Soul Storm (30 page)

But it’s enough to make me wonder.
Hope
. I scan the room, take in all the positions of objects, furniture, Ade.

He’s still talking. ‘There’s no need to be coy, Alice. You know there’s something between us. Not a grubby thing, but something powerful.’

Oh, God. He really is mad. He smiles. Does he think I’m playing a game with him?
Flirting?

The noise has stopped. I think it came from the bathroom side of the villa. Ade hasn’t noticed, he’s too preoccupied with this ‘connection’ he thinks we share.

Another noise. A footstep?

Please, let it be a footstep.

‘I don’t understand, Ade,’ I say, desperate to keep him talking. ‘Tell me what you mean by “something powerful”.’ My heart is pumping, as though
I’m sprinting for my life, not lying on a bed with my movement restricted to a few centimetres. I watch Ade’s face, trying to keep his attention focused on me.

He smiles. Those bland features were his best disguise, because no one expects a psychopath to look like a male model. Yet he has all the traits: everything revolves around Ade. No one deserves
sympathy except Ade. Even those he killed conspire against him because people
miss
and mourn his victims.
How dare they?

‘You’re playing with me now, Alice. Flirting.’

Crash!

I see the alarm in his face. Then, a second crash, even louder! Behind us, someone is throwing their full body weight at the bedroom door. I can’t twist round to see but . . .

Lewis! Who else could it be?

Ade’s face shows a real emotion at last: fury. A flash of light bounces off the glass walls as he thrusts the knife out in front of him.

‘Coming to get me, now, Lewis? I’m ready for you!’

There’s a third strike against the door.

The crunch of wood being torn from metal. Then a blast of air as the door finally bursts open behind me.

Ade leaps over the bed.

I sense Lewis in the room now, so close I could touch him. But also too close to danger.

‘Lewis! He’s got a knife!’ I scream.

Suddenly all my fear is gone.

Only anger remains.

I’m struggling against the scarves that bind me to the bed.

Behind me, I hear Lewis calling out, ‘You bastard! What the hell have you
done
to her?’

Ade grunts as he launches himself at the man I love.

Love?

They’re fighting like dogs behind me, growling and panting. The ties dig into my wrists and ankles as I move. Sweat runs from my forehead into my eyes, making them sting. I can’t
wipe it away.

‘Lewis! Run for help!’

But he’s not running. Maybe he can’t even if he wanted to. The sounds are primal. I can’t tell one voice from the other any more.

I can’t tell who is winning
.

Silk is stronger than it looks, and crueller too. I can feel the knots rubbing my skin raw but I don’t feel any pain. All that matters is getting free.

The fabric around my left wrist seems to be stretching. I throw all my effort into pulling at that arm.
Now
there’s pain, a fieriness as the skin and fabric both tear.

For a few moments, I’m scared the fabric will hold and my wrist will break.

But then . . .

I don’t cry out when the tie finally gives way. Ade mustn’t realise. I twist my body over onto my arm, so that if he happens to look up now he won’t see I’m half
free.

As the numbed fingers of my left hand work on the knots round my right, I dare to glance over my shoulder.

Ade is on top of Lewis. I can’t see what he’s doing but Lewis is making a horrible rasping noise.

The rage begins in the centre of my chest and spreads instantly, like acid burning through flesh.

You won’t kill him, too
.

Blood is soaking into the bed sheets from my right wrist.

There’s no time.

I take a deep breath and pull as hard as I can, biting my lip so I don’t cry out as the scarf digs deeper into my flesh.

With a groan, the fabric breaks away from the bedhead – so suddenly that my arm slaps against the bed like a dead weight. I lean forwards and the ankle ties release much more easily with
two hands.

What do I do?

I look to my right and then I know.

I have to use both arms to lift the lamp base. As I turn it, I realise it’s shaped like a Buddha. Wise eyes bore into mine. The base is even heavier than it looks and I’m weakened by
heat and thirst and the numbness of my limbs.

Lewis groans.

Strength passes through me like an electric current.

Now
.

As I lift the base above my head, Ade twists round and I see his gloved hands gripping Lewis’s throat.

Time slows. There’s hurt in Ade’s eyes when he sees me looming above him, and realises what I’m holding. It makes me think of an injured animal who was expecting help but
realises he’s about to be put out of his misery.

‘Alice, not you too.’

‘Then let go of him!’

But he shakes his head. ‘So you two can live happily ever after? Not a chance. Bitch!’

Can I do this?

Lewis’s chest has stopped moving. He makes an awful gurgling noise.

I must
.

‘Not again, Ade. I won’t let you do it again!’

Gravity does most of the work. As I bring the lamp down Ade instinctively turns his face and body away, but I’m too fast for him. In the split second before impact, I wonder whether it
will be enough to finish this.

I want him dead
.

The base hits the back of his head and neck with a loathsome thud. Then, as it makes contact with the marble floor, there’s an explosive sound and shards of bloodied stone splinter
outwards. One hits me in the face. Others scatter onto the surface with a strangely musical ring. But there’s no sound at all from Ade.

He doesn’t move, or relax his grip on Lewis.
Is he superhuman?

But now Ade’s slumping forwards and though his hands are still around Lewis’s neck, they’re loosening. There is no sound except for the rustle of his clothes as he falls face
down, his cheek brushing Lewis’s jaw as though I’ve caught them in the middle of some sick embrace.

Lewis isn’t moving.

‘Lewis? Lewis!’ I crouch down at his side. His skin has turned china blue. I can’t hear him breathing or see any movement.

‘No! NO!’

Drool is dripping onto his face from Ade’s mouth. The smell is musky. Repulsive.

I push Ade off. I can’t think about what I’ve just done, not now, not yet. As his slim frame flops onto the white marble, I feel an awful certainty that he is no threat to either of
us any more.

Lewis is all I care about. I kneel over him, touching his cheeks. They’re still warm but apart from that there’s no sign of life.

‘Lewis. Can you hear me?’

I catch sight of Ade’s knife, lying on the floor above Lewis’s head. No! Don’t let Ade have stabbed him. When I look down, there’s blood on my fingers.

‘
Please,’
I whisper, as I check Lewis’s clothes for signs of stab wounds. There’s nothing – and the blade of the knife shines silver, no redness on its
sharp tip.

Then I feel something dripping down my cheek and, when I touch it, there’s fresh blood from where I was cut by the shard of stone from the lamp. But I’m too wired to feel any
pain.

‘Lewis, please. Wake up.’

I slap his cheek, harder,
harder,
wanting it to sting him back to life. It hurts my hand but I don’t stop.

No response.

Not Lewis. Not now
.

‘I won’t lose you, too, Lewis. I
won’t
.’

I try to remember the talk about resuscitation we had at school, leaning down towards his mouth, listening for breath. I’m close to his lips.

Ready to kiss him, but not the way we kissed before. I lean in, hoping I can bring him back to life with my own breath. A kiss a million times more important than the kisses before, because this
time it could mean the difference between . . .

My lips are so close now that I can feel the warmth from his, and it gives me hope. But before we make contact, he opens his eyes.

They’re blank for a fraction of a second. And then he remembers.

‘Lewis! Thank God! I thought . . .’

He coughs, a painful catch where he’s been throttled. ‘Alice. Are you hurt?’ His voice is a ragged whisper and his hand is reaching up towards where I’ve been cut.

‘No! Not really. But you? I was so scared—’

‘I’m . . . fine. Honestly. Help me up.’

I grab his hands and realise that I’m shaking so hard he can’t quite hold them still.

He flinches as he stands up, yet despite that he seems so strong and alive. There’s no sound at all from behind us, where Ade is lying motionless.

‘Lewis, I can’t look. Is Ade dead . . . have I
killed
him?’

Lewis squeezes my hand. ‘I’ll look, but before I do, Ali, you did the right thing. It was the only way.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘No buts. He was trying to kill us. And he would have. Me first, then you. He had no conscience.’

Had
. Lewis thinks I’ve killed Ade too.

I reach behind me to feel for the bed and sit down on the very edge. Through the glass walls that were my prison, the sky is still inky blue but the rain has stopped and the bullfrogs have begun
to moo again. What sounded funny before is chilling now, like they’re groaning in despair.

My thoughts and heart race, as though I’ve just woken from the most terrifying nightmare.

Ade was the killer.

Sahara is dead.

I might be a murderer myself.

He deserves to die
.

My own bloodthirstiness shocks me. I’m one of the good guys, aren’t I? All I’ve ever wanted is justice, not revenge.

Except is that really true? When I lifted that lamp base high in the air, I
knew
what it could do, something so heavy and solid. I didn’t hesitate. I wanted him dead.

My sore wrists throb now, and the blood coursing through my body feels red hot. I’m aware of Lewis moving behind me, a soft thud as he shifts Ade – or is it Ade’s body –
around to check him over.

What if he
is
alive? I remember what he said about hospitals and shrinks devoting months, even years, to the study of what makes Ade tick. A perfect future for him, all that attention
will be almost flattering.

While my sister has nothing.
Is
nothing.

‘Ali?’

Lewis’s voice is soft,
kind
. He’s left Ade’s side and is sitting next to me on the bed. I know what that means.

‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

I feel Lewis’s hand take mine and he squeezes it, and doesn’t let go. ‘There’s nothing we can do for him any more. Well, I don’t think there ever was anything we
could have done to change the person he was. Right now, we have to focus on the living.’

I can’t find any words to reply.

‘Ali, it was self-defence. You know that, don’t you?’

I hesitate. ‘What if it wasn’t?’

He turns my face towards his. ‘He wasn’t going to stop until I was dead.’

‘No, but the way I felt about him . . . well, it sickens me. I wanted him to die, Lewis. That makes me a murderer, doesn’t it? As bad as him.’

Lewis shakes his head. ‘Please. Don’t waste any more time thinking about that
bastard
. He’s not even the same species as far as I’m concerned. The thought of
what he did to you . . . what he could have done. Well, put it this way, I don’t think a single blow was good enough for him. I wish he’d
suffered
.’

The anger in his voice surprises me.

‘You’re a human being, Ali. After what happened to your sister, it’s natural you’d want this to end. When you stop having feelings, when you’re as numb and selfish
as he was, that’s when you need to worry. OK?’

‘OK,’ I say.

‘Good. In a moment, when you’re ready, I will call reception and ask them to call the police. But you must promise me first that you won’t blame yourself for what happened
here. There’s only one person who is responsible, and now he’ll never be able to ruin any more lives.’

Lewis rests his other arm around my shoulder. His breathing is laboured and I pull him towards me so he’s leaning against my chest. I close my eyes and, after a few seconds, we’re
breathing in and out in the same rhythm.

And I can no longer tell who is leaning on whom.

After Lewis makes the call, everything moves so fast.

Within minutes, people fill the bedroom. Hotel staff, first. Someone with a medical kit. Then policemen with high-pitched voices in unfamiliar tones.

Lewis and I allow ourselves to be escorted out of the bedroom into the dining lobby. There’s a hint of lightness in the sky, splashing the smooth lake water with red reflections, even
though it’s not even three a.m. I wonder how the police are going to begin to make sense of this: a Westerner’s body on the floor and a guy with red marks around his throat who
won’t let go of a girl whose wrists are bleeding.

The officer in charge seems to have decided that we’re guilty of something and is firing relentless questions at us in Thai. Fortunately, the fierce hotel duty manager gives as good as she
gets and is refusing to allow him to get close. I suspect she’s more concerned about her hotel’s reputation than the two of us, but it doesn’t really matter.

‘First, hospital,’ she says. ‘The police will want to accompany you but there is no obligation to say anything. Certainly not when there is a risk of confusion after a head
injury.’

‘Head injury?’ For an awful, surreal moment, I think she’s talking about Ade: that he’s come back from the dead. Then I become aware of a slow dripping sound.