by James Dawson
‘You can’t do anything to me. Everyone knows I’m here. If you hurt me the police will know in minutes.’ This wasn’t strictly true. In fact, there was only a girl from a bar in Rome who even knew she’d been planning to come to Spain.
The figure stepped onto the poolside tiles and finally emerged from the shadows. Roxanne gasped. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t even pretend not to be scared.
It was wearing a hideous scarecrow mask.
SCENE 16 – ALISHA
Today, Alisha was the first up, not the last. She breathed in the tranquillity, the stillness of the villa, savouring it before it filled with rowing friends. It was like waiting for a hangover to kick in. She hoped that after everyone had slept, they’d be able to handle things with a minimum of drama.
She used the bathroom and then went downstairs to make a cup (or vat) of coffee before the onslaught. Alisha tiptoed through the lounge, not wanting to wake Rox, only to find the sofa-bed already folded away neatly – the bedding piled on top. Confused, Alisha went to the French windows.
Roxanne was down in the pool, taking an early-morning swim from the look of things. Alisha left her to it and walked through to the kitchen. It was way too early to deal with Rox. She could wait until after a cup of coffee. Sometimes you need a cup of coffee (or three) to be able to face the day, and Alisha wasn’t a morning person at the best of times.
Katie padded into the lounge, running her hand through her tangle of auburn waves. ‘Morning, camper.’
‘Oh, hey, did I wake you?’
‘Not at all. I’ve been dozing for ages.’ Katie nodded at the empty sofa-bed. ‘Where’s Rox?’
‘She’s in the pool. Tea?’
Katie looked out of the terrace doors. ‘Yes, please. I know I shouldn’t, but I’ll have two sugars. It feels like a two sugars sort of day. God, last night actually happened, didn’t it?’
‘Yep. Roxanne is trying to blackmail us,’ Alisha confirmed. She glanced up to see her friend standing in the middle of the sliding doors, a puzzled expression on her face. ‘Katie?’
‘Lish, come here.’
There was a serious edge to Katie’s tone, so Alisha did as she was told, abandoning tea-making duties. ‘What is it?’
‘What is she doing?’ Katie pointed down at Roxanne, who looked like she was floating on her back. ‘She’s in her dress from last night.’
‘Rox?’ Alisha called down. There was no response. ‘Oi! Roxanne!’
‘Alisha . . . is she OK?’ They looked at each other. Neither said anything. The colour seeped from Katie’s lips and Alisha felt her skin prickle like there were pins all over her body.
‘Roxanne?’ Alisha’s voice was shrill now. Panic clutched her throat like a fist. She was no fan of Roxanne Dent, but . . . She started towards the stairs. I will remain calm, she thought, but that lasted about a second as Alisha broke into a run and took the steps two at a time, almost tripping and tumbling. Katie followed right behind her.
By the time she was halfway down, Alisha could see that Roxanne was not OK. She was absolutely still, her arms floating away from her torso, caught in her net of blonde hair. Her eyes were wide open but seeing nothing.
SCENE 17 – RYAN
Ryan stood in front of the bedroom mirror, applying moisturiser with SPF to his face (because, as everyone knows, regular sun cream is too oily for your face). ‘Benjamin! Wakey, wakey!’ He had no qualms about waking up Ben. That giant had hogged the covers all night – it was just what he deserved. ‘Will you rub sun cream on my back?’
‘No. Go away. I hate you,’ Ben replied.
Ryan chuckled – right up until he heard the scream. It was ear-splitting. That’s the thing with screams. He’d been in plays where actors had been required to scream and you could always, always tell they were faking. A real scream is unmistakeable.
This one was real.
He took one look at Ben and they both darted out of the bedroom. It was Alisha and it was coming from downstairs.
‘Greg!’ she yelled, her voice shrill, raw and red. ‘Greg!’
Ryan reached her first. She was framed by the sliding doors onto the terrace. ‘What’s up?’
‘Roxanne’s in the pool!’ Alisha spat the words in his face.
‘So?’
‘Look!’
He looked down and saw what she meant. Roxanne wasn’t swimming, she was floating. ‘Oh, my God.’ Ryan ran towards the steps with Ben hot on his heels as Greg arrived to investigate the commotion.
‘What’s the problem? Seriously, I could hear you from . . .’ Ryan heard Greg saying as he raced down the steps. He arrived at the pool. Katie stood at the edge of the water, her hands over her mouth. Behind him he heard Greg call for Erin.
Ryan pushed past Katie and dove into the pool. As he did so, Roxanne was sucked under. No longer a piece of floating art, she rolled in the water like a dead thing. A carcass. His stomach turned, but he ignored it. The morning water was bitter and any remaining cobwebs were expelled. He had to get her out.
Ryan felt Ben plunge into the water alongside him as he reached out and touched Roxanne. She was cold. Now that he was here, he didn’t know what to do.
‘Rox?’ Ben spluttered. ‘Roxanne? Can you hear me?’
‘What happened to her?’ Ryan spat pool water out of his mouth.
‘I don’t know.’ Katie cupped her face in her hands.
Ryan spotted a wine bottle lying on its side underneath one of the loungers. ‘Oh, God. Maybe she got drunk and slipped . . .’ Ryan murmured. With both of them grabbing hold of her, they pulled Roxanne under, rather than keeping her afloat.
‘Ryan, let go,’ Ben said. He wrapped his arm under her armpits and started swimming towards the edge. Roxanne continued to look past the sky. ‘Katie, help me!’ Ben yelled. ‘Katie!’
Katie seemed to snap out of her shock. She came to the side of the pool and reached down.
It was going to be fine, Ryan thought, just fine. CPR. They’d do CPR and it would be fine.
Katie hooked her hands under Roxanne’s arms, but they slipped away. Rox was heavy. A dead weight. ‘Alisha, help me!’ Katie sobbed.
Alisha, borderline hysterical, hurried over to help; her hands shook and her cheeks were wet with tears.
‘Pull her out!’ Ben told the girls as he and Ryan held Roxanne’s body steady at the edge of the pool.
Katie and Alisha took one arm each. Ryan felt Roxanne’s spine grind against the rim of the pool as the girls heaved the body out of the water. He pushed on Rox’s thighs and, with a soggy splatter, Roxanne landed on the tiles. Katie and Alisha fell back from the momentum.
Ryan hoisted himself out of the pool. Light bounced off the surface of the water like a mirror ball. It was dizzying. It was noisy. Ryan couldn’t focus. The ground whirled around him like a carousel. This was really happening. Funny, but when drama happens in real life, it doesn’t feel like a TV show at all. He felt he should be ready for this, should know what to do. He flipped through his inner rolodex of scenarios, desperately searching for the episode where the characters had found a friend floating unconscious in the pool. He drew a big fat blank. He could only look on in impotent horror.
Ben was at Roxanne’s side. Ryan hadn’t even seen him get out of the pool. ‘Roxanne?’ Ben put his face next to hers. ‘She’s not breathing.’
Ryan leaned in close. She had to be.
‘Is she dead?’ Katie closed her eyes.
‘No!’ Ben replied. Katie’s eyes snapped open and she rushed to Rox’s side to aid the revival. Ben looked at her. ‘What do you do? Do you do the mouth or the chest first?’
‘You don’t do the mouth any more,’ cried Ryan. ‘It was in that advert.’
‘But she’s not breathing,’ Ben replied.
‘What happened?’ It was Erin. She ran down the stairs wearing a dressing gown, her hair dripping wet. She must have been in the shower.
‘We found Roxanne in the pool. I don’t know – maybe she was drunk
. . .’ Ryan said, pointing at the discarded bottle. He stood and stepped over Rox’s legs to roll out the bottle. It was empty. She’d finished the whole thing. She must have been wasted.
‘Stand back,’ Erin commanded, suddenly a different person. ‘Give me space. Has someone called an ambulance?’ No one answered. ‘For God’s sake! Do it!’
Alisha picked herself up off the floor and ran for the villa. Erin felt for a pulse in Roxanne’s neck. She leaned in closer and listened for breathing.
‘What are you doing?’ Ryan demanded.
‘I’m a medical student.’
‘You never said—’
‘You never asked!’ Erin snapped. ‘How long has she been like this?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ben held his head in his hands.
‘Well,’ Erin ran her fingers over Roxanne’s arm, ‘rigor mortis hasn’t set in, but if she’s been in cold water the whole time it will have delayed the onset. Oh, God! Who found her?’
‘Alisha did.’ Ryan coughed up some pool water.
‘I was with her,’ Katie put in. ‘I . . . we thought she was swimming.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Just a minute ago.’
It was just a minute ago, Ryan thought, but it had been the longest minute ever. Time had stopped. It felt as though this was all there had ever been.
‘At a guess, she’s been dead for at least four hours,’ Erin said, ‘although I can’t be certain. There’s a head injury, too.’
‘What? No!’ Ryan gasped. ‘Save her! Do mouth-to-mouth!’
Erin adopted the patronising tone that all TV doctors use to break bad news to patients’ families. Ryan figured they must teach it in med school 101. ‘Ryan, she’s cold. She must have fallen or dived in and hit her—’
‘Ry?’ Ben interrupted, staring at Ryan with horror in his eyes.
‘What?’ Ryan snapped.
Ben’s lips moved but it took a moment for the sound to come out. ‘Your hands . . .’
The bottle was sticky. Only now did Ryan look down and see that it wasn’t red wine all over his fingers. It was redder than any red wine. It was blood. He cursed at the top of his lungs and let the bottle slip through his fingers. It landed on the thick bottom rim and rolled across the tiles, leaving a red trail as it went.
‘Oh, my God!’ Katie screamed, springing back as it rolled her way.
‘What the f—?’ Ryan gasped.
‘Is that blood?’ Erin demanded, cutting him off.
Ryan looked up again to see Greg standing at the foot of the stairs, not blinking. His eyes were almost as dead as Roxanne’s. They didn’t move, his gaze never leaving Roxanne’s body.
Ryan felt his stomach heave. He would not vomit. None of the dramatic scenarios he’d ever played out in his head involved him throwing up over himself. ‘I don’t get it.’ He held his blood-caked hands away from his body like they were radioactive. Slowly it dawned on him. This was no accident. ‘I mean, who did this? Why? I . . .’ Words and sentences were tangled like spaghetti in his head.
Roxanne was dead.
In the middle of the chaos, she was the only one who had the decency to keep still. Erin reached over and pulled her eyelids down. That was better. Now she was beautiful again. Not dead, sleeping. Ryan had to get the blood off his hands. He plunged them in the pool and scrubbed as hard as he could.
‘Someone hit her,’ Erin said gravely. ‘I can’t tell if she was dead before she hit the water, though. The head wound doesn’t look too bad . . . She probably drowned.’
‘She was out here by herself,’ Katie sobbed. ‘Someone must have attacked her.’
Ryan imagined some inbred mutant crawling out of the hillside. Something from a horror film – a missing link or genetic experiment gone awry.
‘Which one of you did it?’ Greg demanded.
The accusation jolted Ryan back into reality. Time ticked by normally again. The ground stopped spinning and the cacophony ceased. Only a songbird chirruped gaily, darting from tree to tree. It seemed really inappropriate.
‘What?’ Ryan said eventually. Not a mountain mutant. Greg was referring to them.
Alisha burst onto the top terrace, the cordless phone pressed to her ear. ‘I can’t understand what you’re saying,’ she wept. ‘Do you speak English?’
Greg looked at the body and then looked at his sister. ‘Alisha, hang up!’
‘Slow down . . . I don’t speak Spanish!’ she cried.
‘Hang up!’ Greg repeated.
Alisha ran down the stairs. ‘Does anybody speak any Span—’
Greg roared. ‘ALISHA, I SAID HANG UP!’ He grabbed the phone out of her hands and ended the call.
‘What are you doing? We need an ambulance!’ Alisha screamed.
‘Are you insane? She’s dead!’ Greg prowled over to look at Roxanne’s body. He considered her face for a moment, before saying, ‘She’s dead,’ again.
Erin grabbed his arm. ‘Greg, we still have to—’
‘We can’t!’ he snarled in her face. Erin recoiled. ‘Don’t you get it?’ Greg asked, his eyes burning. ‘One of us killed her.’
SCENE 18 – RYAN
Ryan’s thought process went like this . . . Roxanne is dead. This is bad. One of us killed her. That is worse. People might think I did it. That is worst. His mind-set changed channels. He stopped worrying about Rox and started worrying about himself.
‘No way,’ Ben argued. ‘No way. She . . . she must have fallen in . . . she’d been drinking . . . maybe she banged her head.’
‘Dream on.’ Greg’s face was contorted with anger and frustration. ‘She’s been murdered. Someone bottled her and left her to drown.’
The problem was, Greg was right. The cogs of Ryan’s brain were at once turning too quickly and too slowly. But he was absolutely sure that Greg was right. One of them had killed Roxanne.
Ryan had spent his whole life living a TV drama and, suddenly, he was in one for real. The fantasy was definitely better than the reality. This was way too close to home.
‘What?’ Alisha asked, trying to snatch the phone back from Greg.
‘Well, what did you think, Alisha? Some random person came off the beach and murdered her?’ Greg asked.
‘Maybe. Or perhaps someone broke in . . .’
Greg raised an eyebrow like he was struggling to communicate with simpletons. ‘One of you lot obviously killed her.’
Ryan laughed. ‘Well, of course! It wasn’t you, was it, Greg?’
‘No, it bloody wasn’t!’
The hysteria wouldn’t stop. It gripped Ryan’s body like a vice until he was shaking uncontrollably with shallow, horrid laughter. ‘OK, then,’ he said. ‘Who did it?’
Everyone started speaking at the same time. Ryan couldn’t make out the individual excuses, but they were all emphatically negative. ‘So I suppose it was the Beach Monster, then.’
‘Can we all just stop?’ Ben cried. ‘This is insane. It can’t be happening. I know some prat always says this, but there has to be an explanation.’
‘Oh, wake up!’ Greg barked, getting up in Ben’s space, throwing his weight around. ‘Roxanne said that one of us killed Janey – and now Rox is dead. That’s a pretty big coincidence.’
Ryan considered who could have killed Rox . . .
1. Random local murderer. God, he hoped it was a random local murderer. The fact that this would be the best possible scenario was an indication of just how bleak their situation was.
2. Greg, Alisha, Ben, Katie or Erin killed Roxanne while sleepwalking or possessed by a demon. He could only dream.
3. Greg, Alisha, Ben, Katie or Erin killed Roxanne deliberately.
Janey and Roxanne. Ryan dimly recalled reading about the differences between serial killers, spree killers and mass murderers. One more body and one of his school friends would officially qualify as a serial killer.
Erin pushed Greg away from Ben, trying to lift the phone from his hands. ‘Greg, we have to call the police,
’ she said.
‘We’ll be arrested.’
‘We won’t. We’ll tell them what happened,’ she pleaded.
‘What happened is that one of us killed her. Are you blind?’ Greg snapped.
‘He’s right.’ Ryan sat next to Roxanne’s head, combing his fingers through her matted hair. She was so still, so serene. She’d spent so much time trying to be beautiful. All she’d ever had to do was stop. Ryan had never seen her so lovely. ‘Greg’s one hundred per cent right. We will all be arrested. This wasn’t an accident. I don’t think her head slipped onto that bottle, do you?’
‘Who did it?’ Alisha sobbed. ‘Who did it?’
Everyone noisily denied it and started pointing fingers.
‘She said she knew something about you.’ Greg jabbed a finger in Ben’s direction. ‘Something to do with Janey.’
‘Oh, piss off!’ Ben responded. He gestured at Roxanne, his face red. ‘As if I’d do this!’
‘Well, one of us did,’ Greg spat.
‘No,’ Katie said from behind her hands. ‘No way. We wouldn’t . . .’
Greg glowered. ‘After last night, I’m not surprised. Whether one of us killed Janey or not, Rox was gonna blackmail us all.’
‘Greg!’ Erin snapped.
‘OK. Enough is enough.’ Katie stood up, some colour returning to her face. ‘Greg, please give me the phone. I really, really think we should call the police.’
‘Are you all crazy? One of us has murdered Rox, and you want to call the police?’ Greg was not handing over the phone. ‘We’ll all go down. Life sentences.’
Ryan really, really didn’t want to go to jail. Jails were not for boys like him. Jails were for scary, heroin-addled psychopaths with tattooed faces.
Erin continued fluttering around Greg like a hummingbird, trying to soothe her boyfriend. ‘Greg,’ she purred, ‘this is a crime. It has to be reported to the police.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I’m not a total frigging idiot. I know it’s a crime, I just don’t wanna get arrested. I don’t want my sister getting arrested. I don’t want any of you getting arrested.’