15
The Pica Explorer
Day three. Hour 07:50.
‘Another one.’ I stumble into the living area where Susie and Frank are sitting at opposite ends of the long Formica table in total silence. Frank is sucking his fingers, having just devoured a tin of baked beans and some sliced bread. The smell of the beans makes me feel sick.
‘Another what?’ Frank demands, looking irritated.
‘Another dead.’
Susie leans forward and wraps her arms around herself, as if for warmth.
‘Who?’ she asks frantically.
‘Patrick. He’s dead. There was so much blood.’ I put my head in my hands and rub my throbbing temples.
‘Blood?’ Frank asks, his eyes twinkling.
‘Yes. Everywhere.’ I close my eyes.
‘What happened?’ Susie half whispers.
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’m going to go find out what the hell is going on.’ Frank stands up banging his fists on the table, before wiping away a smear of bean sauce that has gathered at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘You two stay here.’
Susie turns away in disgust as Frank barges past me and out of the room.
‘Was there some kind of accident?’ Susie beckons for me to come and sit down.
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’ I slump down into the chair, realising that one of my migraines is threatening to come on.
Susie stretches across the table and reaches for a bottle of vodka that is close to Frank’s empty bowl, before unscrewing the cap and taking a large gulp.
‘Susie! What are you doing?’ I exclaim with shock.
‘Much better,’ she sighs, replacing the cap. ‘I needed that.’
We both burst into laughter. It is the kind of laughter that strikes when you are in church and someone farts. It is uncontrollable and hysterical.
Moments later Sam appears in the doorway looking horrified but we cannot help ourselves or stop.
‘What is wrong with you?’ he hisses.
And suddenly I am not laughing anymore.
‘Seriously, have you both gone fucking mad? Crazy bitches.’ Sam’s good-looking face is now distorted in a grimace.
‘Sorry.’ Susie has also managed to stop and her cheeks are flushed red.
‘Someone cut that man up. Someone stabbed him until he could no longer move. And that someone is on board. You think that’s funny, do you?’ The words tumble out of him and fill the silence.
‘I don’t believe it.’ Susie reaches for the vodka again but I grab her hand and stop her, shaking my head.
‘You’d better believe it, you stupid woman. There is a killer among us. For all I know it could be you.’ Sam’s pupils have dilated with fear and he stands there looking twitchy, as if he is waiting for the killer to pounce on him.
It is my turn to reach for the vodka and I drink a huge mouthful before offering the bottle back to Susie apologetically.
Sam approaches and comes to sits at the table with us, waiting for Susie to finish her turn before helping himself.
‘Might as well get drunk, right.’ Sam clings to the bottle, hoping the contents will erase what is happening to us. ‘He was the only one who could have got us out of this situation. Now he’s dead. We’re all fucked.’
Susie’s eyes fill with tears and she begins to chew on the sleeve of her cardigan.
‘I don’t know which is worse,’ Sam continues, ‘dying at the hands of a fucking psycho or running out of air.’
‘Stop it!’ Susie shouts suddenly. ‘Stop it right now. We are going to get out of here.’
‘If you believe that, then you really are thick,’ Sam sneers as Frank comes stomping into the room.
‘Stupid little shit,’ he mutters to himself, paying no attention to the fraught mood in the room. ‘He only had one job to do.’ Frank snatches the bottle of vodka away from Sam, who recoils like a chastised puppy.
‘What are you talking about?’ Susie asks cautiously.
‘That fucking waste of space Luke. I asked him to get his camera and film in the room where Patrick is lying but he refused. He refused me! He’ll never work in this business again.’
‘You what?’ Sam stands up to face Frank.
‘I wanted some shots of the body.’ Frank shrugs.
‘You really are sick.’ Susie looks up at Frank in horror.
‘We could have used it for the film. It’s not very often you get a chance to shoot something like that, something so raw. It could have looked beautiful on the big screen.’ Frank slurps from the bottle.
‘I don’t want to be in the same room as you.’ I get up, putting distance between my body and his, almost tripping over. ‘You are a monster.’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic, doll,’ Frank smirks while rolling his eyes. ‘It’s only a bit of blood.’
‘No, Frank, no.’ Susie also stands and shakes her head. ‘It’s more than that. This isn’t a prop. This is a person we are talking about. A man who we have all spent time with is now dead. Murdered. You’re so cold. Did you do this? Was it you?’
‘I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation.’ Frank sits down and for the first time since we met I see a chink in his armour.
‘We are all scared,’ I say to the silent room just as Dominique comes bursting in, mascara smudged down her cheeks and her eyes wet with tears.
‘I’m getting out of here,’ she pants. ‘I can’t stay here a second longer. This place is going to kill us all. I don’t want to die. One of you is a killer. I am not going to be a victim. I am going to survive!’
Sam tries to approach her but she won’t let him anywhere near. Her eyes are wild and scared. She looks at each of us with fear and suspicion. ‘One of you did this to them but you won’t do it to me. I won’t let you.’ Her voice shakes as she looks around desperately for an escape route.
‘There is no getting out of here, you silly girl.’ Frank sounds tired.
‘Yes there is. I am going to get out and none of you can stop me!’ she wails as she runs back into the long corridor, her words echoing around the vessel.
‘She’s lost it.’ Frank rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. ‘She has gone fucking stark raving mad.’
‘I’m going after her.’ Sam springs into action.
‘Typical actress,’ Frank continues. ‘Fucking mad. Be careful, kid, you might be next.’
‘There is nothing typical about this,’ Susie says following Sam, leaving Frank and me alone.
Not having the energy to give chase, I join Frank at the table. He has another sip of the vodka then hands me the bottle.
I nod in appreciation before helping myself to some more. The vodka is cold and slips down my throat easily.
‘Fancy a fuck before you die?’ Frank asks as if he might be offering me a biscuit. The idea of it makes me feel quite ill.
‘I think I’ll pass.’ My lip curls in revulsion.
‘Your loss, doll.’
‘So be it, I’d rather take my chances with a killer.’ I get up and leave him alone, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else but in his company.
As I make my way through the sub I realise I am alone and fear hits me hard. I shouldn’t be on my own. It’s not safe.
Half running, my footsteps reverberate around the metal shell. This only compounds my migraine, which has not been eased by the vodka that sloshes around in my stomach, like the waves in the sea that keeps us all prisoners.
Then a loud clanking sound makes me come to a halt. The noise sounds like metal hammering on metal with some force. The noise makes me hold my breath for a moment. Is the submarine falling apart? Has something crashed into us? Are we sinking further still?
But then I realise that it is coming from inside and I follow the sound as it grows louder, thudding in time with my headache. Seconds later I hear shouting.
‘Stop it, Dom!’ I recognise Sam’s voice. ‘You’re going to kill us all!’
&
nbsp; Moments later I have arrived at the scene of the commotion and discover Dominique smashing a spanner against the door to the outside.
‘She’s lost her mind.’ Susie turns to me.
‘Please, Dominique, this isn’t going to help. You can’t open it. You’ll drown us all,’ Sam pleads while she continues bashing the door with a strength that surprises us all.
‘You have to stop her,’ Susie begs Sam to do something but we all know that if he gets too close to her he risks being injured.
‘Dominique’—I try to steady my voice—‘you have to stop. Put the spanner down. You’re frightened and we all understand but this isn’t the answer. Please, put it down and let’s all talk about it. We can work it out together.’
And just like that she stops banging.
‘You really think we can get out?’ Her eyes are wild and terrified. ‘Do you? How can I trust a word any of you say?’
I can’t answer because I don’t want to lie, but I also want her to stop.
‘You are scaring us. We have to stick together now.’
From nowhere, Sam launches himself at her, tackling her to the ground and knocking the spanner out of her hand. It all happens in slow motion. Her head smashes onto the bend of one of the pipes. The sound reminds me of an egg cracking. Her body falls limp to the ground and begins to twitch as blood seeps out of her skull.
‘Oh Jesus, oh fuck.’ Sam pushes himself away from her convulsing body.
‘What have you done?’ Susie rushes over to Dominique and sits helplessly on the ground next to the twitching woman.
‘I just wanted her to stop.’ Sam’s voice is shaking and his face looks paler than before. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt her.’
Susie removes her cardigan and places it underneath Dominique’s head in an attempt to make her more comfortable, but Dominique does not respond and continues to jerk.
It only takes a moment for Susie’s cardigan to turn from salmon pink to deep crimson.
‘She’s losing a lot of blood,’ she says. Sam watches from a few feet away, unable to move or help at all.
‘This can’t be happening.’ I hear myself say as the world around me starts to spin again and my legs give way. ‘I can’t breathe.’ I scrabble about on the floor, sucking in air and trying to stop the inevitable from happening.
Sam crawls over to me and puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a foetal position on the floor, with my head resting in his lap.
‘Come on,’ he says, ‘just take deep breaths.’ But his breathing is also laboured.
Lying on the floor I watch as Dominique’s body stops twitching until finally it is completely still. All that I can hear is my own brain thudding against the walls of my skull. The pain is excruciating and I think my mind might be about to explode out of my head.
Turning my head, I look up at Sam who is staring at Dominique while tears roll down his cheeks, landing on my forehead like a hammer to my brain.
I watch Susie as she rests her head on Dominique’s chest, listening for signs of life. Her eyes close slowly as she returns to a sitting position, shaking her head and letting her chin fall to her chest.
Sam’s mouth opens and he lets out a scream but I do not hear it. I am deaf to everything except the sound of my mind fracturing, knowing that now three people have died and we have been stranded down here for less than forty-eight hours.
16
Sam
Getting into acting was easy for me. I am good-looking so I had a head start. That’s half the battle, what you look like.
I hadn’t wanted to be an actor at first. I’d wanted to go into law. From a young age I wanted to be involved with the justice system and when I was ten my mum took me to the Old Bailey. I was so impressed by the grandeur; I’ll never forget it.
Watching the lawyer in his wig address the judge and the jury, I remember thinking how in control he was. They all hung on his every word and I thought, at that moment, I want to grow up and be like him. Sure, I thought the outfit was a bit silly but I loved the drama of the courtroom.
My mother was an actress and my father was a musician. As a young child I led quite a bohemian life. Mum had starred in some big productions in the West End and got a part in a Broadway show. She had to leave Dad to look after us when she went over to New York for four months. I really missed her but I was also proud. Both my parents taught me to follow my dreams. I grew up thinking that anything was possible if you just put your mind to it.
Life was good until Mum returned from America. I remember it so well.
I was sixteen years old and had just finished my last exam. Dad, my younger brother, Josh, and I all drove from our house in Fulham to Heathrow Airport to collect her. Dad was holding a huge bunch of her favourite flowers, irises, and we all waited with anticipation for her to come through arrivals. We’d spoken on the phone a lot while she was away but it was different in those days – we didn’t have FaceTime, not like you do now.
Finally, when she appeared, she was unrecognisable. She’d been thin before she went, but on her return she was as skinny as a rake and had large dark bags under her eyes. She’d also cut all of her long brown hair off and now wore it very short. When she saw us her eyes filled with tears and she smiled but we could all see that she was sad. I didn’t understand what was wrong.
We all hugged and made our way back to the car. Josh wouldn’t shut up and kept asking questions about her time in the US. He wanted to know all about New York. Mum was patient and answered all of his stupid questions but her voice was full of sadness. I remember Dad and I shared a look. We both knew something wasn’t right even if Josh hadn’t noticed.
On the drive home there was a strange atmosphere in the car. Josh continued to ask dumb questions but in between, when it was silent, things felt strange. I’d been so looking forward to having her back, the disappointment was a bitter pill to swallow.
Once home she excused herself and said she needed a long bath, to wash away the plane smell that she said was on her clothes. Josh went up to his bedroom to play on his computer and I followed Dad into the kitchen.
‘What is wrong with Mum?’ I asked, hoping he would have an explanation.
‘She’s probably just tired. It’s quite a long flight, you know,’ Dad said while busying himself with some washing-up that was piled in the sink.
‘It’s more than that.’ I sat down at the kitchen table and flicked a crumb onto the floor. ‘She isn’t herself.’
‘I’m sure she’ll feel better after her bath,’ said Dad, doing his best to convince himself.
When Mum appeared a while later wearing her old dressing gown, I noticed how it hung off her frame. She looked so small in it and Dad commented that she was looking a bit thin. Mum just shrugged it off.
It went on like that for weeks. She was miserable. I’d often hear her crying in the bathroom and at night she would wander around the house, unable to sleep. For a while Dad buried his head in the sand. I guess he was also probably disappointed not to have the old Mum back. But one night that all changed.
Dad had been to the pub with his friends to watch a football game. He returned home a bit pissed at about eleven. Josh and I were upstairs in our rooms and Mum was downstairs staring blankly at the television. I heard the front door go and went to ask Dad what the result was but before I could, I saw him enter the sitting room and close the door. I sat on the stairs listening to their conversation.
‘For fuck’s sake, Tammy, what is it? What is wrong with you? I just wanted to give my wife a kiss.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mum moaned.
‘You can’t stand to be in the same room as me and you flinch every time I touch you. What is it? Did you meet someone else while you were in America?’
‘No, Christ, Jack, no!’
‘Well what is it then? You’ve not been yourself since you came back. I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Sam has picked up on it, too. We are worried about you.’
‘I can’t.’ I hea
rd Mum crying.
‘You can, love. Just tell me what is wrong. I want to help you, but I can’t if you keep shutting me out.’
There was silence and I craned to hear better, not wanting to miss a thing.
‘Come on, Tam, this is me. You can tell me anything.’ Dad didn’t sound so angry anymore. There was another long silence and I found myself holding my breath.
‘I was raped.’ In that moment those three words had altered the course of my life.
Dad remained quiet.
‘A man came into my dressing room, after the show one night, and raped me.’
‘Someone raped you…’ Dad sounded bewildered. ‘Who was it? Why didn’t you call me? Did you know him?’
‘No. Not really.’
‘I’m calling the police.’ I wanted Dad to stop and just tell her that she was safe now.
‘No, don’t! It was my fault. I invited him to my dressing room. He got his wires crossed. I feel stupid enough, please don’t call the police. Frank Holden, the producer, approached me after a show one night and told me he wanted to talk to me about a part in a film he was making. I was flattered, excited, I suppose, and it didn’t occur to me that I was doing anything wrong, so I told him to come by my dressing room to discuss it. It was my fault.’
‘Frank Holden. That bastard! We have to call the police.’
‘No, I told you, it’s my fault.’
‘It wasn’t your fault, love.’ I heard the tears in Dad’s voice and I knew I’d heard enough. Standing up, I rushed back to my bedroom where I lay face down on my bed and cried until I could not cry any more.
The next day was difficult. I had to act as if I didn’t know anything. Mum wouldn’t have wanted me to hear and I didn’t want to tell her that I knew her secret, so I kept it to myself. Part of me wondered if I should let Josh know what had happened to her but I realised no good would come from telling him. He would have to carry the burden too and I didn’t want that.
Pressure: a dark and disturbing psychological thriller Page 7