Otis’s fight with Alexa that morning flashes in my mind. Him, asking if they should stop trying for a baby. Her, desperate to grow their family. A sinking feeling takes over me, knowing that whatever happened next changed everything for them both.
‘I told Alexa about the rejection, and do you know what she did? She snapped, Janine. Right there, in the fields behind my own home! She told me that she didn’t have time to listen to me complain. That some people had real problems, as if what I’m going through doesn’t matter. And then she had the audacity to turn her back on me and walk away. Well, do you know what? I saw red. I sawred.’
Goosebumps race across my body as I understand the implications of Katherine’s words.
‘I never intended to write crime, but as soon as I picked up that branch? It was like the power of God was in my hands. I hit her twice on the back of the head. She crumpled like a piece of paper.’ Katherine’s body trembles, coming alive with each new detail she recounts. ‘All those months of listening to you talk about the importance of immersive research were spot on. You were right – there’s no better research than actually doing the thing! From that moment, I knew exactly what it felt like to be a killer.’
The sting of blame sits heavy on my chest. My words, innocently delivered. Never did I imagine this could be the consequence.
‘Alexa died in the field?’ I croak.
‘Not quite, although she might as well have. I must say, it was annoying how fast she gave in. I’d hoped to find out a little more about the experience of a captive, but she barely survivedthe first night. I’ve had to imagine most of her reactions, can you believe it?’
Katherine looks to me to verify her frustration, but I’m too shocked to respond.
‘I must have hit her head too hard, but at least I managed to get a few cuts in before her blood stopped pumping,’ she continues. ‘It’s a shame I had to do the breaking of her bones later. Torturing a corpse isn’t as accurate as torturing the living. Still, I’ve described the decay of death perfectly. Who writes realistically now?’ Katherine laughs, then she pushes the door to the room at the end of the landing open wider.
I peer inside. A mottled, purpling hand hangs limply over the side of a bed, with every finger bent out of shape and a chunky metal handcuff coiled around the slender wrist.
On the fourth finger, I spot something I recognise.
Alexa Clarke’s emerald ring.
A loud, guttural wail breaks free from the centre of my chest.
‘Oh, be quiet. You didn’t even know her,’ Katherine snaps.
‘You killed her!’ I shout through tears. ‘You killed Alexa!’
Katherine tilts her head. ‘Why are you so upset? This is your writing theory coming to life! Besides, aren’t real people the inspiration for all characters, all stories?’ Katherine grins, triumphant when I don’t have the strength to argue. ‘Don’t mourn Alexa Clarke, Janine. Not when she will go down in history as one of literature’s greatest victims. And I will go down as one of the greatest writers because I brought her real death to life!’
I shake my head, trying to knock the truth out of my skull, but it stays lodged there, more distressing than I could ever have imagined.
‘It’s been hard working to such a tight deadline,’ Katherine complains. ‘There’s not a lot of time after death before a corpsestarts to smell. I don’t think I could have thrown the police off my scent for much longer, pardon the pun.’
When I don’t laugh, Katherine nudges the bottom of my foot with her toes.
‘The scent, Janine, get it? Because Alexa smells so terrible now. Oh, you’re no fun,’ Katherine sighs when I don’t respond. ‘Luckily, I’ve always been good at planning my stories. I knew exactly how to buy myself time. Dropping Alexa’s bank card near the university to make Otis think she was still alive was a particular stroke of genius. One thing I learned as a lecturer is to never underestimate a student’s need for a night out, Janine. Never.’
A horrified sob bursts from me, making Katherine frown.
‘Don’t pity Alexa. She’s not the innocent victim you’re making her out to be. I’ve told you what she said to me. It was beyond cruel. She deserved it.’
‘No,’ I groan. ‘No one deserves this.’
Katherine’s nostrils flare. ‘Stop. I won’t be made to feel guilty for what I’ve done. If you think practically, not emotionally, you’ll see I did Alexa a favour. Alexa and Otis were never together, and when they were, they were miserable. Alexa told me that herself. I saw it, too. The rest of the time, Alexa trailed around that ugly house or went for walks with Jim, of all people. Can you imagine a life as depressing as that? I did Alexa a favour by killing her.’
I’m already dizzy, but when Katherine grabs hold of my injured ankle I roar in pain. It’s only when she’s dragged me halfway through the door into the small white room that I realise I am being pulled towards Alexa Clarke’s rotting corpse.
Screaming like I’ve never screamed before, I reach out with my bound hands to grab onto something, anything. My fingertips scratch the skirting board, then a door frame, but they slip before I get the chance to grab on.
My desperate cries grow louder. Twisting at the waist, I angle myself closer to the banister until my fingers connect with one of the wooden rails. I cling on, curling my fingers around it because I know as soon as I enter that room, I will not make it out alive.
Katherine yanks me, but I hold strong. Snarling in frustration, she drops my legs and comes to a crouch beside me.
‘Why are you being so difficult?’ she spits. ‘Why can’t you even try to understand my side of things? You have no idea what it’s like to be me, Janine. No idea. I’ve spent my life looking after my husband and children. I pushed my dreams, passions and identity to the side for them. Now they’re gone, and what do I have to show for myself? Nothing. Writing is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. The only thing that’s ever been mine. I just want someone who isn’t my husband to tell me I’m good enough, but it’s always a no. And now infants like Natalya are getting yeses ahead of me! It’s not fair. What, am I too old? Too suburban? Does my voice not matter?’
My shoulders curl inward at the shrillness in Katherine’s voice.