The lights are no longer pointing in my direction, but rather at the grave I fell into. David keeps them on but shuts off the engine. He steps out of the vehicle and crosses the path of the beams, and I can see he’s dressed completely in black. Maybe he’s mourning his father. There is another change that has taken place since the last time I saw him, but then I realise it isn’t a change at all, that the man I am looking at is the David Harding he has been for the last two years since he found out the woman he loved was his sister. The man I saw a month ago was the impostor, the grieving David Harding who stared at the ring and who looked like his heart had just been torn open. I move out from behind the stone and duck behind another one five graves away.
He looks out over the graveyard and I wonder if he’s looking for me. He pauses when his eyes come to rest on the girl. There is enough ambient light for him to see her. He shrugs his shoulders back as if to get rid of a crick in the middle of his back, then walks forward. He isn’t holding anything in his hands. When he reaches her he crouches down.
‘This isn’t your fault,’ he says. ‘Really there is only one person to blame, but if it makes you feel any better, he’s taken responsibility for his actions.’
The girl murmurs. There is enough light to see the absolute fear in her face. Her hair is tangled up and sticking to her cheeks.
David reaches forward and brushes it aside.
‘You’re probably wondering how I can be doing this,’ he says, ‘and sometimes I wonder the same thing. I think about it a lot, you know. Ever since Rachel. She was your sister too. I think how things might have been different, but you know what? They’re not different, are they? They’re exactly as they are.’
He grabs her arms and starts dragging her towards the grave.
She slides easily over the wet ground. I still have no idea who this girl is.
She tries pulling away from him, but she’s too weak, too cold, and probably in too much shock to be able to fight him. He gets her next to the grave. He lays her alongside the hole and crouches over her.
I start circling around the edge of the light towards him.
The girl’s murmurs grow louder.
‘Sshh,’ he says, ‘sshh. It’s going to be okay now. Ifs going to be okay. Things are going to be easier for you than the others.’
He unzips his jacket and takes it off. He undoes his belt and pulls it from his waist. He undoes the button and the fly, and starts to lower his jeans.
He hears my footsteps as I run towards him. He looks over his shoulder, but he can’t move because his pants are halfway down his legs, and when I hit him he’s in no position to defend himself.
We fly into the grave and he lands heavily on the coffin with me on top of him, just like it was with Sidney Alderman. There is a loud cracking sound of bone breaking, but if it’s mine I can’t feel anything.
It’s not dark down here like it was last time, and I’ve a better idea of the geography of the place now, so I’m able to right myself before he does. I pull him up by the front of his jacket and swing my fist at him as hard as I can, and this time the sound of breaking bone comes from my hand as it connects with the side of his face.
He falls backwards, and I start to shake my hand, unsure of how many fingers I’ve just busted.
I get to my feet and back away.
David Harding lies unconscious, his arm twisted on a strange angle and his face lolled into the corner of the coffin.
I make my way out of the ground the same way I did last time.
The girl is staring at me. There is a small bloodspot in her left eye, perhaps from a burst blood vessel. I pull the tape from her mouth and she sucks in a deep breath. I grab my keys and try using the longest one to cut through the duct tape around her wrists but it won’t make a start.
‘Wh … where is … is he?’ she asks, her teeth chattering and her eyes darting back and forth like a wired-up junkie’s.
‘It’s okay’ I say.
‘That’s … that’s what he said.’
I try picking at the edge of the tape, but my fingers are too cold on one hand and busted up on the other.
‘What’s your name?’ I ask.
‘Stacey’
‘Listen to me, Stacey, it’s going to be okay. My name is Tate
and I’m here to help you. You just have to wait here for a few seconds.’
“No, no, don’t leave.’
“I’ll be ten seconds.’
‘Please.’
It hurts to ignore her cry, but I do it. I open the door to David’s car and pop open the glovebox. There’s a pocketknife in there that makes fast work of the duct tape.
She sits up and folds her arms in front of her.
‘Okay Stacey, here’s what I want you to do. We’re going to get you to your feet and into the car,’ I say, taking off my jacket.
‘It’s dry and warm in there, and —’ I wrap the jacket around her — ‘and I want you to drive away from here. You know how to drive, right?’
‘Where do I go?’
“I want you to drive home. Then call the police.’
‘Okay’
I help her into the car. She tightens the jacket around her when she sits down. I lean in and start it.
‘Drive carefully, Stacey. You’re in a state of shock, you need to be careful. Do you think you can drive?’
‘Yes.’
Are you sure?’
‘There’s another woman.’
‘Where is she?’
‘He made her make a phone call. He made her lie about where we were.’
‘Where is she, Stacey?’
She starts to cry. “I was so scared. I couldn’t help her. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything.’
‘Where is she?’