In a Dark, Dark Wood

13

IF ONLY. If only I had gone then.

I wish I could sleep, but I can’t, even with the soft click and whirr of the morphine driver. Instead I lie awake, listening to the voices in the corridor, the policeman and woman discussing in low voices what has happened, and that one word reverberates inside my head: Murder. Murder. Murder.

Can it be true? Can it possibly be true?

Who is dead?

Clare? Flo? Nina?

My heart stops at that. Not Nina. Not beautiful, brash, vibrant Nina. Please …

I must remember. I must try to remember what happened next. I know that come daybreak they will come in here and ask me questions. They’re waiting outside for me to wake up, waiting to talk to me.

I must have my version of events straight by then.

But what did happen next? The events of that day swirl and pound inside my head, mixing themselves up, tangling themselves together, the truth with the lies. I’ve only got a few hours left to try to sort it out.

Step by step, then. What happened next?

My hand goes to my shoulder, to the spreading bruise.