“If you scream, I’ll stab myself with the fucking knife and say that you did it. Who do you think they’ll believe?” she hissed.
“I’ll cry for them when you’re cutting me,” she sobbed.
“Just fucking try it,” Chloe hissed. “I’ll cut myself and say you did it. And I’ll say you cut your own back, that it’s a game you wanted to play with me. And in the very near future, you know, because you’re so fucked up, you’ll commit suicide.”
Cassie held her sister’s hateful stare, but soon dropped her gaze. She was no match for Chloe. She could never win because Chloe was a fully-functioning psychopath. There was no competing with that.
Under her sister’s watchful glare, Cassie pulled the simple, fitted white t-shirt over her head. She stood there trembling, wrapping her arms around her ample chest. Cassie watched Chloe go over to the dresser and retrieve a pink toilet roll that was perched there which Cassie had stolen from the bathroom earlier because she’d suffered a sneezing fit when she’d got in from school.
Chloe grinned at her again, and from the back pocket of her jeans she produced a penknife, flicking the blade upwards and waving it around in front of her own face.
“And the bra,” Chloe urged.
“Please,” she said, in a last-ditch attempt to appeal to her sister’s better nature.
But Chloe didn’t have a better nature, of that Cassie was quite sure. The more she stared in horror at her twin, the more she saw that her eyes were dead.
Sobbing, Cassie turned her back on her, unhooked her bra and lay down on her stomach on the bed, hating herself for being so passive and useless. But it could get so much worse for her if she fought this.
“This may bleed a little and it may sting a bit. But don’t worry, I won’t get blood on the sheets. Just relax, you might even enjoy it. Personally, I find that cutting relieves a lot of pressure. I cut myself all the time, it feels nice.”
Chloe’s words hardly made her feel any better. She lay there shivering uncontrollably, despite the warmth of the bedroom. It was almost as if she could feel the skin of her back contract when the cook kiss of the blade touched her back.
“You might want to bite the pillow for this,” Chloe said.
And then she began to cut.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NOW
Cassie had opted for an early night. It had seemed like the safest option. She didn’t want to stay up too late because then she knew that she would drink too much. And if she drank too much, then her defences would be weakened and she might do something stupid. Something stupid, like contact Ethan. And she hadn’t wanted to sit there, all alone on the sofa, thinking. Thinking about Chloe.
Besides that, if she drank too much wine, it might knock her out nicely for the first part of the night, but in the early hours of the morning, she knew for a fact that the nightmares would take hold.
The nightmares were always the same; Chloe had never really died that night, and she was out for revenge. Chloe was coming for her, and she wanted to finish what she started.
She wanted to kill her.
Cassie sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp, her heart thumping hard in her chest.
She had been having a nightmare, about Chloe, the residues of which still clung to her. The bedroom was black and she strained her eyes in the gloom, searching for the familiar to anchor her to wakefulness. Her gaze settled on the bay window, the most illuminated part of the bedroom, which wasn’t saying all that much.
Very little light penetrated the flimsy, slatted blinds because the bedroom overlooked the large back garden which was devoid of artificial light.
She glanced at her alarm clock – the digits glowed 4.55 in the gloom.
Clutching the duvet to her chest with trembling arms, she concentrated on her breathing, forcing her heart rate back under control.
Everything’s fine. It’s just a dream.
Yet fragments of the nightmare clung to her, wrapping her in its chilly embrace, so much so that she was irrationally terrified of reaching out across the gaping chasm between bed and bedside table to switch on the lamp.
Don’t be such a drama queen.
Just as she stretched out her arm to brave the chasm, a faint, thumping sound coming from downstairs made her cry out. She snatched back her hand and slapped it over her mouth, physically stopping herself from crying out again.
She sat there in the dark, heart thumping, straining her ears for further sounds. Just as she was beginning to think that she had imagined it, there it was again. A definite thud, coming from somewhere downstairs.
There’s somebody in the house.
The thought was the equivalent of a bucket of ice water tipped over her head, and she sat there trembling, paralysed with fear.
Call the police, a voice shouted in her mind.
For the first time ever, she cursed the fact that she didn’t have a mobile phone. The landline was all the way down in the kitchen. Occasionally, she remembered to take the cordless phone to bed with her, but mainly, like tonight, she forgot.
Shit. Now what?
In her head, she frantically went over the lock-up situation of the front and back door. She had set the alarm for both the front and back door, she was sure of it. If either door were to be opened, then the alarm by the doors would have to be disabled.
So therefore it had to be Hugh downstairs.
What if it’s not? What if it’s a burglar, or a rapist? They’re not going to let the small matter of an alarm system stop them…
No, she had to stop this, of course it was Hugh, she was just letting her imagination run away with her. Every time either door was opened, the alarm system had to be disabled. And only two people in the world knew the alarm code; her and Hugh.
Despite telling herself this, she still couldn’t bring herself to move. She flinched in terror when she heard the stairs creak and she stared unblinkingly at the closed bedroom door with an ever-increasing sense that something was wrong. By some miracle, she managed to stop herself from screaming when light suddenly flooded around the edges of the door.
A burglar or a rapist wouldn’t turn on the hallway light, she told herself.
Why not? another, nasty little voice whispered. Maybe he wants to see what he’s stealing. Maybe he wants to see you when he slits your throat…
This time, she did cry out – a small whimper born of utter panic. She leapt from the bed, heart pounding. Frantically, she glanced around the dark room which was now illuminated by the glowing doorframe for something to defend herself with. Her gaze settled upon the bedside lamp and before she had time to think too deeply about it, she snatched it up, yanking the plug out of the wall socket as she did so.
Fleetingly, she thought about hiding behind the door, but just as quick dismissed the idea. Whoever was in the house knew she was in this room. And if they did happen to be a hardened criminal, and if said hardened criminal saw that the bed was empty, then it wouldn’t take much for them to work out that she was, in fact, probably hiding behind the door…
Shit, I should’ve made up the bed with pillows to make it look like I’m sleeping there.
It’s Hugh, for God’s sake, not an intruder. Will you please just stop this?
Then she wondered if she should just scramble under the bed. It wasn’t much of a hiding place, but short of the door thing, it was the only one in the room.
The footsteps grew louder in the hallway beyond the bedroom door, then stopped. The chink of light at the bottom of the door was blocked by two black shadows.
By two feet.
Gripping the makeshift weapon so hard that the tender, inner palms of her hands started to throb in protest, she braced herself.
The door creaked inwards, and there he was; Hugh.
“Hugh? What the hell?” she gasped shakily. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Actually, it’s first thing in the morning. I missed you, I had to see you.”
She stared at him, that bad feeling
still curdling her thoughts and churning in her guts.
And the more she looked at him, the more that badness intensified.
Something’s wrong.
It was nothing that she could put into words, nothing to with his surprise appearance, it was just a feeling.
A strong, gut feeling that something was wrong with Hugh.
“You can put the lethal weapon down now,” he said with a chuckle.
But for some reason, the sound of that chuckle made her skin crawl. She was glad that the room was in shadows, because then he would be less likely to see the way her hand trembled when she placed the lamp back down on the bedside table.
But there was no mistaking the clattering noise it made as the metal base of the lamp trembled slightly on the table top.
“Why did you come home early without telling me?” she asked in a trembling voice.
“Why? You’re not hiding anything from me, are you Cassie? You didn’t find yourself a lover, did you, in my absence?”
Instantly her heart was in her throat and her stomach clenched into a tight ball of anxiety.
“What? Why would you even ask such a thing?” she said, forcing herself to sound normal, to not let the guilt seep into her voice.
“While the cat’s away… Oh, come on, I’m only joking, Cassie, why are you so uptight? Unless, of course, you do have something to hide?”
Cassie licked her suddenly parched lips, hating the way her jaw trembled.
“You’re acting a bit strange, Hugh. Is everything all right? You must be exhausted after that long journey, why don’t you come to bed?”
He ignored her question.
“So, tell me, Cassie, what have you been doing while I’ve been away?”
“I haven’t been doing anything,” she said, hating the high-pitched edge to her voice. “I’m sorry, Hugh, but I’m finding this all a bit strange. You’re acting kind of weird.”
“Weird? How so?”
Again, that sense of unreality washed over. She felt untethered, somehow – untethered from reality.
“Weird, as in you turn up unannounced at the weirdest time of the morning, and then start acting weird,” she said again, unable to think of a more suitable word.
Because weird just about summed it up.
He grinned at her then, and her stomach plummeted as surely as if she were on a rollercoaster. He remained standing in the doorway, his big frame silhouetted by the hallway light behind him. The shadows rendered his face that of a stranger’s. His eyes were two blackened, empty sockets, his nose and mouth indistinct, smudges of shadow.
Not being able to read his expression chilled her to the core. His smile chilled her.
“Hugh? Why don’t you come to bed?”
Only then did she realise the way in which they had been standing there, facing each other off like two sparring cats. Forcing herself to move, she edged towards the bed and perched on the edge, automatically reaching for the duvet and clutching it to her chest.
Hugh, however, made no effort to move. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, and inside she shivered. He was still wearing one of his suits – a plain, black one, and he still had his shoes on, too.
He leaned the against the door frame, crossing his feet at the ankles to mirror his crossed arms. The sense of unease gave way to something much stronger, forcing her to acknowledge the fact that she was frightened.
“So, Cassie,” he said, “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”
She didn’t like the tone of his voice. No, she didn’t like it one bit. It sounded like Hugh, but at the same time, it didn’t. There was a coldness to his voice that she had never heard before.
“Talk about what, for God’s sake? It’s late. Or too early, whatever way you want to look at it. Come to bed, or if you don’t want to, then would you mind leaving me so I can get some sleep?”
She hoped that the edge of fear wasn’t apparent in her voice. Because she was no longer remotely tired. All she really wanted was for this strangeness to end, for this bizarre conversation to stop.
“No,” he said simply.
Cassie’s heart pounded uncomfortably hard. She licked her dry lips.
“No? What on earth do you mean, no?”
“I mean no. No means no, didn’t you know?”
“Have you been drinking?”
Hugh wasn’t much of a drinker, but what else could possibly account for his odd behaviour? He didn’t sound drunk, but then, he never sounded like this so surely he had to be…
“No,” he said.
He let out a short, sharp laugh that was nearer a bark and her insides shrivelled. Unconsciously, she clasped the duvet that much tighter around her torso.
“Please stop this, Hugh,” she said in a small voice that sounded more like a little girl’s than that of a grown woman’s.
“No, Cassie, I think you need to stop this. This has gone on long enough.”
“Stop what? You’re talking in riddles.”
She genuinely had no clue what he was going on about. Unless he was referring to Ethan. But how could he possibly know about that? And it wasn’t like she had actually done anything. It had only been a short meeting in a café.
Maybe someone had seen her there with him and reported it back to Hugh. Her insides shrivelled further in fear at the unwelcome thought.
But I haven’t done anything wrong.
Yet, that nasty, sarcastic little voice reminded her. You haven’t done anything wrong yet…
“I think you know what I’m talking about, Cassie. If you look deep enough inside, you will know. But you don’t want to know, do you? Dear sweet Cassie, forever the ostrich with her head buried in the sand.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
And that much was true. She had no idea, not even a clue.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking while I was away, and I’ve decided that I’ve had enough. It’s time you faced the truth. You’re lazy, Cassie. As bone idle as they come. The only reason you don’t want to get a job is because you can’t be bothered. And because you know that you’re not clever enough. That degree is worthless, isn’t it?”
He laughed at her, still standing as he was in the doorway, his harsh, mocking words like a physical blow to her being.
“Why are you saying these things to me?” she asked incredulously.
But still he continued with his disgusting, hurtful, barrage of insults:
“The only reason you don’t want a baby with me is because you don’t love me. Come on, admit it. You have never loved me, stop pretending that you ever did.”
This couldn’t be happening. This was a joke, a sick wind-up that Hugh would apologise over profusely once he realised how much he had upset her.
No. This is a dream.
But it didn’t feel like a dream. There was a buzzing in her ears, probably brought on by her elevated blood pressure and heightened state of anxiety.
“I don’t understand,” she said, almost choking on the words.
“That’s the sad thing, I actually think I believe you. Because you only see what you want to see, don’t you sweetheart? That’s always been your problem.”
She pressed her hands to her ringing ears, no longer even trying to keep up the pretence that this was normal. That he was normal.
“Stop it, Hugh, just stop it.”
“No, Cassie, you stop it.”
With those final words, he was on her. One second he was leaning against the doorframe with that grotesque casualness, the next he was on top of her. She went sprawling onto her back with his full weight bearing down on her. Roughly, he yanked her wrists above her head and held them there. She bucked and writhed in his grip, too shocked and too winded to draw breath to scream.
The hard planes of his solid stomach pushed down on her torso, her hands pinned above her head like a butterfly pinned to a board.
Then he lowered his face to hers, and, ever so slowly, licked the side of her face from ja
w to hairline. She caught a waft of his breath as his tongue slithered past her nose – something fetid and animal, like he had eaten garlic meat, of which there must still be fragments of lodged between his molars. Except the smell was worse than that, more like rotten meat that had been left to spoil in the sun. She recoiled in disgust, not recognising the monster above her as her husband.
He let go of her hands and they lurched forward seemingly of their own free will, like they were spring loaded. They came thumping down on his head and shoulders but he didn’t so much as flinch above her. Her attack lasted of all of two seconds before he wrapped his hands around her neck and began to squeeze.
Instantly, her head felt tight and achy, her mind strangely fuzzed, like her skull was too tight for her brain. Above her, his face was twisted with shadows and evil. His eyes were black pits of nothingness, his mouth twisted into a grin.
Or perhaps a snarl.
Above the ringing in her ears she could make out his voice.
“You’re going to die, bitch…”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cassie woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in the bed in the darkened room, her heart thumping hard in her chest. Her hands flew up to her neck, expecting to find a large, pair of hands there, squeezing the life out of her.
Hugh’s hands.
But there were no hands, she could breathe, and she was alone.
It was just a nightmare.
But it had felt so real. The residues of the dream clung to her in all its awful glory. She clutched her chest through the t-shirt as if to still her racing heart, forcing herself to breathe slow and deep.
The bedroom was black and she strained her eyes in the gloom, searching for the familiar to anchor her to wakefulness. Her gaze settled on the bay window, the most illuminated part of the bedroom, which wasn’t saying all that much.
Very little light penetrated the flimsy, slatted blinds because the bedroom overlooked the large back garden which was devoid of artificial light.
The most awful sense of déjà vu washed over her.
After She Died Page 7