Run Away (17 page)

“Silence. It sounds cheesy, but my heart skipped a beat at that moment. Like I already knew that something weird had happened. The way the door was slightly ajar, when he usually shut it to keep the coolness of the air-­con inside. Does that sound daft? I mean, I couldn’t possibly have known.”

Sadie shrugged. She didn’t write that part down. “Intuition’s a funny thing. Depends what you believe in, I guess. And how long had it been since you last saw him?”

“I’m not sure. Around half an hour, but it could have been more.”

“What happened next?”

“After I knocked? I pushed the door open, and saw . . . well, you know what I saw. Blood.”

“Then you collapsed, right? Into the pool of blood, which is why your clothes were soaked through with it?”

Kayla cocked her head. She couldn’t possibly have detected a note of suspicion in Sadie’s voice, could she? “Yes, that’s right.”

“And how long would you say you blacked out for?”

“I haven’t a clue. No more than a minute or two, I don’t think.”

“And then?”

The words caught in Kayla’s throat. Her skin prickled. This felt more like an interrogation than a casual chat. She took a drink. “I—­I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?”

“No . . . I think I went outside. To find the others.” She instantly regretted her choice of the word “think.”

“They were by the lake?”

Kayla nodded. Sadie had obviously done her research. “Yeah. Russia started screaming at the sight of me covered in blood. I think she thought I’d been hurt myself.”

“How did the others react?”

“Dave came rushing over and asked if I was all right. Bling went white as a sheet—­she’s terrified of blood.”

“So that’s when you told Dave what you’d found?”

“Yeah. Although I remember struggling to get the words out.”

“Who called the police?”

“I don’t know,” Kayla admitted. “I’d be lying if I said I did. What I do remember is feeling like it took them an eternity to show up. Russia wouldn’t stop screaming, and Dave was pacing up and down, muttering about whoever had done this getting farther and farther away. Bling vomited, a lot.”

Sadie stopped writing abruptly. “Don’t you find it strange that you can’t remember who dialed the police? I know who did, for the record. It’s just weird that you don’t.”

Kayla lowered her voice. “I know. It
is
weird. I feel like I forget a lot of things now. Everything is so blurry all the time. Maybe it’s grief. Maybe I’m losing my mind. Or maybe it’s that thing . . . what’s it called, PTSD? Post-­traumatic stress disorder?” Sadie said nothing. “Who did call the police? Out of interest?”

“Daivat.”

Kayla nodded. “Makes sense.”

“I’ll be honest, Kayla. Something’s bothering me.”

“What’s that?”

Sadie removed her glasses and rubbed the red indents left on her nose where they’d been digging in. “The timing. You say you saw him half an hour before you realized he disappeared. At that point, he was uninjured. Then, a mere thirty minutes later, an absurd amount of blood was found in his bedroom. A volume of blood that couldn’t originate from a struggle or punch-­up. So even if he went to his room and was attacked instantaneously, the rate at which he must have bled would suggest one of his main arteries had been hacked. Now, why would a drug dealer do that, then take him away? Surely he’d just knock him out and shove him in a sack or something?”
Delicately worded, as ever
. “And you’ve pretty much said Sam wouldn’t have done something like that to himself. I’ll admit that doesn’t make sense either, because why would he try and kill himself, then vanish?”

“I have no idea.”

“Exactly. Me neither. Which leads me to suspect one of two possible scenarios. The first is that the perpetrator was simply sadistic. Loved the sight of blood. Considering the kind of ­people we’re talking about . . . it’s not beyond the realms of possibility. The second is that whoever did that to Sam could have done it as a warning, of sorts.”

“A warning? How do you mean?”

“As in, they wanted you all to see his blood.”

Kayla felt sick. “But why?”

Sadie puffed air through her cheeks and turned to face her. “I have no idea. It’s the ‘why’ part that’s got me stumped.”

Kayla walked back to her car after meeting with Sadie. It was late—­much later than she’d realized. The inky blue sky told her it was well after eleven.

She knew she probably shouldn’t drive home. She’d had two fairly strong gin and tonics, and her vision was a little fuzzy around the edges. But she didn’t particularly savor the thought of waking up early on a Sunday morning to come and collect her car.

Something new was playing on her mind. The thought had struck her when she was talking to Sadie about how on edge Sam had been in the last few weeks they’d been together. And now that the thought was lodged in her brain, she couldn’t unthink it.

Sam and Gabe. The way they’d both acted in their final few weeks was eerily similar. Like they were scared and angry and helpless. Like they couldn’t see a way out. Like . . . like something inside them had irrevocably changed.

Rounding the corner into the deserted car park, a cool breeze sent shivers down her forearms. She wrapped her thin cardigan tightly around her. Wasn’t it supposed to be summer? She reached her car and started rooting around in the bottom of her handbag for her keys.

Then she heard it. It was a muffled sound, like a stifled scream, followed by a pounding of footsteps. Something surged through Kayla’s veins—­the closest to adrenaline she’d felt in a long time—­as she swiveled around, trying to pin down the source of the sound. But it had already died down.

She shivered again, but this time it wasn’t because of the cold. That had definitely sounded like a struggle.
Should I go and investigate?
Her feet felt like they were cemented to the ground.

Somewhere not too far away, a vehicle door slammed shut and tires screeched and skidded on tarmac. Just as Kayla turned away from her car, she saw a white van with no headlights fly past the entrance to the car park.

Her fingertips found her keys. She dove into the driver’s seat, quickly locking the doors behind her, and fumbled to stick the key in the ignition.

Her sense that danger was never far behind was starting to feel exhausting.

Chapter 26

June 10, Thailand

S
INCE
KAYLA SNUCK
into his bedroom that night, Sam had become more and more guarded. She’d tried, unsuccessfully, to fall asleep after she left his room. For five minutes or so the muffled sound of a heated conversation seeped through the thin walls—­but that wasn’t anywhere near as eerie as the silence that soon ensued.

Kayla lay awake, staring at the ceiling until she couldn’t bear it any longer. She’d tiptoed back along to Sam’s bedroom and knocked on his door. When there was no response, she tried again, this time whispering, “Sam? Are you okay?”

His sharp reply cut through the quiet like a sword. “I’m fine. Just leave it, Kayla.”

And so she left it.

While she’d anticipated a certain level of embarrassment during the aftermath of her visiting him earlier, she hadn’t bargained for the hostility Sam fired her way. The next morning, as they were pouring their breakfast cereal, she’d asked him politely—­suppressing the blushing as best she could—­whether he could possibly pass her the milk, please. He’d shot her a death stare and plonked the carton aggressively in front of her. The lid had been removed, and the jerking motion caused some of the milk to splash on her, for which Sam did not apologize. An hour later they were at the bus stop waiting for a coach to arrive to take them into town. Kayla had struggled to decipher the timetable and jokingly said to Sam, “This might as well be written in bloody hieroglyphics for all the sense it makes to me.”

He’d snapped, “Stop acting stupid, Kayla. Doesn’t suit you.”

The permanent fixture of Oliver Gilmore hardly helped matters. He was still everywhere they looked. The only solace came when they returned to the villa—­it seemed as though he hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to climb on the same bus as them.

Suspense within the group of friends was soaring in line with the temperature. For one thing, the snide comments directed at Kayla started to feel less lighthearted. They’d evolved from jesting quips like, “Maybe if you weren’t so bloody gorgeous, Oliver wouldn’t be so obsessed. Can’t you just shave your head, or something?” to snappier remarks, such as, “Bet you didn’t expect this when you kissed him,” and, “We’re half tempted to leave you in Phuket and bugger off on our own.” Only one other person in their group of five knew what had really happened between her and Oliver—­what he’d done to her—­and Kayla didn’t know if those who didn’t know would be more or less likely to resent her if they were to discover the truth. She couldn’t blame them. If roles were reversed, she wasn’t sure how she’d be acting either.

The minuscule size of the bungalow, which they’d initially found so charming, was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Russia decided to take healing action and suggested they leave Phuket for a few days. They were all crowded together in the tiny living room—­four on the sofa, Dave sprawled across the floor massaging his feet—­and watching a bizarre Asian game show on TV, when Russia stood up suddenly and authoritatively. “Let’s just do it. Okay? Oliver will never know where we are. It’ll give us all some precious bonding time away from that psycho, and hopefully, when we come back, he’ll think we’ve left and will leave us alone. I’m also pretty bloody bored of this house. I mean, we’d never planned on staying in the same place for so long, and outside of work, we never do anything. So I vote we bail. Yes?”

They all replied affirmatively.

Kayla had wondered, for a second, whether she was invited.

D
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a few miles away from Phuket, Koh Phi Phi could have been on another planet. Gone were the smoky scooters and the dusty roads, the greasy street vendors and the omnipresent stench of rotting; nature’s handiwork was infinitely more awe-­inspiring. The archipelago of six islands rose from the vivid sapphire sea like a fortress, sheer cliffs towering overhead before they made way for beach-­fronted jungle.

It had been Dave who suggested swimming with sharks. His rapidly deteriorating health meant none of the group had it in their hearts to deny him a few more life experiences before he became bed-­bound for the rest of his life. Russia had kicked up quite the fuss, insisting that it’d be dangerous for someone with limited function in his feet to swim with infamous predators, but Dave simply laughed and kissed her whenever she tried to argue. Eventually she’d given up and agreed that it would be fun.

Meeting outside Ja Soh’s curry house at 5:45 the next morning, however, their enthusiasm level had taken something of a knock. Emphatic yawns and bleary eyes had replaced the chirpy voices of yesterday. Early mornings had recently been a thing of the past. With Sam and Russia working at night, and the others with a distinct lack of motivation to rise early, sleep-­ins that sprawled lazily into mid-­afternoon were becoming increasingly regular. It was one of the reasons why Russia had insisted they shake up their idle routine. It seemed like a waste to be living in such a spectacular place and spend half of their time in bed. Breaking the habit, though, was much easier in theory.

Through a voice thick with lethargy, Bling grumbled, “Where is the bloody guide? Why ask us to be here this early if he’s not even going to turn up himself?” Despite the early hour, the air was already clammy with humid heat.

As if on cue, a deeply tanned man, who looked to be in his mid-­twenties, bounded around the corner. In an Australian drawl, he said, “G’day, kids! M’name’s Zach. Zach Fletcher—­but you can call me Fletch. Everybody does. So who’s ready for an adventure? I know I am!” Fletch grinned, a wide and easy smile that flashed a row of perfectly straight, pearly white teeth. His face was attractive, if a little angular, with a chin that jutted ferociously in front of him. He was impossibly alert considering the time of day.

Kayla rolled her eyes at Russia, who appeared to be slipping into an upright coma. It was, in a way, rather refreshing to meet a tour guide who fit the stereotype of a charismatic, hyperactive character, with energy levels akin to a cocaine-­addled springer spaniel. Oliver had been a despicable disappointment in a multitude of ways, of which apathy toward his job was just one.

A tired sea of murmurs bubbled groggily around him. “Now c’mon, guys, I’m going to need more enthusiasm than that! I said, who’s ready for an adventure?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” whispered Russia. “Just our luck to get a guide who’d be more at home in a pantomime.” Raising her voice ever so slightly, she mock-­shouted, “He’s behind you!” Kayla suppressed a snigger.

After Fletch had briefed them on how to snorkel alongside a black tip shark and not scare it away, they headed toward the beach, where they found a native boatman organizing his longtail boat. The sun had reached the tops of Tonsai Cliffs, flooding the bay in a golden blaze. When Fletch wasn’t talking, which was a rare occurrence, it was extraordinarily peaceful. The only sounds Kayla could hear were the soft crunching of sand underfoot and the lapping of tiny waves against the side of the small wooden boat. The wooden boat that, as it transpired, would be taking them to their destination.

Twenty minutes later they’d reached Shark Point. Everyone was quiet. Even Fletch had dropped his voice, as though apprehensive of imminent danger. Kayla wasn’t sure whether it was all part of the show or the “timid” breed of sharks they were soon to encounter actually posed a real threat. She tried to believe the former.

They pulled their snorkels down over their faces. Hers was too tight and pinched the bridge of her nose painfully. She’d never worn one before and wasn’t sure how well she’d adapt to breathing through the mouthpiece. It felt unnatural and flimsy, and tasted of tangy salt and the previous tourist’s saliva. She felt suffocated. A wave of panic coursed through her limbs and tightened her airwaves. She was scared.

She glanced across at Sam. He looked utterly terrified. Kayla wondered whether it was the vicious sea creatures he was most afraid of, or something else. Something worse.

Moving into position, upstream of the stronger currents, Fletch led the small band over the shallows, to be swept east by the surge of water. Floating an arm’s length apart from each other, the group followed his cue and peered down into the water beneath them.

At first it seemed too murky to see anything clearly, but Kayla’s eyes soon adapted. She instantly wished they hadn’t—­the broken coral and jagged rocks just a few feet below looked like they could slice her open if she got too close. The urge to tap Fletch on the shoulder and ask to be taken back to shore was intense, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to go through with it. Plus, Sam was watching. She cared what he thought of her.

Then she saw it. A black tip shark pup darted past, fleeing from the group as soon as it sensed their presence. Kayla looked around, but nobody else had reacted. She was the only one to see it. Adrenaline flooded her senses and she grinned involuntarily, allowing water to slip around the snorkel and into her mouth. She bobbed her head above the surface, spluttering and coughing violently.

Sam, swimming next to her, surfaced next. “You okay?” he grunted, licking his lips vigorously. Kayla knew how he felt—­the sea salt coating her mouth was crusty and thick. She was already desperate for a drink.

“Yeah. I advise you not to smile and inhale at the same time.” She laughed, but found herself praying he wouldn’t snap at her for being idiotic.

His face remained stony. “I don’t feel good.” In fairness, His face was completely drained of color. It was the whitest Kayla had seen him look in weeks.

“Wanna get Fletch to take you back?”

“I dunno,” he said. He looked like he might faint. “You think I should?”

“You don’t look great, Sam. Maybe it’d be best?”

“Yeah. I feel dizzy.”

Fletch’s head cut through the surface of the water, and he shook like a wet Labrador. Water whooshed around his ears, spraying Sam and Kayla, his floppy, sun-­bleached hair matted to his forehead. He spat out a mouthful of water and yelled, far too loudly, “Guys! What are you doing? There are two glorious females down there! Just circling us like they haven’t a care in the world. You gotta see it, guys. Almost two meters long each. Beauties, they are.”

“I, um—­” Sam coughed. “I gotta go back. Feel faint.”

“What’s up buddy? Happens often, mind you. ­People get scared and freak out. They’re fine, I promise you. Lovely creatures. I still got all my limbs, ain’t I?”

“No, it’s not that. I feel ill. Like I might throw up.”

Fletch swept his hair out of his face and scanned around to make sure the others hadn’t traveled too far alone. Reluctantly, he said, “Well all right, then. If you don’t think you’re gonna feel better soon, we’ll go back. Such a shame, though. Amazing day for it . . . just amazing.”

Sam looked ashamed. “I’m really sorry. I’ll go myself, though, you guys carry on.”

“No can do, mate. Can’t be sending you off yourself through shark-­infested waters. We’ll all go back with you, drop you on the beach, then if the others are keen, we can all come back. That okay, buddy?”

That was the moment Kayla realized just how bad Sam must be feeling. Ordinarily, he’d never even consider causing such an inconvenience. It wasn’t his style. But today he turned away and said, meekly, “Yeah. Thanks.”

Yeah. There’s more going on than a bug.