CHAPTER 45
Ella
“Huntington Way. We’re at a pink house on Huntington Way in Brighton!” I scream to the call handler, my chin rising as I look at Immi. She’s covered in sweat, her jumper gone, and her bare arms glistening. She looks dangerously strong, with wild eyes and a deep cut on her cheek.
Immi strides across the room, grabs my wrist and slams it hard against the window frame.
The sound of the call handler grows softer.
My hand opens on instinct, the phone falls and bounces off the ledge.
I pull back, but that only gives her more leverage to pin me against the wall.
Her hands wrap around my throat and push into my windpipe.
I hear the phone smash somewhere beyond my vision.
“It’s no use, they know where we are,” I croak out between gasps, my windpipe moving unnaturally.
Immi shifts her weight, and my fingers claw hopelessly.
Every part of me begs for air. My free hand works, pushing at her chest, her arms, her hands.
It does nothing but draw a demented smile from Immi.
I make a fist, pummelling into the side of her torso.
It shocks her. But it doesn’t slow her down.
I need air. My right foot pushes off from the wall.
Immi flinches but leans closer, bracing down on her back foot.
I try again. Swinging my foot towards her.
She blocks it with her thigh. There’s no air left.
My lungs fill with flames. My eyes dart, but everything worth anything is out of reach.
A breeze carries through the window. If this were a film, I could manoeuvre her to the open window and grab her around the neck as we fall from the second floor while ensuring my safety and her demise.
My feet scramble. Her breath is sticky on my cheek, and her image keeps fading.
Dark spots are appearing where she should be.
“It doesn’t matter, dear little Elsie. This is the end. You came here angry and unhinged. You killed your friend, my boyfriend, and then yourself,” Immi says, a smile on her face.
“T–they w… won’t buy that.” Everything hurts.
My body screams. There’s no one left to save me, no hidden figure to step from the shadows.
No knight in shining armour. I tried to be my own knight, and that only resulted in losing Jude.
I’ll die here at the hands of a woman I called a friend.
Just like Robbie. My fingers reach for her face, even the smallest movement taking up too much of my vital energy.
Robbie comes to mind. The Robbie at the beach that one summer. The Robbie that would trace doodles into the sand while we all soaked up the sun. He had waited for the others to leave to get drinks before he asked me, not for the first time, if I was safe.
“R–Robbie was a go–od p–person,” I say now, my words staccato. My lips are dry and bulbous.
It’s not much, but there’s a minute reduction as Immi looks me in the eyes.
I carry on.
“He cared.” A fire rages in my lungs, and each word sucks more from me. I can’t even finish the sentence.
“Liar,” Immi spits, but she blinks slowly at me.
Just as her eyes close, my unsteady hands reach forward, pressing firm into them.
The shock makes her loosen her grip, but I don’t stop, I keep pressing, her eyes bulging under the force of my thumbs.
The only thing protecting them is a thin layer of skin, so I dig my nails in hard, the feel of it sending a wave of repulsion through me.
“Agh!” Immi lurches away from me, her hands on her face. Air rushes back to my lungs, my throat working hard to open up again. Life floods through me as I bend over, sucking in desperate breaths of air.
“You bitch.” Immi sounds far away, but she’s not. I want to sit in the moment of finally breathing, but I can’t. I look up, trying to find her behind the water that fills my eyes. She’s rubbing her own, a stream of something coming from them. I take that moment.
My fist meets the sharp edge of her chin, punching her hard in the jaw. Immi stumbles back. There’s probably not much strength in my punches, but I keep going, sucking in the air as I lift my fist again. This one hits the side of her face and leaves her slumped on the ground.
“Robbie was a good person, but I was taken in by someone who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted,” I say.
Coerced, that’s what they call it now. Then, I was in love. Desperate and hopeful and undoubtedly stupid.
For a moment, I think she hasn’t heard me, that my words are too broken and cracked for her to hear me. Immi looks up, pure disgust riddled across her face. One of her eyes is puffing up, the skin turning in on itself and reddening. It makes me want to look away, but I don’t.
“You killed him,” Immi says.
And I know then that only one of us will be alive when the police arrive.
Benji spoke about her need for justice, but I don’t buy it.
For Immi, the original fight has already been lost to something darker and meaningless.
I’m the next enemy for her pain, and when I am gone then who is next? My mum? Dad?
I step forward again, my fist clenching.
“I was there, and I didn’t help him. You know all that. You’ve always known that. I wasn’t a good person, Immi. But your pain won’t end with me gone,” I say.
I hit the floor before I finish, the impact winding me and leaving me rolling onto all fours, clambering.
Immi’s foot swipes. My arms taken from under me, her foot landing square on my back.
I find myself face down on the carpet, the wind gone for the second time, and pain searing through me.
My muscles try to move, but she pins me down.
Another kick lands, and the pain takes over.
My voice becomes a howl of suffering. She straddles me, her fingers gripping my hair, a spear of agony across my scalp.
“Your pathetic apology won’t save your life,” Immi spits in my ear, dragging my head back. The noise that leaves me is clawing and desperate. My fingers scramble to find something. I see it, lodged under the tipped dresser: a small vase that would have decorated it.
“All of you are the same. You think an ‘oh dear’ is enough for his death, his murder!” Her voice is hot in my ear, but I reach forward, pushing. My fingertips caress the vase, but it’s not enough. I need to be closer.
“I know.” My voice is barely audible. My knees bend, and I use the carpet to gain some traction, pushing myself forward.
Immi braces down on my back harder. It’s not enough.
I’m inches from it, my fingers stretching out and scraping on the soft carpet.
Immi lifts her weight to yank my head back, and that moment gives me enough space.
The vase slips under my ring finger, rolling towards my open palm.
“You killed him. You and Henry and Nate. You all killed him. You deserve to die and so did your brother,” Immi says just as I bring the vase up, reaching behind me blindly and landing it where I hope her temple is.
It hits. For a moment, she stays where she is, but her grip loosens. Immi screams. My palms land square on either side of me, and I push her off. Her eyes roll.
“Nate?” I roll towards her, but her head is lolling to the side. I can see a shard of the vase protruding near her eye. Blood begins to stream. In the distance, I can hear the sound of sirens. A hope rises.
“Do you know what happened to Nate?” I say, but Immi’s eyes flail, her mouth opening and closing. She tumbles onto her back.
A shard of the vase, not long but sharp, sits by her knee. I grab it, raising it and aiming it at her neck. It’s enough, I hope, to do the worst damage.
“Tell me what happened to Nate that he deserved.” I use her words back at her.
A bubble forms, the idea of Nate being sent away to protect him. Living out his days in a remote space in America. Growing up and growing old.
A low laugh comes from Immi as I lean over her, the side of her face now covered in blood. I push my body weight into her, the laughter choked.
“I’ll never tell you how he died,” Immi breathes.
I can hear the sound of voices outside. Gravel crunching and boots stamping. I’m running out of time. The shard leaves a mark on her neck as I press it further in, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move.
“What happened to him, Immi?”
Nate’s dead? A thud echoes through the house. They’re breaking the door down. I need more time. The look in her eyes and the smile on her face tells me all I need to know.