by Sibel Hodge
By the time Jordan puts a plate of beef curry and basmati rice garnished with freshly chopped coriander in front of me, my stomach’s rumbling. I’ve eaten very little recently, and I’m suddenly famished.
I pick up my fork. ‘It looks delicious.’
‘If you don’t like it, I can make something else.’
I take a bite, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. ‘You’re a good cook.’
‘Just one of my many talents.’ He looks pleased, and we eat in silence for a while until he says, ‘So, what’s the plan?’
‘Tomorrow I have a follow up appointment with Dr Drew. And I’ll have to wait to hear from Summers and see what he’s found out. After that…’ I shrug. ‘I don’t know.’ I glance at the terracotta wall clock, wondering what’s taking Summers so long to get back to me. Surely, he would’ve got hold of Chris’ dad by now, who’d confirm Chris was lying. With that story he wrote, it had to be him. Summers would break through his alibi and lock him up where he belonged, and then I’d be able breathe again. But until that happened, I had to do something to take my mind off this waiting game. ‘Look, tonight can we just not talk about things? For just one night, I want to forget everything. If I think about it anymore, it’s going to send me round the bend. Can we just do something normal, like watch a film, or listen to music, or…’ I raise my bottle of beer. ‘Have another drink.’
He puts his knife and fork down and clinks his bottle against mine. ‘Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.’
~~~~
We finish eating, and he doesn’t let me clear up. Doesn’t let me lift a finger, in fact.
‘Red or white wine?’ He holds up a bottle in each hand.
‘White, please.’ I probably shouldn’t. I need to keep focused. Keep my wits about me. But I’m enjoying the soft-around-the-edges fuzzy feeling, and I don’t want it ever to go away.
He puts the red bottle down, grabs two glasses from a cupboard, and ambles barefoot into the lounge. I sit on one side of the soft sofa and tuck my legs up beside me. After pouring me a glass of wine, Jordan sits in front of the reclaimed wooden TV cabinet and opens a drawer filled with DVDs. He pulls out a pile and reads the titles aloud.
‘The Mechanic, Alpha Papa, Snatch, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, The Lucky One, Mississippi Burning. Or The Notebook.’
I don’t want anything romantic that will remind me of Liam in the early days, or make me think of possibilities with Jordan. I don’t want horror or action where people are being killed, because it’s too close for comfort right now. So I ask for something I wouldn’t normally watch. Something I can just lose myself in for a few hours. ‘Harry Potter.’
He wiggles the cover at me. ‘Good choice.’ He slides it in the DVD player, flicks on the TV, and sits next to me on the sofa. It dips under his weight, pushing us closer together. He smells of outdoors and spicy aftershave. It’s familiar and comforting as I concentrate on fantasy, monsters, and wizards, and for a time I don’t have to think about anything. It’s heaven.
A loud banging noise wakes me some time later. I jerk up on the sofa, disorientated for a moment, my heart beating so loud my chest feels like it’s about to explode.
‘It’s OK. You fell asleep.’ Jordan gets up to answer the door.
‘It might be Liam.’ I pull my knees up towards me, wrapping my arms around them.
‘I’m sure it’s not. He doesn’t know where I live,’ he says over his shoulder.
‘You’d be surprised,’ I say sadly. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to know all sorts of things.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a moment.’
I hear the door open. Raised voices. My gaze darts round the room, looking for somewhere to hide if necessary. As the voices get closer, I realize it’s Summers. I press a hand to my cheek and breathe deeply. I get up as he enters the room, closely followed by Jordan.
‘What did you find out?’ I ask urgently. ‘You’ve been ages!’
‘Yes, it ended up a little more complicated than we thought trying to verify things. We spoke with Chris’ dad, and Chris was with him in the Peak District during the time you can’t remember, so there’s no way he could’ve been involved in anything untoward.’
‘How do you know for sure? I mean, how do you know his dad hasn’t made up some kind of alibi to protect his son?’ I wring my hands together.
‘Well, that’s what was taking so long. Since they were camping in the middle of nowhere off the beaten track instead of on a registered site, we had to wait for our colleagues in the Peak District to make a few enquiries.’
‘And what did they find out?’ Jordan asks.
‘They were spotted on CCTV in a local garage and also in the nearest village’s café several times. There was also the farmer, whose land they were on, who saw them there. Chris wouldn’t have had time to get back here and do anything untoward.’
I shake my head with disbelief, pacing up and down. ‘But…how can that be? You read his story, didn’t you? It was identical to what happened to me.’
Summers purses his lips and just looks at me for a moment. ‘Have you ever received emails in the past from students about the coursework you gave them?’
‘Well, yes, sometimes. Their coursework makes up part of their final A Level, so I always tell them to email me if they have a problem or something they’re not sure about. Why?’ A cold, tingling sensation breaks out on my scalp.
‘Because Chris said he emailed you a copy of the first draft of his story while you were off sick, so you could answer a couple of questions for him.’
I stare at him blankly, unable even to blink.
‘So, it’s entirely possible the story is almost identical because it’s stuck in your memory from when you read it before. Isn’t it?’
I open my mouth to speak, but my voice has disappeared for a moment with confusion and shock.
Luckily, Jordan speaks for me then. ‘Chloe’s email account was hacked, so she has no way of checking if that’s true. Did you look at Chris’ email account to see if it was in his sent folder?’
‘We made him check it at the station, but, unfortunately, his account doesn’t auto save sent messages, and he forgot to do that before he sent it. But I can’t see why he’d make that up, and, as I say, he has a confirmed alibi anyway.’
I rest my hands against my cheeks and stare at the floor. Is that really what happened? I read Chris’ story when I was off sick after coming home from the psychiatric ward, and it’s somehow been lodged in my brain. And if so, then does it mean I really have hallucinated someone kidnapping me as they all think? ‘So he’s…he’s definitely not guilty, then?’
‘The only thing he’s guilty of is having a good imagination. And I’m sure one day he’ll make an excellent crime author.’
I flop back down to the sofa. After what I’d read, I was sure it was him.
‘But isn’t it too much of a coincidence?’ Jordan asks.
Summers shrugs. ‘Coincidences happen.’
‘You’re absolutely sure?’ I say.
‘Positive. So, we’re no further forward, I’m afraid. We carried out house-to-house enquiries in Sara’s street, but no one remembers seeing anyone matching your description or anything suspicious.’ Summers sits down next to me.
I stare at the floor. A dull ache starts in the back of my eyes. I don’t know if it’s from the alcohol wearing off or just weariness and too much adrenaline flooding through me permanently.
‘What’s next, then?’ Jordan sits on the floor.
‘We’ll contact those numbers you circled in the paper. See if they have any information for us.’
‘I already did that.’ My gaze flicks up to Summers, and I tell him what happened when I called them earlier.
He sighs, puts his hands on his knees, and stands wearily. ‘Unless you can remember anything else, then I’m not sure what enquiries we can pursue next.’
‘What, so that’s it?’ Jordan says. ‘You’re not going
to do anything else?’
Summers hesitates for a while, as if he’s making up his mind exactly which excuse to use. ‘What can we do? Usually, there are procedures we can follow—talking to witnesses, doing house-to-house enquiries, some of which we’ve done, but Chloe has no memory of what happened. She could’ve gone anywhere and done anything on the day she went missing. How can we realistically investigate something we have no idea of? It’s not just looking for a needle in a haystack. We need to find the haystack first.’
I rub at my right eye, which has started twitching now. I almost want to laugh.
‘If you remember or discover something else, phone me and we’ll check it out, but in the meantime, we have nowhere to go with this. I’m sorry, but I’m still not satisfied a crime has even been committed, and since we have no independent witnesses to verify the events you’ve described...’ He leaves his words dangling in the air like a shrug, giving me one last expressionless look before heading out of the room.
Jordan follows him, and I hear mumbled voices before the front door clicks shut. I jig my right leg up and down, trying to work off the raw energy accumulating inside. My skin feels tight against my muscles, my clothes irritating and scratchy.
When Jordan comes back in, he stands in the doorway. And now even he’s got a shadow of wary doubt in his eyes as he looks at me. ‘So…um…what do you want to do next?’ He rubs a hand over his hair.
I avert my gaze, unable to face the possibility of losing my one and only ally. ‘What can I do?’
29
I sleep in the spare room sandwiched between the bathroom and Jordan’s bedroom. He’s made up the bed for me with clean, pine-scented sheets and left a folded towel at the end of it with an unopened packet of soap. I touch the soap and smile at his thoughtfulness.
The floorboards upstairs creak under my weight, and I think that’s a good thing. An early alarm system. But it still doesn’t make me feel completely safe, so I turn the key in the bedroom door and position a wooden chair under the handle. If someone comes to get me in the middle of the night, at least I’ll hear it. I undress and pull on a T-shirt from my bag. I should’ve brought more things with me from home. Tomorrow I’ll go back and get some when Liam’s at work.
Liam. What’s he doing now? Getting drunk and angry and blaming me for everything? Or consoling himself in the arms of Julianne? Well, at least they can be together now without me standing in the way. Good luck to her, that’s all I can say.
I turn off the bedside lamp and get into bed, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the house. The hot water pipes ticking, the fridge downstairs humming, and an owl hooting outside on the roof. Jordan’s footsteps go into the bathroom. The light clicks on, then the toilet flushes. The floorboards creak outside my door, and I know he’s standing just the other side. I clutch the duvet around me and listen. Part of me wants to open the door and see that smile of his for reassurance. Part of me is terrified.
Seconds pass. His weight shifts. Then his footsteps disappear up the hall, and his bedroom door closes. I close my eyes, expecting to have trouble sleeping, but I’m so exhausted I fall asleep straight away. It’s not restful sleep, though. I dream I’m back there again, running through the woods.
There’s no moon this time, and it’s so dark I can hardly see. An owl chases me. I can hear it calling close behind, feel the cold air against my back as its wings flap. Any minute its claws will dig into my head and attack.
But the owl isn’t the only thing out there. Even though I can’t see anyone watching me, can’t hear the sound of footsteps behind me, I know he’s there.
Branches tear into my face as I run through the trees, ripping away the skin until no flesh is left and I’m just sinew and bone. They slice through my eyes, too, and I’m completely blind now.
A howling noise deafens me, reverberating through my ears. And then I hear nothing. I’m running and running, but I can’t see and I can’t hear. All I know is something’s chasing after me.
Then I fall into somewhere deep, dark. A bottomless pit. I’m falling and falling, and no one is out there who can drag me back to the surface.
I sit bolt upright in bed, bathed in cold sweat, panting hard. I blink in the darkness, eyes adjusting to the unfamiliar shapes that loom towards me. A chair behind the door. A chest of drawers in the corner. A single wardrobe. And then I remember I’m in Jordan’s bedroom.
It’s just a nightmare. It can’t hurt you. You’re safe!
Except it’s not a nightmare. Not really. It’s chillingly real. And I wonder if I will ever really be safe again. Because even if Summers and the doctors don’t believe me. Even if it all points to me imagining this whole thing. Even if I don’t know whether to believe me half the time anymore, what about the sleeping tablets? If I really took them willingly, where the hell are they? Something isn’t right about this.
I throw back the covers, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and lean forward, head resting in my hands until my breathing goes back to normal. I go over to the window and pull back the curtains, staring out at the view to try to drag my thoughts away from roaming the dark pathways in my head. The frustration and uncertainty of waiting for some madman to come back and kill me will drive me insane before they can finish off the job.
A fox stealthily creeps across the lawn. The moon is clear and vibrant, the stars glittering back at me.
Getting back into bed, I stare into the darkness, too afraid to close my eyes and sleep again. Summers’ question keeps revolving in my head. What would you do next? But all I can think is, Why Me? Why did he pick me? I could’ve been stalked before I was taken. Or maybe it a chance sighting. Did I know the person? Had I seen them before? Spoken to them, maybe? Did I walk past them to work every day, unaware? How long would I have until he found me again?
I give up at five a.m., no closer to finding the answer. Some thread must connect everything together, but I have no memory of it. Nothing in my head can help me now. Maybe it’s better not to know anything. To not see it coming.
At that moment, I have an irrational wish for my kidnapper just to get it over with quickly. Come and get me right now and kill me. I can’t stand this torture, trying so hard to think of some kind of clue but trying desperately not to think at the same time. The constant fear a burning hole in my chest, blindly waiting for something dreadful and painful to happen. I’m driving myself mad with it. I want it to be over.
My face aches with the pressure of unshed tears, but I won’t cry anymore. Crying won’t help me stay alive. I get dressed and go into the bathroom. After splashing cold water on my face, I look at my reflection in the mirror. My pupils are huge, my hair wild, my skin pale and waxy. I brush my teeth, go downstairs, and make a cup of tea. Sitting out on the kitchen step, I chain-smoke until the sun rises over the garden.
Butterflies and bees flutter around flowers, stopping every now and then on one that takes their fancy. Birds sing their morning chorus. Clouds glide through the air. I don’t know how everything can look so normal yet be so far removed from it.
Jordan finds me a while later. He’s wearing faded jeans and an old T-shirt, his hair rumpled from sleep. He runs a hand over it as he walks in the kitchen, humming a tune I don’t recognize. He stops when he sees me and breaks into a smile, his whole face lighting up. ‘Oh, hi. Didn’t see you there.’
I find myself smiling back, drinking in the sight of him. ‘Hi.’
‘Did you sleep OK?’
For some reason, I can’t help laughing. It sounds shrill, a noise that could split me in two. No, not shrill; it sounds mad. I am actually going round the bend now. I can feel it. ‘Not really.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you did.’ His smile drops and he looks serious, his eyes gentle. ‘I admire your courage, you know.’
‘I’m not courageous at all. I’m scared to death. I always have been.’ I jump up and change the subject to dilute the fear. ‘Are you hungry? Let me make you breakfast. It’s the least I can do.’
He waves me back down. ‘Sit. I’ll do it.’
‘But you’ve been kind enough to let me stay here, so I should do it.’
‘You’re a guest. And guests don’t have to lift a finger. Besides, you’ve been through a lot. You deserve a bit of pampering.’
My cheeks flush then, but I don’t know if it’s with gratitude or something else.
‘So.’ He peers in the fridge. ‘What do you fancy? Poached eggs on toast? Cereal? Or I can do a mean bacon sandwich.’
‘A bacon sandwich sounds perfect.’
He puts toast in the toaster and bacon under the grill, and we talk about how good the weather is this year for May, the last book we read, the fox I saw in the garden that Jordan’s nicknamed Foxy (as original as the cat’s name). Nothing important or heavy. I like that he doesn’t force me to talk about what’s going on in my head. It’s nice to be distracted with normalcy for a while. And as he works, it feels like this is the most normal thing in the world. Like we’re an old married couple used to the rhythms of each other. It’s easy and relaxing, something I only had with Liam in the very beginning.
John clatters through the cat flap as Jordan dishes up the bacon sandwiches. ‘Yeah, thought you might be back when you smelt this!’ Jordan says to him, cutting off some crispy fat and putting it in John’s bowl. John wolfs it down and purrs loudly, looking up expectantly for more.
‘What’s on the agenda for today, then?’ Jordan asks as he hands me a plate.
‘I’ve got an appointment with Dr Drew this morning. I also need to go back to my house and pick up some more of my stuff.’
‘I have classes this morning, but I can go with you this afternoon to your house if you like?’ He takes a bite of sandwich.
‘Are you sure? I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
He swallows. ‘It’s no trouble. We can get a lot more in the camper. And besides, until we find out what happened, this psycho could still be after you. I just want to make sure you’re safe.’