exist. If Melisa knew what was best for her, she would get as far away as she could.
Her anger at the world quickly turned back towards her. The pain, the rage. It all came heaving towards her like a rock launched from a slingshot. And she wouldn’t move. She would let it hit her, in the hope that one day it might just finish her.
Her mother was stood in the hallway with her uncle Mickey. She thought to turn around and walk back out, but it was too late – she was inside, and they were both staring at her with that look. The look she despised, a vinegary blend of sympathy, concern, and disappointment.
“What’s up?” Sarah asked as she took off her shoes. Not wanting a response, hoping they would just disappear into the living room or the kitchen and let her run up into her room and lock herself away from the hell-hole they called earth.
Their demeanour told her that they weren’t going anywhere and nor was she. Something wasn’t right.
“Sarah,” her mother said quietly, “Is it OK if we have a quick word?”
“Erm… I am kind of busy with coursework,” Sarah made for the stairs.
“Let me rephrase that: we need a word, now.” She gestured to the living room.
Chapter 13
After
Nick’s eyes snapped open as he heard the phone on his bedside table buzz. There was no point setting it to vibrate and expecting it not to disturb you. On an old oak table, the vibrations were as loud as the ringtone. Thankfully, Stacey could sleep through a thunderstorm or perhaps even an earthquake – which had its advantages and disadvantages.
“It’s five-thirty in the morning!” Nick whispered and rubbed his eyes. He hoped by him pointing out that this was an absurd time to call, she would apologise, and hang up.
“Sorry,” Zoe said, “But I have been looking through the case files and—”
“What case files?” Genuinely feeling disorientated. Nick looked to see if Stacey had awoken.
“The Sailor case files.”
“You’re already at the office?”
There was a pause.
“You took the files home, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but you’ll be glad I did.”
“Go on…” he sighed.
“The Sailor took something from all his victims – an item at random – a handbag, a shoe – some sick ritual. A way of holding onto his victims or something like that. I searched through the case file of his first victim.”
“Vanesa Holmes,” Nick’s mind booted up. His body was still catching up. The coffee cage was showing empty, and the reserve wouldn’t last long.
“Yes. The reports state that none of her items were missing,” he said impatiently. “He started taking items after Vanesa Holmes, from what I remember.”
“Perhaps, or maybe we missed something. I am sending you a photo on WhatsApp.”
Nick sat up – going back to sleep was now entirely out of the question. He stretched, then stumbled out of bed. The pain in his heels was intense. He crept into the kitchen and closed the door.
“Jesus, Zoe!” he whispered loudly, “Did you just send me a victim’s image on WhatsApp?”
“Relax, it’s zoomed in on the arm only – no one will know who it belongs to.”
“And if someone does, we’re in for it!”
“Look at her wrist – her tan stops were a band or… a watch was worn.”
“Yes, I see it, but there were no reports of a missing watch.”
“That doesn’t mean there wasn’t a watch. What if the killer took her watch and everyone missed it?”
“It’s plausible. Who was the next of kin?”
“Her father. He identified the body. He lives in Nottingham – I have the address.”
“I’ll meet you at the office in an hour.” Nick hung up and turned on the kettle. A strong coffee was needed to keep the engine running. He robotically scrolled through his Facebook feed as he sat on the dining table waiting for the kettle to boil. He wondered why he hadn’t invested in a decent coffee machine – a fancy one that frothed the milk and other impressive tricks that coffee machines did.
His Facebook feed was crammed with news about the murdered girl and sensationalised stories of the infamous serial killer striking again. Precisely what the sicko wanted – fame and recognition. If the press cared about the victims or about stopping the killer, they wouldn’t give it so much coverage, but murders and scaremongering sold papers, and that’s all they gave a damn about. Leeches!
Nick heard floorboards moving – Stacey was awake. Nick poured the coffee into a mug and continued scrolling through his phone.
“You’re up early,” Nick said as Stacey walked into the kitchen like a zombie and sat at the table.
“You shouldn’t have.” She said and reached for the coffee. She clasped it with both hands, closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma.
“I’ll have it back once you’ve finished sniffing,” Nick said.
“I could kill for a coffee!”
“I believe you.”
“No, I mean it.”
“Then have it.”
“I can’t – the book said that caffeine is not good for the baby. Anyway, who called you at such an early hour?” She took another long sniff and put it back down.
“Work.”
“What’s work’s name?”
“Huh?” Nick said.
“She sounded young.”
“You can tell that from her voice?”
“I can tell a lot about someone from their voice.”
“Her name is
Zoe, and she’s a DS.”
“Oh, this is the DS you’ve been training up?”
“Yeah,” Nick glanced back at his phone, not sure where the conversation was heading.
“I just imagined it was a male. You never mentioned your training up a woman.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It doesn’t.” She smiled and then removed a carton of orange juice from the fridge. “I’m assuming she’s young and pretty…”
Nick put his phone down on the table and looked at her.
“Really? She’s a trainee… I mean—”
“Sorry,” she said and sat on the chair opposite him. “It’s just that ever since I looked like this,” She pointed at the bump that was ready to explode, “I feel like you don’t want to spend much time with me… you know, maybe don’t find me as attractive anymore.”
“Stacey,” Nick got up and put his arms around her and then crouched down to eye level, “Listen to me, I only have eyes for you.”
“Promise?”
“Of course, well, you and Taylor Swift.”
He felt a well-deserved slap on the arm.
“I’m kidding. You have nothing to worry about – you are the most incredible woman I have ever met. You’re beautiful, funny and—”
“Fat!”
“You’re not fat – your pregnant, there’s a big difference.”
“I’m sorry this pregnancy thing is much harder than I thought, and I guess I’m just exhausted.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m at work a lot and you deal with so much on your own.”
At that moment, as if perfectly timed, Nick’s phone buzzed.
“Duty calls, Detective,” Stacey remarked.
Nick grabbed the phone, silenced it and held it in the air.
“Relax, don’t shoot… it’s just the alarm…”
“Get over here,” she laughed, “My neck is so stiff. You mind giving me a quick massage before you change into your Superman costume and go save the world?”
“Of course, anything for you Lois Lane.”
“Sarcastic git!”
The drive to the station was slow, but he appreciated the delay – time to process his thoughts. Zoe was at her desk when he arrived. Nick got a quick update from the Indexers before briefing the team on them having a possible lead on a suspect.