‘What kind of sense?’
‘I don’t know, as if I’d heard him, a feeling that someone was closing in. I told myself not to be stupid. I kept on walking, as fast as I could, trying to catch up with the others. It was then that he grabbed me from behind.’
Kate looked to check any change in his reaction. There didn’t seem to be any.
‘He held a knife to my throat.’
He looked down at the knife in his hand, but kept holding it.
‘I started to scream. I kept on screaming. It must have been loud, but I could barely hear it. It was as if it was inside of my head instead of being outside. As if the sound only existed in my mind, loud and silent at the same time. I was sure no one would hear it.’
‘What did you do?’
‘At first, nothing. He pulled me farther into the woods. He wasn’t speaking, but I could hear him breathing, heavy breaths, the stench of alcohol, his panting on my neck. It felt wet from him, and the sweat, his arms locked around me, the knife cutting into my throat. It was then I saw them. Two men – they seemed so far away. They were my only hope. I kept screaming, even though I knew they couldn’t hear me, but it panicked him. He loosened his grip ever so slightly. It was only for a split second, but it was enough. I pulled away from him and ran and ran and ran, until I could no longer hear him, feel him, smell him.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘I was safe. At least at first I thought I was. I thought I’d got away from him, but in my mind I never did. In my mind, he never left me.’
‘Did they ever find him, Kate?’
‘No. I still don’t know who he was. He’s a stranger, a man without a face.’
‘Do you dream about him, Kate?’
‘All the time.’
He believed her. She was sure of it. The truth isn’t an easy thing to falsify. He looked at the knife again, this time as if he felt guilt about it being there. She was so close to getting him to release it. She had to continue.
‘Sometimes at night, I can still feel him close to me again, his breath wet on my neck, the tinge of the blade. Even now, I can’t bear to have someone walk close behind me.’
‘I’m sorry about earlier. I hadn’t realised.’ His eyes softened. ‘Is that why you run, Kate?’
‘I run, William, because I feel it gives me control. If I run, if I keep on running, all the time getting faster, pushing myself hard, I believe I can outrun him.’
Kate glanced down at his left hand; his grip was definitely loosening. He pulled down the zipper of his jacket with his right hand, undid the top button of his shirt. She would only get one more chance.
‘I see,’ he said, exhaling a deep breath.
Kate looked away, seeing again the pile of comics and books. Under the clear plastic, she could make out the name – Blake, William Blake.
‘William, you read Blake I see.’ She pointed to the books.
‘Oh, yes.’ He pulled himself out of his reverie, smiling. ‘I forgot all about your interest in literature. Your copy of Palgrave’s Golden Treasury, a present from your father, I understand.’
She wanted to scream again.
‘Such a shame, Kate, that they left Blake out of that collection. Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Keats, all included, but no Blake. Songs of Innocence – are you familiar with his poem, ‘Night’?’
‘No, William. I’m afraid I’m not.’
Would he want to show her the poem? It was a chance.
‘Oh, it’s wonderful, Kate.’ He stood up. ‘It speaks of an innocent world protected by angels.’
‘Can I read it?’
‘Of course you can.’ He still had the knife in his hand. He bent down beside her, leaning in to open the plastic covering on the books. ‘You see, Kate, the angels thought they had the power to protect, that they could prevent the slaughter of lambs by wolves and tigers. Silvia thought so, too.’
The plastic is difficult to prise open. He puts down the knife.
Kate leapt with a decisiveness she didn’t even know she was capable of. She lunged for the knife where it lay on the ground, using the split-second of his surprise to get to it first. She didn’t hesitate for a second – sticking the blade deep into his neck and shoulder, close to his throat. She pulled it back, then pushed it down again, harder, deeper, until she saw the blood. When he fell back to the ground, she grabbed Charlie and ran. She ran faster than she had ever run, faster than she thought possible, holding Charlie in a vice grip across her chest, only looking forward, even though she could hear him closing in behind her.
The Woodlands