Dead Girl Walking (19 page)

‘So, we’re on a date now?’ he asks, looking straight ahead.

‘This is how you show a girl a good time?’ I riposte. ‘Walking down the high street?’

‘If you’re a really good girl I’ll take you down the tyre dump.’

‘I hope that’s not a euphemism.’

He turns to me with a slow smile. ‘You want to get a drink or something?’

I shake my head. ‘What I said before hasn’t changed. I don’t think I’m ready for that stuff.’

‘It doesn’t have to be alcohol. MacDonald’s is close, we could go there.’

‘Monsieur,’ I say in a rubbish French accent, ‘with this milkshake you are really spoiling me.’

‘It’s better than my last girlfriend got.’

‘What was that?’

‘Mr Whippy and a quick feel in the park around the corner.’

I raise my eyebrows and look up at him. ‘Another euphemism?’

He laughs. ‘What do you say?’

For a minute, I’m tempted. ‘I’d rather go home, if that’s ok.’

He doesn’t answer straight away. ‘Ok,’ he says finally.

We lapse into silence again. Then he breaks it.

‘How did it go with Helen?’

‘The same as always.’

‘Do you think it’s helping?’

‘Do you?’

‘You mean me or you?’ he asks.

‘You.’

‘I’m not sure,’ he says slowly.

‘That sounds kinda hopeful,’ I say.

‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I’m not sure I can be helped, ultimately.’

‘Ultimately? What does that mean?’

‘It means, in the absolute end.’

‘Smartarse. I mean, why can’t you be helped ultimately?’

He pauses. ‘Because I can learn to cope with my fears, but I know the future I see is going to play out no matter what I do. Going to see Helen feels like playacting. I do it for my mum and I tell her that it’s working so she doesn’t feel like she’s failing me.’

‘You’re that certain that your dream is going to come true?’

He’s silent. I look up to see the muscles in his jaw work as he looks straight ahead.

‘You really are screwed,’ I say.

‘And you’re normal?’ he says quietly.

‘No, I’m screwed too,’ I say, ‘but at least I can admit it.’

‘That’s the first step to recovery,’ he says in his Helen voice.

‘You did the terrible English accent again.’

‘You love it,’ he says.

‘It makes me want to slap you.’

‘I’ll take that over indifference.’

A motorbike roars past us, too fast and too close. My heart seems to stutter. His hand tightens around mine as he looks at me, concern etched in his features.

‘You ok?’ he asks.

I nod, my breath coming in short gasps.

‘You want to get off the main road?’

I shake my head. ‘It’s just…’

‘I know,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to explain it to me. I guess traffic must be scary, after what happened.’ He looks at me thoughtfully. ‘That’s why you don’t travel by car?’

‘I do, but only if I have to. Being killed in a car kind of puts you off getting back in one.’

‘I can see that.’

We’re silent again for a while, his hand still gripping mine as though he thinks he can absorb my fear through the contact. There’s something sweet about it, yet oddly melancholy.

‘What scares
you
?’ I ask.

‘Lots of things; just like everyone.’

‘You know what I mean. What’s your big one, the one that makes it so you can’t function?’

He pulls me to a halt and holds me in that dark gaze. There’s a sentence, an admission, something burning to escape his mouth. He looks as though he will speak it, but instead he pulls me into a kiss.

‘Ok,’ I whisper as our lips part. ‘That wasn’t the reply I was expecting.’

I’m jostled by a woman trying to pass us on the narrow pavement. She doesn’t apologise and I don’t shout after her. I just watch as she bustles on her impatient way, her head probably full of shopping lists and gas bills. When I look up, Dante is staring at me. He kisses me again, harder this time.

‘Stop doing that,’ I say as I break away.

‘I can’t,’ he says, ‘even though I know I should.’ His expression is suddenly pained. ‘I don’t know how long I’ve got left and the only things I could do to save myself… I don’t want to do them. It’s like I have this whole other person controlling me and sending me to my doom.’

‘That’s called your libido,’ I say with a shaky laugh. ‘I’m sorry to break it to you, but all men have that whole other person.’

He continues to hold me in his gaze for a moment, and then seems to collect his wits. ‘That’ll be it,’ he says. The smile that he fakes for me doesn’t reach his still-troubled eyes. And the one I give back is its twin.

The street empties of traffic and for a fleeting instant, quietness falls over it and over us too. The moment is broken as my phone buzzes a call.

‘You want to get that?’ he asks.

I shrug, but pull out my phone anyway. It’s a number I don’t recognise and I’m about to reject the call when Dante stops me.

‘You’d better answer,’ he says, ‘it might be important.’

I sigh. ‘Hello…’

Karl’s voice is at the other end. I hear the words
girl
and
murder
, and everything goes dark.

When I open my eyes, Dante is leaning over me. My head is cradled in his arms. There are other faces too, a curious crowd. I can hear somebody asking for an ambulance. I try to get up but I’m shaking and my limbs won’t obey. My gaze stops on a face that I recognise and I want to cry out and run, but I’m too weak, so I stare at him. With a leering grin, he slopes off and disappears amongst the passers-by of the busy street.

‘The perv guy,’ I whisper.

Dante frowns. ‘Who?’

‘The one who was chasing me that first day I met you. Remember?’

‘I don’t understand…’

‘He was just here.’

Dante’s head snaps up, his gaze piercing the crowd. ‘I can’t see him now. If he was here he’s gone and he wouldn’t dare do anything with all these people around anyway.’ He strokes a hair away from my forehead. ‘You’re safe. What happened?’

I shake my head slightly. ‘Where’s my phone?’

He holds up the pieces. ‘You dropped it.’

‘Shit.’

‘I might be able to stick it back together for you,’ he says.

‘Do you still need the ambulance, love?’ a woman asks Dante.

He glances quickly at me and then shakes his head as he reads the silent plea in my eyes. ‘No, thanks,’ he says, looking up at her.

The woman studies me for a moment, clearly unsure whether he’s right to dismiss her offer. Finally, she seems satisfied and gives a friendly smile and nod. ‘If you’re sure, sweetheart.’

Dante looks at me.

‘I’m ok,’ I croak, trying to make my voice sound as strong as I can, though I think the only person I’m fooling is myself. Despite this, the woman turns and leaves and the rest of the small crowd begins to disperse. People don’t really want to help. They’re afraid to. They have good intentions and noble sentiments, but in the end they’re thankful to be relieved of the burden of altruistic responsibilities.

‘Thank you,’ I say.

‘For what?’

‘For not getting the ambulance.’

‘Lucky I caught you,’ he says, ‘your head could have ended up like your phone.’

I push up with a shaking arm to sit. My head thuds in time with my heartbeat and sweat cools all over my body.

‘You think you’ll be ok to walk?’ Dante asks. ‘We could go and sit in a café while you get yourself together.’

‘I want to go home,’ I say, even though I don’t want to go home because I know what’s waiting there for me. I don’t know where I can be that feels safe anymore. Even inside my own head doesn’t feel safe anymore.

He supports me while I get to my feet. ‘Who was calling you?’ he asks, catching me as I wobble slightly.

‘Nobody.’

‘So you black out every time your phone rings. I must remember to always write.’

‘Ha ha.’

‘You want to try walking now?’ he asks, ignoring my sarcasm and circling a protective arm around me.

As much as it makes me feel safe, I want to shrug it off. The feeling of contentment is one that needles because I know I don’t deserve it.

‘I’m fine now, it was nothing,’ I say.

‘It didn’t look like nothing.’ He lowers his voice. ‘It’s not something to do with what happened to you after the accident, is it?’

‘What? Like I’m going to die again?’

‘No, like… you said you wondered whether you’d been in some rare type of coma. Maybe this is to do with that?’

I shake my head. ‘Trust me, this has nothing to do with the car accident.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘I just know.’

‘What is it then?’

I turn to him. ‘I don’t know,’ I say slowly. ‘I just know it’s not that.’ I start to walk and he keeps pace with me.

‘You can share things with me, Cass.’

‘So can you.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that I know there’s something you’re not telling me.’

‘Believe me, if I thought I could tell you then I would.’

‘Then please don’t nag me when I say the same thing to you.’

He opens his mouth to reply but then closes it again and we lapse into a silent truce.

The hall phone is ringing when I get home. I snatch up the receiver, and this time I know who it will be and that I have to talk to him.

‘What happened?’ Karl asks. ‘One minute I was talking to you, the next the line was dead.’

‘I dropped my phone.’ I glance at Dante who is watching me, the front door still open behind him. I can tell he’s confused about my lie but he doesn’t say a word. ‘Hang on…’ I say to Karl. I cover the mouthpiece and whisper to Dante. ‘I need to sort something out. How about you call me later? Give me a few hours, though.’ I grab a pen from the telephone table. ‘You’d better have my landline,’ I say as I write the number on the back of his hand. He looks at the marks on his skin and then up at me. Then he hands me the pieces of my phone. ‘I could stop by later to have a look at it… if you’re not busy,’ he says.

‘Not tonight.’

Dante looks hurt.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘But I have to talk to someone about something really important and I don’t think I’ll be very good company tonight.’

‘I could help, maybe make you feel better?’

‘No, I can’t… sorry.’

‘I can wait in another room; I don’t have to listen in. I can be here if you need me but I won’t get in your way…’

‘You can’t. Call me later if you want but it’s pointless being here.’

He nods reluctantly and then heads for the door. I dump the pieces of my mobile on the telephone table and watch has he heads for the door. Regret stabs at my gut as he shuts it and is gone. I want him here, more than anything, but I can’t involve him in this mess.

Taking a deep breath, I take my hand from the telephone receiver.

‘You don’t need to do this,’ Karl says. ‘There is never any pressure; you know that, don’t you?’

‘That’s good, because I really don’t know if I can again.’

There’s a pause. Then he finally speaks, but he doesn’t seem quite convinced of his words. ‘I’m sorry if my call distressed you. I won’t bother you again; thanks for everything you’ve done this far.’

‘It hurts,’ I say. ‘It’s no excuse, I know, but it hurts too much. For a long time afterwards.’

‘Cassie,’ he says gently, ‘it’s ok.’

‘But you must have been desperate if you called me again.’

He sighs. ‘I won’t lie; I am.’

‘When was she found?’

‘A few hours ago. In a car wrecking yard.’

Nausea rises. I swallow it back and the bile leaves my throat burning.

‘Who was she?’

‘It’s not confirmed yet.’

‘Who do you
think
she is?’

‘I can’t say until I know for sure.’

‘Give me something.’

He pauses. ‘I really hope it’s not who we think it is. Because who we think it is… she’s only fifteen. Snuck out, done up to the nines to look older to go clubbing. Lost her mates while they were out and went missing. Parents phoned us panicking in the early hours.’

I let my head fall to the table and close my eyes to stop the spinning. I killed this one. I killed her as surely as if I’d strangled her myself. A knife to the heart and home to bed – that’s what I should have done.

‘Cassie?’ he says anxiously. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I’ll come,’ I say. My thoughts are still sluggish, I can’t seem to make anything coordinate properly, but I have to do this.

‘You said –’

‘I’ll come.’

He pauses again. But I can almost hear the satisfaction in his voice that he’s probably trying to mask when he eventually replies. ‘You don’t need to come right now,’ he says. ‘We won’t be ready for you until tomorrow.’

‘So I have all night to think about what’s waiting for me in the mortuary.’

‘Just try to rest and not worry about it,’ he says. He hands me a flaming brand and then he tells me not to burn myself. How can I think about anything else now?

‘Is there anything I can do for you till then?’ he asks.

‘No,’ I say miserably. ‘Unless you have a memory-wipe gadget.’

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Anything more practical than that?’

‘Just catch him.’

‘Oh, we’ll do that alright,’ he says grimly. ‘This will be the last death, I swear.’

Just as my eyes start to close there’s a noise from outside. I leap up from the sofa and head to the window, suddenly wide awake, shivering and tense. With the curtain pulled back just a crack, I inch around the window frame and scan the street. I see the dark figure of a man stride away, hunched, as if his hands are deep in his pockets. Across the road, one of the neighbours emerges from his house with a dog for an evening walk. I don’t know his name but I see him every day. Tish and I used to laugh at him because he looks like he should be in the SAS or something and he’s forced to walk this ridiculous looking Chihuahua with bows and a pink coat. I’m guessing it’s his wife’s dog. The sight of him makes me think about Marmalade. I still haven’t seen her since the night the window was open. I had thought that a pet would offer uncomplicated, unconditional love. Turns out that even pets can screw you over in the end if you give your heart to the wrong one.