Read WHO FOLLOWS: a gripping, dramatic, intense and suspenseful thriller Online
Authors: Diane M Dickson
WHO FOLLOWS: a gripping, dramatic, intense and suspenseful thriller (7 page)
“Stay with me Amy, look at me.” Hannah’s voice is in my ears but she is distant and insubstantial. I try to concentrate. I gaze at her lovely face muddied now and with tears and rain streaming across her cheeks. I try to squeeze her hand but I have no strength. I don’t feel much at all. It is pleasant like a warm bath, floating at ease.
“Who are you Humming Bird, what is this?” She leans closer in the gloom. The other figures loiter on the periphery of our world mumbling and shuffling. “What has this been, has it not been real at all?”
“Amy, don’t worry about all that now. Tell me Amy where is Maria, where is her body?”
“Her body?” Darkness descends momentarily showing me peace but I am dragged back. Hannah is shaking me.
“Amy, don’t you do that, stay with me now. Tell me where she is Amy. It’s all you can do now to put this right.”
“Is that all there is for you Hannah, all you care about is Maria? What about me, don’t I matter? Has our friendship meant nothing?”
“I’m sorry, I was doing my job that’s all, let me finish it Amy, tell me where she is.”
“Your job! That is what this has been to you, just a job?”
“No never just a job, I believe in justice, Amy. So much of my life has been taken up with you and what you did. Months of planning and preparing.”
“Watching me, baiting your trap and pulling me in. How clever you must have felt, you and your compatriots. How you must have laughed at me.” I feel wetness on my cheeks now as useless tears trickle across to run under my ears and seep into the earth on the forest floor.
“Amy, we needed to find her, needed her body. People can’t just disappear, Maria was missed. The ones who loved her missed her and those same people need to have closure, tell me now where she is and do the right thing. We can take care of you Amy, the ambulance is coming for you. Help me now, let me take Maria back to her family and then we can finish this.”
“I loved her, I did and I loved you, Hannah. Did you know that I loved you?”
“I know you loved her and I don’t think you meant to hurt her and so this is a chance to put it right. Come on Amy, if you loved her let us take her away from this dark place.”
I can see her face ruined by the night and I hear the noise of the ambulance screaming through the storm. I am betrayed and my heart is shredded. There was no truth to our friendship, never any hope for love to grow and this beautiful creature was no more than a filthy sham. There is nothing to hold me here and I feel my spirit called away and I find no reason to fight. I will take one last look and scorch the image of her face on my retina. I will close my eyes now it is too hard to hold them open. I hear her still screeching at me like a harridan, “Stay with me Amy, don’t you do this. Stay with me.”
Ah Hannah, my pretty Humming Bird, how can I stay with you when you never really existed at all? The darkness deepens and I shan’t fight it any more. Here is Maria. She is here in the woods and she beckons.
“Amy, Amy, oh Christ.” Her limp body wobbles grotesquely as I shake her shoulders. I know I’m crying, I can’t cry, I mustn’t be weak, not now. My heart is pounding against my chest wall and blood is throbbing in my throat and head. I believe I have already acknowledged on some level that my life is changed forever. The sounds around me are dulled, I feel in some strange way both a part of it, everything extremely clear and vivid, but at the same time totally divorced from reality. The biggest thing, the only thing really that is getting through is the fact that I have probably killed another human being.
She was a murderer, dreadfully flawed and undoubtedly the nearest thing that I had ever yet seen to real evil. Her self-interest and total self-absorption had expunged many of the emotions that make us human. At this moment though, kneeling amongst the leaf mould in the flickering shards of light from the emergency vehicles, all I see is a woman that I had known, lying broken amongst the rain spattered pools of blood around my knees. My hands are black with the slippery gore where I tried to stem the flow from her wound. I think she is dead and there is nothing I can do.
She spoke a name before her eyes closed. Maria. Was that who she saw in that moment? Or was that who she wanted to be with her then? She had trusted me, she told me that she loved me and I had known that. What I, what we, have done is right and legal and approved and it has been planned for an age, but with a different ending. Right now, down amongst the tree roots the only real thing is the knowledge that I have may have taken a life.
“Hannah, come out from there Hannah. Let the medics in, move yourself!” Reality collides with my fugue smashing it aside. Rough hands drag me backwards through the mud and the rain. Sergeant Collins spins me towards him, his face looming into my vision. “Hannah, come on get a grip. Hannah, where’s the weapon, your gun? We need your gun. Come on get it together.” The night and the sounds and the cold assault me and I realise that I am shaking, sodden hair trails in rats tails across my face and I am dripping with cold wet rain.
“Right, yeah, right. Okay, yeah the weapon. I’m here Sarge. I’m okay, it’s okay.” I have to grab at the soggy strands of the wig pulling them away from my eyes but in the end the only thing that I can do is to drag it fully away from my head. Underneath the covering my own hair is dryer and at least it’s short and out of my face. Almost like magic with the wig goes the panic and loss of control. I am back in charge, a tough police officer, weapon trained, undercover, but am I also now forever a killer? The bile rises in my throat and I run tripping on the roots and rubble as far as I can from the scene. If I had vomited there I would’ve contaminate the area but more than that the team would have seen me, and I’m not having that.
Leaning against the bark of an old chestnut tree I gulp in great mouthfuls of cold, damp air. My eyes stream and bile has scorched my throat but the vomiting seems to have stopped. I hate being sick, have done since I was a kid. A frantic scrabble in my jacket comes up with a couple of old tickets but no tissues and no handkerchief; at times like this I have to acknowledge that my mum did know best. She would have had a neat little triangle of freshly laundered linen, probably with a tiny embroidered daisy in the corner. A great sob throws itself from my throat and for a moment, I really want my mum.
“Christ Hannah, get yourself together, you wuss.”
My handbag is back in the middle of the post-shooting frenzy, lying in the mud and blood. It’s probably ruined anyway but all I need now is something to wipe my eyes and mouth. I drag the ends of my sleeves down but they’re soaked with Amy’s blood and simply smear dark marks onto my palms. I unzip my jacket and drag the sweater hem free tugging it upwards with both hands. The cold slaps at my bare midriff and as I rub with the polyester to clear my eyes I can only hope I’m not just smearing blood, mud and vomit all over my face. What a wreck.
A great cleansing breath draws damp air into my lungs as I turn to trudge back to the noise, the lights and vehicles, which have turned what was in fact a scene of horror into something approaching a fairground. The ambulance is turning into the main road, blue lights flash from the roof but there is no siren and the silence speaks volumes. Is she to be Brought In Dead, B.I.D?
As I stumble nearer to the path a uniformed officer passes me on his way between the trees with tape, winding it round the trunks. Trimming the scene with baleful bunting.
“Hannah, over here.” Sergeant Collins is holding me with a grip around my upper arm. “We’ve got your gun and your bag, we’re looking for the spent cases and we’ve got her bag and the bloody great hammer. I think we should go back now and you can make your statement in the warm. Are you okay? Well, you’ll have to be, there’ll be questions to answer, you know that don’t you?” I manage a nod. “Right, go with Mike and Sammy, we’re pretty well sorted here. There’re more officers on the way to help to secure the area and the SOCO team are already parking up down there.” He points back up the pathway to where I had parked the car Amy’s lifetime ago. “We’ll leave your car there for now.”
“Okay.” I think that my voice sounds strong and I am standing firm and steady. With a quick squeeze of my shoulders, which changes into a slight push in the direction he wants me to go, he dismisses me.
Back at the office I cradle a mug of coffee. The lights, the desks and computers, the windows, doors, the horrible grey carpet tiles, they’re all so familiar. They feel like home, yet I’m changed so very completely from the person I was when I had been here last. Only a week ago I’d paid a quick clandestine visit, knowing that Amy was safe at the theatre, a show I had opted out of, Shakespeare is beyond me. I had popped in to update the team on progress, which at that time had been slow. Now, it’s over and being over is only the beginning. There will be an investigation into the shooting. I’m sure that I’m in the clear, aren’t I? She came at me with a hammer, killing in her eyes and I had shouted a warning. I run it through in my mind over and over, it was self-defence, my life had been in imminent danger and I had fired because I had no other choice but my God what a mess it’s left.
This isn’t the conclusion that we had planned. I had been supposed to persuade her to take me to where she had buried Maria’s body and then make a nice clean arrest. Body, murderer, arrest – job done. Instead of that I’ve let everyone down, and we still don’t have Maria’s body. There’s nobody to see as I lay my head on the desk for a moment and try to still the clamour in my brain.
The hot water sluices down through my hair, flushing over my shoulders and pooling around my feet where the old plumbing just can’t cope with the flow, it’s wonderful. My bathroom glints and shines, clean tiles, pretty bottles and tubes, and my glass holding a toothbrush and razor all sparkling under the spotlights in the ceiling. I rest my head against the shower screen and watch through the waterfall as the scene before me ripples and blurs. I am trapped by the warmth and the water. At first the deluge ran muddy pink and bile filled my throat again as I watched the remnants of Amy’s blood flow away.
Now the pool is clean, but I still feel the ghost of the sticky mess on my face, in my hair and between my fingers. I’ve been bloodied before, of course I have, but this is different. This is blood that I’ve drawn; I tried to stop the flow even as I was kneeling in it, burying my hands in it and when I scrambled away it spread over my arms and soaked into my clothes.
We’ve got showers at the police station but I waited until I could tear off my pants and top and underwear and fling them into the waste bin. I wanted to be alone to have no time constraints and no need to speak to anyone afterwards. I needed this, this chance to sink into the warmth and lose myself in the perfume and the purity.
I’ve made my statement, short and factual and I signed the paper, but I’m not kidding myself, tomorrow it’ll all start up again. I know I’ll be interviewed, questioned and consulted. An appointment will probably already have been made with the psychologist and the doctor. No doubt I’ll be called before the assistant chief constable. I know there’ll be a mixture of concern about my welfare and worry about how the investigation will progress. We must be shown to be totally in the right, the fact that she had been a killer is not enough to prove my innocence, not really relevant in an odd way. The weeks and months of planning will need to be explained, the undercover operation will have to be justified and the final dreadful outcome is going to be pulled apart. Decisions will be made about all of it.
Countless hours, well, in truth counted hours, counted recorded and logged. Weeks in the planning. Watching her day by day until her regular routines were established. The unmissable trip to the post office and the stop off at Costa each Tuesday without fail. The undercover work proper, a farce at times trying to be in the right place at the right time. The queue in the paper shop, the same table at the same time as near as possible in the coffee shop. The shawl, the cursed shawl left for her to grab and steal and then return. She danced to our tune no mistake, and we thought we were so very clever. It all panned out so very well until the final act when the luck ran out in grand style and we still don’t know where the body is.
I am bone weary, overwhelmed, exhausted and I have to grab out at the wash basin as I stagger out of the tub and try to reach my towel. Suddenly my eyes will barely stay open. I give my hair a quick rub. Thank heavens it’s short not trailing round my face and shoulders like the blasted wig. It’s still a bit damp but it’ll have to do. I need my bed. I take a quick stop in the kitchen for a mug of milk, zapped in the microwave and cheered with a splash of brandy.
Oh the bliss of my mattress and the duvet, I drag it up over my shoulders, I am shivering again now but I’m not cold, it’s reaction, shock. I am going into the comfort of the dark, I flick off all the lights. I will leave the tiny one on the bedside cabinet lit in case I wake in the night. I’ll clear my mind, wipe it all away. Just for now, for the next few hours I need to blank it all out and become what I was before.
I’ve no idea how long I’ve slept. I’ve no idea how long the doorbell’s been ringing but it dragged me back through the dark dreams, to reality. I stagger down the hall. Peering into the spy hole all I see is a vague silhouette, the back of a head and shoulders. The lights in the hallway are programmed to dim automatically after midnight and a glance at my watch confirms that it’s nearly two in the morning.
“Hello, who is it? Hello.” There’s no answer and the figure hardly moves, just a mere twitch. I’ve no idea who this is but after the events of yesterday it could be anyone. I suppose it could be a representative of the Police Federation – unlikely at this hour. The Psychologists, maybe, one of the lads, it’s an odd time but it’s possible, a quick check to see that I’m okay on my own. There is the other possibility I suppose, heaven forbid but it could be a reporter who’s found me in spite of all the precautions we’ve taken.
“Hello, who the hell is it? I’m not opening this door unless you tell me who it is. Where are you from?”
“Open the door Hannah, I’m cold out here.”
The world tips and skews and my mind reels as reality battles to reassert control against disbelief.
“Amy?” I hear the whisper slither from my throat. “No, aw come on. No.” The figure rotates slowly in the gloom and the familiar face looms, slightly distorted into the fish eye lens.
“Let me in Hannah. Please.”
I can’t make my fingers work, they’re quivering and struggling with the security chain. The metal rattles and clinks, the chain slips and clatters against the wood of the door frame. I hear a gasping loud in the pre-dawn quiet. It’s me panting with shock and fear. I am outside myself. I hear myself muttering trying to deny the truth of my own eyes. “Aw no it can’t be. No. Aw come on.”
The chain gives and I drag at the handle throwing back the door and stepping into the frame. My head is shaking in denial I know, and I can’t stop the trembling, but there she is in the hallway. She is still dressed in the same clothes and the blood has dried leaving dark stiffened patches on the fabric. There are splashes of blood on her legs and her grey hair is dark and clinging around her face clotted with mud.
“No, it isn’t, it can’t be. Amy?”
She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t move. Her eyes sparkle in the light of the hallway and a timid smile plays about her lips. Her head is tipped to one side as she watches me retreat against the wall. I know my hand is over my mouth because I have bitten the side of it. I feel hot tears flowing across my cheeks. I know this can’t be.
“What do you want? Why aren’t you dead? You’re dead. I thought you were dead.”
Still she doesn’t speak, standing mute in the hallway, mute and immobile until, after what seems an age she raises a hand towards me. “Come on, my dear. Come with me, you wanted to find her, come on let me take you to her now.”
The wall I’m leaning against is the only real thing in the world.
“I thought you were dead, I saw them take you away. How can you be here?” As I speak I realise that what I am saying isn’t strictly true. I had been dragged off by the Sergeant and the demands of my nauseated body had scurried me away to puke into the undergrowth. I had watched the ambulance turn into the road and scorch off in the direction of the hospital. I had never seen her pronounced dead, I had never seen the body lying on a slab in the morgue, never seen her in a shroud.
If she’s not dead that means that I’m not a killer. Hope blooms.
“My coat. I have to get my coat.” She stands with her hands by her sides, her head tilted waiting in that quiet way that she always had. I dash through to the hall cupboard and throw on a coat over my pyjamas. I drag on my wellies and run back to the door. I tumble out onto the landing to find that she’s already heading for the stairs. I hurry to catch up, my heart in my throat, my legs threatening to let me down. The distance between us is immense.
“Wait, wait for me Amy, wait I can’t keep up.” She’s getting away, further and further, the wellies I’ve dragged on aren’t mine, they’re too big. My feet are slipping and sliding and my legs are losing their strength as I stagger towards the stairs. “Amy, Amy wait.” I am running through treacle, something is holding me back, the world has slowed.
“AMY!”
The duvet is wrapped around my legs, the dim light from the street lamp glints on my bedroom mirror as the nightmare that was Amy dissolves into the darkness.
