After the Cabin

by Amy Cross

  “We have to find her,” I whisper, taking deep breaths in an attempt to stay calm. “We have to find Matt, too.”

  “There's also the matter of Jennifer Mathieson.”

  I turn to him. “What about her?”

  “I got a call from Oslo this afternoon,” he continues. “They never managed to identify the mysterious Mr. Cole who went to the cabin to buy the video. They found his body, though, and they have his D.N.A. on file in case they're ever able to get a match. That's not the problem.” He pauses. “As well as Mr. Cole, they also found the body of a police officer, Ole Haulen, and Joseph and Christian and Daniel, and Karen Lund as well, they were all in the ruins of the cabin, that's all cleared up -”

  “What about Jennifer?” I ask.

  He pauses.

  “They found Jennifer's body too,” I continue, trying not to panic. “They did find her, didn't they?”

  “Apparently there were a lot of remains to sort through.”

  “She's dead,” I say firmly. “I saw her die.”

  “There's no doubt that she's dead,” he replies. “They found part of her, but only an arm and some facial tissue, part of her chest, plus a whole lot of blood, more blood than she could possibly survive losing, but as for the rest of her body...” He pauses again. “Do you see how this doesn't quite fit with what you told the police? At first they thought maybe a wild animal got to her, but apparently their forensics team ruled that out. They say Jennifer appears to have been dragged from the ruins of the cabin.”

  Feeling a flash of cold steel in my chest, I think back to the video that showed me hauling Jennifer's body across the grass, and the memory of attacking her corpse.

  “You've claimed all along that Jennifer was stabbed,” he continues, “by... Um... Well, you said that you saw the ghosts of two of the other girls stabbing Jennifer from behind.”

  “There were two knives in her back,” I tell him, still desperately trying not to panic.

  “That could well have happened in some manner,” he replies, “but after she died, perhaps something else happened? Something that you're forgetting?”

  “I think I did something to her,” I whisper.

  “Like what?”

  I close my eyes as I fear tears welling up.

  “Anna?”

  “After she was dead,” I continue, opening my eyes again as tears start rolling down my face, “I think I... It's on the extended version of the video. You can see me dragging a body away from the cabin and beating it, and then taking it into the forest. I don't remember any of that, but I think I was in such a daze, somehow I...” My voice trails off as I remember parts of my dream, the one in which I cut Jennifer's body open and then beat her until her head came away. “I can't believe anything I see anymore,” I add finally, with tears in my eyes. “I remember things that didn't happen, and I forget things that did.”

  “It's okay,” he replies, “I'm going to get you to a secure location where no-one can get to you. That's the priority, and then -”

  “We need the surveillance footage,” I tell him.

  “What surveillance footage?”

  “There's a guy who runs the control room for one of the security firms,” I continue. “If we can get into the archived recordings -”

  “We'll worry about that later,” he adds, taking the next left and driving onto the forecourt of a gas station. “I just need to fill up, and then I'll get you somewhere safe.”

  “Are you taking me to the station?”

  “No, I want to avoid anywhere that might be too obvious.”

  I sit in silence as he switches the engine off.

  “You're going to be okay, Anna,” he continues. “You'll be interviewed about Karen and Matt's disappearances -”

  “As a suspect?” I ask, shocked by the suggestion.

  He hesitates, and in that moment of hesitation I can see that I'm right, he does see me as a potential suspect. “You called me,” he says cautiously, “and suggested that maybe you'd been doing things that you don't remember. It would be remiss of me, in the current circumstances, not to take those claims seriously. Do you understand, Anna?”

  I pause, before nodding.

  “I'm trying to do this the nice way,” he continues, “for your sake, so let's just...” He pauses. “Well, let's just get you to the hospital, and then we can go from there. The video footage alone proves that there' someone out there who's been following you.”

  “So you've definitely seen it?” I reply. “I was starting to wonder whether even that wasn't really happening.”

  “I've seen it,” he says firmly, “and it's real. I've also spoken to the parents of Karen and Matt, and I've seen the fear in their eyes, and I know that's real too. We're going to get all of this straightened out, it's just going to take a little time, that's all. But we will get to the bottom of it. Trust me on that.”

  As he gets out of the car, I feel as if I need to scream. I keep replaying images from the video over and over, and as Bryson starts filling the car's tank I can't stop thinking back to every moment I've spent with him. I know there's a danger that I'm becoming paranoid, but I can't trust anyone. Hell, I've even had moments where I question whether my own mother is somehow involved in all of this, and I know that's a leap too far. Leaning back in the seat, I fell as if this madness is never going to end. Even if we find Karen and Matt alive and well, and even if there are no more updates to that video, I can never be entirely sure that there isn't someone out there, still filming me.

  Glancing out at the darkness surrounding the petrol station, I wait to see a camera's red light, but there's no sign. I guess maybe the person, whoever it is, can't keep up with me when I'm in a car.

  After a few minutes, I turn and see that Bryson has finished at the pump. I look toward the store and see him inside, but after a moment I realize that he's on his mobile phone. He didn't say anything about calling anyone, and I watch with a slowly growing sense of fear as I see that he's smiling and laughing with the person on the other end. I tell myself to keep my fears in check, but already I'm starting to imagine him telling some co-conspirator that he's managed to get his hands on me. Again I tell myself that I'm being paranoid, but suddenly it hits me that the extended version of the video never once showed me while I was with Bryson.

  Why not?

  Why wouldn't the video include those moments? I was in easy view, it's not as if there were any obstacles. My mind is racing as I think back to all the shots that were used in the footage, and finally I realize that there's only one person who links the scenes that weren't included.

  Detective Bryson.

  I look toward the store again and see that he's still talking to someone on the phone. I try to read his lips, but it's hopeless. After a moment we make eye contact and he signals for me to wait, and then he turns his back toward me, almost as if he's worried that I might be able to tell what he's saying.

  Filled with panic, I unfasten my safety belt and open the door, stepping out into the cold night air. I don't know where I'm going to go, but I feel absolutely certain that I can't risk letting this guy drive me to some random location. I hurry around the side of the car and then across the forecourt, before slipping into the darkness and crouching down behind a railing just as I hear the store's door swinging open. My whole body is trembling with fear, but I know I can't just sit in that car and wait for someone to grab me.

  I take a deep breath.

  Is this a mistake, or -

  “Anna!” Bryson shouts suddenly, his voice filled with concern. “Anna, where are you?”

  I can hear my heart pounding, but I don't dare say a word, not even as I hear Bryson's footsteps hurrying this way.

  “Anna,” he calls out, “whatever's wrong here, you have to trust me!”

  I wait.

  “Anna!”

  For a moment, the only sound is traffic passing on the nearby road.

  “It's me,” Bryson says finally, sounding distinctly annoyed. “I've lost
her.”

  Peering around the side of the railing, I watch as he heads back to the car with his phone against his ear.

  “I don't know,” he continues, “but I'm at the petrol station on the corner of Lea Road and Harbour Lane, and it looks like she bolted while I was inside paying.” There's a pause. “I don't know,” he adds, “but I'm going to drive around and see if I can spot her. You need to get to her mother's house, hopefully she'll head back there.” He says something else, but he's too far away now for me to hear.

  I watch as he gets into the car, and a moment later he drives away from the forecourt, making his way slowly along the next street as if he's looking for some sign of me. I know there's a danger that I'm over-analyzing things, but that snippet of phone conversation didn't sound like something official. Getting to my feet, I head to the pavement and watch as his car disappears into the distance, and then I set off in the other direction. Obviously I can't go home, since he told someone to go and wait for me, but when I get to the next corner I suddenly realize that there's still one place I can try.

  I need that CCTV footage.

  ***

  “Hello?” I call out, standing in the doorway of the building where I met Frankie before. “Is anyone here?”

  I wait, but there's no reply. Glancing over my shoulder, I look both ways along the dark street, but there's no sign of anyone. Figuring that I need to just get the CCTV footage so I can try to see who's been filming me, I pull the door shut and make my way along the under-lit corridor, with the door to Frankie's office at the far end. I know that this is a huge risk, and that Frankie could just as easily be involved in all of this, but I've got a can of mace spray that has been in my bag for weeks. I'm more scared of not knowing.

  “Hello? Frankie?”

  When I reach the door at the far end of the corridor, I knock gently and wait, but still there's no sign that anyone's here. I try the handle and find that it turns, and then I push the door open and see the wall of monitors, each one showing a different grainy image from somewhere in town. The chair at the desk is empty, but there's a Tupperware box nearby with some clingfilm and crumbs inside, so I guess Frankie was here recently. As I make my way over to the desk, I tell myself that he's probably just in the bathroom, or maybe he got called out somewhere. I should wait for him to come back, but there's a bank of hard drives over in the corner and I know that if I can just gain access, I'll be able to search for the footage I need.

  When I move the mouse that's attached to the main computer, the screen comes to life and I see that it's already logged in with Frankie's account. I check over my shoulder again, to make sure that there's no sign of him, and then I take a seat and start bringing up the archives, hoping against hope that I can get what I need and leave before he comes back. I know this is wrong, but I'd much rather not have to talk to anyone until I know for certain who has been filming me all this time. My hands are trembling so much, I can barely type, but there's a kind of nervous energy driving me to keep going.

  Finally I locate a camera overlooking the train station, and I start going back through the archives to find footage from the night when I thought I was being chased. I know roughly where the hidden cameraman must have been standing, so I figure it shouldn't be too hard to get a shot of him. When I try to open the relevant files, however, I get an error message about the original sources not being in the correct location on the drive. I try a few more with the same result, before clicking on another and managing to bring up an image. This one doesn't give me the angle I need, but as I look through more and more, I start noticing a pattern.

  Every file that might help me is gone. It's as if someone went through the system and deliberately removed the files that I might come looking for.

  I freeze for a moment, trying to work out how...

  Freddie.

  I turn and look around, but there's no sign of him. Still, if he sits here night after night, he'd certainly be able to keep track of pretty much anyone in town. He'd need an accomplice, someone out there who could follow orders and hold the hand-held camera, but from this little control room at the edge of the industrial estate Freddie would be almost like a god, overseeing the entire town. He claimed not to have the password for the camera I needed the other night, but I have no way of knowing whether he was telling the truth. If he and Bryson were working together, they could easily have tracked every move I made over the past few weeks. I know the whole thing sound insane, like some kind of paranoid conspiracy theory, but right now it's the only thing that makes sense. I have to trust myself for a few more hours and hope that I haven't completely lost my mind.

  Pulling my phone out, I bring up my mother's number.

  “Anna,” she says as soon as she answers, “where -”

  “Just listen to me,” I reply, before she can ask any questions. “Mum, has anyone been to the house looking for me?”

  “No, but -”

  “Someone will,” I continue. My chest is so tight with fear, I can barely speak. “Whatever you do, don't let him in. He'll say he's from the police, he'll have all the right badges, but you have to promise you won't let him in.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asks. “Anna, why would the police be looking for you? Have you done something?”

  Staring at the banks of monitors, I see grainy image after grainy image showing shots from cameras dotted all over the town. There are people out drinking near the center, cars heading toward the roundabout, smokers outside the pub next to the train station, and more besides. After a moment, I spot a camera covering the hotel's front door, and a plan starts to form in the back of my mind.

  “Anna, talk to me!” Mum continues, her voice filled with worry now. “It's almost ten, why aren't you home? Are you staying out again?”

  “I don't know,” I whisper, as I start searching through the archives on the computer.

  “Anna, you're starting to scare me. I want you to come home immediately. Don't you remember what happened the last time you pushed yourself like this? You need to -”

  “Rest, I know,” I mutter, feeling a flash of relief as I see that the hard drives I need are apparently in a storage section, which means they might not have been wiped. Getting to my feet, I head through to the next room and find a set of cabinets. “Mum,” I continue, “you just have to trust me. Believe me, I know how hard that is right now, but just try for a little while longer. Either I'm right, or I've lost my mind, but I'll know soon enough. The police are dangerous, or at least one of them is. He's part of this, and I think he's working with the people who control the cameras in town.”

  “What cameras?”

  “The security cameras!” I hiss, opening the first cabinet and finding stacks of hard drives. I start checking through them, hoping to find the one I need. Why can't she keep up? “It's complicated, but one of these people was in Norway, one of them was hiding at the cabin while I was being tortured. I thought there were four of them after Marit died and before Cole showed up, but there must have been five all along.”

  “Oh, Anna...”

  “I'm not making this up!” I shout, slamming the cupboard door shut and moving on to the next. “You'll see, I'll prove it. I just have to find the footage so I can work out where Matt and Karen were when they disappeared.”

  I look through more drives, but after a moment I realize I can hear my mother sobbing on the other end of the phone-line.

  “Mum?”

  “You need help, Anna,” she whimpers. “Oh my poor dear baby, you need help. Come home and we'll make sure that -”

  “You're not listening!” I tell her, trying not to sound too upset. “You'll understand when -”

  Suddenly I hear the sound of the doorbell at Mum's house.

  “Wait a moment,” she tells me, sniffing back tears, “I have to -”

  “It'll be them,” I reply, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. “It'll be Detective Bryson or someone else from the police. They're not on my side, Mum! They're try
ing to get me! Whatever they tell you, it's a lie!”

  “Anna -”

  “Stall them,” I continue. “Don't tell them you heard from me!”

  “Anna, please, come home.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but a moment later I hear over the phone that Mum has opened the front door.

  “Mrs. Matthews,” Bryson's voice says, “is Anna -”

  Cutting the call, I quickly switch my phone off so they can't track my location. Once I've checked the second cupboard, I go to the third, and then the fourth. Starting to feel exasperated, I can't help wondering whether the hard drives I need might have been deliberately moved out of here. I wouldn't put it past Freddie to be so sneaky. After all, he and Bryson must be pretty smart to have set all of this up in the first place. Wherever he is now, Freddie can probably still see me. Hell, I bet he's laughing his head off. Slamming the fourth cupboard shut, I pull open the door to the fifth and final -

  Suddenly something heavy comes slumping out, landing against me and knocking me back. I manage to stay on my feet, but I watch in horror as Freddie's dead body hits the floor. I can immediately see the thick gash in his neck, and there are thick patches of blood dried all over his chest.

  I should scream.

  I should cry out and run.

  Instead, I lean down and check that he's really dead, and then I step over him so I can keep looking for the right hard drives. Maybe I've become desensitized to all of this, and I swear I can feel a scream trapped somewhere in my chest, but right now I'm driven by a single-minded determination to find the right hard drive. I can break down later, I can sob and wail and moan once I know what's really happening, but there's no time for that now. I have to find the truth. Just as I think I'm not going to have any luck, however, my fumbling hands finally locate the drive with the footage from outside the hotel. I look down at Freddie's body for a moment and feel a shiver of sorrow, but I quickly hurry past him, heading back through to the main room.