Hunting Abigail: Fight or Flight? For Abigail, it's both!

by Jeremy Costello

  Slowly he began to crumble the brown stone in the sink, piece by piece. He watched as the water snared the grains and carried them into the plughole in a vortex of purification. It was over.

  This was the moment.

  This was the milestone.

  Frasier.

  61

  The Indian Ocean, 2011

  Stacking full length over a fallen branch, Abbey scrambled to her feet and charged on. She was dizzying, the heat dragging at her heels.

  Praying her head-start would be enough she chanced a gasping peek over her shoulder, relieved to see only vegetation in her wake. She had little doubt that Anthony…Julian was smarter than she, quicker, more agile. But he was injured, if that counted for anything.

  At the north of the island, she was totally alone. Over two miles away, James would be leading Oli and Danielle back to camp. Everybody else was out of commission. She could not afford to fall again.

  Then she fell, her arm buckling beneath her as she broke through the green and onto the beach. Crashing through the jungle behind her she could hear the thudding footsteps of her pursuer bounding through the bush. And then he was on her, shirt drenched in blood on one side, bursting through the undergrowth like a possessed predator. His face a mask of rage, she screamed as he pressed the knife slowly into her shoulder, his weight pinning her to the sand. Her flailing arms did little to tip the scales, his bulging eyes bearing over her.

  Deliberately he withdrew the knife from the wound, twisting as he pulled.

  ‘I gave you everything!’ he raged, spittling her face. ‘And you throw it back at me! You’re no better than the rest of them, just fucking cattle!’

  Open palmed he cracked her across the face, the splintering slap echoing across the bay. She yelped in pain, the second slap harder still. She could feel his taught body pressing down on her, the sheer solidity of his frame.

  Before the third swing she reached up and dug her thumb into his open wound, watched as he arched his back in pulsing agony. With his back raised she crunched her knee into his groin, and before she knew what was happening, Julian was rolling off her and she was back on her feet.

  She took off again, the sand hindering her speed. She made it to the rocks at the end of the bay, hurling herself at them, Julian no more than fifteen feet back along the sand.

  Unimpeded she made it to the top of the crest, her heart sinking at the sight below. She was back at the chasm, Jerry Benton’s smiling skeleton beaming up at her.

  ‘You’re all I have, Abigail,’ Julian called out, clambering up on the rocks. ‘Don’t make me do this, I’m begging you.’

  He was calmer now, and seemingly not out of breath, though he had grown paler with blood loss, his unshaven cheeks sunken.

  ‘You’re going to have to,' Abbey wheezed. 'Because I’m not like you, Julian. You need to understand. If you can’t deal with that, you’re going to have to kill me.’

  ‘You don’t think I will?’

  ‘I’m counting on it.’

  He lunged for her, knife outstretched. He missed, sliced through the fabric of her shirt and spun away, circling his large arm around her throat.

  Her breath cut off, she grew limp, her feet dangling. With his free arm he brought the knife around and thrust into the same shoulder, inches above the first wound. She cried out as he turned the blade in, twisted it into the bunched nerves. She was mere seconds from passing out. Everything was turning white, the coastline snowing in and out of focus. She couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t even cough.

  She grappled at his arm, tore away fingernails of futile flesh, but there was nothing tenuous about his grip. It didn’t react to her flailing, her scratching, as if it felt nothing.

  With no options left, she began to relax as her lights dimmed. She didn’t want to go out fighting; she wanted to parallel the serenity of their setting. She closed her eyes and allowed the darkness to envelop her, cradle her, a rush of settling nausea embroiling her senses.

  She waited for death to grasp the vapour trails of her escaping soul when she felt the sudden rush of cold air passing her, and the sharp pain in her knees. It took only a second to realise what was happening. She’d been dropped to the rocky floor in a crunch of scraping bones.

  She scrambled away confused, her lungs padding out with fresh, clean air. There was a grunting over her shoulder, another battle raging on without her. She flung herself over to a picture of the unexpected. Julian was being gripped from behind in a vicious bear hug by Eric. The big man had come from nowhere, hoisted Julian off his feet and was crushing the air from him.

  Tears streamed down Eric’s face as his enormous arms squeezed the life out of Julian, the audible cracks of the killer’s ribs snapping one by one. Eyes bulging, swollen tongue lying idly on his bottom lip, the killer stared at her pitifully as she climbed to her feet.

  ‘I guess you were right, Julian,’ she said softly. ‘There is always somebody watching.’

  The spark in Julian’s throbbing brown orbs began to fade. Eventually he fell flaccid with one final popping rib, his head hanging limply on his chest.

  For a moment neither she nor Eric moved. ‘It’s okay, Eric, you can put him down.’

  Like an automaton, the big man took a few unsteady steps to the chasm’s edge and peered at her over his shoulder. She wondered if he was waiting for some kind of approval.

  She didn’t give it.

  He pitched Julian’s cadaver in anyway, sickening thumps echoing to the surface with every ricochet of the broken body. Then he turned and looked at her, the tears clinging to his cheeks. Never in her life had she seen an expression so lost.

  62

  The trek back to the camp was a quiet, disjointed one. Abbey supposed she should try and talk to Eric about his mother’s death, but she didn’t want to push it on him. She had little doubt that he would ask in his own time, but for now the topic remained buried, right next to her own inexplicable past. Anthony was dead. That was enough for now.

  Tearing strips from her blouse, she bunched them and pressed them to the tandem of wounds at her shoulder. They stung like hell, but neither was bleeding too badly. She wondered if Eric was alright. He didn’t seem injured, so she didn’t ask.

  And so they trudged in blessed silence, trailing the island’s circumference until they wandered gingerly into the remains of the camp. As they predicted, the storm had torn the beach apart. Not a single tent remained standing, the simple branch framework strewn across the beach amongst a confusion of blankets and meagre belongings. James and Oli climbed to their feet as they spotted the two bedraggled figures sauntering towards them, their passive faces betrayed by their defensive body language.

  ‘You don’t need to worry about him,’ Abbey said, referring to Eric. ‘He saved my life.’

  With literally nothing to sit on she fell into James’s arms, sagged against him like he was made of stone. She then moved on to Oli and hugged him tightly.

  Halting questions and rebounding offers of aid, she hastened them to a sandy perch as she unfolded her account of what had taken place. With Eric present, she left out the bodies she’d seen in the arroyo but included everything else: Anthony Turner’s real identity and his death, her lifelong stalker and his unexplained estrangement from Broadmoor, her childhood involvement with Nicolas York almost twenty years previous. She omitted nothing that didn’t need omitting, and when she was through, a serene and melancholic silence settled over the group. She didn’t fully understand the silence; it just seemed like the right thing to do.

  From here onwards she was under little doubt that things would grow more strenuous, their strive for survival unremitting. Julian Faulkner was gone, that box was ticked, and tonight they would sleep soundly in their rebuilt tents under a predatorless sky.

  With the sun now at full height, she sleeved the dots of perspiration from her brow.

  ‘Where’s Danielle?’ she asked sullenly, astonished she’d only just noticed the missing girl.

&nb
sp; ‘We don’t know,’ James replied almost apologetically. ‘We tried to comfort her when we got back to the beach but she took off. There was no stopping her. We followed her into the trees, but she was gone.’

  ‘And you didn’t go look for her?’

  ‘She could’ve been anywhere, man,’ said Oli. ‘Needle in a haystack, remember? She’ll come back when she’s ready.’

  ‘Where would she go?’

  ‘Where do we all go when we feel like blowing off steam?’ said James.

  ‘The lagoon?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘She’s not at the lagoon,’ Abbey smiled knowingly. ‘She was frightened.’

  ‘So?’ Oli questioned.

  Walking intently towards the tree line, she said, ‘If you were Danielle, where’s the one place on this island you’d go to feel safe?’

  63

  ‘Hi there.’

  Sitting down next to Danielle in the shade of the dilapidated hut, Abbey absorbed the banana grove’s picturesque beauty. Rays of light speared the remaining clouds gathered overhead, warming spots on the ground around them.

  Finally Danielle uttered,’ How’d you find me?’

  ‘I’m psychic.’

  ‘James told you about this place, its significance?’

  Abbey nodded slowly. ‘He did. Nothing to harm you here. That’s the idea, isn't it?’

  Danielle smiled uncertainly.

  ‘How’s it working out for you?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You know, coming here.’

  ‘I know I shouldn’t’ve run from James,’ Danielle sidetracked. ‘But I didn’t know who to trust, even you. From the moment I woke up this morning, everything was just…falling apart. Even from up at the cave I could tell Sebastian was dead. I mean I couldn’t see much, but I just knew. And then Anthony took off like he didn’t trust anybody, and I figured he had the right idea. If I was alone, I was a whole lot safer.’

  ‘Nobody blames you for running. I would’ve done the same thing.’

  ‘You didn’t do the same thing, though,’ Danielle said. ‘You went after Anthony. You did your bit, just like James, just like Oli, even Eric. What have I done?’

  Abbey didn’t know what to say, the question sticking in her throat. ‘You survived. Is that not enough?’

  Danielle took a heady breath. ‘I guess I’ll find out.’

  Expecting to see tears on Danielle’s cheeks, Abbey was surprised to find none.

  ‘I’m ashamed because I doubted you,’ the girl went on. ‘You and James. You’ve taken care of me, looked out for me. When I ran, when I doubted you, I let you down.’

  For want of a more appropriate response, Abbey said, ‘We found Eric.’

  For the briefest moment, Danielle’s face lit up.

  ‘He saved my life.’ Abbey wondered if she’d ever get tired of saying that.

  ‘Saved your life from what?’

  ‘Anthony, believe it or not. But we don’t need to worry about that anymore. He’s gone, and he won’t be coming back anytime soon.’

  Danielle didn’t comment.

  ‘You know something,’ said Abbey, ‘it does feel safe here, doesn’t it?’ The girl shrugged. ‘Why is that?’ she added perplexingly. ‘Why should it feel safe?’

  ‘What were you hoping for?’

  ‘We’re in wide open space, no less vulnerable than at the beach.’

  ‘The “why” is something you have to decide,’ Danielle explained. ‘Follow my reasoning, you’ll see what I’m saying.’

  Glancing to her left, she eyed the girl. ‘I’m not religious.’

  ‘I never said you have to be. I’m more than happy to share my sanctuary with you, Abbey, but you have to have your own reasons for feeling safe here.’

  Abbey frowned. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Whatever reasons you choose are yours and yours alone. It makes no difference what me or anybody else says or thinks. If it feels right for you, that’s all that’s important. I choose to speak with God. It doesn’t matter to me if you don’t believe it. It only matters that I do.’

  Abbey smiled. ‘This place is your gift. Your gift to us. Muscling in has its uses, but offering hope, that’s something else altogether.’

  Staring into the wispy, non-threatening clouds, the pair fell silent. As the afternoon hours descended upon the ravaged island, their minds raged like the storm passed, infinite invisible stars hanging over their heads, a different billion marvelling at their twinkling vanity. So many things had been left unsaid, so many unspeakable atrocities that would have to be revisited.

  Amidst their oppressive quiet, Abbey felt something being pressed into her hand. She glanced down to see what the girl had given her, the silver chain dangling between her fingers from the sealed locket she’d palmed. She eyed the girl curiously and clipped it open, running her eyes over the contents. Danielle was looking away.

  Encased in the small golden shell was nothing but air, an entrapment of falsities and intriguing emptiness. She traced a finger across the locket’s defined edges. This was the girl’s agenda, her embroiled emotions having thrashed carelessly for interminably long, laying down their weapons and beginning to settle.

  Abigail understood. The girl had found her inner calm. The good luck charm had worked for her, now it was for somebody else to try.

  Snapping the locket closed, she pocketed it and climbed to her feet.

  Danielle looked up at her smiling, eternal wisdom residing behind her tired eyes. ‘So…what do we do now?’

  Abbey glanced around the clearing. ‘Well, we either find a way off this island, or we begin building a new life here...’

  For a second Abbey contemplated her own words, their intrusive meaning steamrolling the moment. Edward. James.

  ‘…you’ve found your peace, Danielle, so tell me, what do you want to do?’

  Today's word: Sanctuary.

  COMING SOON

  The New Thriller From

  Jeremy Costello

  BREAKING NATHAN

  To keep up to date with Jeremy and his upcoming releases, take a peek at his website.

  https://jeremycostelloblog.com/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jeremycostelloblog/

  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jeremycostellobooks/

  In addition to continuing work on new novels, Jeremy has begun a new blog page called MindMenace, which ties together his fictional works with his real life experiences and interests. While MindMenace is in its infancy, Jeremy is hopeful that it will develop into a new forum for intelligent debate and conversation.

  Thank you

  for reading my debut novel Hunting Abigail, I hope you enjoyed it.

  If you would like to write a review, either on Amazon or directly to my website, it would be greatly appreciated.

  Reviews are the lifeblood of any aspiring author and I consider all praise, constructive criticism and general feedback absolute gold dust.

  Jeremy Costello

  About the Author

  Jeremy Costello was born in Nottinghamshire in 1979. He is the author of several novels including his debut thriller Hunting Abigail, a graphic and haunting story with connotations of stalking and voyeurism. This topic is close to Jeremy’s heart due to personal experience and some of the scenes in Hunting Abigail are loosely drawn from real-life events.

  Jeremy continues to live in the north of England with his family and two guinea pigs, Snowy & Weasel.