Copyright ©2023 DAVID ARMSTRONG /Strong Fiction

www.strongfiction.com

ISBN: 978-1-7384587-0-7

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. All of the main characters emanated from my fevered imagination.

Dante Alighieri was real, though.

Contents

Dedication

Epigraph

PRESS PLAY

UP THE KYTE

Part ONE - DEEPER

DAYBREAK

A PUPPY'S NOT JUST FOR CHRISTMAS

MORNING

MID-MORNING

GET YOUR THING OUT OF MY EAR

HIGH NOON

A TRUE BEST FRIEND

Part TWO - THREE'S A CROWD

INFERNO

EARLY AFTERNOON

FREAK SHOW

LATE AFTERNOON

BY INVITATION ONLY

Part THREE - REVELATIONS

EVENING

NIGHT

PRESS PLAY

BETTER TO HAVE LOST THAN LOVED

FINAL Part - A GIFT

THE MORNING AFTER

THE ROAD TO HELL

GOODBYE

SEASON FINALE

BEAUTIFUL

Acknowledgements and Thanks

Coming Soon

About the Author

Dedicated to the future.

“Where we came forth and once more saw the stars.”

DANTE ALIGHIERI,

Inferno from The Divine Comedy

PRESS PLAY

The face on the screen is her own. For a moment, she wonders if she suffers from some weird dissociative disorder because it feels more like she stumbled across someone else’s YouTube feed. No makeup. No glamorous lighting or backdrop.

Not what she remembers.

Whole chunks of her past were still not fully reconstituted, but maybe she’d found something that would help bring closure. This series of clips sat on a server somewhere, unpublished, gathering digital dust. What was she hiding? After all, there are hundreds of other live clips on her channel. But this selection has no fancy title or thumbnail image. Distinctly off-brand.

And now that face, her face is frozen on the screen of her smart tablet, while her real-life finger hovers over the play icon. She sits cross-legged, back on her own bed, and contemplates leaving the past where it belongs. Is there any point? It’s not going to change anything.

But curiosity wins the day. She needs to fill in the blanks before she signs off for good. She gulps a mouthful of Pinot, clicks play and, without fanfare or the usual punchy intro musical sting and graphic, her on-screen doppelgänger bursts into life. Dynamic. Full of life and passion. With a future.

UP THE KYTE

‘ OMG, OMG, OOOOO MMMMMM GGGGGG!

Don’t know whether to laugh or fucking cry.

You know my feelings about those little plump, pink, squealing monsters that pop out of your lady’s bits. You know? Those little narcissistic selfish brats that crave and suck all of your attention and love and sleep and creativity from your life.

Besides, there are just too sodding many of them on this finite, environmentally bankrupt little planet of ours.

Well, my friends. Time for that drum roll and for me to eat my words without any salt or sauce.

Yes! In there. In that currently flat and well-honed, tight-abbed tum tum of mine, is brewing a cocktail of gametes, eggs, DNA, stem cells, snips, snails, puppy dog tails, sugar, spice and all things nice.

You get the picture.

But what we need to do, my friend, is to figure out how to turn this theoretical Einstein, Hitler, Emily Bronte, or Rose West into a concept I can tolerate. Can’t say ‘love’ quite yet, ‘cos it’s just a lump of chemical goo, but if I am gonna keep it, I better learn to want it more than all of … this. To offer it the sacrifice of my very lifestyle and freedom. In fact, sacrifice my life itself on the altar of being a good mum.

Course I could be a GREAT mum. And he, she, it would be born into our comfortable world with all the material things he, she, it could ever want. I built an empire of stuff, but stuff doesn’t equal love. And I need to learn to LOVE some other thing other than my husband, my work, my fun, and myself.

I guess I can always BUY a nanny who can do the love and nurture shit while I still party, party, party.

And, no. I haven’t told him yet. And, yes, I will tell him soon. Luckily he never watches my channel, so I am relying on you all to keep this to yourselves. You know as well as I do that he has always wanted a kid. Well, a boy-kid, to do the dad-son bonding bollocks with. He had a great, privileged childhood and he loves his own mum and dad. Sadly I had a shit upbringing. I can’t bear my mum. Hope you’re watching, Mother. And my dad died when I was but a pup. Maybe that’s why I am venting to you, my friend.

Or maybe it’s just because I am scared poo-less.

Let’s talk some more. This has definitely helped.

Time for a swift gin before gym. Might be the last one I have for a while.’

Part ONE

DEEPER

DAYBREAK

The sound of heavy breathing, the rustling of leaves, the snap of twigs, and the shrieking dawn chorus of a thousand wild birds dragged Galia back to a sort of consciousness. Only sort of. Galia forced the photons entering her bloodshot eyes to make sense of the emerald-green cocoon of the moss and fern on the soft and spongy forest floor as she lay there on her side. This definitely wasn’t her bed. Pretty comfortable though … If only someone would switch out the light, I could sleep it all off.

God, she felt rough. No doubt she was paying for the excess of the night before. Must’ve been a wild one and now she ended up in this new green universe. The few active neurons in her cortex feebly conspired to resurrect a single memory but gave up at the first attempt. She tried to lift her head, but it was just too sodding heavy and for some reason, her vision wasn’t exactly firing on both spheres.

That would be the blindfold then. The black one, now slightly adrift revealing one slowly blinking blue eye. The one eye that tracked the slow-moving arachnid as it meandered across the soft organic landscape. She gasped, breath impeded by a foul-smelling gag, mouth forced open in rictus smile.

What now? Oh, yes … Move hands. Remove gag. Swat the spider into spider oblivion.

But her hands were bound behind her back by the leather strap attached to a small handbag.

Kick out then? Nothing. It was an effort, being in this blurry haze and all, but she managed to swivel her one useful eyeball down the length of her body. At least one of her eyes worked.

Great. A Santa dress. So painfully scarlet that she had to squint as she surveyed her bare legs that led all the way down to her equally bare feet. Tied together at the ankle by her own black stockings. Back at the top end, her bare shoulders seemed to be covered. Why was she draped in a man’s dark jacket? Its slightly stale body-odour-perfume part-masked the organic musk of the forest floor. Maybe that’s why the spider had decided to scuttle on to fresher pastures. Humans, eh?

Galia hadn’t the strength to do much more than chew confusedly on the dry gag as she worked towards making some sound beyond the murmuring gurgle that substituted for language.

Movement caught her breath. Through the tumble of greenery, pine needles and bits of tree … a man, a more than slightly overweight middle-aged man, in his white shirt leaned against the nearest tree, panting for breath. Very visible sweat rings radiated from his armpits. A gross indication of his recent exertion and now he cursed rapidly in a breathless whisper. ‘Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!’

Galia frowned sleepily as she watched him wipe his mottled pink brow. He suddenly stopped panting and glanced furtively around the clearing, head cocked as if he had heard something. After several seconds of becoming increasingly and dangerously red-faced, he exhaled wheezily and turned to Galia. He noticed that she was half-awake and he maintained a hoarse, tremulous whisper. ‘Shhh. Just stay very quiet.’ He hesitated for a few moments, then moved swiftly towards her.

Galia frowned in dazed incomprehension. ‘Mmmmmm. Mmmmm?’

He leaned in close. ‘Shhhhh!’ He quickly checked her gag and the bag strap that bound her hands behind her back.

Galia sort of smiled. At least she smiled in her mind. It’s a dream. Of-sodding-course. Play along. ‘Mmmm?’

‘Stay quiet and don’t make any sudden …’

Galia started to drift back into unconsciousness.

‘Oh no, no, no. Don’t do that, though.’ He knelt down beside her and slapped her gently and ineffectively on her cheek. ‘Come on. Stay with me. We’ve got to keep moving.’

She was gone, out for the count, but still sort of smiling. He looked at her for a moment and tenderly brushed a lock of hair from her one visible eye. He fully removed her blindfold, revealing dark tracks and streaks of mascara.

Emmerson reached into his trouser pocket and produced a slightly-less-than-white handkerchief and gently wiped at the black stains on her cheeks.

He preferred her without makeup in any case.

He licked at the corner of the hanky and managed to do little more than smudge the makeup still further before a distant crack of a twig brought him back to his feet. He held his breath once more and listened to the forest. At last he gave in to a noisy deep breath and he scanned the treelined perimeter of the clearing. Nothing.

He gently inserted each of her bare arms through the sleeves of his jacket. It was ten sizes too big for her, but at least it wouldn’t fall off.

‘Give me strength … Here we go again.’ Emmerson bent down and struggled to pick her up. She grunted sleepily as he wrestled her awkwardly into a sort of fireman’s lift and wheezed her off, still deeper into the forest.

The twigs and undergrowth crackled beneath as Galia smiled through her brain haze. The forest floor drifted by upside down once more as she bounced along merrily. For a moment she was a child again, carried aloft by her father. ‘Dad …?’

Out of the corner of his eye, Emmerson noticed the proximity of her upper thigh. He tugged the furry snow-white trim of her Santa dress in an attempt to cover more of her exposed flesh. This was not the time to be distracted. He needed to focus if they were to get out of this alive.

The sun’s rays teased the tips of the forest canopy above and drew appreciative coos from a couple of nearby wood pigeons. Civilisation flew far above, with the single contrail of a jetliner bathed in the sunrise yet to come for those trapped below.

Emmerson sat on a tree stump, motionless, and stared at the airplane for a moment or two. And then a fainter trail of a meteor-streak crossed the sky, followed by a small flash of a mini fireball as the interstellar visitor self-immolated. He shrugged and dropped his gaze earthwards and to the still-sleeping Galia. He pulled his razor-thin smartphone from his trouser pocket. No signal. He held it aloft for a moment. Nothing.

He flapped his hand to brush a tickling insect from his cheek. He hated nature and couldn’t wait to be back in the city surrounded by civilisation, anonymity, and cell towers. He stood to meander around this clearing, his phone high above his head. Still nothing.

He glanced at Galia as she remained motionless on the ground. He cautiously approached her, fired his phone into camera mode and pointed the lens at her. Emmerson swallowed noisily. The phone clicked its fake electronic shutter rather too noisily and he jumped at the sound. He furtively scanned the encircling trees for observers. Unseen observers who would no doubt read this situation completely unfairly. Besides, he knew he was not really a bad person at heart.

Galia will come to realise that. In time.

Eyes closed, Emmerson dropped to his knees in agony. He offloaded Galia a bit too heavily, but she just curled up on the organic green carpet. Emmerson wheezed, coughed, retched, then reached into the pocket of the jacket that Galia wore. He mumbled as she slept on. ‘Excuse me.’ He retrieved a blue inhaler, gave it a shake and quaffed a good lungful. He held his breath for a few moments, then relaxed. He regarded the inhaler appreciatively and thrust it into his trouser pocket.

He rolled himself onto his back and took a marginally less wheezy deep breath. He lay still for a moment, eyes closed, then reached over and, from the other pocket, found a semi-crushed packet of cigarettes. He placed one between his lips and searched for a light. He patted his trouser pockets first. Increasingly frantic, he fumbled through all of the coat pockets. ‘Not good. Not good.’

It wasn’t all in vain. He discovered a half-eaten, part-wrapped chocolate bar. He pulled off some brownish fluff and bit off a large chunk. He lay back down and stared at the canopy of the treetops above. He felt they were probably safe. Deep enough in some random corner of the forest to allow himself the luxury of getting his breath and energy back. Chocolate always helped in times of stress, although he knew that sugar was his worst enemy. Actually, he now had an even bigger enemy out there, but still … And anyway, on a stress scale of zero to ten, this predicament was pretty much a thirteen. One more bite wouldn’t kill him.

With his shaking hand, he wiped the chocolate remnants from the corner of his mouth, then rolled onto his side. He propped himself up on his elbow to gaze at the still-sleeping Galia. Emmerson closed his eyes for one more minute and took a slower, deeper breath. When he looked at her again, he smiled. This could be worse. So much worse.

Beside him on the forest floor, Galia lay motionless, the rise and fall of her chest the only indication that she was okay. He took another puff from his inhaler before he reached over and softly brushed that lock of hair from her face once more. He took another snap from his phone, applied a built-in digital filter to the shot, and admired the result on his smartphone screen.

He was about to put the phone safely back in his pocket but looked at Galia a little more intently and changed his mind. After all, it was pretty secluded here. He reached down and ever-so-gently hitched up her Santa dress to reveal another inch of thigh. I mean, what’s another inch among friends …

He admired the view on his phone’s screen and was just about to capture his next candid photo when Galia’s eyes snapped open wide and stared at him. She screamed through her gag. ‘Mmmmmm!’

Emmerson jumped back and dropped his phone. He struggled to regain what little of his composure he had left. His voice shook, even at the level of a whisper. ‘It’s okay! It’s okay! Shhh!’

That just made Galia even worse. She writhed and struggled to free her wrists still tied behind her back. Emmerson stared at her bindings and prayed they would hold. He didn’t know what she’d be capable of in this condition. And now she was conscious, he found it hard to look at her directly. He kept his voice low and convinced himself that he didn’t sound like some crazed maniac. ‘Look, I can’t untie you just yet. I should talk to you first. Yes. Explain. Yes.’

Galia remained wide-eyed with a mixture of fury and fear. Probably fury had the edge right now as she thrashed around, gaining strength and lucidity. She was more vocal now, louder in spite of the gag. Still incomprehensible, though.

‘Shhh! I mean it. Yes, I think we should probably … definitely talk.’ Emmerson nervously surveyed the woods that surrounded them. ‘I’ll take the gag off in a minute, but you’ve got to be quiet. Nod if you understand.’

‘Mmmmm! Mmmmm!mmmmmm!’

‘Just nod and be quiet, or I’ll—’

Galia nodded rapidly and fell silent. Emmerson took another look round this clearing and edged closer to her. Galia frowned and looked more than a little apprehensive.

‘Okay. It’s alright, I’m just going to take the gag off. If you shout, it’s going back on.’ He’d heard that sort of line in an old movie and he marvelled at the outward control he was emulating. He might just get through this. Galia nodded again and he reached over. He did his best to maintain eye contact, but he knew he was not very good at that. His eyes darted from her face to her cleavage and back again. This was involuntary, but he knew how this must have looked.

He leaned over her and a small bead of his sweat succumbed to gravity and splashed on her cheek. He gently untied the gag and put it in the jacket pocket. ‘That’s it. Good. Good.’

Galia shivered and her teeth began to chatter. It might have been fear, but it was as likely to be a combination of alcohol withdrawal, the slight morning dip in temperature, and the fact that she wasn’t exactly dressed for a botany field trip. Still, considering the time of year …

He attempted a smile. ‘See, nice and quiet and no one—’

‘Who are you? Where the fuck are you taking me?’ She was still a little wasted and her words tumbled out like a podcast played at double speed.

Emmerson couldn’t help sounding a little defensive. ‘Well, I was—’ That was as far as he got.

‘Have you touched me? God, I’m thirsty. Who are you again?

‘No, I—’

‘You were taking photos. Yeah. That’s right.’

‘I … I was just trying to get a signal … Look, stop, stop asking questions. Let me—’

‘Why do you keep looking at my breasts? Are you going to rape me?’

‘I don’t. I won’t. We just need to stay here for a while.’

Emmerson turned away to look back into the thick, dark woods.

Galia turned to look with him. ‘Are we expecting someone? Talk to me! Anyway, why am I wearing this?’ She nodded at her red Santa dress.

‘Calm down.’

‘Right! Exactly how am I supposed to do that, you piece of shit? Untie me and then I might just calm down.’ She let out an involuntary giggle. ‘Can’t promise, mind you.’

‘If you just stay quiet for a minute, I’ll try to explain.’

‘God, it’s a bit chilly. What time is it? Explain what?’ She snorted loudly. ‘How you qualified as a pervert?’

‘No! Shush! I … I mean it. For one blooming minute!’

He moved closer with the gag again. She was still a little spaced out and she smiled playfully.

‘Now, now. I’ll scream.’

‘No, don’t do that.’

Her smile vanished in a nanosecond as if it were never there. ‘I mean it. I fucking mean it.’

‘No one will hear you in any case. We are in the middle of a forest in the middle of nowhere.’

The smile was back. ‘Then it won’t matter to you if I make some noise, will it? I can scream very loudly, you know.’

He quickly moved to gag her, and she writhed violently. He almost got it back in her mouth but instead, she wriggled her head and did indeed scream exceptionally loudly. Wings fluttered from startled birds and even the trees seemed to shudder at the intensity. Emmerson froze for a moment and then looked around nervously. ‘That was stupid.’ He went to gag her once more and she bit his hand, drawing blood.

Emmerson winced. ‘Ffffffff! You really didn’t need to do that! I am trying to save you, for pity’s sake!’ He struggled with the makeshift gag as she gnashed at him rabidly, but eventually, he rammed it back into place. His wheeze was back. He kept his voice to a whisper. ‘That’s great. Right, I need you to get up and walk. It’s not safe here. We’ll talk later. When you’ve calmed down.’

‘MMMMMMMM!’

Emmerson’s eyes darted some more in an attempt to penetrate the wall of trees. ‘We need to move again. Now!’

Galia shook her head vigorously.

‘I’m going to untie your feet.’ Emmerson used the redundant blindfold and tied it to the strap securing Galia’s wrists behind her back. He pulled on this makeshift tether to test the knot and its efficacy then drew a muffled yelp as her arms were bent up at an unnatural angle.

‘NnnnnnnnnnNNNNuhhhh!’

‘Okay. I really don’t want to hurt you, but you see how this will work.’

He started to untie her feet. There were deep marks on her ankles where they had been tied. ‘Looks like that was a little on the tight side.’ He gave her chafed ankles a little rub to get the circulation moving again.

‘MmmmnnnnnMMMMM!’ She kicked out and squirmed.

‘Sorry. Yes, that was probably a little inappropriate.’ He stood and jerked the tether on her wrists upwards. He held her upper arm to help. ‘Up!’

Galia just looked at him.

‘Okay. Please?’

Galia struggled to her feet, protesting with incomprehensible mumbles. She winced as her feet connected with the coarseness and spikiness of the forest floor.

Emmerson felt emboldened by her compliance. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’ He let her lead but guided and steered her from behind. Galia took a couple of unsteady, still-drunken steps and let out a muffled yelp as something sharp and nasty bit into the sole of her bare foot.

‘I’m sorry. We just need to move.’ Emmerson looked around apprehensively and gave her a soft push.

Galia took only another few faltering footsteps and turned to him, protesting through the gag. She nodded down at her feet.

He shrugged. ‘I know. I’m sorry. What do you want me to do? We can’t just wait around.’

But she stood her ground, swaying gently on the spot. Emmerson took another look at her feet and pulled downwards on the tether. ‘Okay. Quickly. Sit.’

She sat obediently. He quickly removed his shoes. Galia frowned.

‘I know they are a bit big, but they will help.’ He pulled off his grey, flaccid, now-damp socks.

Galia’s eyes were wide and she shook her head vigorously as he began to roll the thin, moist socks over her feet. She kicked out for a moment, whimpering.

‘Stop that. I’m trying my best to help. Do you want me to tie them up again?’

Galia gradually slowed her kicks and allowed him to finish. The grimace of distaste was obvious. ‘Mmmmmmm …’

‘What? They were clean on!’ He slid his shoes back onto his bare feet. ‘Come on. Up!’

He yanked her up again and they headed off, steered by Emmerson. He was getting more breathless and drew on his inhaler again. ‘We won’t need to go too far. We’ll hide and I’ll work out a plan …’ Wheeze. ‘Just let me catch my breath.’

A PUPPY’ S NOT JUST FOR CHRISTMAS

‘You shoulda seen his face. A picture. Bet he is still grinning.

That makes one of us. This other one has had to contend with throwing up at every opportunity while craving Pop-Tarts, bacon, and sex. Not always at the same time.

It’s okay for Scotty. He has always looked on kids as a must-have accessory that spreads another layer of cool onto an already overly sophisticated relationship.

Spent about an hour looking into the mirror trying to imagine myself as fat and with the complexion of a cheap pepperoni pizza. I gave up in the end and promised myself I would call that developer bloke I once had a thing for. I’d pay him to come up with an app to do the before and after face. Call it “Pudding Face”, “Duffometer”, or something. Would put you off sex and kids for life.

I think something visible is already happening, though. In subtle ways that only every friggin’ numpty I meet picks up on. Just a little comment here and there.

I walked into the studio for today’s show and there it was. “You’re looking good today.” Innocuous to you, my friend, but to me, loaded like a potato skin. Along with the fact that every old lady I pass in the high street smiles at me, it all adds up to the same thing: I am on the road to being irritated to death by an endless stream of cooing and ahhing as I morph into my least favourite Weeble. This will be all before the thing bursts out like that hideous creature in Alien.

Then, after crying on the loo for about half an hour, I snapped out of it like I just shat out all of the self-pity and put on my big-girl pants.

SOD THIS. I am going to enjoy every minute of the pregnancy whether I like it or not. And, as for giving birth … bring it on.

So I am keeping it, I guess. Him or her or maybe one of the others. And, fuck, I will make a good mother out of me. Even if it kills me.

Note to self: maybe practise swearing less.’

MORNING

As they walked, Emmerson kept glancing behind. He didn’t seem any more relaxed and he tugged on Galia’s ‘reins’ each time she slowed. His breathing tight and laboured, he knew they would have to stop and rest soon. There was no sign of pursuit and he needed to figure out a plan.

Galia stumbled on through the forest, wincing at every step. She attempted to gather her thoughts into some sort of cohesive sense. But she still felt somewhat wasted and ninety-nine per cent of her misfiring cortex seemed fixated on putting one tender foot in front of the other. She forced herself to look up at the rather odd man wearing a sweat-mottled white shirt. He was hell-bent on dragging her still deeper into the woods. She needed a plan. Being raped or worse by this overweight tax collector, accountant, or double-glazing salesman was not an option. He turned back to check on her and she had the vaguest notion that she might have seen this creep somewhere. She held his gaze, defiant. She wouldn’t let him see she was—

Suddenly she let rip a muffled scream as her whole bodyweight descended onto a razor-sharp shard of wood. It sliced through Emmerson’s sock, tore through the sole of her foot, and embedded itself deep within. She crumpled heavily to the forest floor, sobbing hysterically, eyes wide.

Emmerson quickly knelt down beside her. He whispered, ‘Blooming heck, what happened?’

Galia groaned through her gag, and Emmerson leaned in close to examine her foot. She flinched and pulled it away from him.

He grabbed her ankle. ‘No, you must let me see.’ He tried to remove the now bloody sock from her foot. Her whole body flinched and writhed. ‘Stay still, for goodness’ sake.’

Galia slowly settled, still sobbing.

‘There, that’s better. Deep breath.’ He slowly peeled off the blood-soaked sock to reveal the damage. There was quite a lot of blood. Galia squirmed with pain.

‘Nice and steady.’ Emmerson’s voice was anything but steady, but he made the effort. ‘Seen worse.’ He held the foot gently. Turning it to assess the injury. ‘I’m going to clean it up. Really, it’s probably not as bad as you think.’

‘MMNNNnnnn! MHNNMMMUM!’

‘I know, I know …’ Emmerson searched through his pockets. Nothing of use. He spied the little bag tied around her wrists, snapped it open, and shook it out onto the forest floor.

Lip balm. Tampon. Small bottle of perfume. He grabbed the perfume. Sprayed a little in the air and sniffed.

Galia grunted a question.

‘Alcohol.’

‘Mnnnn?’ Galia frowned as he pulled out the handkerchief from his trouser pocket and soaked it with the spray.

‘MMnnnnH!’

‘Okay. This might be a little on the cold side …’ He didn’t give her a moment to think about it and quickly sprayed the entry site.

Galia’s eyes widened with stinging pain as she whimpered. He reached to the sole of her foot and yanked the shard from her foot in one swift motion, pressing the hankie into place on the wound. Emmerson held the jagged splinter aloft. ‘Would you look at that? Nasty.’

Galia’s eyes rolled and she melted, limp.

‘Really sorry.’ Emmerson rolled her onto her side and propped her head up a little. He removed the blindfold/tether, and with it tied the handkerchief dressing tightly to her foot. ‘And such lovely feet.’

He shuffled himself back to a nearby tree stump to sit and rest for a while. He shook his inhaler close to his ear, closed his eyes for a moment and, rather than taking another puff, put it back in his pocket. He focused on keeping his breathing as measured as possible, but the wheezing was slow to abate.

He pulled out his smartphone. Still no signal. He returned it resignedly into his pocket. ‘Blimey, I need to pee.’

Behind the tree, he muttered to himself as he found relief. ‘Shouldn’t have had that piece of chocolate. Or that last doughnut.’ Back beside Galia, he extended his trembling hand. ‘Great.’

He reached over to his jacket that was still draped over Galia’s shoulders. From the inside pocket, he fumbled for his diabetic pen. He sighed and rolled up his shirt exposing his ample belly, then plunged the needle home. He winced and thrust the pen back into his pocket. ‘Five minutes. Just give me five minutes.’

Beside him, Galia lay quite still, but her eyelids began to flicker open, just as his began to close.

The audiologist’s consultation room is dimly but warmly lit. It is a second home for Emmerson as he sits in his badly fitting jacket offset by his lime-green tie twiddling a dial in front of him. He speaks into the microphone.

On the other side of the soundproofed double-glazed window, Galia sits. God, she is beautiful. More beautiful in real life … She closes her eyes, headphones on, listening carefully to the change in frequency.

With her well-manicured finger, she presses the little red button on the handheld device and holds her other index finger in the air.

He watches her silently mouth something and his eyes are transfixed by her lips. Unconsciously, he licks his.

He shakes his head and tries to concentrate on the work.

WHITEOUT …

Emmerson fights to stop his hands from shaking as he gently pulls down her earlobe and tentatively inserts his otoscope into Galia’s ear. He gulps. He knows that she knows the effect she is having on him. He bets she really gets a kick out of it. He tries to refocus, catches her earring and she jumps.

‘Sorry.’

‘Sensitive ears. Be careful in there for Christ’s sake.’

He brushes aside a lock of hair from her temple and leans in close. She gives a little wriggle as he moves his otoscope around, its light probing deep inside her inner ear.

Beads of sweat pop autonomically onto Emmerson’s forehead and he wipes his brow on his shoulder before they can plop onto her. Another gulp seems awfully loud in the confines of the booth and he is conscious of his proximity to this woman. God, she really is beautiful. Even up close.

He works slowly, savouring each moment of the proximity to her. Her scent. Her skin. He knows, however, that she can’t wait for this to be over and the sweaty, overweight nonentity of a man probing her ears would be a distant dismissible nonentity, remembered only as an anecdote on her YouTube channel or a night out with her girlfriends … He could see them laughing and grimacing at the details of her recent ear exam … or maybe, even worse, instantly forgotten. After all, she never gives him a second flipping look when they pass on the street and he smiles at her. This is her second appointment and he bets she doesn’t even …

He is aware that his soured breath will be enveloping her. He wished he hadn’t run out of Tic Tacs. And now he tries not to become mesmerised by the regular rise and fall of her chest as he removes the otoscope and tucks it into his top pocket.

And then suddenly the lights dim to a deep, deep green. Strange … They flicker along with his vision as he sees his patient turn to him in slow motion.

A cruel smile warps her face and she seductively mouths some words that become gradually clearer.

‘My … turn … My turn …’

In this surreal, strobe-light world, Galia now stands above him. Towering.

‘My turn …’

He drops his otoscope and surrenders to her as she leans down. Her body now unbearably close to his as she grabs both of his hands and gently, teasingly forces them behind his back.

‘My turn …’

He is at her mercy as the room’s lights flicker once more before they start to ramp up in luminance.

Brighter.

Galia’s voice inside his head … Wakey, Wakey …

As her face leans in closer to his …

Brighter still.

Wakey …

As she brushes his lips with hers …

He gasps.

Wakey!

He opens his mouth to say something meaningful …

Then tries to reach out, to embrace, but he is paralysed.

Until …

WHITEOUT.

MID-MORNING

The distant soft moan of the trees and the nearby cooing of a solitary wood pigeon were all but drowned out by the whisper near his head as Emmerson struggled to focus on the forest carpet and reality.

‘Wakey, wakey.’

A small millipede marched across his lips tantalisingly close to crawling into his half-open mouth. He lay on his side, bound hand and foot with the stockings that had once held Galia. He was confused, but at least his breathing was now steady and clearer as he snapped wide awake.

‘Rise and shine, bonny lad!’

He spat and puffed the small creature away from his mouth and strained his eyes skywards to see Galia standing over him with a thick branch in her hand. She was poised to strike.

‘Try anything, pervert, and I swear I will swing this lump of wood across your deranged skull.’ Was she smiling as she greeted him?

Emmerson strained to look over his shoulder at the bindings that secured his hands behind his back. She had removed his shoes and put one on her injured foot. She thrust the phone towards his face. His phone. He gulped.

She looked like she meant business. ‘Now you know what it’s like. What’s the passcode?’

He shrugged pathetically.

She pushed the phone hard against his nose. ‘PIN?’

His voice seemed to stick in his throat. This wasn’t how he’d imagined this day to roll out. ‘I … I, er …’

She slapped him hard across the cheek. He was almost too stunned to react. Tears welled and stung his previously dry eyes. ‘Hey! No blooming need. There … There’s no s-signal. How-how d-did you …?’

‘Passcode! I will go and find a bloody signal.’

Emmerson craned his neck to check her foot. ‘You’ll not get f-far on that.’

Galia raised the stick and brought it down hard on his upper arm.

He howled. ‘Ow! Ow! Ow! What was that for?’

‘Last time. Passcode.’

He did his best to keep his voice steady. ‘W-what you going to do? Leave me here? It’s not … It’s not safe. I-I will explain.’

Galia smacked his arm again in precisely the same spot.

Emmerson howled some more. This time he struggled to keep the sense of injustice from his voice. ‘You need my help! I-I sodding-well saved you!’

‘Yeah, right-oh.’ She raised the stick once more and he writhed helplessly and closed his eyes.

‘Ow. Don’t—’

‘I haven’t even hit you, you wuss. Not so big now! So were you going to kill me or what?’

‘W-What? No. I … I—’ Part of his mind marvelled at how good her aim was as she caught the sweet spot one more time. Very short backswing, too. ‘OOOOUUUUWWWWWW! Okay! Okay! Okay! I-I’ll tell you the s-stupid passcode. You … You still need my help to get you f-far enough to get a signal.’ And the wheeze is back … Great, thanks!

‘Very kind of you, but I will manage. Passcode. Freak.’

Emmerson looked away and mumbled quickly. ‘Zero, eight, zero, five, nine, four …’

‘What? Slow down.’

He repeated the number. She looked at him for a moment without tapping the screen and this time smacked the back of his calf with the big stick. ‘That’s my fucking date of birth.’

He cowered, ducking his head, but helpless as she began to bring down the stick one more time. She grinned at him without hitting him this time. ‘God, you’re pathetic.’ She entered the number and the phone pinged to a screensaver. She shook her head and turned the phone’s face towards him. He smiled sheepishly at the candid photo of her in a hurry in the rain. It looked like it was taken with a telephoto lens.

‘I look like shite.’ With that, she kicked him in the shin with her good foot.

‘Ow! Well, I liked it. I think—’

She kicked him again, a little more half-heartedly. ‘I don’t give a smelly shit what you think.’ She turned and hobbled away towards a slight rise. ‘At least you could have taken a decent photo.’

She stopped for a moment, then returned to Emmerson. Knelt beside him. He smiled pathetically just before she punched him square on the nose.

‘Ow! Now what’s that for?’

Galia turned to limp away once more. ‘Take several fat guesses.’

‘Y-You need to listen to me.’ He tried to wipe his nose on the shoulder of his slightly less white shirt. ‘Am I bleeding? You are in danger.’

‘No shit,’ she shouted back as she painfully walked away, before pausing and then spinning to face him. ‘Ah. Okay … I got it. I remember where I know you from.’

‘You do?’ He smiled again. She did remember him.

‘You’re the weird guy with B.O. The one that likes to spend his life looking into other people’s ears.’

Emmerson flushed at the memory of his pseudo-dream of Galia. ‘Yes, I’m an audiologist.’

Galia snorted before turning back and walking haltingly on. ‘I know what you are.’

Emmerson was correct: Galia struggled to get very far. She limped on a few painful steps at a time and looked back to where Emmerson lay tied up. Her head was pounding in sync with the throbbing of her foot and she gave up trying to remember how she’d got here. The bastard must have slipped her something strong. She guessed she’d been out drinking, but she couldn’t remember where or whom she was with. She stopped for a moment and held the phone aloft. Nothing.

Whatever the case, no matter how pitiful and pathetic this lump of a man was, she couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. And she knew how far that was. The nutjob had stalked her, drugged her, and lugged her out here. Wherever here was.

Her sodding ear-doctor for Christ’s sake.

She took a deep breath and looked up to the clear sky above the treetops. A couple of woodpigeons cooed somewhere up in the labyrinth of branches. If she couldn’t find a signal, maybe she’d commandeer one of them to fly a message to Scott. Yeah, her husband would be here in a flash. Hopefully kick the arse out of the smelly oversized runt.

She sat heavily on a lichen-covered tree stump. The small rise she’d climbed was no more than that: small. Even so, maybe the few feet of elevation was enough to snatch a signal from the ether. She knew it was a long shot. The woods were as thick and seemingly impenetrable as ever.

Perspiring, she grimaced as she pulled off Emmerson’s shoe and examined the blood-soaked makeshift bandages. ‘Fuck.’ She raised the phone skywards. Still no signal. She looked around for a route to higher ground. No chance. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’

Emmerson shuffled and wriggled, caterpillar-like towards the nearest tree. ‘I never would have guessed you swore that much.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘You have to let me help. You need me.’

She gently massaged her damaged foot. ‘I’ll manage.’

‘But you don’t know which way to go.’

‘I do. Away from you. Like you have a clue.’ She slipped the oversized shoe back on her foot. Out of sight … ‘Anyway what did you drug me with? My head feels like it’s filled with playdough.’

They remained silent for a moment, immersed in the sounds of the forest. Emmerson looked deep in thought. ‘It wasn’t … Look, he was going to kill you, I swear.’

‘Shut up.’

‘But you need my help!’

‘Shut up.’

She got back to her feet and hopped in a circle, all the while checking the phone for a signal. ‘Come on …’ She managed only a couple more steps and fell back to the ground with a sob. ‘Bollocks!’ She looked at Emmerson. Then around the forest. ‘Bollocks …’

‘You have to trust me!’

‘Are you from a different planet?’

‘Okay. Maybe trust is not the word. You’ve just got to let me help you.’

Galia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘You do ears. Not feet.’ She looked at the phone one more time to check for a signal, then stared at the screensaver shot of herself. He’d chosen a rather serious photo. In fact, she looked rather sad. She was about to say something when the phone beeped. A signal, weak and only one bar. ‘Yes!’

‘A signal?’

Galia struggled to stand and leaned on a nearby tree. She held the phone with what appeared to be a degree of reverence. She swiped at the phone and then froze mid-tap. ‘Jesus … I … I can’t remember his number …’

‘Sorry.’

‘What?’

‘Probably just a side effect of—’

‘He … er … My husband won’t have left for work yet. He’ll be worried sick …’

‘I very much doubt that. I think you’ve forgotten a bit more than just his phone number.’

‘Shit. Shit … Okay. Okay. I’ll message him.’ She flicked through the apps. ‘Here we go.’

‘What are you going to say?’

‘Oh, I don’t know … Out on a lovely day out in the forest with a smelly stalker who kidnapped me. I’ll be home for tea. Lots of love.’

‘Thanks for that. I told you. I didn’t bring you here – it was—’

‘Don’t! Just don’t. So where are we exactly?’

‘You are wasting your time. In any case, how will he know the message is from you? You’re on my account.’

‘Thanks! Good point. I’ll just log in as me. So, come on, where are we?’ She logged out of his account.

‘I don’t know. Forest of something. About five miles out of town. North, I think. I just followed this guy … Anyway, Scott may not be your best bet.’

‘Shit!’ She hurled Emmerson’s phone to the ground.

‘Oi!’

‘I just can’t remember any sodding thing.’

Emmerson looked sheepish. He mumbled, ‘Only the lonely. Lower case. And switch the “o”s for a zero.’

‘What?’

‘Your password. “Only the lonely.”’

‘How the …? Don’t answer that.’ She crawled to pick up the phone. ‘Never mind. I don’t really care .’ She tapped into the phone again.

Emmerson struggled to free himself. His eyes darted and scanned the forest around them. He was getting a little more frantic.

Galia looked at the screen with dismay. ‘Shit! Come back!’ She held the phone high again. Nothing. She sank slowly to the ground and sat with her back against a moss-covered tree, head in her hands.

Emmerson was now slightly breathless, his wheezes producing shorter intakes of oxygen as he fought to control the tightening of his airways. ‘Please … Let me help … you.’

Galia remained motionless.

‘Come on. I mean, what … are you going to do … on your own?

Galia finally lifted her head. ‘I’m going to try again in a minute. Once he gets the message …’

‘Okay. You can do all that, but that doesn’t change anything. We still have a killer on the loose. If you are going to call anybody, call the police. Although fat lot of good that will do.’

They remained quiet for a moment. Except for Emmerson’s wheeze.

Galia toyed with the impotent phone. ‘Why would you want me to call the police? You do know what I’ll tell them?’

‘I have a reasonable idea,’ Emmerson mumbled.

‘What?’

‘Anything is better than being murdered. Try them. You do remember their number …?’

‘Funny. Okay, I will. As soon as the signal is back.’

‘Just don’t take too long. The longer we stay here, the more chance he’ll find us.’

Galia continued to hold the phone in the air, ignoring him.

‘Or you could just stay over there indefinitely.’

She turned to look at him. ‘Scott …?’

‘What?’

‘How did you know his name?’

‘Er … Educated guess?’

‘You think this is a fucking joke? I am stuck here in the middle of the jungle with a fat and incompetent Ted Bundy. Stuck here enjoying the first stages of sepsis brought on by your stinking sock.’

Emmerson looked hurt. ‘Just let me try to tell you what actually happened.’

The phone pinged. The weak signal had drifted back.

Galia pushed herself up again. ‘Great! Hold that thought. Let me just call our friendly neighbourhood police, then I’m all ears. As you well know.’

She dialled and clicked on the speaker icon. The ringtone sounded alien alongside the sound of chirping birds. ‘Dr Lake, isn’t it.’

‘Emmerson. You remembered me. It’s a start.’

‘Bizarre. I can remember you, but—’

The ringing was replaced by a click followed by:

Emergency services …

‘Yes, I need the police. I have been—’

… are here for you, but at times of increased demand, please be patient and calm …

‘Bollocks!’

… stay on the line and listen to our recorded advice for you while we try and connect you with the next available operator …

Galia sank back down against the tree.

… you are currently number sixty-three in the queue … please hold …

‘You’ve got to be shitting me.’

… If you are in danger, please find a safe space, or find a neighbour or …

Emmerson shouted over to her, ‘I could have told you. They are a wee bit stretched. You must remember something about the last couple of years.’

… or if the patient is not breathing, then …

Galia smacked her fist against her head several times. ‘What the hell did you put in that shit.’ She hung up. ‘Right. Plan B.’ She tapped on the screen, opened the messaging app and started to type.

Emmerson still struggled with his bindings. In between grunts of exertion, he managed, ‘He probably blocked you.’

‘Yeah, right. And why would he do that?’

‘When was the last time you saw him?’

Galia tapped in the last letters of her message and once again pushed herself to her feet. She had a little more confidence now.

Behind Emmerson’s back, the stockings were working free, but he seemed to have trapped one of his fingers. ‘Go on. Think back.’

‘Emmerson? … Signal, signal …’ She lifted the phone as high as she could. ‘What sort of stupid name is that? Like a pretentious ’70s prog-rock outfit?

Emmerson struggled some more with his bonds, his breathing quite noisy now. ‘No, the poet and … philosopher … actually. My … mother thought it was interesting. Think she added an extra “m” by mistake. I really think we ought to be going.’ He twisted his wrists to near breaking point even though he could feel his skin was raw now.

Galia hadn’t given up. ‘Come on …’

‘Even if he gets the message, he may not believe you. Even if he believes you and gives a toss, he may not get here before …’ His semi-numb fingers twisted, turned, and strained to find purchase on his bindings.

‘Before what? You know, they’ll put you away for a long time.’

‘No, no. Not me.’

A ping from the phone. ‘Yes! Fly, message, fly!’ She sat again. Satisfied.

‘Now what, Galia?’

‘It’s simple. You are a pervert. You stay the fuck away from me. You brought me here and you either want to kill me or … Hang on, who gave you permission to use my name.’

‘Please stay calm. I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.’

‘Then just leave me alone! Anyway, I am fucking calm! And don’t try to fill my head with any crap about my husband. You know nothing.’

‘It never turns out the way you hope, Galia. Does it?’ He nodded to his bonds. ‘But … you still need me. My help. Even if Scott drops everything, he doesn’t have a hope of finding us here. Best bet is to find a safe route to circle back, find the car and wait there.’ He paused for breath. ‘I might need my inhaler soon.’ To demonstrate, he took a long and deep wheezy breath.

‘Just let me think. Get my strength back.’

He nodded towards his crotch. ‘It’s in my … trouser pocket. Please. Just … one puff.’

Galia shook her head.

‘One squirt and I can tell you what I know about Scott. And maybe help fill in some blanks.’

The phone pinged again. She checked to see if the message had been picked up. ‘Just stop trying to screw with my head. Blanks, what blanks?’ She lifted the phone again. Dialled 999 and listened to the same recorded message for a few seconds before dejectedly hanging up.

Emmerson’s struggling was becoming more pathetic as he diverted his efforts to breathing ‘Please … the inhaler.’

‘Maybe I should let you fucking choke.’

Emmerson was almost inaudible as he gasped, ‘You … know he’s with … your best friend? Has been … for a couple of years now. And … do you really need to swear quite so much?

‘What?’

‘Scott. Elvie. He’ll be with her.’

‘Yeah. Right.’

‘I’m sorry. You really don’t remember? Maybe you shut it out.’ He paused for a painful coughing spasm. ‘Come to think of it … maybe it’s him who wants you dead.’

‘Stop! Just stop!’

At last the sun penetrated and pierced the forest’s green canopy. Strange shapes flickered onto the uneven ground like abstract shadow puppets. High above, darker clouds gathered, but the day was already warm.

Galia sat on a tree stump, playing with Emmerson’s phone. ‘So, how the fuck would my audiologist who I have seen – what? – twice in my entire life know anything about me beyond the amount of sodding wax in my ear canal.’

Emmerson remained quiet. He stared at his feet, concentrating on his breathing and loosening his bindings.

Galia laughed. ‘Are you in some sort of audiology division of professional kidnappers?’

Emmerson just shrugged and coughed.

‘What’s that mean?’ She mocked him with her own shrug. ‘Pathetic.’

Emmerson looked like he was about to speak, but instead just wheezed like some distant, discordant bagpipes.

‘I have a good life. Mostly happy life. Why would some shitty, overweight, asthmatic audiologist with bad breath want to wreck it? And your feet stink.’

Emmerson smiled.

‘Stop fucking smiling. I can’t walk on my own; I am in the middle of some god-awful forest with some fat maniac who claims to be my hero. Actually, that is funny.’

‘I suppose it is funny …’ Emmerson smiled once more, then took another slow painful breath before seeming to lose consciousness, slumping uncomfortably to the ground.

Galia stared at him for a moment. ‘Great.’

Emmerson sits in the garden chair in the dark. He munches on a chocolate bar and watches the suburban house. It’s a rather large well-manicured lawn. Nice and private. Tall sculptured privet hedge. The sort of place where, on a hot summer’s day, a lady may expose her toned, alabaster body to the sun, unabashed, in pursuit of a darker shade of pale.

He unscrews the lid/cup of the Thermos Flask, pours himself a cup of tea, and turns his attention to the here and now. He could return to the memory of his previous voyeuristic escapades at any time. With or without the photographs.

But now, through the wide-screen kitchen window, Galia and her husband are cooking together. They are in a playful mood. Galia splashes some cold tap water at Scott’s face and Scott chases her round the kitchen breakfast bar, flicking her with the tea towel. He kisses her passionately, pushing her hard against the marble countertop, oblivious to the invisible audience of one on the other side of the glass.

Emmerson snaps a photo, capturing the moment for limited posterity. He’s glad he remembered to disable the flash and even happier that his chosen smartphone has the latest telephoto option. He just loves that technology. In the old days he would be fiddling around with his camera bag, with his SLR, with his long barrel of a lens, and hoping for a reasonable exposure. But now, AI plus smartphone plus camera equals a perfect tool for the time-pressed voyeur. And, what’s more, it leaves one hand free for his cuppa.

On the other side of the glass, Galia breaks away from caressing Scott’s lips with her ‘be right back’ forefinger. As she leaves the room, Scott’s smile vanishes and a rather blank expression replaces it. He walks to the window, pulls his phone from his pocket, and swiftly types a message.

Emmerson freezes mid chocolate-bar bite. Scott seems to look right through him, and Emmerson holds his valuable breath. It seems an age, but eventually, Galia breezes back into the kitchen, her jeans and top replaced by a skimpy negligee. Scott thrusts the phone back into his pocket and smiles.

Emmerson slowly exhales, wheezing as his asthmatic lungs respond to the stress.

Oh … my … God …

Scott’s expression instantly flickers back, his smile evaporates, and now Galia joins him at the window. They embrace before …

They turn as one, slowly, menacingly and …

… stare directly at the uncovered Emmerson, just as a sudden meteor streak above lights up the garden as if by a rescue flare.

Emmerson is compelled to look down at his body. Somehow he is no longer in the deck chair, but supine on Galia’s sunbed. He is naked apart from his off-white Y-fronts. His wheeze magnifies in his ear, all-encompassing, while his breathing tightens even further. He looks left and right for an escape route, but he is completely unable to move, let alone stand, let alone run.

Galia and Scott continue to stare, now without expression as Emmerson’s vision dims.

Not here, not now …

He clutches his tightening chest.

The shame …

… and everything goes dark.

The sound of constricted wheezing and gasping for breath filled his audio spectrum and the world remained dark for a moment. Emmerson was vaguely aware of someone nearby. And, painfully, he attempted to open his eyes. He whispered weakly. ‘Galia … sorry … I was just passing … and …’

His occasional semi-conscious view of the world was twisted ninety degrees and, for the most part, seemed to be strangely green, filled with dead leaves and the organic forest carpet. ‘I didn’t mean to …’

He felt someone rummage through his pockets. He tried to lift his head, but the blackness returned just as he felt the rigid plastic tube being rammed into his mouth.

GET YOUR THING OUT OF MY EAR

‘Why do I always end up with the weirdos? Okay, relationships aside, my life seems to be splattered with misfits and society’s detritus.

Take the other day when I needed to take a cab to the studio. I mean, the guy was just plain out there. One spiral short of a double helix. He recognised me and then, from the minute I sat in the back, it was a continuous stream of shite that ricocheted from one crazy theory to the next. Jabbering about the Royal Family and lizards and 8G transmitters causing kids to seek gender reassignment or something.

Then there was the guy at the checkout with Tourette’s. Thought my fucking language was bad. I took notes.

But then today. Creepy of the creepiest. I had to go for an ear exam. I’d been getting bouts of irritating tinnitus. Scott read that maybe it was iron deficiency brought on by the annoying brat in my womb sucking out all of the blood and nutrients that were, by rights, mine.

He could be spot on, but I went for a hearing test anyway.

Why did I get him? You hope for some young hunky George Clooney with a five o’clock shadow and “just put your clothes on the chair” eyes. But I end up with a guy that reminded me of my old, weird geography teacher, Mr Smallwood, who got done for exposing himself on a double-decker bus full of pensioners. (Bonus prize for best nickname …)

I mean, just the way this doctor looked at me. Or didn’t look at me, more to the point. Those are the ones you really have to watch. Fifty-something. No ring. He was sweating, trembling, coughing nervously. He kept rubbing his palms on his thighs. In the end, I got so pissed off that I just played up to it. Shouldn’t have done that really, as I think the guy was embarrassed in the end while I pouted, licked my lips and crossed and uncrossed my legs. Bloody hell, though. Those hearing tests are a bit intimate. I can still hear the sound of his smelly breath in my ear as he poked around in there with his pokey little torch thing.

Maybe he’s got a thing for first-trimester babes.

I guess part of me still wants to be desirable to weirdos and creeps. I mean, just ’cos I’m preggers and pushing forty … you know what I mean.

Turns out … I have some dip in my upper mid-range. He stammered something about some kilohertz bollocks and that tinnitus is quite common in pregnancy. Natural changes in blood chemistry apparently. Hurrah for the human body. He also slipped me his card and mumbled something about calling him if I was concerned.

Yeah, concerned that he would be fantasising about me in his sweaty little pit that night. No thanks, mate.

Off for a blood test after a scalding hot shower.’

‘Just an update. I watched this short rant back and realised I can be one hell of a shallow, judgemental bitch. I know it’s part of my brand, but, for Christ’s sake, I gotta learn to lighten up with my fellow human beings. No matter how creepy they may seem, they all deserve some love, happiness, and less denigration from the likes of me in my perfectly pristine, blemish-free ivory tower.

These posts are supposed to be untarnished glimpses into my soul and a prosaic antidote to the polished poetry of my usual online bollocks. Not sure I like what I see …

Whatever. My ear doctor is still a smelly weirdo that probably still lives with his mother and gets off dreaming about his pregnant PILFs (Patients I’d Like to …).

One more follow-up appointment. Yeuch.

Then I’ll not be seeing him again.’

Galia smiles wistfully at her hopeful, upbeat former self.

But of course, back then, she could never have known how wrong she could be.

About everything.

HIGH NOON

Galia sat on the ground quite close to Emmerson. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to bring a momentary smile back to his face as he sleepily opened his eyes. On the forest floor between them lay the inhaler. Just out of reach. Galia flicked through photos on his phone. She barely noticed Emmerson stir. He coughed back to life, his breathing still tight, his face an unhealthy crimson, framing the slightly blue lips.

Emmerson realised he was still tied up. Even so, he managed to shuffle himself into an almost comfortable position against the nearby tree. He stared at the inhaler. Then looked to Galia. Then to his phone in her hands. His voice scarcely permeated the wheeziness. ‘I should have explained about the photos—’

‘Shut up.’

Random photos. Snapshots of her recent and not-so-recent past.

Galia sitting on a park bench reading …

Galia crossing the road …

Some old lady, obviously sick, but smiling into the camera … Then another of Galia through her lounge window, towel round her head … her laughing with her best friend at the café … at home … in her car … through the bathroom window …

She glanced at Emmerson with distaste. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground and focused on his inhaler.

She swiped some more.

Scott, alone …

Emmerson braved the silence between them. ‘If I could show you the ones—’

Scott staring out of the lounge window …

‘I don’t want to hear it.’

Galia heading to work … Scott and Galia kissing …

Emmerson said, ‘Maybe just the inhaler then …?’

Galia running through the rain, hair plastered over her face …

Galia said, ‘Maybe.’

Galia in the soundproofed audiology room, eyes closed, one finger in the air …

‘Or maybe not.’

‘I know you probably think—’

Galia stopped for a moment. ‘Oh, I do.’

‘If you’ll let me expl—’

‘I squirted some of your precious inhaler into those squeaky lungs of yours. I am starting to regret it. I preferred it when you said nowt.’

Galia rotated the phone and showed one image to him. ‘Another victim? Now I feel like spraying the rest of your drug of choice into the air and watching you choke to death. And I don’t care if I have to crawl out from here one inch at a time. I’m still fit. I can make it.’

Emmerson said nothing for the moment, his head bowed. Galia flicked some more photos across the screen.

He said, ‘The old lady is my mother. That girl is her nurse.’

Galia ignored him.

‘She is very sick.’

Galia, framed by her bedroom window, brushing her hair …

‘Come to think of it, I will need to get back to her at some stage …’

Galia scanned through the photos rapidly now.

Emmerson continued mumbling. ‘The nurse only comes in on Wednesdays and Fri—’

‘I don’t care about your mother’s sodding nurse, Emmerson.’

Galia looked at him for a moment. Emmerson stifled a cough.

She closed down the photos app. ‘I’ve seen enough and I feel sick.’

‘The ones you really need to see are in another folder. You should have looked at those first.’

The phone beeped. Galia’s face lit up with anticipation.

Emmerson said, ‘Those ones were taken after the news and your—’

‘A signal!’

‘Think you’ll find that means the battery is down to twenty per cent.’

Galia looked deflated. ‘I want to go home. I am really thirsty now and my foot is killing me. ‘She picked up Emmerson’s inhaler and toyed with it. ‘You got a spare?’

‘Please don’t play with it.’

‘I am going to give you one last chance to tell me the truth.’

‘I told you.’

‘One chance. Or I will squirt the contents of this little tube into the lungs of this forest.’

‘That would be just silly.’

Galia gave the inhaler a two-second blast into the air. ‘Oops.’

Emmerson said, ‘I saved you.’

‘Yet there seems to be seven billion photos of me on your sodding phone!’ Galia squirted a bit more.

Emmerson struggled to keep the panic from his voice. ‘Don’t. Please. Galia. Seriously, it’s the other photos you need to see. It will all come back.’

Squirt.

‘I just like to take photos.’

‘Of me.’

‘Not just you …’

Squirt.

‘C-come on … Okay. M-mainly you.’ Emmerson was even more agitated now, his breathing laboured.

‘Why?’ She held the blue inhaler aloft.

‘P-please. I felt … at least I thought I felt a connection …’

‘What gave you that idea?’

‘I-I wanted to find out a bit more about you after your exam. Maybe I went a little far.’

‘No shit, doctor.’

Squirt.

Emmerson just blurted it out: ‘He really didn’t deserve you.’

‘What business is that …? So you follow me and take your seedy little pictures. How many women have you abused?’

‘I-it’s not like that. I-I don’t … After a while, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. What with everything … you know …?’

‘By taking pictures? How long has this little hobby of yours been going on?’

He didn’t answer.

‘A bit embarrassed, are we?’

‘A few years …’ His voice was on the verge of being inaudible.

‘What?’

‘A few years.’

Her mind raced as she flicked through a few of the photos. This didn’t make sense.

‘I don’t get it.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Years … ?’

He wanted to let it sink in and besides, he was fighting for breath.

She said, ‘You’re just trying to fuck with my head, aren’t you?’

Emmerson’s breathing was becoming desperate. ‘Please. My inhaler.’

‘Really – how long have you been following me?’

‘Those were taken a while back. A lot has happened since then. You just don’t remember.’

‘You could say anything to get one little puff.’

‘Please … if you look through the rest of the photos, you’ll see.’ His voice rose. ‘You spent the last year on your own, drinking yourself into …’ He backed off to a murmur. ‘Someone had to keep an eye on you.’

‘And that just happened to be my audiologist?’ Galia tossed the inhaler back and forth between her hands. ‘I think you live in a fantasy world. Where’d you think this would end? A moonlight stroll? A romantic dinner for two?’

‘Well …’

This time she snatched the inhaler from the air and shouted, ‘Or raped and strangled in the middle of a fucking forest!’

‘I-I’ve never hurt anyone. I’d never hurt you. Once you get to know me—’

‘Ha! Two things I know about you already. You are my audiologist and you are my stalker. And a pervert.’

‘That’s three.’

Somewhere in the forest, there was an indistinct distant crack of wood.

‘We need to move, Galia. There is someone dangerous out there.’

‘Yes. You. And stop using my name. It makes me feel … dirty.’

‘We can’t just stay here forever.’

‘Just until Scott arrives.’

If he could have shouted, he would have, but he raised his weak voice as best he could. ‘Stop talking about Scott!’

Galia paused fiddling with the phone and looked him in the eye. ‘Yes. You should be scared of him. He’ll yank your shrivelled testicles from their scrawny sack.’

‘I am trying to help you!’ A coughing fit overcame him.

‘Explain it to Scott. I am sure he’ll be fair before he rips you a new one.’

She was silent as he did his best to control his breathing.

He wriggled and looked nervously around at the thick dark woods. ‘I can explain everything from the safety of my car. Then I’ll drive you home.’

‘Bet you say that to all the girls.’ Galia busied herself with the phone and snapped a shot of Emmerson.

‘Okay then. Let me show you that private album. It needs unlocking and it needs my thumbprint. What have you got to lose?’

She ignored him.

‘You really don’t remember what Scott got up to? And when.’

‘Scott would never—’

‘But he did.’

Galia considered this for a moment before carefully edging closer. ‘But I keep the inhaler. Just for insurance.’

‘Deal. Untie me, then.’

‘You must be joking. I don’t need to untie you just to get to your thumb.’ She moved round the back of him keeping arm’s length.

She flicked through the photo galleries on the phone. ‘Which gallery? I hate to think what’s in all of them.’

‘It’s the one called Post Truth. You won’t like it, but you need to see it.’

Before she could get to it, she froze at the distinct rustling sound from behind her. It got louder and she turned to look.

The panicked look on Emmerson’s face didn’t help. ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

‘I don’t bloody know!’

‘Untie me! Quick!’

Galia ignored him, shouting, ‘Hello!’ She struggled to her feet. ‘At last.’

‘Shhh! Don’t! It might be him. The killer. Don’t leave me like this. Please.’

Galia hobbled towards the sound. Then the sound stopped. Dead.

‘Scott? Over here!’

Emerson whispered loudly, ‘Please. If it’s the killer, you’ll need me. At least give me my inhaler.’

‘Shut up. Time’s up, perv.’

Silence.

Galia deflated. ‘I thought …’

Emmerson relaxed a little.

Galia cocked her head, listening for any movement. ‘Damn. I really thought—’

Snap! A twig cracked to her left and she spun towards the sound.

‘Galia, please!’ Emmerson randomly tugged and writhed against the makeshift bindings.

Galia looked worried now and started to hobble away from the source of the sound.

Crack! The rustling started again but a little closer. Then stopped again.

Galia said, ‘Probably a rabbit.’

They remained silent for a few moments more, apart from the sound of Emmerson’s wheeze which carried above the dark whisper of the trees. Galia took another shuffle away from the direction of the rustle.

Then: a sudden burst of activity and a bounding black shape charged towards them. Galia let out an involuntary shriek.

It was a big black Labrador and it made its way straight for Emmerson, wagging its tail. He remained helpless against the onslaught of the wet greeting. ‘Get him off! I hate dogs!’

Galia stood rooted to the spot.

‘I mean it. They make me wheeze. Get off!!’

Galia snapped out of it and stifled a hysterical laugh. ‘Here boy!’

As the dog started to tug at the wrist bindings, Emmerson’s eyes widened with hope. He pulled back against the dog. ‘Good girl! She’s a bitch.’

‘I don’t give a shit. Leave him alone. Good dog! Over here.’

Emmerson sneezed and the dog jumped back, dropped in a play bow, wagging its tail even more furiously. It let out a playful bark.

‘Here, girl!’ Galia knelt down to the dog’s height. The dog looked at her for a moment but realised that Emmerson was probably more fun.

‘Over here. Come on then. Play with this.’ Emmerson rolled on his side and wriggled his tied wrists for the dog, then watched the dog bound over to him before she licked his face again.

Galia hopefully scanned the woods around them. ‘Here, girl! Where’s your master?’

Emmerson was helpless to avoid the dog’s tongue. ‘Stop it.’

‘Maybe it’s lost.’

‘Get the dog off me and untie me. We need help.’ He addressed the dog: ‘You are useless.’

‘Thought you were worried about Scott?’

‘Scott doesn’t have a dog and neither does the killer.’

‘Good point.’

‘Come on, untie me and I will go find him. The owner. Or her.’

‘Yeah, right. Not going to happen.’

‘Think about it! You can’t go looking on your own.’ The dog sniffed at Emmerson’s crotch. ‘Can you just get this blooming dog under control.’

Galia hesitated for a moment. ‘Who do you think I am? Cesar sodding Millan.’

‘What? Anyway, if we meet up with the owner, he could help get you –us – back to my car.’

Galia started to limp towards him. The dog met her halfway and jumped at her, knocking her backwards.

‘See what I mean,’ Emmerson said.

The dog began to lick at Galia’s face. She pushed it out of the way and pushed herself up. She grabbed the dog’s collar, struggled, but somehow managed to hop over to Emmerson, grunting with the effort. The dog wasn’t helping, not happy about being dragged along behind this weirdly dressed stranger. Galia reached over to Emmerson’s bindings. She hesitated once more.

Emmerson nodded his reassurance. ‘The owner will be both of our insurance cards. Think about it.’

‘I can’t let you go.’ She looked Emmerson directly in the eye. ‘I mean it. We wait for Scott.’ Galia shuffled some distance away and sat down. The dog lay down beside Emmerson. Head on paws.

Galia avoided eye contact with either of them. ‘We wait,’ she said.

Emmerson concentrated on freeing his hands. ‘Can I at least have my inhaler.’ He looked at the dog. ‘Wouldn’t you think a dog would sense how completely evil I am?’ Behind his back, his hands were now almost free. ‘What if I am right?’

‘About being evil?’ She toyed with his phone some more. ‘I think I have all I need in this. For Scott. And the police.’

‘I don’t think Scott will appreciate it quite as much as you think.’

And then, one final grunt and he freed his hands. Galia immediately tried to stand again, but her leg gave way momentarily. ‘Shit.’ She held the inhaler in the air. ‘Don’t come near.’

‘Let me find the dog’s owner.’ He reached down, quickly untied his feet, and rubbed his chafed ankles. ‘Trust me.’

She snorted but seemed resigned to simply watch on. ‘You can’t leave me.’

‘I’ll be back. With help. If not, I’ll get you out of here on my own.’

He approached her, the dog by his side. She brandished the big stick, and the dog snarled.

‘I am not going to hurt you. Promise. Inhaler, please.’

He held out his hand and she reluctantly gave it to him. After a big hit of salbutamol, he held his breath. He squeezed out, ‘Phone, please.’

‘No.’

‘Come on.’

She dropped it down her cleavage. He stood there, arm still outstretched as the dog watched on intently.

‘It’s the evidence,’ she said.

‘Yes, I know.’ Emmerson knelt in front of her and a bit too close for comfort. She stared at him defiantly. He calmly reached out, put his hand down her top, and retrieved the phone. She gasped incredulously. Then slapped him hard across the face. The dog looked at him. Emmerson paused for a second, then got up, tapped on the screen, placed his thumb on the sensor, and handed her back the phone.

‘I-I don’t understand …’ she said.

‘Consider it your insurance. I’ve unlocked all the folders. Have a browse and a think while I go and find the owner.’

Galia seemed about to say something as he reached down to retrieve his one shoe still on Galia’s foot. Instead, she just stared at the phone in her hand.

He mumbled, ‘I need to … er …’

She reluctantly lifted her injured foot. ‘I guess I won’t be going far, then. Ow! Gentle!’

‘If he suddenly turns up …’

‘The man with the dog?’

‘The killer.’ He took another drag from the inhaler. ‘Tell him you are not alone. Tell him I’ve gone for help and I will be right back.’ Emmerson removed his belt and looped it around the dog’s collar.

‘And your imaginary psycho-killer will give a rat’s arse?’

‘If he thinks you are alone, he will kill you. Tell him I am some big strong ox. Ripped.’

Galia sniggered.

‘Look, when I hit him, he never saw what was coming. I came from behind and …’ He mimed something like a cricket bat stroke. ‘Well. It made a pretty sickening sound. I could have killed him.’

‘So what’s he look like? In case I get the wrong guy.’

Emmerson shrugged. ‘It was dark. He was all in black. Young … ish.’

‘Yeah, that really helps.’

Emmerson tugged on the dog’s makeshift lead. ‘I hate dogs.’

‘You said.’

The sun was a little higher in the sky now and its rays penetrated deeper into the forest. The threatening clouds seemed to have all but evaporated at least for now, and Emmerson wiped the perspiration from his brow. I mean, shirtsleeves at this time of the year …

He let the dog lead as it sniffed this way, then that, pausing to pee before eagerly moving off in another direction. Emmerson looked nervously behind himself. ‘You are taking me in circles, I swear. Come on!’ The dog stopped for a moment, sniffing frantically and then scampered off again.

‘If it’s a rabbit, you’re fired.’ He struggled to keep the dog under control. God, these creatures were strong. ‘Slow down! Heel! Whoa!’

But the dog was on a mission and pulled even harder. The thin leather strap slipped through Emmerson’s fingers, burning and blistering as it went. ‘Ow! Stupid dog. Wait!’ But the dog was just too strong and Emmerson couldn’t hold on. He shouted after her, giving chase. ‘No! Wait! Come here! Come back! Good girl.’ At that speed, he made it no more than fifty paces before he had to stop. He watched the dog disappear into the undergrowth as he gasped. He put his hands on his knees and wheezed like an emphysemic. ‘Damn!’ Wheeze. ‘Stupid!’ Wheeze. ‘Dog!’

He reached into his trouser pocket for his inhaler. It wasn’t there. ‘Oh …’ Wheeze ‘My … God …’ He must have dropped it as that stupid dog dragged him along. He fumbled frantically through his other trouser pocket. Nothing. He could feel his face turning crimson, the vice in his chest getting tighter. He knew where this would lead and he hated his own frailty. ‘Come on. Easy now.’

He forced his breathing to slow and turned to retrace his steps, double-checking his pockets, patting them down over and over again as if the futile repetitive gesture would make the inhaler magically reappear. He muttered as he scoured the forest floor. ‘This is what you get … This is … karma. This’ll be … where they … find you and all your mum will know is what they put in …’ Wheeze. ‘the papers.’

Then his eyes lit up and he reached down excitedly. He lifted up the tube. ‘No!’ His elation deflated as he recognised a used, discarded blue shotgun cartridge. One of those new ones … He looked helplessly around himself. ‘They’ll tell … her that … I was a pervert … a nonce …’ Wheeze. ‘They’ll smash her windows … She’ll die of shame …’

He squeezed a deep breath through his ever-tightening, inflamed airways and gasped. ‘Come on! You are pathetic.’ He forced himself into action and continued to scour the forest floor. ‘It’s got to be here!’

From somewhere over his shoulder he heard a nearby bark. He paused for a moment. Stupid dog.

Galia’s finger hovered indecisively over the private album icon. He had to be lying. There was no way that Scott could ever … and with Elvie! The fact that Emmerson had actually given her his phone should have convinced her that he was as good as his word. But this could have all been a ploy. Win her trust. Prove to her that he was on her side and lob in the truth bomb about the betrayal. Rescue her from a false flag operation to finally seal the deal: kidnap her, save her, and what do you know? Instant hero, she falls at his feet, and they live happily ever after. Stalker and wife.

And then Emmerson had been talking about stalking her for years. Years? She shuddered at the thought. She knew he was her audiologist, but couldn’t for the life of her remember when she’d last had an appointment with him. It didn’t seem that long ago.

She needed to pay attention to the dates on the photos. Her head hurt as she attempted to dislodge the cotton wool that inhabited her skull. She tried to piece together some sort of narrative from the night before but got no further than superficial detective work.

She was in a party dress. I guess I had a skinful or two. A sexy Santa dress. It doesn’t feel like Christmastime … Maybe it was just a birthday party fancy dress … She parked that thought for a minute and tried to rewind to a moment earlier in the day. Lunch, perhaps. Did I have lunch with Scott? A thousand flashback images of lunches with Scott canon-balled into a blurry mind montage. Maybe …

What about her show? At least she couldn’t forget that. It was who she was. Thank God I remember something … Galia struggled to picture the last daily live-stream session. What did I talk about …? Come on, think! Was it teeth-whitening products …? Singles holidays …? Sex toys …?

Galia took a deep breath. Deep down she knew she needed to relax, but it was a struggle to hold the feelings of panic at bay. This was only temporary amnesia. She did remember back in the day doing a livestream event where she swallowed a couple of roofies to show why women should keep an eye on their drinks. Got a lot of views, a trip to court, and community service. Took her days to unscramble her brain.

She started to relax a little, although, at the back of her mind, she knew she should be able to remember something. So Galia clung to the facts she knew: a) she was deep in a forest with some weirdo; b) she needed to get the hell out of here and away from him.

But the Scott thing? There was a strange sort of darkness that shrouded the memory of him. Not only couldn’t she remember doing anything with him yesterday, she struggled to remember the last thing she did with him at all. Her memory banks were just filled with a disjointed jumble of a sense of him … of their life. She knew inside that she loved him and he loved her. But beyond that …

There was something else that bothered her. Something in her peripheral awareness. Just out of reach. Something big, something bad, something—

A distant bark interrupted her train of thought.

A second louder bark brought her back to the painful present. It definitely sounded far off and, filtered through the trees, impossible to pinpoint. She stood up, as if the elevation would help her understand the nature of the dog’s barking. She cocked her head and waited for another distant comforting bark.

Birds noisily fluttered high in the trees and she spun around. Another bark. Was that from behind her? So hard to get a bearing on it.

‘Scott?’

Galia instantly knew she shouldn’t have shouted out, but she was spooked. She distracted herself by turning her mind as to how she could direct Scott to her exact location. In her fuzzy brain haze, she hadn’t thought that through. Suppose he’d driven to the forest. Suppose he found the vehicle that had brought her here. Suppose he found her phone, a shoe. Then what?

Was he even coming at all?

She knew the reason she hadn’t instantly dived into Emmerson’s private photo album. The truth would probably hurt. She’d just have to bear the pain.

Deeper in the forest, Emmerson turned back in the direction of Galia’s distant reverberant shout and shook his head. ‘She’ll …’ Wheeze … ‘Get us both …’ Wheeze … ‘Killed.’

Emmerson struggled on, his breathing laboured. Head down, he prayed to the gods he didn’t believe in to help him find his precious life-saving drug. ‘Stupid …’ Wheeze. ‘Dog.’ He walked on, each consecutive breath even more painful than the last.

The dog barked again. And again.

Then a yelp!

Emmerson looked up and towards the sound. He took one more step before the sickening plastic crunch beneath his shoe told him he had found the inhaler.

As the reverberation of the yelp finally died, he listened carefully to the near silence for a moment and, in agony, held his precious breath.

The distant echoes of the dog’s final plaintive yelp died slowly. Galia was conscious of only the sound of her own ragged breathing. She was frozen to the spot. Listening. Straining to hear any other sound that would help explain the barks. The yelp. The silence. Her expression hardened. She hissed, ‘Emmerson! Help? My arse!’ What did he do to that poor dog?

She scanned around for somewhere to hide. Anywhere. She even looked up at the trees for a potential escape route and almost laughed.

Yeah, right.

She looked down at her foot.

She looked for a signal on the phone. Nothing.

She spun around again on the spot.

Emmerson dropped to his knees and attempted to piece together the crushed inhaler. He continuously and nervously glanced up and over his shoulder in the direction of the dog’s last yelp.

‘Come on, come on, come on.’ His hands trembled. More than trembled. He struggled to retain control of his coordination as he tried to work out how to fix the inhaler. He almost had it, but the fragments of plastic casing just wouldn’t hold together.

He started to sing softly. Beyond the asthma, his voice was remarkably tuneful. When he was a kid an asthma attack could quickly spiral out of control, so his mum would sing to him. He would join in, painfully at first, but the distraction would quickly quell the rising panic. And now his tremulous rendition of ‘The Air That I Breathe’ came to the rescue as he focussed on saving his own life.

He took his packet of cigarettes from his trouser pocket and shook the last few sticks onto the forest floor. He quickly shaped the packet into a tube, extracted the aluminium vial of salbutamol from the remainder of the casing, and inserted it into the cardboard tube. He reached back into his pocket and squeezed out another line of his mum’s favourite song.

What had he got? His insulin pen? He considered the tip for a moment but realised that it might be needed to keep him alive. He closed his eyes for a moment before glancing down at his breast shirt pocket.

His ballpoint.

He stared at it.

Through his oxygen-starved brain, a sliver of a plan.

Pen. Tube. Breathe …

‘How …?’

His voice had dropped to a reedy whisper and his vision started to dim and defocus around the edges. His thought processes were painfully jumbled but … if he just managed to hang on for …

He had it! His eyes lit up briefly. He jammed the pen into his mouth with the pointy tip facing out. With the cardboard tube fashioned around the vial, he slowly guided it to his mouth. It was like docking a spaceship. He gripped the tube so the vial remained central, its little valve probing for the pen tip. The first attempt missed as he struggled to dampen his shaking hand.

Through clenched teeth around the pen, he cursed. ‘Gloody hell …’

He tried again.

His eyes crossed as he attempted to focus on the little valve, all the while fighting to control the spasms as his diaphragm battled to squeeze air into his lungs.

At last! Contact. The pen tip made contact with the valve. His eyes closed and he pushed a little harder with the back of his tongue. The valve depressed and the little hiss reminded him to try to breathe deep.

He lay back on the damp earth and pressed one more time.

He remained there on his back, quietly satisfied for a moment, savouring his success and ingenuity. Finally breathing a sigh, he allowed his eyes to close for a moment as he softly sang out the chorus. He thought of his mum and smiled.

Until a twig cracked loudly. Not far away. He snapped out of his reverie but remained frozen.

Emmerson swallowed. He heard another twig snap from not twenty feet away. His eyes swivelled in his head as he tried to pinpoint the direction of the approaching crackle and snap of the undergrowth. Eventually, he gained the courage to gently prop himself up and take a look.

There! A shape moving through the trees. Not much more than a shadow of a man.

Was this the man with the dog? Emmerson opened his mouth as if to call out, then thought better of it. There was no dog. The shape continued to move through the trees close by. A bit too close for comfort. Emmerson lowered his head again, praying for invisibility. He held his breath. Suddenly the man stopped and seemed to look towards Emmerson for a moment. But the stranger remained in shadow, unidentifiable, sinister.

Galia was curled up at the foot of a large tree. She made a pathetic attempt to camouflage herself with some fern and sticks and knew deep down that the bright red Santa dress was definitely the obvious choice when it came to blending into a world of green and brown. She cursed herself for not knowing she’d be playing soldiers in the woods. May as well just stand, scream, and wave. Here I am … Come and get me, Mr Killer …

Killer, eh? Really? She needed to find one good reason why she should trust the self-confessed Stalking Doctor on this. I mean, come on … sad loner. Obsessed with one of his patients. Probably rams me full of drugs. Comes up with a far-out story to win my trust. Takes me deeper and deeper in the forest until I succumb to his obvious charms and good looks.

In her hand, a phone full of reasons why she shouldn’t trust him. But still … What if even a bit of what he was saying was true? Yeah, right! Two maniacs in one forest? I should feel so flattered. What if, in her hand, there could be a thousand reasons to exonerate him? She needed to look through those hidden photos. She needed to buy some time and stay safe. Stay hidden for now.

Galia struggled to her feet once more and looked up at the nearest tall tree.

Fuck!

MOVE!

Emmerson attempted to use the raw power of his psychic abilities to get that shadow of a man to bugger off. How much longer Emmerson could control his burning lungs remained an open question. He felt a loud wheeze brewing and he knew the figure in the woods would pinpoint the sound in a heartbeat. Was he the killer? Or even a killer. He didn’t particularly want to put his musings to the test.

The man had not moved at all in the last few minutes, and Emmerson was sure he must have heard something. Emmerson hadn’t exactly been the quietest of forest-dwellers. What’s more, a slightly large, asthmatic forest-dweller in a stupidly white shirt. It wasn’t as white as it once was, but Emmerson knew that if he moved from the bare minimum of cover he had, he would stand out like a big fat white thumb in a sea of thin green fingers.

CRACK! At last, the silhouette of the man moved. Slowly at first, before picking up speed and crunching off in the direction of that last shout from Galia. What was she thinking?

Emmerson started to breathe normally again. Or at least as close to normal as his damaged and scarred lungs would emulate. He slowly dragged himself to his feet and, from behind the trunk of a substantial tree, peeped out to get a better look at the man as he moved off. There were just too many trees between them. All he could make out was a figure in black moving at speed. Emmerson looked around for a familiar landmark or some sort of clue as to where he had ended up. If Emmerson never saw a tree again in his life, he would be quite content. Give him the familiarity of roads and landmarks, coffee shops, and civilisation any day.

Right now, the one thing he had in his favour was that his visual memory was as sharp as a scalpel. He sometimes wondered if he really needed that many photos, when he could simply close his eyes, sift through his internal archive and, bam, it was right there. It was how he breezed through his medical exams while those around him struggled. For a brief time, it had made him popular. They’d come to him for help. All the while sniggering behind his back.

Time to put that memory to use. He looked up towards the sun and compared it to the reference of his internal compass. The man in black wasn’t quite on track, but he wasn’t that far off. Emmerson needed to get to Galia first.

Galia tucked the phone into her cleavage again and pulled herself onto the lowest branch of the tree. She strained to lift herself up fully, desperately trying to find any strength in her arms. It was a bit weird. She worked out regularly – it was part of her online brand to be in good shape – but now her arms seemed just a bit flabbier and more flaccid than she remembered. I mean, come on, if a couple of dozen chin-ups are a piece of piss …

She lifted one knee onto the rough bark. For a moment she thought she had it sorted, but her knee slid back off, painfully grazing her bare leg against the ragged husk.

‘Ow! Shit!’ Awkwardly holding on, she pulled herself up again and, trying to ignore the pain and the trickle of blood, she forced one knee up, swiftly followed by her other one.

She sucked air through her teeth and swung out her legs so she could sit on the branch. Reaching up to the next branch, she pulled herself up and stood on her good foot, supporting most of her weight with her arms above. She calculated the wisdom of staying put at only four feet from the ground and very visible. Pretty dumb. She looked up and steeled herself. ‘Okay. You can. You can. One, two …’ She grunted with the strain as she began to pull herself up to the next branch.

Emmerson picked up his pace. Mind you, he knew that in sheer pace terms, this was a pretty low bar to clear. His eyes darted wildly. Alert for any movement. His foot caught something soft and heavy. He just wasn’t looking down there.

He stood above the limp body of the dog. Its tongue lolled long and pink onto the forest floor. A fly buzzed its way onto the poor mutt’s nose. Emmerson spun around. He was scared, shaken. He spun back the other way, peering into the depths of the forest. He saw no one. Eerily quiet apart from the creak of the branches and the hungry fly.

Galia!

This guy was a psycho. Emmerson had no love for dogs, but still …

Emmerson attempted to salvage his bearings and started to run. He didn’t make it twenty paces before he tripped over the root of a tree and fell heavily. Dazed, he struggled to his feet and turned to look back. There, at the foot of a not-too-distant tree, sat a man, his back against the trunk. Barbour jacketed, dog lead in hand, head bowed: he could easily have been asleep. The small trickle of blood traced a thin red line down his neck. That rules out the sleep hypothesis …

Emmerson just stared, transfixed. He didn’t move for several seconds, then swiftly thrust his broken inhaler into his mouth. Purely a reflex action. Realising he couldn’t easily use it, he replaced it in his pocket and reversed away from the tree, keeping the dead man in view.

He whispered out loud, ‘Galia. Hide.’

He took one more step back.

The dead man gasped just as Emmerson’s heel caught on a rogue bramble. His foot entangled, he started to fall backwards, his eyes still on the reanimating body. Emmerson’s arms flailed and, top-heavy, he and his inertia passed the point of no return. Through the corner of his eye, he caught the last glimpse of the corpse. Its head started to lift, swollen lips mouthing: Help …

Sightless, bloodshot eyes bulged from half-open lids.

A pathetic arm reached out for succour before …

Emmerson’s head connected with an extremely solid root.

Crack!

Black.

Galia lay awkwardly along the length of the second branch of the tree some several feet above the floor of the forest. Her lower legs were badly chafed from the climb and the unforgiving raggedness of the bark.

She breathed heavily, her eyes screwed shut, and she cursed quietly. ‘Shit. So much for those hours in the gym.’ She massaged her upper arms and stifled the urge to giggle. Come on! This is ridiculous. Up a tree, hiding from someone who probably doesn’t exist. She tried to picture herself and Scott curled up in front of the fire, glass of wine in hands, both laughing at the crazy adventure.

But she drew a blank. For some reason, her mind’s eye was back on the blink and she could only conjure some vague essence of Scott. Some drugs, eh! Galia shook her head and tried to focus on the here and now. She knew that if she kept her cool, she would be pretty safe up here until dehydration got her. She looked around at the other trees and the greenery around her. The forest was thick up here, with branches of other trees competing for sunlight real estate. She wished she’d cared more about nature, but give her a bottle of Rioja and a good movie and …

A small spider tickled its way up her thigh.

See what I mean about nature …

Galia reached out and almost unbalanced herself. She hugged the branch for dear life as she realised the drop was probably enough to break a few random limbs.

Come on, spider, do your worst …

She focused on the world around her. Weird how she now wished that her ear doctor creep would hurry up and come back. She glanced down her cleavage at the phone tucked safely away. At least that would keep her mind occupied for a while.

Emmerson’s eyes opened wide as if spring-loaded.

It could have been a twig crack permeating his self-preservation standby mode, but whatever it was it snapped him out of his daze. He remained frozen for a moment, his pulse racing after the squirt of adrenaline. Flat on the forest floor seemed to be the safest place to be, but he timidly lifted his head to look once more in the direction of the seemingly reanimated body.

Had he imagined it? After all, that was some crack on the skull. He rubbed the back of his head and dared himself to look. The limp rag doll that was once a living, breathing man lolled unmoving beside the base of the tree. The stillness of the scene was unnerving, and Emmerson lifted himself onto his elbows and then spun around in panic at the sound of movement someway off. He gulped and dropped back down onto the ground, flat on his back. His wide eyes and ragged breathing betrayed the fear.

‘Oh God,’ he murmured to the guy he didn’t believe in. ‘Get a grip, for Pete’s sake. Probably a squirrel.’ He closed his eyes for just a moment and took the deepest breath his misfiring lungs would allow.

Up!

‘Sod it.’ He stood and convinced himself to walk slowly but deliberately towards the body. He stood over it for a good minute, before forcing himself to kneel and prod the shoulder of the man as if he were a fellow passenger who had slept past his stop.

‘Hello? Sir?’ He shook the man gently and watched as the lifeless body slouched sideways. The man’s head bounced gently on the forest floor and then rested, neck at a slightly odd angle. ‘Probably just a heart attack …’ Emmerson muttered to himself. There was a dried trickle of fresh blood close to the jugular, its source the smallest of all puncture wounds. ‘Or a bee sting. Yes. That’ll be it. Anaphylaxis. Of course.’

He almost smiled with relief at his willingness to believe this benign hypothesis. The dog, though …? Emmerson nodded to himself as he answered his own question. Obviously, there had been a swarm, the dog tried to protect his master, and …

Action! Stop thinking …

He reached into the man’s inner pocket and removed the wallet and driving licence. ‘Stewart, eh. Sorry, mate.’ He completed his frisk and pocketed the man’s old-style cell phone. ‘I’ll call someone as soon as I can. Promise. In the meantime, I have a living lady in distress who needs my help.’

He stood. ‘Whoa … !’ Maybe a little too quickly, so he steadied himself against the nearest tree. He knew he was tired, dehydrated, overweight, and moderately hyperglycaemic. Oh, and slightly concussed. Not the optimum combination for good health. He touched the back of his head and examined the resulting smear of gloopy red gel on his fingertips.

He took the deepest wheeziest breath he could muster and began to run. He passed the body of the dog and did not look down.

Two branches and barely ten feet above the ground, Galia perched uncomfortably. She toyed with Emmerson’s phone, knowing she couldn’t hold off much longer. She had made the excuse she was saving the battery, but she knew that was just a ruse to avoid facing some potential truths and revelations.

Of course, everything Emmerson had said should be viewed through the victim-to-stalker lens. Galia knew she was possibly being manipulated into trusting this strange man. Yes, the same man who had dragged her deep into a forest and had left her up this sodding tree. Oh, yeah, she’d had her share of dysfunctional hangers-on, losers and weirdos who thought they had that unique connection with her. That came with the territory. But she encouraged that connection. She made all her followers feel special. The on-screen Galia was a made-up thing. Play-acting at being some all-wise, life-affirming, go-getting, hyper-fit, uber-wealthy, relationship-fixing influencer was a sham. Her persona was an illusion. In reality, she was just as much of a screw-up as her gazillion followers. At least, on her channel, she could believe some of her own hype. Until the reality of her real-life modest existence returned at the end of every session.

Hey, but she managed to earn a living doing what she loved, especially considering that she was one of the few popular non-AI influencers. She had thousands of fans around the world and was loved by many. It was probably the ones who loved her a little too much who were the most dangerous. She bet most of the non-human internet denizens didn’t end up in a tree clinging on for dear life. The joys of being a real person, eh?

And just how dangerous was Emmerson? Well, he’d been stalking her for God knows how long and now he had this fantastical story that he was the one who’d saved her from some murderous evil villain. Was this his sick and twisted way to win a woman’s heart? But, then again, if he were some hulk of a brooding, sex-god Adonis, would she feel this way? If Rapunzel in her tower had seen Emmerson out of her window, would she have hacked off her own hair and told him to go away because he smelt funny?

And aside from the threat from her not-so-handsome prince, there remained something dark and foreboding – a revelation that festered in her peripheral consciousness. Memories and a reality just out of reach. And, as luck would have it, the Pandora’s box bursting with snapshots of her past was in her hand: the past conveniently packaged within zeros and ones.

Fuck it. She swiped the screen and opened another window into her opaque previous life. There was always the hope that the Schrödinger’s relationship with Scott was still alive and that everything that stalker-boy had said was simply Emmerson's own fantasy. Not looking inside that box was not an option.

In the now unlocked folder, the first few photos didn’t inspire any hope that this would end well. She shook her head as her fragmented memory struggled to reconcile these new candid moments from her previous life. It sure looked like her, but Galia still blinked to refresh her vision and double check she wasn’t looking at some other poor soul. Of course, there was always the possibility that these images were deep-faked facsimiles of reality, but she somehow doubted it.

The first few snaps just made her angry at herself. There she was alone, sad, drunk, and propping up a bar. The longer lens captured the detail and she enlarged the image further. Her slightly streaky mascara and the young barman looking on with a combination of concern, pity, and disdain.

Fuck you, Emmerson.

She flicked back in time, skipping some dozens of photos of her past self: walking, driving, drinking, queueing, and doing nothing in particular. Then she found the first video. Shot from the garden, the bedroom window framed with tied-back drapes added to the theatre of it all. But it was real: Scott and Galia in a full-on shouting match. Through the closed windows, the words were indistinct, but the rising bile was obvious through her on-screen body language.

Galia’s hand trembled as it gripped the phone, and she was tempted to swipe this chapter into oblivion. That would have been so easy. But the on-screen image became a trigger, and now her subconscious stepped in to replay the actual memory. Vivid. Hyper-real. Close-up voyeurism of her own past:

Scott on the edge of the bed. Head in hands for the moment.

Galia in mid-flow. Slurring her words slightly. Loud. Shrill. ‘I don’t give a shit how short life is. You said we were a team. A fucking team.’

‘Were. Rules have changed now.’ Scott’s voice more measured. Resigned. Matter-of-fact. Emotionless.

‘What? What’s that supposed to mean?’

Scott now on his feet. His voice thoughtful, almost sympathetic. ‘You’ll cope. It’s only a couple of years. It’s—’

‘It’s what?’ Her voice mocking. ‘It’s not like it’s the end of the world now, is it?’

Scott says nothing and heads for the door.

Galia sits on the now vacated bed. Shouting at the man she thought she loved. ‘Fuck you!’ A few door slams later, she gets up, goes over to the window, and looks up at the night sky. She continues the thought: and fuck her too. Which is precisely what Scott was about to do.

Pitiful.

She suddenly feels as if the darkness outside is staring back. A meteor streaks across the sky and Galia grabs the drapes to shut out the world and the dispassionate universe.

Galia’s eyes flashed open. Her dilated pupils contracted in an instant, defensive against the shards of sunlight that pierced the leafy canopy. She steadied herself, remembering that she was balanced on a branch with a bone-breaking drop beneath. She was a little disorientated by the involuntary flashback and time-shift. It took a moment to pull herself back to the here and now. ‘Deep breath …’

She steeled herself and flicked on to the next photo.

Scott and her best friend Elvie laughing over a coffee …

‘Come on, I mean, it’s only a friggin’ coffee.’ Galia was reminded of how pretty Elvie was. They made a great couple. Stop it! It’s only a friggin’ coffee …

Flick.

Scott and Elvie in the pouring rain. Elvie smiling as Scott holds open the passenger door …

Galia shrugged. ‘So what?’

Flick.

Scurrying through the downpour, Scott gallantly holding aloft his thin summer jacket above Elvie’s head ...

Elvie holding her apartment block door open as Scott looks back towards the photographer, seeming to know he may be being watched ...

Another fight. Galia and Scott. Back in the kitchen.

Clinging to the branch for comfort as much as safety, Galia squeezed shut her eyes and attempted to wring out a tangible memory of her own. It worked. The recalled tumbling snapshot images of the screaming, painful fight with Scott seared through her inner eye.

The thrown wine glass shatters against the white kitchen wall ...

The blood-like splatter of dark red liquid forever staining the memory ...

Scott restraining Galia, gripping both of her bare forearms ...

Her balled fists ready to strike ...

Her fingernails drawing blood from her own palms, as she screams at her husband through the rictus of her own tear-stained, anger-ridden face...

Galia touched the real tear on her real cheek from a real recovered memory.

She had little time to process the new data, before …

Crack.

Twigs nearby. She jumped and felt her heart skip several beats before racing into double time. A nearby voice arrested her breathing momentarily.

‘Galia …?’

This wasn’t Emmerson.

Galia remained motionless but allowed her eyes to swivel downwards. The man was only a few feet away from the tree. Definitely not Scott either. All in black. Black shoulder bag. Black hair. The man seemed to scan the nearby forest, not yet able to pinpoint her, but seeming to sense her. Or smell her? Galia mouthed the word, Fuck.

‘Galia? You okay?’ His voice seemed closer, the sound damped by the carpet of soft, decaying organic detritus. He spun almost in her direction. ‘My name is Charley. You’re safe now.’

Galia peered directly down onto Charley’s head. His hair was short and she could see what looked like caked blood from a recent injury. Some of it still glistened darkly red as it slowly oozed down the nape of his neck. She could see he held what looked like a phone out at arm’s length, as if looking for a signal. Damn! She was suddenly aware that she had Emmerson’s phone in her hand. I wonder if the phone was … She swiped the phone and switched to airplane mode. She guessed that her electronic breadcrumb trail was probably what led him to this spot.

Charley frowned at his phone and spun round with it once more. He held it in the air for a moment before lowering it once more. He nodded to himself slowly and paced around the tree. ‘I heard your voice, so I know you’re out there somewhere. We need to get you out of here. I just don’t know how dangerous your kidnapper is.’ He moved slowly, deliberately around the small clearing below. Head cocked for any tell-tale sound.

Galia refused to breathe. Was this the guy whom Emmerson was talking about? He fitted the bill. Dressed in black and all that. But then Emmerson could easily have been the real kidnapper. How the hell would she know? She’d been out of it.

The man started to move away, still listening intently for a sign that his prey was nearby.

Galia knew it wasn’t safe yet. But her mind raced. What if this man in black was on a rescue mission? What if—

Shit! Her train of thought was cut short by another ping of a battery warning from Emmerson’s phone. So much for not breathing.

Charley swivelled and looked up to the branch where she precariously clung on for dear life. ‘Wow! Good move. Would never have found you up there. Let me help you down.’

Well, at least she could breathe again. ‘I don’t know who the fuck you are.’

‘Good point, good point. Like I said, my name is Charley—’

‘So you said. How do I not know you aren’t the kidnapper?’

‘You don’t remember last night, do you?’

‘What’s that got to do with it? Just to let you know, I called my husband. He should be here at—’

‘You spoke to … him?’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ she lied a little too quickly for comfort. ‘He could be here at any moment.’ She sort of knew she wasn’t getting time to think. To figure out what was—

‘No worries. I … er … I know he has probably been very … concerned. And, since you are probably wondering, I guess I’m what you could call a private investigator.’

‘Yeah, right. You’re barely out of school. Have you got a badge or something? Already had some weirdo stalker dragging me around this sodding forest all morning, so forgive me if I seem a tiny bit cautious.’

He only took a second to digest this information, rubbing his head at some memory of the recent trauma. ‘Stalker …?’

‘Yeah. Nutjob’s been watching me for months. Maybe longer.’

‘Oh. Right … Yeah, him. We thought he might have been dangerous. At least you got away from him.’

‘And …?’

‘And?’

‘You think he is dangerous?’

Almost imperceptible hesitation, a calculating flicker in his eyes. ‘Oh yeah, we were spot on. He spiked your drink, dragged you out here and …’ Charley shrugged and gestured to the forest. ‘I mean, it’s nice out here though … but you – we can’t stay here all day. You should get down in case Jack the Ripper comes back.’

‘If you saw him spike my drink …’

Charley smiled. ‘I know what you are going to say.’ He held both of his palms up to her. ‘All I can say is I am so sorry. I was watching you, turned my back for one minute to er … call, er … Scott. Having said that, you were completely wasted even before the spiked drink.’ He chuckled knowingly.

Galia knew that she shouldn’t trust anyone, but this Charley seemed quite relaxed and rational. ‘I just can’t remember … my head feels like it’s full of cotton wool.’

Charley shook his head sympathetically. ‘Tsk! That’s what happens with those bloody next-generation drugs. They’re like Rohypnol on acid. Lot of that stuff around. Especially now.’

‘Whatever. I just keep being told shit that just doesn’t make sense.’

‘Gotcha.’

‘And your head?’

He gingerly fingered his wound.

‘Oh … Well, I, er, like followed his car out here. By the time I pulled up, he had dragged you out and … who knows what he was about to do … Jeez!’

‘And?’

‘There was a struggle. He pushed me and I fell over backwards. Simple as that. Onto a rock or something.’ He rubbed his head again. ‘Like, out cold. You were gone and I gave chase. I am just sorry I took so friggin’ long. Did he hurt you?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really. I just stood on something sharp.’

‘Good. Good. I mean it could have been worse. A big old forest he chose, your stalker. I was lucky to have found you. But he could be back any second, so let’s move. I’ll get you back to the car, sort you out and we’ll get you home.’

Galia knew this sounded pretty reasonable.

‘Unless your husband – Scott, is it? – gets to you first.’

She knew she could be being played, but Charley was beginning to make sense and win her over. She was tired, confused, and needed to get out of there. One thing was for certain: she couldn’t do that on her own and Emmerson had gone AWOL. Alternatively, she could just remain up this tree until …? Until what?

Galia still had Emmerson’s phone in her hand and she sneaked it unseen back down her top. Come on! What’s worst that can happen? Best not answer that …

Galia realised that inaction was not a strategy and she grunted as she eased herself down to the lower branch. ‘Not as fit as I thought I was.’

‘Hey, from here you aren’t doing that bad …’ He realised a little too late that he was looking up and the white trimmed Santa dress was a little more revealing than Galia probably realised. He averted his eyes as nonchalantly as he could. ‘So tell me about the creep. He took off?’

Galia struggled. Balancing on a springy branch with her one good foot was not easy. She winced. ‘He’s just a bit lonely, I think. A bit obsessed.’

‘Big guy, isn’t he?’

‘Well, he could do with losing a few pounds.’

Charley laughed nervously.

‘I thought you’d been watching him.’

‘Yeah, yeah. But never up close.’

‘I thought you two had a little tussle?’

‘It was kind of dark and it was over before I knew it.’

‘Oh.’

‘I guess I should have paid more attention, but I was more focused on you than him, you know.’

‘Right.’

‘So where did he go?’

‘He disappeared a while ago … There was this dog—’

‘The dog’s dead.’

‘Dead?’

He held out his hand to help Galia down from the lower branch. She ignored it, still cautious.

‘Yeah, I saw it on the way over. Sick bastard must’ve killed the poor mutt.’

‘He said he hated dogs, but I—’

‘Come on, I need to get you down and then we need to get out of here. This forest is giving me the creeps.’

Galia was still hesitant and clung to the bough of the tree, her weight on her good leg.

‘Don’t I know you? Have we met? You seem—’

‘Yeah, yeah. You probably bumped into me when I was looking out for you in the club. I do my best to stay discreet.’

Blurry, drunken unsteady images flickered in an instant through Galia’s mind’s eye.

Galia staggering, severely wasted back to the bar …

Heavy, pumping music. Incongruous gaudy Christmas decorations abound. Sweaty, writhing, wasted dancers seem to block her every move …

In an instant, the front of her red Santa dress is drenched as she clumsily collides with a man in black …

Her lipstick-stained glass in hand slips from her grasp and explodes on the floor.

‘Oh ... fuck ... Can’t you watch …’ she slurred.

The man’s face a little blurry. Good looking, though.

‘Hey, I’m sorry!’

Flashing a winning smile.

Her recall shudders in fast-forward to–

Bartender tutting and ushering her away as she attempts to pick up the myriad of glass shards from the sticky floor.

The stranger helps her back onto her stool at the bar…

‘You okay?’

Slurring: ‘Just leave me alone.’

‘I’ll get you a cab.’

She swears the blurry man winks at the bartender.

The bartender nods.

‘You okay?’

Galia shook her head as she attempted to cling onto the dregs of recall. Unfortunately, the wash of reality diluted the flashback. ‘Mm?’

‘You zoned out for a sec. I think you better get—’

The slurring blurriness returned to her. ‘But … I don’t … know … who …?’ She snapped back to full awareness and took a long deep breath. ‘You know what? I think I will stay up here for a while. Maybe see if Scott shows.’

Charley smiled his most charming of smiles. ‘Hey, that’s okay. I understand how confusing this all is. I’ll just wait over there. Call me if you need me.’

Galia began to pull herself back up to the safety of the upper branch, but the strength had left her arms and after several attempts, she gave up exhausted. She would have to stay put on the lower branch while she waited …Waited for what? Scott? Emmerson? A frigging miracle. Besides, the photos and videos of Scott were hard to ignore. She needed to ditch the wishful thinking and get real.

Let me just think this out …

Charley returned to the tree and pulled something out of his shoulder bag. ‘Sorry. Very rude of me.’ He reached up, in his hand a bottle.

‘What …?’

‘Just water. You really should drink something.’

He was right, but she shunned his offer. There could be anything in that bottle.

He took a swig and wiped his lips. ‘Just water. Promise.’

She knew she should take a drink. One small sip. She was aware now that her lips were parched and her head pounded.

He reached up, the bottle gripped by the very tips of his fingers. She squatted down, one arm around the bough and plucked the bottle. She unscrewed the top and sniffed the contents before taking a mouthful. She closed her eyes and savoured a second draft before offering it back.

Charley smiled up at her. ‘Nah, keep it for now.’

She pushed herself upright a little too quickly and she felt the blood drain from her head. Bollocks. Her arm uncoiled from the bough, her eyelids flickered … open … closed … open. The bottle slipped from her fingers before all strength evaporated from her legs as she—

Charley did his best to break her fall but failed. Luckily the springy forest floor mattress absorbed the impact of a blissfully floppy Galia with a comedic whump.

He looked around before kneeling over her and shook her gently. ‘Galia?’

Her eyes half opened. ‘Scott …?’ She smiled a dreamy smile. An attempt to get up was gently thwarted by Charley.

He deftly removed a leather pouch from his shoulder bag, softly comforting her all the while. ‘Shh … Hey, hey, take it easy for a sec.’ He scanned the surrounding trees. Clear for now. He opened the pouch and removed one of several multicoloured syringes from its slot. A couple of them were already spent, their plungers fully depressed and reinserted upside down. Atop this glistening yellow-tinted syringe, a hypodermic needle with a yellow safety cap.

He stroked her hair. ‘Sorry. This didn’t go exactly as planned.’

Oblivious, she weakly struggled to her knees and suddenly retched and heaved non-productively. Her head dropped, hair hanging limply, curtaining her face. ‘God. How embarrassing.’

Charley flicked the safety cap from the needle. ‘It’s fine. It comes in waves. Just a delayed reaction to the drugs and alcohol from—’

‘My head feels like …’

He placed his hand on her back, reassuring her as he eased the syringe closer to her exposed thigh. ‘I know. I know. You’ll be fine now.’

The needle so, so close … One shot …

Then a voice shouting Galia’s name. Drifting, some way off. She was still woozy, but the distant voice was bringing her round. ‘He’s coming.’

Charley hastily retrieved the discarded safety cap from the forest floor and thrust the syringe back into the pouch. Galia lifted her head as he returned the pouch and closed the shoulder bag. Damn! He shook his head and muttered, ‘If it weren’t for those meddling stalkers …’ He cocked his head and tried to work out the direction of the voice.

‘Be careful,’ she slurred.

‘Shh. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’

‘I mean – be careful, he smells a bit.’

‘I’ll deal with him.’

‘It could be Scott.’ She said that reflexively and immediately felt stupid for saying it.

‘I doubt it.’

Another distant ‘Galia …!’ Closer now.

‘I just want this to be over, Charley.’

‘It will be soon, I promise.’

Emmerson wheezed his way through the trees and paused, hands on his knees. He shook some life into his inhaler canister. Not much left.

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod ...

He spun around, disorientated. It all looked the same.

Emmerson made the decision. Gut instinct this time. This way. He summoned what little breath he could into his lungs as he trundled on. And shouted.

‘GALIA!’

The distant, forest-bounced echoes of ‘GALIA!’ took a few moments to dissipate as Charley helped her to her feet.

‘It could be Scott.’ Galia didn’t sound convinced and hopped over to lean against the nearest tree while Charley paced.

‘Why would you say that?’

‘Like I said, I messaged him.’

‘Thought you said you spoke to him.’

‘Spoke. Messaged. Whatever.’ She pedalled hard to get her brain in gear. ‘Yeah … told him some pervy creep drugs me and bundles me off into this stupid forest.’

Charley cleared his throat. ‘You did?’

‘I tried the police, but …’

‘Yeah, I know. They are a bit … preoccupied these days. Once we get back to the car, we’ll call him. Let him know mission accomplished and all that.’

‘Mission?’

Another GALIA! drifted through the trees. This time closer.

‘And that actually sounds like Scott?’

Galia simply shrugged. She hated to think that she was relying on the man who might have been banging her best friend. But with limited options, she knew that the best play was to keep Charley thinking that Scott might burst onto the scene at any moment. Charley seemed charming enough, but she needed to hedge all bets.

Charley started to get a little nervous. ‘Come on. We can’t just stay here. I think we should head back towards the car. It’ll probably be your stalker and he could get really nasty.’

Galia sniggered. ‘Yeah, right.’

Charley fired up the map on his phone, took Galia by the arm, and attempted to lead her back into the thicker woods. ‘This way before my battery dies.’

She resisted. ‘We should make sure Scott’s not out there. Looking for me.’

Charley mouthed the word bollocks, unseen. ‘Well, I can’t just leave you—’

The decision to stay or go was taken out of their hands as Emmerson burst inelegantly, gloriously dishevelled, and wheezing into the clearing. Galia and Charley spun round to confront him. Charley stood protectively in front of Galia.

Emmerson did his best to control his breathing. Wheeze. ‘STOP!’ Wheeze. ‘Don’t you dare hurt her.’

Charley looked him up and down, and couldn’t help a little giggle escaping.

Emmerson bent down to pick up a stubby stick. He brandished it in Charley’s general direction.

‘I mean it. I know what you wanted to do to her.’ Charley had a little more confidence now. The threat level from the portly asthmatic was a bit lower than he’d anticipated. This was the guy who k.o.’d me by the car? The shifty guy from the bar?

‘Listen, fatboy. We are going to put a stop to your grubby little obsession. Like right here, right now.’ Charley gently pushed away from Galia, who then hobbled away to lean against a nearby tree.

Emmerson turned to Galia. ‘Galia. Sorry I took so long, I—’

‘You do that know drugging and kidnapping aren’t the best way to win a fair lady’s heart?’ Charley asked. ‘And why’d you have to kill the dog?’

‘What?’

Charley took another step closer to Emmerson. ‘Go on. Tell her, then.’

Emmerson glanced nervously at Galia. ‘What’s he been saying?’ Then back to Charley. ‘Why would I kill the dog? I bet you killed the dog.’

One step closer for Charley. ‘Best thing you could do is back off and head back to whichever pervert academy you graduated from.’

Emmerson wheezily, shakily stood his ground.

‘Galia. Don’t trust him. He was going to bury you. I swear. And probably rape you. Well, maybe not in that order.’

‘Coming from the man with a photo library of every minute of my life. You were the one dragging me into the forest.’ For some reason Galia felt a little remorse for taking Charley’s side.

Charley felt emboldened. ‘I’ll give you one last chance to turn around. Find another creepy obsession. Take up origami.’

‘Galia. Leave – run. I’ll hold him off—’

Charley took one more step. He was within touching distance but most definitely within smelling distance. He stared Emmerson down. ‘Getting a bit brave, aren’t we now, tubby?’ He placed his shoulder bag carefully on the ground, squared up to Emmerson and prodded him in his ample gut.

Emmerson backed up a little and raised the pathetic chunk of wood above his shoulder. Charley advanced some more while Emmerson matched his move in reverse. They circled each other. Emmerson stammered, ‘I … blooming well mean it … Let her go.’

Charley looked to Galia. ‘Poor Galia can’t run anywhere. Thanks to you.’

Emmerson backed up another step and failed to spot the gnarled root, its slender organic finger poking through the undergrowth.

Galia hopped away from the tree. ‘Charley, don’t hurt him.’

Emmerson’s foot was just at the wrong angle at the wrong time and his arms flailed to help maintain his balance. He thudded down heavily, landing on Charley’s shoulder bag. There was a muffled crunch and Charley stopped in his tracks.

Winded, Emmerson’s voice was now not much more than a forced whisper. ‘That … didn’t sound … good …’

Charley reached down and ripped his shoulder bag from under Emmerson’s back. He stared at the crumpled dusty bag for a moment before placing it delicately to one side. He knelt menacingly closer to Emmerson.

Emmerson flinched. ‘If … you … hurt … her …’

Charley smiled. ‘My. We have got a wee schoolboy crush, haven’t we.’

He stood once more and offered out his hand to help up Emmerson. Charley maintained his most charming smile. ‘I mean, if you feel this strongly …’

Emmerson tentatively reached out for Charley’s proffered hand. Charley pulled him partway up, grunting a little with the effort.

Then he kicked Emmerson hard in his exposed lower back.

Emmerson gasped a silent ‘Galia …’ and collapsed back to the ground, tears of unexpected pain welling instantly. He started to roll into a protective foetal position as ...

A second kick connected with Emmerson’s groin.

A third swift kick to the stomach, Charley’s face a mask of malice and enjoyment.

Behind him, Galia hobbled closer. ‘Charley! Enough!’

Emmerson writhed breathlessly in the dirt and the leaves as Charley smiled a rather weird smile from above. He was excitedly breathless himself. ‘Hey, this creep has been like stalking you for God knows how long. He was probably about to rape you. Maybe even kill you.’

Emmerson struggled to sit up. He forced the sound from his lips. ‘Galia, don’t trust—’

For good measure, Charley spun and delivered a swift kick under Emmerson’s chin and Emmerson was down. And out.

Galia’s eyes were wide. ‘Stop! Jesus!’

Charley composed himself, centred his breathing, and the previously manic look drained from his face and eyes. He turned back to Galia and grabbed her arms, holding her away from attending to the un-moving Emmerson who lay in a pathetic heap. His shirt had risen halfway up his torso, exposing his pale belly and back. Pale apart from the red/purple contusions that warned of the damage within.

‘Hey, hey, hey. I promised I would take good care of you.’

Her eyes were fixed on Emmerson. She was more than a little stunned. ‘But you didn’t have to …’

Charley turned and knelt by Emmerson. ‘He’s fine. Just a little …’ He grunted as he rolled Emmerson onto his side. ‘Sleepy. See.’

‘Is he okay? I think you really hurt him.’

Charley stood once more and dusted off his hands.

‘Well, well. I do believe we have a mild case of Stockholm-itis.’

‘What?’

He snatched up his shoulder bag and took her arm. ‘He’ll be fine. And you shouldn’t give a toss. Let’s get back to the car. Scott will be so relieved.’

For a moment, Galia stood unmoving, torn between wanting to make sure her stalker was still breathing and the desperate need to get back to civilisation and away from this green hell. In the end, Galia took one last glance over her shoulder and put her arm around Charley for support. ‘Stockholm?’ she asked as they began to walk away.

‘Never mind. You are safe now with me.’

They headed off along the small natural path through the trees, leaving Emmerson alone on the ground in the clearing. He lay on his back, gasping for breath, his eyes open wide, unblinking at the clear blue sky. A lone meteor streaked across the heavens.

Followed by another.

A TRUE BEST FRIEND

‘Elvie was strangely quiet.

You all know I have a best, best friend. We make an effort to do that regular coffee and catch-up thing at our bohemian deli. We like to think it’s bohemian, but in reality, this sort of faux chic is ten-a-penny now.

I was drinking some weird Ayurvedic tea thing and sussed there was definitely something off with her. I reckon it could be just plain jealousy of my sexy little bump. She never had kids, so I did my best not to labour the point. Geddit. Labour the … Oh, never mind. And she never had a partner that lasted more than one Netflix box set either, so that didn’t help.

Anyway, superficially she seemed genuinely happy that all was well in my fertile garden. She even asked to touch it. The bump, not the garden.

But I know her too well. There was something unsaid that should have been, but I didn’t push it. I could just feel that she was on the verge of telling me something big. I reckon it’s a man. Bet she’s shagging some married dog again. It’s like Groundhog Date. She’ll regret it and then a couple of months later she’s at it again. It must be something in her pheromones. I should know, because the scent of that woman was once my downfall.

My only extra-marital dalliance. And it had to be with my best mate. I remember consoling myself with the knowledge that if Scott ever asked me if I had ever been with another man, I could be ruthlessly honest and look him in the eye.

We both privately blamed the joint we smoked that evening Scott was away. But it was not a good excuse really. I think we both knew that we both always fancied the pants off each other, until eventually we took the pants off each other. In the end we realised, even as we enjoyed every minute, that this was the first and last aberration in the space-time continuum of our relationship.

We never spoke of it since. Like it never happened.

But all said. I still love her deeply.’

She sits silently for a moment on her bed and wipes a tear from her eye while her on screen cursor hovers over the publish icon.

Maybe later.

Part TWO

THREE’S A CROWD

INFERNO

Behind the long single table, the three older expressionless panellists sit. Still and silently they stare at Emmerson, awaiting his response. The only woman of the three idly doodles on the notepad in front of her.

Emmerson straightens his tie, clears his throat, and sits up straight in the uncomfortable wooden chair in the dead centre of the over-lit rather austere room. He glances at the ceiling as the ancient fluorescent tube above him buzzes and flickers momentarily.

At the table, the bearded distinguished man speaks first. ‘Take your time, Doctor Lake.’

The single bead of sweat trickles inexorably down the centre of Emmerson’s forehead. He moves to wipe it, thinks twice, and decides to leave it for the moment as it meanders to the bridge of his nose. ‘It’s not what it seems, Sir Charles.’

To the left of Sir Charles, Dr Potter peers at Emmerson from above her half-moon spectacles. ‘Bearing in mind that this comes on top of your ... well ... shall we say, controversial online posts.’

Emmerson’s eyes flicker from one interlocutor to the next and then to the clock on the wall behind their heads. The clock is stopped. The time in this room remains at four minutes to twelve.

Emmerson manages to find his voice. ‘That was in my, er, personal capacity. I believe it is a worthwhile debate and has no bearing on my professional, er, conduct and …’ The bead of sweat is now tickling the tip of his nose. His hand moves to wipe it, but too late, and the drip plops silently onto his off-white shirt. ‘… was wholly appropriate given the current situation.’

The third panellist yawns.

Dr Potter glances at her notes. ‘There seems to be a pattern, though, with you, Doctor Lake. I see you were quite active during the last pandemic—’

‘Yes, but—’

She continues, ‘Not a particularly good fit for someone in the medical profession. Is it?’

‘I suppose not. But … I mean … this is different.’

Sir Charles strokes his beard and sits back in his chair. ‘But, Mr Lake, society needs us ... needs the institutions to remain …’

He searches for the word. Dr Potter obliges. ‘Steadfast.’

‘Thank you, Doctor Potter. Yes, steadfast. Still small voices of calm. Happy to do our bit.’

Emmerson blinks. The clock on the wall ticks once. Backwards.

Dr Potter looks at her watch. Then to her fellow panellists. Sir Charles nods almost imperceptibly.

Dr Potter clears her throat. ‘Doctor Lake. On behalf of the board, I request that you quietly and without a fuss tender your resignation.’

Sir Charles nodded again. ‘And we need that letter of apology to, er …’ He consults his notes. ‘The lady in question.’

‘But she isn’t even aware of—’

‘Not as yet, Doctor Lake. But we need to get out in front of this. May I remind you that we haven’t even discussed whether this should be referred to the police?’

Emmerson’s face flushes crimson. ‘But I didn’t really do …’ His words stick in his throat and he tries to clear it.

The clock ticks again. Again backwards. He glances at the one window of the room. The grey afternoon light has turned unnaturally brighter.

Dr Potter suddenly stands and points her finger at Emmerson. The glow from the window boils in her eyes. ‘You must confess!’

The light in the window grows more intense, the windows rattling in their frames.

Sir Charles joins Dr Potter and stands and points. This time rather robotically. ‘Confess!’

The ancient third inquisitor stands and looks out of the window at the intense orange-white light. He turns to Emmerson. ‘It’s not too late, unbeliever. Repent!’

Emmerson too begins to stand, his face now a mask of perspiration. He opens his mouth but makes no sound.

The panellists chant in unison. ‘Repent. Unbeliever. Repent!’

They all point to the light through the window.

The second hand on the wall clock is now spinning furiously in reverse as the windows rattle loudly and–

Emmerson’s eyes widen in wonder as the panellists in front of him at first begin to emit smoke before, one by one, they combust, magnesium-white cleansing flames curling around their heads and bodies. Hair and skin frazzle, eyes melt as they turn to laugh and point at the hapless Emmerson, who...

Is lacerated by the shards of glass now exploding into the room.

Emmerson is immersed in unbearable pain and ...

... opens his mouth for a final time to scream as the room and all in it are consumed.

EARLY AFTERNOON

Foetus-like, bathed in light, curled up on the forest floor, Emmerson snapped back to consciousness. He whimpered in pain as his body protested at the kicking he’d received not fifteen minutes earlier.

His eyes flicked back and forth nervously as if expecting a renewed attack. Above him the soft, distant creak of gently swaying branches and the incessant chattering of annoyingly upbeat birds helped reduce the level of panic to a mere DEFCON 2.

He made an attempt to sit up but didn’t quite succeed on his first attempt. He eased himself down once more and groaned, bathed in the slices of warm sunlight that scythed through the regiment of trees. He lifted his hand to his jaw, grunting as he rubbed it and worked it side to side. A blackening bruise now stained the underside of his chin.

Suddenly he sprang bolt upright, wincing at the thousand points of pain that sharpened his mind.

Galia!

The winter sun’s rays slow-strobed through the passing trees and caused Galia to squint. This wasn’t helping her headache. Charley supported her weight as they followed the rocky and root-cursed path that ran parallel to the stream.

Galia’s mood had not improved. She was still a little stunned from Charley’s explosive violent outburst. Maybe she should have done more to defend her poor old stalker who might or might not have killed a dog. Like what? And now she was stuck with her new rescuer-cum-vigilante who had a modest propensity for ultra-violence. She decided that the best way to handle him was with bravado. Always her emotional weapon of choice. In any case, she couldn’t exactly outrun him.

‘Could you slow the fuck down for a sec?’

‘I just wanted to get some distance. And do you really have to swear that much?’ Charley looked over his shoulder.

‘So it’s not just stalkers who have a problem with foul language.’

Charley simply shrugged.

She licked her cracked lips. ‘I could do with a drink, Charley-boy. My mouth is as dry as a nun’s thingy.’

‘I guess we left the bottle back where I found you. We’ll get something back at the car. Not sure I’d be drinking from there.’ He nodded at the burbling stream. ‘Who knows what runs off into it these days.’

Galia slowed them to a dead stop.

Charley looked at his watch. ‘Having said that, it’s not going to make much difference to you now, I guess. Two minutes. No more. This phone’s battery is about done. I’ve got a charger and spare phone in the car.’

Galia eased herself uncomfortably onto one knee at the water’s edge and scooped a palmful of cold water, while Charley rummaged through his shoulder bag. Unseen by Galia, he unzipped the syringe pouch and tried to hide his angst by clenching his jaw. Glass shards weren’t a good sign and the stain of damp residue didn’t augur well for his plans. Damn!

Galia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘What’s up? Did poor old Emmerson squish your lunch box?’

He zipped the bag back up and reengaged his smile. ‘Nothing that can’t be fixed once we get back to my car. Emmerson, eh? Even sounds like a stalker.’

They sat for a moment at the stream’s edge. The warm, sunlit-orange ripples flicked pebbles of reflected light onto Galia’s pale skin now revealed beneath the blotchy layer of makeup.

Charley flicked a pebble into the turbulent water. ‘Hard to think that in a few months’ time—’

‘What?’

‘Oh, yeah. Forgot that you forgot. What’s the last thing you remember? What do you think you did yesterday?’

Galia just sat and thought hard.

‘You know. Like you went to the movies. Or met up for lunch or something.’

‘I don’t know. It all seems a bit vague. I think I was at a nightclub. Before that …? I remember me and Scott had … words. I think I probably stormed off. Now I’m just not sure when that was.’

‘Words?’

‘I don’t know … I saw some photos on that creep’s … phone.’ She flushed, suddenly aware that she still had Emmerson’s phone. ‘He’s got quite a collection.’

‘Like what?

‘All sorts. It brought back something – the last thing I saw was a video clip of a fight with Scott. I just can’t quite finish the memory … But we’ve had fights before.’

‘I’m sure he loves you though. He’ll just want what’s best.’

Charley flashed that winning smile for her. She got close to smiling back, but couldn’t quite match Charley’s confidence that Scott still gave a toss. ‘Yeah, I know. But Emmerson told me all sorts of shit.’

‘They’ll say anything to win your trust.’

Galia and Charley sat in silence.

Charley stared at the ground for a while before he took a deep breath. ‘Come on. We gotta move. Up!’

‘Still can’t quite figure why I chose the Santa outfit. I guess I drank a lot in my previous life.’

‘Maybe because it’s Christmas Eve? I think it looks rather fetching. Bit worse for wear, though.’ He helped her to her feet and brushed the twigs and bracken from her back.

‘I must look a complete state.’

‘Nah. You should have seen the other guy.’ Charley struggled to make eye contact for more than a moment.

Galia looked up into the clear blue sky above, a little disorientated.

‘Wait a minute. Christmas …?’

‘Like crazy, isn’t it?’

Emmerson spat a loose and bloody tooth into his cupped hand. He started to put it into his pocket, then thought twice and threw it as far as he could. He grunted with pain as he twisted his body. ‘That’s a rib, then.’ He lifted his shirt to examine his side. He touched the fresh and angry red/blue bruise that seemed to cover half his torso. ‘Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.’

He pulled out his half-broken inhaler and gave it a shake before returning it to his pocket. ‘Save it.’

He drew a deep wheezy breath instead. ‘See … absolutely … fine.’ He coughed painfully before standing.

‘Whoa!’ He immediately collapsed to his knees and dropped his spinning head low.

Come on. Not the time to pass out.

Emmerson carefully tucked his shirt back into his trousers and slowly stood once more. He closed his eyes against the exquisite wave of pain.

Time to move.

‘How much longer?’ Galia asked as they meandered along the path by the stream.

‘You need to be somewhere?’ Charley looked behind them.

‘So, how long has the good doctor been … on my tail.’

‘After your tail?’

‘Yeah. When did Scott call you about my, er, unwanted admirer?’ Galia turned to him to prompt an answer. He seemed momentarily reticent.

‘God … Let’s see … Must be nearly a year at least since I took your assignment.’

‘A whole fucking year?!’

‘I guess those drugs did their trick then.’

‘What else are you not telling me?’

Charley shrugged. ‘You mean about the climate or the fate of the planet?’

‘About me and Scott.’

‘I don’t know what you don’t know. I only have a simple task and I try not to get into too much personal stuff.’

‘What am I missing, though?’

Charley paused at a junction in the track.

‘You’re lost, aren’t you?’ she asked.

‘He dragged you in deep, didn’t he?’ Charley spun around to get his bearings. The sun was dripping towards their horizon and the sky above was mottled with pink-fringed clouds. ‘Damn it! It all looks the bloomin’ same.’ He gave his phone a shake and looked once more at the map and pinched at the image on the screen to enlarge it. The flashing blue dot seemed to be as deep in the woods as ever. ‘I think the app must have frozen.’ With that, his phone beeped and expired unceremoniously.

‘Lost then,’ said Galia.

‘This way.’ He led her along the new, less-worn track. A bushier trail. Birdsong and the stridulation of crickets enveloped them.

‘Sounds like we are lost in the bush. You sure I didn’t wake up in Africa?’

‘I got a good sense of direction. Just following the sun.’

He slapped an insect from his neck. ‘Yeah, even more delightful wildlife seems to be heading north.’ He opened his palm and examined the red blotch that used to be an insect.

The path was now almost impassable. Galia winced as she stood on a bramble. ‘Some Prince Charming. You are going to have to carry me in a minute.’

He turned to look at her. That wasn’t going to happen just yet.

She muttered, ‘I’m sure you could manage.’

‘Just hang in there.’

‘We are seriously lost, aren’t we?’

‘It’s just going to take a bit longer, that’s all.’

She limped to a halt.

‘What now?’ Charley hissed. ‘Come on. You want to be stuck out here in the dark?’

She sighed and reached deep into her cleavage. ‘I have Emmerson’s phone.’

Emmerson clutched his side and limped up to the abandoned spade lying on the track some distance from a black SUV. By some miracle, he had found the main track through the forest and realised they hadn’t made it quite as deep as he had thought. He guessed that he and Galia had already unwittingly circled back by the time they encountered the dog.

And now, here was the evidence that Galia needed to see with her own eyes. Unless the guy had already killed her and scattered her body parts for the foxes. Although, on second thoughts, the psycho in black could always turn the tables and say it was Emmerson who was going to do the dirty deed. That’s what happens in movies. In any case, there’s never an easy way to prove your innocence when: a) you carry the victim of your self-admitted stalking activities deep into the woods; and b) the phone full of incriminating evidence was in the hands of that very same victim.

He hawked out a glob of half-coagulated blood and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He looked further up the track to the SUV. On the roof, one of those magnetic removable signs proclaiming FERRYMAN TAXIS glowed feebly in the afternoon light, while the aura from the ice-blue LED headlights hinted that the driver had left in an awful hurry.

His mum had always told him not to be nosey, but he guessed he could justify a quick snoop. After all, the driver had kindly left open the tailgate and a rear door. He wanted to be careful, though. Stamping his paw prints all over the evidence might not have been a wise move, even in these times of stretched police resources. Knowing his luck, they would find the time and hunt him down like a rabid dog. In the back seat was a pair of expensive-looking red high heels and a smartphone. Galia’s, no doubt. He thought about picking up the phone, but there was no point without a password. He almost reached out to touch one of the discarded shoes but swiped that slightly creepy thought from his brain.

He pulled his shirt sleeve over his hand and popped open the front passenger door. Another phone on the seat. As useful as a brick without the password or relevant face. He somehow managed to flick open the glove box with his pen. There, inside, and on top of the leather-bound car owner’s manual, a small, soft leather pouch. He’d seen one like this already and he had an idea of what he would find inside. The sight of three coloured syringes neatly aligned in their slots induced a soft whistle from Emmerson. One thing was for sure, he needed to keep them out of reach from that maniac.

He managed to squeeze the pouch into one of his trouser pockets, then grunted his way back into the undergrowth and lay in wait. He was in no fit state to attempt a trek back into the woods to find Galia and the psychopath. He just hoped they hadn’t headed in completely the wrong direction, or this could be a long wait. But, however long the wait, he made a pact with himself: If the murderer-to-be came back to finish Galia off here, Emmerson would rescue her again. And if he came back without her, Emmerson would kill him.

So he waited.

And he watched.

Charley clicked on the ‘re-centre’ icon on the map app and then zoomed out. The size of the forest became more apparent. ‘Oh, I see now. Not far.’ He couldn’t admit that, without Emmerson’s phone, they’d been more than a little off-course.

Galia groaned. ‘I don’t think I can feel my foot.’

‘It will be over soon. Luckily the stalker boy’s phone cached the map. They took GPS offline last week, but these phones are pretty smart.’

Galia pretended to get what he was talking about. ‘Oh, yeah.’

‘That long trail of crap hurtling by in space … also took out a bunch of TV networks last week.’ He reorientated the image on the screen and zoomed back in. ‘Okay. I got it now.’

‘You said that twenty minutes ago.’

They moved off.

‘Well, you aren’t exactly the swiftest of all gazelles.’

‘You’re the one with the map.’ She struggled to ignore the pain in her foot and her words were delivered through gritted teeth. She needed to keep talking and help keep her mind from thinking about the throbbing mess at the end of her leg. ‘So Emmerson said that Scott was screwing around.’

‘I wouldn’t know about what your husband got up to. We aren’t that close.’

‘With my best friend.’

‘Look, I wouldn’t believe most things that come from the mouth of that fruitcake. Especially if they want to get into your pants. Or Santa dress.’

‘But I saw the photos.’

‘Of what?’

‘On that phone. Of Scott. With … her.’

‘Photos can be misleading.’

‘I started to remember a couple of … incidents.’ She stumbled and he only just managed to hold her up.

‘Come on. Final push,’ he said.

Galia managed to hop onto one leg. ‘I really need a minute.’ She leaned back against a tree, a little breathless.

‘Seriously?’

‘If I get gangrene, I hope you remembered to bring your saw and a shot of rum.’

Charley buried himself in the map. He spun the phone through one hundred and eighty degrees and zoomed out. The glowing blue dot showed they had some way to go before reaching the road. He just hoped that the map app hadn’t frozen.

Galia idly picked at the bark of the tree. ‘Has Scott mentioned anything about …?’

‘What?’

‘Well, anything?’

‘All I know is he must care about you and …’

‘And?’

‘He’d hate to see you suffering. I know that.’

‘He said that?’

‘Come on, it’s time to get out of here. Your private life is, you know, well, kind of private.’

The phone pinged. A signal.

Galia’s eyes brightened. ‘Civilisation. You going to phone Scott?’

‘Signal’s very weak. Anyway, this isn’t my phone and I don’t have his number in my head. We do everything through an app in any case. Let’s wait till we’re back at the car.’

‘Please just let me message him. I called him earlier.’

‘The battery is nearly out. Come on, you can wait five friggin’ minutes.’

He dragged her onwards, but Galia snatched the phone from him and turned her back.

Before he could grab it back, she clicked the telephone symbol on the messaging app.

‘Galia …!’

She fended him off with her other hand. The phone was on ‘speaker’ mode, the ringing tone clear.

‘Give me the phone, Galia.’

‘I’ll be quick. Promise.’

The phone rang on. He held her free arm tightly and reached for the phone with the other.

Galia struggled, holding the phone away from Charley at arm’s length.

‘I mean it, Galia.’ He pulled the phone out of her hand as it answered.

‘Hullo.’

Galia hesitated for a second, the voice on the phone seemed so out of place.’

She offered a tentative, ‘Scott?’

Silence for what seemed an age. But then the man’s voice was clear: ‘I told you never to call …’

Galia reached for the phone and only succeeded in knocking it from Charley’s hand and onto the forest floor.

She yelled at the grounded phone. ‘Scott! I sent you a message.’

‘I really can’t talk to you anymore. Goodbye, Galia.’

Galia dived on top of the phone, protecting it from Charley. ‘It’s okay. I am with Charley—’

‘Who the fuck is Charley. And should I care?’

There was another moment’s silence.

They both stared at the phone until Galia turned to look at Charley.

Charley shook his head in an attempt to quieten her.

‘You sent him to … look after me.’

The line clicked and buzzed for a moment.

‘You sound drunk and you mistake me for someone who still gives a toss.’

Galia looked at Charley for support.

Charley shrugged.

Galia took a breath. ‘But—’

‘Enjoy what’s left of the rest of your life.’

A click and a beep ended the call. Galia rolled on her back and looked up at the sky, her eyes moist.

Charley reached down to pick up the phone and it bing-bing-binged its dying bing. She was a little out of it, but he lifted Galia gently by the wrists.

Charley dusted her down. ‘Yep! Didn’t think that would be a great idea. No phone now. That means no map. I told you—’

‘I don’t understand. You said Scott really cared. That didn’t sound like really caring.’

Charley looked about to say something consoling, but instead, he thrust the phone into his pocket and grabbed Galia’s arm.

‘Enough messing around now. Let’s move.’

Emmerson kills the car lights and coasts quietly to a stop some distance from the junction to a ragged, overgrown track which leads even deeper into the forest that surrounds him. He jumps out of his yellow vintage camper van, checks he isn’t blocking the remote narrow road, and hurries into a crouch behind the dry stone wall.

He struggles to contain his breathing as he eases his head above the stone. The dark forest ahead is fringed with a hint of predawn pink and, at a wooden gate, some distance away on the seemingly little-used track, the SUV he’d been following draws up.

Over the breeze, the crunch of tyre on dirt track drifts towards Emmerson. From somewhere in the dense woods, the first early birds are limbering up for their chorus to herald the as-yet-unseen dawn.

The man-in-black jumps out of the SUV-in-black and heads to the latch on the gate. The car headlights lend an almost theatrical quality to the scene. He glances back towards the main road. Towards Emmerson.

Instinctively Emmerson ducks out of sight, before slowly lifting his head once more. He doesn’t think he’s been spotted. The gate is now fully open and the electric SUV glides through, almost silently.

The man-in-black carefully closes the gate behind him, taking one more visual sweep for good measure. He jumps back in and the car trundles off along the track, before getting swallowed up by the equally black tree line.

Behind the wall, here in the middle of nowhere, Emmerson has a pretty good idea that Galia is in big trouble.

‘We’ve been here before, haven’t we?’

‘Shut up, Galia.’

‘Just admit it …’

‘I said—’

‘We are lost. Again.’

Charley stopped dead.

‘Thank you. My foot is killing me. Let’s just sit for a minute.’ Galia brushed off some pinkish mushrooms from the top of the large tree stump and sat.

Charley watched her for a moment, before he too sat on the stump, his back to hers.

Galia laughed. ‘Some amazing rescue mission.’ She twisted round to him and crossed her fingers. ‘You and Tom Cruise …You’re like that. You and him. You’re just a little taller.’ Galia turned back, gingerly peeled off the sock/bandage from her foot, and grimaced at the bloody mess that used to be the sole of her foot. ‘Jesus, I feel sick.’

Charley removed his backpack and fiddled with the clasp.

Galia winced as she examined her swollen foot. ‘Yeah, I wouldn’t look if I were you.’

Charley started to grumble. ‘This should have been easy.’

‘You know, I am sure I came out in a pair of Louboutins …’ She rubbed the parts of her foot that weren’t damaged. ‘So what’s the plan, detective?’

Charley slowly opened the backpack. ‘Find the car. Finish my job.’

‘And what was with Scott? That phone call …?’

‘I’m not the one married to him.’

‘Thought you said he was very concerned.’

‘Maybe it was a bad time …’

Charley unwrapped his soft leather pouch, revealing the broken, crushed syringes. There was one, yellow-tipped, that escaped the crushing weight of the stalker’s falling body. He idly picked out shards of broken glass.

‘And you said he’d be desperate to know …’

Charley said nothing, but gently dug a small indent into the soil with his heel and dropped in pieces of shattered syringe.

Galia just wouldn’t let it go. ‘When was the last time you actually spoke to Scott?’

Charley shrugged.

‘And, “Who the fuck is Charley?” Scarcely a ringing endorsement from your client. You could have spoken up. Said something.’

Charley continued to delicately clean out the pouch.

‘Well, say something!’

‘I only use a secure app. None of my clients know my real name.’

‘So he doesn’t know who Charley is? What’s your avatar then? Supertwat?’

‘I am just doing my sodding job.’ He removed the one remaining intact syringe and absentmindedly examined the fluid inside.

‘Well?’

‘Hypnos,’ he mumbled the reply.

Galia sniggered. Then the smirk vanished from her face. She sat bolt upright. ‘Hypnos …?’ The name seemed to trigger some memory … just … on the … edge of … no … It slipped from her mental grasp like a fading dream, and she shook her head and snorted. ‘You sound like an end-of-the-pier mentalist.’

Charley bristled. ‘At least I have a proper job.’

‘I deserved that.’

‘I didn’t mean that. People tell me you were really popular once.’

‘Yeah, popular with stalkers.’

‘In any case, I take my work very seriously.’

‘Yes … detective.‘

‘I realise what a responsibility I have. You have to make sure … you know, like with you.’

‘What am I missing here? It feels like I skipped a few episodes of a box set.’ She banged her head with the heel of her hand. ‘What was in that sodding drink!’

Charley’s voice was soft, almost soporific. ‘You ever seen that old movie with Jim Carrey and Kate … er … the one from Titanic …’

‘Winslet.’

‘The one where he wants to forget some crap.’

‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.’

‘I cried in that movie.’

‘And …?’

‘Anyway. I am sort of glad that happened to you.’

‘I don’t get—’

‘I got to kind of know you … from a distance. And now …’

Galia dropped her head in her hands. ‘Great! Pick up one stalker and get a second for free. Is there special on at the moment?’

‘You were kind of sad.’

‘And now I’m just kind of pissed off.’

‘So there’s no point in prolonging pain just for the sake of it.’

‘I’m not following.’

‘Take your foot. Or this whole … mess in the forest. You’d be happier not to be reminded of it every five minutes. Wouldn’t you?’

Galia began to roll on the soggy bloodstained sock once more. Thought twice, turned it inside out. No better. ‘Can we just go home now, please? This conversation is starting to give me the creeps. And my brain is not processing all this very well.’

‘And you don’t remember last night at all?’

‘Only fragments – like in a dream. But I was out of it.’

‘Exactly. The rest of us have had to live with our own constant pain, our anxiety over the past year or so, whereas you … you …’

‘I don’t care. Pain or no pain. I would just rather have my memory back, thank you.’

‘You sure about that?’

Galia massaged a bit of life into her foot.

Charley twisted his head towards her. ‘I envy you, you know.’

She grunted her way into standing again. ‘You said have a job to do. Come on then.’

‘You’ve had your life. Or a good chunk of it. As for me—’

‘I’m only forty-one, for Christ’s sake. Don’t write me off just yet.’

‘Alright, alright. But you seemed to be blowing this last part of it.’

She hobbled to the nearest tree for support. ‘Why, thank you. And …? What the fuck has this got to do with you?’

She spotted the leather pouch. A syringe? What the—

Charley continued. ‘I mean the state you were in. At the bar. Every night.’

‘I think this conversation ends now. I am getting confused over which weirdo is which. Let’s walk. It’s getting late.’

‘You almost don’t deserve this. I should just let you suffer. Take you home. Or back to the bar. Continue where you left off until …’

‘Until?’

‘Nothing. I think I might have dosed you too high with the first shot.’

‘Now I am completely confused.’

‘You know – on top of whatever was in that last drink.’ Charley stood now. Syringe in hand. ‘And now you just don’t get how lucky you were.’

‘I don’t feel particularly lucky right now.’ Galia started to move behind the tree she was leaning against.

‘You seriously don’t remember, do you?’

‘REMEMBER WHAT?! You keep asking. You mean about Scott?’

‘No. About you.’

‘Will you stop talking in fucking riddles, for God’s sake. You’re as bad as the other creep.’ She eyed the syringe. Charley hadn’t moved.

Galia’s voice was quiet now. As calm as it could be. ‘It wasn’t Emmerson, was it?’

‘Oh, he is definitely your stalker. And someone definitely slipped you a Mickey Finn. It made my job easier. Gave me the opportunity.’

‘You aren’t really a detective, are you? What are you?’

He stayed silent.

‘Oh, yes, I forgot. THE GREAT HYPNOS! Roll up, roll—’

‘Look. This isn’t easy for me either! I am trying my best to explain.’

‘You’d better tell me what’s in that fucking syringe and what’s going on, or I swear to G—’

‘This? Oh, this one’s no good for …’

‘For what?’

Charley glanced at the syringe absentmindedly. ‘Look, I wouldn’t normally do this, but I’m going to give you a choice. In the end, it’ll be up to you.’

Galia turned to run, but the pain in her foot meant she got no more than a few steps before she had to stop. ‘FUCK! Fuck! FUCK!’

Her shout caused the birds in the treetops to take flight. She looked up at the birds, envious of their easy skyward route to freedom.

Emmerson watches silently from a safe distance as the man-in-black lifts the floppy object of his obsession from the rear of the SUV. Galia’s white-fringed bright red Santa outfit seems even more garish now in the bright and cold piercing headlights of the car.

The man-in-black carries her some distance and lowers her gently to the ground.

Emmerson edges close to the cover of the tailgate of the SUV ...

As …

The man-in-black rolls out a small pouch exposing an array of what looks like multi-coloured syringes. Galia lies still and quiet ...

While …

Emmerson spots the spade in the open cargo space of the SUV. He takes one more look at the scene in the headlamps and tries to make sense of it all.

Time for action.

Emmerson grabs the spade with both hands and creeps towards the man-in-black.

Through the makeshift gag on her mouth, Galia murmurs incoherently and giggles. The man-in-black leans closer to her, gently stroking her hair.

Emmerson can only get a sense of the soothing, calming words that the man utters. But ... at least Galia is alive!

He picks up his speed, his steps muffled on the carpet of soft grass that flanks the track. He grips the spade like a baseball bat.

The man-in-black doesn’t have time to fully turn to face the sound of footsteps before the dull clank of metal against skull reverberates among the whispering trees.

The blinding light of concussion seems to be contagious and Emmerson’s vivid recall whites-out and the silence of his inner world is shattered by a distant pleading ...

‘Help!’

Emmerson jolted upright, his eyes wide. Galia’s profanities permeated the forest, damped by the heavy trees.

He knew she was close.

‘Help!’ Galia shouted and snapped a pathetically brittle and thin lower branch from the tree.

She brandished it towards Charley, who edged one step closer. ‘I don’t get it. You rescued me, only to kill me?’

‘You know, this would be the way I’d want to go – gentle into that good night.’

‘You a fucking poet now?’

‘Well, what the actual poem was saying is: don’t go quietly – keep kicking and screaming to the end.’

‘Your point?’

‘We are all going to die. Some of us kicking and screaming pointlessly against something bigger than we can possibly imagine.’

She waves her stick in his general direction. ‘You sound quite mad.’

‘I thought I was just doing my job. Badly, I guess. This was to be random. Random place, random time. No warning, feel nothing. Sweet oblivion.’

‘Stay where you are! Did Scott put you up to this? Is he honestly shagging my best friend?’

‘I really don’t know or care about that. I’m just sorry that it’s got a bit messy.’ He shrugged. His fingers toyed with the syringe as if it were a cheap pen.

‘What’s in there?’

‘Paradise.’ One step closer now.

‘You going to rape me or what?’

Charley snapped back into the prosaic.

‘Whoa! What the hell do you take me for? This is – was – just a job. Don’t they say you should never combine business with—?’

‘Rape is only pleasure for one of the participants.’

‘Hey, I was only joking. Lighten up.’

Galia looked around for something more lethal than her twig. In the meanwhile, she knew her only weapon was her voice. And her guile. She just needed to be able to think straight. It was all so confusing.

‘I’m not sure that you really want to do this. I mean, why didn’t you just finish me off when you had the chance earlier?’

‘Some oaf rudely interrupted.’

‘But now …?’

‘I had time to think. Things have changed, so now I am giving you a choice. We can talk on the way back to the car. You’ll have time to think about it.’

‘You are all heart.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And poor old Emmerson. He was right. He was trying to save me.’

‘He didn’t know the whole story. In some way, so was I.’

‘Hang on. You are being paid to bump me off.’

‘Hey! I earned that money. I had to do proper due diligence. I don’t just … do this for anyone.’

‘Glad they’re getting their money’s worth. At least Scott can carry on with his sordid affair without the anvil of me hanging round his neck!’

‘It’s not like that. This isn’t for him; it’s for you. You were destroying yourself and desperately unhappy.’

‘That’s my choice. Nothing to do with Scott, you, or any other stalker who thinks they have my best interest at heart.’

Charley pointed the syringe at her. ‘Exactly. Your choice.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Galia made up her mind and took one step towards him. She figured there must be some lack of resolve or he would have done it by now. Did he want to be talked out of it?

Buoyed on by this thought, her words flowed, her voice steady. ‘Come on. Admit it. You get a kick out of this. You’re a professional psycho.’

Charley stopped in his tracks as Galia approached.

She continued, ‘You are enjoying every minute. What’s worse is you won’t even tell me the whole truth.’

She stood close to him now, still a little unsteady as she struggled to keep the weight from her bad foot. Ignore the pain … What pain? She could take this boy on. Maybe even win.

Charley laughed. ‘Do I look like I am enjoying this?’

‘Well, maybe a little. Just be straight with me now …’

She looked down at the syringe still in his hand. ‘Before you do what you are going to do with that.’

Charley took a small step back. He knew it was involuntary. But she was quite something. He could see why she’d once had so many followers. So sad that she, like so many, had thrown in the towel. She still had a lot to give in this time of need.

She asked him straight: ‘What is my choice?’

‘I really started to like you …’

‘I am not a nice person.’

‘I get that. I mean … okay … I know the Scott shit is confusing you.’

‘And?’

‘So we have to take him out of the equation.’ He gulped. ‘Because I sort of like you.’

‘And …?’

He held his ground now. They were inches apart. ‘Okay. I’ll tell you the whole story. Firstly, suppose I tell you that there is something really, really bad that’s going to happen.’

‘What? Worse than this?’

‘For us all. And then suppose I tell you that you are one of the lucky ones. Privileged, in fact.’

‘I am really going to swing for you in a fucking minute, mate.’ She looked up to the reddening sky and screamed. A pair of meteors streaked and flashed across the sky in sync. ‘WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!’

‘My job is to take away the pain. When I tell you, you will be back with the rest of us.’

‘Give me some strength! Am I in the fucking Matrix or something?’

‘Sleepless nights, constant anxiety, constant dread … imagination drives you absolutely insane.’

Galia spun round to talk to a nearby tree. ‘I am surrounded by crazy people.’

‘That’s why I found it hard to tell you what’s really—’

She turned back to him and stepped even closer to him.

‘Have I got a terminal illness or something?’

Charley found it hard to maintain eye contact.

‘No.’

‘Dementia?’ She inched closer still.

‘I just get hired to soothe the pain.’

She backed him against a tree.

He gulped again. ‘And now it’s worse because I actually do like you.’

She softened. He’s a baby. Go easy on him … ‘Suppose I don’t want to be put out of this misery? Suppose I want to live my anxious, painful crappy life.’ She prodded him in the chest. ‘Like you.’

‘But you don’t even know what—’

‘I … don’t … care.’ She looked into his eyes and held his gaze …

He held hers right back. He dropped the syringe.

And without another word, he kissed her passionately.

Galia was too stunned to do more than take it for a moment. Wide-eyed, she snapped the pathetic twig still in her hand and it dropped to the floor. All she could think was: God, I bet my mouth tastes like one of Emmerson’s socks … Her arms, at first rigid and defensive, started to soften and she just let him kiss away … Well, it’s better than the alternative and anyway, he is pretty cute …

A strange roar emanated from just outside of her field of vision. Guttural. Animal-like. It was Emmerson at full charge, and he rammed into Charley’s shoulder, knocking him, breathless, to the ground.

For Galia, time cranked by in slow-mo, although her mind couldn’t quite piece together reality, before …

In one swift move, Emmerson scooped up the syringe, deftly flicked off the safety tip, and drove it deep into Charley’s exposed neck before he could ward off Emmerson’s rage. Emmerson’s eyes were wide and wild as he drove the plunger home. Whereas Charley’s eyes were still locked on those of Galia. Pleading for understanding. Words still unsaid. All of that.

He sat heavily on a tree stump and gently pulled the embedded needle from his neck, watched on by the other two. ‘What?’ He examined the syringe and massaged his neck. ‘You thought I’d keel over in an instant. It doesn’t work like that.’ He yawned while Emmerson pushed Galia behind him, so he stood between his nemesis and the damsel in distress.

Galia was having none of it. ‘Get off!’ She moved back and took a step towards Charley.

Charley held his hands up to Emmerson. ‘It’s okay. I’m not going to bite.’ Charley smiled, his speech just a little slurred now. ‘The neck … you watch too many movies. And I thought you were a doctor.’

Emmerson was more confident now. ‘Hypodermics can break or blunt through clothes. Your neck was nice and bare.’

Definitely slurred now. ‘Yeah … Good … point. Good … point.’

Emmerson clumsily grabbed at Galia’s arm. ‘Come on. Leave him.’

Galia slapped at his hand.

Charley slipped off the tree stump and onto the forest floor. ‘I’m just … going to … lie down for a minute.’ And he did, curling up and getting comfortable. Charley’s hand reached out towards Galia as the light dimmed from his eyes. He mouthed a word.

Sorry …

FREAK SHOW

‘The thing about being followed and/or stalked isn’t so much the worry that something awful will happen to me. It’s the thought of what I might do to them when I confront them.

I think this twat wants to be confronted. He left a trail of shit behind him the other night. Or she, let’s not be proscriptive. I have met enough crazy fellow bitches in my life.

It was late and I’d had another in a series of screaming matches with my so-called husband. It’s over, by the way. Bar the yelling. There is no point doing the divorce thang formally, as it wouldn’t even get through the courts by the time … well, you know. Anyway, that’s another story.

So, I was standing in the kitchen window alone post-scream. Scott had stormed out, no doubt off for a sympathy shag, and I looked at my distorted reflection in the big picture window. The security light was off, but I swear I caught the light of a smartphone screen out there in the dark. I thought at first it was maybe Scott pacing around in the garden, but I heard the Porsche whine and screech as it ferried its master to greener pastures. The car was even betraying me now. That’s the trouble with anthropomorphising smart technology. I bet the voice prompts will sound guilty next time I drive.

Anyhow, I was in no mood for passivity, so I thought, fuck it; this calls for action. I grabbed the nearest cast-iron frying pan and that lovely, razor-sharp, chef’s knife that had never been broken in on human flesh and bone.

The garden seemed empty at first. But my latent Girl Scout instincts drew me to the prime viewing spot for kitchen and bedroom windows. We had a nice tall hedge that bordered the garden. Very private, so we never drew the blinds.

But here, smack bang in the middle of our manicured lawn, sat a single deck chair facing the house.

Great. In glorious technicolour, my mind replayed that night’s blazing row, but then rewound to last month’s Postman Always Rings Twice scene on the kitchen worktop, then to me, alone, pissed off my head, dancing semi-naked on top of the same worktop to some vintage rock. In fact, I remember I played some awesome air guitar on the very same cast-iron pan.

Someone had the best seat in the house.

I pinged the torch on my smartphone. The security light was obviously on the blink, but I’d deal with that in a bit.

WTF.

On the grass around the deck chair: crumbs from bread, wrappers from snacks of some description, and the crusty end of a chewed Cornish pasty. I spun to shine my torch at the shadows in the hedgerow.

Maybe I only thought I saw a bush twitch and maybe I only imagined I heard a man panting. Whatever the case, you’d have been proud of me. Fearless, brave, prodding at the innocent evergreen plants with my pan and knife.

Thinking back, I guess I could easily have stabbed next door’s larking kids by mistake, but I was soooo pissed off. And the half bottle of Pinot Noir didn’t help calm me down. At least it took my mind away from thinking about my two best mates making wanton whoopee.

The only living mammal that I encountered was my neighbour’s daft moggie, who sat and watched me make a fool of myself. It didn’t seem that bothered. She licked her paw and then cleaned her cat lady bits. It was as if this furore was all part of the typical human night-time routine. She’s spent too much time around our species for her own good.

I checked the security light. The sneaky little voyeuristic bastard had managed to stick a piece of gaffer tape over the infrared sensor. I managed to knock it off with the handle of a rake and then bathed in the blindingly bright light that suddenly flooded the garden with pseudo-daylight.

My phone binged. SECURITY ALERT! Ahhh, technology to the rescue just in time. Up popped the image of me in the garden, rake in hand, shoeless, staring wide-eyed at the previously useless camera.

God, I looked like shit. Again.’

LATE AFTERNOON

Galia hobbled along the stony track as swiftly as she could. She now wore Charley’s oversized shoes which made the going a little more bearable, although every few steps she needed to work the shoes so they didn’t just fall off. She remained a few feet behind Emmerson, who wheezed his way through the trees.

He turned back to Galia. ‘Come on. Let me help you.’

‘Sod off. Let’s just get back to your car and get me out of this hell hole. Maybe then I can figure out who wants me dead.’

‘I thought I was—’

‘You thought nothing. The guy could have filled my blood with ga-ga juice and you only turn superhero when he kisses me.’

Emmerson snorted. ‘Yeah, I mean … What was that all about? Weird.’

‘Yeah. I just can’t stop thinking how lucky I am to have been scooped back into normality by Norman Bates’s love child.’

‘You think he’s dead?’

‘You’re the sodding doctor.’ She softened slightly. ‘Nah. I hope not.’

‘Well, at least you got some shoes now and we have my phone back.’

‘I guess it’s my lucky day.’

It started to rain. Warm steaming rain.

She looked up at the darkening sky as the big fat drops pinged onto her face. ‘Great. Now a bad hair day.’

Cumulonimbus clouds conspired and coagulated above. A storm was brewing.

Emmerson looked back at the limping Galia. ‘Only a bit to go. How’s your foot?’

‘Oh, fab. Much, much better. Thanks for asking.’ Her scowl said it all.

The rain was getting heavier by the second and the rumble of not-so-distant thunder commanded silence from any birds that huddled in the trees above. And then it was as if God opened a giant faucet and, even with the cover of the canopy leaves and branches, they were drenched.

A bolt of lightning crackled and singed the air with synchronous instant thunder rattling their very bones. The accompanying wind rocked the fabric of the forest and the trees swayed in eerie unison. Emmerson shouted over the increasing cacophony. ‘Do you know how many people die every year from lightning in the UK?’

‘No. Can we just walk in silence?’

‘Go on. Have a guess.’

She wiped the water from her eyes. ‘A million? Three people? Who cares?’

Emmerson replied under his breath. ‘Good guess.’ She obviously didn’t want to play this game.

Just off the main track, he noticed that the forest opened up to reveal a large clearing and a small lake. There wasn’t far to go to get back to the car, but the rain had started to chill, and large hailstones infiltrated the rain, churning the body of water ahead and instantly bruising head and exposed skin.

‘Still. Best not take chances, eh?’

He grabbed her arm and, unsurprisingly, she let him guide her to the rotten wooden hide overlooking the lake. Not many ducks to watch and no other voyeurs taking shelter.

Inside the dilapidated wooden hide, the machine gun rattle of hail made it hard to continue a conversation. That didn’t stop Emmerson from trying.

‘Do you believe in God?’ he shouted.

They sat on a rough-hewn bench at the back of the hide. Galia could swear it smelt of pee, although that could have been her companion. Emmerson toyed with the pouch of syringes.

Galia removed the shoe from her damaged foot and wiggled her toes. ‘What?’

‘God. I mean, does he have a plan? Or is he just making it up as he goes along?’

The hail turned instantly back to rain. A nearby bolt of lightning and thunder roar left behind a quieter world of the plop plop of raindrops into the pond.

Galia said, ‘If she is, she’s having a laugh.’ She looked at the pouch in Emmerson’s hands. ‘Not you too?’

‘What? Er … no, these were in his glove box. Thought I’d keep them safely out of his hands.’

‘Oh, right,’ Galia said.

He unzipped the pouch and showed her the contents.

‘You would have let him kick me to death …’

She didn’t answer.

‘… you know, back there.’ He turned to her. ‘Can’t say I blame you. What with your memory shot and all that.’ He looked down at the ground for a moment. ‘I just hope I can show you, I … er …’ His voice trailed off.

Galia seemed about to say something, but she changed her mind.

They sat in silence for a few moments watching the hail-pummelled pond surface dancing in front of them. Lightning flashes seared images of the silhouetted treeline onto their retinas. The constant rumble of thunder lent an almost primordial atmosphere.

Emmerson cleared his throat:

‘When midway through the journey of our life,

I found myself within forest dark,

because the path which led aright was lost.’

Galia turned to look at him. Emmerson placed the leather pouch on the bench, stood and performed against the backdrop of lake and rain and lightning flash.

‘And ah, how hard it is to say just what

this wild and rough and stubborn woodland was,

Which in the very thought renews my fear!’

Galia was not sure what to say. ‘You can stop now.’

‘So bitter ‘tis, that death is little worse …’

Emmerson’s captive audience slow-clapped as he sank back onto the seat in silence. She was actually impressed in a strange sort of way. She couldn’t help but smile. ‘Weirdo.’ At least she stopped thinking about her foot and gangrene for a moment.

It was pretty dark inside the hide, but Galia could tell that his cheeks were flushed.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘No, no, no. You should have gone on. Nice happy poems about death and being lost really lift my spirits.’

‘I guess Dante isn’t at the top of your reading list. Happy ending though.’

They sat without talking for a while and watched the rain, lost in their own thoughts.

Daylight was fading fast, replaced by an eerie cloud-glow.

Galia broke the silence as the rain began to peter out. ‘I know this place.’

‘The pond?’

‘I wasn’t sure before. I mean, trees are trees, but now I know where this is.’

She indulged in a sigh and took a moment. ‘Our favourite place in the world. Or at least it was.’

‘Our?’

‘I once told him – Scott – that I’d like my ashes to be scattered here.’

‘Oh …’

‘I guess that was a while ago now … Actually, I have no idea when. One year, two …?’

‘It is beautiful.’

‘Well, let’s see. For some reason, it seems to have lost its fucking charm.’

‘Oh …’

A more distant diffuse flash of lightning for a moment illuminated the sentinel trees outlining the lake. Emmerson quietly intoned, ‘One ageing hippy, two ageing hippies, three—’

‘What are you? Like three years old?’

A distant roll of thunder bounced across the pond.

Galia’s tone softened. ‘Was I really a mess?’

‘Well …’

‘The funny thing about memory loss is that it’s not like there is a black hole. As far as I am concerned, yesterday is just the last day I remember.’

‘And that isn’t … yesterday, is it? My yesterday?’

‘If you were in a coma for a year, would you know you’d been in a coma if no one told you?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘If it wasn’t for those flattering photos on your phone.’

‘Yes, but at least now you have a chance of putting your life back together. Once we get the phone charged, there’s lots more where they came from.’

‘Yay! You can just see the headline in the local rag: “Sick Stalker’s Snaps … Saves Sexy Santa’s Sanity”.’

‘I’m not sick.’

‘Go on. How would you describe yourself then?’

He thought for a moment and shrugged. They sat quietly for a minute before she looked at him and was about to say something.

He fiddled some more with the leather case.

Galia said, ‘Maybe Superhero Stalker then …?’

Emmerson managed a smile.

‘Anyway. Maybe I don’t want to see any more of that shit on your phone. Most probably it’s a year or two I’d rather forget. Now I just feel like there’s this … heavy shadow hanging over me.’

‘Look. Whatever you have heard from that maniac, whatever he said, it might not be true.’

‘He sounded pretty convinced.’

Emmerson gesticulated up to the sky. ‘This is just another attempt at control.’

A family of ducks quacked and paddled into view. The storm had passed. At least they sounded happy now.

Emmerson asked, ‘So what did he tell you?’

‘That he was being paid to … er … take care of me.’

‘Oh.’

‘Thing is. Eventually, when we got a signal on your phone, Scott said he didn’t even know who this Charley bloke was. And in any case, he sounded like he didn’t give a shit.’

‘I told you he was cheating on you. You’ve been apart for more than a year.’

Galia closed her eyes and slowly shook her head.

‘Thanks for the reminder.’

He leant in closer and put his hand on top of hers.

She turned to glare so he removed it. ‘Whatever happened in my life was and is fuck all to do with you!’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Oh yes you did. I didn’t need to know all this shit. If you hadn’t stuck your unwelcome pervy nose into my sodding business …’

He left the thought hanging for a moment. ‘You’d be dead by now?’

‘I just want to go home. Okay?’

Suddenly Emmerson doubled in pain and a spasm of coughing took him by surprise. A small rivulet of blood trickled down his lip. Galia pointed to it and he licked his lips and frowned. ‘Oh.’

They sat in awkward silence as the ducks on the pond chattered to themselves, enjoying the final splashes of rain.

‘Emmerson, I am sorry I fell for Charley’s shit.’

‘Can’t say I blame you. I mean, look at me.’

She looked at him. ‘You just need to smarten yourself up a bit. Change of diet and clothes. Haircut. You know. Maybe even a wash.’

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘And stalking random women won’t help you get laid.’

Emmerson nodded. ‘And if I had been a ruggedly handsome stalker, I might have had a shot?’

She thinks for a moment. ‘You got me there.’

He played with the leather pouch some more, absentmindedly unfastening the two straps and opening it. He pulled out one of the syringes and twirled it in the half-light. ‘I wonder what’s in this red one?’

Galia didn’t want to look. ‘You honestly think it’s Scott who wants me dead, don’t you?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. He has a new life, a new … er … woman …’ Emmerson reclosed the pouch. ‘But you might have been a bit of a thorn in his side.’ He chuckled. ‘I don’t think you made it easy for him.’

‘The first thing my friendly assassin back there told me was, he was being paid to keep an eye on you keeping an eye on me.’

‘Don’t forget that little liar threw you in the back of his SUV and drove you here to kill you. That’s all I know. Could have been for Scott. Could have been for your … Scott’s lover, I guess.’

It was Galia’s turn to nod sadly.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘My best friend. I could kill them both …’ Galia started to silently cry.

‘Yes. I was a bit insensitive. You are right, I should keep my … pervy big nose out of it.’ He moved to pat her leg but decided that would not go down all that well. The rain had virtually stopped so Emmerson stood painfully. He clutched his ribs and grunted. ‘Anyway, who knows what to believe. Post-truth world and all that.’

‘Why do I feel that you and the other monkey are keeping something from me?’

‘Look, we need to make a move. I never leave my mum for this long. But first I need to use the bathroom.’ He stepped out into the light rain.

Galia winced again as she put Charley’s shoe back on and shouted out to Emmerson, ‘What if he is dead? Charley, I mean.’

Outside, behind the hide, Emmerson was struggling to pee. ‘I’ve never killed anyone before …’ He grunted with pain, then urinated into a little puddle. The pee was laced with dark red blood. Oh, that’s not good ...

Meanwhile, Galia had reopened the pouch. She fingered the other white and yellow-tipped hypodermics. ‘You okay?’ she shouted as she picked up the white-tipped syringe and looked for somewhere to hide it.

‘Give me a minute.’

She managed to trap the syringe in the band of her bra between her cups and barely finished fastening up the pouch once more when Emmerson reappeared at the door, looking a little worse for wear.

She smiled at him. ‘You look a little …’

‘I’m okay … Guess we are both just a little tired.’

Galia pushed herself to her feet, picked up the leather pouch, and handed it to Emmerson. ‘You forgot this.’

He took it from her and smiled weakly.

‘And thanks for rescuing me, Emmerson.’

Emmerson flushed, smiled more broadly, and said nothing.

‘Come on. Your mother will be frantic,’ she said and they headed out into the evening.

The headlights on the black SUV projected their cold, blue-tinged beam through the last vestiges of fading daylight. The beam spotlighted the spade on the ground some distance away, but then dissipated and scattered into the warm cloying mist. The rain-soaked ground had already given up most of its moisture, but still, Emmerson guided Galia away from any deep puddles. With one hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow and swatted a pesky mosquito from his neck.

Galia nodded at the lonely garden tool. ‘You hit him with that?’

‘It did make a bit of a clank.’

‘Guess you didn’t hit him hard enough. I won’t ask what he was planning to dig.’

Emmerson pointed up the track and beyond the latched gate. ‘I’m parked up there.’

As they approached the SUV, Galia slowed them to a halt. There was something about that black BMW that triggered a sliver of recall.

Emmerson took a moment to catch his breath. ‘You okay?’ he wheezed.

Galia peered into the back seat. My shoes … my phone … Without warning, jumbled waves of the previous evening’s trauma washed over her. Confusion, the sour taste of a gag, the disorientating head swim from the excesses of alcohol, the rumble of the tyres over rough terrain, the repeated whistling of ‘Paint it Black’ by the Rolling Stones from the guy in the front, the sticky, fear-induced perspiration pooling on the faux-leather seats before the alarming sensation of the prick from the hypodermic as it connected with the soft tissue of her thigh … then the extended inner blackness as the burning chemical cocktail raced through her bloodstream and shut her down.

‘Oh, shit …’ Galia’s eyes flicked and rolled slightly in her head as recall collided with reality.

Emmerson reached for her just in time before she fell limp to the ground.

The young man in black guides Galia towards the waiting black SUV. The music from the club pumps and churns the night air like some rhythm from a primitive tribal ritual. Which it kind of is.

The young man’s voice is soothing. ‘You’re okay now. We’ll take care of you.’

‘I think I am going to be—’ She retches and heaves a large amount of dark liquid into the gutter.

The man pats her gently on the back. ‘There, there. Some guy spiked your drink. I’ll sort you out.’

The man pushes her head down and she forlornly struggles to resist being bundled into the rear seat.

Her voice is weak but flirty. ‘Are we going to a party now …?’

‘Best party ever.’

Looking up through the car window, Galia lies curled up across the back seats of the BMW SUV. She watches with abstract curiosity as streetlights are replaced by trees which, in turn, are replaced by blackness.

It’s all a bit blurry, but the man in the front seat leans over. In his hand is what looks like a white-tipped syringe.

‘You okay back there? You may feel a little sleepy. Just let it happen.’

Galia attempts to shake her head, but her motor skills have all but evaporated. She mumbles through the makeshift gag in her mouth. Where the fuck did that appear from? She manages only a pathetic, ‘MMMMnnnMmmmmm’

The reassuring, kind voice. ‘Just relax.’

Is this a doctor? Has she been in an accident? She squirms. She notices her hands are tied behind her back. She lies foetus-like, curled up on the back seat. MMMMMhhhMMnnn?

The man-in-black’s face is smiling at her. She blinks. He’s quite cute, really.

The face is still smiling as she feels the sting in her bare thigh as steel connects with flesh.

The strange warmth spreads from her leg through her body. She tries to smile back and then her world turns black.

‘You okay? Lost you for a couple of minutes.’

Galia took a moment to reorientate. She was upside down once more, being carried over the shoulders of a wheezing, sweating Emmerson.

‘Put me down, will you?’

They hadn’t made it that far, and Emmerson’s van remained some way off as he gently eased her back on her feet. Galia was still a little dazed as they walked on up the track. She glanced at Emmerson. ‘I’m such a stupid girl.’

‘You were drugged. These sorts of episodes can go on for days.’

‘Apparently, I was also pissed. Probably wouldn’t have made a difference.’

‘That’ll teach you. Next time order a beer in a bottle.’

‘I think little chunks of last night are being vomited into my brain. But then again it could have been any night at that bar. Was I really that bad?’

Emmerson said nothing and concentrated on helping her back to his camper van.

Galia tried to force those chunks of memory to coalesce. Only fragments made it through to her conscious mind. She blinked hard to refocus on the here and the now. ‘Anyway, thanks for the advice.’

Emmerson unlatched the heavy wooden gate that led to the road. ‘I mean … hey. What do I know? I spend most of my nights with my poor old mum. Maybe the odd dry sherry.’

She wiped a little perspiration from her head. ‘How come it’s so friggin’ warm.’

He grunted and winced as he lifted and pushed the gate open. ‘Crazy, isn’t it? Nobody cares now. Bigger things on their mind than a Christmas heatwave.’

Galia looked down at her Santa outfit. ‘Oh, yeah. Happy Christmas …’ She hobbled towards the open gate, while Emmerson clutched his side and coughed painfully.

‘Just a rib or two …’

‘Bigger things?’

‘Doesn’t make any of it true. It’s just what they want us to believe.’

‘They?’

‘First the pandemic, then the climate, and then this … you know, they just want us in a constant state of panic and fear.’

Most of the sunlight had faded, but the moon was full and the mist diffused the soft blue-white light. Enough to see by. The camper van was only a short distance away now.

Galia said, ‘So, once this is all over, how can I be sure you’ll stop watching me every time I take a dump?’

Emmerson shrugged. ‘Come on, nearly there. Nice, cosy campervan.’

‘I mean, how do I even know you won’t just …’

It was only a slight incline but Emmerson’s wheezing worsened. Maybe it was his stress levels. ‘What do you want from me?’

Galia dragged them to a halt only feet from the van. She took a step away from Emmerson.

‘You know there is nothing in the rules of stalking that says I can’t have two murderous psychos after the same thing.’

‘Hey, hey!’ He tried to grab her arms as her eyes flickered again and she started to sway. Recall fought to overlay her present.

Hey! Hey! I am so sorry. Let me—

The swarm of fellow barflies still buzzes around her.

Music pumps.

Galia struggles to string a couple of words.

She has to shout above the din.

‘No. Just piss off!’ she could hear herself say.

Blurry man produces the replacement drink in a flash.

His hands shake.

His brow boasts beads of sweat.

Vodka Coke isn’t it?

She squints and mouths a pissed-off thank you and salutes him with her glass.

He smiles. Bit old, overweight, and overdressed for a club.

Vaguely familiar. From another life perhaps.

Galia was aware of the overweight man now by her side shaking her arm. She shook her head and squeezed her consciousness back to the present.

The man was panting now. ‘Come on. We are so close now. Let’s get in, lock the doors and we can talk.’

Galia brushed off his unwanted hands.

‘Let go. The last time I got in a car—’

‘Well, that was then.’

‘That was only last night.’

They reached Emmerson’s old Camper and Galia leaned against the rusty vehicle body while he fiddled in his pockets for the key.

She asked, ‘So how do you know I wasn’t drinking beer?’

‘What?’

‘From a bottle. Like you said.’

Unseen, Galia removed the syringe from her top. Her hands shook.

Emmerson was focused on getting into his camper.

‘I was sure I put them …’

She palmed the syringe out of sight as he turned to her and grabbed at the jacket that was still draped over her otherwise bare shoulders.

‘Jacket pocket!’ He fumbled through the pockets, oblivious to the woman’s body still in the jacket. He reached into the inside pockets, inadvertently brushing against her breasts.

Galia bristled. ‘Hey!’ In her hand behind her back, she flipped off the protective tip from the hypodermic.

‘They have to be here somewhere.’ He checked his trouser pockets again and pulled out the contents, including Charley’s smaller syringe pouch. ‘Damn, damn, damn. I bet they fell out.’ He looked back at the forest. ‘Dear, dear. I am so sorry.’

‘Have you checked in the van? Looks like the interior light is still on.’ She hobbled after him, syringe in hand.

‘Good point.’ Emmerson peered through the drivers-side window and placed the leather pouch on the van’s roof. He wheezed a laugh. ‘Remind me before we drive off.’

She was over his shoulder poised to strike.

He spotted the keys. On the driver’s seat. ‘Thank God for that. Good call. I must have—’

Through the reflection of the glass, he saw movement as Galia made to plunge the needle home into the back of his bare neck.

He spun around, eyes wide and confused as she followed through. He tried to catch the object with his hand but only succeeded in grabbing her wrist as the indescribably thin hypodermic penetrated skin, fat, and cartilage, embedding itself in Emmerson’s unsuspecting trachea.

She seemed as surprised as he was. His eyes were locked on hers as he struggled to hold her hand still and make sense of what just happened.

Then, as suddenly as it flared up, the fire left her eyes and she gasped. She released her grasp on the syringe and it hung out of his neck, dangling. He tried to look down and see what was stinging his throat. But the light had faded and his chin seemed to be in the way. Damn those pasties …

She backed away from the car. From Emmerson.

‘You shouldn’t have spiked that drink.’

She remained expressionless as …

Emmerson frantically but gently attempted to locate the syringe with his probing, stubby fingers. He managed to squeeze out a word and desperately hold back his cough reflex. ‘Galia …’

Galia just stared at him, her eyes glazed now as she stared at his neck. ‘Sorry … I just want to go … home …’ She sat on the grass verge and put her head in her hands. ‘And I just can’t trust you.’

Emmerson at last got a feel for the syringe and gingerly withdrew the needle from his neck. He began to breathe again and leaned back against the car, holding the offending syringe at arm’s length. He stared at it for several seconds. Held it up to the soft moonlight. The plunger was still partly out, and the barrel miraculously seemed to have at least some of its liquid intact. He yanked the camper door open and searched frantically among the empty juice and soda bottles on the floor. A half-drunk milkshake caught his eye. Pink. Strawberry or something. He frantically unscrewed the top, took a sniff, and wrinkled his nose.

‘Oh my god.’ He closed his eyes and downed the rest of the warm gloopy, lumpy liquid.

He touched the tiny puncture wound on his neck. A minuscule globule of blood was all that remained. He closed his eyes and sank to a squat, his back against the car door.

‘Come on. Stay awake, stay awake.’ He slapped his own face and glanced at Galia, who sat staring into the middle distance.

Don’t get it ... Why, Galia? Why? We are so close …

The sour milkshake was starting to work its dark magic. With only the warning of one small belch, he put his head between his legs and noisily vomited the liquid, watching as it splashed noisily onto the ground. His eyelids began to droop. Heavy now.

Good. Okay. It was just a small dose. Not much in my bloodstream. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes ... for ... a ... minute ...

His head lolled forward before snapping back, eyes wide now. He forced a deep breath. ‘Whoa! Come on. Move.’

He forced himself up onto his feet and opened the car door again. From the driver’s seat, he reached across into the glove box and pulled out a chocolate bar. His words slurred in his own ears. ‘Medicinal purposes … promise.’ He snapped off a large chunk and greedily chomped and swallowed. Another bite and he picked up the keys then turned to Galia. ‘I think … you should … drive.’

Galia hadn’t moved, so he pushed the keys into the ignition. ‘Come on … get up. I’ll get in the passenger seat. Even better, I’ll get in the back.’ He opened the car door fully and pushed himself out, falling flat on his face. ‘So this is what it’s like to be … stoned’ He rolled onto his back and gazed up at the moon. ‘Beautiful.’

He propped himself up on one elbow before he fell back once more, then wrenched himself into the sitting position. That was as far as it went: he just couldn’t stand and so half crawled over to Galia.

She stood now and watched as he smiled up at her.

‘Galia, Galia, Galia. I only wanted to find a way to get you out of that crazy place … talk to you … you know …? I could feel your pain …’

She just nodded slowly. Part of her wanted to kick him where it hurt; part of her wanted to reach down and give him a big hug. Violated by the man who saved my life … She was confused, but couldn’t become overly sentimental. At least not right now. It wasn’t her who needed to justify her own actions. He’d crossed a line, good intentions or not. Once she got home, she could send a taxi out to get him. He’d be fine once he slept it off.

He rambled on as she stepped over him and walked up to the driver’s door.

‘I thought I could make you feel … better. Make it all go away …’ With that Emmerson curled up on the ground and went to sleep.

The almost subsonic whomp, whomp, whomp of the drum and bass beat rumbles through the doors, the walls and through Emmerson’s skull. He tries to pee, but the young, good-looking man in black is eyeing him up and down.

Strange he looks vaguely familiar …

The young man finishes and, after a shake, smiles and winks at Emmerson before going to the mirror. He checks and combs his hair.

Emmerson hurries from the toilets and scans the febrile club and the bar.

Galia, almost luminescent in her red-and-white short Santa dress, staggers her way back to the bar from the ladies' bathroom. Even viewed from across the room, the collision with that young man was so obviously contrived as to be comical. But she is unfeasibly inebriated now and completely malleable.

He helps her through the pulsating crowd to her stool and nods to the bartender. He lifts her half-drunk glass to his nose and sniffs.

Emmerson starts towards them but stops in his tracks as the man-in-black locks eyes with Emmerson and shakes his head in admonition. Don’t even think it, fat boy …

Emmerson flushes and heads for the door. He needs to watch out for her. Especially after he’d spiked her drink. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. And now that young punk is going to take advantage of her. Emmerson could bet HIS intentions aren’t honourable.

He watches the trickle of punters ooze from the doorway and glances at his watch. He attempts to lean nonchalantly against the lamp-post across the road, his phone pressed up to his ear and a finger in his other ear against the blackboard-squeal of the passing driverless taxi’s brakes. Some things never change. The swish and whine of all the other electric vehicles is a muted soundtrack after the cacophony of the club. He hates to think of the damage to his hearing.

A driverless, empty Tesla hums by, no doubt on its own way to pick up a drunken owner. A couple of giggling, staggering, underdressed girls point at this uncomfortable-looking man in his jacket and charcoal slacks. Emmerson looks and feels like a very square peg, but smiles at them and ignores the sniggered ‘pervert/creep’ refrain.

He’s heard it all before, so he just nods, and continues with his all-too-important phone call. ‘And you promise you made yourself something to eat …’

He nods again. ‘Mmhuh. Yep ... I know it’s noisy … just with some friends …’

He glances back at the girls for no particular reason as they are about to round the corner. They turn to him and in unison give him the finger before disappearing from view.

The club door opens again.

‘I promise I won’t be too late …’

Supported by the man-in-black, Galia is barely able to stand.

‘Mum. I have to go. Love you.’

He starts to follow them at a discreet distance. The man hasn’t spotted him.

‘Yes, I will. Just check you switched everything off before—’

The man bundles Galia into the back seat of a waiting black SUV with a magnetic TAXI sign atop: FERRYMAN CABS

‘Sleep well, Mum.’

He jumps as the sound of a traditional combustion engine startup close to him startles him.

He turns.

It’s a minivan.

His minivan.

He, or at least someone who looks identical to him, is in the driving seat.

Through the van window, the other Emmerson stares coldly through his doppelgänger on the street and shakes his head slowly.

The Emmerson on the street is hardly able to move, as if trapped in molasses. He opens his mouth, but no sound emerges. He just stares, confused. No! This isn’t real …

In his passenger seat is a bound and gagged Galia.

From the grass verge, the muffled crank of the minivan’s ignition nudged Emmerson closer to full consciousness. In the real world and in the real driver’s seat, Galia’s frustration was very visible. The engine turned over increasingly slowly.

‘No. No … No!’ Her voice pierced Emmerson’s alternative reality.

Through her peripheral vision, Galia sensed movement. Emmerson lifted his heavy head to look back towards her. She locked the doors.

Emmerson struggled, swaying to his feet.

The engine coughed once as the power dissipated and the battery drained. Inside, Galia listened to the rapid tick tick tick that signified the last residual heartbeats of the battery. She lowered her head and banged it onto the steering wheel.

Again.

And again.

She jumped as the pounding on the window announced the proximity of Emmerson. He opened his mouth. He couldn’t quite get the words out, but his breath steamed the glass before instantly evaporating. He mouthed the word sorry, then slid gracelessly back down onto the ground beside the van and out of sight from Galia. She lifted her head, eyes unfocused, and looked straight ahead towards the black SUV on the other side of the fence. Above the muffled silence of the padded interior, her deep and heavy breathing grew louder in her own ears. Give me strength.

Galia knew she should have felt bad about what she did to Emmerson – after all, he’d got her back to his van as he promised. But the bastard actually had spiked her drink. Who knew what he was capable of? She just needed to look after herself for now. Get back to Scott, to reality, to the truth. Figure it all out away from this madness. This waking nightmare. There’d be stuff she wouldn’t want to hear, but she could take it. Even if all this shit with Scott was true, they could talk. Then she could piece her life back together. Fragment by fragment.

She stared straight ahead. Hands rigid on the steering wheel. Seemingly willing the minivan to start moving. Outside a slight breeze gently teased the vehicle, while in the near distance, the treeline swayed ominously. She didn’t really want to leave the relative safety of this metal box, but she knew that she couldn’t stay here forever. Maybe just till morning …

Galia glanced around the interior, not looking for anything in particular.

It was pretty disgusting. Half-eaten things, half-wrapped. Half-drunk bottles of sugary sludge. There was an indeterminate cloying odour that crawled up her nostrils. She knew it would remain for days. In the glove box, a chocolate stash. She found a bar unopened, peeled the wrapper and sniffed at it before taking a tentative bite. She hadn’t eaten for a day; she might need a little energy. On the rear seat festered a mess of papers. Maybe work? Some folded sections of newspaper and a prescription for Digoxin. She picked it up. For a Mrs L Lake. At least the mother exists.

She flicked through some of the papers. A complete mix: Telegraph, Star, Guardian, Sun. None of them looked recent, but the banner headlines presented a jumbled timeline.

RIOTERS AND LOOTERS CONTROL WEST END FOR 5th DAY

A photo of a masked man outside of Hamley’s with a life-sized teddy ...

POLICE: BLUE LINE STRETCHED TO BREAKING

A police constable sitting on the steps outside St Paul’s, helmet on the ground, weeping openly ...

JEHOVAH’S WITNESSES GATHER IN WEMBLEY STADIUM

An endless crowd, eyes skywards, hands raised in supplication …

ALL THAT REMAINS IS HOPE

A sombre-looking US president at his podium flanked by two military brass ...

LOVE ISLAND FINAL SEASON: TILL DEATH DO US PART

A barely clad woman thrusts the middle finger, adorned with a diamond ring, in the direction of the camera...

Galia returns to staring out into the night. Maybe drug-induced oblivion is still an option. There was always Charley’s pouch.

All that remains is hope …

For some reason, she hadn’t yet managed to join the black dots and she was aware that there was a deeper blackness within. Something darker, something that needed to stay hidden in the shadows of her unconscious.

Galia forced herself to focus on the here and now. Sitting locked in Emmerson’s minivan with potentially destructive thoughts was not an option. The moon was brighter still and, in the near distance, Charley’s black SUV looked like something from a sci-fi movie. But its lights still shone and the doors remained open.

Maybe they were the doors to hell.

Galia tried her best to force open the driver’s door, but there was something … heavy. She clambered unladylike over the handbrake and gear shift to make an ungainly exit from the passenger side, slamming the door hard behind her. Emmerson sat slumped in a heap against the driver’s side door, his neck bent uncomfortably against this metal pillow.

She leaned over him and listened to him wheezing softly as his chest rose and fell. She almost left him where he was, but instead gently lowered him to the ground. She attempted to tuck him more safely under the chassis and off the open road. He was a dead weight and she only managed to push his head out of harm’s way.

Galia looked up and down the deserted road. ‘You’ll be fine.’ She reached up and grabbed the leather pouch of syringes from the roof, then hesitated beside her ex-stalker for a moment or two before removing Emmerson’s jacket from her shoulders and gently covering him with it. She grimaced as she reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved Emmerson’s dead phone. ‘Sorry, Doc. I might need this as evidence one day.’ Galia stood, and took a deep breath before hobbling back down the road towards the black SUV.

At the perimeter of the forest, the moonlit shadow of the treeline had etched its dark jagged shape into the rough ground. Stark. An owl hooted and Galia stirred and became gradually aware of the chirping of night insects. The sounds were several lines of latitude south of the usual rural English countryside at Christmas, but she was getting the notion that these were strange times.

High above, a solitary aircraft silently scythed across the sky. Its red and green wingtip lights twinkled through the brightening starfield, ploughing a moon-illuminated contrail in its wake. Another meteor streaked in the opposite direction before its moment of incandescent glory way up in the stratosphere.

Galia limped a quick circuit around the black BMW SUV. The open tailgate and rear door were to blame for the insistent PING PING and soft flashing dashboard light. She touched the tailgate and it whined into self-closing mode. She opened the driver’s door and sat in front of what could loosely be called a dashboard. A large electronic display dominated the centre of the vehicle. The legend POWER SAVING MODE bounced around the screen and, as she sat, the dashboard glowed dimly in welcome.

Galia inserted Emmerson’s phone into the standardised charging dock in the centre-console, then reached behind, pushed the handle, and watched as the rear door gracefully slid shut. She spotted the pair of her red Louboutins on the rear seat and her phone. A flash of recollection and there she was, coiled in that back seat, wasted and confused. She felt angry at the memory of her pathetic weakness.

She picked up her own abandoned phone, looked out to the clearing and forest, checked for movement, and then located the central locking switch on the armrest. She rewarded herself with a nervous smile at the satisfying clunk from the doors. A sickly pleasant AI voice confirmed: ‘Central locking enabled.’ There was no ignition key. Like in most new cars, there would be either some biometric witchcraft or … She saw another bright red phone on the passenger seat and swiped it. Another of Charley’s, no doubt. She remembered he’d been waving a phone around when she first saw him. This one was locked, of course.

‘Bollocks.’ She threw it back onto the seat and turned her attention to her own smartphone. Maybe the answers, some answers, would be within. She swiped up to enable Face ID and smiled inanely at the phone’s camera. There was only a trickle of a signal, but it was enough to induce the cascade of pings from waiting messages and posts.

But first she dialled 999. It induced the same message as earlier:

EMERGENCY SERVICES ARE HERE FOR YOU, BUT AT TIMES OF INCREASED DEMAND, PLEASE BE PATIENT AND CALM ...

She left the call open while she opened her messages.

The glow from the phone illuminated her eager expression as she hungrily flicked through missing chapters in her life. Starting with today.

YOU ARE CURRENTLY NUMBER EIGHTY-FOUR IN THE QUEUE ... PLEASE HOLD ...

There were five missed calls from Scott and a few messages. She felt the kindling of hope again. Hope that the whole Scott drama was just invented by a stalker who was out to destroy her. She silenced the emergency services’ current on-hold music – a tinny rendition of Ride of The Valkyries – and excitedly swiped through the messages in reverse order.

I guess u r with this Charley now. Whoever he is. So good luck with ur life. Just leave me out of it and stop calling me.

‘Shit!’

Then.

Guess u r pissed again then.

The first missed message was some hours earlier. R u in real danger or just shit-faced again and winding me up? Try calling the police. Or maybe the Samaritans.

She scrolled even further back to the previous message. It was from back in January. From her to him.

Answer me, you bastard.

And the one before that. From her.

IhateyouIhateyouIhateyou

There were more like that, but she ignored them. ‘Come on, Scotty, this is real,’ she pleaded softly and began to type frantically.

Scott. not sure what went on between us. Drink spiked and worse. Can’t remember shit.

Come on! Her thumbs trembled as she typed on.

Really have been abducted. Think Charley brought me here 2 kill me, the other guy Emmerson spiked my drink because he has this thing about me.

Galia reread the message, then backspaced to delete the line about Emmerson. ‘Nah, he’ll never buy that.’

found my phone again and locked in car for safety. Have switched on FINDME app. Enough battery in my phone.

She switched the sound back on.

YOU ARE CURRENTLY NUMBER SEVENTY-NINE IN THE QUEUE. IF THE PERSON YOU ARE WITH HAS STOPPED BREATHING—

She muted the sound again and continued with her message.

Police just 2 busy. need ur help. Unless it was u who wants me dead. :) Please. Very confused. Brain like mush. Don’t know who else 2 turn 2. Your G. X

Galia scanned the message, deleted the X.

Then the smiley emoji. Then the line about him wanting her dead.

‘Sod it.’

She replaced the X, then ... SEND.

She held her breath for a few seconds as the message struggled with the weak signal.

PING!

‘Next!’ She rummaged in the glove box. A can of energy drink. She popped it and wolfed half the can. She quietly belched, wiped her lips, and returned to the phone.

‘What else …?’

There was another app blinking for attention.

FERRYMAN.

Her heart skipped a beat. But then she just prayed it was just a cab company app. She clicked it and the screen faded to black. A face ID grid appeared on the screen.

PLEASE BLINK INTO CAMERA TO CONFIRM ID.

It was dark in the car, so she found the overhead light switch and then looked at the camera. The image of her face stunned her for a moment before she blinked involuntarily ‘Oh my God.’

Then the app binged to life. A flash screen appeared with the legend: FERRYMAN - GETS YOU TO THE OTHER SIDE.

The logo was an illustration of a calm river with what looked like a gondola and a smiling skeletal gondolier, his hand outstretched in welcome.

‘Creepy.’

Then came the messages.

‘Shit.’

Her eyes reflected the horror and realisation that the messages contained the truth.

Her eyes blurred with stinging tears.

The repeating name in the received messages was HYPNOS.

Charley.

She began to slowly type a message.

Her eyes locked on the phone in the passenger seat.

Her thumb hovered over the red SEND ENCRYPTED MESSAGE icon.

Galia swallowed hard and fixated on the silent, dormant phone beside her. Charley’s phone.

She closed her eyes tightly and pressed send.

Opened her eyes again. The phone remained silent, dark.

She shook her head and began to breathe. Maybe …

Galia made herself busy, flicked down the driver’s vanity mirror and started to wipe the streaks of running makeup from her bloodshot eyes.

PING!

She stopped wiping and stared at her reflection. Stared into her own eyes. In hope? In sadness?

Again.

PING!

Galia slowly turned in dread to the phone on the passenger seat. It glowed with the promise of a new urgent message in blood-red text.

FERRYMAN: CLIENT MESSAGE WAITING ...

Galia stared at the phone long after the message faded and the phone flickered back into standby.

She whispered, ‘Oh, fuck.’

Then she screamed as a body in black flailed itself against the driver’s side window.

The head and face of Charley materialised. Ghostly and backlit by the moonlight.

He smiled at first. Then the smile evaporated, and he hammered on the window with his fists. His face was slightly swollen, a bruise still visible on his neck. In his hand, he held the empty culprit syringe. He slowly shook his head and wagged his finger. He looked wasted, swaying and wobbling on the spot. He scrabbled at the door. The car was still locked, and the recessed handles were still flush with the car body. Galia struggled to control her ragged breathing as she pushed herself away from the door. Away from Charley’s manic expression.

He smiled again as he slowly flourished what looked like a small memory stick. In his other hand, a red-tipped syringe.

The little button on the plastic stick with the BMW logo gave the game away and Galia shook her head. ‘No. No. No …’

He depressed the red button with a certain theatrical flourish. His expression turned to one of triumph and the soft clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk would have been bad enough if the stupid female AI voice from the dashboard hadn’t chirped as he opened the door.

‘Welcome back, Charley.’

BY INVITATION ONLY

‘I just have no idea exactly when it ended up in my pocket, but I guess it was one of the dozens of blurry nights propping up the bar alone.

I know you might wonder how come I end up not being hit on every five minutes, but I guess my body language and the legend of the growling girl have something to do with it. And, yes, the pissed barfly was never one of my better looks. I hate to be alone for long, but I just can’t stand people anymore. Great combo.

I think of Paul Simon’s rather apt sentiment. Something about rocks and islands. FYI feel plenty of pain and cry quite a bit, mate.

It’s been a gradual decline to this point. I thought I was handling it all rather well. Until I wasn’t. I could have dealt with the whole Scott thing much better if I could have just rebounded into the arms and bed of someone I really fancied. But since all that other shit I went through, and with the whole end of the world thing going on, to be honest, I just couldn’t be bothered.

This was a pretty sad non-existence really and it wasn’t the way I thought I would bow out. And every time I fumbled my way to wakefulness after every evening’s binge, I had a couple of moments of cotton-wool-minded selective amnesia. But that faded fast and I was back to the reality of facing a downward spiral of dread and apprehension.

I suppose I just had too much time on my hands and I started to fixate on my shitty life and that date indelibly stamped in the diary. I overhear conversations in the bar before I get too rat-arsed. Most of them are remarkably stoic. It seems like our society has just come to a collective decision. It is what it is – let’s go out with a little dignity and just carry on with our lives.

It only made me angrier. Fuck that. I’ve taken time out from posting my show and spend my waking hours either in the club or at home thinking of all the stuff I haven’t got time to do anymore. I never really had a bucket list. Maybe it was because I sort of loved the life I had and thought it would just go on forever. Or at least until senility marshmallowed in to dull the edges.

Someone likened this to being on death row. But at least on death row, you have that glimmer of hope. And sometimes the knowledge that you probably deserved it for machete-ing the whole back row of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

What have we all done to deserve this? Okay, apart from destroying the environment, fighting endless wars, not giving a shit about the welfare of others, and spending too much time on TikTok.

Oh, and apathy. I think that’s our greatest crime and I plead guilty to that.

TBH, you wanna know the main thing that really gets my goat? The one thing that seriously pisses me off …? WHY they had to tell us. WHAT WAS THE EFFING POINT OF THAT! I never used to be scared of dying and even now it’s not the dying that’s the problem. At least in the abstract sense.

It’s knowing exactly to the minute WHEN.

That’s probably why I can’t just top myself like so many others who have jumped, electrocuted, overdosed, and slashed themselves into early oblivion. Some say it’s the coward’s way out. Yeah, right-oh. I sat there one night staring at a couple of strips of paracetamol and a rusty Stanley knife. Not a chance.

Most of us pray to the Sky Fairies that we could just slip off this mortal nonsense in our sleep, one day in the distant future. But the best thing of all, you wouldn’t know anything about it. We all know we have to bow out sometime, but for God’s sake don’t put a reminder in my calendar. (Note to self and to you, dear friend: sell all those shares in the Acme Calendar Company.)

So back to the thing in my pocket. Remember that? Well, maybe the Sky Fairies heeded my plea.

The business card was as black as my soul and carried a simple legend underneath the company logo: ‘It doesn’t have to be this way.’

No email, no phone, just a tantalisingly seductive QR code. By invitation only.

Could I allow myself that glimmer of hope, or is this just an invite to join AA?

First, I need a drink.’

Part THREE

REVELATIONS

EVENING

The image is a little grainy.

Twin beams of light illuminate the rough ground bordering the forest ahead. The beams expand and dissipate before softly caressing the jagged tree-line ahead.

The forest sways gently and the only other movement so far is that of a curious rat. He pauses on his journey, traversing the image, and turns towards the source of the light. Even at this distance, his little twitching nose is visible.

Then he bolts out of sight as the sound of a tinny voice crackles.

‘There. You are okay now. Shh. Shh.’

The thin but muffled incoherent moans of a woman add to the soundtrack of the whispering trees and night birds.

Footsteps on dirt.

A man grunts. ‘Okay. Here we go. Not much longer.’

A moth flutters through the image as Charley walks into frame, heading away towards the forest. The woman he carries is Galia. She is limp in his arms, her bright red Santa dress drowning the rest of the scene into monochrome submission.

Bound and gagged.

Her head lolls, neck cradled in the crook of the man’s elbow.

He walks a little further before kneeling and lowering Galia’s limp body to the ground. He pulls some bag or pouch from his inside pocket and opens it.

The tones of a man panting and wheezing encroach on the otherwise serene soundscape.

Scuffling footsteps.

Picking up pace.

Into the frame squeezes the back of another man. Ungainly, overweight.

Now moving towards the other two at speed.

Wielding a spade.

It is Emmerson.

Charley’s head cocks and he begins to spin back towards the approaching sound.

His face only rotates as far as a profile when the inertia of Emmerson and spade meets the solid resistance of skull.

The resounding crack seems to reverberate into the night sky as Charley’s essence melts and crumbles into a formless lump on the ground.

Charley winced. ‘Ouch! That makes sense now.’

‘You deserved it.’

He tapped the screen in front of him. ‘I was nothing if not gentle with you. The camera never lies.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Well, there you go. Let’s keep watching. This is where I came in.’

A time and date stamp on the top right of the SUV’s OLED display advances to six a.m. On the screen, Emmerson stands still for a moment, caught in the cold headlight beams.

He drops the spade and, narrowly missing Charley’s body, it hits the ground with a thump.

Emmerson squats next to Galia’s body and he bends to pick her up.

Then pauses.

For some reason, he turns around to check the body of Charley and then looks back towards the car. His overly bright eyes appear to lock with the dashcam before turning back to the woman before him.

From inside the SUV, Charley’s voice was a clear reminder of the present reality.

‘Hey! Buddy! Zoom in two times.’

The screen’s ultra-high definition image was unflinchingly detailed and now lurched closer into the uncomfortable scene.

Emmerson leans over the body to gently stroke Galia’s hair and the side of her face.

Charley turned to Galia. ‘Oh. Gross.’

‘Okay, we should maybe stop this now.’

But he didn’t stop the replay, and so they watched on for a while in silence as …

Emmerson leans down to gently kiss the unconscious Galia on her cheek, before seeming to whisper into her ear.

‘Enough!’ Galia couldn’t take her eyes off the screen.

‘Come on. You want to know what happened, don’t you?’

Emmerson begins to stroke Galia’s bare leg, before ...

Charley whispered, ‘Oh, even more gross …’

Emmerson stops mid-stroke, shakes his head, and struggles back onto one knee. He looks towards Charley’s body. He somehow manages to get his arms under Galia’s neck and knees ...

Charley didn’t seem to be taking this seriously. ‘Come on fatty, straight back now …’

‘This is so fucked up.’

It takes Emmerson more than one painful attempt to lift her.

He drops her once—

Charley couldn’t help himself. ‘Oops! Butterfingers.’

But then Emmerson gets a grip and straightens up with Galia. He looks back towards the car.

Charley’s body on the ground twitches ...

Charley banged on the armrest. ‘Come on, boy! Up!’

Emmerson turns to the forest instead.

‘He’s getting away, you fool …’

Emmerson picks up speed and doesn’t look back.

The Charley on-screen attempts to lift his head as ...

‘Pathetic!’

The Emmerson and Galia on-screen are swallowed and enveloped by the forest.

Galia’s voice was anything but steady. ‘Happy now …?’

On-screen-Charley rubs the back of his head and inspects the resulting fresh blood. He sits up and looks around before pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. He takes a couple of steps back towards the car. In the dashcam’s display, it is clear his eyes are unfocussed and they dart randomly from left to right. He turns again towards the forest and starts to lurch ahead, reaching down to grab the dropped pouch.

Charley’s commentary continued. ‘No. To your right, idiot.’

On screen, Charley stumbles, looks left, looks right, and makes the wrong choice.

Wrong direction.

In the real and present world, inside the SUV, Galia remained unnaturally still, but her moist eyes swivelled towards the man in the passenger seat.

Charley smiled. In his hand, he rested a red-tipped syringe against Galia’s neck. ‘Gripping. Can’t wait for season two.’

Emmerson strides into the sunlit clearing, effortlessly carrying the unconscious Galia. Her bright red Santa dress gloriously contrasts with the emerald green of the mossy carpet beneath them. Birds tweet, and the sky above the wide ellipse of treetops is unbelievably blue.

Upon a slightly raised dais of spongy green, he gently lowers his sleeping beauty. A soft smile paints its way across Galia’s serene and make-up-free face. And above her towers Emmerson, immaculately turned out. He straightens his tie and tugs his tailored jacket back into shape.

He smiles down benignly at his charge as Galia stretches herself sleepily awake. Her lips part, but then remain unmoving while her ethereal whisper breaks their silence. ‘You saved me …’

Emmerson kneels at her side and strokes her brow. ‘You are safe now, my love.’

Her lips still don’t move, yet her ethereal voice envelops him. ‘Where am I?’

‘In a safe place.’

Above them, the sky turns a murky green-grey. He turns his head to watch as the light fades from the sky.

Galia’s thoughts echo around him, reflected whispers from the very trees. ‘Who are you?’

Emmerson watches as a single large drop of rain drips slowly from the sky to plop on the centre of his brow.

Another older familiar voice. ‘Where am I?’

A wizened veined hand suddenly reaches for and clamps onto his arm, turning him round to face ...

His mother, lying before him on a bed in the forest. Her old and wrinkled face pale, eyes pleading. Her long grey-white hair cascades onto the pillow and takes on a slight greenish tinge from the ambient light.

‘Who are you?’

Gravity overcomes the surface tension on the drop of rainwater and the drip from his brow splashes onto the cheek of his mother. It has the colour and consistency of used motor oil.

Emmerson opens his mouth but is unable to speak.

He blinks and ...

Their positions are now instantly reversed. Bed-bound and immobile, he looks up to his mother towering above him.

Her voice is tremulous. ‘You want to send me away …’

He shakes his head silently.

A tear falls from his mother’s eye onto his face.

‘Emmy, don’t leave me …’

Another shake ...

Another drop ...

‘To die alone …’

Blink.

He looks up now at Galia’s face, somehow wrinkled. Old.

‘Help me …’ the thing whispers.

Blink.

Blink.

A real-world drop of dirty oil plopped dead centre onto Emmerson’s forehead.

Mum!

In the near blackness, he was completely disorientated. His breath quickened in panic.

He moved to sit up and cracked his head on the underside of the rusty body of his minivan. Emmerson reached out to explore his uncomfortable predicament as a kaleidoscope of images projected in rapid succession onto his inner mental canvas: A faceless woman dressed in red, wasted and alone at the bar in the club; smacking some man in black over the head with a spade; wheezing through the forest, the same woman carried in his arms; a dog; a dead man; watching a torrential rainstorm; finding the van; and then … the images stalled on a repeated loop of this woman’s wide manic eyes as she stabbed him through the neck with a syringe full of who-knows-what. He scrabbled to pull himself clear of the chassis, careful not to bang or scrape his head a second time.

Once clear, he sat for a moment, his back to the van door while he reassembled his bearings. How the hell did he get under his minivan? Why was his jacket draped over his shoulders, and why did it exude the faint aroma of a lady’s perfume? The wash of images was dissipating from his mind’s eye and he fought in vain to cling to them as they evaporated. Right now he couldn’t tell if any of it was real. Maybe his van had broken down and he’d just passed out. Could have been something he’d eaten. Maybe that’s why the whole of his abdomen felt bruised.

Out here, the moon was bright and its beam layered a silvery otherworld essence to his surroundings. It seemed hyperreal and pushed any vestiges of recent memory even further out of reach. He took in the empty road, the gate, the track to the clearing in front of what looked like an endless forest. How the heck did he get here? He didn’t even know where here was.

He touched his fingers to his throbbing head and examined them. At least there was no blood, but his brain felt like mush. Emmerson braced himself against the vehicle as he pushed himself up and onto his unsteady feet. He noticed that he was wearing no socks. His feet felt sticky inside his work shoes. Strange, he always wore socks. A memory of an injured bloody foot flickered for a moment of vivid recall. Weird.

He spent a moment taking in more detail of his surroundings. Was there anything that might spark some recall? Wait … In the clearing, someway in front of the dense chunk of inky-black forest, a black SUV was starkly backlit and outlined in the moonlit vista. He shook his head. There was something familiar about the SUV, but his addled neocortex couldn’t quite retrieve its relevance. Probably just a couple in love in a secluded romantic spot. Doing what those sorts of people do.

In the end, he just shrugged and climbed into his minivan. Inside the cab, Emmerson fumbled with the key. He needed to get home. One thing he did know was that his mother would be worried sick if he was out late. He turned the key and the courtesy light dimmed as the old combustion engine growled. It barely turned over once before the ticking of a relay told him that his battery was dead. He switched off the cab light, made sure his headlamps were off and then …

‘Come on.’

Nothing but the clicking.

He rested his pounding head on the steering wheel for a moment.

‘My phone!’

He scrabbled from one pocket to the next, increasingly frantic. He checked the passenger seat, the floor, and the back seat. No phone, but an energy drink and half a pasty. Strange. The phone never left his side. Maybe he’d dropped it under the van.

He risked a mouthful of pasty and washed it down with a glug of the fizzy sugar rush. Probably not the best choice, but he felt he needed something. He patted his pocket to check for his diabetic pen and, satisfied, rewarded himself with a rather loud belch.

On the tarmac, on his hands and knees, he tried to peer into the gloom under the chassis. He reached under and patted the area where he’d awoken. Nothing. He scoured the ground around the van and a glistening object caught his eye. It was the hypodermic needle on the end of a syringe. He picked it up and frowned. Then a blinding flash: a single frame of recall. Not enough to make complete sense: a wide-eyed girl in a Santa dress staring in the general vicinity of his neck. Her hand was over her mouth and he sensed she was shocked by something she saw. He instinctively touched his throat, now aware of a dull ache that spread from his thyroid to the bottom of his trachea. He looked again at the syringe. There was still a reservoir of liquid in there.

Emmerson gave up on trying to figure everything out right now. He needed to get up and get out of there. Maybe the couple in the black SUV could help. He took a couple of steps down the road and his legs nearly gave way. He staggered back to the car for support, leaned on the bonnet and vomited up the pasty, drink and some milky residue. Not much more to expel, he continued to dry heave for a few more contractions. That really hurt. There seemed to be a little too much pain coming from his torso.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and hoped that whoever might be in that SUV was friendly and could help him get home. He took the deepest painful asthmatic breath he could and started to walk.

Galia stared ahead. Fixated, perhaps conjuring patterns hidden in the distant tapestry of the moonlit shimmering forest. In the passenger seat, Charley swivelled towards her. The syringe in his hand was precariously close to Galia’s bare neck.

She looked like she didn’t care anymore.

Charley seemed quite wasted. ‘That stuff you squirted in me back there. Wow. That’s what it feels like. It really does what it says on the can and not even a full dose. My own secret recipe. Quite proud of myself.’

Galia folded her arms across her chest.

Charley was determined to lighten the mood. He was quite manic. ‘That’s the way I’d like to go out. Deffo. Woo-hoo!’

‘But sadly you are still here …’

‘You and I both had slightly different flavours of my custom happy juice. Unfortunately, you’d already been spiked in the bar by Mr Blobby and then I gave you a dose of my “Blonde Bombshell”. Hence …’

His free forefinger traced a circle around his temple and he whistled. ‘Luckily for us both, Bonzo only gave me a shot of my White Waster. No screwing with the memory banks.’

‘Yes, how fortunate.’

‘Where is he, by the way? Your portly, pongy prince. He dump you?

‘Let’s just say there was a compatibility issue.’

She nodded to the current brand of syringe.

‘And the one with the red tip? Not so happy juice, I guess.’

‘Ahh. Yes, I always keep a couple of spares in my pocket. For emergencies you see.’

He held the syringe up to the courtesy light. Flicked the syringe as if examining for air bubbles. ‘This one has more … er … long-lasting effects.’

Now Galia swivelled towards him.

‘Okay. Quit the Dr Evil dialogue for just a minute. I want to get this straight …’

Charley opened his mouth to say something, but she continued.

‘I have two stalkers–’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have called myself—’

‘Whatever. You followed me to the club, rescued me from … who knows what with Emmerson …’ She prodded Charley with every beat. ‘You bundled me into your death cab, stabbed me with your happy shite …’ She prodded him harder.

He flinched. ‘Ow, stop that!’

‘Were about to bury me alive—’

‘Well, technically not—’

‘When along comes my Prince Charmless – this time with his own brand of rescue – and whisks me away. After giving me probable brain damage.’ She screamed at him. ‘YOU ARE BOTH COMPLETELY FUCKING DEMENTED!’

Charley cowered a little.

Galia regained her composure and took a deep breath.

‘Now put away your little prick and take me home.’

God I am hammered. Did I drive in this condition …?

Emmerson meandered along the track, over to the gate, and fumbled with the catch. He was still some way from the black SUV, so it was impossible to tell whether there was anyone inside. The window glass was tinted, and the bright reflection of the moon made it impossible to make out anything inside.

He did his best to pull his clothes straight and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. He must have looked a pretty dishevelled sight; the last thing he needed was to creep out a potential Samaritan. They’d drive off or most likely over him. An owl hooted just to remind him of the potential lurking wild creatures of the night that might be hot on his scent right now.

Wait a minute … What if the occupants are lovers, engaged in something unsavoury? Maybe I should wait until they start to move off and not embarrass them into leaving me to fend for myself …

He paused and looked for somewhere to hunker down. He’d give them ten … no fifteen minutes to finish their … private business and, if they hadn’t moved, he would stride right up and tap gently on the window. Maybe avert his eyes, just in case.

He reflected on his own sexual inadequacy. He had absolutely no idea what it might feel like to be in the throes of passion in the middle of a deserted forest track, only to be disturbed by some weirdo that looked like your obese, awkward uncle who had probably been watching you for some time.

He killed those thoughts and scurried behind a dry stone wall and peeped over the top. Perfect vantage point.

‘I don’t think you heard me. Get me out of here,’ Galia said.

Charley willed himself into near sobriety. Galia continued to stare straight ahead. He wondered what she was fixated on.

‘I meant what I said back in the forest.’ He delivered the line softly.

‘About just doing your job?’

He replaced the safety on the tip of the syringe and made a big show of returning it to his inside pocket. ‘Look, I was a bit mad just now. Left in the forest, like that. If I hadn’t been high, I’d have probably freaked out.’

‘It wasn’t me who stabbed you in the neck. Take it up with the sick doctor.’

‘By the way the whole stabby-neck thing – there are other places.’

‘But you were—’

‘I was holding it against your neck for effect. And, besides, that one was only a dud. A practice syringe. Distilled water. Look.’ He pulled it back out of his pocket and squirted a little into his mouth for effect. ‘Mmm. Yummy. I told you I’d come clean and give you a choice.’ He pulled out another seemingly identical syringe from his other pocket. ‘However, this one with the red-tinted glass …’

‘Oh well, that’s perfectly alright then.’

‘So. What happened to your soul mate? Did he just take off or something?’

‘I gave him a taste of your medicine.’

‘Oh …’ Charley fidgeted in his seat while Galia drummed her fingers on her folded arms impatiently. He cleared his throat. ‘I did mean the bit … about liking you, though …’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. Just take me home. I need to figure all this shit out.’

He took a moment to squeeze a drop of hope out of thin air. ‘About … me?’

Galia rolled her eyes. ‘No, not about you, you halfwit.’

‘Oh.’

‘Well, some of it’s about you. Like why I’d ever ask you to, you know … do whatever you do.’

Charley looked confused.

‘You know. Drug me. Kill me. That sort of thing.’

Charley was flustered ‘Er … you asked me.’

‘Okay then, “booked your services” or whatever. You never actually met Scott, did you?’

‘Well …’

‘Or even talked to him? Outside of that call in the forest with me.’

‘I didn’t want to—’

‘Then why did you say it was Scott?’

‘I never said it was Scott. You led me down that path. It was just easier to go along with … than the alternative.’

‘You mean the truth.’

He shrugged as she unlocked her phone. ‘You weren’t in a fit state to handle that bombshell right then.’

‘Not sure I can handle it now.’

He scratched his head. ‘So you remembered, then.’

She handed him the screen with the string of encrypted messages on the Ferryman app. ‘I found my phone. And my messages to you.’

‘Oh.’

He scanned the message and turned to look at her, his face sad. He remained silent for a while.

‘Look, you were very unhappy. If I hadn’t come along, you’d have drunk yourself to death.’

She shrugged. ‘I guess so. I’ve seen the photos. I guess the Scott and Elvie thing tore me a hole bigger than I could deal with.’

‘Elvie?’

‘Oh, he happens to be shagging my best friend.’

‘Oh, that.’

‘Yes, that.

‘But that’s not the reason you wanted … you know … a way out. I take it the good doctor still hasn’t told you?’

‘I want to take the pair of you and smack your heads together so hard. Told me what?’

‘Do you believe in God, Galia?’

‘Here we go again. Are you both in some sort of cult? Can we just go now?’

‘I just want to prepare you for some bad news, that’s all.’

‘How bad.’

‘Well, put it this way. There won’t be any point in saving your decorations for next Christmas.’

‘Why is it so hard for you and Dr Faustus to just get to the sodding point?’

Galia removed her soiled sock/bandage from her foot, reached into the back seat, and grabbed her discarded Louboutins.

‘I spent the past year trying not to talk about it. Put it out of my mind. Like most people. Except people like you who decided to take the easy way …’

‘Hey, Charley boy. This doesn’t seem easy. And how much exactly am I paying you for this … service?’

‘Er … a hundred.’

‘Quid?’

‘Er, no! What do you take me for? Life’s not that cheap.’

‘Fuck me. I can’t even remember having a hundred grand.’

‘It’s the going rate. Fifty upfront. I guess being a top influencer earned you a few bucks.’

‘Parasite.’

Galia opened the door and slipped on her shoes. She grunted through the pain as she forced her injured foot into one. ‘And don’t expect five stars on sodding TrustPilot.’

‘You would have felt nothing! Blame that stupid oaf for all of this!’

She got out of the car and slammed the door behind her.

Charley clambered out of the passenger seat and followed her as she hobbled away. ‘Look up.’

She continued to walk towards the gate. Towards the road, but she eventually looked up. The sky was clear and the stars were bright. Every few seconds, a trail of a meteor streaked across the heavens.

She turned back to him. ‘And …?’

‘There is a big one in among these pebbles.’

He caught up to her and grabbed her arms.

‘Get off.’

‘Twenty-fourth of December next year. Six-fifteen and twenty seconds pm GMT.

‘And, what’s so special …’

She stopped in her tracks.

She closed her eyes.

The cascade of images increased in frequency in her mind's eye:

Sitting alone at the bar, drinking ... the bartender shushing everyone into watching any one of the dozen TV screens as the dozen different images of American football, darts, and the latest music videos were all simultaneously replaced with the same image ... the sombre address to the nation by the Prime Minister ...

The silence in the bar ...

The CG images of the rock in space ...

The surreal sickening silence in the street as she trundles, like the rest of humanity, zombie-like, aimlessly ...

Unable to call anyone ... phone lines jammed ...

Home alone on her couch again staring at the spider’s web on the

ceiling ...

In the same spot, crying, drinking, staring, crying, drinking, staring ...

Alone.

Her eyes opened in the here and now. Charley frowned in question.

In sudden realisation, she whispered to herself, ‘Jesus Christ …’

NIGHT

Emmerson ducked behind the dry-stone wall near the gate as he spotted a couple exiting the car. It was instinctive. Maybe he didn’t want to spook them, but maybe it was the sight of the woman in a skimpy Santa outfit that gave him pause for caution. She was limping ahead of the man. Maybe they’d had a fight. Although some way off, the occasional tense words and phrases drifted through the muggy night air. There was something familiar about them, but the connection only flickered for a moment. He peeked round the end of the wall and watched as the woman stopped dead, eyes closed, as the man in black hovered nearby.

She remained that way for an uncomfortable while, before ...

Emmerson could see the blasphemy leave her mouth. Jesus Christ.

From his vantage point, Emmerson watched as she sat alone on the little bank that bordered the track that led to the gate. The man hung back and gave her space. Emmerson fixated on the woman in the Santa dress. Even at this distance, he could make out her features.

He rubbed his eyes and whispered to himself, ‘What the heck …’ That looked just like his patient, the girl of his fantasies, the woman he had been … protecting for all these months. How on earth …?

A flash of recall wormed its way through the jumble of cascading thoughts. A club … She’s drunk … Santa outfit … Pounding music … Man-in-black …

His chest tightened and his wheeze was getting worse again. He sat himself against the wall and pulled the remains of his inhaler from his pocket. Weird. How did it get smashed? He couldn’t remember how.

Dead dog … Forest floor … Gasping for breath …

He shook his head to clear the images. He needed to focus on his need to breathe. He reached deeper into his pocket. He pulled out his diabetic pen, another cheap plastic Biro pen tube and a small rolled-up tube of cigarette packet cardboard.

His befuddled brain tried to make sense of the objects and how he could extract the lifesaving contents of the little aluminium canister. He forced a breath and gazed at the pen tube for a moment longer.

Of course!

Emmerson fumbled with his Heath Robinsonesque pen and tube and aluminium vial and by some miracle managed to suck at least some of the elixir into his craving lungs before the hissing stopped. He gave the little aluminium vial a shake.

Damn.

He chucked it into the grass.

He held out his hand once more. It was shaking badly now. Such a physical wreck. He grabbed the diabetic pen, lifted his shirt, and pinched a fold of his ample skin. Wait a minute … He became acutely aware of the pain in his torso. The visual cue of the dark bruises and contusions connected to a memory of being kicked and pummelled as he curled into a foetal ball. His ribs hurt; his kidneys hurt. He wished he had never looked, so instead he closed his eyes for a moment, drove home the diabetic pen, and let the insulin do its work. He held out his hand. Better. He started to put his insulin pen back into his pocket but thought twice, and examined it in the moonlight. That was the last shot.

‘Oh well. No more hot sticky toffee puddings for me tonight,’ he muttered.

Charley sat next to Galia. She had her head in her hands.

Her voice was flat. ‘I feel like I have just known all along, but I was in some sort of denial.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up. Most of us are in denial.’

‘Except that you fuckers drugged me into sweet oblivion, allowed me to see the light of hope and then—’ She snapped her fingers.

‘You’re welcome. At least you had a few hours where you weren’t thinking about the end of days. I did my best to leave you in the dark, but you just wanted the truth.’

‘Yeah. Thanks for that.’

They sat in silence as the forest creaked and groaned all around them. Then Galia turned to his ghostly moonlit face. ‘And what’s worse, I wake up to find I am a fucking coward.’

‘You’re not alone. You just chose to die the way most of us should – some unknown time and place and in our sleep.’

‘Rather than staring at the sky every night then screaming in agony as you boil alive. And you? You’re sticking it out?’

‘Remember, I haven’t had my life yet. I need to squeeze every drop ’til the pips squeak.’ He patted the pocket with the syringe. ‘Don’t forget I can always bail at the last minute. Send myself to sleep before …’ He paused in thought for a moment. ‘Hey, you did good with your life. You had a pretty big following. I checked out a couple of episodes. At least you achieved something.’

‘Yeah, right. I did nothing of any real worth. I remember that much. I’ll leave no legacy except as some vacuous so-called influencer in a world where every other talentless git was another influencer. Peddling narcissistic shite to one another. Thank God AI came along with some real original talent.’

He couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘Harsh … but fair.’

‘At least your work has a point. And it can’t be done better by a machine.’

‘Luckily for you, there will be nobody around to judge any of us for our choices. Not even AI.’

He picked at random tufts of grass on the verge. ‘Never wanted kids?’

She didn’t answer straight away. Charley detected he had touched on something.

‘I …’ She seemed on the verge of grasping at a painful memory just out of reach. In the end, the spell broke with only a slight catch in her voice. ‘Not much point, is there?’

He was quiet for a moment. ‘You know, I was a bit in awe when I found out who you were.’

She just laughed.

‘I checked out your posts. Your life seemed perfect. I thought you had it together.’

‘And now?’

He shrugged. ‘Nah.’

‘Thanks for the honesty.’

‘Hey, look, I am only doing a job. For what it’s worth, I think you’ve still got time to turn it round.’

‘Why? We’re all going to fucking die.’

‘God, lighten up. Could be worse.’

Galia pulled a sod of earth from the bank and threw it at him. ‘Don’t be an arse. Remember I am just coming to terms with this again.’

‘Well, if you are going to hang around, you are going to have to pull on your big girl pants. At least we are all in the same boat together. No need to envy the young anymore, eh? Anyway, let me know. This might be a limited offer.’

‘Thought you had a job to do. You know?’ She mimed squirting a syringe, rolled her eyes and lolled out her tongue in mock death.

‘I told you I’d give you a choice.’

‘Ha! Thanks for that. It was easier when I thought you were just some psycho killer.’

‘It’s not easy for me, too. I kiss goodbye to the fifty big ones in escrow. I was hoping to retire after this one.’

‘But if I have changed my mind …’

‘Part of my deal was to not let you change your mind. You just wanted out with no pleading your way back.’

‘Does the money matter to you that much?’

‘Not to me, but it matters to the mob who funded my little obsession with playing poker. Badly …’

They both sat silently for a short while. In the end, Galia looked up at the sky. ‘So what happened to Bruce Willis saving the day? Did we make the effort to at least try and blow the bastard up?’

‘Guess you forgot that we were hoisted by our own stellar petard. Set off a device on a rather large comet that was only minding its own business. A test to show how smart we were, so that when the big one turned up, we’d show it who was boss.’

‘And?’

‘You really don’t remember the best bit? You sure you want to be reminded?’

‘Remember, I need to make a choice. Let me guess. We created a monster?’

‘We created hundreds of them. This thing was like the size of a small planet. In any case, I think the public was so used to governments screwing up one crisis after another that this minor faux pas didn’t cause a full meltdown. I think we all just shrugged and thought: well, what did you expect? And besides, most people were just too distracted by the next bright shiny object and forgot about the big one in the sky. Turn up the social media algorithm to eleven and Joe Public returned to swiping TikTok memes. What more could they want out of life.’

‘Why didn’t we just send another one up straight away.’

Charley had picked up a handful of small pebbles and was tossing them towards the stone wall that lined the road. ‘Everyone blamed everyone else and the shouting match began, followed by an avalanche of online disinformation. Why break the habit of a lifetime? By the time they’d had the inquiry and discovered we were just magnificently incompetent, it was too late.’

‘I suppose if this didn’t get us, we’d probably have just done something equally stupid.’

Charley had spotted a discarded bottle of beer near the wall and aimed his next throw at it. ‘Like creating that perfect killer virus in a lab to save us from that perfect non-existent killer virus. Or like solving global warming by spraying that magic dust that ends up cooking us all instead.’

‘Nah … AI would have got us first. We’re a liability.’

‘Surplus to requirements.’

Galia watched in silence as Charley took aim with his last small stone.

‘Yes!’ Charley hissed his victory cry as he scored a direct hit on the bottle. He dusted off his hands and turned to Galia. ‘Yeah, but let’s look on the bright side. The earth’s slate will be wiped clean. I guess it was a good thing last time around.’

‘Huh?’

‘You know … the end of the dinosaurs and all that. Without that, we’d never have arrived on the scene.’

‘Oh yeah. And I bet the earth has been ever so grateful for all the wars, pollution, and piss-ups. We really made our sodding mark, didn’t we?’

‘I guess we did.’

Emmerson watched on from his secure vantage point. Jigsaw pieces of memory lay on his board with only a few clumps of the picture completed. His breathing was almost back to his wheezy normal as he sat reconnecting his thoughts.

Some short distance away over the dry-stone wall was the girl of his obsession. There were two things he could be certain of. He had to protect her and keep her safe. And the other thing was that the guy in black was dangerous. Emmerson touched a bruise on his ribs and sparked a frame of a memory. The guy in black was definitely dangerous. He just couldn’t quite work out why yet, or why he couldn’t remember. Maybe he’d taken a blow to the head as well.

Emmerson knew he couldn’t hide here all night procrastinating, so he looked for a way to cross the ground unseen. To get a little closer to the couple, listen in, and help wedge some more of those pieces into his memory puzzle. He peeped over the top of the stone wall. The woman had her head in her hands. They talked, but it was simply too far away to make out anything intelligible.

There was another low bank, a couple of feet tall. Closer.

Cover.

Maybe …

Galia and Charley remained in silent thought. It was Galia’s turn to skim the occasional small stone across the track. Without warning, Charley stood up straight, dusted off his trousers, and held his hand out for Galia.

‘Come on. I’ll get you home.’

Galia just looked up at him. He waited, arm uncomfortably outstretched.

‘It’s the least you can do. I paid you a shit load of cash for this.’

His hand remained where it was.

‘Well, half is in escrow in the app.’

‘And how do you collect the rest? It’s not like I could approve it when I’m dead.’

‘You don’t really want to know.’

‘Try me.’

‘It’s all in my app. Facial recognition, thermal imaging, ECG … Basically, the app knows when you are dead.’

‘You know, being buried alive because your AI fucked up is not on my list of things to do before I die.’

‘It’s not like we don’t get training.’

She took his hand, and he pulled her up. She wobbled onto her inappropriate shoes, limping as they moved towards the car. He grabbed her arm to help.

She let him. ‘So do you bury all of your favourite clients here?’

‘Er …’

‘Oh, yeah. Client confidentiality.’

‘It’s not that.’

‘You want me to feel special. That it?’

‘You’d have been my first. That’s pretty special.’

‘I’m honoured.’

They walked back towards the SUV. Galia looked up to the stars. ‘Big old dangerous universe. It’s nice out here, though,’ she said. At the car, she turned to him as he reached for the door. ‘Let’s not go just yet.’

‘I don’t understand.’

She moved closer to him.

Emmerson periscoped his head above the cover of the bank near the SUV.

The man and woman were only a few metres away now. Painfully, Emmerson worked hard to keep his breathing in check. He watched on, eyes wide, as the woman in red suddenly backed the man in black against the black SUV with the TAXI sign. He could see the confused look on his face.

He was close enough now to eavesdrop as the voices carried over the humid night air. The woman speaks. ‘Charley. You are probably the first person, apart from you-know-who, I’ve had real human contact with since who knows when.’

Charley?

‘And what about all those guys at the bar? I watched you, remember.’

‘Well, the first person when I wasn’t completely wasted.’

She had him pinned. Her face close to his.

What the hell am I watching here? Is this what dogging is like?

Emmerson looked on as the man, Charley, seemed a little unsure. Uncomfortable even. ‘I really should be getting you—’

The woman placed a finger onto his lips. Then slowly wrapped her arms inside his jacket and around his chest, her eyes locked with his.

From behind the bank, Emmerson was transfixed by the scene.

Oh. My. God. I remember. That’s Galia. My Galia.

Charley didn’t know where to put his hands and they hung awkwardly in the air for a moment. ‘I thought you didn’t want to—’

Galia took the words out of his mouth and kissed him passionately. Forcefully. Charley relaxed his arms; they drooped pathetically by his side.

She pulled away slightly. He was breathless.

She said, ‘Thank you.’

‘For?’

Her voice broke a little. ‘Giving me an alternative ending.’

In one move, and before he could gather his senses, she whipped out the more lethal syringe from his inside pocket, flipped off the safety cap, and moved away from him.

Charley was frozen to the spot. He didn’t see that coming ‘What … What are you going to do with that?

Her eyes began to moisten. ‘Actually, you are quite sweet after all …’ She beckoned him towards her and away from the car … ‘for a psycho. Now move away from the car. And sorry if my breath stinks a bit.’

‘Please. Put that thing away.’

She lifted the syringe close to her own neck. The bravado in her words was at odds with the increasing tremble in her voice and hands. ‘That’s right. Step away from the car or the broad gets it.’

‘Seriously. You don’t want to play with that. Not with that red one.’

‘But you were ready to.’

‘That was before …’

‘I know. Trying to do your job. Then trying to scare me.’

‘That stuff will burn you from the inside out before your heart arrests. You only give that one after the happy juice.’

‘Then step away. Like a good little dog killer.’ She pushed the hypodermic against her skin.

He held his open palms towards her.

She wiped the beginning of a tear from her eye with her free hand. ‘Remember. I have even less to live for than you.’

From the relative safety of the bank, Emmerson wallowed in confusion. The kiss. Then this. His muddled thinking was marginally less muddled, but the flashes of recall were all jumbled with this weird reality.

That woman in the Santa outfit was definitely Galia. The man in black was some guy called Charley. He’s a blooming kid, for crying out loud. Whatever the case, she needed help. Something clicked inside his head and before he could stop himself, Emmerson expelled a shout as he launched himself from the bank towards a doubly dumbstruck Charley.

Both Galia and Charley turned towards the source of the guttural roar as Emmerson barrelled towards them.

Charley could only mumble, ‘Oh God, not again …’ before he stretched his hands out to fend off the big man, but Emmerson’s momentum drove the air from his lungs and carried him several feet up the track. Charley struggled to combat the dead weight of Emmerson and did his best to deflect the blows from Emmerson’s flailing fists.

‘Stop it! I was trying to help her.’

Emmerson hissed from on top of him, ‘I saw how you were helping!’

‘Get off, you friggin’ maniac. She’s the one with the needle!’

‘Taking advantage—’

‘That’s the big fat pot calling the kettle—’

Galia screamed at the top of her lungs.

Night birds and vermin flitted and scarpered from nearby trees, spooked by the ear-piercing shriek. The two men stopped struggling and looked up from the ground. Galia stood before them. The hypodermic against her pale skin glistened in the moonlight. What was left of her eye makeup formed asymmetric patterns on her tear-stained cheeks.

‘Remember me?’

‘Don’t!’ Charley said.

‘What do you care?’ Emmerson grumbled.

‘SHUT UP! Both of you. SHUT THE FUCK UP!’ Galia took a step towards the SUV. She sniffed, sobbed, and laughed simultaneously. ‘Like a couple of sociopathic hormonal teenagers.’

Emmerson pinned Charley’s arms to the ground. ‘I am not the one that was about to kill you!’

Charley struggled and protested. ‘But—’

Galia had regained control of her voice. ‘I don’t sodding well care who was doing what. Although watching you on the dashcam taking advantage of this poor, unconscious, defenceless woman, I should have stabbed you in your prick rather than your neck.’

Emmerson’s confused flush was visible even in the moonlight. It was all coming back. ‘Dashcam?’ He rubbed his neck.

Charley grunted from under the crushing weight of his rival. ‘Trust me. It was gross.’

Galia seemed to be regaining control of her emotions. She wiped her face with the palm of her free hand. ‘Whatever … Charley, just get your stupid remote control for the car and throw it to me.’

‘I’d love to, but there seems to be this elephant—’

Emmerson sounded worried. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Charley-boy. Just push him off and get me the remote, or—’

Emmerson loosened his grip on Charley. ‘What’s in the red syringe?’

Charley managed to roll out from under Emmerson. ‘You don’t want to know.’

Emmerson stood and half-heartedly dusted himself down. ‘So I am a little confused. None of this seems to make sense. I must’ve banged my head.’ He rubbed it just to make sure.

‘No,’ said Galia, ‘I squirted some of his la-la juice into your throat. Sorry.’

Emmerson looked at Charley and Charley shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be back to normal in a couple of days. Promise.’

Galia held out the palm of her hand. ‘Key.’

Charley threw her the electronic fob.

She caught it with her free hand. ‘I’ll take good care of it. And, in case I don’t get a chance to say it. Thanks for the heads-up on Armageddon.’

Emmerson took a step towards her. ‘Galia. Whatever he told you may not all be true.’

She pointed at him with the red-tipped syringe. ‘About you or the end of the world?’

‘It’s the reason I didn’t mention it to you. What if it’s not true?’

Galia clicked the remote and the SUV door opened with a silky whoosh. ‘Then I’d have paid this numpty to kill me for nothing.’

‘That makes no sense.’ Emmerson looked to Charley.

‘I’m sure Charley will have plenty of time to explain about his favourite client.’

She climbed in.

Emmerson started to look worried. ‘Maybe you should stop her.’

Charley said, ‘You think you can just leave us here?’

‘I suppose that’s one way of putting it.’

The door whooshed closed and she flicked the central locking switch.

The SUV display panels glowed into life and the disembodied AI voice showed no interest in the drama of the situation.

‘Welcome, guest. Face scan is active. Your face is not recognised as an authorised driver. Please enter an override code.‘

‘Bollocks.’

Galia opened the window to the pair who were busy arguing with each other. ‘Oi! Clever Charley.’

Charley turned to Emmerson. ‘Told you.’ He walked over to the open window, a little more sure of himself. He smiled at Galia. ‘Don’t you just love technology?’

She still had the syringe in her hand. ‘I need the code or something.’

‘Or my face. I could drive you wherever you wanted. Road trip!’

‘Code.’

‘I thought you and I …’

‘What, made a connection?’

‘Maybe?’

‘You go and help Romeo there to bump-start his slightly unsanitary van, and I can get away from here and away from you two. I need to think. And sleep.’

Charley hesitated for a moment as Galia held the hypodermic against her skin, plunger finger at the ready.

‘I’ll do it, Charley, I swear.’

He stuck his head through the window. ‘Okay, Buddy. Override security for guest driver, Galia.’

The AI’s voice sounded strangely concerned. ‘Are you sure? ’

‘Yes, override.’

‘Temporary override in place. Welcome Galia.’

‘Just as well the world’s about to end, Charley … before the Terminator here takes over.’

Charley simply smiled and stepped back from the SUV, patting it on the way.

‘See you on the other side, Charley.’ Galia threw him his other phone. ‘If you get stuck, you can always call yourself a cab.’

The window closed and sealed her in with only the AI for company. ‘Please state your destination.’

Galia examined the red-tipped syringe. Her shaking hand had calmed a little. ‘Alright, give me a second.’

The reflection in the vanity mirror was not kind. She wiped at her eyes and attempted to clean up her cheeks. It made things worse, so she gave up. Through the window, she could see Charley and Emmerson slowly approach.

‘Please state your destination.’

She held up the syringe to the moonlight that streamed through the SUV’s window. The distorted moon refracted its way through the innocuous-looking liquid. She was strangely calm. ‘Sorry, Buddy, I don’t know where the fuck to go.’

As she looked up at the moon, another meteor streaked across the sky. A bigger one this time, its glow and subsequent silent explosion were bright enough to cause her to squint.

Emmerson and Charley stood side by side and stared into the night sky.

Emmerson shuffled on the spot. ‘She’s going to leave us, isn’t she?’

‘You mean leave? As in … leave? ’

They returned their attention to the SUV and its occupant.

‘Oh, not that sort of leave … I meant drive off. Should we smash a window or what? Like when a puppy is locked in a hot car,’ Emmerson said.

‘Let’s not spook her. Stay calm and we can talk her down. Besides, I love my BM,’ Charley said

‘Why did you tell her your cooked-up narrative?’ Emmerson pointed up to the sky. ‘You all fell for that. Just like that virus nonsense.’

Charley slowly approached the car. Inside, Galia unzipped the pouch containing the other syringes. He leaned close to the car. ‘Galia. I get what you are feeling. I’ve been there. We’ve all been there.’

Emmerson pulled him away from the car. Charley shrugged him off. Emmerson hissed in his face, ‘What are you talking about? You’re the one making a killing out of all this.’ He pushed in close to the window.

Inside, Galia fingered the other syringes.

Emmerson shouted through the window, ‘Forget what you heard. None of it is true. They are just trying to control us again.’

Charley yanked him away from the car. ‘They? It’s always they. Go play down your rabbit hole.’

Emmerson muttered to himself, ‘Always the same. It’s alright for those lining their pockets out of other people’s misery.’

‘At least I see things as they are.’

Emmerson suddenly doubled up and coughed painfully. He winced and hugged his stomach. ‘You really hurt me back there.’

‘Yeah. Sorry.’ He tried to lighten the mood. ‘Back then I thought you were just a creepy pervert. If I’d only known you were a conspiracy nut as well—’

The driver’s side window whirred its way open a crack.

‘Can you two just shut up and back up? I am trying to think,’ Galia said.

‘Whatever you are thinking of doing—’

‘A few hours ago you were quite happy to put me in the ground.’

‘I know, but things change. Anyway, not like this.’

‘You’re just worried about me soiling your precious seats.’

Emmerson bounded back to the window. ‘Please. Don’t do it. I am sorry for … well …’ He shrugged. ‘All that creepy stuff. But trust me, the end of the world is not nigh. You’ve got everything to live for.’

Charley nudged him in the ribs. ‘Maybe not the right thing to say.’

She closed the window once more.

Charley patted his unlikely companion’s shoulder. ‘Husband shacked up with best friend. A couple of misfits sniffing around her like lovestruck Incels and she just found that she paid one of them to put her out of her misery. She’ll be made up.’

Galia carefully placed the red syringe on the dashboard and within easy reach. She picked up her phone as Emmerson’s phone pinged from the charging port. Fully charged now. ‘I guess the answers are in there somewhere,’ she mumbled to herself.

She opened the window a sliver. Outside, the two men were pushing each other around. Charley gave Emmerson a dead arm.

‘Glad to see you two getting along. Just tell me, where the hell do I live?’

Emmerson got the last thump in and he backed off out of Charley’s reach.

‘Ouch!’ Charley rubbed his arm. ‘Obviously, you are still not in a fit state to—’

Galia picked up the syringe once more. ‘Too bad. You’ll just have to watch me die in agony right here then.’ She popped off the safety.

‘Come on, let me drive you.’

Galia inched the hypodermic back towards her bare neck. ‘Just hope I don’t empty my bowels on your faux leather seat.’

Charley was about to reply, but Emmerson beat him to it. ‘You live in Hope Close.’

Charley said. ‘Apt.’

‘Number one.’

‘Thanks,’ Galia said. ‘He’d never get the smell out. And, doctor?’

Emmerson pointed pathetically at himself in question.

‘Be a good boy and open that gate will you?’

Galia shouted out of the window at the two men, ‘I promise to write.’

Charley looked on nervously. ‘Just … drive safely. It’s not paid for yet.’

‘You’re just going to let her go, Charley?’

Charley shrugged at Emmerson.

The SUV whined into drive and accelerated at some fair clip up the long, straight, single-track road that scythed through the rest of the forest and away from them.

‘Now what?’ Emmerson folded his arms. ‘Hope you are satisfied.’

Charley punched him in the nose. Emmerson stood unmoving, unblinking. Stunned into silence. ‘That’s for telling her.’ Charley nodded at Emmerson’s camper. ‘Now stop whinging and give me a ride in your passion wagon.’

Emmerson rubbed his nose and examined his hand for blood. ‘She’s dead.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Battery. Like Galia said, we’d have to try and push it. Hope you’re feeling strong. We’d be lucky to move it off the verge.’

‘Great! Why didn’t you say so before I let Galia take off?’

Emmerson’s reply was a little nasal as he pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Not the thing most topmost on my mind. Think that syringe of death maybe had the edge.’

Charley pulled out his phone and began to walk in the same direction as his SUV. ‘One more minute and I could have convinced her to let me drive.’ The taillights cast a red glow enveloping the car as it rocketed away.

‘Yeah, I could see the confidence etched on your face.’

‘Oh, just shut up and watch this master at work.’

Charley swiped his phone’s screen, opened his SUV’s app and made the connection.

Galia glanced into the rear-view mirror. She could no longer see Emmerson’s crappy van and she slowed down a little. The long straight road cut a canyon through the city-sized forest. She’d be glad to see the back of it. She did her best to focus on the road ahead and fought hard to resist the nagging recall: her moment of awakening deep in the tangle of trees.

The gag. The blindfold. The fear.

It seemed like a lifetime ago and, at least for now, she was free of those two maniacs. Home, shower, sleep, and normality at least for a few hours. ‘Fuck the end of the world,’ she said to her reflection as she twisted the mirror just enough to see her face and allowed the semi-autonomous lump of technology formally known as a car to do the right thing. She fumbled in the glove box and found a carton of window wipes. It would probably give her a nasty rash, but her face was a make-up-streaked mess. She looked like she belonged in a different genre of horror movie, not just this waking nightmare. The combination of moonlight and dashboard light didn’t help her complexion, but she knew she had to make an effort. She’d have to get out of the car eventually and she didn’t want her neighbours to—

A red icon on the electronic dash flashed.

‘Now what.’

The AI voice sounded remarkably chipper. ‘Unknown driver: pull over when safe. Owner issued command.‘

‘Yeah right! Like hell I will.’ Why did she give him his phone back?

‘Unknown driver: Emergency stop application will be engaged in ten seconds. Please pull over safely.‘

‘Fuck off, car!’

She tapped at the screen searching for a menu. In the corner of the screen, flashed the number 8.

‘Hey … computer … er, driver override!’

6

‘Stupid machine!’

4

She tapped more furiously. Randomly.

‘Fuck.’

2

‘Fuck.’

The steering wheel took on a life of its own as the SUV slowed …

‘Please remain calm.’

Hazard lights flashed …

‘Fuck.’

… as the SUV gently pulled in safely and onto the grass verge alongside the dry-stone wall. A solitary sheep lay in the grass some yards away and stared uninterestedly at the dimming headlights.

The dull click-click-click was followed by: ‘Doors unlocked. You may leave. All internal and external cameras active and file will be uploaded to the cloud. Your actions may constitute evidence … ’

‘Oh shut up.’

‘Of criminal intent …’

‘You heard me.’

And with that, she began to pound the LED panel with the corner of her phone. The screen cracked. A myriad of strange streaks and colours splattered the display like some abstract contemporary artwork.

‘Your data protection rights will be maintained throughout this process …’

‘Die, HAL, you bastard!’

She lifted up her knee and, with the heel of her Louboutin, delivered a fatal blow to the central screen. The screen flickered to black but still the voice was not deterred.

‘Please visit our website for full details …’

‘Alright! You win, you shit. Hope you and your mates choke on the world when you inherit it …’ Galia picked up her phone along with Emmerson’s, then opened the door. ‘Whatever is left of it.’

‘Please have a safe day.’

She kicked the door as it whirred shut behind her.

The tree-lined road appeared to stretch to infinity and the soft glow from the taillights of the SUV was still visible. Emmerson wheezed alongside Charley as they headed up the slight incline. Charley did his best to set the pace and looked up at the tall dark conifers that framed the road.

He sounded remarkably upbeat. ‘Feels like we are at the bottom of some surreal abyss.’

‘Will you slow down a little? You’ve disabled your hearse now, so we can take it easy.’

‘What about Galia?’

‘And what do you care? You were paid to kill her.’

‘I only took a deposit!’

‘Aren’t you the Mother Theresa?’

Charley turned and continued to walk, but backwards, facing Emmerson.

‘At least my intentions weren’t …’

‘What?’

‘You know …’

‘Hey! I would never hurt her.’

Charley turned away again and faced the road ahead. ‘Only stalk her, drug her and shag her.’

Emmerson quickened pace and caught up to Charley.

‘What was that? You don’t know anything about me.’

‘Surprise me.’

Emmerson was a bit breathless but pushed on. ‘For a start, I am … I mean, I can’t …’

‘Can’t what?’

‘I can’t … make love …’

‘So you just stalk her, drug her and what? Take her for an ice cream.’

Emmerson had to stop. He put his hands on his knees and doubled over, coughing. He touched the dribble of blood from his mouth.

‘You really did hurt me.’

Charley stopped momentarily. ‘One less pervy stalker ain’t going to change the course of what’s left of the future.’

Emmerson forced himself upright, clutching his belly.

‘I guess you are right.’

Charley’s tone softened. He walked back to Emmerson and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘We are all flawed and mortal, my friend.’

Emmerson shrugged off Charley’s gesture and walked on, grunting with the effort.

Charley cantered up beside him again. ‘I know, I know. I lose it sometimes. No control. It was nothing personal.’

‘Let’s just walk.’

‘I’m sorry, okay?’

They walked in silence for a while. Charley turned as if to speak, but a sudden crackle and cacophony of breaking branches spiked the two men’s adrenaline.

‘Jesus!’ Charley shouted at the large frame of a rather magnificent red deer that seemed to fill their field of view. It limped, injured to the centreline of the road and simply stared wide-eyed at the equally wide-eyed Emmerson. The beast dipped its head and seemed to aim its formidable array of antlers at the men.

Charley whispered, ‘Stay very still.’

‘I am trying to, but my mind is screaming: Run and hide,’ Emmerson said.

‘I think the poor thing’s hurt.’

‘Doesn’t that just make them angrier?’

‘Shhhh. You know that King William the Second’s brother was killed while hunting stag?’

The deer clomped a couple of steps towards them. It lifted its head and snorted. The hair along its neck seemed to bristle.

Emmerson took a step back. ‘That’s a very comforting tale.’

‘No, no. He wasn’t killed by the stag.’

Emmerson just looked confused.

Charley risked a glance into the woods. ‘Maybe your running and hiding tactic isn’t such a bad option.’

The deer seemed poised to move, its magnificent head erect, chin tucked, but then:

An explosive movement from the forest and the deer and humans turned as one to face—

Charley spoke first. ‘What the …’

The two wolves, oblivious to the humans, streaked across the tarmac before the already injured deer could clear the road to the other side.

Jaws clamped around limb and neck and the deer kicked and bucked like a rodeo steer. One wolf, detached, rolled and slid towards the men. It seemed to acknowledge them before reengaging with the kill.

Charley and Emmerson were rooted to the spot as they watched on. The deer limped and dragged the attached predators to the other side of the road as growls and snarls and howls tumbled into the tree line.

Charley grabbed at Emmerson’s arm. ‘I don’t think we need to hang around.’

They scurried along the road, away from the guttural and primal cacophony. Hunter, hunted, and death.

Emmerson turned to look back as they hurried towards the still-distant SUV. ‘I thought wolves were … you know.’

‘Some smart boffins thought it was a good idea to bring them back. Balance the ecosystem. Adds a bit of frisson to your Sunday walk.’

‘Glad I didn’t know that when I …’

‘Yeah, imagine that! Galia could have been in real danger.’

Emmerson wheezed out a pathetic cough. ‘God, how much further? You think she’ll be okay?’

Charley looked ahead to the taillights of the SUV. ‘Not much further till we find out.’

‘By the way, I meant Galia and not your black carriage of death.’

‘I know, I know.’

Above their heads, clouds gathered and conspired to obscure the moon. A line of shadow inexorably rolled its way up the long strip of tarmac and engulfed them both. Now it really felt like night.

Emmerson shivered.

On top of the SUV, Galia lay on her back and stared at the moon and stars. The white-trimmed bright red of her Santa dress juxtaposed against the shiny black roof. Beside her lay the syringe and the two smartphones. The shadow that engulfed the two men some half-mile down the road now blanketed her and semi-darkness contracted her world further.

She reached for her phone. In the media app, she flicked up the menu and selected: PEOPLE. In among the annoyingly abundant pouting selfies, circled images of her limited number of friends and family smiled across the months and years. A wave of wistful sadness washed over her and she didn’t resist. It was as if a meta tag of emotion was attached to each thumbnail, made worse by the fact that much had been forgotten or erased from her recent past. She fixated on her best friend Elvie for a moment, before she finally clicked on Scott’s smiling face.

Happy photos. She flicked through a random selection.

Selfie with Scott in a restaurant. Champagne flutes in hand …

Selfie at the top of a mountain somewhere. Matching bobble hats. Smiles …

Smashed out of their minds together at some nightclub, the pulsating throng on the dance floor frozen in mid-boogie …

She clicked on an arbitrary video. It was Scott, filmed in their bed, propped up on his elbow. The sound from her phone cut through the still night and into her present.

Softly lit by bedside light, he lies on top of the duvet. Scott is naked from the waist up. His steady, solid, reassuring voice resonates from the past …

‘God, twenty years. Happiest time of my life. What can I say to the Galia of the future? I love you more than life ... No, that’s corny ... Love you more than that chocolate soufflé we had tonight …’

Her own voice, off camera, is dreamy, no doubt with a post-coital quaff of Prosecco.

‘More than that Star Wars box set you watch every bloody weekend?’

‘Have to think about that.’

She hits him with a pillow.

‘To the Galia of the future …’ He clears his throat. ‘If a man could live a million years, and meet a million lost souls, there’d be not one as sweet as the soul mate I found in you.’

Galia makes a vomiting sound. ‘Sweet? You write greeting cards or something?’

‘You’ve outed me. Anyway, this life is a better place with you around. And, future Galia, I’ll be right by your side—’

‘When the shit hits the fan?’

‘Right to the bitterest end.’

Scott grabs the phone and turns it on Galia. She pulls the duvet up just a little. She wears one of Scott’s oversized rock band Ts.

A slightly younger, happier Galia is in frame. ‘Well then, here’s to Armageddon.’

‘It would take more than that.’

On the roof of the SUV, Galia steadied her hand as she gripped the phone and watched her younger self being lied to.

The on-screen Galia smiled.

‘Yeah, fuck Armageddon!’

‘And the message to future me?’

Galia puts her finger to her lips in mock thought. Then:

‘I love you so much that if you ever left me for another woman, I’d cut off your testes and feed them to the dog.’

‘We don’t have a dog.’

‘Then I’d just get one to replace you.’

Galia is more serious now. She composes herself. ‘To the future Scott … I just can’t imagine a world without you, so if by chance you are watching this alone, I was either hit by a number 10 bus or abducted by an alien.’

The Galia on the car roof lowered the phone and looked back up to the sky. The occasional gap in the gathering of clouds revealed the odd twinkling glimpse of the heavens. The sound from the phone was still clear, but she couldn’t bear to watch.

A kiss.

Galia: ‘Die for you.’

Scott: ‘Die for you.’

Galia flicked closed the photo app. There were no tears.

She whispered to the trees: ‘Bastard.’

Emmerson leaned on Charley’s shoulder as he shook a couple of small but irritating stones from his sock-less shoe. The SUV was still a fair distance away.

Charley couldn’t help glancing at Emmerson’s foot. Even in the near darkness, it was clear that it was swollen and blistered. He distracted Emmerson as best he could. ‘Still haven’t worked out how you managed to recover so quickly. Galia thought she’d put you out for good.’

‘Yeah, she was a little upset.’

‘No shit.’

Emmerson fingered the small puncture wound on his throat. ‘Anyway, as luck would have it, she appeared to stab me in the trachea by mistake. I swallowed a fair bit, though.

Charley pulled a face. ‘Good trip?’

Emmerson shook his head and squeezed his sticky foot into the sticky leather shoe. They walked in silence for a few moments. Ahead, the SUV appeared close enough to see the form of Galia on the roof.

‘What on earth is she doing up there? If she’s put a dent in my—’

‘So were you going to bury her alive?’

Charley turned to Emmerson. ‘God, no. What do you take me for?’

‘Some sort of sociopath?’

‘A final squirt from the red syringe stops the heart. Besides, she was already unconscious. She’d have felt nothing.’

‘Wow. I bet all those years of medical training really prepared you for this.’

‘Actually, I used to be a gamer and crypto trader before it all went a bit Bruce Willis.’

‘Figures.’

‘Look, I am just performing a transaction. A service.’

‘Based on a lie.’

‘Says who? You and the flat-earthers.’

‘Remember what happened with the last pandemic? We just believed any old crap we were being fed. No questions.’

Charley rolled his eyes and snorted. ‘I should have guessed.’ He pointed to the sky. ‘You lot said the same about the climate: nothing to see here. It’s all a globalist plot hatched by Soros and Gates. Spot on there! Christmas in England just wouldn’t be Christmas without your traditional beach barbecue.’

‘You know they screwed that up as well. Spraying all that shit in the atmosphere to cool us down. That was a big success. Man’s hubris has no limits.’

‘Conspiracy theories for everything?’

‘Not a theory. So they have the world’s population scared out of its wits. For what?’

‘Well, a giant piece of frigging rock is going to smack you on the head.’

‘But even if it were true, why would you tell everybody? Why bother? If it was true there’d be nothing you could do about it anyway.’

Charley shrugged. ‘Make peace with yourself?’

‘You know as much as anyone that this lie is being exploited. There’ll be even more rich bastards when this is all over. Then they’ll tell us they got it wrong and people like you will have made a killing. Or several.’

Charley stopped in his tracks. ‘And if you are wrong?’

Emmerson shrugged. ‘Makes no odds. And if you are wrong?’

That question hung in the air. Charley picked up the pace. ‘Come on. No one’s died yet.’

‘Except the man with the dog.’

‘Actually …’

‘And the dog.’

‘Do I look like the type of person who would—’

Emmerson stole a sideways glance. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ He made a point of looking at his wristwatch. ‘However, smarty pants, they should be waking up any moment now.’

‘But I saw …’

‘We all see what we want to see, Emmerson.’

‘You are still a sociopath.’

‘Mister Sociopath to you.’

Galia sat cross-legged on top of Charley’s pride and joy. She watched on as the two men approached. Emmerson was some distance behind Charley, panting, wheezing, and wiping his brow. She toyed with the syringe. The sky had cleared again and moonlight glinted off the silvery needle. ‘What kept you?’

‘You could have removed those heels before using the top of my car as a trampoline.’

Emmerson scolded him in between breaths. ‘Shut up. We’re just glad you are okay.’

Galia said, ‘Thanks. You’re looking a bit out of shape there, big boy.’

Emmerson caught up and fingered one of the dents on the roof. He muttered, ‘They’ll just push out.’

Charley nodded to the syringe. ‘You were never going to really … you know?’

‘Probably not. Depends.’

‘On what?’

‘I have a proposition.’

He made to open the car door. ‘Let’s just get the hell out of here.’

She swung her legs over the side of the vehicle. ‘Two things. I won’t accidentally squirt your load into my body provided—’

‘I promise. I will leave you alone.’

‘Oh no. I do want you to kill me.’

Emmerson leaned heavily against the side of the SUV and rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, come on …’

Charley locked eyes with hers for a moment. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘I don’t mean right now, Charley.’

‘Let’s just go. I need some sleep.’

Galia brandished the needle playfully above her bare leg. ‘Me too. But I am serious.’

Emmerson shook his head in part disbelief. ‘Just calm down.’

Galia lowered the needle even closer to her skin. ‘I am fucking calm.’

Charley sighed. ‘It’s been a long night. Happy to talk about it in the morning. You can check the terms and conditions on our website.’ He flashed a white smile which turned to a snarl, then reached up and grabbed Galia’s arm. The one with the syringe. ‘Right now my brain hurts and now I don’t care what you do.’

‘The rest of your money is waiting in escrow. What have you got to lose?’

‘Maybe I am not cut out for this.’

Emmerson in turn grabbed at Charley’s arm and prised it from Galia’s. ‘Forget about this end-of-the-world nonsense. There is always something to live for.’

Charley turned to him and prodded him in the shoulder. ‘And what’s top of your list, loser?’

Emmerson was silent for a moment. ‘My mother. She’s alone and she means the world—’

Charley had had enough. ‘Sod this cow pat of sentimentality. I’m off to spend what’s left of my money on tequila. In Mexico.’ With that, he touched the handle of the SUV, the door whirred, opened, and he climbed in.

Emmerson said, ‘Galia. Don’t go ahead with it. Please. I promise—’

Galia put her finger to her lips. ‘Shh …’ And then pointed down into the car. ‘He may not be all that happy with me.’

‘I don’t understand.’

From within the car, a muffled bloodcurdling scream forced its way into the still night.

‘Oops,’ Galia said.

The sound of pounding, probably of the steering wheel, permeated the car body.

Emmerson squinted through the tinted glass. ‘Did you get a little dirt on his upholstery or what?’

‘Something like that,’ Galia said.

Emmerson cupped his hands and peered inside. Charley was motionless. ‘Maybe he’s waiting for us to get in.’

‘I somehow doubt that.’

Charley emerged from the vehicle. He dropped the pouch of syringes into his inside pocket and began to walk away from the car and away from them. In silence.

Emmerson looked to Galia. ‘I don’t understand.’

Charley didn’t turn back, his voice matter-of-fact. ‘Okay, Galia, you win. I’ll do it. Your contract is still active, so consider yourself already dead.’

Through the still-open door, Emmerson ducked inside the SUV. The wrecked and splintered display panel still flickered its abstract mosaic illuminating the cabin.

Emmerson asked, ‘Can’t you just drive it like a normal car then?’

Galia shook her head. ‘Probably best to leave it. Help me down.’ He reached up as Galia warned, ‘and no touching what you shouldn’t.’

Galia half jumped, but Emmerson had no strength left in him and they rolled to the ground, Galia on top of him. She leapt back up and pulled her dress straight. ‘Well, that won’t happen again.’

She reached up to the SUV roof for the phones and the solitary syringe while Emmerson coughed painfully as he attempted to sit up. He clutched his torso. ‘Sorry.’

She reached out her hand and helped him up. ‘I shouldn’t really have stabbed you in the neck.’

Emmerson was on his feet again, but he doubled over again. ‘Well, I guess I shouldn’t really have spiked your drink in the first place. Let’s call it quits.’

She started to walk, clip-clopping in her high heels, still limping. ‘You are still a creepy stalker.’

Emmerson caught up. ‘Please don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

He nodded up the road to Charley who was some distance ahead. ‘You know.’

‘Oh, I know. You want me alive, so you’ve got some obsession to keep you distracted for the next year before …’ She turned to him and exploded her hands in front of his face. ‘Boom!’

‘I told you. That’s not going to happen.’

She handed him his phone, tucking hers under the elastic centre gore of her bra. ‘There’s still nothing for me to go home to. You know that.’

Emmerson put his phone to his ear and spoke to it. ‘Call Mum.’ He still clutched his belly with his other arm. ‘At least your memory is coming back. My mother still thinks I’m at junior school. Every day she stares in the mirror and struggles to recognise—’ His voice changed pitch as the phone call was answered. ‘It’s me, Mary. Is she still awake … Yes … yes … So sorry … Yes, an accident … Don’t tell her. I’ll be back soon … Yes, I’ll cover your overtime … Can you put her on?’ He put his hand over his phone for a second and whispered, ‘The nurse. The one in the photo …’

Galia shrugged as he continued his call.

‘Mummy! Yes. It’s me. Emm … No, Emm … Yes, I know. It’s okay … That’s Mary … No, not my sister … You’ve had your supper … Good … Yes, you can read me that story when I get home …’ He coughed. Another drop of blood.

Galia glanced at it but tried not to stare.

‘Of course I’m coming home …’ He laughed. And wiped the blood away. He grimaced and squinted at some indeterminate pain. ‘Oh, behave yourself! You can be so naughty … Pass me back to Mary, Mum. Yes, the lady with you … Mum? … Mum, I love y— Mary, could you please look after her until I get back … I don’t know …’ Another cough. He grabbed his belly tighter and slowed a little. ‘And Mary? Tell her I love her and I’ll be back soon … Okay? You’re a treasure … and I am really, really sorry.’ He looked at his phone. ‘Mary? … Bloomin’ signal again.’ His voice was strained. The sound of a distant engine stopped him in his tracks. ‘A car.’ He turned back towards the source of the sound.

Galia looked at him. ‘What?’

Distant headlights bloomed but obscured the shape or size of the vehicle. It wasn’t travelling fast, but it was noisy. Heading up the long road towards them.

Emmerson perked up. ‘Great, a fellow petrol-head.’

‘I think we should hide.’

‘Hide?’

‘I mean look at the state of us. He’ll probably mow us down.’

‘I don’t care. I just need to get home to my mother.’

Ahead, Charley turned and headed back towards the pair. ‘Great. Let’s just stay calm. Okay, our SUV broke down. Simple. We need a lift to town. I ain’t walking fifteen miles if I can help it.’

Emmerson pointed to Galia. ‘And Santa baby?’

‘Just stand behind me and let me do the talking. Anyway, it’s Christmas. Time for parties.’

The noisy car wasn’t a car, but an old flat-bed Land Rover.

Charley nudged Galia. ‘And hide that syringe.’

Galia handed the red-tipped syringe to Emmerson, who dropped it into his inner pocket.

Charley regarded his fellow hitchers. ‘God help us.’

He waved merrily at the Land Rover as it rumbled towards them, slowing only a little. As it passed, the driver became visible through the side window. Flat cap. Older man. Looking a bit confused by the sight of the rabble by the roadside.

Charley couldn’t keep the panic from his voice. ‘Bollocks in a bag.’

Galia was puzzled by the sudden change in tone. ‘What?’

Emmerson got it. ‘It’s the dead man from the forest.’

Charley muttered. ‘He was never dead. Only … sleeping. He had to wake up eventually.’

‘And the dog?’

The Land Rover didn’t make it fifty yards further before screeching to a halt.

Charley was a little speechless. He opened his mouth, but there was no more sound.

Emmerson looked for an escape route. ‘What do we do?’

Charley reached for the pouch of syringes in his inner pocket.

Galia stamped her pointy shoe on Charley’s trainer and left it there. ‘Don’t even think it.’

The Land Rover clunked into reverse and whined its way back towards them. Despite the pressure on his foot, Charley continued to open his little pouch and fingered through what was left of the syringes.’

It was Emmerson’s turn. ‘Will you put them away?’

Galia ground her heel into Charley’s toes and he just smiled through the pain. He grabbed one syringe and hid it behind his back just as the Land Rover rumbled up beside them. The three of them stood frozen to the spot as the passenger side window was slowly and manually wound down. It squeaked and creaked open. The man inside leaned across.

Galia whispered to Charley through gritted teeth, ‘Don’t you dare, Charley.’

The expected moment of recognition and recrimination did not materialise. The driver seemed to take their appearance for granted. He had other things on his mind. ‘You seen my brother?’

Emmerson spoke first. ‘Sorry?’

‘My brother. He was out walking – hasn’t come home. His poor wife is frantic.’

Charley stifles a snorted giggle of relief. Galia aimed a well-placed dig in his ribs.

Emmerson said. ‘Oh, your brother, we thought …’

‘He was with his dog. Black lab.’

Galia glared at Charley, who miraculously stayed quiet.

‘Er, nope. Sorry,’ said Emmerson, ‘we only just broke down.’ He pointed back to the black SUV.

The driver spat out of his own window before turning back to look. ‘You mean that poncy electric Chelsea bloody tractor.’ He laughed a rather cynical laugh. ‘It don’t sodding surprise me.’ He thumped loudly on the Land Rover’s door. The three of them jumped in unison. ‘This thing’ll run forever. They knew how to build ’em then.’

Charley cleared his throat at last. ‘Well not quite forever …’

The man looked up at the night sky wistfully. ‘Yeah. So much for you greenies saving the planet. Thanks for that.’ He spat again. ‘So you seen him then?’

‘What’s he look like?’

‘Bit like me. Bit less good-looking.’ He snorted a humourless laugh. ‘Well?’

Charley shook his head ‘Nah. Seen no one, mate.’

The driver narrowed his eyes. ‘Why d’you ask what he looks like, then.’

Galia said, ‘Look, we are just trying to get home.’ She hoped her little-girl-lost voice did the trick.

The driver eyed them up a little more suspiciously now. ‘Have these two men hurt you?’

Galia smiled pathetically and shook her head.

Emmerson moved closer to her. ‘I beg your pardon. I am her uncle.’ He put his arm around Galia’s shoulder and she smiled at him.

Emmerson said, ‘See?’

The driver eyed the injuries on Emmerson’s face and his eyes flicked nervously to each of them in turn.

Then, without warning, Charley rushed to grab the Land Rover’s handle. ‘Come on, mate. You can’t leave us here.’

The man in the cap snarled, ‘Sod this.’

Charley opened the door just as the driver slammed the old Land Rover into gear and put his foot down. Charley hung on for a little too long. The other two watched as Charley ran alongside the vehicle and comically tried to haul himself onboard before his foot slipped on the metal doorstep.

He eventually let go of the door, but at twenty miles per hour, the ground outran him and he tumbled head over heels into the grass verge.

Galia and Emmerson hurried as best as they could and hauled the shaken Charley to his feet. They stood together and watched the Land Rover as it grumbled away into the distance.

Charley massaged his knee. ‘Bastard.’

Emmerson said, ‘Well you did inject his brother with your special sauce.’

‘Yes, but how was he to know that?’

‘And I was looking forward to that ride home.’

They all looked up simultaneously, eyes guided skywards by a blinding flash of white and orange. High above their heads, a meteor streaked earthwards through the sky.

Charley shielded his eyes from the searing light. ‘Wow.’

Galia asked, ‘Is that ‘

‘No, it’s not big enough. Just a little brother. In any case, it’s a year early.’

Then another flash and the rock in the sky fragmented into a zillion pieces as it exploded silently.

Emmerson cocked his head. ‘It doesn’t look real. How come it’s so quiet?’

Galia grabbed at his sleeve, ‘I think we should—’

Then the shock wave of the explosion rolled towards them as the sky rained fire. It was as if a giant hand stroked through the tops of the trees: a surreal Mexican wave of conifers. Heading their way.

The three of them were now rooted to the spot. Transfixed. Eyes wide as …

The first not-so-small fireball streaked down the canyon of their road through the tall trees as …

They watched the brake lights of the Land Rover engage as …

The flat-capped driver poked his head out of the window to see what …

A fireball of dense interstellar rock smashed into his car with the force of a not-so-small guided missile leaving nothing but a smouldering crater as …

The thunder crack of the supersonic shock wave threatened to shred their eardrums as …

They were knocked flat on their backs like the last three pins in a bowling alley.

The fireworks above their heads continued unabated as …

Charley shrieked. ‘Run for the trees!’

Small grenades of rock smashed into the ground all around them as they struggled to make any sort of speed.

Galia lost one of her shoes as Charley reached to grab her hand and missed. Galia stumbled and fell in a heap. Emmerson was close behind and, without a word, he threw himself on top of the speechless Galia and wrapped his big fat arms around her head. He shouted breathlessly as ballistic bullets of space rock whistled through the once-still night air. ‘Hope I am not hurting you.’

He yelps in agony as …

Shrapnel from a nearby small incendiary meteorite scythed through the air and peppered him with glowing shards of iron and alien stone, then …

Silence. Apart from the ping ping ping of cooling fragments of meteorite.

Galia was struggling to breathe under the weight of Emmerson. She managed to gasp, ‘I think it’s stopped …’ as …

Residual burning interstellar debris scorched through the treetops.

Small fires illuminated the black depths of the woods as white and red-hot projectiles lanced through the timber.

Emmerson grunted, ‘Or maybe not.’

From the relative shelter of the trees, Charley waved to them. ‘Come on, slackers!’

Emmerson struggled to get a word out as another micro-shard pierced his cheek. He spat out a tiny fragment of hot rock. ‘I can’t move.’

Galia heaved with all her strength and rolled Emmerson to one side. She looked down to see the spreading stain of pee darken Emerson’s trousers. At least she hoped it was just urine. She forced herself to her feet and reached down, grabbing Emmerson’s arm. From behind the treeline, Charley watched for a moment as Galia struggled to wrap one of Emmerson’s arms around her neck. ‘Bollocks,’ he muttered as he ran back to them.

Galia seemed to be pulling Emmerson’s arm from its socket. ‘Come on, you lump. Get up.’

‘I can’t feel my legs.’

‘Don’t be a baby. Come on, you are fine.’

‘Leave me.’

‘Fuck you.’

Charley joined her, and at last, the pair of them began to half-lift and half-drag Emmerson across the grass verge and behind the tree line.

Galia turned to Charley. She panted heavily. ‘And there was I … thinking … you … were just … a cold, heartless … dick …’

The three of them huddled tightly together. Charley threw his hands over his head as the whizz of small meteorites continued to buzz through the foliage. Fires sprang to life all around them as the crackle of burning wood masked the sounds of moaning from Emmerson. With a stick, Galia dislodged another hot ember of space rock from Emmerson’s shoulder as he lay on the ground.

There was little blood as the flesh had been cauterised by the red-hot fragments that penetrated his clothing.

‘Hey, it’s not as bad as it seems,’ she said.

Emmerson winced again. ‘Give it to me straight, doc.’

Galia avoided eye contact. ‘Seen worse.’

Charley looked round at another new conflagration. ‘As soon as it stops raining death, we need to move.’

Galia hurled him a look that forced his attention back to the man on the ground.

‘I am just saying, we’ll be roasted alive once any of these fires take hold.’

Emmerson coughed painfully.

Galia smiled without humour. ‘Sure you’ll be just fine, Charley. You’ve always got your get-out-of-jail jabs. ‘

Charley looked down at Emmerson. ‘Hey, conspiracy boy! So glad this isn’t real. Pretty convincing special effects, though …’

Emmerson struggled but managed a word or two: ‘My mum …’

Galia glared at Charley and shook her head.

The monochrome moonlight had drained most of the world of all colour, but now a surreal pulsating orange glow caressed the treetops. Wood smoke snaked across the narrow road while the sound of crackling trees warned of the unseen lethal threat.

Galia and Charley struggled to support Emmerson as they staggered up the centreline of the road. They walked in silence, their slow journey punctuated by the sound of a mortally wounded forest and the wheezes and groans from Emmerson.

For a moment his legs gave way. His trousers were stained dark from the rivulets of blood that trickled down his leg.

Galia pretended not to notice. ‘Hey, come on, Emmerson.’

Emmerson was sounding a little delirious, but he made the effort. ‘Reminds me. Hitchcock used Hershey's chocolate sauce for blood. You think that’s what’s really running down my leg?’

Charley said. ‘Probably piss. Don’t worry about it.’

Ahead lay the smouldering remains of what used to be a Land Rover. On the tarmac, the driver’s body was black, his lips burned back revealing the rictus of an ironic smile.

Emmerson croaked a pathetic laugh. ‘And I thought he had changed his mind. Didn’t want a ride with him in any case.’

Galia’s eyes tried and failed to look away from what used to be a body. ‘Yeah. Those old Land Rovers are uncomfortable as hell.’

Charley said, ‘Just shut up and walk. That could well be us in half an hour if we don’t clear the forest.’

‘Always the party pooper,’ Emmerson said as he coughed up a little more blood.

The sound of crackling had metamorphosed into a not-so-distant roar. Charley turned to look back as, not that far from them, flames leapt across the road.

Their going was slow. Emmerson struggled to breathe. He turned to Galia. ‘You know, I think you’re a blooming coward.’

Perspiration glistened on her brow and ran into her eyes. She wiped them with the back of her free hand as she helped keep the doctor upright. ‘What?’

‘You think it’s all about you. Don’t you?’

‘Save your breath, Emmerson.’

‘I mean, come on. You’re not the only one who’s got to go through this shitty life.’

‘That’s true. That doesn’t mean I should just suffer for the sake of it. It doesn’t help anyone.’

‘Some of us don’t have a way to buy ourselves out of pain.’

‘We all have a choice.’

‘You could have chosen to give fifty grand to an orphanage in Kuala Lumpur instead of to Harold Shipman here.’

Charley didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Keep me out of this. Just concentrate on walking.’

‘The orphans will be dead in a year anyway. Just like me and you.’

‘Just … please … don’t go through with … Stick around with the rest of humanity. Anything else is just self-indulgence.’

Charley said, ‘There goes my business model.’

Galia said, ‘He wasn’t talking to you.’

‘He’s just trying to make us feel bad. Now is not the time.’

Emmerson turned to Charley. ‘It was said that the best way to get rid of the pain is to feel the pain.’

‘What does that even mean?’

Emmerson coughed. ‘I don’t actually know. Ask Deepak Chopra.’

Charley was non-plussed. ‘He’s rambling. Can’t you shut him up?’

Emmerson wouldn’t. ‘You just want a few more quid out of someone else’s suffering.’

‘I told you both. My job is … was to help people in pain. People like Galia.’

‘Yeah. We know,’ Galia said.

Emmerson coughed again and this time his legs fully gave way. He crumpled on the grass verge and his companions eased him to his knees. ‘Whoa … sorry.’

Galia pulled at his arm. ‘Get up.’

‘I can’t.’

‘I mean it.’

‘So do I. Leave me.’

Galia wasn’t taking it. ‘Come on, you big pervert. Get the fuck up. We are not leaving you. Think about your mum.’

Charley shook his head and looked to the forest on either side of them. Above the treetops, a layer of smoke had begun to conceal the night sky. The smoke glowed a faint orange and, through it, the moon took on a more ominous complexion. ‘He’s right. We should go, Galia.’

‘My hero.’

‘These forest fires are deadly. There’s no point in us all …’

‘Well go on then.’

‘I mean …’

‘I’m not stopping you.’

‘You stay, you die.’

‘Just leave us some of your happy juice and best of luck.’

Emmerson said, ‘Go with him. Give your life some meaning. While there is still time. Don’t let me have saved you for nothing.’

Charley rolled his eyes. He mimed playing a very small violin.

Galia knelt beside him. ‘Oh, stop being melodramatic. What about your mother?’

‘She won’t even remember my name. Won’t even know I’ve gone.’

Galia considered this for a moment.

Charley was pacing back and forth. ‘Give me strength.’

‘Let me have your address, Emmerson.’

Emmerson handed her his phone.

‘It’s all in there. Call the nurse. Mum can’t be by herself. Don’t let her die alone.’

Galia took his hand and gave it a squeeze. Her eyes moistened and she stifled a sniff.

Emmerson looked at her hand in his and smiled. ‘Bit inappropriate.’

‘It’s the smoke.’

Charley put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Come on.’

She turned to look up at Charley. ‘We can’t just leave … like this …’

Charley knelt down beside them both. He handed Emmerson one of his yellow-tipped syringes. ‘You’ll go out smiling, mate.’

‘Galia, I need to tell you …’

‘Tell me what.’

‘I am really sorry I spiked your drink.’

She turned to look at Charley.

Charley shrugged.

Emmerson went on. ‘I would never have … could never have … you know … I just wanted to get you out of that place. Take you home before …’

Charley stood and turned his back on them both.

Galia turned back to Emmerson. ‘It wouldn’t have mattered in the end. The grim reaper there would have got me eventually.’

Emmerson managed a smile and whispered, ‘The only time I had the courage to buy you a drink.’

Charley turned to Galia. ‘Whatever. He’s still your stalker. Now let’s go. Or you can fry with him and there’ll be no sharing needles.’ He stood and looked to the rising flames behind them.

Emmerson stared at the needle and nodded slowly.

Charley grabbed again at Galia’s arm. ‘For Christ’s sake. This is where the audience screams: Get out of there!‘

Galia smiled a tearful smile at Emmerson. He gave her hand a little squeeze and smiled back.

‘Promise me you’ll not …’

Galia couldn’t speak, but nodded, tight-lipped. Before she could stand the phone in her cleavage vibrated and rang loudly. The ring tone a sample of the vintage track from the last century – ‘I Am the One and Only’ …

Charley grunted to himself. ‘Now what?

Galia pulled out her phone and showed him the name and photo displayed.

She answered it and stood.

‘Scott … yes, I am still alive …’

Where once was a clear sky, there now remained a murky soiled blanket of smoke. A dull brown hue coated Galia’s skin. She cocked her head at the distant whine of an electric vehicle moving at speed. The occasional flash of ice-blue headlights pierced apertures in the rolling waves of almost impenetrable smog. The surround soundscape of burning trees crackled and popped loudly. Thick choking smoke coiled and swirled around the three of them, provoking a painful but weak coughing spasm from Emmerson. Charley paced impatiently back and forth as Galia stood ahead of them in the centre of the road, ready to greet the approaching car.

Charley turned to Emmerson who lay propped up against the small bank at the side of the tarmac. ‘Don’t you just hate that? You go through all the soppy emotional shit. Saying goodbye. Pretending to be brave. Noble even. Then, at two nano-seconds to midnight on your life clock, along comes one of the protagonists, and one of the reasons you are here in the first place, to rescue us. Sorry, mate.’ He started to pace again. ‘Then again, he might just kill you himself. You being a stalker and all that.’

Emmerson concentrated on breathing as Charley ranted at the night. ‘Hang on. He might not exactly thank me either …’

Galia waved frantically as the car approached through the gloom.

Charley nervously chewed at a ragged fingernail. ‘God! It’s not the frigging Railway Children.‘

The fire-red sports EV shuddered to a controlled halt, barely a couple of feet from Galia.

Charley mumbled to Emmerson, ‘Going to be a wee bit tight in the back for you and me, big boy. Bit thoughtless, really.’ Then to Galia, ‘And try and keep your descriptions of us on the vague side …’

Scott took his time before he opened the door. The headlights remained on, so it was difficult to make out his expression. Galia guessed that the sight of her in the Santa dress against a backdrop of incandescent forest must have taken a moment or two to assimilate.

Charley watched on as the tall, older-than-expected man walked silently towards Galia. In real life, he thought her ex looked like one of his hated college professors. She could have done better. Much better. He was well-built, though. He’d give him that.

Scott stopped some feet from her, but Galia just couldn’t contain herself. She flung her arms around Scott’s neck and held on tight. Charley smiled at him and nodded knowingly, a little embarrassed for Scott as he didn’t seem to know how to respond to Galia’s affection. A couple of years’ worth of treacherous and turbulent water under her burned bridges had been swept away by a dose of Emmerson’s super-strength Rohypnol with a chaser of Charley’s blackout jab. Not the best recipe for a reunion.

Scott gently unwrapped Galia’s arms and she said, ‘Sorry, Scotty, I wasn’t thinking … and I probably stink.’

No smile, but an air of deep-rooted sadness.

Charley sensed Scott hadn’t welcomed this intrusion of his painful past into his rather finite future.

Galia waited for a response as Scott’s eyes flicked to her ragtag companions and then back to her. The sadness seemed to morph into anger. ‘Get in the car.’

She turned to point to Emmerson, who was barely able to sit upright. ‘We’ll have to help my … er … friend.’ She turned back to Scott so Emmerson couldn’t hear. ‘He’s badly hurt. Really badly hurt.’

‘Just get in the car.’

‘But—’

‘Get in.’

Charley stepped forward and held out his hands in supplication. ‘Great! Thanks for coming to rescue us. Thought we were toast. Literally.’

‘Are you the stalker?’

‘No! I … er … Galia is my client.’

‘Her coke dealer or something?’ Scott pushed him hard and Charley staggered back.

This ain’t no college professor. This is a man with issues. His eyes connected with Galia’s. Pleading. ‘No, no, no. Not that sort. Here’s my card.’

‘You have five seconds to explain. Or you walk.’

Charley looked back nervously at the approaching flames as the forest crackled and roared. ‘We do seriously need to get out of here.

‘Four.’

‘She is my sodding client. Look, here is my card.’

He tried to hand Scott his card. Galia grabbed Scott’s arm.

‘Come on, Scotty. We can’t leave them.’

Scott batted away her arm. ‘Three.’ He threw away the card.

Charley was a little panicked. ‘Ask her!’

‘Two … one.’

‘Okay. Okay. She paid me to kill her. Sometime before … well you know … before we all …’

Scott just stared at him.

‘Ask her!’

‘I guess I must’ve been pretty desperate.’ Galia said. Thing is, I just can’t remember…’

‘And fat boy?’

Charley only hesitated for a second, then locked eyes with Galia. ‘There was a … er, misunderstanding. That’s all,’ he said.

Scott moved closer to Emmerson, who smiled up at him weakly. ‘Heard so much about you. Thanks for coming.’

‘I didn’t come for you.’

‘Oh. Yes, I know that.’

‘Wanted a chance to meet you though.’

‘That’s nice,’ Emmerson wheezed.

‘You know, I thought at first she was paranoid. Then I thought she was making up stories about someone following her just to make me stay.’

‘Yes, but you’d already shacked up with—’

Scott kicked him on his stomach. Emmerson hardly had the strength to double over.

There was a moment’s stunned silence before Galia screamed, ‘Don’t!’

Scott put his foot down on Emmerson’s hand. ‘I’ll say this once. It was and is none of your fucking business.’

Galia attempted to pull Scott away from the semi-conscious Emmerson. ‘Leave him! He saved my life. Twice.’

Scott towered over the cowering Emmerson and ground his heel into the back of his hand. Meanwhile, unseen to Scott, Galia pulled Charley’s syringe pouch from his pocket.

Charley frowned and mouthed, Are you sure?

Scott was venting; latent anger had found release. ‘Just because you haven’t got a life doesn’t mean you can screw up hers.’

Emmerson’s weak voice could barely be heard over the sound of the distant roar of the approaching fire. ‘I know … I know. You mean just like you did?’

Galia unzipped the pouch and pulled out the last remaining yellow-tipped syringe in the bag.

Scott leaned over and grabbed at Emmerson’s lapel.

‘She ruined her own fucking life. We all decide how we spend what’s left of it.’

Meanwhile, Charley shook his head vigorously at Galia. Don’t!

Galia moved in closer.

Emmerson smiled up at her. ‘I’m sorry, Galia. I only ever wanted you to be okay.’

Galia hid the syringe behind her back as Scott turned to her and released Emmerson’s collar, pushing him back to the ground. He eyed Galia up and down with a mixture of pity and disgust. ‘Well, you obviously did a great job.’

Emmerson said, ‘Just go. Take her home. Leave me.’

Scott laughed. ‘You think I’d squeeze your fat smelly arse into the back seat of my car?’ He moved to kick Emmerson one last time before …

‘Scott!’ Galia moved quickly and now without hesitation, plunging the needle deep into Scott’s back.

‘Ow!’ Scott’s hands reached round his back. He turned to Galia, frowning, confused. He slowly pulled the embedded needle from his back and looked first at Galia, then Charley.

Charley shrugged and smiled. ‘Not my idea, mate.’

‘Galia?’ Scott’s eyes were wide, uncomprehending. ‘But I came for you.’ He staggered slightly.

Galia was calm and sounded almost detached. ‘It’s all coming back now. You really did treat me like shit.’ She reached out with the tips of her fingers and, with little effort, knocked him off balance.

With his eyes struggling to focus, Scott attempted to right himself, but the little inertia was all that was needed to knock him flat on his back.

Scott struggled to form a coherent sentence.

‘I … don’t … understand …’

Galia towered over him. ‘We are all getting out of here.’

‘But … he’s … a … perv … they are … both …’

With that, he plummeted into unconsciousness.

Galia sat in the driver’s seat and watched as the door closed automatically behind her. Charley was wedged beside the insentient Scott in the rather cramped rear seat. ‘This is just so weird,’ he said.

Galia touched the screen and it burst into life.

Charley perked up. They were getting out of here. ‘Don’t you just love technology?’

Galia glanced in the rear-view mirror at the approaching flames. She turned to the slightly delirious Emmerson in the passenger seat. ‘Buckle up, bozo.’ She reached over and stretched the belt around Emmerson who was quietly singing some unnameable pop song.

Charley tried to lighten the mood. ‘Are we there yet?’

She floored the accelerator pedal.

Nothing.

PING. A message on the screen. FACE ID OR ENTER PIN TO DRIVE. Please blink into mirror or enter PIN code.

Galia slammed the steering wheel. ‘Fuck! Not again. What were you saying about technology?’ She turned back and shouted at Charley. ‘Wake him up!’

‘With what?’

‘Hit him.’

‘That’s not going to do anything.’

Galia leaned back and slapped Scott’s face as hard as she could. His eyes fluttered briefly.

‘It feels good, though, she said as she slapped him again.

He groaned.

‘You think knocking him out was such a good idea? I did try and warn you.’ Charley started slapping Scott too. ‘Wake up, you bastard!’ He glanced out of the window and turned to Galia. ‘You do know I have a severe allergy to fire? Give it ten seconds, then we run.’

‘I am not leaving without them!’ Galia smacked Scott across the face three times in succession. Charley winced at the ferocity.

Scott finally responded drunkenly to the onslaught. ‘Wha —?’

‘Scott. Scotty! What’s the PIN number? For the car.’

‘Wha—?’

‘The PIN. The code. I need to get you home.’

Scott giggled. Galia slapped him one more time, but Scott was out of it.

‘Fuck.’

From the backseat, Charley reached for the door release. His door whirred open and choking woodsmoke instantly filled the car.

Galia coughed until she gagged. ‘Are you mad? The fire is all around us – you’ll never make it.’

‘I’ll take my chance. Rather that, than sitting with a lithium-ion bomb under my arse.’ With that, he jumped out and Scott flopped across the back seat.

Charley waved as he strode off up the road, wrapping the crook of his elbow around his face in a vain effort to filter the smoke.

Galia coughed again, clicked the central control, and examined the large display panel. Her fingers poised above the virtual numeric keypad. ‘Come on, it’s only four numbers. How hard can it be.’

She typed in one, two, three, four. A beep. The pin prompt remained.

‘His birthday … two, three, one, one…’ BEEP.

‘Shit!’ Galia thumped the steering wheel hard and stifled another bout of coughing.

Beside her, Emmerson’s breathing was laboured, his wheezing worse than ever. He turned to her. ‘You … have to … go … Please … don’t worry about me.’

Her eyes streamed with the stinging wood smoke. ‘Shut up and stop playing the martyr,’ she said gently. ‘What about my birthday?’

She typed again. Her fingers shook. No good. The time the screen prompted: ONLY ONE ATTEMPT REMAINING.

Emmerson put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Please. Before it’s too late.’

‘I said shut up.’ She glanced outside. Ahead, the visibility had dropped dramatically as the dying forest turned back to carbon. Charley was already swallowed up by the hungry smoke.

‘Jesus.’ This time her bout of coughing was even worse.

‘Let me go … Just make sure my mum is okay.’ Emmerson’s eyes closed, squeezing out tears of emotion and irritation.

Galia had a thought. She looked at the sleeping passenger in the back, then at the mirror. She didn’t hesitate and contorted awkwardly into the backseat and onto Scott’s legs, wriggling and jiggling and grabbing his torso until she’d forced him into a sitting position.

‘Emmerson! Help me here. Swivel the mirror to pick up his face.’

Emmerson grunted. ‘What?’

‘For the face ID.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ His shaking hands manoeuvred the mirror while Galia jockeyed her ex-husband’s head into position.

BING! An AI prompt in a jocular Irish accent piped up. ‘Please move closer to the mirror.‘

On the mirror a superimposed oval outline made her realise that Scott’s face was just too far away. Three feet: it might as well have been a mile. Still, she tried. She wedged herself behind Scott and pushed with her knees to force him between the two front seats. ‘Emmerson. Steer his head for me, will you?’

‘This is futile.’

‘Just do it!’

‘Alright, alright.’ He grabbed Scott’s head and twisted it to line up with the guide on the mirror. ‘No need to shout,’ he croaked. ‘I’m only dying here.’

There was a crack and crunch. They both looked behind them at the massive limb of a tree that fell just yards short of the car. Flames leapt up and wrapped their faces in a bright orange mask.

Galia turned back. ‘Come on, we’re nearly there.’ She grabbed Scott’s hair and yanked his head back, then pushed a little harder, until Scott’s face filled enough of the mirror to trigger a second BING!

‘Please blink into the mirror for identification.‘

‘Oh, for crying out loud.’ Galia slapped Scott hard on the side of the head.

Emmerson flinched and Scott’s eyes opened to barely a slit revealing only bloodshot sclera.

‘Please blink into the mirror for identification.‘

Emmerson’s voice was close to a fraction of a whisper now. ‘I have an idea. Not pleasant, but it may just work. Hold his head tightly.’

Galia could only cough in response as Emmerson rammed two fingers up Scott’s nostrils. Galia looked away. Emmerson withdrew his fingers and Scott shuddered momentarily. And then …

Scott opened his unseeing eyes for a moment and released an almighty sneeze and Emmerson mouthed a celebratory: Yes!

Galia’s excitement was short-lived as Scott’s reflex sneeze pulled his head well clear of the frame in the mirror.

‘Please blink into the mirror for identification.‘

She released her grip from Scott’s hair and he fell in a heap, wedging himself between the front seats.

‘Nice try,’ she said as stinging tears streamed down her face. She pulled at Scott’s body to clear a way through back to the driver’s seat, but he was wedged a little too tightly. ‘Bollocks. Hold your breath, Emmerson.’

She forced a deep breath herself, pushed open the back door and rolled out as quickly as she could. As she slammed the door behind her, in the few seconds she was outside, Galia took in the hellish world they were stuck in. It was hyperreal: the heat, the bedlam incarnate of flames, the cracking and the roar from the forest on fire. She absorbed it all in an instant and could take no more than that.

Back in the driver’s seat, she turned to Emmerson, her eyes red and raw. ‘We are not dying out here today.’

She jabbed at the screen and selected the fan icon. ‘First, let’s see if we can’t get some clean air in here.’

The first AC button pressed seemed to make things worse, but then a weird icon on the screen caught her eye. It looked like an old Space Invaders icon.

‘Bet it’s a self-destruct button.’ Her finger hovered, shaking over the icon for a moment. She clicked it and suddenly the car’s fans whistled and whooshed into life, forcing a blast of fresh filtered air into the cabin. She took a deep lungful as the legend BIOHAZARD MODE flashed on the screen.

‘God bless German engineering.’

‘They won’t save you from that, though.’ Emmerson opened his eyes a slit and pointed out of his passenger window to the approaching boiling, malevolent flames.

Galia wiped her brow. ‘Okay. Okay! Give me a second.’ She turned to the unconscious Scott. ‘Come on, you bastard. What would you have chosen ’ She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. ‘The bitch. Of course. Her birthday.’ Finger over the keypad. ‘Shit. I’ve forgotten … Elvie, Elvie, Elvie … 21, no, 12 January? Shit, shit!’

Flames began to lick through the trees just ahead of them. The car itself started to creak and groan as its composite shell expanded and distorted with the heat. Emmerson painfully reached into his pocket and retrieved the last yellow-tipped syringe offered by Charley. He smiled at her.

‘I am so sorry, Emmerson. I did what I could.’

‘Just go.’

She grabbed his arm and gave it a squeeze.

‘And no more spiking drinks. Promise?’ She smiled at him. And opened the door.

The red-hot dry air caused her to gag and cough. She took one step outside and immediately retreated back into the car. She wheezed as the door closed, gasping for fresh air.

‘Shit! I sound like you now.’ She coughed painfully. ‘I’d never make it ten steps. Looks like you are stuck with me.’

Emmerson’s breathing was rapid and shallow as his eyes flickered open. ‘I’m so sorry. For all this.’

‘Guess we don’t want to roast while conscious.’ She popped the safety from the tip of the syringe. ‘You first.’ She leaned over to Emmerson and pulled the jacket down over his shoulder. There was more than enough bare flesh. ‘Sweet dreams.’

A loud musical ringtone erupted from Scott’s pocket.

Galia paused, syringe poised. ‘He knows I hate R.E.M.’

She listened to it for a moment more before she replaced the safety on the hypodermic. She rummaged through Scott’s pockets and pulled out the ringing phone. A shot of a smiling blonde woman lit up the screen.

‘Bitch.’

Galia forced herself to listen to one more tinny refrain, then reluctantly answered the video call.

The rear window cracked as the flames leapt even closer. A red warning light on the LCD panel blinked.

‘Elvie! How lovely.’

On the screen the face of her one-time best friend. Beautiful. Confused. Galia understood why. The mini reference image showed her what Elvie was looking at. A tired, dishevelled wreck that even Galia herself struggled to recognise.

Galia continued. Just two old friends having a catch-up. ‘God. What’s it been …?’

Silence.

Sweat beaded on Galia’s forehead as the AC fought to counteract the blistering heat outside.

‘Last time must’ve been that party …’

Elvie’s voice crackled through the phone’s speaker. ‘Galia … I’ve been meaning to—’

‘Yeah. Crazy night. Sorry I threw up in that plant pot. I think you might have been tied up in your bathroom—’

‘Galia, I was—’

‘Banging the shit out of my husband.’

At this, Emmerson jerked into near-full consciousness. He stared out of the window at the approaching conflagration, sighed, and closed his eyes once more.

The red light on the dashboard was joined by a warning beep.

Elvie’s tone chilled. ‘Why are you on Scott’s phone?’

‘Oh. Did you think he’d popped out for a pint of milk?’

Another crack, this time from a side window.

‘What was that? Where is he?’

Galia noticed the tears on her own cheeks. She looked back at Scott.

‘Galia …’

Galia tried to control her sobs.

‘Galia. It wasn’t like that …’

Galia wiped the tears and sniffed loudly.

‘He only ever loved you …’

‘He just couldn’t bear to be with me though.’ Galia turned back to look at her ex-husband one more time.’

There was silence on the line. Another crack and creak from the car.

‘Is he okay? Are you okay?’

Galia stared, mesmerised at the flames as they chased across the road.

‘Galia?’

‘I … I am sorry. Fucked up. Only just putting it all together.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Like I say I fucked up.’ Galia flipped the camera and trained it on her unlikely environment. ‘There was Emmerson who wanted to protect me – you see, he’s about out for the count – then there was Charley who wanted me dead …’

‘You’re not making any sense. You’ve been drinking. Put Scott on the phone.’

‘Hang on … Actually no, it was me that wanted me dead. Then Emmerson tried to protect me from Charley, then Charley tried to … God, it’s all a bit confusing.’

‘Galia, where is Scott?’

She turned the camera on the unconscious shape in the back. ‘Oh yeah. Then Scott came to rescue me and things got a bit heated so I stabbed him with a needle.’

‘You killed him?’

Galia flipped the camera back to her own face. ‘Jesus! Course not! No, I … er … just put him to sleep.’

‘Sleep?’

‘Good thing is he won’t feel much when—’

The warning beeps were louder now. Galia wiped the tears and running perspiration from her cheeks.

‘Galia. You are not making any sense.’

‘Then there was a meteorite … thing … explosion. Then fire. So … we are in his car, he is out for the count, it looks like the world is on fire and I think …’

‘Just drive then! For Christ’s sake.’

‘Well, therein lies the problem, my old friend,’ Galia looked at the screen and the pin pad. ‘Is it your birthday?’

‘Today?’

‘No. The PIN to start the fucking car.’

‘Why didn’t you just ask.? No … it’s three zero – oh six.’

‘That’s not your birthday.’ Galia began to punch in the number. And then froze for an instant.

‘Galia …?’

‘What am I missing?’

‘Galia. Just drive. It doesn’t matter right now.’

‘That number.’

‘Drive!’

Then it came back. Flooding back in an instant that drew a sharp intake of breath and sprung fresh tears.

The pregnancy, the feeling of pure joy, the proud dad-to-be, the baby clothes, the nursery, the baby mobile with flying dogs and cats, the daily video blogs from the wonderful, expectant, blessed influencer and proud, fulfilled mother-to-be…

‘He never forgot the date.’ Galia typed in the numbers. Another tear rolled down her cheek. ‘I’d have been a fucking awesome mother.’

The phone signal died so Galia put her foot to the floor as the flames licked hungrily around the car.

PRESS PLAY

She pauses to reach across to the bedside cabinet. The bottle is nearly empty, but she empties the dregs into her glass and settles back into the centre of her dishevelled bed, crosslegged once more. Galia knows she is still missing some chapters from her story, so she swipes across the screen of her smart tablet, and back through the video playlist until one thumbnail in particular catches her eye and jars her memory.

Unlike all of the other thumbnails, this one has no image of her.

A simple silhouette of a child holding the arm of a teddy.

For a moment, she is close to deleting the clip without even watching it. She feels the rise of some deeply buried pain, swallows a mouthful of wine and clicks play once more.

BETTER TO HAVE LOVED THAN LOST

‘So that’s that then. It seemed such an anti-climax for a couple of days. You know, I just didn’t think about it much at first. Maybe we were all just numb. After a couple of days, there were no more riots in the streets. The great unwashed still went about their meaningless jobs; aeroplanes flew; the internet didn’t crash; and by and large, I guess we were all just letting it sink in and pretending that if we just kept up our daily routine the worst might not come to pass. Obviously, by daily routine, I mean arc-welded to a social media feed.

You always imagine that when you hear this sort of cataclysmic news, you’ll probably reach straight for the bottle or needle. But for me, there was almost a feeling of relief. Maybe even some elation.

I tried to hide those feelings from myself because that emotion just felt a bit ugly right now. Considering the fate of humanity and all that malarkey.

But, for me, after nine months of gradually realising that having a child was the most important thing in the world, only to have my eventual flowering as the best-mum-ever, wilt and wither as I spread my legs to evacuate my womb, only to be met with …

At the time, I did see the stillbirth of my precious Arielle as some sort of divine retribution for my selfish and narcissistic ways. Now I see it for what it really was. A blessing. Arielle wouldn’t even have reached the ripe old age of three before …

I guess I’d have done my best, but, if I thought it unbearably painful to carry a child for nine months, only to cradle that breathless reminder of the purpose for my existence during the saddest five minutes of my life, how would I have coped with all this shit? How could I ever have offered her any semblance of happiness knowing that it was all about to be snatched away? Well, not so much snatched as pulverised and incinerated and suffocated.

Would I have helped her learn to walk and talk and comprehend the world? For what purpose? Better to die in ignorance.

Christ, if only I believed in God.

Fuck it. Now who’s laughing.’

As the final frame freezes, Galia is amazed that she can cry this many tears. Not for just for Arielle, but for herself and maybe even for all of the unborn. All of the billions of souls who would never smile at the sight of their mother’s eyes; never gasp at their first glimpse of a rainbow or the stars in the night sky; grow weak-kneed at their first kiss; cry buckets at some sad and stupid movie; run headlong into the chill breakers on a bleak British beach; hold hands with their lover, ageing grandma, or best friend; feel the hairs on their arms and neck stiffen as the rush of inexplicable ecstasy explodes with a Mahler symphony or Nirvana guitar riff; never fall in and out of love; balance the pain of living with its bountiful pleasure … or eventually embrace their own inevitable bitter-sweet mortality that makes it all taste so much better.

She wipes her eyes with her sleeve. No wonder it was buried so deep.

Her world had ended once already.

FINAL Part

A Gift

“Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.”

DANTE ALIGHIERI,

Inferno from The Divine Comedy

THE MORNING AFTER

Wreaths of swirling smoke caressed the motionless body on the tarmac. Close to, it was possible to discern the slightest rise and fall of its chest, now visible and silhouetted against the approaching headlights.

The steering wheel twitched and tugged against Galia’s hands as the car’s AI’s infrared sensors tracked the narrow road in near-zero visibility. On the screen, a facsimile outline of the road confirmed the autopilot hadn’t gone rogue. The car rocketed through the smoke. Ahead, the almost invisible road was buried under the diffused wash of the EV’s fog lights. To the left and right, flames traversed the road ahead and, more than once, the car smashed through a curtain of fire.

Then, without warning, Galia and Emmerson were flung forward, bodies eye-poppingly strained against the straps of seat belts as the autonomous car slammed on its emergency braking system. There was a thump as Scott plus inertia combined to canon ball him into the back of Galia’s seat. Emmerson barely grunted, only vaguely aware of his predicament.

The car had stopped inches away from what looked like a lump in the road. The smoke cleared for a moment and Galia reconstituted her senses. ‘Charley!’

Outside, Galia rolled Charley onto his back and slapped him very hard.

He coughed and spluttered as his eyes eventually focused on the woman above. She grabbed him under his arms and dragged his floppy form along the tarmac. ‘You either help me or I just drag you to the side of the road and leave you for the hyenas.’

Charley struggled to speak but managed a smile. ‘You are all heart.’

‘Sadly the wonderfully engineered German vehicle didn’t have an override to let me squash lowlife into the road.’

She dragged him close to the car door, and at last, he managed to raise himself up on his elbows. ‘Thank you, Galia.’

She nodded back to the advancing fire. ‘You can thank me by getting in the car and then disappearing from my life.’

Charley struggled to his feet. Breathing heavily, he steadied himself against Galia.

‘Until …?’

‘There is no until. I am sitting this one out with the rest of the world.’

‘I guess a date would be out of the question.’

Galia bundled him into the back of the car on top of Scott. She looked back at the raging inferno that used to be a forest. Above it, the sparks and embers were continuously carried aloft on the updraft to join with the stars and celestial sparks that punctured the fabric of the night sky.

The city lights ahead twinkled like orange and blue stars as Galia reached over to shake the passenger in the seat next to her. His head was resting on the window, gently rocking with the movement of the car.

‘Hey, Emmerson …?’

He was out for the count.

‘Hey, big boy. I need your address.’

She shook him again.

‘Come on. It’s nearly your stop.’

She pulled over on the quiet suburban street. The streetlight above flickered randomly, giving an eerie quality to the light in the car.

This time she shook him with both hands. ‘EMMERSON!’

A voice piped up from the back seat, making her start. Charley curled up tightly next to Scott. ‘Oi! Some of us are trying to get some kip here.’

Galia reached over and, after a struggle, rolled Emmerson towards her.

His eyes and mouth were partially open, and his skin had an unreal pallor. Maybe it’s just the streetlights … His complexion was never exactly on the healthy side.

Softly now. ‘Emmerson?’

His head lolled forward and to one side. She reached to his neck and touched the clammy cold skin.

‘Oh, Emmerson,’ she whispered.

Without another word, she unclipped her belt, opened the door and walked to the front of the car.

Charley sat up and stretched. ‘Galia?’

He watched as she sat heavily on the hood of the sports car. The streetlamp above decided to behave itself and now her bright red Santa dress was suddenly luminescent in the cold pool of artificial light. He took a closer look at Emmerson and nodded slowly. ‘It’s been a blast, Doctor.’

Galia and Charley sat together on the bonnet mesmerised by the lights of the city ahead. The bright blue flickering strobe of multiple emergency vehicles foreshadowed the appearance of several fire trucks as they rumbled and raced past them and towards the distant fire-glow of the burning forest.

They sat in silence as Charley turned to Galia to watch a lone tear track south across her mascara-stained cheek. He reached over in silence and gently wiped it away as another cluster of meteors streaked harmlessly, but ominously towards the horizon.

THE ROAD TO HELL

‘And so, dear friend, I am back. Back to my show, back to my old self and, butter my bum and call me a biscuit, there is a spring in my step and a song in my heart.

Okay, so this isn’t for everyone and, kids, don’t try this at home … but I am so glad I didn’t lose that mysterious card.

I spent a couple of hours staring at it and nearly didn’t go through with scanning the QR thingy. You know that feeling: one click and you end up locked out of your phone until you flog close-ups of your kneecap on Only Fans for some dodgy perv in Scunthorpe.

Someone in the bar obviously dropped it in my pocket. Maybe they’d seen the state I was in and decided that I needed help. I thought it could be some sort of new-age cult, but, to be honest, I would probably have given that a go for a laugh. Could have been anyone, though, but one guy in particular dinged my bell. Youngish, good-looking(ish), dressed in black. Smiled at me when I got up to leave. I think he’d been watching me for a bit, but I get used to that. They usually give up after a while. I mean there are so many easier targets to hit on than me. A lot younger and low maintenance to boot. It’s not quite the last days of Pompei, but you can smell the musk of mild decadence in the air. Can’t blame anyone for valuing a little hedonism from time to time.

This guy, though. He just sat on his own and then got up to help me when I did the usual drunken lurch and stumble to the nearest cab. I reckon that’s when it happened. Nice smile, though. I remember that even through the haze of ten too many.

Obviously I scanned the bloody thing. Any hint of intrigue at the moment is a welcome distraction.

I ended up having to sign in to some dark web portal. Home to the cream of conspiracy websites; an indispensable resource if you fancy a vintage Uzi 9mm; access to some of the latest synthetic mRNA hallucinogenics; and streaming sites with some extremely life-and-death-like deepfake sexy snuff movies.

But the website in question was clean of any of that shit and you could only enter after completing a questionnaire. Some made sense, some questions were just plain fucking weird.

You had the likes of … Which best describes your outlook on life: a) glass half-empty, b) glass half-full c) as long as the glass is filled with wine I don’t care.

Or: On a scale of 1–10, where 10 is the strongest: How strongly do you agree with the phrase, “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”?

Or even: Is it a) better to be murdered?; or b) better to be the murderer?

I sailed through this wank with flying colours, although I had a feeling that it was just to weed out the AI bots who haven't better things to do.

There were only a few basic dropdown selectors, but I read the small print first. I don’t know why, but it excited the frisson out of me. I felt liberated from the cloud of dank despair that has followed me since we found out. Probably the same grey, mind-numbing blanket that has wrapped up you, my friend.

The deal is simple. Fill out your details, make any last requests, agree to the terms and conditions and with the click of a submit button you will no longer be wiped out by that fiery twat of a comet on that Christmas Eve after next.

A simple three-line promise:

You will die painlessly.

You will die on a random day and at an arbitrary time with NO advanced warning.

You will be laid to rest in the place of your choosing.

How cool is that? In any other time, this proposition would be wiped from the face of the internet and the webmaster locked up. But, these are strange days and I am glad I can share this journey with you. Also, when these posts end abruptly, you’ll know and you can start your own channel.

This has cost me my life savings, but, seeing I have no life, it’s a fucking bargain.’

GOODBYE

Galia stares at her own image on her tablet’s screen. For a moment, she almost doesn’t go ahead with the livestream, but then tells herself that she has an obligation to her followers and to the future. After all, there is an outside chance that her posts will end up stored on The Cloud in the Clouds.

Data centres on the moon. Handy, eh? Mankind’s attempt to secure the sorry story of its existence for posterity. She supposes that the future aliens who viewed her tirades would find them mildly entertaining. Strange creatures, those earthlings.

She thinks back to her own story. If she hadn’t discovered her prior ramblings, she would still have big holes in her timeline. She couldn’t have just relied on what Charley and Emmerson had told her. It was a weird thing, though. She’d realised that those video snapshots and diaries were filmed for an audience of one. Her release valve and rant to her future self. And now those innermost thoughts were liberated, scattered like her virtual ashes to her fans.

And now, her final words matter.

She watches as the on-screen timer nears zero hour and tries not to think about tomorrow night’s final countdown. She takes a final look around her small idiosyncratic studio space and takes a deep breath, as her opening sequence plays out on cue and the screen clears to reveal her own serene face. She is without make-up and smiles at the tiny camera that carries her image and words to her biggest audience yet. The stream counter is up in the eight figures and she just hopes the server won’t crash with the demand.

They will face tomorrow together with their loved ones. Head-on. Chin-up.

The ident music fades and she smiles.

SEASON FINALE

‘Well, Dear Friend, a funny thing happened to me on the way to Armageddon …’

BEAUTIFUL

Galia looked down at the soft, veined, ancient hand that held hers tightly. She sat close to the sweet old lady at the panoramic window. The lights of the city twinkled as usual and the sky above was clear. The ambient light from what appeared to be a star was far too bright. It obliterated all other celestial objects as it dominated the sky for attention.

Behind them on the wall of the artificially firelit lounge, a large framed photo dominated the room. It was one of those corny studio portraits of a mother and her son. A slightly younger, slimmer Emmerson beamed down a smile at the old woman in the high wingback chair. In return, she smiled up at him. Proud.

Happier times.

Now, in another high wingback chair, Emmerson’s mother turned to smile at Galia. ‘Will Emmy miss the fireworks?’

Ahead, the light in the sky had grown in intensity. Almost daylight. ‘Wherever he is, Mrs L, I am sure he is watching.’

‘Oh, he’s probably out playing with his nice friends again. Always had lots of friends, my Emmy.’

From behind them came the sound of a toilet flush and the click of a pull cord light switch. Galia looked up as Charley joined them and stood alongside Emmerson’s mother. He licked at a choc-ice on a stick.

‘Miss anything?’

Galia rolled her eyes. ‘You didn’t by any chance take that to the toilet with you?’

Charley just shrugged. He squatted down to their level and put an arm around Emmerson’s mother’s shoulder. The old lady pulled a flower-embroidered hanky from her sleeve and licked the corner. ‘Emmy! What will your lady friend think?’ She wiped hard at the chocolate smear above Charley’s mouth.

Galia smiled.

‘So glad you made it home, Emmy. You nearly missed the fireworks.’

Their faces were lit incandescent-white.

Galia gripped the old hand tightly.

Charley turned to Galia.

‘No one should be alone tonight, er … Mum.’

Emmerson’s mother was transfixed by the dazzling orb now reflected clearly in her previously rheumy eyes.

‘Oh, Emmy! It’s beautiful.’

Galia turned to smile at Charley …

And opened her mouth as if to say something …

As the light engulfed all.

Acknowledgements & Thanks

None of this would have been possible without the influence of my eclectic reading list: brilliant books and amazing authors inspiring me throughout my life.

And of course, thanks to my wonderful parents who encouraged me not only to enjoy reading but supported this crazy notion of mine to follow my creative dreams.

I only hope that in this and my other novels, I can contribute, dear reader, to your enjoyment of the written word in the same way that I have been blessed with experiencing one of the greatest lasting pleasures in life: sitting down with a good book.

However, it’s been thanks to a good kick up the derrière from my wonderful partner Isabella and the encouragement of close friends that I finally got around to finishing what I had started many years ago.

I am also more than grateful to my editor, Claire, for her encouragement and the knowledge that she was really rooting for me and this project. Thanks also to all of my fabulous ‘preview’ readers whose criticism was welcomed almost as much as their praise. Especially to Angela, Roy & Shawn who spotted all of my pre-schoolboy errors and made me stand in the corner of the room.

Thanks to all my friends who have encouraged me. You know who you are. I am just privileged to be surrounded by many creative friends who help me keep my grey cells buzzing. One of those creative friends, Bruno has endowed the cover with the product of his artistic magic.

My great friends Roy and Rachel and their fabulous work on the audiobook version of The Clearing. Check it out! It will bring a whole new dimension to the story. (DUE EARLY 2024)

Grazie mille to Dante Alighieri for the wonderful quotes from Inferno. You can always rely on Dante to lighten any mood.

And a big special thanks to Lisa, Geoff, Tony and my amazing crew who helped bring to life a filmed teaser for the screenplay of The Clearing. Watch this space.

Thanks to Steve Babb, photographer extraordinaire for making me look half-decent in my promo photos.

To Danny Lacey for the great feedback on both the book and the marketing. A great sounding board and friend.

And to my friend (and a really great writer), Alistair who happened to mention that my prose wasn’t that bad after all.

Onwards to the next novel.

I am lucky enough to live and work in the wonderful and magical Isle of Man.

David Armstrong

Cover art and design: Bruno Cavellec

www.brunocavellec.com

Marketing: Isabella Hawke

www.mexitalconsulting.com

COMING SOON

When a mysterious survivor washes up on her remote island home, the reclusive revolutionary watchmaker must face up to the demons of her past.

Birdie knows nothing of the downed plane, the precious cargo, the other desperate survivor and the danger she is in.

She needs time to think, so for now she must keep the injured young Libyan safe, but captive as dark forces outside of her world gather …

Her only ally Teddy discovers that the bigger, deadly secret is in the catch.

SUBSCRIBE for a sneak preview chapter and more:

www.strongfiction.com

MARLEY is on the run. Her luck changes when she bumps into Jake - because Jake is blind and Jake has been jilted without even knowing it.

He won’t even know she’s around.

In his space. In his life. Watching. Waiting.

Marley is a chancer, a cuckoo in the nest and a ghost in Jake’s machine. Will she make her escape before Jake thinks he is losing his mind? Or will she find a way to help mend this broken and lonely man?

SUBSCRIBE to discover more: 

www.strongfiction.com

To all who know him, Will is blind. But in every other respect, he’s just like everyone else – he has a beautiful girlfriend who he cheats on; his own business, which he’s neglecting; and a close circle of friends, that he lies to. Because there’s one little thing he hasn’t told them. He can see.

So when he gets threatened with exposure, kicked on a rooftop and beaten up with a cricket bat, at least he knows who’s doing it.

Dark Matters.

A darkly comic romantic thriller.

Love may be blind, but he isn’t.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

David spent much of his formative years commuting between the northeast of England and Africa. Eventually, his film-making led him to travel and work around the world.

He now lives, works and plays in the inspirational Isle of Man where, if he isn't writing, he is film-making and, if he isn't film-making he is in his recording studio.

His partner Isabella and his close friends make sure he still has a life outside of his work …