Fractured(28)

I wasn’t far from the crest of the hill. In the moonlight I could just make out the spire from the church. I was really close. I think I had half convinced myself that there would be no phone box when I got there. Everything about this evening had seemed to be set against me; so the exhilaration of seeing the kiosk a hundred metres or so up ahead at first felt like a beautiful mirage. My heart was thundering in my chest and my side felt as though it was being ripped open by a stitch, but I didn’t slow down. I hadn’t heard any more from behind me but I still needed time to get to the box and dial the call. 999. How long does it take to get through? Could I summon help before he reached me? Would I have enough air left in my lungs to speak at all? The only answer to any of these questions was to run harder, which I did, my thumb still convulsively pushing the redial button on my mobile, as it had done since I left the station.

I was almost there. My fingers were literally outstretched towards the handle of the phone kiosk when a handful of my coat was yanked viciously from behind me, and I went down. No arms came out to break my fall this time, and I hit the icy pavement hard, my head cracking painfully upon the ground. I fell with such force that I took him down with me, and I heard the thump of his stocky body crashing down behind me. I don’t think I was even aware of the warm sticky flow of blood from my head as I scrambled to my knees. No bones appeared to be broken, I could still move, and though I’d probably lost layers of skin off both my hands and knees I wasn’t even aware of the pain.

But before I could raise myself any further than being on all fours, a cruel vice grip caught my ankle and I was down again. I kicked back instinctively and knew from his cry my heel had struck him somewhere where it hurt. His grip fell away and I immediately attempted to crawl away, using my elbows and arms to drag me along commando-style. I had gone about a metre when he was on me again. His knee hard in the middle of my back. I could hear him muttering and swearing as he used his full body weight to hold me motionless. I felt the fight drain from me. I had tried and failed. My vision was almost obliterated by the fast-flowing stream of blood from my head, and I could feel myself begin to slide into unconsciousness. I wanted to fight it but there were no reserves left to draw upon. The man roughly grabbed the sleeve of my coat, the white fabric already stained with my blood, and yanked my arm up at an unnatural angle. He said one word, just one – ‘Bitch!’ – as his thick fingers found my hand and yanked off my engagement ring. The weight on my back was suddenly gone. And so, I realised, was the man.

That was what it had all been for? The damned diamond ring? Had all this happened just because I’d worn the ring while travelling? And I wouldn’t even be able to identify my attacker, because I’d never seen his face. It might never have been the man from the train at all.

The darkness around me seemed to be growing thicker and I felt as though I was teetering upon the edge of a dark hole. A faint thrumming noise sounded by my ear, and I thought at first it was the rush of blood until the truth pierced through my consciousness. It was a ringing tone. Somehow my hand had never lost its grip on my phone, and finally my compulsive attempts had at last achieved success.

‘Rachel, are you there?’ The voice sounded tinny and small and very far away indeed.

‘Help me…’ I cried out, and then the blackness sucked me under.





5


They sedated me. I suppose they had to, although it seemed crazy waiting nearly two days for me to wake up, only to put me straight back under again. And the more I struggled and begged my dad not to let them do it, the more panic and concern I could see mirrored in his eyes. As the consultant barked sharply worded instructions to the nurse to prepare the sedative, I was still pleading with my dad to explain how he had got well again so quickly, and when he wouldn’t reply, shaking his head helplessly in confusion, I only became more distressed. It was quite a relief when the drug they inserted into my IV flooded into my system and my lids fell closed.

My eyes flickered open sometime later, and although the room was darkened, it seemed to be full of people. I could hear hushed whispers from voices that were tantalisingly familiar. My eyelids felt leaden, too heavy to open more than the merest slit. I couldn’t really make out who was in the room, just four or more tall shapes, all darkly clothed I thought, or perhaps they were all just in the shadows. Sleep reclaimed me.

I briefly woke for a second period some time later on that night. The group of people, whoever they had been, were now gone. I had absolutely no idea what time it was but the room was in total darkness except for the small pool of light directed down towards a chair pulled up to my bedside, in which my father sat sleeping. There was an open book lying across his lap, and an empty food tray on the unit beside me. I correctly guessed he had not left my side all day. From his slightly open mouth a soft snore emitted with each indrawn breath. He looked tired and dishevelled… and yet still, unbelievably and impossibly, he looked completely well. I needed to speak to him; I felt desperate to find out what was going on, as nothing made any sense, but the struggle to stay awake was too much. Sleep overtook me once more before I could call out his name.