Friend From the Internet Page 11

  Making my way along the deserted street, I try to figure out what I should do next. It's clear that Paula's pretty weird, but I keep telling myself that she's not insane. Sure, she drew some weird pictures, and sure she has some bloodied knives in her backpack, but there might be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of that. For example, maybe she just gets really into people really quickly, and she's a fast drawer. The pictures of me being hacked up are just products of her dark sense of humor. As for the knives, I suppose it's possible that she's a self-harmer, although there was a lot of blood and I'd have seen if she had any cuts anywhere on her body.

  Stopping at the corner, I realize that I don't know where to go.

  I should turn back and confront her.

  I hesitate for a moment, before turning to walk to the house.

  And then I see her.

  Paula is standing in the middle of the street, just outside my parents' cottage. She's fully clothed now, although her hair is matted and wet, and she's staring straight at me with a calm but curious expression.

  I open my mouth to say something, but I know I look terrified and I also know – with a growing sense of horror – that she must realize that I'm onto her.

  “I'm just going to get something for breakfast,” I call out weakly. “Back soon.”

  With that, I turn and walk along the next street, taking care not to run in case she hears my footsteps. My heart is pounding and I still don't quite know where I'm going, but deep down I know I should go to the police and let them handle it all. At the same time, I like Paula and I don't want to screw her over, especially when I already abandoned her years ago by not responding to her messages. I might very well have misunderstood this entire situation, and then I'd feel awful if I ended up hurting her all over again. Stopping at the end of the street, I realize that I really do have to go back and talk to her.

  I turn, and then I see her again, standing at the street's other end.

  Even from here, I can see that she's staring at me with that same curious expression.

  I should go to her, I should sort this out one way or another, but something about the look on her face makes me stay rooted to the spot. It's almost as if I'm sensing something about her, something that a hidden part of me knows is bad.

  “I'll be back soon,” I stammer, probably not even loud enough for her to hear. “It's okay, I'll be back really soon I'm just going to the market.”

  I turn and head along the next street, in the direction of the town center. I start instinctively picking up my pace, hurrying so fast that I'm almost breaking into a jog, and I look over my shoulder every few seconds to check that she's not coming up behind me. There's no sign of her, but somehow I can sense her nearby, as if she's getting closer and closer with each step I take. Finally I head along an alley and out into the main street, where early morning shoppers are hurrying past in every direction, but I stop for a moment and look around as I try to work out why I can feel Paula's presence.

  I still can't see her, but I can feel her.

  I can smell her.

  “Where are you?” I call out, turning again but still seeing only shoppers. “Come out! Let me see you!”

  An elderly woman shuffles into Marks and Spencer, and then I turn and watch a woman pushing a pram into Boots. A moment later I hear laughter, and I turn again to see two old men sitting outside a pub with pints of beer. I look over at the coffee shop, which for some reason is shut. I'm certain that Paula is close, that she's staring straight at me, but I still can't quite spot her face in the crowd. The smell of her – the same smell that was so strong while we were having sex – is filling my nostrils and causing tears to start filling my eyes, but it's almost as if Paula has somehow become invisible. Either I'm losing my mind, or she's managing to sneak up on me.

  I keep looking around, and then I spot a faint flashing blue light at the far end of an alley.

  For some reason, the lights draws me across the high street. I apologize to a few people as I almost bump into them, and then I make my way along the alley. It's not until I reach the far end that I realize I'm coming to the car-park, and I stop as I see several police cars and an ambulance. A few passersby have stopped a little further away, but they're being told by a couple of police officers to move back. Meanwhile the other officers are working in the yard at the rear of the coffee shop, and I can't help wandering over to take a closer look.

  I walk straight past the police officers who are moving people back. They don't seem to notice me as I slip between some empty metal trolleys, and finally I see that there's a body on the ground. I immediately think back to the sight of the dead girl in the alley a few days ago, except that this time the body seems to be smaller and I can see two bare, mud-caked feet poking out from behind the officers who are kneeling to take a closer look. And then, as I step closer, I see that blood has pooled around a blocked drain.

  It's the girl.

  It's the little girl Paula was talking to the other night.

  It's Rose.

  “You still have to stay safe, Rose,” I remember Paula saying to her. “Do you understand? I'm going to keep an eye on you.”

  I step forward, even though I'm horrified by the thought of what I might see. I tell myself that this is all a coincidence, that Rose is going to be okay, but then I realize that the officers all seem to be working with no sense of urgency. They're not trying to help the girl, and nobody is talking to her and offering comfort. I feel a growing sense of fear in my chest, and then suddenly one of the officers moves slightly and I see the dead girl's pale, bloodied face with dead eyes staring toward the morning sky.

  There are stab wounds all over her chest, with blood having soaked through her jacket and coat.

  “No,” I whisper, stepping back until I bump against the wall. “No-one would do that. Why would anyone do that?”

  There are tears in my eyes now, but I can't help staring at the horrific sight as I wait for some hint of hope. Maybe Rose will suddenly sit up, or start coughing. Something has to happen, something that proves this nightmare isn't real.

  And then, slowly, one of the officers places a piece of cloth over the girl's face.

  “We have a confirmed fatality,” another officer says, speaking into her radio just a few feet from me. “It's a kid I don't know how old, but it's brutal.”

  There's a static-filled buzz from her radio, filled with a voice that I can't quite make out.

  “It looks like it,” she continues, and now there are tears in her eyes. “It looks a lot like it.”

  “Everyone back away!” a male officer shouts, and I turn to see him shepherding several onlookers across the car-park I guess he just hasn't noticed me yet. “We need space here!”

  I watch for a moment, and then I spot a familiar face over in the far corner of the car-park Paula is watching, and her eyes are fixed right on me.

  Chapter Twenty

  “What happened?” I ask as I get closer to Paula, while still taking care to stay a few meters back. “What happened to her?”

  I wait, but Paula simply stares at me impassively.

  “What happened to Rose?” I ask again, and now tears are starting to run down my face. “I saw her, it looked like...”

  My voice trails off, and Paula is still staring at me without any real reaction. She has her backpack over her shoulders and her hair is still wet from the shower, and she seems utterly calm and composed, almost as if she's not surprised by any of what's happening.

  “Rose is dead,” I tell her. “Did you see that? That maniac killed her. It must have been last night, and then the people from the coffee shop must have found her this morning. He attacked me last night. Remember? He attacked me and then he must have gone after her and -”

  Stopping suddenly, I think back to the sensation of the madman's knife slicing into me. Then, slowly, I look down at the front of my shirt and I remember that although I felt the agony, all my injuries cleared up within a few seconds. None of this makes
any sense, and I feel as if I'm starting to lose my mind, and finally I turn back to Paula in the hope that somehow she's going to make sense of it all.

  “What's happening?” I ask. “Please, you have to know. Can't you tell me?”

  I wait, but she's still staring at me.

  “Rose is dead!” I shout, starting to panic. I turn and look back across the car-park, toward the spot where the police are still working in the yard behind the coffee shop. “Rose is dead,” I continue. “She was just a little girl. She was a scared little girl, she was hidden away and he still found her. I thought you were going to keep her safe, I thought nobody else knew where she was hiding, I thought -”

  Suddenly I spin around and look at Paula again. She's still staring straight ahead, but now I've moved slightly and I realize that she's looking toward the crime scene. In fact, I think maybe that's where she was staring the whole time. I was just in the way for a moment.

  “Nobody else knew where she was hiding,” I whisper, as a growing sense of horror starts creeping through me. “You were the only one. You got her to show you, you said it was so that you could check on her but...”

  My voice trails off as I start to consider the possibility, however awful, that Paula is somehow involved in all of this. And then, as if to give me an answer, Paula slowly takes off her backpack and crouches down, setting the bag on the floor before unzipping the main compartment. She reaches inside, and I hear metal rattling together before she slowly takes out one of the many bloodstained knives that I saw earlier. She looks at the blade for a moment, almost as if she's mesmerized, and then she finally turns and looks up at me.

  “Whose blood is that?” I ask, taking a step back.

  I wait, but she doesn't say anything.

  “Whose blood is that?” I shout. “Paula, tell me! What did you do last night while I was being chased? Where were you?”

  She looks back down at the knife and slowly turns it around, and the blade briefly catches a glint of morning light.

  “This isn't really happening,” I stammer, stepping back a couple more times until I bump against the wall. “You're doing this on purpose. You're trying to trick me, you're doing something to mess with my head.”

  She glances at me again, and I swear I can see a hint of something dark in her eyes. Anger, maybe. Or hatred.

  “You've got to tell me right now what's going on,” I tell her. “From the start, everything. You've got to stop messing with my head and start telling me what's happening.”

  Again I wait, but again she says nothing. Instead, she simply continues to turn the knife around slowly in her hands, while watching me intently.

  “What's wrong with you?” I yell. “What -”

  “Hey, you over there!” a voice shouts, and I turn to see the female police officer coming this way. She's waving at us, and I feel a flash of fear as I realize that she must have spotted Paula holding the knife. “Stop!” she calls out. “I need to speak to you!”

  Hearing footsteps nearby, I turn just in time to see that Paula is calmly making her way into the yard at the rear of the pool club. I hesitate for a moment, not knowing what to do, before hurrying after her and seeing that the yard is in fact a dead-end. There's no way in or out, and Paula has already stopped at the far end with her back to me.

  I head over to her and then, when she still doesn't respond to me, I step around her until we're face-to-face.

  “Did you kill her?” I ask, my voice trembling with fear. “Just tell me that. Be honest with me. I can figure the rest out, but tell me the truth about Rose. Did you murder her?”

  I wait, and after a moment I spot something flashing nearby. Turning, I see that on the other side of a dusty window there's a bank of TV monitors.

  “Paula?” I continue, turning back to her. “Just tell me the truth. Did you kill Rose?”

  She stares at me. Is that a faint smile on her lips, or am I imagining things?

  Before I can ask again, I see the female police officer come into view at the far end of the yard.

  “You there!” she calls out. “Didn't you hear me? I told you to stop!”

  “She's from the police,” I tell Paula. “Whatever you did, we can figure it out, but you can't run anymore.”

  I look down at the knife in her hand.

  “I'll help you,” I continue, as I look back at her face. “I don't know how, but I'll come and see you and I'll do whatever I can to help you. I'll tell them that you're a good person, I'll make them see that you were just confused, that you didn't mean to hurt anyone or -”

  “I need to talk to you!” the police officer shouts, stepping into the yard as her radio buzzes. “M'am, I need you to hold your hands out where I can see them!”

  “Paula, please,” I whisper. “Listen to her.”

  “This is WPC Charleston,” she says, speaking into her radio. “I'm in the area behind the pool club with one, I repeat one, female who is refusing to respond. I think she's alone.”

  “She's not a bad person!” I call out, as the radio buzzes again. “Honestly, she's not!”

  “There's no-one else here,” the officer continues, looking around for a moment before turning to us again. “She's definitely alone. Can I get some back-up in here?”

  “Alone?” I reply. “What are you talking about? There's -”

  Before I can finish, I spot the monitors beyond the window again. This time I see pictures from various CCTV cameras. The images are grainy, but in several of them I can just about make out the sight of the officer walking across the yard toward a figure standing right here.

  One figure.

  Not two.

  One.

  I can see my own grainy figure, but not Paula's.

  “What does that mean?” I whisper, staring at the screens for a moment, trying to figure out what I'm seeing. “Why isn't Paula there? Why isn't...”

  My voice trails off as I turn to Paula again and see her still staring straight into my eyes. The police officer is coming up behind her now, but I'm too scared to say anything.

  “M'am,” the officer says, “I'm not going to tell you this again. I need you to hold your hands out immediately.”

  “Can you see her?” I stammer, filled with panic as I start to realize I must be losing my mind.

  “M'am, I won't tell you again.”

  “Can you see her?” I whimper, with tears in my eyes. For a fraction of a second, I remember all the time I've spent with Paula over the past few days, and the massive coincidence of her suddenly showing up. She seemed so real, but now...

  “M'am...”

  “I'm sorry,” I say out loud, my voice trembling with shock, “but I think maybe I don't quite understand what's going on here.”

  I freeze.

  A faint smile flickers on Paula's face.

  I open my mouth to ask her what's happening.

  And then it happens.

  Letting out a sudden, rage-filled snarl, Paula turns and lunges at the officer, stabbing her in the belly. The officer cries out and falls back, slamming down against the ground as Paula starts pulling the knife out. The radio is buzzing wildly, but all I can do is watch as Paula straddles the officer for a moment with the dripping knife still in her hand.

  “Stop!” I cry out, taking a step forward. “Paula, you have to -”

  Suddenly seeing the monitors again, I realize that I can only see the grainy image of Paula sitting on the officer, which means I must be somehow projecting myself out of the violence. Looking at Paula again, I feel a wave of shock as I finally understand that I've been imagining her all this time, and that in reality I must have been doing all the things I thought were her.

  I must be completely out of my mind.

  “Fuck!” Paula yells suddenly, stumbling to her feet and stepping toward the exit, leaving the officer's bloodied and motionless body on the ground. “Bitch!”

  “You're not real!” I stammer, staring at her as she turns to me and grins. There's blood on her face. “Yo
u haven't been real from the start. My mind invented you to cover up for what I've been...”

  After hesitating for a moment, I look down at my hands and see that they're covered in blood.

  “Come on!” Paula yells, grabbing my arm suddenly and pulling me past the officer, toward the exit. “This isn't going to end here! We've still got one more thing to do!”

  “Let go of me!” I shout, although deep down I already know that she's not here at all. I can feel her grip, but that must be all in my mind. “I don't want to do this anymore!”

  “Simmons to Charleston,” a police officer is saying, and I turn to see him and two others coming this way. “Charleston, come in.” As soon as he spots us, he stops for a moment. “Don't move!” he shouts. “Stay right where you are!”

  “No chance!” Paula hisses, pulling me along the alley and out into the road and then, somehow, forcing me to run with her along the busy high street. “They're not going to stop me yet! I still have things to do!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sirens are screaming in the distance, getting closer all the time, as Paula leads me past the burger restaurant and toward the supermarket at the end of the street.

  “You're not real,” I stammer, trying to figure out how this is all working. “You've never been real.”

  “Save it!” she hisses.

  “You're not real!” I yell, pulling free and stepping back as the sirens come ever closer. “I must be completely out of my mind!”

  “Can we talk about this later?” she asks, still holding the knife. “Seriously, you pick this moment to start asking the hard questions?”

  I must be talking to myself.

  I must be standing here in the middle of the street, and I must be yammering away to myself like some kind of lunatic. There aren't many other people around, although when I look toward the charity shop I see that a few people are staring this way. From their point of view, I must be some complete psycho who's arguing with herself in broad daylight.

  I must have seemed like that for days.

  “I wouldn't hurt anyone,” I sob, with tears streaming down my face. “I would never -”