Final Cut(95)

‘My mind … it just … broke. I’ve believed I was her … for years.’

Broke in two, I think. Half Sadie, half me.

It hits me then. I have no idea who I am.

Except that’s not true. I’m Alex. I make films. I’m a success, or have been.

‘Will you go to the police?’ I ask.

She stares at the floor. She doesn’t want to, of course.

‘I suppose,’ she says. ‘I’ll tell them what happened here. I have to.’

‘And what I did.’

She shakes her head. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You were young.’

‘Old enough, though.’

‘Don’t blame yourself, Daisy. There was no way you could’ve saved her.’

‘But I’m still the one who killed her.’

She’s about to say something when another voice interrupts.

‘Yes, Daisy. You are.’

The voice has come from overhead, the entrance to the cellar. Together, we try to stand, but I’m slow, and before either of us can fully get to our feet he’s down the stairs. He’s holding something in his hand, something metallic, and he lashes out, catching Monica on the side of the head. She goes down, gasping, clawing at me and almost pulling me over, too. She lands with a sickening crunch. I launch myself at him, but he’s too strong and has the advantage of surprise; he pushes me backwards and I go over. My head connects painfully with the wall, but it seems to open something in me, a pathway to defiance. How dare he? How dare he think he can destroy me? He’s pathetic. I was a child then, but now I’m not; I’ll die before I let him hurt me again. My eyes burn as I look up and see what he has in his hand. A gun, but it’s short and squat, like a toy. A flare gun.

‘Bryan,’ I begin, but there’s blood in my mouth. ‘Don’t.’

He laughs, steps towards me. I look over at Monica, but she’s down. Moving, but her eyes are closed.

‘Monica,’ I plead. ‘Get up.’

‘She’s not going to help you,’ he says. ‘Not now.’ He glances upstairs. ‘Neither’s Gavin. It’s just you and me.’

Blood runs down my chin.

‘Daisy—’ he begins, but I interrupt.

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘Why not? It’s your name. It’s who you are.’

‘No. I changed.’

‘Changed your name. Doesn’t change who you are, or what you did.’

His eyes are as cold as the ocean.

‘You made me do it.’

‘Oh, right. I made you. And how did I do that?’

I say nothing.

‘How’s it going to look, Daisy? I’ve still got all those notes you wrote. About how much you loved me. I’ve still got all those photos of the two of us.’ He pauses. ‘Doing … Well … you know what we were doing.’ He shakes his head, sadly. ‘You with all those other fellas, too. Won’t be hard to convince people you were a slut, jealous when I started to prefer Sadie. That’s why you killed her, isn’t it? You couldn’t stand to see me with someone else.’

He’s wrong. We were supposed to escape together. She was supposed to save me.

I launch myself at him. He’s unprepared, but big; he doesn’t go over. Instead we grapple, equally balanced, he the stronger, me the more enraged. He tries to throw me into the wall, but I’m clutching his jacket and instead we both swing until his face is an inch from mine.

‘You’re nothing,’ he spits. ‘You never were.’

It’s like a shot of adrenaline pumped into my veins. I’m not the Daisy he remembers, I’ve been in too many fights, too many risky situations. My right leg is between his and I lift my knee as sharply as I can, at the same time yanking down on his jacket. He cries in pain and I push him backwards, screaming wordlessly as I do. He crashes to the floor in a shower of dust and, once he’s down, I kick him again before grabbing the flare gun. My hands shake as I point it at his chest.

‘You destroyed me.’

He laughs, a hollow, sick sound, and spits blood on to the floor. ‘You destroyed yourself. I’ve still got the film, you know? The one of you killing Sadie. And that kinda proves everything, doesn’t it, Daisy?’

I can’t breathe. The air is flooded with dust. I see the film, me standing over my friend, the belt around her neck.

It hits me again. He’s right. I killed her. I killed Sadie. I should’ve said no, I should’ve fought, even if it did mean it’d be me who ended up dead.

I can’t forgive myself. Never. The gun shakes in my hand. I can see him, eyeing it, waiting for his chance. For a second I think I can hear sirens, but even if so, they’re way in the distance, and getting quieter. It’s just my imagination, a last, horrible trick of the mind.

‘I was fifteen.’

‘So?’

I hear Sadie’s voice. Come back, she’s saying. We can escape. We can beat him, and we can go home and make our film and none of this will have happened.

No.

Leave her here. Leave Daisy here, lying at the bottom of the sea like you thought she was. Come with me, back home.

‘I can’t.’

‘Can’t what, Daisy?’