Guilt Trip (17 page)

The last time I’d been here I’d seen very
little, just a few glimpses over other people’s shoulders. But this time, there
were only the two of us on the platform, and I could see it in its entirety, a
huge cavern over which dangled a thousand spikes. And though I knew they were
made from re-formed limestone deposits, they looked like crystal as the water trickling
over them sparkled. Like needles of ice. Cold and sharp. A legion of daggers,
their thin blades shining.

And so we
took off our hardhats and stood, Luke behind me with his arms around my waist, our
heads side by side, just looking.

“It’s
beautiful,” I said. And it was. Beautiful, yet cold and cruel.

“
You’re
beautiful,” he said, turning me
gently so that I was facing him and he could look into my eyes. “The most
beautiful thing in my life.”

I gave
him my sweetest smile, but the bitterness inside me was taking a firm grip on
my heart, twisting it, ringing all the softer emotions out of it, so that they
dripped away, leaving it hard as flint. And I laughed to myself: he hadn’t even
noticed that he’d just called me a
thing.
His possession. To treat as he pleased.

“Drinks!”
I said, pulling away and taking off my bag, opening it to find the bottles of
Coke. Holding one by the scratched lid, I gently shook it a couple of times as
I took it out and handed it to him.

As he
turned away, first taking off his waterproof jacket and then crouching down to
put on the CD, I carefully hoisted myself up so that I was sitting on the railing
of the scaffold where it formed a right angle, a corner jutting out over the
cavern. A shudder ran through me. It was way too high. Tucking my feet under
the next rung to help keep me steady and holding the Coke bottle between my
knees, I took hold of the carabiner clips already fixed to the back of my belt,
attaching the free end to the rail, checking it a couple of times to make sure
it was secure. I only hoped it was strong enough for my purpose.

When Luke
returned, he leaned on the railing next to me, and we looked out over the Hall
of Teeth as loud rock music echoed around us.

I watched
out of the corner of my eye as he took a mouthful of his drink, praying that he
wouldn’t notice anything. But there was no reaction. Obviously the tablets
hadn’t affected the taste.

I looked
down at the cave floor thirty metres below, a rocky terrain, the result of some
kind of landslide or collapse in the past, thinking about Billie’s body lying
there, dead. I shuddered, looking anxiously at Luke, wondering what
he
was thinking about.

“I’ve
been back a few times, you know,” he said, taking another large swig of his
Coke. “Standing here, alone, thinking about you.”

He was
talking to me as if I were Billie. Not Melissa. The real me didn’t seem to
exist for him now. He didn’t even ask how or why. In fact he didn’t question it
at all. And it didn’t seem to matter whether I spoke in my own voice or not. He
simply looked at me and all he could see was her.

I guessed
it had been like that all along, really.

“I’ve
missed you, Billie,” he said suddenly, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve
been so lonely without you.”

And so,
though I detested this man with every fibre of my being, I opened my arms out
to him. With a cry, he fell into them like a child seeking comfort, his face burrowing
into my neck. And so I held him to me as he trembled and shook.

 
“Shh,” I said gently. “I’m here now.”

And as I
soothed him, stroking his hair rhythmically, repetitively, almost in a
trance-like way, the introduction to the next song began. Billie’s song. Nirvana:
Come as You Are
. And as it filled the
cavern with its haunting melody, I marvelled at how much Luke had missed her. At
how his grief had brought him so low, that he was ready to believe, without
question, that I was Billie. That she had come back to him. And that, after
everything that had happened, she still loved him.

Gradually
his shuddering ceased and his breathing returned to normal. He straightened up,
wiping his face with his hand and taking a long, hard drink of Coke, greedily
swallowing until the bottle was empty.

I put the
lid back on mine and passed it to him and then watched as he took them both, putting
them on the floor with our other belongings.

As he bent
down, he stumbled slightly, putting out his hand to steady himself. Nothing
much - just a little imbalance. But it was a good sign that the pills were
starting to work.

 
And then he came back to me - taking my
hands in his, kissing my palms and then my wrists as he moved them, placing
them around his neck as he moved in, looking at me, deep into my eyes, searching
for Billie, drinking her in when he found her. And then, tilting my face to
his, he kissed me. A beautiful kiss. Almost like love.

But I
wasn’t fooled this time. Luke couldn’t love anyone. And his kiss turned my
stomach.

But we
continued, Luke gradually becoming more passionate, his body pressing against
me, his hands grasping at my hair, pulling my head back as he kissed my neck
and throat as if he would almost devour me in his effort to get to Billie. To
be close to her once more. After all their time apart.

And I let
him. I endured it all, silently, passively, yet all the time wishing for it to
be over. I felt disgusting. Dirty. Used. But I knew that resistance wasn’t a
good idea - yet.

And gradually
the pills started to take more effect, his movements becoming clumsy. Not
enough to complete my plan yet - but soon…

But then
a different track came on - something faster, louder, almost savage - and Luke grew
more passionate still, more intense, rougher - his mouth grinding and biting at
mine until he was actually hurting me.

And then
his hands began to work their way down from my hair to my neck to the front of
my coat, tugging at the zip, creeping their way inside, pulling my striped top
up so that they could slip underneath it, sliding over my bare flesh.

I drew my
breath in sharply, frightened about where this was leading, hating the feel of
his fingers rasping against my skin.

But Luke
smiled, as if I had given a gasp of pleasure, oblivious to my disgust. Or
simply not caring.

Instinctively,
though it was still too soon to put my plan into action, I began to squirm, trying
to pull his arm away. But his hand immediately returned to the same place.

I tried
again, too terrified to let this go on any longer, any further; but he was
insistent, greedy to explore.

“No,” I said,
pushing him away more forcefully this time.

“Come on, Billie.” He tried to shove his
hand back inside my clothing, actually ripping a seam in his haste to get to my
body.

“No!”

And so we
struggled, Luke becoming more and more aggressive as it finally sunk in that I
meant it, that I was actually rejecting him.

“Billie!”
Suddenly he slapped me across the face, hard, so that I had to grab hold of the
front of his jacket to avoid losing my balance on the railing.

But still
I refused to submit.

“I’m
warning you, Billie!” Suddenly he grabbed me by the throat, pushing me
backwards so that I was leaning over the thirty-metre drop.

“Luke. Stop
it. Please.”

His
fingers dug into my neck, hurting me as he bent me further back. “No, Billie,
it’s your own fault. You have to learn.”

Still
holding on to me, he climbed up onto the first rail so that he could lean right
over me, into my face, his weight pushing me even further back over the drop. “What
did I tell you?”

When I
didn’t answer, his hands at my throat tightened so that I had to gasp for air. “Remember,
Billie. What did I tell you?”

“I, I
don’t know…”

He leaned
further over me, his face almost touching mine. “Three things. Three simple
little things, Billie. And yet we’ve had to go over them time and time again.”

“I…I…”

“Number
one: you belong to me. Remember? You’re mine.”

“I…I…”

“Number
two: you do as I say - whatever and whenever I say it.” His mouth moved to the
side of my face and I tried desperately not to flinch as he put out his tongue
and licked my skin, a long, slow wet trail from the bottom of my cheek up to my
ear.

And there
he whispered, soft and menacing: “Whatever and whenever… Remember?”

Terrified
beyond words, I gave an involuntary whimper at which he laughed, delighted at
my obvious fear.

“And
number three. Do you remember, Billie? Surely you haven’t forgotten this one? You’ve
had seventeen years to think it over. To regret what you did. What you said
right here in this cavern. Number three: you never, ever try to leave me.”

My eyes
widened. So
that
was what Billie had
wanted to ‘tell him’. That they were over. Finished. That she was leaving him.

So I
guessed hanging up the bear was part of it. Like plunging in at the deep end. A
way to force her own hand, to make sure she stuck to her resolve, went through
with it. As she said in her diary, she now had ‘no choice’ but to ‘explain’. After
all, having destroyed his gift, her punishment would already be immense, so why
not take it further. Terminate their relationship. It’s not as if he could get
any angrier…

But Luke
wasn’t finished with me yet. Snickering, proud of himself, he twisted my head
so that from the corner of my eye I could see down to the drop below me. “Well
I showed you Billie,” he said. “I showed you.”

And then
I finally understood it all. Billie hadn’t slipped from his hands at all. He’d
let
her fall.

She’d
tried to leave him, and so he’d killed her.

Panic
gripped me like a vice. He’d
murdered
Billie. And here we were, Luke holding me over the very same height - and the
only difference between the two scenes was a pair of carabiner clips.

Instinctively
I began to struggle again, even more wildly this time, desperate to get him off
me. But my efforts only incensed him further.

“I did it
once!” he shouted in my face. “And I can do it again.”

Slow and
lumbering from the tablets, he clambered up another rung of the scaffolding, so
that he could hold me even further over the drop, arching me backwards so that
I cried out in fear and pain, grabbing tight hold of his coat, terrified; if he
let go now, I would certainly fall back.

On
hearing my terror, he began to laugh again. A stupid, drunken sound. Revelling
in his triumph. His power over me. His mastery.

“Oh yes,
I’ll show you, Billie.”

It was
now or never. I
had
to make my move.

Struggling
to pull my head forward, I looked into his face. “Don’t call me Billie,” I hissed.
“My name is Melissa.”

Then,
still holding on to the front of his jacket, I unhooked my feet and pulled
sharply, lunging myself backwards over the rail, into the void, pulling the
poorly-balanced and startled Luke with me.

As we
crashed over the side of the scaffold, his weight was on top of me, crushing my
legs into the rail, then forcing my head and back to slam painfully against the
metal posts. But, mercifully, the carabiner clips held fast, and my fall was
brought to an abrupt halt.

But Luke’s
wasn’t, and so as
I
came to a stop,
he continued down, sliding heavily over me, descending past me, his body
plummeting headfirst to the rocky floor below.

I don’t
know how long I hung there, my heart pounding, adrenalin coursing through my
veins. But eventually I grew calmer. And then the pain began. Every muscle in
my body cried out, and my head and back ached from where they had crashed into
the metal scaffolding. It was agony, but somehow I managed to hoist myself up and
back over the rail to safety.

Unclipping
myself, I looked down to the body sprawled across the rocks below as Billie’s
once had.

Opening my
backpack, I took out her diary, wiping it down with my sleeve, and then throwing
it over the rail so that it landed next to the body, the loose pages and
newspaper clipping scattering round it.

I
wondered how thoroughly the police would study it. Would they analyse it fully,
working out his real part in her death? Or would they simply glance at it,
seeing it as proof that he was still grieving for his dead love? Either way, it
would be enough to account for his apparent pill taking and suicide. Especially
if Paula told them that one of his recent guests had slightly resembled Billie.
But even if they only flicked through it, surely
some
of his violent nature would come to light. And the gossip
would spread. It might even hit the local headlines. And then people would know
the kind of man he had been.

But
whatever happened next, however much of the truth about him came out, one fact
remained: Luke had finally been punished. And Billie’s death had been avenged.

But where
was
Billie? Didn’t she have anything
to say? She’d asked for my help, and I’d given it to her. Her killer was dead. So
where was she?

Stuffing
my Coke bottle into my bag, I carefully wiped the top of the other, leaving it
by the CD player. Then, grabbing my hardhat, I headed back into the tunnel. And
it was then, as I was leaving, that I heard her.

“Help
me!” The voice swirled through the air of the cavern behind me.

I turned
back.

“Help
me!”

“But I
have,” I cried, “Luke’s dead. It’s over.”

“Help
me!”

“It’s
okay, Billie. He’s gone.”

 
But her voice echoed on and on.

And
suddenly I could see her. She was cowering in the corner of the viewing
platform, where Luke and I had been, with the young Luke standing over her.

“And I guess
that was some kind of sign, was it?” he hissed at her. “Something about how your
heart had turned to stone too. Is that it?” He grabbed her by the hair, pulling
her up from where she crouched so that he was yelling straight into her face. “Is
that it? Some clever symbol for all your little college friends to laugh over. Is
that it?”

She must
have just told him about hanging up the bear at the Changing Well. And he was
furious.

“No, Luke.”
She winced with pain as he pulled her to her tiptoes. “It’s not like that.”

“So what
is
it like then?” he growled, tugging
harder.

“It’s
just that… that… it’s over.”

“What?”

I could
hear people somewhere behind me, in the tunnel. People on a guided tour, coming
closer. But not near enough yet.

But now Luke
grabbed her by the front of her coat, hoisting her up suddenly so that he sat
her on the top rail.

 
“No!” Automatically I stepped forward,
but they couldn’t hear me. Couldn’t see me.

And then
suddenly it was me up there, back on the rail, supported only by the young Luke’s
hands on the front of my collar.

And
Billie spoke through my mouth. “It’s over, Luke.”

And then
I was falling backwards into space until he suddenly caught my hand, and I was
hanging there, dangling over the void. But it wasn’t my hand. There was no
ring. It was the déjà vu hand. Billie’s.

“Help
me!” Her voice filled my head. Pleading. Begging. Echoing round and round. So
this
was it.
This
was what she really wanted. Not just for me to avenge her
death; but for me to
prevent
it.

But how?

Looking
up at the young Luke as he sneered down at me, savouring the moment, enjoying
his feeling of power, I saw the wound on his forehead, now a large, ugly scab. I
thought back to the scene in the bathroom, where I’d stabbed him with the
tweezers. All that violence, and yet I had escaped unhurt.

And so I
realised: I could do this. I could change the past. I could save Billie.

Two were
stronger than one. I could feel our combined strength clinging to his hand,
stopping us from falling. United, we could hold on until the tourists came. Then,
unable to drop us, Luke would
have
to
pull us up. All we had to do was hold on tight, together.

But then
I realised the enormity of what she was asking me to do…

If I
saved her, what would become of
me
?

We shared
the same energy. The same life force. So if she was still using it, how could I
even be born?

And the
answer was -
I couldn’t
.

In order
for me to live, Billie
had to die.

Me or
her.

It was a
matter of basic survival.

But now
Billie was panicking inside my head. She must have experienced my innermost
thoughts with me. Seen the darker side of my human nature. The instinct to
survive at all costs.

“Help
me!” her voice rang out round the cavern, and I could hear people running out
of the tunnel, onto the platform above us.

But now I
could feel Luke letting go, trying to drop Billie to her death, before anyone could
reach him. Before they could understand what he was doing. But we were still
clinging on to him, our combined strength holding on tightly, preventing us
from falling.

In a
second they would reach him, and Luke would have to haul Billie up. He’d have
no choice. They’d probably help him to pull her to safety. And Billie would be
saved.

But what
about me?

Me!

And so,
like Luke, I loosened my grip, and opened my hand.

And now we
were falling, down and down the thirty metres towards the rocky floor. And as
we plummeted I shut my eyes and willed myself to leave this dream, concentrating
with all my might.

And
suddenly I was back on the viewing platform, alone, helmet in my hand, bag
still on my back. Just as I had been.

<><><>

And so, ignoring
the cries for help which had started up again, the screams echoing round the
cavern behind me, I left.

Down the
tunnel and through the narrow passageway, I turned down the short path to the waterfall
which crashed into the churning pool. It was deafening. A chaotic symphony of
discordant sound. And yet, through it all, I could still hear Billie clearly.

“Help
me!”

And so,
as I splashed the ice-cold water onto my hair, trying to get rid of the last
streaks of purple, and as I used a series of make-up wipes and then water to remove
the black make-up from my eyes, the accident was once again all around me. Images
of my mother flashed into my mind, her face surrounded by rising water, her
eyes watching me, pleading with me as she began to choke. To die. And as she
opened her mouth, her voice mixed with that of Billie. “Help me!”

My head
ached with it all. The responsibility. The guilt. The never-ending
psychological trauma. I leaned heavily against the cave wall, willing myself
not to black out.

Three
people. Three people, dead: Mum, Luke, Billie.

But Luke
didn’t really count. I swilled some icy water round my mouth and spat it out. He’d
deserved what he’d got. I’d feel no remorse for him.

But
Billie… I hadn’t wanted to let her die. Really I hadn’t. But I’d had no choice.
It was down to my own survival.

And the
instinct to survive had always been strong in me.

My mind
leapt to that afternoon, ten months before. But not to the edited version I’d created
for Dr Henderson and Dad, and not to the scene from my dreams. No, like Luke
blotting out Billie’s words in her diary, I too had tried to rewrite my past. To
erase those bits I wished to forget.

But this
was the real scene. The original version. The truth.

It had
been a bitterly cold, dark November afternoon. Mum had picked me up after
netball practice as usual. But, unlike her normal, serious, responsible self,
she seemed chatty and playful. I asked her what was going on. At first she
denied that anything was up, but, when I kept on at her, she eventually gave
in.

Turning
off the radio she looked at me, her eyes shining.

“I’m
pregnant,” she said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

I didn’t
understand. “But you can’t be,” I said. “You can’t have children. Not without
IVF.”

“I know,”
she squealed, excitedly. “But I am. The doctor confirmed it today. Somehow I’m
having a baby. Naturally.” She beamed at me. “I can’t wait to tell your dad. He’ll
be so thrilled. A real little miracle baby.”

I looked
at her, horrified. This couldn’t be happening. Surely
I
was their miracle baby.

Seeing my
reaction, Mum was quite put out. “You could at least
try
to be happy for me,” she snapped.

But I
couldn’t. Not in a million years. So I sat there in stony silence.

Mum
tutted, angry and disappointed. “Oh grow up, Melissa!” she shouted.

But that
was the whole problem, wasn’t it. I’d be expected to grow up. Become the older
sister. And someone else would be the baby of the family now. The miracle baby.
Dad’s pride and joy.

And it
was then that we came to the bend - and the black ice. Desperately, Mum slammed
on the breaks, trying to control the wheel, but it was no good. We skidded
across the road, over the opposite lane, crashing through the fence and down
the bank, tearing through the undergrowth. And then the car toppled over onto
its side and smashed into the freezing river.

Mum was below
me now, victim to the cold, black water which flooded in through the broken windscreen.

Frantically,
she tried to undo her seatbelt, but it was jammed tight. And now the water was
pooling around her head and over her throat.

I watched
it rise. Watched as it began to cover her mouth so that she choked.

For a
while she would manage to crane her head sideways and up, out of the flood, but
the effort exhausted her and before long she would sink back under again, only
to swallow more water and cough and splutter and lift her head again.

“Help
me!”

I
could
have done it. I could have held
her head up out of the water, put something under her neck to support her until
help came. After all, the river wasn’t deep.

But I
didn’t.

You see,
I didn’t want another baby in the house.
I
was Dad’s baby. His IVF miracle.
I
was his little honeybee. And no one was going to take that away from me. It was
bad enough having him drooling over Mum all the time, without someone
new
making demands on his attention.

“Help
me!” My mother raised her head one last time, pleading with me.

I watched
as her hand moved instinctively to her belly. To the new life inside her. The
precious new baby.

“Help
me!”

“Help
you? You and your baby? No. I don’t think so, Mother.”

Leaning
over, I gently pushed her head down with the palm of my hand. She looked at me,
her eyes widening with surprise as the water covered her face. But she didn’t
struggle much. She couldn’t; she was already so exhausted. Too weak from the
effort of trying to survive.

And so it
was easy, watching her die.

Then,
opening the window next to me, I unbuckled my seatbelt, grabbing on to the back
of my headrest to stop myself from falling, onto her, and heaved myself out of
the car, dragging myself to the safety of the bank.

And that
was the truth which I’d tried to bury deep within me. To hide. To forget. The
truth which had been trying to break free for almost a year, plaguing me with
feelings of guilt. Not Survivor Syndrome at all. But the after-effects of murder.

<><><>

And so, I
guessed, all things considered, Billie’s death wasn’t
so
terrible. Not compared with killing your own mother. I mean,
it’s not as if I’d really
killed
Billie, was it; she’d already been dead for seventeen years. Surely guilt over
this would pass, soon enough. It was like Mum’s baby - a mere embryo, not a
real person at all. It didn’t really count.

<><><>

And so, I
pulled myself together, put on my hardhat, and left the sound of the water
behind, retracing my steps, following the main tunnel again, through Darwin’s
Parade, under Lucifer’s tongue, past the various examples of flowstone.