The Final Act, Page 2

  “Sure,” she replies, but she's clearly not convinced. After a moment she takes a step back, but she's still staring at the shirt I'm holding against my belly, as if she's hoping that I'll let her get a better look. I guess it's just human nature to be drawn to hideousness.

  And then she mumbles something under her breath, before turning and heading toward the door.

  “Please don't tell anyone!” I call after her.

  “Of course not.”

  She hurries out, leaving me standing all alone in the bathroom.

  Sighing, I already know that she's going to tell Tom. Then she'll tell everyone else in the office, and by the end of the day the whole place will know. I'll be the girl with the mysterious scars, the girl who claims to have been in a car crash even though my scars look nothing like that at all. I know what people are like here, they gossip like crazy. I should never have changed in the open like this, but I thought everyone else was off at lunch.

  Now my secret's out.

  Well, one of my secrets, at least.

  Looking down, I slowly move the shirt away and stare for a moment at my scars. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I swear it's completely obvious what happened. Anyone looking at these injuries would be able to see that I was basically ripped open again and again. They'd also probably guess that I never got proper medical attention, because my skin is so twisted and gnarled. My belly looks like a mess of tree roots, all folded over one another. There's no way a car crash could cause something like this.

  I quickly change into my fresh shirt, before anyone else has a chance to walk in on me. Then, as I'm getting ready to head back to my desk, I glance into the mirror and freeze as I see the fear in my eyes.

  Five years.

  I've spent the past five years trying to get over what happened to me in that house on Cathmore Road, trying to forget what happened on the night I freed that thing from the basement and then my mother showed up. I thought I could put it all behind me, I somehow managed to start a new life. I got help, I got into this program for interns, and I've worked my ass off ever since.

  But I was wrong.

  I can never put my past behind me.

  What happened that night at Cathmore Road – in the house of Jack the Ripper – is going to be with me forever. The more I try to run from the truth, the more I feel as if something really bad is about to come crashing back into my life. After all, the house is still there.

  Still waiting.

  Chapter Three

  Maddie

  “So we need to get those adverts up by Friday evening,” I explain, as I hurry along the corridor. “Is that going to be possible?”

  “No chance,” the guy on the other end of the line replies. “Monday at the earliest.”

  “We really need it by Friday.”

  “Yeah, well we need at least a week to get stuff ready. You're not the only clients in the world. What am I supposed to do, tell all the others to take a hike and shove your work to the top of the queue?”

  “I happen to know that you manage to get ads running within twenty-four hours all the time,” I tell him, pushing open the door that leads into the reception area. “If you can do it for other agencies, why can't you do it for us?” I wait for a reply, but all I hear is a sigh. “I know I'm asking a lot,” I continue, “and I wouldn't dream of pushing you if things weren't desperate here, but -”

  Suddenly I spot someone standing at the reception desk. Immediately feeling a rush of panic, I step back through the doors and slip out of sight. My mind is racing and I tell myself that I must have been wrong. There's no way he could have found me here.

  At the same time, I've broken out into an instant cold sweat.

  “Are you still there?” the guy on the phone asks. “Listen, I'll do my best to help you, but I'm not making any promises. What kind of budget do you have for an emergency run?”

  Barely even hearing him, I step back over to the door and peer out toward the reception desk. There's a man standing there with his back to me, talking to Diane. I can tell from her body language that she's telling him she can't help, but he seems insistent. All I can make out is the back of his neck, since he's wearing a black hat, but I can just about tell that he has wisps of dark hair. Looking down, I see that he's walking with a cane too, and I flinch as I see that there are scars on his right hand.

  It's not him.

  It can't be him.

  After five years, why would he show up now?

  How would he show up? How would he even find me?

  “Okay, I guess I'll hang up,” the guy on the phone says. “We're not -”

  “I need that ad up and running by the end of Friday,” I reply, snapping out of my daze and turning away from the door for a moment. Somehow, something deep inside clicks into gear and gets me focused on work. “I'm going to email you a list of what has to be done, and I need you to email me some prices, and then we'll figure something out. I know you can do this, and our client has a budget, so money's not an issue. Let's just stop wasting one another's time and figure out a deal instead, okay?”

  I wait.

  “Please?” I continue. “I'll do anything, but please help me out here. My job's on the line.”

  He um's and ah's a little, but finally he gets off the line after promising to see what he can do. I know he'll come around, so I just have to get to my desk and send him the email. First, though, I look back out into reception, and to my surprise I see that the black-hatted man is gone. Diane's tapping away at her computer, almost as if she was never disturbed in the first place.

  Everything looks calm.

  Everything looks normal.

  For a moment, I consider going through and asking her about the man, but then I realize that there's no point. She'll tell me later if anyone was asking after me, and I don't want her to think that I'm hallucinating. She's probably already heard about my scars, too, so I don't want to draw any attention to myself. Besides, I'm sure I was wrong. Yeah, I was definitely wrong. My brain was just throwing shadows for a moment.

  Telling myself that the whole thing was probably in my head, caused by that incident in the bathroom earlier, I head off to my desk. I need to throw myself into work so that I stop worrying about other things.

  And I need to stop thinking about the house. I've been so good lately, focusing on work. I can't afford to let myself slip now.

  ***

  “Man, it's always hard to work in the afternoons,” Tom says as we stand on the escalator, heading down toward the lobby. He rubs his belly, as if he's still feeling full from that two-hour lunch earlier. “I think it's the blood, you know? It all goes to the stomach to help with digestion, leaving the brain a little off-form. If you ask me, nobody should be asked to work after a good lunch. The whole idea's just inhumane! I mean, we're not animals!”

  “When I get home I'm going to chase up the graphics guys,” I reply, still trying to stay focused on work. “I'll let you know what they say.”

  “The who?”

  “The graphics guys for the ad realignment.”

  “Oh, did you need to order new graphics?”

  “Just a touch-up,” I tell him, although I'm certain I already told him back in the office. “Don't worry, I'm on it. I'll get it done.”

  “Send me a text later,” he mutters, checking his watch. “I might not reply before morning, though, 'cause I'm meeting some friends in a pub. After everything that's been going on today, I need to unwind before I snap. Or was that a mixed metaphor?” He turns to me. “You don't want to come, do you? Might do you some good to socialize with people for once. Maybe make some connections, network a little over some good old-fashioned fags and booze. I mean, you don't want to just sit in the same company for years and years, do you? That kind of thing never looks good on a CV.”

  “Thanks for the offer,” I reply, stepping off the escalator at the bottom, “but I've got to get home.”

  “Some other day, huh?”

  “Sure.”

  �
��Well, don't work too hard,” he adds, turning and heading toward the elevator that leads down into the parking garage beneath the building. He's already fishing a packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket. “You've got to have a little personal time now and again. We all do!”

  I want to tell him that as the most junior person here, I can't afford to have any personal time. Then again, I might end up sounding bitter, and I'd hate that because I'm definitely not bitter. In fact, I'm grateful. I recognize the opportunity I've been given, and I understand that I have to work that little bit harder than everyone else. That's not unfair, it's just how the world works. One day I'll have proved myself, and someone else will be racing around like crazy, but right now it's my turn to be run ragged.

  Sighing, I head across the lobby and through the revolving door, finally stepping out into the cool evening air. The tube station's just a few minutes away, but I'm going to have to take a little detour before I head home. I shouldn't waste time, but there's something I've been meaning to do for a few days now and I'm worried about leaving it too long. I won't be able to think properly until I've been to see her. After buttoning my coat, I start walking away from the building. I have to visit her and -

  “Maddie!”

  Freezing, I realize instantly that I recognize that voice.

  “Maddie,” he says again, sounding a little closer this time. “Maddie, it's me. We need to talk.”

  It's not him.

  It can't be him.

  I hallucinated him earlier at the reception desk, but after that I managed to convince myself that he wasn't really there. After all, I've changed my surname specifically to make sure that I can't be tracked down. I thought I'd managed to cut the cord to my past, but finally I turn and look over my shoulder, and my heart skips a beat as soon as I see the cautious, friendly smile of the black-hatted man right behind me.

  I've missed him so much.

  “Hey,” he says, removing his hat to reveal a scarred forehead. He has scars on his neck, too. “It's me. It's Matt. Don't tell me you don't recognize me. I know I'm even uglier than before, but...”

  His voice trails off.

  “I recognize you,” I manage to reply, although once again my throat feels impossibly dry. “I... Of course I do.”

  “I came to find you earlier,” he explains, glancing briefly at the building before turning to me again. “I asked at the reception desk, but they said you didn't work there. I guess maybe you told them to say that to people, huh?”

  “I changed my name,” I stammer, still trying not to panic. “My surname.”

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  He taps the side of his head. “Police officer, remember?”

  With that, he takes another step toward me, and I feel a flash of sorrow as I see that he's limping heavily and leaning on a cane. I want to rush over and hug him, to ask him how he's doing, but I force myself to stay back. I pushed that part of my life away a long time ago, and I refuse to undo all that hard work. There's a barrier between who I am now and who I was back then.

  “Well, I used to be a police officer,” he continues. “That kind of fell by the wayside. Turns out they don't have much use for people who can barely walk, especially people who can't even explain convincingly what happened. Because I didn't tell them, you know. You asked me not to, and I kept that promise. I limped away with my mouth zipped shut.” He smiles, as if he hopes I'll find his comment funny, but the smile quickly fades. “Five years is a long time,” he continues. “You look great. I mean, you look... The last time I saw you, you were... Well, it was at the hospital, wasn't it? When you came in to see me. I didn't realize at the time that you...”

  “I'm sorry,” I reply.

  “You've got nothing to apologize for,” he continues. “The thing is, the last night at Cathmore Road we -”

  “That's in the past now,” I say, interrupting him.

  “Is it?”

  “Of course it is.” I take a deep breath. “It's over. It's gone.”

  I wait for him to admit that I'm right, but instead he seems cautious, almost as if he thinks we have something to talk about. The weirdest thing is, somehow I always knew he'd show up again one day. I didn't want him to, but deep down I knew he would.

  “I'm really busy,” I add after a moment. “I'm sorry I don't have time to talk, but it's good to see that you're getting along okay. I mean, your injuries were -”

  Stopping myself just in time, I feel a sudden wave of sorrow. I still desperately want to rush over and hug him, to tell him that I need help, but I know I can't allow myself to be weak. I've spent five years building myself up again after everything that happened at Cathmore Road, and even the tiniest crack could bring everything crashing back down. I made a conscious decision to cut out everything that reminded me of that place, and unfortunately that has to include Matt.

  Still, for a moment I remember finding him in one of the bedrooms at Cathmore Road. After escaping the basement, I ran up to see if I could save him. Jerry had told me he was dead, but I found him still breathing on the floor. I guess Jerry lied to crush my spirit, but somehow I managed to get Matt out of that house and to a hospital. I know how he survived, even if I don't want to think about the truth. I don't want to admit to myself that a ghost saved him.

  “Maddie,” he says, “please just -”

  “I don't want to talk!” I say firmly.

  “We really need to be -”

  “I don't even want to think about it!” I tell him, raising my voice much louder than I'd intended. I glance around, to check that nobody's eavesdropping, and then I turn back to Matt. If being a cold-hearted bitch is the only way to get rid of him, then I guess I've got no choice. “I don't know why you came here today,” I continue, “but I'm begging you, don't try to contact me again. What happened five years ago was terrible, but it's in the past. Maybe you haven't moved on, but I have, and I won't allow you to reopen old wounds. It's over.”

  “Do you really think that?”

  “I know it.”

  I sound like a terribly person, but I feel like I have to protect myself. It won't do Matt any good to go raking over the past, either. This is best for both of us.

  “The past is done with,” I continue. “There's nothing to be gained by thinking about it again.”

  “I think you're wrong,” he replies. “I don't think it's over at all, Maddie, and I'm pretty sure you know I'm right. This is about as far from over as it can get.”

  “Matt -”

  “That night your mother turned up,” he continues, “didn't end anything. You might have felt like you escaped, Maddie. You might have felt like we all escaped, but that's not true. That thing in the basement got exactly what it wanted, and you just can't admit that to yourself yet.”

  I shake my head.

  “Then where did it go, Maddie?” he asks. “The old woman... What happened to her?”

  “She's gone.”

  “Where?”

  “She's just gone!” I say firmly, with tears in my eyes.

  “You keep saying that,” he replies, “but where did she go to? What did she want? Did she get it?”

  “Matt...”

  “Because I think you know that she had a plan,” he continues. “You told me at the time, or at least you started to. Then you clammed up, like something deep down had stopped you. What was that, Maddie? Five years later, what are you still scared of?”

  “I'm sorry,” I reply, forcing myself to hold back the tears, “but you're wrong. And I have somewhere to be, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop bothering me.”

  “But -”

  “I don't have anything to say to you. We don't have anything to say to each other. Now please... I'm begging you, just leave me alone. Thank you. Goodbye.”

  With that, I turn and hurry away, forcing my way through the crowd. I fully expect Matt to rush after me, I'm convinced I'll feel his hand on my arm, but somehow I get all the way to the tube station without him bother
ing me again. When I finally glance over my shoulder, I scan the crowd for a moment without seeing any hint of him coming this way. I guess maybe he understood that I don't want to talk to anyone about what happened. Matt was always a good guy, a decent and honorable guy, so I guess it shouldn't be a surprise that he respected my wishes. I asked him to leave me alone, and that's what he's doing. Finally.

  With that, I hurry down the steps that lead into the station. I have to get my head straight and go home to finish some work, but first I have to stop by Larkford Psychiatric Hospital. There's someone I have to visit, and then I have to get home and focus on the advertising campaign.

  I don't live in the past.

  I need to focus on the future, even though Matt's words about the old woman are still ringing in my ears:

  “What happened to her? Where did she go?”

  Chapter Four

  Maddie

  “Has there been any change?” I ask, standing in the doorway and watching Mum's chest slowly rise and fall in the bed. After a moment, I turn to the nurse. “Has she shown any sign of...”

  My voice trails off. I can already see the answer in the nurse's eyes. Besides, if there'd been any improvement at all, they'd have told me as soon as I arrived. They'd have phoned me, even. They know I'm waiting for anything, even the slightest hint that she's getting better. It's clear now that Mum's still in her coma, and that there's no encouraging news to report. For all I know, they might even be holding back some bad news.

  I guess I just don't know what else I'm supposed to say.

  “No change at all?” I ask.

  “I'm sorry,” the nurse replies. “She's still stable.”

  Her voice sounds tentative, as if she knows that stable is both the best and the worst possible news.

  “I know I should come more often,” I continue. “Once a month isn't enough, but I've been so busy and I didn't want to just pop in briefly, and even though I should have made time I -”