Killing You Softly (24 page)

‘No.’ Yes, actually. I remember how it was – exchanging cool and distant ‘heys’ with Jack after Tom’s party, even though we’d shared the high point
of the kiss as we climbed a wall back into the school grounds. But then that stupid hiatus had been partly my fault too. I’d been shy, scared, too proud to show how I felt. And then
‘Lily’ had happened.

Now we talk through the misunderstandings, we step back from the water’s edge. Jack tells me all about his earlier relationship with Lily and how they’d drifted apart. He shows me
the email she sent him before she disappeared.

‘Sorry to dump this on you, Jack,’ she tells him before she signs off. ‘And tell Paige and Alyssa hey and sorry to them too. We had fun sometimes, didn’t we,
girls?’

I cry. The sobs wash over me. Jack holds me and hugs me and we don’t need to say another word.

And now I sat in Marco’s sports car, cushioned by the cream upholstery, sobbing again, without Jack to hold me.

I suppose it’s because he’s Italian that he didn’t back off from this display of emotion like most guys would.

‘How crazy is that?’ he demanded. ‘Why did Jack wait so long?’

‘He went to California for tennis coaching. Things just got in the way,’ I sniffled.

‘I wouldn’t have let that happen. Sorry, Alyssa – no way!’

‘But you’re not Jack.’

‘Yeah, he’s lucky I wasn’t around to step into his shoes.’

‘Marco, please.’

‘I’m just saying.’ Talking and driving, swishing through Chartsey Bottom in his look-at-me car, telling himself that no girl on this earth could resist his charms.

‘Anyway, you weren’t around.’

‘And now you cry over him because he had an accident and got hurt, but don’t worry, you don’t have to be alone.’ With confidence undented and undentable like the
immaculate, shiny bodywork of his silver-grey car, he drove me to the Q.E.

At least Marco had the decency to wait in the cafe area while I went up to the high-dependency unit. Or else he had something else to do because a quick glance over my shoulder
told me that he’d taken out his phone and was talking animatedly, oblivious that three nurses standing in the queue for Kit-Kats and coffee were openly admiring his Latin looks.

I shut Marco out of my mind as the lift door closed. When I stepped out again on the first floor, I walked right into Jack’s mum and dad.

‘Alyssa?’ Julia Cavendish was the first to speak.

‘Yes.’ I instantly recognized the tall woman in smart black trousers and boxy, asymmetrical jacket even though I’d only caught a glimpse of her at the end of last term when
she’d arrived to pick Jack up for the Christmas holiday. She owns an art gallery off Piccadilly, so her style is slightly quirky and very expensive.

Jack’s stockbroker dad introduced himself and shook my hand. ‘Giles Cavendish.’ He gave no sign that his son lay on a hospital bed with broken ribs, a punctured lung and
possible head injuries.

‘Don’t worry – he’s doing OK,’ Julia assured me. ‘He slept well. There’s no internal bleeding and no serious head injury. A touch of concussion –
that’s all.’

I let out a long sigh. As the breath emerged from between my lips and I inhaled again, it felt like an iron band round my chest had loosened.

‘Will you come down with us for coffee?’ Jack’s mum asked.

I shook my head.

‘No, of course you want to see Jack. I understand.’ She smiled, touched me lightly on the arm and stepped into the lift. ‘He wants to see you too.’

‘Don’t tire him out,’ Giles Cavendish warned as the lift door slid closed.

‘See – I’m going to be fine,’ Jack said.

I held back from the bed in case my arm snagged on one of the tubes or wires. ‘You don’t look fine.’

‘I am. The ribs will heal. I’ll be back to normal before you know it.’

Drawing up a chair, I felt tears well up and sniffed to hold them back.

‘Don’t cry.’

‘I’m not. How’s your head?’

‘Sore.’

My hand crept forward over the white sheet until our fingers interlaced. ‘After you talked to Jayden, what happened?’

Jack shifted position and winced.

‘It’s OK, you don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want.’

‘No – I do. OK, so Jayden showed me the note on the back of the invoice and all I could think about was getting back to school to make sure nothing bad happened to you. I took the
quickest route out of town, but by the time I reached the Chartsey Road I realized I was being trailed by the black Merc.’

‘Did you try to lose him?’

‘That was my plan – as soon as I hit the country lanes I was intending to go off-road along the bridle tracks where I knew the Merc couldn’t follow me. Only, I never got that
far. Before I knew it he was overtaking me and pushing me on to the pavement, blocking me from getting back on to the road. I had to swing left down the alleyway next to Betmate.’

‘And he followed you again?’

‘Yeah – big car, narrow cul de sac. There was only one way it could end.’

I pictured the chase down the dark, wet side street, heard the roar of the Merc engine, could almost smell the petrol fumes Jack would have inhaled as it drew nearer.

‘Jack, I’m so sorry . . .’

He shook his head but even this small movement was painful. ‘You can say anything you like to me except sorry. This is not down to you.’

‘But it is. Whatever anyone says, this wouldn’t be happening if I could just work out what’s staring me in the face.’

For a while Jack closed his eyes and was silent. His grip on my hand tightened. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was intense. ‘I’d do anything for you – you know
that.’

I nodded.

‘So now you have to do one small thing for me. I know – we don’t usually put pressure on each other, that’s not how we work, but this is important.’

His hand was round mine, holding tight; his brown eyes looked deep into mine.

‘What is it? What do you want me to do?’

‘Don’t
do
anything. Just make me a promise.’

I nodded slowly.

‘Don’t go anywhere alone. You hear what I’m saying? Always keep someone with you, tell a member of staff what you plan to do, where you’ll be, every minute of every
day.’

I sighed and nodded again.

‘Because I’m stuck here in this lousy bed, Alyssa, and there’s a killer out there, and it’s driving me crazy that he’s stalking you and making all these threats,
kidnapping Galina and crashing into me. So promise you won’t do anything to push his buttons until I get out of this hospital!’

,OK, cool,’ I murmured. ‘I won’t go out by myself. I’ll stay safe.’

Jack seemed satisfied but he still kept hold of my hand. ‘Because I can’t lose you, Alyssa. Not now, not ever.’

‘Me neither.’ I could still recall the wave breaking over me, the helplessness and the empty, rag-doll despair. ‘Just get better,’ I whispered. ‘That’s all I
ask.’

‘Where are you going?’ Connie demanded.

Ever since I’d got back from the hospital earlier in the day, I’d been focused on keeping my promise to Jack. I’d followed my timetable and gone with Hooper to a special
English tutorial then I’d met up with the girls for lunch, which is when I’d updated Connie, Eugenie, Charlie and Zara on the latest events.

‘We won’t let you out of our sight,’ had been Zara’s fast-as-lightning response.

I can’t tell you how good that had made me feel. I’d hugged her and nodded, hugged her again.

Connie had agreed. ‘OK, Alyssa, from now on you can’t even take a pee without telling us.’

This was how come they’d shadowed me throughout the afternoon, during a French lesson with Justine then afterwards during a free period in the technology centre. And it was why Connie
challenged me now as we turned off our computers, ready to go for dinner.

‘Come on, Alyssa – where are you going?’

‘Actually, I
am
going for a pee,’ I replied with an embarrassed grin.

‘Don’t be too long – I promised I’d hook up with Marco at six thirty,’ Charlie grumbled, while Eugenie grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and reminded
the others not to let me out of their sight.

‘So, Eugenie, where are you sloping off to?’ Sergeant Major Connie wanted to know. She boxed Eugenie in behind her computer station.

‘Out.’ Eugenie zipped up in a hurry. ‘OK, if you must know, I arranged to meet Sammy in the Bottoms. There – happy now?’

Connie nodded and slowly stepped aside. I watched Eugenie give her a shove in her hurry to leave and I felt a small stab of anxiety.

Please be careful! I thought as our red-haired diva dashed out into the darkness and I headed for the cloakroom with Zara hot on my heels.

In the privacy of the grey cubicle I told myself to get a grip. It wasn’t as if every student at St Jude’s was in danger. My stalker wouldn’t be interested in harming Eugenie,
only the people really close to me. So get a grip and think, Alyssa – above all, activate that eidetic memory and isolate the one tiny clue that will give you the answers you need. Think,
remember – win this surreal game of cat and mouse!

‘OK?’ Zara asked when I emerged.

I rinsed my hands under the tap then stuck them under the drier. ‘Relax. Nothing’s going to happen to me while I’m in the loo.’

‘So, I’ve been thinking,’ she said as we rejoined Connie and Charlie then set off together towards the refectory.

‘Whoo, Zara’s been thinking!’ Charlie mocked. ‘Watch out, Einstein – you have serious competition.’

Connie clamped her hand round Charlie’s mouth. ‘Listen and learn,’ she advised our super-confident American friend.

‘So – narcissistic personality disorder.’ Totally unruffled, Zara launched into her pet theory. ‘It means a person can’t empathize with his or her victims. Empathy
is what stops most of us from doing cruel stuff to other people – we imagine how it would feel to be whacked off our bike by a big old Merc or tied up and gagged then thrown into the back of
a car.’

‘Bashed on the head then chucked into the canal,’ Connie added for good measure, though it wasn’t necessary to remind us.

‘Exactly. Which is the reason why sane people don’t do these things.’ Satisfied that she’d got her message through, Zara fell silent.

The wind cut through me as we went outside. I hunched my shoulders and braced the wintry conditions.

Zara again: ‘The second thing I’ve been focusing on is the power aspect. It’s not enough for NPD people just to do bad stuff, they need to show off about it – that would
be the reason behind the notes our screwed-up psycho leaves for Alyssa, the song lyrics, the fake photos, the video . . .’

‘That’s definitely him being an arrogant shit,’ I agreed. ‘It’s his “catch me if you can” signature.’

‘Which could also be his weak point,’ Zara explained earnestly. She’s going to be a top forensic psychologist, I swear. She’ll be awesome in court, giving evidence
against terrorists and serial killers. ‘You see, this guy can’t bear to be overlooked. If you do ignore him, he’s going to get very angry.’

‘Wait, wait,’ Connie cut in. ‘You’re saying Alyssa’s best tactic right now is not to respond in any way to these challenges he’s been setting? How does that
work exactly?’

Zara explained. ‘The more you ignore him, the angrier he gets. And an angry person makes mistakes – we know that for sure.’

‘Which, when you think about it, Alyssa, fits in exactly with your promise that you wouldn’t do anything to try to catch the guy before Jack gets out of hospital.’ Charlie had
the good grace to acknowledge what Zara was getting at. She held the door to the refectory while we went in out of the cold.

Connie was the one who laid it on the line for me one more time. ‘So do nothing. Step well back. Watch the fireworks from a safe distance – whoosh!’

This is the way I got through one of the hardest days of my life – with a little help from my friends. I made it to midnight, when I found myself alone in my room and
wide awake.

‘Hey, can’t you sleep?’ Connie stuck her head round my door. ‘Sorry, I saw the light was on.’

‘No, don’t apologize. I was rewatching the video of Galina.’

Sleepless and tormented, unable to switch off. Sifting through the clues that my stalker had left, laid like crumbs that made a trail through the forest for Hansel and Gretel to find their way
back home.

‘Can I come in?’

I nodded. ‘Go through it with me. Tell me what you see.’

Dressed in tennis shoes and summer PJs that revealed goose bumps and a thin band of star tattoos round her tanned upper arm, Connie sat down on one of the spare beds. I angled my laptop screen
so she could see the footage of Galina in uniform walking eagerly down the drive. ‘All OK, nothing bad happening yet,’ Connie commented.

Cut to close up of Galina. She’s smiling in anticipation; her eyes sparkle.

‘Bastard!’ Connie muttered, knowing what was coming next.

Cut. My pulse raced at the sequence showing Galina’s silent scream. Open mouth, terrified eyes. Cut. The eight-second video jerked towards its terrifying end. We saw Galina lying in a
foetal position on the back seat of a car. The duct tape over her mouth was silver. Her hands were tied with thin cable, which cut into her wrists. I was staring at the screen, paying attention to
a particular detail for the first time.

‘What is it?’ Connie asked.

I’d gasped. The video had ended.

‘Alyssa, what are you thinking?’

‘Did you see the upholstery?’ I whispered. I could smell the cream leather, feel its recent, soft, seductive contact with my own skin. ‘Don’t you recognize it?’

‘No. Come on, tell!’

‘That’s the back seat of Marco’s car,’ I told her. One hundred per cent certain, no doubt in my mind – the final sequence of the video showed Galina tied up in
Marco Conti’s Aston Martin.

Action girl Connie immediately forgot her own good advice. Stand back, do nothing – it went clean out of the window the second I identified the cream leather car seat.

‘Oh my God!’ she cried, jumping up from the bed. ‘It’s him all along – it’s Marco!’