36
I gripped the wheel as if my life depended on it (which it probably did) until I was clear of the national park. Once I had sped beyond the barriers and was on the quiet, public roads, I eased off. Weaving along the first sheer roads, I kept my speed up and my face fixed. When I was beyond the volcanic area, I eased off, lights becoming visible in the distance. I stuck to around forty as I descended; now even passing an occasional car. I passed some of the rural vineyards with their higgledy-piggledy stone mounds. Perhaps one was where I had met Richard and Ivan. I couldn’t remember. After maybe fifteen minutes of driving, I found a layby, pulled over and shut off the engine. Then I killed the lights.
The quietness was unsettling. The stillness too. But, I had got away. I stretched my arms and legs out. I had done it. I had fucking done it! It was over.
I knew that wasn’t true.
My mind remembered about all my injuries. The burns, the cuts, the aches began to spiral beyond my pain threshold and I forced them away. I needed to think.
Now what?
I had no money, no phone, no passport.
My brain was focused, survival mode still I guess. I could see things clearly. My best option would be to go back to the cabin. I had every reason to think they were all dead. I had killed them all.
Fuck! Too real.
I couldn’t afford to let my mind dwell on my multiple homicides of the evening. But they were dead, and that was the only place I could go. I had nothing. It offered my best chance, whatever way the dice were loaded. That was where my passport was, my bag and maybe my phone too. There might have been some cash too. I nodded to myself. I started the engine. I rustled through the side pouch as an afterthought. My fingers felt a pack of cigs and then a lighter. Bingo! I lit up, smiled, then pulled away.
It wasn’t hard to find the cottage and didn’t take long either. This wasn’t due to my (really rather meagre) geographical skills. There was a sat-nav and I had remembered the address from giving it to the taxi driver.
A time before the torture, chasing and multiple killings.
When I arrived, I sat, watching the place closely. I lit another cigarette, keeping my eyes fixed on the building. I pulled out the car keys and considered the other dangling keys on the bunch. I looked back at the cottage. It was dripping in darkness. It was as still as it had been when I had first arrived.
Chills.
I stepped out and walked slowly to the door, frantically looking in every direction. The outside felt cool and exposed. I quickened my step across the pitch blackness of the night, up to the door. The second key I tried slotted in and I slipped inside. I let my eyes adjust to the inside and paused before the shutting the door gently behind me. I inched through the cabin, checking each room. It was empty. I released a sigh. I shut the blinds and switched on a couple of small lamps. First thing first – paracetamol or ibuprofen – anything! I searched all over and eventually found some aspirin and took three. I thought I’d live dangerously. I went into the bathroom and took a look at myself in the mirror.
Jesus wept!
I was a state. I mean a fucking horrendous state.
A survivor from a horror movie looked back at me from the mirror. I did what I could with it. I didn’t even have any makeup. So, basically I was just dabbing at the cuts on my face as best I could. They stung as I put soap on them, though I knew they wouldn’t be the most painful. I slipped my top off and then my jeans. It all looked even worse than I had imagined. I spent a bit of time washing my various cuts and wrapping some strips of soaked toilet roll over them. I found a few plasters and used some on the worst cuts. Then it was time for the burn on my arm. I was putting it off. I bathed it. It hurt like a motherfucker. But it also helped a little. I wondered through to the kitchen and found a beer in the fridge. I returned to the bathroom and sat on the toilet, continuing to bathe my cuts. I supped my drink and settled my mind on the here and now: the soap, the water. I didn’t let my wander to anything else. Just the immediate. My head needed a little break. The mix of painkillers, beer and cool water painted a nice dull coating over my painful body. Once I was finished with the washing and the beer, I had a wee, then got dressed again. I padded into the living room, allowing the exhaustion closer than I had done so for a long time. It was a serious effort to push it away again. I forced myself to search the place, there were things I needed. I had no chance without them. It didn’t take me too long to search the place over, room by room. A drawer in the kitchen gave me back my purse, phone and passport, along with a slither of
