BEX
We’ve got him in sight. I look at Jen and nod, a sign that now would be a good time. We’re making our way down a deserted dirt path which is about to disappear into a tangle of woodland, an area that I know is not covered by CCTV. I ask if she’s ready. I scan the landscape again for other people, but there’s no one around.
‘I couldn’t be more ready,’ she answers between panting breaths. ‘I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment for ever.’
We gradually quicken our pace and then sprint towards him. Jen’s right hand traces the outline of the knife under her long-sleeved top. My fingers dip into my pocket and caress the edge of my phone. I worry that the sound of our trainers scuffing the ground will alert him, but then I notice he’s got his earbuds in. Jen pushes back her sleeve to reveal the knife strapped to her arm. She pulls apart the tape, wrenching it away from her skin, and takes out the blade. A ray from the setting sun catches the metal.
I look at Jen and have never felt more proud of her in my life. It’s obvious she is going to do it. Her fingers grip the handle of the knife with a strength, a power that can only come from a deep-seated sense of anger. Her face is flushed from running, but perhaps she’s also feeling what I’ve felt before: the ecstasy of anticipation before a murder is committed. I certainly felt it watching my mother and father in the kitchen that day. And I felt it again just before the murder–suicide of Vicky and Daniel on the Heath, even though I had to witness it from a distance. Now I hope Jen is experiencing it too. The deliciousness of it is addictive.
Assuming that Jen will be concentrating on the job in hand – the murder of a man she hates – I take out my phone and turn on video mode. Laurence is so close to us now that we can hear him breathing. I’m certain these will be his last breaths. Soon he will be lying on the earth, bleeding out, and he’ll be dead by the time another jogger or walker finds him. I lift the phone into the air and focus it on Laurence’s skull. But as I do so I notice that Jen has stopped running. I turn back to see her standing as still as a statue, like some sculpture of a Greek goddess I’d once seen in a museum.
‘What are you doing?’ I hiss, as Laurence continues to run from us deeper into the wood. ‘We don’t want him to get away.’
‘I need to ask you something,’ she says.
‘What – now? Can’t it wait until later?’
There’s an oddness about her, and her eyes are shining even brighter than before. I turn around to see Laurence a good twenty paces in front of us.
‘We’ve got time to catch him up – but not much,’ I say. ‘As soon as he comes out of the woods he’ll be back in a stretch covered by the cameras. Jen?’
She takes a step towards me.
‘Was it you?’
‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘Was it you who sent in those copies of my parents’ death certificates to the newspaper? Was it you who got me sacked?’
‘Look – I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘Jen – calm down. We’ve talked about this – about your delusions. Your illness. You know you haven’t been well. You’re having another one of your episodes.’
‘Stop fucking with me!’ she spits as she steps even closer, pointing the knife in my face.
‘Jen – you’re scaring me now. I thought we’d got everything straight. It’s Laurence who’s done all of this. He’s the one who sent those certificates to the paper.’
‘I don’t believe you. It’s been you all along, hasn’t it?’ She raises the knife up to my face. ‘From the very beginning. The messages. The attack on the Heath. The mask.’
I open my mouth to deny it all when I feel the point of the blade press on my neck.
‘For fuck’s sake, Jen, you need to—’
‘No! You need to tell me the truth. Or I’ll slit your throat. You taught me how to do it, remember?’
I look around me. Laurence has gone now, but I think I can hear the sound of someone running in the distance. Perhaps if I hold out long enough a jogger might come to my aid.
I speak as gently as possible, almost as if I’m reading a lullaby to a baby. ‘I know you’ve been confused. You’ve been ill – you know that. If it hadn’t been for me you would – you would have been locked up – sectioned. Don’t you remember how I looked after you? After you lost your job? After Laurence left you? I was there for you.’
She can’t deny this isn’t true and, for a moment, I think I’ve got through to her. She’s looking dazed, as though she’s being hypnotised.
‘You know I’d never hurt you. We’re best friends, we always have been. We always will be.’
But then something changes in her eyes, as if she’s pulled herself out of a trance. ‘And what about Henry?’
‘Who?’
‘Henrietta. My cat.’
‘What about her?’
‘She didn’t get killed by a fox, did she? It was you.’
The blade presses down hard on my skin. Fuck. It’s cutting into me, drawing blood.
‘I just want the truth, Bex. That’s all. Just tell me the truth.’
Jen turns the knife on its side so it’s ready to slash into my throat. One swipe and I’m dead. I don’t know what to do, what to say. For once, I’m lost for words.