Final Cut by S.J. Watson
ABOUT THE BOOK
A gripping new psychological thriller from S. J. Watson
Blackwood Bay. An ordinary place, home to ordinary people.
It used to be a buzzing seaside destination. Now, ravaged by the effects of dwindling tourism and economic downturn, it’s a ghost town—and the perfect place for film-maker Alex to shoot her new documentary.
But the community is deeply suspicious of her intentions. After all, nothing exciting ever happens in Blackwood Bay—or does it?
For Anna, Archie, Neil and Olivia
and
In memory of Anzel Britz (1979–2020)
My life closed twice before its close—
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me
Emily Dickinson
Then
She runs across the moor, as hard and as fast as she can. The sliver of an old moon hangs above her and, somewhere far behind, the village lights shine anaemic yellow. But she keeps her eyes fixed forward. She sees nothing but the road ahead and hears only the wheeze of her dry breath and the cawing of the gulls as they swoop and dive. There are no sounds of pursuit, no shouting, no howling of dogs. She is safe, she thinks. She can calm down, stop running and walk. It’s over.
But still she runs. She pushes herself harder, her limbs wheel, momentum carries her until she is on the edge of tumbling like a marionette, wires snipped, head over heels. A car flashes past on the horizon, and then it happens. Her body goes numb, as if she’s fallen into cotton wool. Her arms and legs circle in front of her but they look alien, they’re moving independently, she has no control. It’s like looking through the wrong end of a telescope.
She tries to draw breath, to blink herself back to reality, but it’s too late. Her body has rebelled. When she tries to stop running she finds she can’t.
Her foot hits something then. It registers only as an abstract pain, dull, like the dentist’s drill after the needle, but still she trips in slow motion as if falling through sludge. Her hands fly forward and she hits the cold ground, squeezing the breath from her lungs like air from a paper bag.
She lies still. She could rest, she thinks; for ever, if need be. She sees herself as if from a distance, as if she’s in a documentary. She’s lying there in the dark, her eyes open, her lips blue. They’ll find her in the morning, frozen. It wouldn’t be so bad.
But no. She won’t die here, not like this. Energy rushes in, a shot of adrenaline, and she get clumsily to her feet. She walks, putting one foot carefully in front of the other, over and over, until finally she reaches the junction. Her eyes dart. She shakes, though she doesn’t feel fear. She doesn’t feel anything. She puts her rucksack at her feet then holds out her hand, thumb up.
It’s early morning and the road isn’t busy. Cars pass infrequently, but eventually one stops. The driver winds down the window. It’s a man, of course, but beggars can’t be choosers.
‘Where to, love?’ he says, but she doesn’t know how to answer him, she hasn’t thought that far ahead. She imagines Bluff House; it’s as if it’s right in front of her, silhouetted against the pale sky, huge and looming with a solitary light shining in an upstairs room. She can never go back.
‘Love?’
She shakes her head; she knows where she wants to end up, but not how to get there, and she has to choose somewhere before he drives off.
‘Anywhere,’ she says, before opening the door and climbing in. ‘Anywhere. Just … away.’
1
Evening Standard Website, 14 March 2011
NEWS IN BRIEF>
Mystery girl found on Deal beach
OLIVER JOHNSON | NO COMMENTS
Authorities are baffled by a mystery girl who was taken to hospital last week after being found unconscious on the beach in Deal, Kent, by a passer-by.
The teenager, who carried no identification but is believed to be around 15–18 years of age, was soaking wet and was admitted to Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother Hospital in Margate, where she was found to be suffering from hypothermia. On regaining consciousness, she was unable to tell doctors her name, where she lives or where she was born, and claims to have no knowledge of how she came to be in the seaside town.
She was said to be extremely anxious, terrified of any new face, and reluctant to talk. Doctors have found no sign of injury and the police report that there is nothing to suggest foul play.
She remains in hospital while doctors decide whether she requires any further treatment. The police are thought to be considering a public appeal for information if her condition does not improve.
She is described as 5 feet 7 inches tall and overweight, with shoulder-length brown hair. She was wearing a black jacket, a white vest and blue jeans when found.
Now
2
I mustn’t fall asleep. I know that, it’s obvious. You hear the stories. People get trapped and eventually stop trying to escape. They succumb to exhaustion and close their eyes. The body shuts down. They die.
But what do I do to stay awake? That’s the question that spins in my head and won’t go away.
I’d just crested the hill when it happened. The dead thing lay in the road, leached of colour and completely still, and even as I registered its presence I knew I had no chance of avoiding it. It was too late to do anything but slam my foot on the brake and hope for the best.