Catherine Steadman - Something in the Water - A Novel

I’ve been warned in the videos about the kickback on Glocks, but the stance you’re supposed to adopt to counteract it isn’t what you’d expect. Not like you’ve seen on TV. Not like you’ve seen in films. You stand straight on, not to the side, not like a sidestepping, flashlight-carrying FBI cadet. Your feet need to be hip-width apart, knees soft. My right hand on the grip, my trigger finger along the barrel, safely away from the trigger, my left hand held high, bracing the right on the grip, shoulders forward, elbows locked. You might not look cool but you will hit what you’re aiming for. At least that’s the idea….

I breathe. Slow in. Slow out. It will be loud. So much louder than you’d expect. It will kick, buck back against you like a punch. But you need to stay solid, give slightly but hold your ground.

I inhale deeply. Slide my finger into the trigger well. Exhale and pull.

The crack rips through the woods around me. The gun kicks back like a grown man slamming into me. My heart explodes with adrenaline, my eyes are dazzled. Astonishingly, I hold my position. I am fine. Ahead of me I see the very edge of the paper shredded, a large clump of bark splintered upward at a crazy angle. I got it. If that were a man, I’d have got him. An odd flush of joy. I shake it off and focus. I realign.

And then I pull the trigger eleven more times.

—

By the end of the afternoon there is no paper left and the tree is a mess. I decide perhaps I’ll walk a little farther before I note down a GPS location. I definitely don’t want them to see this tree. I find a good spot another five minutes in, a small muddy clearing. I jot down the GPS coordinates from the app into my iPhone notes. Then I try to find another location where I’ll actually bury the USB in a plastic bag. I choose a distinctive oak tree, away from the clearing, near a ditch. I should be safe to hide there unseen tomorrow. I squat down by the oak and dig a small hole in the topsoil with my bare hands; I place the USB in its little plastic bag in the ground and cover it over with soil and leaves, blending it back into the forest floor. I note the coordinates of where it’s buried on my iPhone. And then I head back to the hotel.

—

In my hotel room I lay everything out for tomorrow. I test my travel alarm clock a couple of times, and miraculously, it still works. I set it for 4:30 A.M. and place it on the nightstand next to the hotel’s ornate bedside lamp. I place the gun and remaining ammo in the safe.

After ordering room service, I ring Mark’s mobile but it runs straight to voicemail.

“Hi, Mark, it’s me. I guess you’ve already taken off but I just wanted you to know everything is fine. I’m fine. I miss you. I love you. Um, listen, the house is an absolute tip, by the way. Just to warn you. I’ll tidy it tomorrow. Safe flight. Love you. See you soon. Can’t wait.” I hang up. When he gets home he’ll get my note on the stairs saying I’m staying over at Caro’s tonight. I hope this all works. I really do.

My food comes and I eat in silence. No TV or music for company. I think of Eddie and Lottie, of Holli and her friend Ash out there somewhere, who knows where. I think of Mark in his plane high over the Atlantic, of the people in their plane deep under the South Pacific. I think of Alexa and her potential pregnancy. How happy she must be. I think of what I am carrying inside myself. I’m in a kind of daze but I force myself to eat, for what’s growing there. I need to look after us both better. With that in mind, after dinner I run a hot bubble bath in the roll-top tub and lower myself slowly into its soft warmth. I let the heat soak in and I let my mind wander as I stare absentmindedly at the etched frosted-glass section of the bathroom door: entwined climbing flowers and engraved wild birds, a forest scene. It’s pretty. This is a lovely hotel. Mark would like it here. Or maybe he wouldn’t. After all, right now I’m doing the exact thing I absolutely promised him I would not do. And with that thought I rise red-skinned from the water, towel myself off, and prepare to get an early night.

My eyes shoot open in the darkness. I can’t see anything in the thick black except the dull glow of the alarm clock’s luminous hands. I don’t know what’s woken me but it was sudden. Now, I am wide-awake. Something is not right in the darkness. There’s someone in the room with me, I can feel it. I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep, but light is no longer spilling from the edges of the curtains. The gun is where I left it, tucked away in the safe, in the wardrobe. I would never get to it in time. I should have kept it out. Should have, would have, could have. I can’t hear anything. No movement. No sound but the muffled tuck tuck of the plastic clock. Then a rustle, a brush of fabric, in the right-hand corner. Oh shit, shit, shit. There is someone here. There’s someone in my room.

Adrenaline instantly fizzes through my system, through the other tiny heart inside me. Absolute fear. It takes every fiber of my being to stop myself from leaping up. I freeze. I realize that, whoever they are, they believe I’m asleep. That gives me time to think. To plan. Maybe if I don’t move they’ll leave. They’ll just take what they want and go. Except I’m not sleeping. It seems impossible they’d not sense the change in the air now, suddenly thick with terror. The soft rustling sound comes again.

What are they doing?

What should I do? Am I going to die, here, in a weekend-getaway hotel, alone? Is that the way you want to go, Erin?

Think.

I keep my breathing low, deep, as if I’m still asleep.

It’s him, it’s the man on the other end of the phone, it must be. They’ve found me.

Was it the last text I sent? The one with tomorrow’s meeting location? I think desperately about how that could have happened, but I don’t know how, my mind won’t focus. And does it matter? He’s tracked me down somehow. Oh God. I’m such an idiot.

There’s no way he will just take what he wants and leave me sleeping. I know this. I know this because what he wants isn’t here. It’s buried in the woods. He won’t just leave me. He’ll have to wake me up eventually. He’ll make me tell him where it is.

I’m going to die.

He’ll do it quietly, perhaps he’ll smother me with a pillow or hold me down in the bath. Something that looks accidental. Something that’ll raise no suspicions. As if he were never here.

My chest screams under the tension of controlling and slowing my breath. My fingers are itching to crawl through the dark to my phone charging on the bedside table. Sweat soaks my T-shirt under the heavy duck-down duvet. I need to think.

I don’t want to die.

The sound of a zip. I can’t ignore it. I can’t ignore this sound—it’s too loud. I let out a heavy sigh and turn in the bed. Disturbed but not awake. He pauses.

What the fuck is he unzipping? Think, think, think. Think!

I need to use the element of surprise; it’s all I’ve got. If I can surprise him. Hit him with something, something hard, just once, then I’ll have the upper hand. One good swing.

But what? A fucking pillow?

There’s a glass of water by the lamp. I could throw that?

And what, Erin? Get him a bit wet?

Okay, maybe not. The lamp?

I remember it’s a big baroque thing, metal with a marble base. Yes! If I grab and yank hard enough, the plug might pull out as I swing.

The noises are coming from over by the bathroom door now. Near my backpack. Suddenly my phone, sitting innocently on the bedside table, lights up in the darkness of the room. The rustling stops and both of us turn our eyes to the light. I catch a glimpse of the text in that split second. It’s Mark.