Soul Storm (27 page)

The rush of blood in my ears is deafening now. This makes no sense at all. Why would Lewis have lied to me about this?
And what else could he have lied to me about?

Suddenly, I’m cold,
so
cold. My teeth are chattering and I have to dig my nails into my palms to stop myself shaking.

What could be the connection between Lewis and Meggie?

Think, Alice.

Dread is slowing my brain right down. Lewis can’t be
involved
in all this, can he? He’s a good man. My closest male friend. He only investigated Meggie and Tim and Zoe as a
favour, to help me.

Didn’t he?

The alternative is too horrible to contemplate. But I know one thing – I can’t let him catch me here. I have to act normal, buy myself time to work out what this could mean.

I try to put the papers back in the same order so Lewis won’t know I’ve been here, but as I fumble in the dark, I touch something else. Not paper, nor the cool cotton of the
bedclothes.

Satin?

I point the phone screen towards where my hand is, to see what I’ve found.

Not satin; silk.

It’s a large, perfect square and it seems to shimmer in the dim light.

It’s a scarf.

A red silk scarf.

Being invisible is beyond unbearable. That’s why it has to be tonight that I reveal myself.

Once we are honest with each other, Alice, and you know everything, then we can start over. There will be no more misunderstandings.

Secrets have kept us apart for so long. But here, things are different from at home. Everything is beautiful. Especially the truth.

So, listen, Alice. Let me explain.

Soon you will see me as clearly as I see you: in full sun.

My hand looks like a claw clutching the silk.

No.

This can’t be happening. I’m wrong. I
have
to be wrong.

But what if I’m not? I open my mouth to scream.

Nothing comes out.

It must be a coincidence.

But how many coincidences will it take to make me admit the truth?

My sister was sent two red scarves days before she died.

Tim was found suffocated – with a red scarf securing the plastic bag around his neck.

And now I find a red scarf here, on Lewis’s bed. Why has he brought this with him to Thailand?

My fingers fly to my own throat.

But I
know
Lewis. I’ve kissed him. He’s the one person I trust completely.

Yet how has he repaid that trust? By denying he ever knew my sister, even though she was emailing him, begging him not to let her down. The harder I try to make sense of it, the harder it is to
believe he’s the man I thought he was.

And if he’s not that man, then who the hell
is
he?

A liar.

A schemer.

A
killer
?

No. It’s not possible.

This is Lewis. The friend who has never failed me. He came into my life at exactly the right time, just days after I had the first email about Soul Beach. He’s been there for me, at my
side, every step of the way.

Every step . . .

It’s a coincidence.

It must be.

Except, of all the people I know, Lewis is the only one with the skills to build the Beach.

What if he’s not my rescuer at all?

What if he’s my sister’s killer?

And not just my sister’s killer, but the person who faked Tim’s suicide, who pushed Zoe over the edge and then into the path of the dragon procession in Barcelona?

My heart thumps. I try to find reasons why it can’t be him.
Not Lewis.

OK. Focus, Alice. Take the Beach. Why would the killer be behind the Beach? All the time I’ve been going there, my sister and Sam have been urging me to look for the murderer. If Lewis had
killed Meggie then why would he have set up a site that convinced me justice had to be done?

Unless it’s all been a game for him? A sick, voyeuristic way to play with my emotions and get close to me.

Till I began getting too close to the answers and he had to change tactics, even close the Beach down.

But what now? Why would he bring me here?

To be his girlfriend – or his
final victim
? Bile rises in my throat. It’s all I can do not to throw up. I can’t bear the thought, am trying not to believe it.
Not
Lewis.
But what other explanation is there?

I want to curl up in a ball, but instinct forces me to move, to plan. If I’m right, then I am in more danger than I’ve ever been in before. My
heart
tells me Lewis is a good
person. But my head – and every single piece of evidence – is saying the exact opposite.

I must stop thinking, start acting. Before it’s too late.

I lay the scarf back where it was, with the papers on top. My hands tremble, making the paper rustle, and it sounds incredibly loud. I tiptoe into the snug, and deliberately knock my wine glass
over onto the sofa and my dress, then make a bad attempt to mop it up with cocktail napkins from the mini-bar. I need an excuse to get changed, back on my side of the villa.

Behind that security-proof door.

Outside, I hear a buggy pulling up. At least that means there’s someone else coming back with Lewis – buying me time to get back to the safety of my own room?

Shit.

I’ve still got Lewis’s phone.

I run into the bedroom, plug it back in, then race out, hitting my knee hard against the bed head.

I have to clamp my teeth together so I don’t cry out.

Lewis is in the hallway, talking about fuses. He sounds exactly the same as he did fifteen minutes ago, but now I want to throw up out of fear. And betrayal.

You can freak out later
, I tell myself. Right this moment, I must focus on survival.

I feel my way along the snug wall, towards the dining lobby. ‘Lewis?’ I call into the darkness. I’ve said his name thousands of times.

Now it sticks in my throat like a shard of glass.

‘It’s OK, Ali.’

He’s closer than I realised. Close enough to reach out and grip my hand.

Just minutes ago, I’d have found the gesture so comforting. Exciting, even.

Stupid girl.

Now it feels as though he’s taking possession: as though he’s never going to let me go.

‘The engineer is just checking the electrics, he thinks it’ll be a simple—’

The lights come back on again, blinding me for a moment.

‘—enough job,’ Lewis finishes, laughing. He lets go of my hand and heads back up the hallway to thank the engineer. I see him putting a tip in the man’s hand and sending
him off.

‘A tripped circuit,’ Lewis says, coming back towards me, smiling broadly. ‘Now, where were we?’

‘Actually . . . I know my timing sucks, Lewis, but I don’t feel great. The jet lag, maybe, and the wine. I dozed off and spilled wine all over myself, so I need to clean up. And then
I’m going straight to bed.’ Fear makes me gabble.

Lewis frowns. ‘Oh. Of course. That’s fine.’ He puts his arm back round my waist. ‘It’s all right, isn’t it? What we just did?’

‘It was lovely,’ I say. It’s not a lie. It
was
lovely. Which makes what I’m thinking now
unbearable.

He touches my face with his other hand.

‘You’re really cold, Ali. Listen, why don’t you sleep with me tonight?’ He blushes. ‘I-I don’t mean like that, obviously. I just mean in the same bed. I
don’t want to be apart from you . . . and I promise I won’t, you know—’

Try to kill me in my sleep?

‘No. I thrash around like crazy when I’m sleeping. I’ll only keep you awake. I’ll be OK.’ My voice is higher pitched than it should be.

For a few seconds he says nothing. Has he realised?

But then he nods to himself. ‘Cool. Yeah, you’re probably right. Take it slow. Your friendship means more than anything to me, Ali.’

I try to smile. I hope he’s reading my awkwardness as a reaction to what happened earlier. I turn to go, but he keeps hold of my waist.

If I scream now, will the guy in the buggy be too far away to hear it?

No, I mustn’t let Lewis know that I know. Once I’m behind a locked door, I’ll be safe. I can call home. Or reception. I only have to make it as far as my own bedroom.

Lewis leans into me and kisses me softly on my forehead. Despite everything, my body responds almost as strongly it did before I knew.

But a flash of red appears when I close my eyes.

That scarf is as incriminating as bloody fingerprints.

‘The speedboat company is sending a driver first thing in the morning for our trip. Tomorrow could be the day you finally get the answers you want. In the meantime, sweet dreams, Miss
Forster.’

I close my eyes so he can’t see the fear in them. ‘You too, Mr Tomlinson.’

I don’t breathe properly till the door of my room shuts behind me with a heavy thud. There are three huge bolts and I pull them into place slowly, so Lewis won’t
hear me. I can hear him moving around in the lobby area. What is he doing?

I have to hope I was convincing. That he hasn’t guessed that I
know.

On the bathroom wall there’s a lighting master switch for the whole wing and I turn it up to maximum. It hurts my eyes, but at least there will be nowhere for Lewis to hide.

In the bedroom, the bulbs blaze inside and outside. The bullfrogs are silent finally. Perhaps they don’t like being floodlit. I don’t get undressed, even though my dress smells of
wine; I want to be able to run for it, if I have to.

Even though I know the only way someone’s getting in here is with a battering ram.

I pick up the phone on the bedside table to call Cara. Or my parents.

It’s still dead.

But shouldn’t it be working again now the power’s back on?

I look for my mobile: on the bed, under the bedclothes, by the table, beneath the bed.

Nothing.

A sick feeling overtakes me as I realise I must have left my bag outside in the lobby. I could race out there, but I can still hear Lewis’s footsteps on the marble, the sound of a
relaxation CD playing. If he’s already suspicious, at least I’m secure in here. I must wait till he’s gone to bed, then get out and
get help.

Now I’ve made my plan I should feel better. But I don’t. Instead, the truth spreads through me like poison.

Lewis killed my sister.
Suffocated Tim and made it look like suicide. Pushed Zoe into the path of the fire run procession, just after she’d promised to tell me what she knew
– and what she suspected – about both their deaths.

I collapse onto the bed. My brain is on fire but jet lag is hitting my body like a steam-roller. I’m still fighting to think of an alternative explanation – any reason to believe
it’s not Lewis – but the evidence seems overwhelming.

Why,
Lewis?

Every single thing he’s ever said and done must have been a lie. Almost a year of getting to know me, making me feel I was special, heaping suspicion onto Sahara, listening to me when I
didn’t feel I could confide in anyone else on earth.

Yet he knew
everything
already.

Tears come, even though I try to stop them. Was everything leading up to
this
moment? Did he always plan to get me here, as far from my friends and family as possible and then – a
shiver passes through my body – murder me like he did the others?

Will the last breath I ever take be thousands of miles from home?

My last breath . . . I thought it couldn’t get any worse, but then I remember – all three of Lewis’s victims were deprived of oxygen. For Tim and my sister, that was enough to
kill them. In Zoe’s case, she might as well have died.

I gasp for air. Perhaps he’s planning to kill me and then make it look like an accident, as he did with Zoe. Or suicide, as he did with Tim. Mum and Dad are already convinced I’ve
lost my grip on reality, so how suspicious will they be if he makes it look like I travelled here on a romantic trip and then ended my own life?

They’d never survive losing me as well as Meggie.

‘You bastard, Lewis. You total
bastard
!’

My voice bounces back at me off the glass walls.
Too loud
. Right now everything I do carries a risk.

And there’s no bigger risk than falling asleep when I need to listen out for Lewis going to bed. I grab my iPod and jam the bud into one ear, playing music as loud as I can to keep myself
awake. I keep the other ear free to hear what Lewis is doing.

I want to cry, but I won’t. I must focus on getting out of this alive, not focus on the lies Lewis has told for eleven long months.

He made one mistake. When he invented the Beach – and how obsessed must he have been to do that? – he didn’t realise that it would change me as a person. I’m scared, yes.
More scared than I ever have been in my life.

Yet I know this won’t defeat me. What happened to Meggie and what I learned on Soul Beach, even if it was fake, has made me grow up fast. Too fast, maybe, but now I know I’m
strong.

I won’t let him win.

All those lies, all those times you pretended you liked me, even that kiss. It didn’t work! You never fooled me for a minute
.

Except that’s not true. I lie down under the bright lights, forcing my eyes to stay open even though they’re so sore and gritty from exhaustion. Actually, Lewis fooled me completely.
And I realise something that’s even worse.

All that time, I believed there was finally someone who liked me for myself, not because of who my sister was. Someone who never knew Meggie, never worshipped her voice, her laugh, her beauty.
Someone who saw me as Alice alone: a person in her own right.

Wrong.

That stings like crazy. Yet again I’m the understudy sister, and yet again I’m a horrible disappointment.