Page 145 of Worse Than Murder
No. That’s not happening. I’m not having this fucker kill me. But he’s stronger than me. I try to move back, but it’s no good. I’m wedged up against a wall. I can’t go any further. Then I see his foot race towards my face and everything goes black.
* * *
I open my eyes.
For a second I feel like I’ve been unconscious for days, but I look up and there’s Iain, staggering to his feet, heading for the kitchen. From there, he’ll escape through the back door and, if he gets to Lynne and Alison before the police turn up, who knows what’ll happen?
I’m in pain. Every part of my body hurts. I can taste blood. I can see blood. My shirt is covered in it. I bring my hands up to my face. They’re shaking. Adrenaline is charging through my body. I honestly don’t know what I’m feeling right now.
Except I can’t let him get away. I can’t allow him to leave this house.
I struggle to get to my feet. I use the wall to help me up. I’m smearing it with blood from my hands. I’ve no idea if it’s my blood or Iain’s, and I don’t care.
My head is pounding. My vision is blurred, and my legs want to give way with every step. I’ve no idea what’s carrying me into the kitchen. Determination, probably. I can feel myself crying. I fall against the kitchen worktop. I close my eyes tightly shut and I can see my mum. She’s lying in her bed at home. She’s dead. I knew from the minute I entered her room that she was dead. I hear Harriet screaming from the spare room.
Nathan and Joseph. They were so young. They had their whole lives ahead of them.
Celia and Jennifer.Theywere so young.Theyhad their whole lives ahead of them.
I grab something.
I turn.
Iain is at the door.
‘Iain,’ I call out.
He stops and looks at me.
I’m struggling for breath. The pain mixed with the tears is making it hard for me to breathe. I walk towards him.
I want to be sick. I want to bend over and vomit. But I refuse to let him win.
‘You’re forgetting one thing about me.’
‘Really? What’s that?’
‘I’m a woman. And women never give in. Women always survive.’
With one push, I reach him. From behind my back, I bring out the knife I’d grabbed, and I plunge it into his stomach.
He falls back against the door and looks down in shock.
I pull it out.
He slaps his hand to the wound where the blood is escaping. He looks up at me.
I’m crying. And I can’t stop.
Ifuckinghate you.
I stab him again.
‘I fucking hate you,’ I scream.
And again.
‘I. Fucking. Hate. You.’
