Elle （Past）
ELLE
PAST
Once again, I became afraid to go out. Before, because of the journalists, now because of Damon Parker.
It was karma; I had followed Brett Parker, now his son was following me.
Whenever I needed to cross a busy street, anxiety would set in and I’d hang back from the edge of the pavement until the pedestrian light turned green.
One morning, an appointment with my solicitor took me to Southwark underground station.
He had already explained that it would have to be proved that on the day Brett Parker died, I had known I was committing an unlawful act by following him, which I had.
The only thing in my favor was that I’d never been issued with a restraining order by the police; I had only been warned verbally to stay away from him.
Although my solicitor was going to use my years in the care system to underline that I’d never had a constant adult in my life to advise me, and that following Brett Parker had come from a misplaced desire to get justice for Bryony Sanders, there were no real mitigating circumstances and I had already resigned myself to spending some time in prison.
As I headed down the escalator to the Jubilee line, I cringed at the memory of all the times I’d taken the tube to St. John’s Wood.
I had so many regrets about the way I’d behaved.
I’d been na?ve about the effects my actions could have on Brett Parker’s family.
I had been so obsessed with him that I couldn’t see past him, I couldn’t see that his wife and son would also be affected by my exploits.
Yet no matter how guilty I felt for his death, no matter how much I regretted becoming involved, I still believed that he’d been behind the wheel of the car that day.
A year on, nobody had been arrested in connection with Bryony’s death.
It still frustrated me Brett Parker had never admitted what I knew to be true, because if he had, someone might not have gotten away with her murder.
It was nine in the morning as I made my way onto the platform and although it wasn’t the height of rush hour, it was still busy.
As I moved down the platform, the sound of an approaching train caused people to move forward and, guessing it would be crowded, I decided to hang back and wait for the next one.
Suddenly, without warning, my arms were gripped from behind and pinned to my sides.
Startled, I turned my head and saw to my horror that it was Damon Parker who had hold of me.
My scream of terror pierced through the sound of the approaching train.
But he was already propelling me forward, cutting through the passengers waiting for the train.
I heard cries of Hey! Watch out! as he pushed them out of the way with the force of my body.
I could see the edge of the platform looming, and knowing what was about to happen, I screamed even louder and dug my heels in, trying to push back.
But a final shove sent me onto the track and the screaming intensified, not just from me but from the people on the platform.
Hands stretched down to me; there were urgent shouts of Quick, quick!
Get up, get up! But the screeching of the approaching train’s brakes struck such terror into me that I couldn’t move.
My vision blurred and the sounds around me became muted, as if I was underwater, and I accepted that I was going to die. And then, a man was standing beside me.
“Don’t look, don’t look.” His voice was distorted, his face white with shock and I thought I must be badly injured and was grateful I couldn’t feel any pain.
There was the scorched smell of brakes and out of the corner of my eye, I was aware of the train, which seemed to have come to a searing stop only feet away from me.
Hands reached down and hauled me and the man onto the platform.
Someone made me sit and wrapped a coat around me and a woman put her arms around my shoulders, telling me that I would be all right.
I still couldn’t hear properly and, mute with shock, I could only nod until my hearing suddenly righted itself and I was hit by a wave of sound that robbed me of the breath I had left; people crying helplessly, others asking What happened, what happened?
in voices high with disbelief and other harsher voices, shouting at someone to keep down, lie still.
And then two paramedics came pushing through the crowd and knelt beside me.
There was a flurry of activity as they checked me over and told me they were taking me to hospital because of a head wound I’d sustained.
I didn’t speak in the ambulance, nor at the hospital, unable to process the horror of what had happened. A nurse gave me something that made me drowsy and when I woke, DC Moss was standing by my bed.
“Hello, Elle.” Her voice was gentle. “How are you feeling?”
Maybe it was because she was familiar, or because she was the only constant in my life at that point, that I was finally able to speak.
“It was Damon Parker.” My voice, shaky with shock and emotion, was barely a whisper. “He tried to kill me.”
“I know.”
A tremor passed through my body. “I thought I was going to die.”
“Fortunately, he was detained by members of the public who saw what he did and he’s now in custody. He won’t be coming anywhere near you again.”
I shook my head, trying to make sense of what had happened. “I don’t understand why the train didn’t hit me, how it managed to stop. I could hear it coming.” I closed my eyes. “I could smell it.”
I sensed DC Moss hesitating. “It hit someone else first,” she said.
“Someone else? Who?”
“When you fell onto the tracks, people farther down the platform tried to see what was happening. A man got too near the edge.” She paused. “He was hit by the train.”
I stared at her in horror. “Is he—is he—?” I couldn’t go on.
“Yes, I’m afraid he died. It was instant.”
“No.” Tears spilled from my eyes. “I was meant to die, not him.”
“You can’t think like that,” DC Moss told me.
But it was impossible for me to think otherwise.