lip to fight back against the weakness. When it had passed, I cautiously opened my eyes. I was still on all fours, and was so grateful not to have succumbed to unconsciousness that it took me a moment or two to realize there was something wrong with my eyes. Seriously wrong. An involuntary cry of terror escaped my frozen lips. I had no sight in my right eye, and in my left only tunnel vision, the periphery of my eyesight disappearing into a cloudy fog. I knew this wasn’t anything to do with exposure, hypothermia, or intense grief. The loss of sight was the last dire link in the chain of symptoms my specialist had cautioned about, which I had unwisely chosen to ignore.
I couldn’t afford to let myself panic. I groped with my left hand, found the wide marble edge of Jimmy’s headstone, and pulled myself upright on legs that felt as stable as elastic. I had stupidly left my mobile in the hotel room, so my only chance of aid was to try to get to the road. Hoping they would forgive me for the disrespect, I used the surrounding grave markers as handholds as I made my slow and unsteady way through the graveyard.
The sight in my left eye was decreasing at an alarming rate; the small circle of vision now felt as though I were looking through a narrow tube. I tried to ignore my greatest dread that this might be permanent. I couldn’t allow that thought to overwhelm my mind, or exhaustion to take my body. It was hard, particularly when what I wanted to do more than anything was lie down and close my eyes against this pain-racked nightmare. Even walking was now proving difficult, and each shaky step I took had all the fluidity of a newly awakened zombie.
As I left the last gravestone support, I thought I could vaguely make out a distant sound. Was that a train from the station or could there be a car approaching? It was probably not yet eleven o’clock, surely not that late for someone to be driving by? The road, although quiet, might still have the occasional passing car. But from where I stood, in the shadows of the church and the trees, I knew I would never be seen. The noise grew louder. It
was
a car.
“Help!” I cried out uselessly. “Please stop, help!”
I lurched forward, trying to run and raise my arms to flag down the car. It was my last bad idea, in an evening full of them. Running isn’t really an option when you can barely stand. Or see. I was already pitching headfirst toward oblivion when the car’s headlights arced into the starlit sky.
3
DECEMBER 2013
Also Five Years Later …
The man must have been watching me for a considerable period of time before I first became aware of him. Of course, he could have been right beside me on the crowded underground platform and I’d never have known it, packed as we were like cattle during the usual Friday evening exodus from London. Moving along the twisting tiled passages while changing underground lines, I wasn’t really aware of anything except the annoyance of having to drag my small suitcase behind me through rush hour. I stopped apologizing after I’d run over about the fifth pair of feet. It had been a huge mistake to leave so late; it would have made far more sense to have driven down with Matt that morning as he had suggested, but I had an immovable deadline for an article I’d been working on that couldn’t be ignored.
“Shall I wait for you, and we’ll drive down together when you’re done?”
I’d considered that for a moment but then dismissed the idea.
“No, there’s no sense in both of us being late. You go on ahead, I’ll finish at work and then catch the fast train down.”
IT HAD SEEMED like such a good idea at the time, and now … well, not so good at all. Between my attempts at weaving through the crowds with the suitcase in tow, I kept glancing frantically at my watch, knowing time was fast running out if I was going to make the mainline train out of London for Great Bishopsford. At this rate I would be lucky to get to the
I couldn’t afford to let myself panic. I groped with my left hand, found the wide marble edge of Jimmy’s headstone, and pulled myself upright on legs that felt as stable as elastic. I had stupidly left my mobile in the hotel room, so my only chance of aid was to try to get to the road. Hoping they would forgive me for the disrespect, I used the surrounding grave markers as handholds as I made my slow and unsteady way through the graveyard.
The sight in my left eye was decreasing at an alarming rate; the small circle of vision now felt as though I were looking through a narrow tube. I tried to ignore my greatest dread that this might be permanent. I couldn’t allow that thought to overwhelm my mind, or exhaustion to take my body. It was hard, particularly when what I wanted to do more than anything was lie down and close my eyes against this pain-racked nightmare. Even walking was now proving difficult, and each shaky step I took had all the fluidity of a newly awakened zombie.
As I left the last gravestone support, I thought I could vaguely make out a distant sound. Was that a train from the station or could there be a car approaching? It was probably not yet eleven o’clock, surely not that late for someone to be driving by? The road, although quiet, might still have the occasional passing car. But from where I stood, in the shadows of the church and the trees, I knew I would never be seen. The noise grew louder. It
was
a car.
“Help!” I cried out uselessly. “Please stop, help!”
I lurched forward, trying to run and raise my arms to flag down the car. It was my last bad idea, in an evening full of them. Running isn’t really an option when you can barely stand. Or see. I was already pitching headfirst toward oblivion when the car’s headlights arced into the starlit sky.
3
DECEMBER 2013
Also Five Years Later …
The man must have been watching me for a considerable period of time before I first became aware of him. Of course, he could have been right beside me on the crowded underground platform and I’d never have known it, packed as we were like cattle during the usual Friday evening exodus from London. Moving along the twisting tiled passages while changing underground lines, I wasn’t really aware of anything except the annoyance of having to drag my small suitcase behind me through rush hour. I stopped apologizing after I’d run over about the fifth pair of feet. It had been a huge mistake to leave so late; it would have made far more sense to have driven down with Matt that morning as he had suggested, but I had an immovable deadline for an article I’d been working on that couldn’t be ignored.
“Shall I wait for you, and we’ll drive down together when you’re done?”
I’d considered that for a moment but then dismissed the idea.
“No, there’s no sense in both of us being late. You go on ahead, I’ll finish at work and then catch the fast train down.”
IT HAD SEEMED like such a good idea at the time, and now … well, not so good at all. Between my attempts at weaving through the crowds with the suitcase in tow, I kept glancing frantically at my watch, knowing time was fast running out if I was going to make the mainline train out of London for Great Bishopsford. At this rate I would be lucky to get to the
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