The Hike(49)

Paul caught a look between Cat and Tristan. Another lie? Was she also starting to doubt this man she’d put her trust in? He could exploit this to his own advantage. He was going to have to. Because he certainly didn’t believe that Tristan was going to change his plans and allow him to stay alive.

Tristan extended a hand to Paul. ‘Look, just come in properly. Shut the door. It won’t be long until sunrise, and we can get out of here.’ He gestured down at his bag. ‘I’ve got a first-aid kit. We can sort you out. Patch you up.’ He grinned, then laid a hand on Cat’s shoulder. ‘Cat has been so worried about you. We were so hoping you’d landed somewhere safe.’

Paul laughed. ‘Bullshit.’ He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled something out, keeping whatever it was clasped tightly in his palm. ‘Did he tell you about Ginny, Cat? Do you actually know what this monster is capable of?’

‘Now come on . . .’ Tristan squared his shoulders. ‘There’s no need for name-calling.’

‘Are you actually serious right now?’ Paul’s voice was an angry rasp. It hurt his throat to speak like this, but he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He felt sorry for Cat, despite everything. What on earth had Tristan promised her to get her to go along with all this?

‘I’m deadly serious, mate.’ Tristan’s whole body tensed.

‘Tristan, stop it.’ Cat held out an arm like a bar across Tristan’s chest. ‘We’re all here together now. We need to look after each other. There’s been enough fighting.’

Tristan laughed. ‘You killed your own sister, Kitty-Cat. At least let me keep my end of the bargain.’

He took a step towards Paul, but Paul had been expecting it and ducked to one side. ‘Don’t you want to see this, Cat?’ He held up what he’d been concealing in his hand. A thin gold chain, with a chunky stone pendant hanging off it. ‘You probably can’t see the colour in this light, but I can tell you that it’s emerald green. The same emerald-green pendant that Ginny was wearing earlier. When she . . . fell.’

Tristan stopped. ‘Where the fuck did you get that?’

Cat looked terrified. She’d shrunk back into the darkest corner of the room, her arms wrapped around her chest.

‘I assume your boyfriend didn’t tell you about this part, Cat? The part where he found Ginny on a ledge . . . then pushed her off to make sure she was really gone?’ He locked eyes with Tristan. ‘Was she still alive, when you found her? Did you put her out of her misery, before you threw her over the edge?’ He held the necklace out towards Cat. ‘Yours now, I think.’

She shook her head. ‘Stop it. Please.’ Cat put her hands over her ears. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of this.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Tristan. He lunged at Paul, knocking him over on to his back. But he didn’t know what else Paul had concealed in his palm. That little multi-tool that his dad had always told him would save his life one day. Useless little torch that he’d attached to the keyring, but the knives were effective. He plunged the knife into Tristan’s chest, hoping that he was somewhere close to his heart – assuming that Tristan actually had one. Tristan’s eyes grew wide as Paul flicked his wrist, twisting the knife in deeper.

He blocked out the sound of Cat screaming.

Then he shoved Tristan off and rolled out from under him.

‘What have you done? Paul, what the hell have you done?’ Cat was on him, hitting him, punching him.

Paul pushed her gently away, and she landed beside Tristan.

‘He’s still alive . . . Tristan, can you hear me? It’s OK. We can fix this.’

Paul ignored her and stared at Tristan. A moment later, Tristan’s eyes dulled. He was gone.





Forty-One

SATURDAY NIGHT

Cat crawled away from Tristan and threw up in the corner by the window. Her stomach heaved, but there was barely anything left in it to get rid of. She sat back on her heels, her hands over her face. Her eyes itched from the tears, and she rubbed them hard until she felt like she might pop out her own eyeballs. Fuck. What the fuck? She stopped rubbing her eyes and turned around. Paul was checking Tristan’s pulse, but it was pointless because they had both just watched him die.

This was never supposed to happen.

Ginny was supposed to be dealt with simply and easily. There was never meant to be any prolonged pain. Tristan was meant to be alive. And Paul . . . well, Paul was meant to be dead.

She crawled over to Tristan and laid a hand on his arm, gazed at his face – which looked more peaceful than she’d expected, after the violent way that he’d died. She looked up at her husband. ‘Did you close his eyes?’

Paul nodded, his shadow bouncing on the wall behind, from the flickering candles. He was staring at her, his eyes damp with tears.

What the hell was she going to do now? She’d let Tristan convince her of the plan. She’d gone along with all of it, and the deeper she’d gone in, the more it seemed to be justified. But in the face of all this hurt, the violence she’d witnessed – and been part of herself – she was starting to think she’d got it all very wrong.

Of course, she’d modified the plan a little. Tristan had known nothing about that. But she wasn’t sure it was going to work now. Unless . . .