Chapter One

“I got them to put extra whisky in.”

Louise looked around to peer at the figure behind her. She was met with an unflinching gaze directed through two yellowing eyes. The gap between the two front teeth suggested that a high annoying whistle would accompany any speech though in this she was wrong. The pale skin seemed largely unaffected by daytime temperatures pushing over forty Celsius. Sun-bathing was evidently not a strong hobby, nor walking out in daytime hours given the pasty exterior. His fledgling beard was made uneven through tufts of growth sprouting from several facial moles, as if fertilised. Under most circumstances, the ugly geek would have drawn either pity or derision from her, but here he flustered her. She was out of her own environment and had little idea how to handle certain situations. A guy easily swept under the carpet back home could present a real problem out on the road. Deep within she clenched, determined to keep a strong presence against her growing uncertainty. She disliked him all the more for making her do this. The guy might not be an immediate physical threat, though he had that unpredictable weirdness streak running through him.

His scrawny arm held out the small aluminium bucket, a lone hair dancing on his wrist as he did so. Two straws protruded from the ice-filled bucket’s top, tempting Louise to pick one and draw in the sweet intoxicating mix of coke and local whisky. She searched her memory for a name, and thought she remembered it as being John or Jonathan. She was sure it was a ‘J’. Now fully turned to face him, she had the time to take in all that she had remembered. This guy put her on edge, his burrowing eyes almost looking to lick her body. Earlier in the day there was that involuntary shudder. She had first spotted him earlier that afternoon on Lonely Beach, the last remaining traveller enclave on Koh Chang, itself the largest of the Thai Islands. The skeletal creep had been walking along the water line, taking time to letch over any female figure wearing less than a long-sleeved top and knee-length shorts, which was pretty much most of them. It was just Louise’s luck that she should look up at the precise moment when he had been passing her stretch of beach. Even when eye contact had been made, she still had not expected him to wander up and crack some one-liner about there being a crap surf, as if he had been drinking in a wooden-fronted Bangkok club, not sauntering along the edge of paradise. Given the sheltered nature of the cove, there was never likely to be any surf, leaving her with the belief that the creep was either totally insane or wasted when surfing. Probably both. A polite smile and return to her paperback had not dissuaded him. Seating himself within the rim of her shrinking comfort zone, he had first introduced himself (she felt sure that it had been ‘John’ now) and then gone on to talk at length about a conspiracy theory involving the Thai army building a road straight through neighbouring Cambodia’s porous border. Any interesting points were lost in a sea of irrelevant diversions and unnecessary foot movements. He had used breaks in his story to push his toes through the sand, each time ebbing closer to her outer thigh.

Unnerved by his unwanted and persistent attention, Louise had taken her leave shortly afterwards, seeking solitude in her wooden cabin, built on stilts halfway up a steep vegetated hill leading out of the cove. Tired from the strong afternoon sun, she had allowed the rhythm of the fan to lull her into a short, deep sleep. A beach barbeque several hours later, consisting of squid and skewered tiger prawn, revitalised her enough to seek out company and more than a few Chang beers. A couple of Kiwi girls encouraged her to watch some late evening fire juggling at a makeshift beach bar. The Thai bar crew had skilfully hurled the lighted batons in the air to the accompaniment of old-school dance music, lines of pink scar tissue testament to the hours of practice needed. She carefully allowed herself a few more beers, happy in the company of the Kiwis, even accepting a joint rolled with intoxicating Thai sticks. Wholly relaxed, she had found herself giggling at the most benign comments and jokes, content to draw back on the joint and allow life to wash over her for the moment. The tropical beach, fire show and peaceful atmosphere were savoured and committed to memory. She was old enough to appreciate the comparative rarity of such an evening. Even those lucky enough to be on the road still had timetables and structures to follow, sights to see with buses and accommodation to arrange, agendas to be set.

As the show had built towards its finale, word was passed that there was to be a half-moon party at the Jaba, a complex treehouse that served as a bar on the wooded incline to the other side of the single-track road. Casually walking with a mixed group of travellers, she had been totally absorbed in her own thoughts and found that several minutes had elapsed since she last checked on the Kiwis. Although dark, the beach’s only illumination being the moon, with a brief glance she quickly satisfied herself that they must be some way behind. They were certainly out of her limited range of sight. Giving little time for decision, she elected to push on towards the Jaba, safe in the knowledge that there was a small gang of revellers just in front of her plus the odd straggler behind. Her reasoning was that if the Kiwis didn’t show she could always latch on to new groups and conversations. Though never a shy or retiring girl, her confidence was brimming, spurred on by recent independence learnt through travel. Louise then took a further swig from the bottle that she had all but forgotten and moved on, giving more care to her footing in the soft white sand as the sea breeze tried to sway her. Moving over the road, she soon found herself clambering up the few remaining steps to the Jaba without having fully realised it. Her eyes now slightly out of focus, she gently pressed her way towards the crude bar, still firmly gripping her earlier acquired bottle of Chang beer, its bitter tang warming her belly. It wasn’t until she selected a suitable isolated stool and was edging her way over to it that she heard the voice behind her. The two straws were inches from her face, enticing her to have the bucket with added whisky.

With her foggy recollections slowly labelling him as weird and a possible threat, she tried to make sense of the yellow-eyed creep that she now remembered as John. The scrawny over-eager figure hardly seemed to pose any immediate danger to her. Her reservations lay in becoming embroiled in a baloney conversation, something that the Kiwis would soon rescue her from. A vindictive part of her could see the three of them cutting him down with jibes and belittling remarks, something he almost certainly deserved anyway. It wasn’t in her nature, but she had that streak in her this evening. This streak was less vicious than experimental. The confrontation could lead to any number of conclusions. In one sense it would feel good to see them all come up before them, an invisible barrier of tempting selections, then be able to watch which direction any exchange might take. She felt different, giddily reckless and somewhat argumentative. A further side to her personality jostled to be more risqué and adventurous. This enticing element now had the loudest, more persuasive voice within her head and won her inward battle of decisions.

Carefully placing the bottle aside, she approached the bucket, finally having decided that she should accept a free drink in most circumstances. It occurred to her that it might be spiked, but the thought quickly slipped by. Her carefree happiness blunted any sense of danger. She pulled the nearest straw to her lips, smelling the sweet cocktail as she did so.

“Just a bit will do me - thanks!” she said.

As she was taking a couple of long, smooth draws, John was clearly anxious to fire-start a conversation. He began by speaking very quickly.

“I love these buckets!” he said. “Just imagine if they sold them back in UK bars! It would be mayhem out there for sure. You could each sit with one at pub table and spit beer at each other all night! Actually it wouldn’t be beer, would it? Not with this stuff. You’d all be stir-crazy on Thai whisky and coke - don’t they put some of that home grown Red Bull stuff in as well? They reckon it would be banned back in the UK, five times stronger than the juice there. Gets you dancing though - look at those crazy left-footed fools!”

Louise peered in the general direction of a small dance floor surrounded by ornate patched beanbags. A couple of backpackers were engaged in some kind of mock Morris dance, banging their buckets together each time that they passed. A further reveller looked to be shunting up one of the poles that held the roof up. As she took another leisurely sip, she found the climbing figure go slightly out-of-focus. She squinted, hoping that it was the distance and light, but felt increasingly light-headed.

“You know, it’s the heat as well,” John continued. “People spend most of the day running at half-steam trying not to fry, saving themselves to live by these balmy hot nights, just chuck your T-shirt on and off you go and party! You interested in a smoke?”

Louise realised that John was now looking back at her. Her ability to make sound judgments was fast deteriorating, though she knew that she should get out. The situation promised to get out of her control. With reflexes and general awareness speeding downhill she knew she must take her leave imminently or risk losing control. A growing top-heavy dizziness as she stood reinforced her desire to get out and away from the wiry shadow standing over her.

“I’m fine thanks,” she quickly replied. “Listen, I’d better be off now, want to get my head down.”

Before she had even finished the sentence, Louise was already starting back down the steep decent on her way back to the beach where her welcome cabin awaited. The whisky was fast going to her head, enough to raise a few warning bells from within. It had affected her fast, though she thought that earlier drinks must have played their part in her current predicament. Gingerly feeling for a piece of rope attached to the side of the path, she made her way down, passing a small sea of people still making their way up, their numbers inflated by the narrow path. She remembered the two Kiwi girls from earlier, but found her eyes too heavy and unable to pierce the darkness enough to read faces. All she saw were the feet of many people dancing to a song on the edge of her memory.

Thankful that she had reached the bottom of the slope without mishap, Louise found herself confronting her next obstacle homeward bound. A shallow swamp separated the road from her part of the beach. The murky waters were bridged by a wooden walkway, supported by a series of timber poles, which served in pushing it several feet above the brown swamp. Each pole varied in height from the other, making the walkway resemble a rickety dinosaur’s spine. With the absence of a rail, she gingerly started her slow and calculated passage, groping for any object that passed for a branch. Her logical side argued that a fall would not be met with instant death, but this did little to reassure her. What if she banged her head or forgot to open her mouth? Did snakes swim? The walk, so easy with a clear head in the day, was proving to be her tightrope of ruin. Her legs took each step with less accuracy as a slight shake progressed into a noticeable stagger, running beyond her hips into the lower reaches of her abdomen. With all her focus switched to staying upright, Louise failed to notice the uneven join between two intersections on the walkway. She began to fall. Stubbing her toe in the process of tripping, her arms flailed I wildly in the optimistic wish that a tree branch might offer half a chance to stop her going down. She hit the wooden planking as a dead weight. With her arms still outstretched, she failed to protect herself. The impact winded her, knocking the last remnants of coherence quickly away. On instinct her hand reached out, seeking reassurance. Instead of any firm grip she found nothing and felt a dizzy panic build as her body slipped towards the edge. Her cotton top was torn as long, spidery hands pulled her back. The grip was firm and dug into her. A knee pushed down hard on her chest, stopping further movement, pinning her to the walkway. A face looming above the knee cut through her confusion. John grinned as he bent down over her. There was no happiness or warmth behind his hollow eyes. Louise slowly slipped away into the darkness of her own abyss.