The tiles were slippery beneath my feet. I grabbed hold of the banisters of the stairs to stop myself from falling. I couldn’t afford to take it slowly, or watch my step. I had to move as fast as I could. This school, stretched across three buildings, each from a different era, was a warren of classrooms and corridors linking them together. The oldest building, to my right as I ran, had been converted from old outhouses.
There were stairways there to an upper floor that only those really familiar with the school would have been able to find. But if they were blocked up now, I’d quickly run out of space and find myself at a dead end. The newest building, to my left, held what had once been a darkroom as well as a host of storerooms and offices. Perhaps, I thought, I could hide there. But I’d have to run a considerable distance in plain sight to get to it. I knew I had to get to the safest place possible, as quickly as I could. Instead, I opted to run towards the assembly hall at the front of the school.
I vaguely remembered that there was a storage area under the stage. If I could get there, if I could hide out in a place he may not be able to find, perhaps I’d stand a chance. Or maybe I’d just be imprisoning myself further.
On the off-chance the front doors to the school had been breached before, I ran at them, ramming into them shoulder first, trying to get them to move. They didn’t budge, but the echo of my body slamming against the wooden hoarding echoed through the cavernous halls and I heard a voice echo back.
‘Come out, come out, wherever you are …’
The worn carpet was damp and sticky beneath my feet, the building crumbling after years of neglect, the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls making it difficult to assess just exactly where he might be. I looked up, around, hoping for a glint of light. A broken window. A splintered door. If I could get out, I’d be on the main road back into Derry in seconds. It was bright, traffic would be busy.
I rattled the heavy wooden doors to my left, those that led into the assembly hall, and was able to make my way in. The high-varnished sheen of the floor had long dulled. Echoes of my past were everywhere. The faded posters on the wall, the once plush red velvet curtains sagging, moth-eaten. Only the thinnest slivers of sunlight lit the otherwise tomblike space and I swore I could feel the ghosts of times past. Of that first day at school. When I sat on that floor and Clare and Julie sat beside me and we found each other. We found friendship.
We’d never meant to hurt anyone. We’d never realised how Laura was feeling. I’d never thought she wanted to be a part of our group. Or had I? If I were honest with myself, could I realistically say that? Poor Laura. Poor, poor Laura. We were so young and immature and selfish in the way that only teenagers can be. I could see now how we hurt her. It wasn’t intentional, but I couldn’t deny it. We could’ve reached out to her but it was easier not to. She was different, wasn’t she? Odd.
But my heart ached for her and guilt washed over me. Had we been partly to blame for her taking her own life, for being so damaged?
Had Clare really done what Michael was accusing her of? I’d never be able to ask her. She was gone. He could say what he wanted. You can’t libel the dead. I thought of us all as eleven-year-olds, sitting on that floor. And how it had gone so wrong. Laura and Clare were both gone and I was sure I’d be next. Would Julie be luckier?
And this man, who I swore I could feel bearing down on me, her brother? A man I’d grown to love.
A monster.
I reached the stage, kicked at the doors leading to the under-stage storage. Wept and yelled in pain and frustration when they wouldn’t budge, either. My body ached and I wasn’t sure I had much strength left, but I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I had to keep fighting.
I remembered there was a doorway on the stage itself. I was sure, if I could haul myself up, I could get to it. As long as he didn’t know I was here, as long as he wasn’t behind me, I could get to it and be safe. I could no longer hear him call me any more. I hoped he’d run down the wrong corridor, was looking elsewhere.
My arm was bruised, useless. But I pushed through the pain to pull myself up onto the stage. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the wings, where I couldn’t be seen. Towards the stage door. With every step, all I could think was that I didn’t want to die. I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave my girls. I couldn’t let him win.
I reached my arm out to the door, ready to open it, knowing I was close to hiding somewhere where he was unlikely to find me. I was almost there. Almost.
My fingertips just reached the tarnished silver of the door handle, when it moved itself, the latch releasing, the door opening. I recoiled, fell backwards as the door opened fully and the shadow of an imposing figure stood over me, arm raised.