Ahead of the Darkness (26 page)

“You’ll write, won’t you, dear?”

Anne tried to hold back tears as she handed me the huge bag of food supplies. I buckled up, and put it all on the passage seat.

“Yes.”
If I can
.

“When you can, of course.”

“When I can.”

“And Drew?”

“Tell him ... tell him ...”
I ...

I couldn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t know how. Anne gave me a small, sad smile.

“I’ll tell him.”

I nodded once, starting the car, the familiar anxiety still present, but thanks to Drew, manageable.

“Thank you, for, for everything,” I yelled out the window as I drove off.

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O
nce I’d left Seaford, I followed my phone map to the nearest motorway and kept driving north. The silence in the car was deafening, making it difficult to concentrate. I missed the sound of the train. The soothing clickety clack as it sped along the tracks used to comfort me, but after an hour of nothing but road and no real sound, I struggled to keep my eyes open. The horizon had started to warm with the rich colours of sunrise. The soft amber tones breaking through told me the sun would be up in a few hours, hopefully, helping to keep me awake. I can’t stop.

My eyes were too heavy to hope the sun would help so I gave in, and remembered the sound system. I fiddled one handed with some buttons on Anne's old stereo until I finally got it working, and hoped whatever was in there wasn't awful. I mentally kicked myself for leaving my MP3 player in the back.

I sighed in relief when Adele’s “Turning Tables” started to play. It had been one of my favourite songs for so long, but for some reason, the words made me feel uneasy. I hit skip and “Rolling in the Deep” started to play. I sang along at the top of my lungs, right up until the second chorus. The words finally sunk in, and I stumbled on having it all. The lyrics getting stuck in my throat. I sat there, frozen, running on auto-pilot as the words seeped in, throwing salt on my gaping heart.

I’d reached my fill. I couldn’t handle anymore, and angrily went to hit stop but instead hit skip. The mellow tones of “Someone Like You” filled the car, and my heart broke all over again. My eyes filled with tears and I slammed my foot down on the brake, the car coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the deserted motorway.

The tears were relentless as I sat, gripping the steering wheel too tight, my knuckles white with the strain. Each agonising word was more acute than the last, and so perfectly accurate they felt like daggers, hitting me deep. I couldn’t bare the thought of Drew finding someone else, loving someone else. The thought was crippling.

The pressure was overwhelming and I screamed at the top of my lungs, desperate for some respite. It didn’t help, not enough. I pulled out my seatbelt, roughly yanked opened the car door and got out. I fell against the door, closing it on impact. I kicked it again and again with the base of my shoe. I couldn’t get the sobbing under control, pounded my fists against the car frame but it only made my body ache more. At least it was a tangible pain, one I could hold on to.

I bashed the door behind me one last time, the impact sending shockwaves up my arms. I slid down the car in a crumpled heap on the asphalt, shattered and broken beyond repair.

I’d thought I was doing the right thing, leaving. I wanted what was best for Drew; that’s why I left, wasn’t it? He’d find someone else, someone less damaged and without a monster on their tail. I couldn’t risk Drew’s safety because I was selfish enough to stay.

Images of Drew happily walking down the street with someone else, kissing the side of her forehead, his hand rubbing her swollen belly affectionately. My resolve disintegrated.

It should be me ...

I struggled to my feet and gingerly opened Anne’s now dented car door, my hands and wrist throbbing with the effort, and got in. My heart beat faster when I put my foot on the gas, screeching the tyres as I managed to pull off an illegal U-turn in the middle of the motorway.

“Baiser!”

I couldn’t breathe. I was going back, for Drew. I had no choice. I needed him; I wanted him. There would never be anyone else. He was everything. He could soothe me like no other, and enrage me in the next breath. He was my passion, and my serenity. I’d left him once and I wasn’t strong enough to do it again.

I put my foot to the floor, breaking all the speed limits as I headed back to Seaford. I rolled down the window, ejected the CD, and threw it out the window. I made a note to buy Anne a new one. There’d be no goodbyes, no finding some else—I didn’t want to hear about losing anything. I’d find some way to convince Drew to leave with me. He would, wouldn’t he? We couldn’t stay, and he loved me. Even if it was just for a little while, we needed to leave. He would leave with me.

The hour journey took less than forty-five minutes, and then I was pulling up outside of Drew’s apartment. I sat there for a few moments trying not to hyperventilate before I unclicked my seat belt and rushed out of the car, leaving the engine running and the door open.

I ran up the three steps to the security door and let myself in. I didn’t pause at finding it unlocked and took the stairs, two at a time. My legs struggled with the exertion, but I powered through and made it to the top of the stairs. I banged on Drew’s door, not caring that it was most likely three or four in the morning.

The door opened immediately and Drew was standing there with the biggest smile on his face.

“Mia. You’re here. You came back?”

I lunged towards him, almost knocking us to the floor.

“I’ll always come back to you, Drew. I can’t leave you. I love you.”

I stood up on my tiptoes, locking my fingers around Drew’s neck as he wrapped his arms around my middle, lifting me up so our mouths urgently met. I couldn’t get enough, but there wasn’t time, and I pulled back.

“Drew.”

He tried to reach for my lips again, but I loosened my hold around his neck and lowered my feet back to the floor.

“Stop. We need to leave. Please, come with me. I can’t stay; we can’t stay. He’ll find us.”

I was crying again, or maybe still, and he lifted his hands up to cup my face, stroking my cheeks softly with the palms of his thumb.

“I’ll follow ye to the ends of the earth, Ameila. Ye have to know that. In the morning we’ll pack up the car and drive, anywhere ye want. We have time.”

“It can’t wait Drew.”

Amelia?

“When . . . did you start calling me Amelia?”

“Hmm? Never mind that. I though ye were gone. We can spare a couple of hours before we’re stuck in a car.” His hand came up to gently stroke my face. “I need to hold ye. Come to bed, love. Ye need some rest.”

His lips met mine again, soft and lingering, and my eyes closed with the kiss, full of promise.

Amelia?

My eyes snapped open.

Amelia.

I pulled back. My vision blurred, and everything went black . . .

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“A
melia!”

Splash!

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I
gasp and cough at what I vaguely understand to be liquid rolling down my face. My heart starts to race, and I can’t seem to shake the disorientation. I’m so confused. I have no idea where I am, and it’s too dark to see. Before I have time to call out there’s a bright light shining in my face, making me cower up against the wall behind me, closing my eyes to block out sharp sting.

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“W
hat . . .” I cough painfully, my throat a burning mess, and my jaw aching.

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“I
t’s not nearly as much fun when you’re not here with me, mon chérié.”

Oh God. That voice.

Another splash of water hits my face and I jolt awake again, a little sharper this time.

“Drew, Drew. We need to leave,” he mimics, and laughs.

My skin crawls at the sound.

“There’s no one to save you, and you’re not leaving here. Not alive.”

I try to take a shattering breath in and cry out, clutching at the stabbing pain in my chest, crying out again as the manacle pulls on my wrist.

“You chained me?”

“Where have you been hiding? In your made-up world?”

Made up? “Drew ...?” I whisper.

“Not real. You talk, when you pass out, mumbling for Drew. There is no Drew, Amelia. There never was.”

“You’re lying.”

He has to be lying. Drew is real. I feel it. I know it was real. It has to be.

“Then how did you get here? Answer me that.”

I have nothing. Blank. All I can remember is Drew’s face, his touch.

“It’s real. He’s real,” I shout out hoarsely.

I hear footsteps quickly approaching and I snap my eyes open in time to see my father standing over me.

“You want something real? This.” His foot comes down hard on my left hand, and I feel the bones crunch under his shoe before the excruciating pain registers. I scream out. “Is real.”

He lifts his foot off my hand and storms off, slamming a door behind him.

I gingerly lift my hand to my chest, the blood bumping through my hand feeling like razor blades, cradling it as best I can with the limited movement I have. I take shallow breaths, the stabbing heat in my chest making anything more impossible. It’s just pain, I tell myself, it will pass. But I am struggling to stay lucid.

Shhh. Breathe, love. Breathe

Drew’s voice lingers in my mind and sob breaks free. He had to be real; the thought of him not is nearly as crushing as the pain in my hand; more so.

It’s starting to consume me.

Think, Mia. How did you get here? I try to look through the blinding light, and all I can see is concrete. Nothing but concrete. I’m in a basement, that much is clear, but I think I should have known this already.

How long have I been out for? My brain is a jumbled mess. I can’t place any of the images running through my mind Almost all of them are of Drew.

Think.

The last thing I can remember is ... a car. I was driving. I was driving? I was in Anne’s car. Oh, Anne. Does that mean she isn’t real, either? I remember her so vividly. Her warm face and greying hair, she looked so sad as I left. I can’t have made that up. Surely.

I drove off in Anne’s car, the feeling of desperation present. I was running from my father, but then how did I end up here? Think!

The soft croon of Adele’s voice drifts through my thoughts, and lyric becoming clear and clear. Something about having ...

It all.

Oh God. That was it. I had come back for Drew. I’d turned the car around and come back for Drew, but then what happened?

I’m completely blank. I take another few shaky breaths as I adjust myself a little, wincing at the pain of stretching out my legs.

I look down at myself, and my eyes widen. My hand already swollen, looking close to double its size. My arms and legs are covered in lacerations, with dried blood and dirt everywhere.

I am wearing some sort of cloth, which is also covered in grime and slashes of blood. I tentatively lift my good hand to my face and wince when I make contact. I can feel the swell of my cheek, and the remnant of what I presume is my own dried blood.

The door abruptly opens, slamming against the wall, and I quickly close my eyes. My father’s steps are sharp against the concrete, and I try not to cower when they come closer and closer. Something like the sound of wet rope being pulled along the floor gets my attention, but I dare not move.

“Look at you. You’re filthy, lying in your own disgusting filth for days. I can’t stand the smell.”

Days? I still don’t move, but I have a feeling I knew what is coming next. The unmistakeable sound of a hose being turned on has my eyes snapping open in horror seconds before the blasting cold spray hits me in the chest.

I scream when the spray comes in contact with my hand and ribs, and I try to shield it, failing miserably with the manacle’s limited range. I stagger to my feet, trying not to slip. I hear a faint crashing sound in the distance, but pay it no mind.

“You’re just like your mother, a filthy whore. No one could love you. Your own father didn’t want you.”

“What?”

“That’s right. I took your mother in when she was pregnant, and made you my own. And what thanks did I get? Ten fucking years in prison, that’s what I got. For your mother breaking her own useless neck.”

“You killed her. I saw it!”

“Shut your filthy mouth.”

The spray comes up, pushing my head against the wall, and I hear a muffled crack as my skull makes contact.

“Mia!”

The spray stops suddenly. My head is spinning and I can feel blood running down my face.

“How the fuck?”

The sound of flesh hitting flesh rings out through the room, and a loud thud follows.

“Oh God, Mia.”

I hear splashing, and feel hands on my face. I jerk, and gasp at the sudden pain to my cheek, and pounding of my head.

“Mia, love, it’s me.”

My heart stops. Drew. Drew is here? He’s real?

“Drew?”

“I’ve got ye.”

He’s real.

The tears break free at hearing those three words. “You’re real.” I sobbed.

The sound of the chains coming loose from the wall startles me, and I stagger painfully forward into the lamp that had been blinding me before and struggle to hold on to it. Drew rushes to me and I see his face twisted in a grimace.

“Mia ...” The pain is thick in his voice, but before I can respond my father has staggered to his feet. My eyes widen in panic, and I scream for Drew. He spins out of the way, the blade missing him by a hair’s breadth as my father lunges forward. I don’t think. I grip the lamp tight, and swing. The head of the lamp shatters as it comes in contact with my father’s head.

“Mia!” Drew screams as my father buries the blade into me before he staggers back, clutching the shard of glass in his neck.

My hands fly to the blade protruding from my side, and my legs wobble beneath me. Drew catches me before I can hit the concrete.

“Mia! Oh God, Mia. That should have been me!”

“You’re here? You’re real.”

“Shh love, hold on. Ye going to be okay. I’ve got ye.”