If I Die Before I Wake

by Emily Koch

  Bea’s voice came into my head again. ‘He’s a builder or something …’

  A builder? Or a painter?

  The phantom chemical scent wafted into my nostrils.

  Shit. Shit.

  Why would a doctor smell so often of gloss paint and white spirit?

  What else did I know about them?

  Quiet Doc didn’t seem to think I should have been kept alive. He thought everyone would be better off with me dead. I’d thought he felt sorry for me. But maybe he just wished I’d left Bea free and totally unattached.

  What else did I know?

  He’s methodical.

  He doesn’t like talking.

  He sometimes smells of coffee.

  I didn’t know if Cameron drank coffee, did I?

  He likes my shower gel.

  It was the turn of my own phrase that tripped me up. He liked my shower gel. If I’d thought: he likes the same shower gel as me, maybe I wouldn’t have made the connection.

  He likes my shower gel.

  Did Bea still have my shower gel out in the bathroom, at our flat? Had Cameron been using it? When did I start smelling the eucalyptus and pine on Quiet Doc? It hadn’t always been there, had it? It was a more recent thing.

  Shit.

  There were too many coincidences. But I couldn’t work out what they all meant. If they were the same person, someone wasn’t telling the truth. Was Bea lying to me or was he lying to her?

  I was suddenly very afraid for Bea. He had pretended to be my doctor – he was some kind of con man. If he had concocted such an intricate web of lies, what else was he capable of? What else had he told her? I’d never liked the sound of this Cameron guy, and I’d never really liked Quiet Doc – not until he saw me move and, overjoyed, I labelled him as my saviour.

  A new punch hit me full on in the gut.

  If I was right about this – if Cameron and Quiet Doc were one and the same, and if this bastard wasn’t actually a doctor – then he wasn’t going to tell anyone about me moving. He wanted Bea: an ex-boyfriend who was about to wake up didn’t fit into that plan. What was it that he had said? ‘This can’t be happening.’

  I had only managed to move once, and it was in front of the one person who wasn’t going to help me.

  32

  I WAS GOING to have to try and show someone else my new trick.

  What the hell was going on? There was still a chance I was imagining all of this, my capacity for suspicion sent into overdrive by the events of the last month. But no – I had a gut feeling about him. Something definitely wasn’t right. Why was he coming to see me? What was he trying to achieve? And why pretend to be a doctor? Was it just for some twisted kind of kick?

  After my success with my finger, I moved on to my feet. I tried to wiggle my toes. I tried to lift my heel. Move my whole foot from side to side. Occasionally I thought I had managed it, but there was no way of knowing for sure; not unless someone saw me do it. Quiet Doc hadn’t been back since yesterday. With every hour that passed, I lost a little more hope that I would be proved wrong about his identity.

  I tried to keep myself busy, tensing each group of muscles in turn. My toes, my feet. My calves, my thighs. I couldn’t feel anything. What did it feel like to successfully tense a muscle? I couldn’t remember. My glutes. Abs. Nothing. My hands, arms, shoulders. Neck muscles. My jaw.

  Come on, Alex.

  Back down to my feet.

  ‘You can go in, if you want?’ Pauline said, out in the corridor. My door must have been open.

  ‘I was waiting for my girlfriend.’ Tom, sounding flustered. ‘But I suppose I could.’

  ‘Go, on, my love. It’s always nice for him to have a visitor,’ Pauline reassured him.

  Flip-flops smacked along the floor and immediately Tom started cracking his knuckles. I couldn’t remember a time when he’d visited alone.

  Say something, then.

  He didn’t sit down – the joint-cracking remained isolated by my feet. My bed juddered and I heard flickering paper. A clunk as the bed shook again. Was he looking at my charts?

  Tom. Talk to me.

  More footsteps squeaked in. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ It was Connie. ‘To, errr … interrupt.’

  ‘No, no, go ahead,’ Tom said.

  ‘Got to clear his trachea, see. It’s been bad the last few days and we have to check it every couple of hours.’ There was the sound of rattling plastic as Connie detached the devil machine from the wall behind me.

  ‘Of course,’ Tom said quickly, glad for an interruption to save him from talking to me.

  Connie fiddled with my tracheostomy, breathlessly panting custard cream breath over my face, then inserted the tube into my throat. The agonising wire wool scratching began, and I lost the ability to pay attention to anything else.

  Aaarggghh.

  The razor blades dragged up and down, up and down.

  AAAAARRGGHHH.

  Through the noise I could just make out Tom and Connie, chatting.

  Fuck you.

  Then she switched it off, removing the tube and leaving my throat burning like it had been cleaned out with bleach.

  ‘… but it doesn’t hurt?’ Tom was saying.

  ‘No. It vibrates a bit in my hands, but other than that, it’s fine.’

  ‘Not you. Him. Doesn’t hurt him?’

  ‘Oh, I see. No. He can’t feel anything.’

  I can’t feel anything? It doesn’t hurt?

  If she really thought I couldn’t feel this, then I couldn’t deny it to myself any more. Quiet Doc hadn’t told anyone what he’d seen. He had no intention of telling them.

  The plastic fittings behind me rattled as Connie reattached the devil machine to the wall.

  ‘Good.’ Tom seemed relieved. ‘Because it looks uncomfortable. I wouldn’t like to think of him being in pain.’

  ‘Oh, no. Don’t you worry,’ Connie giggled. Flirtatiously. There was a rush of water as she rinsed her hands. ‘Like I say, he can’t feel anything, and anyway,’ she lowered her voice into what I could only imagine she believed was an alluring whisper, ‘I’m very good at what I do.’

  You’re embarrassing yourself.

  ‘Right,’ Tom said.

  There was the rumble of paper towels being pulled out of their dispenser as Connie dried off, and a loud rattling noise. ‘This bloody thing. I’ve been telling them to sort it for weeks – about to fall off the wall, it is.’

  ‘Want me to fix it?’

  ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that,’ Connie said.

  ‘I’d be happy to. Let me take a look. You got a flat-head screwdriver?’

  ‘I’ll go and look, dear,’ Connie purred. Then I heard the thud of bodies clashing to my right, near the doorway, a confusion of words: sorry, oof, whoops. Metal clattered to the floor. The scent of coconut filtered through the air towards me.

  ‘Are you okay? I’m so sorry.’

  Rosie.

  ‘No, no. I wasn’t looking where I was going,’ Connie said. I knew she’d be muttering insults as soon as she was out of earshot. She clumped off, squeaking down the corridor.

  ‘Sorry,’ Rosie said. ‘I ended up chatting to Cameron when I dropped Bea off at his place and I just totally lost track of time – did you know he’s a painter and decorator? I thought we could ask him to do the hallway. Save you trying to reach from the ladder.’

  I was right.

  The burning sensation in my throat intensified.

  ‘Depends how much he costs,’ Tom said. They shared a quick kiss. ‘Any news?’

  They were both still standing at the foot of my bed. The frame jolted as one of them leaned against it.

  ‘Her mum and dad are still around – they’re driving her mad. I don’t mind them, but she—’

  ‘I meant, from the police?’ Tom interrupted her.

  ‘No. But she’s convinced they’ll charge her,’ Rosie said.

  ‘They won’t.’

  ‘The whole thing is messed up.’
<
br />   ‘She’ll be okay,’ Tom tried to soothe her. I heard the friction of skin on material as he rubbed her arm, or back. ‘She’ll be fine.’ He was interrupted by an insistent buzzing noise that made my bed vibrate.

  ‘Who is it?’ Rosie asked. ‘Don’t answer.’

  ‘Hey,’ Tom said before she could finish her sentence. He whispered, ‘It’s Bea,’ to Rosie.

  ‘Did you?’ he said into the phone. ‘She must have it on silent.’ He whispered to Rosie, ‘She tried to call you.’

  He spoke into the phone again. ‘Hang on, slow down, I’m going to put you on speaker.’ He mumbled as he tried to find the right button. ‘Okay, go on.’

  Bea whispered, echoing over the line. ‘I’m freaking out,’ she said.

  My chest tightened as I was hit by the sound of her voice for the first time since her arrest. She sounded scared.

  It’s him, isn’t it? What’s he done?

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Rosie spoke loudly, as if to a deaf elderly relative.

  ‘Cameron,’ Bea whispered. ‘Something weird is going on. He knows stuff –’

  My chest constricted more. I knew it.

  ‘Why are you whispering?’ Tom asked. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In the bathroom,’ Bea whispered back.

  ‘His bathroom?’

  ‘Yes,’ she hissed.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s sorting out his tools, in the van.’

  ‘Okay, so what stuff does he know?’ Rosie asked, sounding dubious.

  ‘Little things,’ Bea whispered, her voice crackling over the line. ‘About the questions the police asked me – things I haven’t told him.’

  ‘Like what?’ Tom asked.

  ‘We were talking about what my chances were of getting charged, and he said, “You’ve got to face facts. It’s hard to see how they won’t, given you were seen there that day.”’

  ‘And you hadn’t told him that?’

  ‘No. The police said someone saw me – even though that’s impossible – but I know I never told him. I didn’t want to talk to him about the interview – the ring—’

  ‘Maybe he guessed,’ Tom said.

  ‘How could he?’ she whispered.

  ‘So someone else must have told him,’ Rosie said. ‘There must be an explanation. You’re stressed – you’re not thinking straight. It’s my job to tell you when you freak out over something that you shouldn’t, and this is one of those times, okay? It’s not weird for him to know that someone thinks they saw you—’

  ‘It is. Please, you’ve got to believe me,’ Bea said. Instead of getting angry at what Rosie had said, she sounded desperate. My heart was beating faster and faster with frustration; she was scared and I couldn’t help her. Why were Rosie and Tom assuming she was imagining it? This guy couldn’t be trusted. ‘Something’s not right,’ she went on. ‘There’ve been lots of little things he has said. I can’t think of everything, but he’s acting really strangely.’

  ‘Okay, so let’s say he’s found things out from somewhere else, and not from you. Let’s think logically about this.’ Rosie spoke slowly. ‘Just ask him how he knows. What’s the worst he can say?’

  ‘I think he’s working with the police.’

  Feeding them information?

  How did this fit in with what I already suspected, about him pretending to be my doctor? Was that some sort of cover?

  Rosie muttered something under her breath, then said, ‘We’re coming over there. You need to eat something. You need to sleep.’

  ‘You don’t believe me.’

  I believe you.

  ‘I – I don’t know that you’ve got the evidence to back this up,’ Rosie said. ‘Why would he be helping the police?’

  Because he doesn’t care about her? Because he’s been lying to her from day one? Because he’s the kind of psychopath who pretends to be a doctor?

  ‘Well, how else does he know so much? There are other things, like I’m sure he mentioned the route Al was on, but that’s never been in the paper, and I never told him.’

  Tom stepped in. ‘Slow down. Rosie’s right, Bea – think about this logically for a minute. What could he be telling the police? He didn’t know you when this happened to Alex.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bea whispered. ‘Maybe they’ve asked him to keep an eye on me, or – I don’t know. Do you really think I should talk to him?’

  No. Just finish with him. Get as far away from him as possible.

  ‘If you think it would help,’ Rosie said.

  ‘I need to think about it. I thought – I really thought we were getting on. I thought he liked me, you know?’

  Bastard.

  There was a moment of silence. Tom shifted his weight again on the bed and it creaked. In my mind I was busy punching Cameron in the face, repeatedly.

  You shouldn’t …

  Punch.

  … have fucked …

  Punch.

  … with my girlfriend.

  ‘Shit, hang on,’ Bea whispered. There was the sound of water flowing – a tap being turned on.

  I could just make out a man’s voice in the background. ‘… are you? You still in the washroom?’

  ‘Be out in a minute,’ Bea shouted.

  His voice was muffled, but it could have been Quiet Doc.

  Bastard.

  ‘You still there, Bea?’ Tom was whispering now. ‘Look, just try and relax. I’m sure there’s a good reason for everything.’

  ‘Okay.’ Bea’s whisper was barely audible over the sound of the running water.

  ‘Do you want us to come and pick you up?’ Tom asked.

  Silence at Bea’s end.

  ‘Yes,’ she said after a few seconds. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. But you need to get some rest,’ Rosie said. ‘Promise me? It’ll make more sense if you try and sleep. Stay with us tonight.’

  ‘See you in a bit.’

  The line went quiet.

  Tom and Rosie left quickly, rerunning the conversation between them and trying to work out how they could help Bea see sense. They thought she was overreacting.

  I was the only one who believed her, the only other person who knew something wasn’t right about Cameron. And the only one who couldn’t do anything about it.

  33

  WHO WAS THIS guy? Was his name even Cameron? Was he helping the police? That still wouldn’t explain why he was visiting me, pretending to be a physician.

  As I went over everything I knew, I hit upon a simple fact that I had overlooked earlier. I had been getting visits from Quiet Doc – who I was now certain was Cameron – since long before Bea had met him at grief counselling. His interest in me predated his interest in her. Why?

  I thought about how creepy he was, about his lingering touch, the way he spoke to me and moved me around.

  Was he the man who had killed Holly King? But they’d arrested someone for that. They couldn’t have got it wrong twice. Was he the man who had tried to kill me?

  He knew the name of the climb I had been on that day. But then he also knew things about the police investigation into Bea.

  There had to be some other clue, somewhere in my memory.

  I started to go over everything Bea had said in that frantic conversation in the bathroom.

  In the bathroom—

  Wait.

  ‘You still in the washroom?’

  He hadn’t said bathroom, or toilet. He’d said washroom, hadn’t he? My mind wasn’t playing tricks on me.

  Why would he use that word? It was one of the things the Canadian staff at camp always took the piss out of us Brits for, calling it the bathroom.

  He had an English accent, but could he be from abroad? Were any of my exes from North America? Could Cameron be the brother or new partner of one of those girls I never called back?

  You will pay for breaking my heart twice over.

  We deserved better than you.

  Maybe. That could be it, couldn’t it? But
would he really be angry enough to try to kill me over something so far in the past? He’d have to be an insanely jealous person to go that far.

  Washroom.

  I felt I was on to something with Canada. Hadn’t Cameron – or Quiet Doc – mentioned Canada, once? I thought he had. What was it? He’d been there … or he knew—

  That was it. When Bea met him at counselling, he’d said he’d been to the Rockies.

  This was getting closer and closer to home. Had we known him, when we were in Alberta? If so, why didn’t Bea recognise him? Why didn’t I know his voice? Was his British accent just part of a disguise?

  I kept trawling through my memories of everything anyone had said to me in the last few months about how I came to fall, about the police investigation.

  The police said it was a woman who had done it – but that was just because of the anonymous tip-off.

  What else did I know? What else had I heard? Who would have done this to me? What had I done to them to make them hate me so much?

  It was Bea’s words that finally did it.

  ‘All you’ve ever done is try to help people.’

  That’s what she had said when she found out it hadn’t been an accident.

  A wave of horror washed over me, totally obliterating the anger I had been feeling. I knew who Cameron could be.

  All I had ever done was try to help people. But it hadn’t always gone to plan.

  34

  SLEEP DIDN’T GRANT me any relief that night. I lay closed-eyed but awake for hours. In the morning, I submitted to the usual routines. A suppository to empty my bowels onto a waiting plastic sheet. The nurses turned me, wiped me, turned me, wiped me. Changed the bed sheets. Cleaned my mouth. Sucked the crap out of my throat.

  I fell asleep later in the day, exhausted. When I woke up, I couldn’t work out what time of day it was – I thought I could sense daylight on my face but I could have been wrong. I spent a few minutes working through my routine of trying to make a noise in my throat, trying to move a finger or a toe or wrinkle my nose. Still nothing. This must be possible. I had to find a way to move again. That was – if I had ever moved at all. Had Cameron really seen something happen? Or was he just toying with me? He was clearly capable of anything.