B&B

by Amy Cross

  “You could get the money back and give it to them,” he suggests. “They might decide to help you.”

  I shake my head, and now there are tears in my eyes.

  “They might,” he continues.

  “Of course they wouldn't! I'm a bad person and they hate me!”

  “But taking the money back would be the right thing to do,” he points out. “You're not a bad person, not if you accept responsibility for what you did and face the consequences.”

  I shake my head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I'm too scared!” I hiss, wiping tears from my cheeks. “Anyway, I don't even have the money, not anymore. It's back at the B&B.”

  “I can see how that's a problem.”

  “I'm a criminal,” I continue, leaning forward as I feel a wave of shock run through my chest. “For the rest of my life, I have to live with the knowledge that when the easy option was presented to me, I took it. I lied and I cheated. Apparently that's the kind of person I am.”

  “You can change the kind of person you are.”

  I shake my head.

  In the distance, the bells of a church ring out across the city. They seem faraway and close at the same time, as if the freezing night air is thinning the sound.

  “I have to get out on patrol,” the man says with a sigh, standing and heading toward the door. “I can't leave the other members of the night-watch short-handed for too long. There are a lot of streets in this fair city, and we need to cover as many of them as possible. You're welcome to come with me, but I'd much rather you go find yourself somewhere safe to stay for the rest of the night and then head home in the morning. Failing that, you can at least stay here tonight. It's not safe to be out on the streets.”

  “I'm fine,” I tell him, getting to my feet and limping over to join him as he pulls the door open. “Thank you for the dry clothes, though. I'll return them.”

  “No need.”

  “I will, though,” I continue, stepping back out into the cold, snowy night air. “As soon as I can, I'll get them washed and I'll bring them back.”

  “I'd rather you go home.”

  I shake my head.

  “You can't assume that those people hate you,” he tells me. “Give them a chance. The alternative is trying to run forever, and that'll never work.”

  “I can't go home,” I reply. “Not without their money.”

  “Are you sure you don't want to stay here in the warm, at least for a few more hours?”

  “I need to keep going,” I tell him, turning and looking across the snow-covered square. “I'll figure something out. I always do.”

  “And look where that got you.”

  I take a couple of steps back. “Good luck with your patrol,” I tell him. “Maybe you'll be lucky and the Snowman won't strike tonight.”

  “He always strikes when there's snow falling,” he replies, still holding the restaurant's door open. “People huddle safe in their houses, but there's always someone who makes a mistake and braves the elements. That's why I don't want you being out here alone like this. Won't you please consider accepting my offer? Stay in the restaurant, just until morning. That way, I'll know you're safe.”

  “I can look after myself,” I reply. “I'm probably not even the Snowman's type, anyway. Don't worry, if I hear anyone nearby, I'll run.”

  “No, I insist,” he continues, placing a hand on my arm. He leans closer, and finally I can just about make out his fearful eyes. “A girl out alone in this weather? I lost my own daughter Elizabeth to this monster, many years ago. You'll never -”

  And then he's gone. I stare at the spot where he was standing, but there's no sign of him. A moment later, I realize I can still feel his hand on my arm, but the sensation quickly fades.

  “Hello?” I call out, turning and looking around.

  No reply.

  I look back toward the shuttered restaurant. There are no lights inside at all now, and it's hard to believe I was ever in there. Still, I'm wearing the dry uniform, so I know I didn't imagine the whole thing.

  “Hello?” I shout again, before realizing that I'm all alone.

  Turning, I head along the street, pushing through the snow. I glance over my shoulder several times, just in case the man reappears, but there's still no sign of him. Finally reaching the street corner, I turn and look around, but there's no sign of the old man, or of anyone else. In fact, right now I feel as if I'm the only person in the entire city. I don't even see the men with lanterns.

  I pick a street at random, making my way along a curved pavement that runs close to the cathedral gate. I've been like this before, I've been desperate, and I've always come up with a plan. There's just something about my brain that means I can't think properly until my back's against the wall. If I'm comfortable and safe, I just let myself float along. But if I'm in trouble, or in danger, some extra gear clicks into action and I start figuring out what to do. And now, as I make my way along another street, I can feel the fear creeping through my chest. If I keep on like this, wandering alone, I'll end up as some homeless wretch dying on the street. I have to come up with a plan.

  And then I stop, seeing a familiar shape on the ground just a few meters away. Stepping closer, I reach down and carefully take hold of the book, lifting it from the pure white snow. Even before I've turned it around to look at the front cover, I know the title.

  “The Wind in the Willows,” I read out loud, shuddering as I realize that Matilda must have dropped her book earlier when she ran from the B&B.

  I guess that's the part of the night's events I've reached now. She must be out here somewhere.

  Snow is falling all around me as I shove the book into my jacket pocket. The entrance to the cathedral precinct is unlocked, so I slip through, forcing my way through the snow. As soon as I'm on the other side, I see a payphone over by the wall, with the handset hanging down at the side. I wade over, and now I can hear a faint voice on the other end of the line, saying Matilda's name over and over.

  It's Lloyd.

  Lifting the receiver, I listen to him calling Matilda's name a few more times. He sounds worried.

  “It's me,” I say finally.

  He pauses. “Bobbie?”

  “Yeah,” I continue with a faint smile, realizing that as far as he's concerned, I probably just left the building a short while ago. “Have you... Have you called the police yet?”

  “I thought I should keep the line open,” he stammers. “Is there any sign of her?”

  I turn and look across the precinct, toward the huge, magnificent cathedral that towers above me just a couple of hundred feet away.

  “Not so far,” I reply, before looking down and seeing footprints all around me in the snow. For a moment, I try to figure out which way they lead, but I quickly realize that they criss-cross each other with such frequency that it's impossible to pick out a path. “She was definitely here, though. I found her book on the ground.”

  “You really shouldn't be out there,” he continues, sounding increasingly worried. “Please, won't you come back at once?”

  He sounds as if he actually cares.

  “She'll be fine,” I tell him.

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Trust me,” I continue. “I just do. She'll be back at the B&B real soon.”

  “Well, I suppose. That's a relief, at least.”

  “I didn't know you owned the place,” I continue. “You never mentioned that.”

  I wait, but he doesn't reply.

  “Lloyd?”

  Silence. The line is still open, but it's as if he's suddenly fallen silent.

  “I know about your parents,” I tell him, feeling a growing sense of fear in my chest. “I know that the little boy in room one is you, but you're not dead, are you? But the boy is definitely you, and I saw the way he gripped those bloodied sheets, and I heard his voice and I -”

  Suddenly the call ends.

  “Lloyd?”

  I guess mayb
e I was boring him. That, or he just thinks I'm insane.

  Or he knows I'm onto him.

  “You're the Snowman,” I whisper, feeling a shudder pass up my spine. I don't have it all figured out yet, but I'm sure I'm right. “You're the Snowman,” I say again. “You killed those people.”

  After putting the phone back on the hook, I start wading through the snow, following the line of prints that leads around the cathedral's southern side. My progress is painfully slow and my legs are already aching, while my thin jacket is providing little protection from the snow and has instead begun to feel unpleasantly damp. I never knew I was quite so out of shape, but by the time I make it to the edge of the cathedral, I'm actually short of breath, and I have to stop for a moment to regather my composure. Looking around, I see that the snow has been disturbed in several directions, which means -

  “He's not out here, dummy,” Matilda says suddenly.

  Startled, I turn and find her standing right behind me, staring at me with dark, pain-filled eyes.

  “I found your book,” I tell her, taking the copy of The Wind in the Willows from my pocket. “I guess you...”

  My voice trails off as I see that there's a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth.

  “Are you okay?” I ask cautiously. “Matilda?”

  “He's not out here,” she continues. “They're looking in the wrong place. They always have been. He never kills in the street. Why would he? He's not a fool. The last thing he wants is to get caught out here, bent over his latest victim. He kills them at home. He just brings them outside to dump their bodies.”

  “What are you talking about?” I stammer, taking a step back.

  “It's pretty easy, really,” she says, starting to smile. “The only hard part is luring them inside, but even that can be done when you have a reason for perfect strangers to enter your house. He doesn't have to trick them or anything like that. He just has to wait, and he knows that when the weather is bad, even the most neglected, most ignored guesthouse is going to get a customer or two. Some poor little stranded waif will knock on the door and ask if he has rooms, and they'll be so glad when he nods, they'll practically fall over themselves to get inside.”

  “Who will?” I ask, even though I'm starting to think I can guess. “Matilda...”

  “He kills us in our rooms,” she continues, holding her arms up to reveal the bloody slits on her wrists. “On the nice fresh, crisp white sheets. Just like his parents. Sure, he leaves the bodies out in the snow once he's done with them. He left me near the train station. That was a long time ago, though. It's hard to keep track for sure, but I think it's many years since the night I showed up. I was just like you, though. Lost and alone, in need of a bed for the night. Can you imagine how he must have felt when I showed up? He must have been licking his lips in anticipation.”

  I watch with a growing sense of horror as blood dribbles from her torn wrists and spatters against the snow.

  “You'll be like the rest of us soon,” she says, stepping toward me. “Once he's added you to his collection.”

  “I'm not going back,” I stammer, realizing that she means Lloyd. “No way. I'm never going there again.”

  “Oh, silly,” she replies, grinning broadly. “You're already there, remember?”

  “But -”

  “And you just spoke to him on the phone. He's gonna know that you know. Now you just have to wait and see when he decides to make you scream. It's too late to stop him. You're already bound to the place.”

  “I'm not going back,” I stammer.

  She laughs. “You've already been back.”

  “Of course I haven't!”

  “Yes you have. You can't fight it.” She steps closer still, until I can see her pale, bloodless face in the moonlight. “You can't undo something that's already happened to you.”

  I shake my head, before turning and running, racing through the snow. I slip several times, crashing down, but I keep getting back up and rushing through the streets. I don't even know where I'm going, all I know is that I have to get as far from this city as possible. And then, with no warning, I run out from a side-street and slip, crashing to a halt in the snow and finding myself staring up at the impossible sight of the Castle Crown B&B towering above me.

  Realizing that I accidentally ran all the way back here, I scramble to my feet and race along the street, heading toward the train station. As soon as I run around the next corner, however, I stop suddenly as I see that once again I'm right in front of the B&B.

  “That's not possible,” I stammer, taking a step back. “No way!”

  I turn and run again, this time heading in the other direction, determined to get away. Somehow the snow feels thicker and harder to get through, but I keep pushing as I make my way along a pitch-black street. Glancing over my shoulder, I make double-sure that I can see the B&B far behind me, and then I turn and keep going, struggling toward the end of the street, determined to find my way out of this city. I almost fall several times, but pure fear keeps me going until I finally spill out at the crossroads and look around, trying to figure out which way to go next.

  I freeze as soon as I see that I'm once again in front of the B&B.

  “What's wrong with you?” I gasp, convinced that this time I can't have made a mistake. “You won't let me go, is that it? Well -”

  I catch myself just in time, just before I tell an inanimate building to go to hell. Still, I mutter a few curses under my breath as I turn and take a different side-street, past several shuttered shops. I cross the road, and after a moment I look back. Sure enough, I can see the rear of the B&B in the distance.

  “It's behind me,” I whisper, trying to fix whatever's wrong in my head. “It's definitely behind me.”

  With that, I turn and push through the snow, heading toward the next corner. I should come out somewhere near the supermarket car park, but my knees are aching and my ankle is sending ripples of pain up my leg. I keep pushing, fighting through each and every stumble, until I collapse against a bollard. For a few seconds, I feel a fresh, simmering pain in my chest, and I can barely even get breath into my lungs. Finally, however, I realize I can feel a familiar sense of dread creeping over my shoulders. Even before I lift my head, I know what I'm going to see.

  “How is that possible?” I whisper.

  The B&B is right in front of me, towering high into the night sky. Snow is falling all around, rustling gently as it lands.

  “I can't run?” I continue, forcing myself up from the bollard and taking a step back. “Is that it? You're trying to show me I can't run?”

  I wait, and for a moment I swear I'm almost expecting an answer. Maybe I'm getting delirious, or maybe the events of this endless night have begun to wear me down, but either way the building remains firmly and resolutely in front of me.

  “I'm not going back inside,” I stammer, with tears in my eyes. “You can't make me.”

  Turning, I start limping through the snow. Maybe running was a mistake, maybe running allowed me to become confused by the snaking, winding streets of this old city. But walking away, calmly and slowly, is a different matter entirely. I look over my shoulder and see the B&B getting further and further away with each step, and then I look ahead and keep walking. A harsh wind has begun to pick up now, blowing snow against me as if the elements are trying to force me back, but I won't let anything stop me. I let out a few pained grunts as I stumble onward, and I have to stop and lean against a couple of bollards, but finally I get to the next corner.

  So far, so good.

  I look back again, and the B&B is barely visible in the haze of snow.

  Satisfied that maybe I'm finally getting away, I turn and limp along the next street. I'm freezing, and even the uniform I was given by the old man is starting to fail me as I feel the cold wind blowing through the fibers. My ankle is throbbing now, as if the myriad slips and bumps are finally making their combined presence felt, and I want nothing more than to just stop and rest
for a moment. But I know that if I let my guard down, if I even close my eyes or let my mind drift, I'll find myself right back in front of the B&B.

  When I get to the next corner, I find myself outside a pub. There are no lights on, of course, but I stop for a moment and lean against the wall. I don't dare close my eyes, I don't dare think about anything else. I simply focus on the fact that the B&B is now several blocks away, and then I start walking again. I know I'm close to city wall, and I can see the lights of Canterbury East train station in the distance. If I can just make it to the platform, I can sit on one of the benches and wait for the first train to arrive in the morning. I'll sneak on-board without a ticket, and I'll go to London, and I'll disappear into the crowds and somehow I'll find a way to survive.

  Somehow I'll -

  Suddenly my ankle buckles. I let out a gasp as I fall, but at the last moment I manage to grab a bollard and hold myself up. The pain is intense, and I squeeze my eyes tight shut as I wait for the worst to subside.

  And before I even open them again, I know what I'll find.

  Looking up, I see the B&B once again towering above me.

  Letting out a gasp of anger, I turn and run. My ankle is agony, but I don't stop, not even when I reach the end of the next street and find myself in front of the B&B yet again. Turning and running again, I slip through street after street, and sure enough I keep coming back to the B&B. Refusing to accept this as my fate, I push on through the night, trying every possible twist and turn through the city streets but always, always ending up at the same spot. I won't give in, though, so I keep going despite the growing pain in my chest. I slip several times, but I force myself onward and onward, running past the B&B over and over again until finally I try hurrying down the alley at the rear.

  Suddenly I slam into a figure in the dark. We both fall to the ground, and I'm about to apologize when I see the figure's face.