Page 68 of The Best Friend
‘Stop!’ he growls.
Yeah, right. I put on an extra spurt of speed. I don’t know where from. My lungs are squeezed tight, my thighs and calves already burning from my mammoth walk, and steep climb up the chine, my knee grinding in agony – I’m sure I’m going to need an operation on it soon – if I manage to live that long. If this guy catches me, I dread to think what he’ll do – Rape? Murder? Worse?
I hear his breathing now, merging with my own. Oh please, no. I can’t outrun this man. He’s almost on me. I try to scream but my breath is taken, my lungs squeezed from the effort of running. His fingers close around my shoulder. I squeal and manage to jerk away and veer off the path into the woods. As soon as I do so, I realise this was a bad idea. There’s no daylight in here, no chance of a passer-by to save me. Branches twist and bracken crunches underfoot. Twigs claw at my face and now I’m crying with terror. His fingers scrape the backs of my arms. ‘Stop!’ he snarls again, frustration and anger in his voice.
I scream thinly as his arms lock around my body and he tackles me to the ground. We crash into the undergrowth, his weight pinning me. Soggy leaves and mud slide into my mouth and up my nose. I cough and spit and choke. A bird calls out a warning. Too late for me.
‘Help!’ I try to yell, but my voice comes out weak and croaky. His hand slides over my face, smothering my mouth and nose. I can’t breathe.Shit. Is this it? Will I ever see Joe again? Am I going to die today?
Twenty-Seven
His warm hand still covers my mouth and nose, my hands pinned below my chest where I tried to break my fall. He’s half-sitting, half-lying on my back, his beard scratching my neck, his knees either side of me. Terror numbs my body, freezes my mind. If he doesn’t remove his hand from my face soon, I’m going to suffocate. I try to wriggle free. He’s too heavy. I kick out my legs, but I can’t do anything other than bend them back impotently.
‘Stop struggling,’ he says, his voice soft and low in my ear. ‘You’ll hurt yourself.’ His accent is local – a Dorset accent, probably Poole. ‘Don’t try to scream.’
I want to tell him to get off me, but it comes out as nothing more than a muffled whimper. If he takes his hand away from my mouth, the first thing I’ll do is yell as loud as I can.
‘Sorry I scared you,’ he continues. ‘I only wanted to talk, but you started running away.’ He pauses. ‘I have to tell you something. It’s important.’
His words don’t sound aggressive, and, despite my sweating, shaking terror, I’m curious to hear what he has to say. But why does he still have me pinned to the ground? Why did he chase me in the first place?
‘If I let you go, will you stay and listen?’ he asks. ‘I won’t hurt you again.’
I want to yell at him toget the fuck off me. Again, my words are stifled by his thick fingers.
‘Shh,’ he says, easing his hand away from my mouth. I gulp in lungfuls of loamy air, too choked to scream straightaway. I feel him ease up off my body, his other hand still pressing down on my back. I draw in a steadying breath, tense my body and then, twist my body around on the ground, kicking out at him with my right leg. My foot doesn’t connect, and he lunges across me, pinning both legs as I contort my body around and begin pummelling his back with my fists.
‘Help!’ I yell. ‘Someone, help! Over here! In the woods!’ My voice sounds pathetically weak, but we’re not too far from the path, someone could hear. Please, God, let someone hear.
‘Shut up!’ the man growls. ‘I’m trying to help, you silly cow.’
He rolls me onto my back, straddles me, grabs both wrists in one of his massive hands and presses his free hand over my mouth again. If only I were stronger. No matter how much I writhe and jerk, I’m helpless to get free, pinned like a butterfly on a board.
‘If you’d stop struggling and listen,’ he grunts,’ you’d know I don’t want to hurt you.’
My body is bruised and aching, but I can’t give up. I have to get away from this man.
‘For Christ’s sake stop!’ he shouts. ‘Look, I know Darcy Lane.’
This gets my attention and I stop straining against him for a moment.
‘I know her,’ he says. ‘I know what she’s really like.’
The fight escapes from my body, and my shoulders sag, sinking into the earth as I digest his words. He takes his hand from my mouth and springs to his feet. Then he reaches down a hand to pull me up. I hesitate for a second, but then accept, my battered body peeled from the muddy ground.
On my feet once more, my breath comes ragged and uneven, my heartbeats slowing to a clatter, rather than the echoing boom that filled my ears only moments ago. The light has almost disappeared from the woods and this man from my nightmares towers above me. Yet I don’t run.
‘You know her?’ I ask.
He nods. ‘Look, I’m sorry about just now. I just wanted to talk to you. I could tell you were scared. I shouldn’t have chased after—’
‘Tell me how you know Darcy,’ I demand.
‘Shall we go somewhere else?’
I shake my head. ‘No, here’s fine. I need to know. I need to…’ My legs wobble, and I sit back down heavily on the frozen ground. I straighten my legs out in front of me, my knee grinding painfully.
‘You okay?’ He crouches in front of me.
