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Back Stalker Save as PDF
Chapters (66)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. EPILOGUE
  63. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  64. MORE FROM GEMMA ROGERS
  65. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  66. ABOUT BOLDWOOD BOOKS

‘My hand was pulling at his fingers, trying to loosen his grip. Everything was going fuzzy. He grabbed one of my wrists over my head and held it down. I was trying to reach out for anything I could with my free hand.’ I wave my arm around demonstrating. ‘I knocked the tray on to the floor and I was trying to grab it to hit him with, but I couldn’t reach it. My fingers touched something, and I scrambled around trying to get hold of it. I didn’t know it was the knife.’ I sob into my palms, tears running down my wrists. My back heaving. Hysterical comes easy, I am hysterical.

It was hard not to panic as I felt my vision fade out; I had the knife in my hand, but I needed to hit the spot, the axillary artery under the armpit was the first choice. Not as horrific as the neck, more of an accidental severing than a deliberate one.

‘Can I get you some water?’ Hicks offers, and I shake my head. I’m hungry, but now is not the right time to ask when lunch is.

‘So, you had the knife in your hand?’ Becker says, urging me on. Her face is impassive. She’s good at this.

‘Yes, and I stabbed him with it.’ I shudder, but this one is real. There was so much blood.

‘Where on his body did you stab him?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t remember. I stabbed upwards, wherever I could. Just to get him off me. I nearly passed out, but when he let go of my neck and I could breathe again, I was able to wriggle out from underneath him.’ I had waited a couple of minutes, watching Ian’s life ebb away. Just to make sure he couldn’t be saved. Then I ran downstairs screaming, barefoot and covered in blood, into the night.

31

MONDAY 25 DECEMBER 2017

Christmas morning was a quiet affair, I woke early and went for a run through the deserted streets, which was blissful. A frost had descended overnight and everything sparkled, nature’s way of celebrating. There were hardly any cars on the road and I saw no one except for the Indian shopkeeper who was taking an early delivery of bread and milk. He called out to me as I jogged past.

‘Merry Christmas.’

‘And to you.’ I waved, returning his jubilance.

I wasn’t sure if he celebrated or not. I guessed not if he was going to be working in his shop all day.

I ran three miles, thinking of all the children who would already be up, excited to see their presents under the tree. I thought of all the parents fuelled by coffee for the next few hours. Maybe someday I would have a family? Though I wasn’t sure I could handle the responsibility.