I scream, loud and long and desperate, as panic paralyses everything but my vocal cords. But it’s no use. It’s too late now. This is how it ends. This really is where I’m going to die, crumpled on the floor in this dark basement, at the hands of a man who’s already done so much damage and hurt so many people. How stupid was I – how stupid were we all – to think that we could stop him? All we’ve done is more damage; all we’ve done is cause more loss of life.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I writhe helplessly, my eyes squeezed tightly shut and my skull exploding with pain, as Rhona and Jack grab at me with hands like vices, both of them bawling unintelligibly. A buzzing starts in my ears and my head begins to swim. I think I might be losing consciousness, and maybe that’s a good thing.
‘I told you to take a few days off! You’re supposed to be off!’ I hear Jack screech, and even as I groan as his hands claw at my throat, trying to wrap his silky weapon around it, I find myself wondering why the hell he’s scolding his housekeeper about not sticking to her shift pattern at a time like this. Why isn’t he thanking her for her help? After all, when you’re in the process of murdering someone, two pairs of hands are surely better than one. Especially when one hand doesn’t work properly.
And then, quite suddenly, there are two more people in that cramped hallway. I’ve been vaguely aware of a new banging sound, close by this time, but now there’s an almighty CRASH and the back door slams inwards, bouncing off the wall. Two more bodies pile on, and I’m aware of yelling and punching, but mostly that the hands that were mauling my body melt away.
I open my eyes, terrified, and press my back against the wall. For a few moments I can’t make any sense of what’s happening here, or who these new people are. I blink, gasping for breath and trying to shrink away from the noise and the flailing limbs. My body is rigid with fear and my head whips from left to right.
‘What…? Who…?’ I stutter.
And then, as quickly as it began, it just… stops. There’s Jack, somehow lying on the floor, holding his stomach and moaning. Nathan and Johnny – Nathan and Johnny! – stand over him, breathing hard. And there’s Rhona, who reaches out a hand to grab my arm and pulls me gently up from where I’m still crouching on the stone floor, trembling. I can feel a fine trickle of something warm running down my face, and I shrink away from her.
‘It’s OK,’ she says in a soft voice. ‘I’m on your side, Heather. It’s all over. You’re safe now.’
‘What? What are you…? What do you mean?’ I whimper, but she slips an arm round me and leads me into the kitchen, lowering me carefully onto a chair.
‘Later,’ she says.
Some time passes – I have no idea how much. Minutes? An hour? Time ceases to have any meaning. I still can’t take all this in. I can’t seem to put events in any sort of logical order in my head. I know, vaguely, that things are still happening around me, but I feel as if I’m dipping in and out of awareness, my world taking on a dreamlike quality.
I see Johnny sitting on top of a thrashing, cursing Jack, hissing at him to ‘Keep still, you tosser!’ I see the police arrive, and I see Jack being led away in handcuffs, howling about the daylight he’s being forced to go out into. The officers on either side of him wear puzzled expressions, and I start to try to explain, then sink back into my chair again. I hear Rhona and Nathan speaking to other bemused-looking officers and handing them my backpack, telling them that not only has this man just admitted to killing Felicity Dixon, we also believe he’s guilty of at least two other serious historic crimes. Plus, today’s attempted murder, of course.
That’ll be me then, I think idly. A victim of attempted murder. Holy shit.
Jack yells something about Yiannis, too, as he’s manhandled out of the house.
‘You need to arrest him,’ he bellows. ‘Pappas. If I’m going down, so is he. So is fucking he!’
I don’t know if any of these officers know Jack, or knew his father, but they take him anyway. I suppose they have to, given the allegations the three of us are making. They don’t arrest Rhona though. Jack doesn’t shout for her to be taken in too, as another of his accomplices.
Because she’s not, apparently.
No, Rhona’s one of the good guys. Nathan knows her. He even hugged her earlier, when everything had calmed down, and I stared in astonishment.
Have I somehow slipped into a parallel universe?
The day goes on, and now it’s later, much later, and finally I’m starting to come to. The shock – for that’s what it is, I suppose – fades and my mind sharpens again, and it fills with so many questions. I remember this afternoon in a series of flashbacks, like watching the recap at the start of a new episode of a TV drama. There’s an ambulance outside, and yellow police tape flapping. A paramedic peers at my scalp where a clump of hair was ripped out as Rhona tried to haul me away from Jack. She tried to stop him from strangling me, it seems.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispers, hovering behind the ambulance crew. ‘It was the only bit I could grab. I’m sorry I hurt you.’
I shake my head, still shell-shocked. Rhona, the creepy housekeeper. Not creepy at all, as it turns out. Nice, even. Amazing. Saved my life, probably. I have so many questions, but no time to ask them, because my scalp is being patched up, and then we’re being split up and taken into different rooms to answer questions.
Initial statements, they said. Full statements would be required later – tomorrow maybe. And then, finally, I am in the back of a police car, on my way home. I want to sleep. I want to close my eyes for a long, long time, but then I remember that when my backpack was handed over I didn’t remove the new DVD, the one with my name on it. I sit bolt upright, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment.
People will watch that now, I think. They’ll see my naked body. They’ll see Jack screwing me…
But really, does that matter, in the grand scheme of things? It’s over. Jack’s in custody. We did it after all. We did it for Rose, for Amber, and for Felicity now too. It was worth it, all of it. And they won’t let him go, will they, not when they see the evidence? Even with his contacts.
And he admitted killing Felicity. There, in that sweaty little hallway, next to the back door that now hangs, splintered and broken, from its hinges. He told me he actually murdered a woman. They can’t let him go, not after this.
We bloody did it.