‘It’s not him,’ I whisper to myself, feeling at once relieved and then in the next instant confused.
Who the hell is the man in the castle then? I wonder to myself.
When I head back into the front room, I see Liam is still dead to the world on the floor in front of the log burner. I don’t wake him. Instead, I head upstairs to find dry clothes, hurrying over to the dresser and pulling out fresh underwear, a large jumper and a pair of leggings, then a warm pair of hiking socks which make me groan with bliss when I put them on. I dig out a woollen hat next and pull that on over my dry but still tangled hair. What I would give for a hot shower – but that’s a luxury we no longer have.
I pause for only a second to look in the mirror in the bathroom, and as I suspected, it’s not a pretty sight. I’m a ghost: skin like a corpse drained of blood, lips pale, hair in ratty strings; but I also see, in my eyes, a flash of something that wasn’t there earlier – a spark of life. I remember the fight I put up when I was under the water; how my mum appeared to me and I heard her voice, urging me on. Something ignited in me in that moment and I can see it in my reflection, burning in my eyes – a fierce determination and a will to live that my depression had sucked from me, but that has now returned in full force.
When I head back downstairs, I see that the front room is empty. ‘Liam?’ I call.
I stoop and gather the wet clothes we stripped off earlier, which are strewn where we left them, noticing as I do the bird crap all over the furniture. The clothes are still sodden. I have to stop myself from shuddering at the memory of the water closing over my head, dragging me down into its depths. I remember that my pill and my anti-depressants were in the pocket and quickly shove my hand inside to find them. They’re not there. They must have fallen out when I was under the water. Damn. But I can’t worry about it now.
‘Liam?’ I call again.
There’s no answer. I head towards the kitchen, and that’s when I notice a drop of red on the carpet by my feet. It looks like blood. I bend down to take a closer look. It’s still fresh. And there are several more drops. I follow them, heart pounding. ‘Liam?’ I say again, this time louder.
In the kitchen I find him sitting in a chair, blanket draped over him like a cape. One foot is resting on the other knee and he’s bent over and peering at the sole of his foot.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask. ‘I was calling you.’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘I was concentrating. I’ve got something in my foot. I’m trying to get it out.’
‘What?’ I ask, coming closer.
‘I think it’s glass,’ he says, wincing in pain.
I frown. ‘How did that happen?’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. I stood in it, just now.’
‘Stood in glass?’ I reply, confused. ‘Where?’
‘In the living room,’ he answers, grimacing tightly.
I drop the wet clothes on the table and peer at his foot. Dusk has fallen and it’s not the best light, but I can still see two big shards of glass sticking out of his sole, and a couple of smaller splinters too, beading with blood.
‘Shall I get some tweezers?’ I ask.
‘Yeah,’ he grunts, biting his lip.
I run upstairs and fetch a pair from my washbag, returning quickly to the kitchen. ‘Do you want me to do it?’ I say.
He nods. First, I fetch the candles from the drawer and light a couple, setting them on the table. Then I take the torch and kneel down and examine his foot. ‘Where did the glass come from?’ I wonder out loud as I grip one of the bigger splinters and twist and yank at the same time.
Liam lets out a yell and I hold his ankle tight to keep him still. I get a grip on the second piece of glass and start to pull that out, but Liam jerks. The splinter is crushed by the tweezers and half of it remains buried in his flesh.
‘Christ,’ he shouts. ‘Did you get it?’
I examine his foot. ‘No, there’s still some in there.’
He glowers at me. ‘Shit.’
‘I could try again,’ I offer but he grabs the tweezers off me. ‘God, no, let me do it.’
I hand the tweezers and the torch over and then take a candle and walk into the front room, treading lightly and slowly towards the fireplace to make sure I don’t tread in any glass myself. I spot the shards immediately, glinting in the light. They’re scattered on the rug by the corner of the sofa. I kneel down and examine them. They looks like they come from an ornament of some kind. I pick up a shard and look closer. It’s part of a wing.
‘What is it?’
I look up and see Liam has hopped into the room and is leaning against the arm of the chair. I show him. ‘It looks like an angel.’
Liam stares at the fragment in my palm and I watch him turn pale. He takes it from me and examines it. ‘How did it get here?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, shaking my head and shrugging. ‘I found it right here.’ I point at the rug.
Liam frowns hard at the place I’m gesturing to, at the splinters of broken glass still scattered there, and I can see him racking his brains, wondering how it ended up on the floor.
‘The door was wide open when I woke up,’ I say quietly.
He looks up, startled. ‘I shut it. I know I did. I locked it when I came back in.’
‘Maybe he has a key.’
We take that in, a hum of terror thrumming through my body.
‘But I put a chair in front of the door,’ Liam says. He turns his head to the front door, realisation dawning. ‘He came in the front,’ he says. ‘I forgot to bolt it. He must have come in that way and left by the back door. I can’t believe I did that.’ He curses himself under his breath and hobbles over to the front door, drawing across the bolt.
‘It’s not Andrew McKay though,’ I say, running to fetch the article. ‘They found his body. He killed himself.’ I show him the newspaper.
Liam snatches it from my hand and reads it.
We fall silent, both of us looking around the chilly front room, staring at the now-dead fire and the rug where we lay sleeping. ‘Well, whoever the hell he is, he was here,’ Liam says in a hushed voice. ‘He must have come in while we were passed out. He stood here.’ He points at where he’s standing. ‘He watched us.’
The Stalker
I stood over them for the longest time. I wanted to kill them both. It was hard not to. I had to fight hard to wrestle the anger and rage and subdue it. I wanted to make them suffer first. I wanted to hurt him in ways that he could never imagine, and I wanted to make her watch. Then she might know some of the pain I’ve experienced watching her with him.
So I decided to wait.
I glanced at the gift I’d brought for her. An angel made of glass.
‘This is for you,’ I whispered, setting it down.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I glance down at the splinters of glass on the carpet. ‘Why put an angel ornament there?’ I ask. ‘I don’t understand!’
‘I told you. He’s messing with us.’
‘But why?’ I shout. ‘Who could it be? What do they want with us? Why are they stalking us like this?’
Liam shakes his head and collapses down into the armchair, wincing as he brings his foot into his lap. He presses a tea towel gingerly to it. ‘I need to get this glass out,’ he says. ‘Or I won’t be able to walk.’
‘I could use a razor blade,’ I say, trying to shrug off my terror and focus on the problem in hand, ‘and try again.’
Liam glances at me, grim-faced, and then nods, reluctantly. ‘There’s a spare blade in the bathroom, with my shaving stuff,’ he tells me.
I go upstairs and fetch it, as well as some alcohol wipes from the first aid kid and some clothes for Liam so he can get dressed. The whole time I’m fighting a wave of fear of the man on the island and wondering why in god’s name he’s here.
When I come back downstairs, my arms full, I see Liam’s still sitting in the armchair staring at the fragment of angel wi
ng. He startles when I walk towards him and quickly pulls on the T-shirt and jumper I hand him. I help him hop into some boxers and a pair of jogging bottoms.
‘I’m sure this must have something to do with one of your cases,’ I say, aware that I’m repeating myself.
He looks at me, puzzled. ‘What?’
‘Is there anyone who might want revenge on you? Someone who’s angry at you? Maybe someone you locked up?’
He shakes his head but avoids my eye. It makes me wonder if Liam has thought of something; if he does know who it is, but he’s just not telling me. It’s the angel. I think it’s triggered something in him, but he’s withholding the knowledge from me.
‘How are you doing?’ he asks me, trying to change the subject. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Fine,’ I reply
‘You’re shaking,’ he says.
‘I’m cold,’ I tell him. I don’t think I’ll ever feel warm again. I’m frozen through to my marrow. But it’s not just the cold making me shiver. I’m petrified. I nod and crouch down in front of him and sterilise the razor blade with the wipe. When I’m done, I look up. ‘Ready?’ I ask.
He grits his teeth and nods. I slice the blade into his foot; he lets out a roar of pain and I have to grasp his ankle with my spare hand to stop him from yanking it back. My time at the vet has trained me well enough to focus on what I’m doing while wrestling an anxious animal or one in pain so I tune him out, keep a firm grip, and manage to dig out the smaller splinters, placing them carefully in a tissue, but the bigger piece that broke off is stubborn and won’t be pried out with any amount of digging.
Liam is turning whiter and whiter as I probe with the tip of the razor’s edge. His hands clutch the arms of the chair and sweat beads on his brow. I scrape away skin and pause to mop up the blood. ‘It’s in too deep,’ I tell him with a sigh, finally giving up. ‘I can’t get it. You need to go to hospital to get that out. It’s impossible without a local anaesthetic and a magnifying glass.’
‘Do you see a hospital anywhere?’ he snaps.
I settle back on my haunches, still holding the razor blade, and don’t reply.
‘Shit,’ Liam grumbles.
He puts his foot on the floor and tries to stand but collapses, hissing through his teeth at the pain. He squeezes his eyes shut and his brow furrows.
I gather up the alcohol wipe and the splinters of glass and dispose of them in the kitchen bin. What are we going to do now? I wonder. I hear Liam shuffling into the kitchen behind me and turn to find him hopping towards the table. He looks wrung out, pale and exhausted, his face pinched tight with pain.
‘Are you hungry?’ I ask him, thinking of my own rumbling tummy.
He nods. ‘Yeah.’
I move to the fridge to see what I can rustle up. ‘What the hell?’ I say as I open it.
‘What?’ Liam asks.
I throw the door open wide so he can see. The fridge is completely empty. ‘There’s no food. It’s all gone.’
‘He’s taken it,’ Liam says in disbelief. He hops to the cupboards and opens them all. They’re all bare as well – all the biscuits and pasta and groceries that were here this morning have vanished. Liam bangs the cupboard doors shut.
‘I don’t understand. Why take all our food?’ I ask.
‘I’ve told you! He wants to fuck with us,’ Liam spits. ‘We’ve got no food and no electricity and no gas. And we’re here for two more days.’ He puts his head in his hands. ‘He’s playing with us. Drawing it out before …’ He tails off.
I stare at him wide-eyed. ‘Before what?’ I ask, my voice catching. ‘How do you know what he wants?’
Liam hops toward the sink. He leans on it and looks out of the window at the fast-falling night. He does know something about who this person is. I know he does.
Liam grimaces. ‘We could have escaped by now if …’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, interrupting him, staring at the floor, my shoulders hunched. I know it’s my fault that the boat capsized. We could have been on the mainland by now. Although it’s more than likely we would have been swept out to sea, and possibly even have drowned. Who’s to say?
I glance up and see that Liam’s shaking his head, as though fighting frustration, but then he hops over to me and pulls me into his arms. ‘I thought I’d lost you for a moment. When you went under like that. I thought you were going to drown.’ He hugs me tight, pressing my head into his chest and stroking my hair. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you,’ he whispers into my ear, his voice cracking.
I close my eyes. ‘What if he comes back?’ I ask. ‘What if he discovers his boat is missing? He might have already.’
Liam lets me go. ‘We could try lighting a fire on the cliffs,’ he says. ‘Use it to signal the mainland.’
‘How would anyone see it? We’re so far away.’
‘At night they might,’ he argues. ‘Or in the day, they might be able to see the smoke.’
‘There’s no fuel,’ I counter. ‘Everything’s soaked through. What would we burn?’
He’s losing patience with me. ‘There are things in the castle that are dry. And there’s furniture here we could use, too. I could chop up the other chairs. And the table. We could light it on the cliffs.’ He’s got the idea now, it’s taken hold, and I can see he’s not going to let it go.
‘But what if the man sees it too?’ I ask, worried. ‘What if he sees the fire and comes looking for us? He’s got a gun.’ I press my knuckles to my lips pushing back the panic.
Liam scowls. ‘I’ll take our chances.’
I don’t know if I want to though. I shake my head at him. ‘I think we should find a place to hide,’ I suggest. ‘Somewhere on the island where he can’t find us. We could lie low until the boatman comes on Friday.’
‘Where are we going to hide?’ Liam asks, looking at me like I’m mad.
‘The chapel?’ I suggest. ‘If the man can’t find us, he might think we’ve found some way to get off the island. He might not even know yet that we stole his boat. So he might think we did get away.’
Liam chews it over. ‘You think we should hole up in the chapel and wait it out?’ he asks. ‘Without anything to eat? Without water?’
I shrug. ‘We might be able to find some food. Forage for things,’ I say. ‘I saw some blackberries.’ I shrug. ‘It might be safer than staying here. And definitely safer than lighting a giant bonfire.’
‘I’m not scared of this bastard,’ Liam mutters. ‘If he didn’t have a gun …’ he trails off.
I can tell he absolutely hates the fact that he doesn’t have the upper hand in a situation where he would normally. He’s angry, but he’s actually more afraid, and I don’t know how that makes me feel because normally he’s so in charge; so in control and so confident. But the fact is, this guy has a gun and Liam doesn’t.
‘Let’s do it,’ Liam says to me, making a decision.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I dart upstairs and start to gather up clothes and my washbag. I layer on sweaters, wishing my jacket wasn’t covered in bird filth, but I take it anyway as it’s going to be cold in the chapel.
The jacket reminds me of the bird. I haven’t checked on her. Guiltily, I race back downstairs and throw open the door to the cupboard under the stairs.
The box is still there, covered with a towel, which I peel back. The bird opens one beady eye and stares at me. Then she hops over and tries to peck my hand, letting out an annoyed caw, as though angry at having been abandoned for so long, but simultaneously relieved to have been remembered. I smile, seeing how much stronger she looks than earlier today.
Liam gives me a look when I carry the box out into the kitchen and set it on the table, and mutters something under his breath which I choose to ignore. He’s gathered up the blankets from the living room and is packing them into a plastic bin liner to take with us.
We fill a plastic bottle with water and Liam retrieves the wine bottles from the recycling bin and rin
ses them before filling them up too, plugging them with the used corks. It’s not enough water, we both know that; not for two days. ‘We’ll have to sneak back here,’ he says, ‘and refill them.’
It’s not a great idea, but we don’t have much choice. I fill a glass from the tap, down it and then drink another whole glass, hydrating myself as much as I can in anticipation of being rationed. My body is still aching from the swim and my stomach is growling painfully. My appetite has chosen the worst possible moment to make a comeback.
I know Liam must be really starving as he’s got a much bigger appetite and hasn’t eaten a thing since this morning.
‘Why the food?’ I ask, shaking my head. ‘I still don’t understand.’
Liam has no answer.
We leave the cottage and hurry out into an already dark and starless night. Liam takes the axe he used to chop up the kitchen chairs. We have the torch, some firelighters and the matches too, but we don’t want to use the torch in case we’re seen, so we make our way in the dark along the beach and into the woods, helped only by the palest strands of moonlight. Because of the glass in Liam’s foot we make slow progress. He has to hobble, leaning on me, and I keep hearing him hiss through his teeth whenever he accidentally puts pressure on the injured part. He’s sweating profusely by the time we make it to the chapel and his lips are white from tightly clamping them shut to stop from whimpering.
Liam pushes on the chapel door and it creaks open. The windows are high up, so once we’re inside we risk turning on the torch, though Liam shields the light with his palm to soften it, afraid it will signal the man like a beacon and alert him to our whereabouts.
The chapel is chilly, but at least it’s out of the wind. I glance around at the broken pews and the cobwebs clinging to the corners and set the bird in its box down behind the stone font.
A loud scraping sound makes me jump and spin around. But it’s only Liam, shoving one of the pews in front of the door as a barrier. It’s not a particularly sturdy barricade, but better than nothing I suppose. I go to help him and afterwards we look around the chapel’s interior, shining the torch into the dank corners, deciding where best to make our camp.
The Stalker Page 13