Marla took another sip and remembered her dingy bed-sit, all the unpaid bills and hassle from her landlady. It was easy to complain when you’d had too much of a good thing, she supposed, but she meant to enjoy every minute.
A sound like gravel being sucked through an echoing tube woke Marla. Her brain throbbed inside her skull as she struggled to open her eyes. For a moment she couldn’t open her mouth, it felt so dry. Slowly and painfully sitting up, she realized she’d passed out on Jessie’s bed. Focusing on the form lying next to her, Marla realized her head had been right next to Jessie’s feet. The violent gravelly sound continued from the vicinity of Jessie’s head. She was snoring as loud as a freight train.
Marla managed to stand up, staggering backwards and steadying herself against the doorframe. Holding her pounding forehead with one shaky hand, she made her way out of the bedroom, through the living area and into the kitchen. She could just make out a few trees in the moonlight outside the window—it was the middle of the night. Grabbing a glass from the worktop, Marla opened the faucet and filled it with cool, clear water. She gulped the water down in one go, and filled the glass again. Then, a dull wave of nausea hit her stomach and bile rose in her throat. The glass wasn’t properly clean. It still stank of mojito. Marla lurched over the sink and vomited, the entire contents of her stomach emptying into the sink, echoing off the unsympathetic steel interior. The water still ran mockingly. If only she’d drunk her fill of that tonight instead of all those mojitos. Jesus, she suddenly realized, trying not to heave again, we put away three jugs of the stuff. The mere thought was enough to send her stomach muscles into involuntary spasm again and, horribly, she retched up what was left in her poor aching belly. Splashing some water on her face, Marla steadied herself against the worktop and peered at her reflection in the kitchen window. She looked like death, her pale skin and sunken eyes all the more pronounced in the silvery light of the moon. I’ll never drink again, she tried to promise herself. I know I’ve said it before, but I mean it this time. Never again.
Then she saw the other face, looking back at her from the trees.
Chapter Twelve
Jessie was wrapped up in the kind of warm candyfloss dreams that only snoring drunks can access. Languid waves lapped at her feet, gently tickling her toes. A tropical breeze massaged her naked body. Then the sound of Marla screaming penetrated her skull.
She kicked off the bedcovers instinctively and lurched towards the door. The scream had come from the kitchen—Jessie hoped the cockroaches hadn’t come back. Turning the corner, she found Marla lying on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. Stepping carefully through the shards, Jessie crouched and tried to rouse Marla. Good, she was still breathing. She shook Marla’s body a little harder.
Marla groaned and looked up at Jessie’s worried face, a welcome sight after the face she’d seen at the window. There’d been something wrong with its eyes, she remembered that clearly. But what had happened next, how she’d come to be in a crumpled heap on the kitchen tiles amidst all this broken glass, was a complete blur.
“What happened? You okay?”
“I’m sorry. I was sick. Then I saw… I thought I saw…”
“Man, I’m the one who’s sorry,” said Jessie earnestly. “I mixed those drinks a little strong. Come on, let me help you up.”
Groaning again as the room span, Marla struggled to her feet with Jessie’s help. She half-fell, half-sat on a stool and leaned on the counter to steady herself, watching as Jessie filled the kettle with water and switched it on.
“Hot, sweet coffee. This will save your life,” Jessie said cheerily.
Marla watched almost incredulously as Jessie made the drinks, a superhuman feat considering the amount of booze they’d put away only a few hours ago. As the steam from the kettle rose, fogging the windows, Marla tried to picture the face she’d seen—or thought she’d seen—on the other side of the glass. Hollow eyes, that’s all she could remember. But even that small fragment was enough to give her the chills. She shuddered, and pulled a small shard of glass from her hair.
“I only came in here for some water. Must’ve dropped the glass. Sorry.”
“No harm done. Here you go.”
Jessie placed a welcome mug of coffee in front of her. Marla wrapped her hands around it, the warmth comforting her.
“You must think I’m such a lightweight…”
Jessie laughed as she swept up the pieces of broken glass in a plastic dustpan.
“I’m just glad you’re okay. Nearest hospital is quite a boat ride from here. On second thought, you could’ve hurt yourself at least a little bit—we might’ve gotten ourselves some quality shore leave.”
Marla’s eyes drifted to the window again. She took a sip of the hot, sweet coffee.
“Could’ve sworn I saw a face at the window. A man, watching me. Scared me half to death, let me tell you.”
“Who was it? What did he look like?”
“I don’t know. All I remember is his eyes—he had weird eyes.”
Jessie peered out through the window, leaning as close as she could to the glass.
“Well, there’s no one there now. I’ve scared myself a couple of times with my own reflection. Happens from time to time, being so isolated up here. And you did drink quite a bit.”
“I suppose so,” sighed Marla, feeling a little foolish. “I’m too used to being surrounded by noisy neighbors, TV sets, stereos. And bawling children.”
“It’s only been a couple of days, you’ll get used to the quiet,” replied Jessie, upbeat. “And if not, we’ll throw a party.”
“No mojitos this time?”
“No mojitos. I promise. Come on, you should get some shut-eye. You can have my bed, I’ll take the couch.”
Marla tried her best to protest but Jessie was having none of it. Leaning on Jessie for support, she sloped into the bedroom and under the covers.
As her head sank slowly into the soft pillow, Marla closed her eyes. The image of the face at the window and those desolate, empty eyes returned to her, keeping her from sleep. Finally her body surrendered to fatigue and she drifted off, her breathing troubled in the still, silent night.
In the other room Jessie sat awake on the couch, watching the window and waiting for the sun to rise.
Security Operative Anders felt the chill from the night crosswind in his knuckles as he walked, clutching the flashlight in his right hand. The thing was switched off as per the chief’s instructions, but the weight of it in his hand was reassuring somehow. His radio was silenced too, again Fowler’s call, for fear of alerting his quarry to the presence of him and his men. Anders pictured them fanning out as they’d been instructed, slowly crossing the dark side’s craggy terrain. His hearing seemed enhanced in the gloom and he turned at the sound of breath whistling through teeth, his fingers clenching tighter around the flashlight. He froze, eyes searching out movement but none was there. Not breath, just the wind. He breathed now, a slow and heavy exhalation of compacted tension, and made his way down a crude stairwell of sharp rocks. The biting crosswind diminished as he descended into the natural shelter of a steep-walled cove, the whistling of the wind giving way to stone cold silence. He listened to the echoes of his own gravelly footfalls, almost deafeningly loud in the still calm, and hurried on down to the cove in order to be rid of them.
Tidal erosion had turned area at the back of the cove into a steep bank the waves couldn’t quite reach. As he worked his way down the last of the rocks and onto the cove’s sloping surface, Anders stopped dead in his tracks. Not a sound this time, but a real honest-to-goodness movement. It had flickered at the periphery of his vision where the sand of the cove met the sheer rock wall. He stooped, strafing the line of the rocks behind him, in order to get a better look at where the movement had occurred. His eyes darted across the rocky surfaces, which held shadows as deep as the folds of great velvet curtains. There. There it was again, a movement at the rear of the cove—too big to be an animal, he felt sure of that.