The Last Resort(75)

Just like her mind tried to protect her all those years ago: that summer.

Because she remembers it now. All of it.

James nods. He leads her over to one of the chaises longues and sits her down, then sits beside her. He takes her hand.

‘OK,’ he says. ‘So I get that we are both in shock right now. In fact, it hasn’t fully kicked in yet. What just happened through there is the most horrific thing I’ve ever witnessed, and as I told you earlier, I’ve been through a lot. That video of me on the canal was only one incident.’

Amelia sighs, drops her gaze. ‘I know. I get it . . . Me too.’ Still determined to distance herself from the reality of what’s happening right now, she reflects on the other nightmares she’s had to deal with in her past. ‘Not things I’ve caused, so not exactly the same, but I’ve seen people die in agony from Ebola – me, fully protected from head-to-toe in a hazmat suit, unable to do a thing for them as they writhe in pain. I’ve seen horrific things in the jungle. I’ve seen—’

James squeezes her hand and she looks up.

The projection has started silently this time.

The virtual screen is above the fireplace now. A larger image than usual, showing a lush, green island.

This is it then, she thinks. My turn.

The view pans over a headland, showing a rocky outcrop, huge waves lashing against the secluded shoreline. The camera starts a 360, panning to another island across a stretch of water – a lighthouse on top; a small, sandy bay. The camera slides across and a cluster of ruins appears, then a wide stretch of marshland, and finally a house – but in a bad state of repair. The camera darts away, as if it has been shot via drone and speeded up, back to the first island, where two small figures are crawling out of a hollow tree. The projection pauses.

James squeezes Amelia’s hand. ‘Do you recognise this?’

She doesn’t answer. It doesn’t really matter what’s on this video. There’s only her and James left now, and it’s unlikely they’re going to get out of this alive.

‘The smaller island looks like here, doesn’t it?’ he says softly. He’s trying to coax it out of her – why? – but she’s not ready. She’s scared to speak. Terrified to see what’s coming next. Her body starts to shake suddenly, and she feels cold. So, so cold. Perhaps sensing the change in her, he doesn’t push further. Instead, he lets go of her hand and gets up. Folded blankets are draped over the backs of the other chairs across the room.

He comes back, wraps a blanket around her shoulders. ‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’ He pauses. ‘I’m sorry, Amelia. I didn’t know it was going to end like this.’

Amelia is puzzled. How would James have any idea how it was meant to end?

The two small figures on the screen walk up the hill to the headland. The one with the long hair walks over to a small copse of drooping trees and starts gathering sticks. The one with the short hair stands watching, hands on hips. The sounds are muffled, their voices carried away by the wind. She can’t work out whose memory feed this is. It was only the two of them there that day, wasn’t it?

Amelia in the blanket watches as the feed switches to another perspective, and she sees now what George saw, all those years ago. The man appearing from over the side of the cliff behind the small long-haired figure. An old man with wild hair, his clothes tattered. His arms are raised out in front of him, zombielike, and he opens his mouth to speak.

But before he can, a voice cries out to the long-haired figure: ‘Behind you!’

The figure turns to face the man, whose arms drop to his sides as they regard each other for a silent moment. Then the long-haired figure rushes towards him with arms thrust forward and pushes the man’s chest, toppling him over the edge.

Then the perspective changes again, taking in the two figures as the long-haired one spins round from the cliff edge. It’s a much younger Amelia – frozen in shock – looking back at the shorter-haired girl who had called out to warn her of the man’s approach . . .

Of course, Amelia knew all of this was coming. Her younger self was right there, after all. She’s the girl standing on the cliff edge. But whose memory is this? Who saw the two of them?

James stands up. ‘Enough of this now,’ he says to the room, to whoever is showing them this scene. ‘We don’t need to see any more. You’ve tortured us enough.’

Amelia is crying now, her shoulders shaking under the blanket. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her words are punctuated by sobs. ‘I thought it was a . . . a game. And then I wanted to help him.’ She shakes her head angrily, pointing at the place where the screen was, where it’s now just air. ‘It was her,’ she says, her finger trembling as she points at the empty space where the short-haired girl had been. The holographic screen might be blank, but she still has the image etched in her mind. ‘She told me we couldn’t save him . . .’

‘You ran away, remember?’

They both turn at the sound of the voice. Behind them, from a door they hadn’t paid any attention to before, stands a woman with short, dark hair. She’s dressed in neatly cut black trousers and a black, fitted polo-neck sweater. She smiles.

‘I’ve been looking forward to this—’

‘You!’ James leaps from his seat and lunges towards her. ‘Who the hell are you?’ His voice shakes as he shouts. He has the woman pinned up against the wall, his hands on her shoulders. ‘Is this all your doing? Are you the other girl in that projection?’