You Are Dead

74

Thursday 18 December

Sodding bloody electrician! Freya cursed. In the pitch darkness she rinsed out her hair, then turned her face up into the shower jet.

Then she heard the shower door open.

‘Zak?’ she said.

A hand grabbed her arm and she felt herself yanked harshly out of the cubicle and onto the bath mat.

‘Zak — what the hell are you—?’

‘Shut it, bitch, I’m not Zak.’

She knew the voice, she’d heard it before, somewhere. Where? A deep, cold, shudder ripped through her belly. Her brain raced, spinning, trying to make sense. She saw a faint green glow. She lashed out and felt rubber, like a scuba or spandex suit.

‘NO!’ she screamed. ‘HELP ME!’

She felt a hand around her throat.

Something — she didn’t know where it came from — some memory, something she had seen on television or in a movie — kicked in. She lowered her head and rammed forward with all her strength, trying to headbutt him, making contact with something hard, but soft at the same time, with an almost satisfying crunching sound.

She heard a howl of pain and the hand released its grip.

She pushed past her assailant, shoving him as hard as she could, hearing the crash of the bathroom door, the sound of someone falling and then a curse.

She raced, in the almost total darkness, across the bedroom, missed the door and crashed into the wall. Scrabbling with her hands, her heart thrashing crazily inside her, she found the door handle, flung it open and launched herself onto the landing, screaming, ‘Help, help, HELP ME!’

She stumbled down the stairs, hearing footsteps behind her, then the dog barking below her, excitedly, like they were playing a game. She ran naked across the hall, the dog jumping up. Then an arm was around her throat again, pulling her backwards.

This time, Bobby snarled.

‘Fuck you!’ the voice said.

Bobby growled. Then she heard a ferocious snarling, followed by, ‘Ouch! Get the hell off me, ouch, you fucking — you bloody—’

The arm slipped away from her throat. She collided with the wall, close to the front door. So close. So close.

She heard a yelp from the dog. Then a snarl.

Then a human cry. ‘Owwwwww.’

She yanked open the front door and stumbled out into the dull glow of the street lighting, screaming as hard as she could, ‘HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME! HELP ME!’

Behind her, Bobby snarled, growled, snarled.

She heard the assailant’s voice shouting. ‘Get off me, lemme go, you sodding bloody thing!’

She sprinted, oblivious to the pain and cold in her feet, along the lane, and out onto deserted Hove Park Road. Behind her she could hear footsteps, gaining.

She made a snap decision, turned left, and ran as fast as she could down towards the busy thoroughfare of Goldstone Crescent, with the darkness of Hove Park beyond. She could see headlights approaching. Oblivious to any danger of being run over, she tore straight out into the middle of the road, stark naked, blinded by the lights. Heard the squeal of brakes.

The car stopped. A woman jumped out of the driver’s side. ‘What—?’

Stark naked and sobbing, Freya threw her arms around her. ‘Help me, please help me.’

Freya was vaguely aware of more headlights, behind the car. The sound of a horn.

‘Someone just tried to kill me,’ she gasped. ‘Please help me.’

She turned and stared, in terror, at the deserted street behind her.

Somewhere, not far away, a car engine started and tyres squealed as it accelerated away.