Deathwatch

by Nicola Morgan

“No! Don’t go! Don’t go! I only wanted to…”

  CHAPTER 39

  RUNNING FOR LIFE

  THE water was thick. And shallow. Her feet sank straight into the mud on the canal bottom, until she was up to her knees in it, unable to move forward. Her shoulders were just above the water. She needed to get her feet out of the mud and swim properly. Desperately, she ripped her coat off and left it floating behind her. Then tugged one foot out of the silt, threw herself horizontally onto the water and struggled frantically to pull the other leg out. Afraid of the foul pollution, she kept her mouth tightly closed. Each time she opened her mouth to gasp air, the brown liquid trickled inside her lips. She spat.

  Only the strength in her swimmer’s arms allowed her to pull her legs free. Anyone else might have wanted to keep their feet on the bottom, but she would never have been able to move. Only swimming would save her.

  All too aware of the sound of the engine starting up, the vibrating of the water, the woman shouting for her to come back, she threw every ounce of strength into fighting her way to the bank.

  The woman was shouting something. But Cat could not think about that. Her own terror came first, her own need to be safe, to get home.

  Her jeans were heavy and weighed her down, though she had lost her shoes in the mud. Ignoring the cold, the stink, the sounds behind her, she took a huge breath and flung her arms into a laboured crawl. She would not breathe or open her eyes – it was only about thirty metres at the most. Never had she had to work so hard to power through the water, but within less than a minute she was wading through silt and reeds, clambering up the side onto the bank. Dripping, shivering, spitting, she let out a sob as she gasped for breath. With the back of her hand she wiped the mud from her face and gagged. Gritty water caught on her teeth and she spat repeatedly until she could spit no more.

  The towpath was narrow here, backed by a high wall. No escape. She looked behind her. The barge was nearly at this bank. She could just make out the figure of the woman at the helm. Hear her voice but not her words. She didn’t want to hear her words.

  She ran, pummelling the air, cold wind in her throat, rain running down her face, pain in her lungs. Straining to hear any sounds behind her. No sound of the boat, not any more. It must be at the bank. The woman would be leaping off. She would be only seconds behind.

  Cat was fast and fit, but she was wet and horribly cold. The path was pitted and slippery with puddles of rainwater. But she ran, because it was all she could do, pounding the ground, ignoring any pain, trying to use every muscle as she’d been taught, squeezing each iota of power, arms grasping the air, head down, body forward, streamlined, forcing the ground away with each footstep.

  The darkness was mustard-tinged and watery. No lights on the towpath, just straggling reflections from distant houses on the far side, their long back gardens sloping towards the canal. If anyone happened to be looking out at the right moment, they might see her running. But then what would they do? They’d think she was a jogger. Or if they were worried, she’d be gone before they could phone the police. But maybe, just maybe someone would. She should scream – but she couldn’t, needed all her breath for running.

  She didn’t look behind her.

  No one was ahead of her, no friendly late-night dog-walker – the weather was keeping everyone indoors.

  And then, faintly at first, Cat heard it. She couldn’t tell at first whether it came from behind her or in front. But there was no mistaking what it was.

  A motorbike.

  CHAPTER 40

  MOTORBIKE

  NOW Cat screamed as she ran. Gasping, her eyes wide, summoning every bit of strength. If she could reach the next bridge in time, she could hide. But only if she got there before the woman saw her.

  She was beginning to tire. Her legs were growing heavy. It seemed like hours since she’d eaten anything. It was frightening how fast she was running out of fuel. Body diesel, as her coach called it.

  The bridge was visible now. A few more seconds. The motorbike still distant enough, but definitely behind her. Approaching fast.

  The noises of the city had disappeared into the sounds of the storm: the rain, the wind rattling the branches, roaring in her ears. It was impossible to imagine people sitting in front of televisions, or going about their bedtime routines, drinking hot milk, having petty arguments.

  Still Cat ran, though more slowly now. She’d once imagined she could run for ever if she wanted to. Now she knew better. Only in her dreams could she run for ever.

  The bridge. She darted underneath and immediately swerved to the right, into the sheltered corner on the other side. Gasping and heaving, she squeezed herself tight against the wall. The biting wind whipped through her hair, through her thin wet jumper, through her skin.

  And she waited. The motorbike was coming quickly nearer.

  There was no need for her to quieten her breathing. The woman would never hear her over the sound of everything else. She would go past. Then Cat would have to run up into the open park beside the canal. Would the woman guess what had happened, when she did not quickly find Cat on the towpath? After all, the woman would know the canal better than anyone. Cat knew there’d be very little time before the woman realized what had happened and came after her.

  She held her breath as the roar of the motorbike swelled. She could scream now and no one would hear at all, so loud was the noise. And then, in a black flash, it was past. Cat could make out the figure of the woman hunched over the handlebars. Her hair flew out behind her: she was wearing no helmet.

  And she was gone. As Cat waited for a few more moments, anger grew in her, more than fear. “Some Olympic medallist I’ve never heard of,” the woman had said of her grandfather. And how contemptuous she’d been of Cat’s ambitions. What did she know, loser that she was, sad weirdo woman in a boat? Anger gave her strength.

  A few seconds later, Cat slipped up the slope away from the canal path, her feet hurting. There was the open park, mostly playing fields, unlit, empty. And if she could cross it, she’d be at the road and could find her way home through the streets. She would be safe – or safer than by the canal.

  She didn’t know how long she’d have before the woman came back. But she slid into the darkness of the park, her heart thumping. The quickest way would be to go straight across the middle, but the edges looked safer.

  She set off along one side, straining her ears to hear any sounds above the storm.

  And now the sound of the motorbike came again in the distance.

  She ran over the slippery ground. Along the edge of the trees. Gasping, breathing through rain. Fuelled by fear. Nothing mattered now. Not the cold, the rain, the pain in her feet, nothing except getting away from this maniac. She ran faster, new strength coming from somewhere.

  A light swept the darkness behind her. The headlight of the motorbike. Surely someone would see now, or hear? There were buildings on the far side of the park, maybe three hundred metres away – flats where surely someone would be looking out. Or someone would be walking home from a takeaway or a late shift or something. Anyone.

  But why would anyone be there, in pitch-dark, in the middle of playing fields and waste ground, on such a night? And even if someone looked, they would not see her against the trees and bushes. But the woman would see her. Because she knew what she was looking for, and had the lights of her motorbike.

  The light came nearer, playing backwards and forward across the open space, searching for her.

  Now the ground all around was flooded with sudden brightness as the bike came straight towards her. She had been seen. Cat stopped running, twisted round, trying to see which way the bike would hit her, which way she should jump.

  The light was blinding, everywhere, enormous. She was paralysed.

  With a shocking, violent roar, the bike sliced past. It went a few metres beyond her and then stopped, swung round with a spray of mud and a screech of brakes. Someone jumped from it, shouting at her through the ra
in and wind, words she couldn’t hear over the noise of the engine, the ringing in her ears, the wind. She turned and ran. She knew she couldn’t escape but all she could do was run. Sliding in the mud and the wetness, she sped away again. Running for her life.

  CHAPTER 41

  DAVID

  “CAT! Stop!”

  She stopped and turned. It was Danny, running towards her through the mud, the motorbike coming along behind him, ridden by someone who was obviously not the woman.

  “Where is she?” he shouted.

  “Phone for help, Danny! There’s a woman chasing me on a motorbike! She…”

  “I know! Your dad called the police. David and I didn’t wait.”

  Over his shoulder, she could dimly see the figure on the motorbike, dressed in black, helmeted. David.

  “Get on the bike, Cat. David will take you home. Hurry!”––

  “What about you?”

  The sound of another motorbike. From the canal. Cat peered through the night – there was the light far away, growing. In another distance she could hear a siren – police or ambulance, she never had learned to tell.

  Danny shouted, “She’s not interested in me. The police’ll be here soon. Just hurry!”

  But it was too late. The motorbike was roaring towards them and Cat had no time to jump onto the bike behind David.

  Suddenly David shouted above the screaming of the engines, “Both of you, stand clear! Get away!” He gunned his engine into fury and the bike surged forward, back wheel spinning in the mud.

  Danny grabbed Cat and pulled her into the trees.

  “Is my mum OK? God, I’ve been so scared!” And her teeth, her whole jaw, started to shake so that she could barely speak.

  “She’ll be OK. She was tied up but she’s fine. Shit, what’s he doing?”

  David was heading straight towards the other motorbike. The two lights converged, twisting this way and that like lasers as each rider tried to work out the direction of the other. One thing was clear: David was trying to drive the woman away from Danny and Cat. The two bikes came dangerously close, sliding in the mud, roaring their engines. The woman’s hair was loose behind her. She looked small on the huge bike, overpowered by the black night sky.

  Her bike swerved and came hurtling towards Danny and Cat. They shrank further into the trees and Cat found herself gripping Danny’s arm as they tried to make themselves as small as possible behind a tree trunk.

  At the last moment, just before it would have crashed into the trees, the bike curled away, and they watched the woman speed towards one of the entrances to the canal path. There she slithered to a halt. David had stopped his bike some distance away. He turned off his headlight and suddenly they couldn’t see him.

  The woman turned her light off.

  Cat could hear her own breathing now, feel her heart racing.

  The silence was short-lived. Sirens now, very close, and the park was flooded with searchlights from a police car and two – no, three – motorbikes heading towards them.

  Cat felt her legs go numb and she began to fall. Danny held her upright and she quickly pulled herself together, though her feet did not seem to want to move. She must not collapse now. In the confusion of noise and lights she could not see what was happening but her brain was shutting down – she did not need to know. She was safe. She didn’t feel safe, but she must tell herself that she was. With the danger over, she felt, if anything, more horrified. At what had so nearly happened. Still fear chilled her, still the smell of the canal choked her, still the cries of the woman as she jumped from the barge haunted her. But she must be safe now. Holding onto that thought, she fought her fear away. It was as if she was curling into herself, making a shield so that terror could not get her.

  She heard someone talking to her. A policeman was there, holding out a silvery blanket. She let herself be wrapped up and led to a car that had appeared over the grass. She couldn’t count the lights and people.

  She was aware of David talking to a police motorcyclist, pointing. And then two motorbikes roared towards the canal. Another went in a different direction.

  Cat refused to care. She refused, pushing the thoughts away, barring the doors of her mind against the cries of the woman as Cat had jumped from the boat.

  Now the cold hit her, seeping into her bones. No strength was left in her. She was sitting inside the police car – how had she got there? She didn’t remember sitting down.

  The car pulled off and someone fastened her seat belt.

  A voice was saying reassuring things. Someone was talking about how they’d seen her running, and how fast she was. No one was asking her any questions. They didn’t seem to need to know anything. She didn’t know anything anyway.

  Someone told her she’d been very brave. How did they know? She hadn’t done anything. She’d just run, and swam. And fenced! A smile twitched her lips Hysteria welled up in her and she began to laugh. If Boyd could have seen her! Or her coach!

  Danny was next to her in the car. Probably thought she was mad. Mad! He could talk! Insects, schizophrenic brother, crazy uncle…

  But Danny and his schizo brother had saved her. And her hysteria shrank away into a tight dark knot of fear again.

  And what if the police didn’t catch the woman? What then?

  CHAPTER 42

  CURLING UP

  THE next hour tangled in Cat’s mind. Strangers in her house: police, in uniform and plain clothes, she didn’t know how many. Angus’s frightened face, his saxophone and music case lying on the stairs. Polly being shouted at to go to her bed. The phone ringing twice. Or more. A discussion about whether she had to go to hospital to be checked over, and her dad saying she’d be better at home.

  Having to give her clothes to a policewoman, for some reason she didn’t understand but which was “procedure”. That must have been after her bath. Or before, she didn’t know. The policewoman told her to call her Abbie, but Cat didn’t call her anything. Later, her feet stinging and bleeding, before being dried and bandaged by her dad. Warm air around her and yet the bitter cold inside her, waves of shivering that overwhelmed her.

  Sometimes she could not take in a full breath and she felt she would suffocate if she did not. Every now and then her heart leapt and raced on a journey of its own, and she would gasp in sudden fear.

  Metal mud taste and the smell of canal.

  When she closed her eyes, she saw the woman’s face, her shaking hands, tasted the cigarette smoke drifting around her. She saw tears in the woman’s eyes. But had there really been tears? She didn’t know for sure, only that she saw them now, in her mind where truth was blurred.

  People asked her questions but, when she tried to answer, the words stuck. She didn’t want to think about it. Like a cut, it needed some time to heal before it could be touched without pain.

  At some point the doorbell rang and perhaps more police came and people were whispering things she had no desire to hear. The one called Abbie was talking quietly to her parents and making notes but Cat wasn’t interested in trying to listen. In her mind she focused on three things only: getting warm, washing the canal filth off her, and curling up in bed with the duvet over her head.

  There was the steamy warmth of the bathroom. Her own face staring like a ghost from the misted mirror. Her mum had told her to shower before she bathed, to get the worst of the dirt off, and she did. As she stood under the power jets, washing the stinking mud from her skin and hair, watching the steam curl into the air, and the brown and bloodied water swirling around her feet, she cried. At one point she almost began to sink into a crouching position in the shower, but at the last moment she caught a glimpse of herself in the shiny chrome of the shower unit, and was shocked at her own face and its look of sadness. She pulled herself together and stood up straight again, letting the hot water do its work.

  Afterwards, clean at last, she climbed into the bath and let the soapy waters cocoon her. Her skin tingled painfully but bit by bit her body relaxed
and drifted into warmth. The stinging on the soles of her feet softened quickly as whatever her mum had put in the water took over. Besides, it was a pain that was bearable.

  The noises of the house, family and strangers, jangled outside the bathroom. In here, all was warm and misty and soft. She closed her eyes. But when she did, she saw the woman’s face. Cat still did not know her name, she realized. What would happen to her? She opened her eyes.

  Why should she care? But she did. A thought struggled to be voiced. In the secrecy of the bathroom, clouded, safe, selfish, honest, Cat whispered her thought aloud: “I hope she dies. Because I need to feel safe. I hope she falls off her bike into the canal and drowns.”

  But Cat also hated the thought of the woman dying. She remembered the sound of her cries. As if she was being deserted. The woman’s dreams had ended the moment Cat jumped into the canal.

  But no – her dreams had ended years ago.

  At some point Cat got out of the water and wrapped herself in a towel, sitting for a few moments on the edge of the bath and watching the bubbles softly pop and fizz and burst. After a while, she left the warmth and safety of the bathroom.

  Out there her mother was waiting, just sitting on the stairs. Her eyes were red, and she looked at Cat with a broken smile as she stood up.

  “I’ve made your room warm,” she said. “And you don’t have to give a statement to the police till tomorrow. The nice one called Abbie will come back with detective somebody.”

  Cat didn’t remember walking up the stairs to her room but she must have done. There was her dad, with bandages and cream to deal with her scraped feet. Her mum had brought a mug of tea for her and Cat drank its strange sweetness as she sat slumped on the bed and let herself be looked after. Soon her dad went downstairs to talk to the police some more and Cat was where she wanted to be: curled up in bed, one hot water bottle clutched between her feet and one against her stomach.