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Authors: Dani Atkins

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Romance

Fractured (10 page)

BOOK: Fractured
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‘No, don’t you do this to me,’ I implored the mobile, as if reasoning with it alone could alter the reception. I pressed redial, drumming my fingers with impatience against the phone when it seemed to take an interminable amount of time to tell me exactly the same thing.

Forgetting about looking foolish, I raised my arm and held the small silver phone high above my head, slowly sweeping an arc across the air, trying to pick up a signal. As I pivoted around in my futile attempts to gain reception, I thought I saw a fleeting dark shadow break the shaft of light falling from the station entrance. I froze. Like a rabbit in the headlights my eyes were riveted to the light. It wasn’t until they began to water from the strain that I realised I was staring so hard I’d forgotten to blink. Although I saw nothing else from the station doorway, I knew I had not been mistaken; something or someone was inside that building and, for reasons that seemed unlikely to be innocent, they were still lurking out of sight within the shadows.

Knowing it was useless, but compelled to try anyway, I once more pressed the redial button. Frustration at its repeated failure to perform its most basic function almost made me throw the phone on the pavement in disgust. Fortunately good sense prevailed. The irony was there was a bank of payphones inside the station. I’d been standing right beside them after climbing the stairs. But I could no more force myself to walk back into that building than I could pluck a signal from the airwaves by sheer force of will. I had to face facts. I was alone in a remote area on a dark December evening, with no means of communication and no way of knowing if the man who had so terrified me earlier that evening had followed me off the train.

I tried to calm my racing thoughts which were beginning to get away from me like stampeding ponies. Focus on the problem in hand; the problem that was fact and not a terrified flight of fantasy. I had to communicate with someone, be it Matt, a cab company, or the police, and I had no means of doing so. Well, stripped down like that, the answer was obvious. Find another phone. There were still payphones on British streets, weren’t there? Mobiles hadn’t entirely taken over our civilisation yet, had they? And while I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually used a telephone kiosk, I knew that I ought to be able to find one somewhere. I swept my glance around the car park and taxi rank area. Well, no, there wouldn’t be any here when there was a perfectly adequate bank of phones sitting a few hundred metres away inside the station. And they’d be ideal – if it weren’t for the homicidal maniac lying in wait right beside them. A small laugh, more hysterical than amused, bubbled up as my over-active imagination elevated the possibly-not-even-there stalker to deadly criminal status.

And then I remembered. There was a payphone on the pavement just outside the old church. Or at least there always used to be. And the church wasn’t that far away, a mile or two at most, I reckoned. And worst case scenario, if the phone booth
had
been removed, I would at least be halfway towards the main town, where I’d be sure to find another one, or even hail a cab. Having a plan was like antacid on the burn of my panic.

With exaggerated slowness I began to step back towards the road which would lead me to the church. Although I wasn’t sure how far sound could carry in the night, I wanted to be as quiet as possible as I made my retreat from the station. So I didn’t risk dragging my case along on its casters but picked it up the handles instead. Carrying it might slow me down a little but the rumbling sound of the wheels would lead anyone straight to me like a tracking device. And even though it was cumbersome to carry so many things at once, I still kept my mobile phone open in my hand, trying it every twenty seconds or so, ever-hopeful that it would respond.

I can’t remember when I knew for certain that he was behind me.

I thought I’d been so quiet. Until I was some distance from the station I had lowered each foot into careful place on the pavement, effectively muffling the sound of my tread. Only when I felt positive that I was out of earshot did I break into a really brisk walk. I risked looking backwards on numerous occasions, never once seeing anyone. There were several roads that led away from the station. If he hadn’t seen me leave, it would be impossible to know which one I had taken. I had just begun to feel the vice grip of panic loosen its fingers from around my heart when I heard the noise. A light tinkling sound, followed by a rolling noise. As though someone had accidentally kicked a bottle into the road.

Standing statue-still, I strained my ears and my eyes. There were no street lamps on this stretch of road, they would not appear until I’d reached the church itself. And the leafy street, lined with thickly trunked trees, could provide a hundred hiding places for someone to conceal themselves, when the only light around was from an icy moon and a frosting of stars.

This was not the time for caution. I ran. And as I did I heard the sound of heavier footsteps begin to do the same. It was impossible to be certain but I was grateful to hear that the sound was not as close as I had first thought. Needing to know how much of a lead I had, I threw a backward glance over my shoulder and although I could still hear the heavy pounding on the pavement, I still couldn’t see anyone. I picked up my legs and drove myself harder.

I wasn’t particularly fit, I’d proved that already from my dash to catch the train, but it’s amazing the effect that pure adrenalin can achieve. I hadn’t moved this quickly since my school days, yet still I could hear the echoing pounding of my pursuer. I wasn’t breaking ahead, just maintaining the distance. I knew I couldn’t keep going at this pace, not for much longer. My shoes, designed for fashion rather than a survival sprint, had several times skidded on the rime of ice lying on the pavement’s surface. On one particularly icy patch I totally lost my purchase and felt my feet slide from beneath me. My arms cartwheeled in an attempt to regain my balance, and my case dropped with a thud to the pavement. Somehow I didn’t fall, but I left the case where it lay. Less than twenty seconds later I heard a crashing sound, and a loud cry. At least now I knew how far behind me he was. It was too much to hope he’d broken his ankle in the tumble, but even the idea of him being injured gave me the spurt of extra drive to keep going.

I wasn’t far from the crest of the hill. In the moonlight I could just make out the spire from the church. I was really close. I think I had half convinced myself that there would be no phone box when I got there. Everything about this evening had seemed to be set against me; so the exhilaration of seeing the kiosk a hundred metres or so up ahead at first felt like a beautiful mirage. My heart was thundering in my chest and my side felt as though it was being ripped open by a stitch, but I didn’t slow down. I hadn’t heard any more from behind me but I still needed time to get to the box and dial the call. 999. How long does it take to get through? Could I summon help before he reached me? Would I have enough air left in my lungs to speak at all? The only answer to any of these questions was to run harder, which I did, my thumb still convulsively pushing the redial button on my mobile, as it had done since I left the station.

I was almost there. My fingers were literally outstretched towards the handle of the phone kiosk when a handful of my coat was yanked viciously from behind me, and I went down. No arms came out to break my fall this time, and I hit the icy pavement hard, my head cracking painfully upon the ground. I fell with such force that I took him down with me, and I heard the thump of his stocky body crashing down behind me. I don’t think I was even aware of the warm sticky flow of blood from my head as I scrambled to my knees. No bones appeared to be broken, I could still move, and though I’d probably lost layers of skin off both my hands and knees I wasn’t even aware of the pain.

But before I could raise myself any further than being on all fours, a cruel vice grip caught my ankle and I was down again. I kicked back instinctively and knew from his cry my heel had struck him somewhere where it hurt. His grip fell away and I immediately attempted to crawl away, using my elbows and arms to drag me along commando-style. I had gone about a metre when he was on me again. His knee hard in the middle of my back. I could hear him muttering and swearing as he used his full body weight to hold me motionless. I felt the fight drain from me. I had tried and failed. My vision was almost obliterated by the fast-flowing stream of blood from my head, and I could feel myself begin to slide into unconsciousness. I wanted to fight it but there were no reserves left to draw upon. The man roughly grabbed the sleeve of my coat, the white fabric already stained with my blood, and yanked my arm up at an unnatural angle. He said one word, just one – ‘Bitch!’ – as his thick fingers found my hand and yanked off my engagement ring. The weight on my back was suddenly gone. And so, I realised, was the man.

That was what it had all been for? The damned diamond ring? Had all this happened just because I’d worn the ring while travelling? And I wouldn’t even be able to identify my attacker, because I’d never seen his face. It might never have been the man from the train at all.

The darkness around me seemed to be growing thicker and I felt as though I was teetering upon the edge of a dark hole. A faint thrumming noise sounded by my ear, and I thought at first it was the rush of blood until the truth pierced through my consciousness. It was a ringing tone. Somehow my hand had never lost its grip on my phone, and finally my compulsive attempts had at last achieved success.

‘Rachel, are you there?’ The voice sounded tinny and small and very far away indeed.

‘Help me…’ I cried out, and then the blackness sucked me under.

5

They sedated me. I suppose they had to, although it seemed crazy waiting nearly two days for me to wake up, only to put me straight back under again. And the more I struggled and begged my dad not to let them do it, the more panic and concern I could see mirrored in his eyes. As the consultant barked sharply worded instructions to the nurse to prepare the sedative, I was still pleading with my dad to explain how he had got well again so quickly, and when he wouldn’t reply, shaking his head helplessly in confusion, I only became more distressed. It was quite a relief when the drug they inserted into my IV flooded into my system and my lids fell closed.

My eyes flickered open sometime later, and although the room was darkened, it seemed to be full of people. I could hear hushed whispers from voices that were tantalisingly familiar. My eyelids felt leaden, too heavy to open more than the merest slit. I couldn’t really make out who was in the room, just four or more tall shapes, all darkly clothed I thought, or perhaps they were all just in the shadows. Sleep reclaimed me.

I briefly woke for a second period some time later on that night. The group of people, whoever they had been, were now gone. I had absolutely no idea what time it was but the room was in total darkness except for the small pool of light directed down towards a chair pulled up to my bedside, in which my father sat sleeping. There was an open book lying across his lap, and an empty food tray on the unit beside me. I correctly guessed he had not left my side all day. From his slightly open mouth a soft snore emitted with each indrawn breath. He looked tired and dishevelled… and yet still, unbelievably and impossibly, he looked completely well. I needed to speak to him; I felt desperate to find out what was going on, as nothing made any sense, but the struggle to stay awake was too much. Sleep overtook me once more before I could call out his name.

The clatter of a food trolley woke me the next morning. I blinked in protest at the surprisingly bright morning light falling into my hospital room.

‘Good, you’re awake in time for breakfast,’ my dad announced in an overly cheery tone. I was slow in turning my head towards him, hopeful that the strange episode of the previous day had just been imagined. He must have seen the look in my eyes as I once more took in his obvious good health, for his smile faltered a little. I felt a stab of absolute mortification. Had I actually been hoping to see my only parent still in the throes of his battle with a terrible disease? What sort of a person did that make me?

I tried to smile back.

‘G’morning,’ I mumbled. My mouth felt as though someone had stuffed it with cotton wool in the night.

‘How are you this morning? Are you ready for something to eat?’

I shook my head, the thought of food making my stomach roll in horror.

‘Tea,’ I croaked, my throat as parched as my tongue. I tried again with more effort. ‘Just some tea, please, Dad.’

His eyes never left me as I raised the utilitarian white cup to my lips and didn’t lower it until it was emptied. He seemed pleased to see me performing such a mundane function without incident or outburst. Was that a measure of my sanity? Didn’t crazy people drink tea?

‘Shall I see if the nurses can get you another one?’ I nodded, and was grateful when he left to pursue a second cup as it gave me a minute or two to collect my thoughts. He was gone nowhere near long enough for me to even begin to have sorted out my bewilderment. I drained the second cup and felt, physically at least, a little revived.

‘So how is your head this morning, sweetheart?’

‘Better, I think. Dad, what’s going on here?’

He looked uncomfortable, before bouncing the question back to me:

‘Going on here? What do you mean?’

‘Stop it, Dad. I mean it. What’s happened to you, and why haven’t you told me about it? Have they got you on some miracle drug or something? Are you in remission?’

The look on his face was tortured; he was clearly searching, and failing, to find the right answer to give me.

‘Rachel, love, I think you are still a little confused—’

I interrupted him, struggling to sit up more fully in bed, causing me to wince from what felt like a thousand bruises which I had no idea how I got. I tried to speak really slowly, articulating each word in a reasonable tone; the last thing I wanted was someone calling for me to be sedated again.

BOOK: Fractured
3.16Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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