Dead Girl Walking (14 page)

He sits down. ‘It didn’t seem like the right time. You were on your way in and I was across the street after I’d left. I felt like you might not want to see me right then.’

‘Ok,’ I say slowly. ‘How about a phone call before then?’

He shrugs. ‘The right moment never seemed to present itself.’

‘The right moment? The right moment to just say
hi
never presented itself?’ I’m aware that I must sound like a harpy, but I can’t help it. The truth is I’m beginning to realise just how lonely I am and I kind of like the idea of him being around. It’s an admission of weakness that doesn’t come easily to me.

His finger traces the ring of a teacup stain on the table as he stares at it. ‘I didn’t know if you’d want me to call.’

‘Traditionally, when a woman gives herself to a man, she kinda likes him to call afterwards.’

‘You had your gran and everything to worry about.’

‘All the more reason for you to call.’

‘I’m here now,’ he says, looking up at me.

‘Yeah, why are you here now?’

‘I wanted to see you.’

I flick the switch on the kettle and take a seat across from him. ‘Here I am.’

‘You’re angry.’

‘Whatever made you think that?’

‘You didn’t call me either,’ he says, a resentful note creeping into his tone.

‘I shouldn’t have to. I’m the girl. You took advantage of me.’

He frowns. ‘Sexist pig.’

I don’t want to, but he makes me smile again. ‘You want tea, then?’

‘That means I’m forgiven, right?’

‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘I’m still thinking about it.’

His gaze returns to the mug ring on the table. ‘You want to know why I’m here today?’

‘I thought you wanted to see me.’

‘I do. My nightmares are getting worse. And I think it’s going to happen soon.’

‘Why does that mean you need to see me?’

He seems shocked at my tone. ‘I figured I might not get many more chances to see you,’ he says. ‘On account of my imminent death and all.’

I get up to fetch mugs from the cupboard. ‘They’re just dreams,’ I say, putting teabags into the cups.

‘How can you, of all people, say that?’ he asks. ‘You expect everyone to believe your
I see dead people
thing but my dreams mean nothing? What’s the difference between you and me?’

I wheel around. ‘I went to hell and back –’

‘I know,’ he cuts in. ‘But at least you came back. My nightmares never leave me.’

‘You want to know about nightmares?’ I fire back. ‘How about you go to sleep every night and face the final moments of everyone who ever meant anything to you, over and over again? How about you inhabit the last moments of raped, murdered girls?’ I grit my teeth. ‘Don’t tell me about nightmares.’

He stares at me as the tears I’ve been trying to swallow force their way out. They’re not sadness, though, they’re rage and frustration.

‘I didn’t know it was like that…’ He reaches for me and strokes his thumb beneath my eye to wipe them away. I don’t know whether I want to slap him or kiss him as he holds my gaze with a pained expression, something so mournful it’s like poetry.

I wrench myself away as the kettle clicks off. I finish making the drinks and place his on the table, taking a seat alongside and curling my palms around my own mug. The warmth spreads through my fingers, making them tingle.

‘Would it help to talk?’ he asks, gazing into his drink.

‘That’s what Helen is for,’ I reply.

‘What can I do?’ he asks, looking up.

‘Nothing,’ I sigh. ‘No one can do anything for me.’

We lapse into silence; only the ticking of the clock reminds me that the world has sound. The cat sidles into the room and weaves herself around the kitchen table leg.
Dante smiles broadly, seemingly relieved to have a reason to change the subject. ‘You never said you had a cat.’

‘I’ve only just got her. She was a stray and she’s sort of decided to move in.’

Dante bends down and clicks his fingers gently. ‘Come on, then. How’s about a little bit of Dante love? You know you want to.’

The cat gives him a look of utter disdain. I can’t help but laugh at this.

‘I think that proves beyond any doubt that cats are an excellent judge of character. She clearly thinks you’re a total loser.’

He pouts. ‘I’m usually really good with animals.’

‘Dumb ones, maybe. Not this cat; she’s a smart cookie.’

‘She must be if she chose to live here with you.’

I hold out my hand and she comes to me for a fuss.

‘What’s her name?’ Dante asks.

I look up at him and shrug as I haul her onto my lap where she stretches lazily before curling into a ball and settling down. ‘I haven’t thought of one yet.’

He looks at her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘How about Marmalade?’

‘Marmalade?’ I repeat. ‘That’s a bit lame.’

He throws me a look of deepest offence and I have to laugh again. ‘Well, she is orange like marmalade,’ he says in a voice that suggests he is actually not putting on the fact that he’s slightly miffed.

‘If that’s the criteria then I just have to draw up a list of things that are orange and choose one… so that could include Tango, prison jumpsuits, Belisha beacons, fake tan…’

‘Ok, ok, very funny,’ he says. ‘I happen to think Marmalade is cute but if you’re going to be like that about it….’

‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist it,’ I grin. ‘Maybe Marmalade will grow on me and I suppose I haven’t thought of anything else.’ I tickle her under the chin and set her purring. ‘Marmalade it is.’

‘So, have you just been calling her
cat
this whole time?’

I nod.

‘Harsh,’ he says and a slow smile spreads across his face. ‘Will you be referring to me as
boy
for the next few months then?’

‘Probably.’

We both exchange a look and then laugh. It’s nice, and just for a short time I’m transported from all the pain and mess my life is right now and I’m just normal again. But then we lapse into an awkward silence as the moment fades and the warmth dissipates just as quickly as it came.

‘What about your gran?’ he asks finally.

‘She’ll die soon. If she doesn’t then she’ll be a vegetable so she might as well.’

‘That’s tough; I’m sorry. You’ve only got her?’

‘She’s the only one that matters.’

‘What will you do then?’

‘Same as I’m doing now.’

He looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Just now, when you said about girls getting murdered, what did you mean?’

‘It was nothing.’

‘It didn’t sound like nothing.

‘It just slipped out.’

He frowns. ‘How does something like that just slip out?’

My anger washes away and, in its place, cold fear creeps in. Though I try not to, I start to tremble. The images of death assail me and I can’t shut them out.

‘Cassie?’ he says gently. ‘Cassie, what’s happened?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ I whisper.

He kneels beside my chair, the newly christened Marmalade leaping from my knee and skulking away as Dante pulls me into his arms. His warmth is a place I don’t deserve. Half of me wants to sink into it, the other half wants to beat my way out.

‘I understand. But I won’t judge you if you want to,’ he says.

‘You don’t know how much I wish I could. But it hurts too much.’

He lifts my face. His lips gently graze mine. He looks into my eyes and then kisses me again. There’s a sweet taste on him. I don’t want this but I’m possessed. I need him to kiss away the ghosts. I gasp as his mouth finds my neck.

‘Don’t…’ I whisper.

He nips at my ear, and then kisses the curve of my jawbone before finding my mouth again. His kisses are deep and urgent this time, full of fire and need. My body responds, the tingling in my loins telling me I’m alive.

‘I can’t,’ I plead, but it’s more of a sigh and he silences me with his lips over mine once more. Everything becomes molten; I’m heat and desire, my hands in his hair,
pulling him into me. I stand and he drags me closer, stiffens against me. Lips locked, he yanks me across to the wall and pushes me into it. He breaks off and holds my gaze, his eyes a dark place of loss and want. ‘You’re ok?’ he asks.

I nod.

‘You’re sure you want this?’ he says.

‘Yes. I want this.’

Dante’s shout is almost a scream as he bolts up. I’m hurled off the sofa where we’ve been dozing, intertwined, as he twitches awake. He’s crying and clutching at his side. I scramble back to perch on the edge of the sofa and pull his head to my chest.

‘Your nightmare?’

I feel his tiny nod in my arms.

‘It’s ok,’ I say, stroking his hair as he sobs. ‘I’m here.’

It feels good to be the one giving comfort, for once. It’s a feeling I could get used to. I lean my chin on his head as I hold him, breathing him in. For the first time in months, I can feel a new world building around me, if only I can grasp the chance and make it stick. I have the power to mean something, to make a difference, even if it is only small. Maybe I have the power to bring happiness back to my own life too. I may be losing Gran, and it’s going to sting like a bitch, but acceptance of that brings with it realisation that there are others around me who can stop me falling into the void. And they need help, just like me. Dante and Karl and Marmalade and future victims of a nameless killer: they’re all lost in some way, they all need me. I couldn’t save Tish or Mum or Dad, but that doesn’t mean I have to give up. I have to believe that I can put things right this time; I have to be strong enough to save them all.

‘I’m sorry about before,’ Dante says as he stares into his mug.

I rub sleep from my eyes and take a sip of my tea. ‘Don’t worry about it. One of us would have woken screaming, I’m just glad you beat me to it.’

He looks as though he doesn’t know what to say, then breaks into a shy smile. It’s a sweet, uncomplicated smile I haven’t seen from him before.

‘You fell asleep too?’ he asks, looking up.

I rub a hand through my hair. ‘No, I always look this good.’

His smile widens. ‘You look great.’

‘What about the bed breath?’

‘We never got as far as the bed, as I recall.’

That’s because you’re impatient.’

‘That’s because you’re gorgeous.’

My head goes down. The warm contentment spreading through me is tainted by something, like I can’t allow myself the luxury. But then I remember my resolution and the promise I made to myself to save him and maybe that has to start with me letting him in. I look up and force a smile.

‘Did it freak you out?’ he asks, his tone serious again.

‘Did what freak me out?’

‘Me screaming my head off in my sleep?’ He frowns. ‘It makes my mum cry.’

‘It didn’t bother me,’ I say. ‘I could out-scream you any day.’

‘About that –’

‘Don’t.’

‘You don’t know what I was going to say.’

‘I do. And I still can’t talk about it.’

He hesitates, before finally changing the subject. ‘Tell me about your family, then.’

I shrug. ‘We were just a normal family. You probably read most of it in the paper.’

‘I didn’t read it, remember?’

I raise my eyebrows.

‘Ok,’ he says sheepishly. ‘I got the paper out of the recycling after we had that first drink.’

‘You mean the hot date over McStewed Tea?’

‘Yeah, that one,’ he laughs.

‘I knew you’d end up reading it. Is that why you stayed away for so long?’

‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘It wasn’t that.’

‘Ok, don’t tell me then.’

‘I read the bio version in the paper,’ he says, ignoring my jibe. ‘Tell me what they were
like
. My mum dances when she’s cooking, she cries over cut flowers because she thinks they should be in the ground, she feeds squirrels. My dad still brings my mum cut flowers because he always forgets, he hates the music she dances to and thinks that squirrels are tree rats, but he still loves her loads, I can tell. That’s what I mean; those are the things I want to know.’

I think for a moment. ‘Tish was a pain in the arse. But she was hilarious when she wasn’t winding me up, which was most of the time. She was the sweetest, kindest, prettiest, most lovely girl ever – enough to make you want to throw up and not like me at all,’ I smile and he returns it but he stays silent and attentive. ‘Mum fussed over us like crazy, and she was funny in a really lame mum way, and she loved chocolate and rubbish books. Dad was a routine guy – certain things had to happen on certain days, every week, and plans were never changed. That’s why we went on the daytrip to Stratford, it’d been planned and he’d never change plans…’

Suddenly, I can’t breathe.

‘Cassie… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…’

I wave away the apology. ‘It’s ok,’ I whimper, clutching at my chest and trying to regulate my breathing. I look at the ceiling as my eyes burn.
Hold it together
.

‘Do you want me to go?’ he asks.

I glance back at him. ‘Sure. Give me a panic attack and then leave.’

‘What can I do to help?’

I want him to hold me, more than anything. I want him to wrap me in his arms and banish the darkness.

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Drink your tea.’

His gaze drops to the floor and the expression I see cuts me. I reach for his hand. ‘I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s hard. I’ve been building this wall of thorns around my heart for so long I’m not sure how to take it down.’

He looks up and gives me the sweetest lopsided little smile. ‘How about I try with my great big chopper?’

I can’t help but laugh. Maybe I will save Dante. But maybe, at the same time, he’ll save me.

It’s late by the time he leaves and I’m able to make it to the hospital. My thoughts are chaotic as I take the stairs to Gran’s ward. I can still feel Dante’s hands all over me, still taste him on my lips. The memories set a fire in me that won’t dampen. If he appeared around the next corner I’m not sure I’d be able to stop myself from dragging him to the nearest spare room. But something niggles in the background, something that doesn’t feel right.

As I get to the doors of the ward, the smell of bleach hits me. They ’re unlocked and open when they’re usually closed with a security buzzer. The night cleaner drags her trolley across the doorway, then sees me and moves away with a quick apology. Before I have a chance to get to the sanitiser pump that patients use to clean up before they enter, the doctor I saw on the first night comes racing over.