The Stalker

by Sarah Alderson

  ‘He doesn’t have his gun!’ Liam repeats. ‘I could take him.’

  I raise my eyebrows and widen my eyes in alarm. ‘Don’t be stupid. It’s too dangerous.’

  Liam scowls at me, his mouth pursing tight. He glances after the man, weighing it up.

  ‘We don’t know if he might have another weapon,’ I whisper, almost frantic now. ‘And besides, you can barely walk!’

  Liam’s shoulders slump. ‘You’re right,’ he concedes. His eyes shift as he contemplates his next move. He glances at me, an idea forming, his expression brightening. ‘Let’s go to the castle while he’s gone and find the gun. He must have left it there.’

  I hesitate, not liking the idea one bit. ‘What if he comes back and finds us there?’

  ‘We’ll have the gun,’ Liam answers with a shrug. ‘Come on.’ He’s already moving off in the direction of the castle, at a halting pace thanks to his limp.

  I glance back once more over my shoulder, worried.

  ‘He’s heading for the cliffs,’ Liam reassures me, gesturing for me to follow. ‘He’s probably looking for us. The last place he’ll look is the castle.’

  If he was looking for us, though, wouldn’t he have brought the gun with him? And surely he would have looked inside the chapel – the most obvious place for anyone to hide. Maybe he’s discovered his boat is missing and he’s already been to the cottage and found us gone. There’s a chance that he really thinks we’ve left. In which case, we should keep hiding. If we steal his gun, then he’ll know for sure we’re still here.

  I rush to catch Liam up and then I pull him to a stop behind a tree. ‘I don’t think we should take the gun,’ I say.

  ‘Why not?’ he asks.

  ‘Because then he’ll know we didn’t escape, that we’re still on the island. Right now, there’s a chance he knows about the boat and thinks we’re gone.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Liam says defiantly. ‘We’ll have the gun. I’d like to see him try stalking us then.’ I see then that this is about Liam wanting to get revenge. It’s not about keeping us safe at all. He doesn’t want the gun to defend us, he wants to use it to confront the man.

  Before I can argue with him though he’s off again. I sigh and chase after him, knowing that I won’t be able to convince him to give up the idea.

  Despite his injury he keeps up a pace, never once complaining even though it’s obvious he’s in pain and can’t put weight on his injured foot. We arrive at the clearing in front of the castle out of breath and sweating and rush towards the cellar entrance with its frightening message warning us not to trespass. I try not to focus on it, even though the letters have now dried to a dull brown colour, confirming my earlier suspicion that it was written in blood.

  Liam pulls out the torch and lights the way on the now familiar route through the cellar. Once in the downstairs servants’ area we both turn our heads to stare into the room where the meat was hanging the other day, only to see that even more strips have joined the others and blood has pooled and congealed on the stone floor. I can see now, with the luxury of slightly less panic, that the meat is rabbit. There are several skins stretched taut on the table. He must be catching them with traps and skinning them, maybe eating them too.

  For the first time, I also notice the rusting hunting equipment hanging on the wall. Before I only noted the savage-looking hooks and the strips of bloody flesh, but now I spot the rusting jaws of an ancient-looking gin trap, the kind of thing that looks like it could catch a buffalo, it’s so big. What on earth was that used for? Maybe once upon a time there were wild boar on the island. There are also smaller wire snares and a range of contraptions with serrated teeth, probably used to catch foxes or ferrets. Blood roars in my ears. What are we doing here?

  We keep going, and I’m sickeningly aware that at any moment our pursuer could return to the castle. He might only be minutes behind us. There’s no time to dawdle. We make our way up the servants’ staircase and along the hallway towards the bedroom where he’s set up his campsite. Liam is panting hard and sweating by the time we reach it, and he has to lean on me.

  The room looks much the same as before, except all his belongings have been repacked into his bag and the pile of trash in the corner of the room has grown. Immediately my gaze lands on the stash of pot noodles and the little camping stove. Liam’s does too. ‘See if there’s any food we can take,’ he tells me.

  I rush over and start rummaging through the supplies. There’s a box of granola bars and a few packets of instant noodles, but we’d need the stove to cook the noodles and I’m not sure we should take it. I’m not sure we should take anything, but I shove the breakfast bars into my pocket, half of me wishing I could open one and stuff it in my mouth but knowing there’s no time even for that.

  Liam is frantically hunting through the man’s things. ‘Where’s the gun?’ he mutters angrily.

  I glance around and spot it on the other side of the room, sitting on the broken mantelpiece. ‘There,’ I say, pointing. I can’t quite believe the man has left the gun here unmanned. I suppose it’s confirmation that he thinks we’ve left the island.

  Liam strides over and snatches it up. ‘Grab those shells,’ he says to me as he checks if the gun is loaded.

  I look at the box he’s pointing to and stoop down to pick it up. It’s lying among a pile of empty shotgun shells beside the bed. I hesitate for a moment; I still don’t think it’s a good idea. We should leave the gun, but I don’t argue – it’s too late for that. I pocket a handful of the red cartridges and stand up.

  ‘OK,’ says Liam. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  I don’t need any urging. We’ve already been here far too long; he could be back any moment. Gripping the gun in one hand and leaning on me, Liam leads us back out of the castle. The whole way back down the stairs my heart races, pounding in my ears, and I’m terrified we’ll run into him. Every corner we turn I expect him to be there, but we’re lucky. We manage to make it all the way to the cellar and then we’re outside and making for the treeline.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Once in the woods we stop for breath. Liam is pale and sweating profusely: it’s pouring down his face, and his T-shirt is sticking to him at the collar. He leans against a tree, breathing shallowly, resting his weight on his good foot.

  ‘Does it hurt a lot?’ I ask.

  He grimaces in answer and waves me off, then takes a deep breath and we head off again. I let him lean on me for some of the way, which slows our pace.

  Back at the chapel Liam collapses down on one of the pews, exhausted and panting rapidly, then I move the other pew into place on my own, barricading the door. When I’m done, I sit down and tear into one of the granola bars that I stole from the stash at the castle, handing another to Liam. My stomach growls and I recognize the stirrings of a long-lost appetite, like a beast coming out of hibernation after winter and needing to replenish everything it’s lost. Liam however sets the granola bar aside without so much as a bite. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ I ask him.

  He shakes his head. He looks like death warmed up, as my mum would say. I place a hand to his forehead. He’s hot. ‘You’ve got a fever,’ I tell him.

  ‘Where are those shotgun shells?’ he asks, ignoring me and pulling the gun into his lap.

  I dig the cartridges out of my jacket pocket and watch him load the shotgun with two of them.

  He turns to face the door to the chapel, his face a mask of stone, aiming the gun as though ready to pull the trigger on anyone who steps foot inside.

  ‘Promise you won’t kill him?’ I plead.

  Liam raises an eyebrow in my direction but doesn’t take his eye off the door. He lifts his arm and wipes the moisture from his brow.

  We spend the next several hours in silence. Liam doesn’t once take his eyes off the door in all that time, though I start to see his eyelids drooping when the midday sun begins to warm the interior of the chapel. ‘Why don’t I take over?’ I say to him after his eyeli
ds flutter closed for the third time. ‘You need to sleep.’

  Liam blinks furiously as though trying to chase the exhaustion away but finally he agrees. ‘Wake me up in an hour,’ he tells me, moving to stretch out along the bench. ‘And don’t take your eyes off the door,’ he warns.

  I nod. ‘Do you want to give me the gun?’ I ask.

  He shakes his head and pulls a face. ‘No,’ he says. ‘You don’t know how to use it. You might shoot yourself in the foot. If you hear anything wake me up, OK?’

  I nod, and with that he limps off towards the pews at the back of the chapel where the blankets are. I watch him lie down gingerly and bundle a blanket beneath his head. He keeps the gun on the ground right beside him. I glance at the axe, which Liam left by the font, and then, after a beat, I go and pick it up, hefting it in my hands, wondering if I’d ever actually be able to use it as a weapon. I can’t imagine myself swinging it at anyone. Still, I carry it over to the pew where Liam was sitting before and perch on the end, staring at the door, waiting, and trying to figure out how I ended up being this man’s target.

  Am I right about the connection between Mia and me? Is it our similarity that drew him to me? Do I remind him of her? Am I his next angel? Is he a religious fanatic, or does he just enjoy the power that comes from selecting someone to be his next victim? Does he like the control that comes from knowing someone’s life is in his hands? What does he want from me? Does he really believe I can save him or offer him some kind of salvation? I want to tell him that there’s no salvation or redemption for someone like him. He’s not a man but a monster. I remember the word carved in the window. Devil. He is a devil. He knows it. And maybe that’s why he thinks an angel can save him. But a devil can’t be saved.

  I wish I understood why he’s chosen me. Did I do something to attract it? I think about what Liam told me earlier, about Mia and Will and how he murdered them, but not before torturing Will. That he’s capable of something so horrific and evil fills me with paralysing dread. I stare up at the stained-glass window and think of the monks who probably hid in a chapel built on this very site, terrified for their lives as Vikings rampaged and pillaged. Did they pray as they were preyed upon? Tears slide down my cheeks and I quickly wipe them away.

  I picture the man returning to his hideout in the castle and discovering his gun missing. What will he do? Will he immediately come looking for it? Or will he be cautious? I would, knowing we were armed now. But who knows? It might just infuriate him further. He might bide his time and wait until dark. Or he might be outside right now, stalking us.

  Perhaps he knows we’re in here and he’s watching from a perch somewhere, waiting until we leave before he attacks? I stare at the door, expecting it to fly open and trying to imagine what I’ll do. My fingers grip the axe handle and I swallow, trying to ignore the way my gut is twisting with anxiety.

  I curse at not knowing the time. I don’t know if minutes are passing or whole hours. Perhaps it’s just seconds.

  I get up, leaving the axe on the pew, and tend to the bird, wanting to distract myself from the dread of waiting for what’s coming next. Her broken wing seems to be setting well now. She’s trying to flap it. It seems I was right in my suspicion that it was just a simple fracture, and all it needed was a few days of splinting to put it right. ‘Not yet, Hathor,’ I tell her. I’ll give it another day just in case.

  Hathor is content to sit on my lap and for me to stroke her feathers. I feed her some granola bar and she bumps her head into my palm as though thanking me. I keep stroking her, finding it soothing.

  After twenty minutes I check on Liam, tiptoeing closer, and discover he’s passed out. His skin looks flushed and his breathing is heavy and laboured. I hover over him wondering what to do, glancing warily at the gun lying on the ground. I wish we hadn’t taken it but it’s too late now.

  In the end I let him sleep for several hours, finally waking him up when dusk is falling. He opens his eyes, groggy and disorientated, and then slowly sits up. He blinks at the purplish light and then looks at me quizzically. ‘What time is it?’ he asks.

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know.’

  He checks his watch, but the face is smashed, and I wonder when it broke. Probably when we fell in the loch. ‘Damn,’ he says. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

  ‘You needed sleep,’ I tell him. ‘How are you feeling?’ I touch his forehead again. His fever is worse.

  He rubs his eyes, squinting as though he has a headache and I hurry to offer him water.

  ‘Here, drink. You look dehydrated.’

  He takes the bottle and swallows half.

  I offer him a granola bar too, but he shakes his head. He rubs his tired eyes some more, the dark shadows beneath them standing out like bruises, then he stands up, leaning his weight on his good foot. He takes a step and his knee buckles.

  ‘Damn it,’ he mutters angrily.

  ‘I think your foot might be infected,’ I say to him. ‘Let me check.’

  Liam reluctantly allows me to undo his shoe and peel off his sock. He lets out a cry as I lift his foot into my lap to examine it. I’m right. It is infected, the skin bright red and swollen around the site of the splinter. I don’t know how it’s gotten so infected so fast; he must have got dirt in it. I don’t have any bandages or antiseptic with me so there’s not much I can do. ‘I can go back to the cottage and get the first aid kit?’ I suggest.

  He shakes his head. ‘You’re not going out there. Not by yourself. It’s far too dangerous.’

  I look at his foot. ‘It’s only going to get worse.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he says, reaching to put his sock back on, but he’s frowning, and I know he’s worried.

  I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure how much antiseptic would help anyway. He probably needs antibiotics, and there aren’t any of those anywhere on the island. We need to get to the mainland for that. Liam pulls on his boot, huffing hard as he bends to tie it. He stands afterwards and stumbles towards the axe, sitting on the pew where I left it. I watch him as he swings it up over his head, wondering what the hell he’s doing, but then he brings it slamming down with an almighty crash into the spot I had been sitting in.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, cringing at the splintering noise and worrying that it might advertise our location to the man, which would entirely defy the entire point of us hiding here. Having said that, he must have discovered we’ve taken the gun by now and I’m sure he’ll come looking at some point.

  ‘Firewood,’ Liam replies, as the axe head buries itself again into the side of the pew with a loud thwack. ‘I’m going to build a bonfire on the cliffs. We need to signal the mainland. It’s our only option.’

  ‘We only have one more night to get through,’ I tell him.

  ‘And who knows what he might have planned,’ Liam fires back. ‘We have to get off this island and we have to get off now.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Liam makes short work of the pew, turning it into a pile of splintered fragments. He’s pouring with sweat, stripped down to just a T-shirt and jeans, even though evening has fallen and it’s growing cooler by the minute.

  I jump with every blow as it crashes into the hard wood, covering my ears, terrified that the noise is loud enough to be heard on the other side of the island and imagining the man out there, searching for us, hearing us and coming running.

  When he’s finished, Liam starts stuffing some of the wood into his emptied-out bag. ‘We’ll carry the rest,’ he says to me, pausing only to wipe the perspiration from his brow.

  I look up at the stained-glass window. It’s growing darker by the minute. We gather the wood in our arms. Liam straps the gun over his shoulder with a strip of blanket that he’s fashioned into a makeshift strap, staggers to his feet and together we exit the chapel. It’s inky dusk outside now, the sky a deep mauve, and the wind is picking up and starting to howl, shaking the branches of the trees as we pass beneath them and making them creak. I look around in f
rightened anticipation, barely able to breathe. I feel eyes on me, somewhere out there in the dark. We’re being stalked. I know it. But I can’t see anything. I can just feel it, a prickling sensation crawling up my spine, sending goosebumps rippling down my arms and legs and stuffing up my mouth with a silent sob.

  Liam is still limping; every single footstep makes him wince and hiss between clenched teeth with pain. He carries the bag of wood and my arms are loaded with another heavy pile and we make slow and unsteady progress, stopping every few feet for Liam to catch his breath. Every crack of a branch makes me spin around in alarm, imagining I’m seeing people standing between the trees.

  We make our way down into a gully of the woods, and Liam leads us over the creek and up finally the last stretch towards the top of the cliff. Halfway up the steady incline I feel the first splatter of rain on my face. I cast a glance up at the sky and more raindrops land on my eyelashes and cheeks.

  ‘Let’s hurry,’ Liam says, struggling to limp faster.

  We make it to the top of the cliff as darkness really starts to fall. Panting, I throw down the wood and Liam kneels and takes his load out of the bag. I can barely make him out now in the fuzzy light, as he starts to build a tepee, carefully arranging the pieces of wood so they’ll catch and burn brightly. Once he’s finished, the bonfire he’s made is about three feet high.

  I glance out across the loch, shielding my eyes with my hands against the rain. In the far distance I can just make out a few glowing amber lights that must be Arduaine, the place that we took the boat over from. What are the chances someone will see the fire from all the way over there? And then what are the chances they will think it’s anything other than a bonfire? Why would they assume it’s a signal fire or an SOS?

  The rain falls heavier, the wind whipping it into my face. I start to shiver and look at the stack of wood and the bonfire Liam has built. It’s getting wet.

  Liam is searching through his bag, frantically. ‘Where are the firelighters?’ he asks.