Trapped Between

Whittaker emerged from the club door like a demon being spewed from the gates of Hell. He headed down the car park and the way he walked was all predator and depravity. He raised a cigarette to his lips and just the sight of his hands sent terror, like a razorblades cutting their way into my body. Little pricks of sweat like cuts from the blades danced over my skin, raising the hairs on my arms and on the back of my neck.

The air seemed to hum with a frenetic energy, as if the night was suddenly aware of the fear and anticipation that was leaking out of my every pore. I cast my eyes to the red Volvo and prayed that Jess was okay, and that she was ready.

Whittaker leant back against the wall and the darkness was disturbed again by the glow of his cigarette and the hissing, crackling sound of him dragging on its end.

It was now or never.

I didn’t think about what would happen, I just put myself in autopilot and stepped out of the shadows into the shaft of light. My feet scraped across the pavement and I saw Whittaker turn to look at the source of the sound, a slow, disturbing smile lifted his features into a twisted mask.

Every fibre inside my bones screamed at me to turn away, to run, but I kept myself walking forward. It worked.

“We meet again, Elizabeth Sutton,” he sneered at me with a glint of interest in his eyes. “Back for another little chat, are you?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, like a wild dog with spittle oozing from its jaws, as he pushed away from the wall and came to stand directly in my path. I made to sidestep around him but he came again, blocking my means of escape. I couldn’t risk a glance at where Jess was hiding; I just had to hope she was getting this.

“Let me passed,” I demanded, even though getting away from him was the last thing I could allow to happen.

“You surprised me,” he said lifting his eyebrows and skittering his eyes up and down my body. “I thought a good girl like you would have gone squealing to your daddy, to the police. But it looks like you like your men a bit rough, do you?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call you rough,” I laughed darkly at him, curling up my lip in distaste. “Don’t you remember picking yourself up off the floor last week.” I could picture Jess’ mouth hanging open at that. I hadn’t exactly filled her in on all the details of my previous altercation with Whittaker.

“Oh, I do,” he said, his voice quiet and menacing as he took a step towards me. “I remember things not quite turning out the way I had planned.”

I gulped. “And how did you envisage things going? Me on the floor?” I spat the question at him, planting my feet to stop my knees shaking and glared at him with as much disgust and hatred that I could muster.

“Now that sounds much more like my kind of thing.” He lunged at me and I shut my eyes tightly, letting him push me up against the wall. He held a hand to my throat and squeezed, just ever so slightly, enough to ensure that I wouldn’t struggle against him.

“So I should add sexual assault and murder to your list of favourite things, should I?” I whispered, the words hissing from my lips, with the sharpness of a blade.

“Not this again,” he growled as he flexed his fingers and I could feel each fingertip pushing into my neck. I gulped in a breath and I could feel my neck swell and retract under the pressure of his hand as I swallowed down the panic and fear. I couldn’t lose it now, I needed to push him.

“So which is it you prefer? Pushing girls up against walls, or pushing boys off bridges?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, little girl.” He grabbed at my left breast with his other hand and squeezed, hard. The pain brought the sting of tears to my eyes, but I was determined not to cry in front of him. “Or not so little after all,” he laughed. The sound was like the dry scrape of nails down a black board and it sent an involuntary shudder down my spine and a gag to my throat.

He slackened his hold around my neck as a greedy light lit up his eyes at the feel of my breast under his hand which was rising and falling with every panic stricken breath I took. I struggled and he retightened his grip around my throat. I could picture Jess behind the car, phone in hand, silently screaming ‘Holy Hamburger Holy Hamburger’ at me. But I had to keep going, I was getting closer.

“You’ll never get away with it, the police will-”

He interrupted me with a great guffaw, which was laced with pride and arrogance. “I can get away with anything I want; those pigs have got nothing on me.”

“But they will have soon.”

“No they won’t. I can do what I want. You won’t go to the police, you won’t dare.”

He kept his hand tight around my throat and slid his left hand down from my chest, down over stomach and forced it under my jacket. His fingers rummaged under my top, like five blind creatures burrowing their way through heavy soil. His fingers touched my bare skin and wormed their way back up to my breasts. Hot, fetid air hissed from between his teeth as he clawed at my bra. I juddered and his horrible lips parted into a sick grin as he felt me struggle against his touch, victory lighting up his eyes.

“Yes I will,” I gasped, trying in vain to wriggle away.

“Well, if you do it won’t turn out well for you,” he threatened. He was cocky, like he knew he was going to win. He was confident he’d get what he wanted and that I would be too afraid of him to blab, too fearful that he would do this to me again. He squeezed the hand around my neck tighter and pressed his legs against mine, pinning me flat against the wall. He pulled his hand out from under my top and began to force it down the waistband of my jeans.

“Get off me, you dirty murderer,” I spat in his face as I tried to force myself further back into the brick wall, further away from his clawing fingers.

“There’s that word again” he said. He looked me dead in the eye and for a moment his hand stilled. “Since you seem to think you know all about that night, then you must know what happened.” His hand began its scrabbling descent again and he laughed. He wasn’t worried about what I knew; he was toying with me, like a cat playing with a mouse before it goes in for the kill.

“You disgust me,” I hissed, trying in vain to thrash my hips away from his greedy fingers.

“You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?” he laughed, the black sinister laugh of the devil. His fingers had worked their way passed my waistband and were digging into my soft flesh at the base of my belly. Come on, come on I thought as I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could, I need you to say a bit more.

“I am better than you,” I squeezed out of my crushed windpipe, trying to ignore the feel of his probing fingers.

“No, you’re not.” His voice came out thick and fast, each word gasped between ragged breaths. He was so eager; excited about the prospect of what would happen when he reached his goal that he wasn’t concentrating on what he was saying anymore.

This was it.

“It won’t turn out well for you,” he panted, “like it didn’t turn out well for that little fucker on the bridge. People who think they’re better than me always regret it. Don’t you see, darling,” he leered at me, his hot fingers clawing at the tight elastic at the top of my knickers. “You can try and take me on but I always win.”

Then the strangest thing happened.

I could no longer feel his probing fingers, frantically trying to push their way past the fabric of my underwear. I couldn’t even feel his hot, gasping breaths against my skin as he looked at me with that horrid, triumphant gleam in his eye. It was like I was watching the scene from somewhere else, somewhere on the side lines. I could see myself pushed up against the wall, I could see my pale face grimacing with disgust and loathing. I could see his hand holding my neck, squeezing, his body pressed against mine so that I had no way of escape. I could even see Jess knelt behind the Volvo, one hand held over her mouth, her eyes huge in her pale face. Her other hand was held out, holding the phone up, pointing it towards the me who was held up against the wall. I breathed out a sigh of relief, even as I saw myself struggle against him. She’d done it, she’d recorded everything.

I saw my eyes harden and my body freeze; go solid like concrete and ice. Whittaker sensed the change in my body and faltered, for a split second. I saw my mouth open and an almighty scream pierced the night.

“Get your hands off me, you are a disgusting murderer.” I screamed, spitting the last word as hard as I could into his face.

He roared, like a wild animal snarling and foaming at the mouth when its prey tries one last attempt to break free from its bloody jaws. He ripped his hand out of my jeans and clamped it over my mouth. But I was enraged, filled with fire, anger and hate.

He had killed Drew. He had just admitted it.

I bit down, hard, on his hand and he yelped, taking a step back. The second his bulk lifted away from my body I drove my right knee up into his groin. Both of his hands fell away from me as he instinctively grasped his crotch. I was incensed, too far gone to run away, too far gone to do anything other than try to destroy him. I saw a shadow move out from behind the red Volvo and whipped my head toward it.

“Jess,” I screamed, but my voice didn’t sound like my own, it was the raging shriek of a she-wolf. “You better still be filming this!”

I looked back at Whittaker’s hunched shoulders as he gasped, trying to get his breath back and my lip curled back over my teeth. “This is for all of the girls who didn’t dare go to the police,” I screeched as I lifted my knee and rammed it into his face. I heard a crack and felt a white stab of fire as my knee made contact with his nose. He dropped do his knees and I was free to run, free to get away.

“Beth,” I heard Jess’s desperate cry. “Run, now!”

But I wasn’t finished.

I stood over his groaning body and smashed my foot into his already bloody face. “And that is for Drew.”

Then I ran.

I ran past the van and saw Jess out of the corner of my eye wake up from her horrified trance and start pounding the concrete behind me. Neither of us spoke until we were at the top of the high street, and sure that Whittaker hadn’t followed us. Once we were under the bright glare of a street light we bent double, desperately trying to get our breath back to normal from both the fear of being followed and our frantic sprint to relative safety.

“Beth,” Jess was still panting hard; her eyes were wide, looking at me in horror and terror. “What the hell was that?”

I grabbed her shoulders, and she took a step back from me. “Did you get it all on tape?” I demanded, gripping her shoulders tighter.

“Seriously, Beth, what just happened?” She shrugged out of my grip and started babbling; her words tumbled and spilled over each other as tears streaked down her cheeks. “I thought he was going to rape you. Then you just went crazy. What was that? What did you mean about a bridge? What other girls? Who the hell is Dr- ? ”

“It doesn’t matter,” I interrupted her. “As long as we got it all recorded. Come on, Jess. You need to pull yourself together.”

She looked at me like she didn’t know who I was, like I was someone strange and frightening. “Beth,” she said, shaking her head at me as if I was a psycho. “How are you so calm?”

I wasn’t calm.

My rage at Whittaker had gone; ebbed away with the flow of blood that had run from his face. But my insides were still in turmoil, fear and panic still boiled through every one of my veins. It wasn’t fear of Whittaker anymore; it was fear that Drew would be gone. It was sheer panic and dread that Whittaker’s confession would have released Drew from his limbo and I would be too late.

I looked at my watch, it was half past nine. “The police station doesn’t shut until ten. If you go now you’ll make it.”

“What do you mean, I’ll make it? Aren’t you coming with me?” Jess was freaking out. Her high pitched question sounded strange next to my low and urgent tones. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

Every minute that we stood arguing was possibly another minute too late. I glanced down at my watch and it was like the second hand had gone into fast-forward again. “Please, Jess,” I urged her, desperation soaking into every syllable. “I promise I’ll tell you everything, afterwards. Now go!”

I turned and fled.

I ran to the market place, but it was as and black as a graveyard. I whipped my head from side to side as I dashed through, double checking behind every stall, checking every shadow, but he wasn’t there.

I pumped my arms and legs, and my body screamed for oxygen, screamed for a rest, but I couldn’t afford such luxuries. I could feel a pressure building up behind my eyes and pressing against my brain, as if my head was going explode. I couldn’t stop running; if I did my body might take over and shut itself down before I got there. It might close itself off from the shock of what it had just been through, and I couldn’t afford to slip into the warm, inviting blackness that threatened to cover me in its comforting embrace.

He was there.

I’d made it in time.

But he was different. His blue tee shirt was a shimmering bronze and his green trainers had changed to silver, to match the exact colour of his laces. His silver eyes shone out of his pale face and I ran out of air, the sight of him stole my breath, and for a moment I felt myself sway on the spot. His hair had turned to threads of gold and bronze, gilded strands framed his face and lit up the darkness as if they had been polished to perfection. He had never looked more beautiful.

“You’re still here,” I gasped.

“I couldn’t leave yet.” His voice was quiet, a mere whisper, but it sounded like a whole orchestra playing together in perfect harmony.

“But it’s over, isn’t it?” I whispered in confusion.

“Yes, but there is one last thing that I need to do before I go.”

He held his arms out and I ran toward him, tripping and stumbling over the freezing ground. I ran into his chest and my heart was in my mouth as I breathed him in. He smelt wonderful, sweet and heavy like sunshine and melted sugar.

“Drew,” I sighed, pressing my face into his chest. He closed his arms around me, enveloping me in his warmth and sweetness.

He held me for what felt like hours, maybe even days, before he stepped back from my embrace. He lifted my chin with one, long finger and gazed down into my face with his piercing silver eyes.

“Beth,” he whispered with the sound of strings and trumpets. “I couldn’t leave without this.”

He tipped my chin back and pressed his lips to mine. I kissed him back with complete abandon. He was going to leave me, and it would yield me dead inside when he did, so I kissed him with everything that I had whilst I was still alive. I kissed him knowing that I wouldn’t be able to breathe without him.

He pulled me closer into his body and I circled by arms around him. I pressed my hands against his back, feeling the hard bones of his shoulder blades, like wing tips under my fingers. I traced my fingers down his spine, delighting in the feel of his body shiver under my touch.

His mouth tasted heavenly, like spun sugar and summertime and I sucked his bottom lip, running my tongue across it, savouring the sweet taste.

His arms tightened around me and I felt like I was on fire, burning with feverish desire. The heat became almost unbearable and I felt my skin begin to disintegrate, but I didn’t care. It was one less layer, one less barrier between us. I felt my muscles and sinew lift away, leaving my bones exposed to the heat. Then they cracked and splintered until I was no longer whole, but I didn’t want to be whole without him. I didn’t want to be anything but heat and Drew.

Somewhere amongst the charred remains of my body I felt a vibration against my thigh bone. I didn’t need to scrabble amongst the blackened pile to know it was my phone, and a text from Jess. I didn’t need to look to know that it was just before ten and that she had made it to the station before it closed.

I didn’t want to find my eyes, didn’t want to open them as I felt a slither of cold slide over my chest as Drew took a step back from me.

“Look at me,” he demanded. I located my eyes from the heap and slowly opened them.

He stood before me, the Drew from the photograph at 39 Rowland Place. His messy hair, the colour of autumn leaves hung over his forehead and he pushed it back out of his eyes which shone with the colour of chocolate and warm, rich earth. His tan leather jacket hung open and I could see his belt buckle twinkling in the star light. His pale blue jeans looked soft, and I wanted to run my fingers down them to the green trainers and then all the way back up to his beautiful face.

I felt my heart explode it my chest, and I couldn’t do anything to prevent the unthinkable thought from popping into my head. He had changed, he was real, he was mine. It didn’t make sense but I wanted it to be real, wanted him to be real. If he was real I would be able to breathe, to live, it was as simple as that.

But just as suddenly as he had become saturated with colour, he started to change again. I was a complete and utter fool to have let myself believe that fate had changed her mind and hard started to look kindly on me. The rich browns, blues and greens were replaced with silver, bronze and gold and they shone like they were alive, full of swirling energy and the brightness of fire.

I threw my hands up to shield my eyes. He blazed in front of me, burning with a fire so bright and glorious, that he became a dazzling pillar of flames.

I had no choice but to close my eyes against the brightness. The blaze continued beyond my eyelids turning the thin membrane red, and just as it became so bright and intense that I thought I would have to turn away completely, everything went black.

I opened my eyes into blackness, blinking furiously at the white spots which danced and flashed in front of me. Between the dancing spots I saw that the ground was scorched black where he had stood blazing with the fire of Heaven. I staggered back against the War Memorial and slid down the rough stone until I was sat on the freezing paving stones. I clasped my hands around my knees and tried to hold myself together, but it was no use. What had been left of me was a miserable pile of useless parts, charred bone, singed skin and blinded eyes.

I sat for a long time, seeing nothing.

Finally my eyes regained their ability to see but I only saw darkness. They stung, but I didn’t dare close them because the image of him burning was scarred onto the back of my eyelids and I couldn’t bear to see what I had lost.

I sat, motionless, until the stone behind me chilled me through to my spine and I knew that I needed to go home. Drew had said that this was the one place he came to sit when he had needed to be alone, but he he had let me in to his secrets and shared its quiet beauty with me. It had come a full circle; it was back to being a place for one.

Drew had only been in my life for just over two weeks, but it was enough to have irrevocably changed me. The love that I felt for him was real, even if he hadn’t been.

I stood up and felt myself teeter, as if I was stood on the edge of a large hole. A hole that had been left behind when Drew had gone, a hole that I could allow to swallow me up until I was ready to face the world again.

I closed my eyes, spread my arms, and let myself fall into the comforting darkness.