Watching Her_A Gripping Thriller with a Shocking Twist

by Harlem Dae

  “If only it was,” he said, again with the ominous tone.

  “Look, if you have something to say, please do just say it. I’ve lived a lifetime with a game-player, and I’m bored of it. Either be open and honest or bugger off.” I frowned, hoping to God he didn’t bugger off, yet at the same time I needed to be alone.

  “We can’t talk here.” He finally opened his can then took a long drink. “Not when you have your bag with you.” He nodded at it, where it sat innocently on the floor by my feet.

  “Oh, we’re back to that again, are we? Something was slipped in my bag by a man you’ve yet to tell me about in detail. You know, what he looks like, so I can avoid him.”

  He shifted so that his mouth was beside my ear. If I moved closer, those lips of his would touch my skin. He’d get a taste of me and possibly want more.

  “Have you ever seen an Albino?” he whispered.

  All thoughts of us getting better acquainted fled. My body went cold. Goosebumps rattled over my skin despite the heat, and I was clammy. I felt sick and automatically placed a hand to my chest. The damsel in distress. I lowered it immediately. “Why?” A stupid question, but it was all I could think of to say.

  “Just answer me.” His breath warmed my neck and it smelt of lemon soda.

  “I don’t have to answer anything.” Why was I stalling?

  “You saw him, didn’t you?” He paused. “And he saw you’d spotted him.”

  I nodded. “And?”

  “He’s the one.” His voice was low. Frightening.

  “Lovely.” I smiled as though what he’d told me was of no consequence. “But at least I’m forewarned now. Thank you for the information. At last.” I was brisk and business-like, refusing to show him any vulnerability. I’d be leaving this place soon, anyway, off to another destination, and if I could give the Albino the slip, all the better.

  “We should return to the hotel, Claudine. I can’t check your bag here. He’s watching.”

  “What?” I blurted, my poor heart racing. I scanned the crowd but couldn’t see him for the life of me. After picking up my bag, I stood. “Then I’m going. I won’t be a sitting target for a strange man who is tailing me for whatever reason. And don’t follow me, I’m not interested in having your help.”

  “Don’t be crazy, Claudine. You need protecting.” He stood, too, held his palms up.

  “Listen here.” I waggled my finger at him. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. Always have done and always will do. And if you follow me now I’ll scream that I’m being attacked, by you, so the whole bloody market will descend into chaos.”

  I strutted off, anxious, because in order to get back on the path to the hotel I’d have to go through the market again. Sutton was getting on my last nerve talking about bugs in my bag and being followed. Maybe I did need his protection, but right now I’d had enough of the sight of him.

  I entered the crowd where it had thinned and I could see everyone around me. The Albino was nowhere in sight, so I pushed through into a thicker section, shunted around somewhat, but nothing like before. I went on tiptoes and saw the path ahead so surged forward, intent on getting through the hotel’s wrought-iron gates and breathing a sigh of relief. My time here had been so pleasant until Sutton had told me his little story. I could brain him for ruining it.

  Someone trod on the back of my sarong, and I stumbled before stopping. I turned to give them what for, but whoever it had been had moved on. The release of the fabric sent me pinging forward, and I slammed into the backs of two tourist men, my cheek sticking to the sweaty bare skin of one. I expected them to rear up on me, but they turned, smiling.

  “You all right there?” one asked.

  British. Dark-haired. Altogether delicious. But I didn’t have time for a liaison—and oddly for me, I had no appetite for it.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Someone stood on my sarong.”

  “I can see that.” He lowered his gaze to my chest.

  “Oh dear.” I covered myself once again, confused as to why I was blushing. Since when had I been embarrassed about flashing my tits? It was this Albino business, that’s what it was. It had thrown me off-kilter. Bloody Sutton and his conspiracy theories.

  “Need us to see you to your hotel?” he asked.

  Three hours ago I would have been the one asking him to walk me back. I would have made it quite clear what was on offer as his reward. Now? I wanted to be alone in my air-conditioned room, where I could take a shower and wash the grime of this market—this situation—off of me. The Albino’s stare had dirtied me somehow, leaving a sheen of filth on my skin that needed scrubbing away.

  “No, thank you. Kind of you to ask, though.” I smiled then moved on, shoving through the crowd in a most unladylike manner, one that would horrify Father. But he wasn’t here to see it. Then again, if Sutton was doing his job, he’d be right behind me and could report my actions to Father later. Surely just me telling him to back off wouldn’t actually get rid of him.

  I grimaced at the idea of Sutton writing down my daily antics, sending nightly emails to Mr Rupert Montague-Fostrop of Juniper Hall, alerting him to all the debase acts his daughter engaged in. I was surprised my father hadn’t had a heart attack yet. To him, my behaviour was a slur on how he’d brought me up. Not the done thing, old boy. Just not cricket, what?

  At last the dusty track that ran parallel to the coastline was in front of me, the market and all the people in it behind, and I had the urge to run back to the hotel. It was a stark contrast to how I’d walked here leisurely, but things changed in the blink of an eye and you had to deal accordingly.

  Whether you liked it or not. And I did not like.

  The path was empty, so I picked up my pace, registering the sound of footsteps following. Sutton’s heavy tread, of that I had no doubt. I felt a little less susceptible to danger now, knowing he was there, and grudgingly admitted that my father had done a decent thing in asking him to tag along on my travels. I thought of the Albino and why he’d decided to join the end of the follow-Claudine queue. What did Sutton know about him that he wasn’t telling me? I was sure he’d let me know once he’d checked my bag—for listening devices, if his whispers at the café were anything to go by. Then I remembered that it could be a tracking device, so my thoughts on giving the Albino the slip when I left for America were ridiculous.

  “Actually, all of this is ridiculous,” I muttered. I delved into my bag. I’d call Father. Get the facts once and for all. My heart rate picked up. I hadn’t spoken to him in ages. Calls were never friendly and chatty. We were more about the facts with a few of his sighs of disappointment thrown in for good measure.

  “Bugger.” My phone was out of battery. I dropped it back into my bag.

  Sutton’s footsteps changed, faster steps. I began turning my head, thinking that it wasn’t his fault he’d been paid to do this. I should stop giving him a hard time. I opened my mouth, ready to apologise, willing to walk beside him instead of stubbornly waltzing off ahead. But Sutton wasn’t behind me.

  The Albino was.

  Chapter Six

  Shit!

  Panic gripped my innards, adrenaline flooded my veins. What the hell? I upped my pace, stared at the deserted path before me and clutched the strap of my bag in a death grip. What did I have buried in there that I could defend myself with? Did I have something heavy? And could it be used as a weapon? I certainly didn’t have a gun or a knife—bloody hell, not even a rape alarm or bear spray.

  The dogs from the shanty village on my left were barking as I passed, and one howled. For a moment I felt as though I was on a horror movie set. Stalked. Hunted. Murdered.

  The hotel was in the far distance. There was no one on the road, not even the man on the rusty bike with the missing teeth. What I wouldn’t do to see the security guard heading my way now.

  What are my options?

  Thinking wasn’t easy, my thought processes were shot through with fear. It was as if razors were scraping
over my cerebellum.

  The instinct to run, flight not fight, was making my muscles twitch. Brain stem had taken over.

  There was only one thing for it.

  Throwing down my bag—damn thing had a bug—I dashed into the alley on my right. My hat flew off, but I didn’t care.

  I couldn’t outrun the Albino on the road, but maybe in here, twisting and turning, dodging and diving, I could lose him.

  A flapping yellow bed sheet slapped over my face. Frantically, I brushed it aside. A clothes peg went flying. Heart pumping wildly, I leapt over two empty drinks crates blocking my way. My shoulder bumped a leaning brick wall, and I over-compensated and ended up bouncing from the house opposite. But it only slowed me for a split second. I steamed on, my legs feeling almost super-human, and my determination to escape a steel fist in my mind.

  I could do this.

  I knew I could.

  I continued for another ten or maybe twenty seconds. So far, so good. But there was no way I was pausing to see if he were following—I knew he would be.

  Where the hell was Sutton when I needed him?

  The man had been like a magnet for weeks, and now…

  Making a sharp left, I avoided a snarling dog straining on a metal link chain. His foamy saliva basted my calf. He was the least of my worries.

  A woman, wider than she was tall, stood in her doorway shaking a rag. She paused as I skimmed past, her eyes wide and surprise registering in her expression. I suspected they didn’t see many white girls around here, and even less tearing past as though the hounds of hell were on their tail.

  Which one of them was.

  I broke off to the right then realised I’d lost all bearings. The axis of my world had shifted, and I had no idea where I was or where I was going. Which was a good thing, right? It meant I’d hopefully lost him, too. Or at least confused the fuck out of him. He couldn’t possibly know his way around here.

  I was panting hard but kept on. A fog of thick, acrid smoke from burning rubber blocked the entrance to an alley up ahead. I aimed for it. Even better for hiding in.

  Holding my breath, I dashed through the smoke. It stung my eyes, shrouded my vision, and cloaked my skin. For a moment I was completely disorientated, not knowing where I was placing my feet.

  Then I came out the other side.

  I drew to an abrupt halt. The organs inside my body cavity seemed surprised by the deceleration and ricocheted, creating nausea that had nothing to do with the foul smoke.

  If I’d been scared witless before, now I knew I’d landed in the deepest pit of my worst nightmare.

  Before me were four black men, naked from the waist up. They circled a corroded oil drum, which the smoke billowed from, although all of them were standing clear of the stream of pollution.

  I blew out a breath then inhaled and immediately coughed. I’d made a mistake running this way. A very basic part of me, primitive, limbic, screamed that they meant me harm. Them rescuing me from the Albino would not be on the cards.

  It was their eyes, their delight at seeing a defenseless white girl hurtle into their midst, that told me everything I needed to know.

  One spat something thick and tar-like onto the ground.

  Another straightened and gripped his crotch, hoisting his cock as though waking it from slumber and getting it ready for action.

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  I turned, dreading coming face to face with the Albino but having no choice but to take that risk.

  “Wait up, lady.”

  Someone grabbed my upper arm, a tight pincer hold.

  “Get off!” I spun to face another of the men. This one had a single upper tooth and a scar over his left cheek shaped like a pitchfork. “Leave me alone.”

  “But you just got here.” He grinned and didn’t slacken his grip in the least.

  “Yeah, we wanna play,” said another, who cupped his naked chest as though mimicking breasts.

  Bile bit at my gullet. I shut my eyes. Wished that I could magic myself away. Be transported from the horror of what was about to happen.

  I would have done anything to have Sutton follow me now. His annoying habit of always being there would be quite handy.

  A sob erupted. I tensed my urethra, fearing I was about to pee, the effort of willing my crashing heart not to explode almost drawing me to my knees.

  “Got us a princess, have we?”

  Hot, stale breath swished over my ear. A rough finger tugged at my hair.

  “No!” I slapped him away.

  “Don’t be like that, sugar. You’ll enjoy it.” He laughed, the sound revolting, sickening, debased.

  “Don’t you dare touch me.” I fought against the grip on my wrist but to no avail. “Don’t you know who I am? My father will hunt you down. You’ll all get the death sentence. He’s a powerful English aristocrat.” I opened my eyes.

  “Yeah, he’ll have to find us first.” The one who’d spat loomed over me. He spoke in a flat, deathly ominous voice. “And he’ll have to find you first, too.” He tipped his head and guffawed.

  The others joined in.

  I staggered backwards, but now two men held me, one gripping each arm, and all that happened was I staggered in a cross-shape.

  “Get her naked,” the one standing in front of me said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  In that moment the evil of the world seemed to weigh on my shoulders. Rape, murder, the abuse of innocents, torture, war. It was a fug of blackness presided over by the Devil himself.

  “No. No.” I struggled, writhing to try to loosen their grip.

  A rough hand yanked the front of my sarong, removing it in one swoop.

  Again I shut my eyes. The looks on their faces were so vile, so hideous. They’d be burnt in my mind forever, seared into my dreams the way animals are branded.

  They whooped, whistled, hooted.

  A rough hand grasped my right breast.

  Another slipped into the back of my bikini bottoms and groped.

  Then it all stopped.

  A whoosh of energy swirled around me.

  For a moment I wondered if I were fainting. If blessed Mother Nature was rescuing me from the brutality of what was about to happen by rendering me unconscious. Stealing my awareness. Relieving me of the torment.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Who the hell…?”

  “Kiss me rass.”

  I slumped to the floor; the men holding me had released their clasp. The hard ground grated my knees, and my palms slapped down. I sucked in air that was still sharp with smoke.

  I opened my eyes, spotted my abandoned sarong and reached for it. I didn’t know why. It was of no value now. Trying to capture a single droplet of water in a flood was the same amount of use.

  Scuffling backwards, trying to get my footing, I looked up.

  Before me stood a tall, broad man. He was facing away, hands on his hips, feet apart and shoulders rounded as though he was preparing to attack.

  It wasn’t Sutton.

  This man had sheet-white skin, wore chino shorts, leather loafers and a moss-green T-shirt, and had hair the colour of freshly fallen snow.

  The Albino.

  Thank goodness he’s here?

  Damn, he found me.

  Those two thoughts collided in my brain, splintering apart, fracturing my reality. I didn’t know what to think.

  Other than one against four was a tall order.

  I shuffled back farther, until my shoulders hit the heated, smooth metal, the side of a make-shift structure. Cowering, and seizing the sarong to my chest in a fist, I tried to catch my breath. The smoke was making me light-headed. I coughed but attempted to hold in another splutter. The attention of the four men, thank goodness, had switched from me to the Albino.

  “She’s mine,” the Albino said, tilting his chin slightly. He was several inches above the tallest black man, so this meant he appeared to be looking down on them. “Take a hike.”

 
; “Fucking hell, white man, what the bumbow happened to you? Fall in acid, did you?” The nasty guy who was fond of spitting stared at the Albino, obvious fascination on his face, and apparently not in the slightest bit concerned by the belligerent stranger who’d intruded on their despicable fun.

  “We walk away now. Me and the woman.” The Albino stood solid and still.

  “Yeah, right.” The leader laughed. “We just got ourselves a bit of meat. You really think we’re gonna let you steal it from under our noses?”

  The Albino was silent.

  I whimpered into the sarong then pushed up, sliding my back against the metal. Once upright, I locked my knees.

  A squall snatched the smoke, dragging it vertical. I gasped for air, glad of the respite. It was then I saw it. A blade.

  A shard of sunlight glinted off the three inches of steel as the man with one upper tooth raised it high.

  I stifled a scream, mashing the sarong into my mouth, the strength to run gone from my legs.

  It was aimed at the Albino’s head. About to be brought down with crushing accuracy.

  But the Albino had spotted it. He moved. Suddenly. His actions were a blur but clearly well-practiced. Calculated.

  He stepped back, raised his right arm. Blocked. Caught. Snatched.

  A yelp of agony screamed against my eardrums. The man who’d held the knife was hurtling towards the oil drum, his arm hanging in a sickeningly unnatural position.

  The disintegrating old oil drum came down easily, spilling its burning, rubbery contents across the ground. The man followed, landing on hot, sticky embers.

  His friend’s didn’t pause to help, they rounded on the Albino.

  I held my breath.

  The Albino held the knife.

  In yet another slick move, he swiped the blade over the chests of each of the three men. It wasn’t a stabbing motion, not enough to puncture or kill, more of a warning slash.