“I’ll kill you, bitch, I’ll cut you up! You’re dead.”
I want to shout back, I’ve been dead for three years.
Balling his coat around my fist I punch at the window, but I’m not strong enough to break the glass. I pull a table closer and lie backwards across it, bracing my arms and kicking at the window with both feet. Once, twice, three times. The glass shatters and pieces fall outwards, tinkling against the roof below.
Using the coat, I clear the sharp edges and crawl outside, feeling the metal roof buckle and creak. I look for a way down. I can see the ground below, overgrown with weeds, littered with rubbish. I drop his coat. It doesn’t make a sound when it lands.
Behind me the door breaks open. George appears at the window.
I start yelling from the rooftop.
“Help! Somebody help me!”
“Nobody can hear you,” he says.
I’m sitting on the edge. I look at the ground. It’s too high.
“You’ll break your legs,” he says. “And then I’ll have to shoot you like a horse.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Come any closer and I’ll jump.”
“You’ll never be able to see Tash.”
“I don’t think she’s here.”
“I’ll take you to her now.”
“You’re lying.”
He slides one leg out the window.
“Don’t come any closer.”
“You’re not going to jump.”
He keeps climbing out. Turning onto my stomach, I slide backwards over the edge, holding onto the rusting gutter, feeling the jagged edges bite into my fingers.
I hear him coming and let go. Falling. I expect to break my legs. I expect to die. The weeds and the overgrown bracken and George’s coat help break my fall. I lie on my back, staring up at the roof. His face appears above me. I’ve surprised him. I’m alive.
Up again, I drag myself through the brambles, which catch on my clothes. There are buildings around me. Abandoned. Derelict. A water tower. A blackened chimney. A wire fence is draped in blackberry vines.
Running along the perimeter, I scan the wire. There’s a gap beneath the lowest strand. I drop to my knees and scoop away dirt and leaves, making the hole bigger. Glancing over my shoulder, I can’t see George, but I know he’s coming. First I push through the coat and then I try to slither under the wire. My head and arms get through, but my jumper snags on something sharp, digging into my back. I claw at the earth and weeds, trying to pull myself forward. The jumper tears, flapping across my back. I’m sitting on the wet ground in the decaying leaf mold.
George comes round the corner of the building, still a vague shape with a bloodstained shirt. Closer now. Coming for me.
I scramble up and start running, fighting my way through branches that whip at my face and thorns that try to hold me back. I have forgotten what it’s like to be outside, the malevolence of bush and briar. I’m a runner. If I find open ground, I can outpace him. But in the open he can see me. In the open I can’t hide.
I can hear George cursing and swatting at the branches behind me, screaming threats. Pleading.
Stumbling into a clearing, I notice a winding path through larger trees. The ground slopes upwards and my canvas shoes are slipping and sliding on the mud and rocks.
Ahead of me the path divides. One track looks more worn, but I choose the other, which takes me deeper into the forest. I’m trying to second-guess him. The path narrows and rises, twisting along the side of a wooded gorge with steep rocky banks. I skirt the edge, dodging puddles and fallen branches.
The path turns suddenly. I change direction, but my right foot slips sideways and I can’t rebalance quickly enough. Falling, I tumble down the embankment, rolling, picking up speed, banging my shoulder hard against a tree.
When gravity lets me go, I’m lying on my back, sucking ragged gulps of air into my lungs. My shoulder is on fire. Surely I’ve broken something.
Suddenly, I need to be quiet. I stop. Wait. He’s above me on the path, less than thirty yards away. I can see him through the curtain of leaves and branches.
He pauses and listens, looking for me. Hunting me. I hold my breath. We’re both listening to the sound of running water and the breeze in the trees. I have to breathe, taking tiny quiet gasps. The cold is leaking through my clothes, into my bones.
“Piper?”
He listens.
“I know you can hear me.”
Again he waits.
“If you come back now, I won’t be angry and I’ll let you see Tash.”
I have to cough, but I muffle it with my fist.
“And if you come back, I won’t get Emily. I know where she lives. She’s at work today… Piper? This is your last chance.”