Friend From the Internet Read online

  My thoughts immediately turn to Paula.

  “I heard she was stabbed,” a woman says. “Lots of times, too. They didn't find a knife, though. My David works with Sheena, who's married to Carl from the station, so he heard that way. It was definitely murder, that's what they're saying. Poor girl.”

  “Makes you wonder why people end up living on the streets, doesn't it?” the first man says. “Shouldn't be happening, not in this day and age. Everyone should have somewhere to kip, with a roof over their head.”

  I turn and look at him, but at that moment he notices me.

  “Terrible business, isn't it?” he says. “You want to keep yourself safe, love, 'til they've caught this maniac.”

  “Sure,” I mumble, but in my panic I turn and walk away, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I head to the supermarket's main door.

  My mind is racing, filled with thoughts about everything I just overheard, but I keep thinking back to that girl Paula who broke into the house last night. I was totally right to make her leave, and I don't know for certain that she's the girl who ended up getting stabbed, but I can't help wondering whether maybe something bad happened to her just a few hours after I threw her out. It's not my fault if someone stabbed her, but at the same time I suppose that maybe I could have done something to save her.

  It's not my fault.

  It's probably not even her, and if it is, it's still not my fault.

  As I enter the supermarket, I'm so lost in thought that I bump into a woman's trolley. I mumble an apology and hurry on, grabbing a basket as I head toward the fruit and veg aisle, but I'm still thinking about the moment last night when Paula left the house.

  I'm sure it's not her who got stabbed.

  And even if it is, it's definitely not my fault.

  Extract from chat log

  Wednesday October 17th 2012

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Hey. Where were you last night? I was online waiting for hours.

  Mayfly90330:

  Sorry. Stupid parents insisted on taking me out for a late birthday thing.

  Idiots.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  LOL.

  I was worried you were standing me up.

  You're late tonight, too.

  Mayfly90330:

  I had to walk home from school.

  All the way.

  FML, right?

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  LOL, I have to walk home every day.

  Good thinking time.

  Mayfly90330:

  Maybe.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  But I was worried about you.

  Worried you'd finally gone postal.

  Even checked the news.

  Mayfly90330:

  Sorry.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Check in next time, yeah?

  Just to let me know you're doing okay. I missed you.

  So how was today?

  Mayfly90330:

  You don't wanna know.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Actually, I do.

  Really.

  I like talking to you.

  Tell me all about your day, dear.

  Chapter Five

  Today

  “Police say they still haven't identified the young woman whose body was found in an alley this morning,” the news-reader says over the radio. “Facial injuries are believed to be making a visual identification impossible, while DNA searches have so far turned up no leads.”

  Sitting huddled at the kitchen table, I stare at the radio as I wait for something – anything – that'll indicate that the dead girl isn't Paula.

  “Witnesses are being asked to come forward,” the news-reader continues, “with any information that might be relevant, even if they believe it's of little significance. Police sources say that the killing is being treated as murder, and local residents are being advised to avoid going out alone tonight while the investigation continues. And now over to Charles, who has all the news from today's matches in the -”

  Switching the radio off, I feel a cold, heavy lump in my throat. It's almost 6pm now and I've spent the whole day obsessing over the murder. I keep telling myself – over and over and over – that the victim almost certainly wasn't Paula, but at the back of my mind there's a nagging fear that the pieces are starting to add up. On top of that, no matter how much I tell myself that it wouldn't be my fault if Paula does end up being the victim, I know that I'll blame myself forever. I mean, she asked if she could stay here and I refused, and then she went and...

  No.

  No, it wasn't her.

  Paula seemed streetwise and tough, not like the kind of girl who'd let herself get murdered.

  Wait, let herself get murdered?

  Did I really think that?

  Putting my head in my hands for a moment, I try to stay calm, but I know that these doubts and fears are only going to get worse and worse. There's no way I'll be able to sleep tonight, not with all this uncertainty. I need to find some way of settling this, even if I don't like the answer I find.

  ***

  There it is, right ahead.

  The police station is pretty brightly lit up, even this late in the evening. It took me twenty minutes or so to walk here, and the whole way I was trying to figure out how I could explain what happened with Paula last night. I guess the best thing would just be to describe her in as much detail as possible, including her clothes and her bag, and then hope that they laugh at me and tell me I'm way off target. Then I'll leave, and I'll know I didn't throw a girl out and send her to her death, and everything'll be fine.

  That's all I have to do.

  It's easy, really.

  So why have I been standing here for several minutes now, in the freezing cold, just watching the station instead of going inside?

  “Come on,” I mutter under my breath, trying yet again to gee myself up. “Just go in there and -”

  Stopping, I realize I've started talking to myself again. That's not a good sign, so I force myself to shut up and internalize my thoughts as I try once again to figure out why I'm standing here. I could have gone in and come out by now, and be well on my way home, but instead I'm loitering like some kind of idiot. I've never exactly been brave, but it's clear that I need to get my ass in gear so finally, somehow, I manage to step forward and start crossing the road, heading toward the station.

  And then I stop as I spot something moving in the shadows on the road's other side.

  I wait, telling myself that there's nothing there, but then I spot the movement again and I realize that something – or rather, someone – is standing in a patch of darkness to the side of the police station's main sign. A shiver runs up my spine as I force myself to stop worrying, but then I realize that since there are streetlights on either side of the station there's no way the dark figure can simply be wandering past. He or she must have been there the whole time, maybe even watching me while I was trying to decide whether or not to go into the station.

  “Local residents are being advised to avoid going out alone tonight,” I remember the news-reader saying earlier, “while the investigation continues.”

  And now here I am alone, in the middle of the road, with somebody watching me from the shadows.

  Suddenly filled with a sense of fear, I turn and start marching back the way I came. I glance over my shoulder, and now I can't see the figure, but that doesn't mean he's not there. I should probably still try to get to the police station, but I can't help worrying that the figure might be the killer, and that he was waiting to make sure that I don't give any information. Even now, picking up my pace, I keep looking back to make sure that nobody's following me, and I'm walking so fast that I'm getting a little breathless. There's no sign of anyone, however, and finally I make it over the train bridge and into the center of town, where at least there are more lights and I can see plenty of people in a couple of nearby pubs.

  Stopping next to one of the streetlights,
I turn and look around. The junction is bathed in an electric orange glow, under a starless night sky, but there's no sign of anyone following me along the road that leads from the police station.

  Maybe I imagined the figure.

  Maybe I'm that jumpy.

  Or maybe he was standing there as a warning.

  Taking a deep breath, I briefly consider going into one of the bars so that I'm not alone, but then I turn and head along the street that runs past the supermarket. All I have to do, I figure, is get home and then call the police. In fact, that's what I should have done at the start, but I wanted to go personally because I always hate talking to people on the phone. I keep looking over my shoulder, in case I'm being followed, and I take the longer – but brighter and busier – route through town until I get to the streets near where I live.

  Around here, there are no streetlights and most of the houses have been left empty by their owners, and I stop on the corner as I see that the street leading to the cottage is completely dark.

  There could be loads of murderers loitering ahead, waiting for me to walk into their clutches.

  Not wanting to take the risk, I head along a slightly-lit side street that takes me up onto the seafront, and then I go around the longer way that at least features a few proper lights. This allows me to then take another side street that cuts through to a turning closer to the cottage, and I start fumbling for my keys as I finally rejoin the dark street. At least I managed to cut out a few hundred meters of the route, but I'm starting to panic now as I get to the front door.

  Why didn't I leave a light on?

  Why didn't I leave all the lights on, blazing through the night air?

  Suddenly hearing a distant clicking sound, I spin around and look along the street. All I hear now is the sound of waves in the distant, crashing against the beach, but for a moment I swear I heard someone nearby. I wait, and now my heart is pounding, and I quickly realize that I need to get into the house as quickly as possible.

  I try to find the right key, while muttering to myself that I have to hurry, but then at the last moment I manage to drop the keys.

  “Crap!” I hiss, crouching down and feeling for them on the ground, while looking around to make sure that nobody has followed me.

  I don't see anyone, but that doesn't necessarily mean there isn't some asshole lurking in the shadows. After all, I didn't see the guy outside the police station until it was almost too late. He could easily have snuck up on me, and I'd have been none the wiser until I felt a knife at my throat.

  Finally finding the keys, I get to my feet and fumble again with the lock. It takes me a moment to even figure out the right key, but I somehow manage to get it into the lock. I'm panicking so much now, I bump against the wall as I step into the hallway, and then I turn to shut the door and -

  Suddenly a black-booted foot blocks the door from closing. Horrified, I try again, but a figure pushes the door open and shoves me back against the wall. And then, before I can even think to cry out, I nudge the switch and the light flickers on, and I'm shocked to see Paula standing in front of me with a terrified expression on her face.

  Extract from chat log

  Tuesday October 30th 2012

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Hey, where you been? I was getting worried.

  Mayfly90330:

  Sorry.

  I started going to this after-school thing.

  Parents idea.

  Totally sucks.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Wow, and you haven't been online in like a week?

  Mayfly90330:

  Real life kinda got in the way.

  You still there?

  AardvarkQueen310293?

  You okay?

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  I'm here.

  Real life?

  Mayfly90330:

  I went to a party.

  First ever lol.

  Not as bad as I expected, but people were still lame.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Parties are always lame.

  Mayfly90330:

  I'm going to another on Saturday. Might be better.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Doubt it.

  Sure you wanna go?

  Mayfly90330:

  Might make friends.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  You're not online as much lately.

  Mayfly90330:

  No.

  Lol.

  I'll try to do better. Promise.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Cool.

  You don't get rid of me that easily, you know.

  Chapter Six

  Today

  “What the hell were you doing out there?” Paula asks as she slams the door shut. “Are you nuts?”

  “I -”

  She flicks the light off again.

  “God dammit,” she mutters under her breath. “Fuck. That was intense.”

  She clambers over the back of the sofa and hurries to the window, where she pulls the curtains aside and peers out at the pitch-black street. She watches for a moment, and I can't help still noticing a hint of fear in her eyes. At least she's alive, which frankly seemed hopeless just a few seconds ago.

  “There was someone else,” she says finally, her voice tight with tension. “We weren't alone.”

  “We?” I ask.

  She turns to me.

  “What are you talking about?” I continue, trying to make sense of the rush of thoughts in my head. “I mean, what are you doing here? I mean, how... I thought you were...”

  My voice trails off, and for a moment I feel as if my mind has come to a crashing, numbing halt.

  “I was trying to get a door open nearby,” she explains. “About four down the road, and then I heard someone coming. I hid, and that's when I saw you coming and...”

  Her voice trails off for a moment.

  “And what?” I ask cautiously.

  “And the guy who was following you,” she continues.

  “Someone was following me?”

  “Did you seriously not realize?”

  “I...” For a moment, I think back to the man outside the police station, and to the sound I heard in the street outside. “Sure,” I say finally, not wanting to seem like a total idiot. “What kind of idiot wouldn't realize that?”

  “Huh,” she replies, narrowing her gaze slightly as if she suspects that I'm lying.

  “I wasn't panicking,” I continue. “If that's what you think, then you're dead wrong.”

  “I am?”

  “Totally.”

  “Huh.” She pauses. “Then you must be a bloody idiot, because if a murderer was following me along a dark street, I'd be out of my mind with fear. So either you've got balls of steel, or you were scared, or you're a total moron.”

  She looks me up and down for a moment.

  “No offense,” she adds, “but you don't look like you've got balls of steel.”

  “I -”

  “Putty, maybe. Or tissue paper.”

  “Hey -”

  “He should be gone now,” she continues, turning and looking back out at the pitch-black street. She cranes her neck, looking first one way and then the other. “He's dangerous, but he's also a coward. He backs off if he's not entirely certain that he's going to get away with it. That's what happened last night, to that poor bitch who got stabbed in the alley. I'd bet my life on it.”

  She turns to me.

  “Sorry,” she adds. “Poor turn of phrase.”

  “I thought that bitch in the alley was you!” I tell her. “I mean, that girl in the alley! I thought I'd sent you away to your death!”

  “Me?”

  “It's a hell of a coincidence,” I point out.

  “Yeah, but...” She hesitates, and then a faint smile crosses her lips before she taps her own chest. “Me? Seriously?”

  “It seemed logical.”

  “You think I'm the kind of girl who'd go down a dark alley in the middle of t
he night? Do you seriously think I'm that dumb?”

  “I didn't know what to think,” I tell her. “I was confused. I was in shock! No-one's ever been murdered here before and -”

  “Sure they have.”

  “But not recently.”

  “Well, there you have a point.”

  “I mean, what if it's some kind of serial killer?”

  “It is.” She fixes me with a determined stare, and now her smile has faded. “Trust me. There's a killer out there in the dark streets of this little town, and that girl last night isn't going to be the only one he kills.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask.

  “Because he's tried to get me twice,” she continues. “And I think he tried to get another girl last week. That's something the police'll find out soon enough. Last night was just this guy's first success, but he's out there almost every night, looking for a nice easy victim. He never stays out too late, though. In fact...”

  She looks down at her watch, before turning to me.

  “We should be good. It's a couple of minutes to midnight, and as far as I can tell he always heads home by then. Weird, huh?”

  I wait for her to explain, but she seems to think she's done.

  “You're trying to tell me that there's a serial killer here in Croftby,” I say finally.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He killed that girl last night.”

  “Yep.”

  “He's going to kill again.”

  “You can bet on it.”

  “But he doesn't want his killings to get in the way of an early night.”

  “I don't know what's going through the dude's head,” she replies, sounding a little exasperated. “Listen, I'm just telling you this in good faith, alright? I'm trying to help you keep safe. The only reason I didn't mention it last night was that...”