Leave Her Hanging: A Noir Thriller

Chapter Forty-One

I came to with my face pressed against the carpet. Something sticky and damp pulled at my cheek as I tried to lift my head, gluing me to the floor. From the way the room swayed around me, it felt like I’d just polished off a twelve pack of beer. My guts twisted up inside me. The sound of running water pounded through my head, and I remembered where I was, what’d happened. Dennis had ambushed me in Stephanie’s apartment.

I planted my hands on the ground and pushed myself up. The carpet was red where my face had been lying. I put a palm to my cheek and it came away sticky with blood. My throat spasmed and my stomach tried to leap out my throat. I covered my mouth with my hand until the nausea faded. My vision was slowly clearing. I looked around, but there was no sign of Dennis, nothing to indicate he’d ever been here.

I got to my knees, then to my feet. I swayed, grabbed hold of the couch, steadied myself. My backpack was on the floor next to me. The shower was still running behind the closed bathroom door. I can’t have been out for as long as I thought. I wasn’t in any condition to confront Stephanie; hell, I could barely think straight. But I was angry and sore and sick of being screwed with. I threw open the bathroom door.

Stephanie was naked, lying in the bath with the shower head pouring water over her. One arm and one leg hung over the edge of the bath. She wore a necklace of purple bruises. Her eyes were open, her neck lying floppy against the white ceramic of the bath. The shower water running over her wasn’t enough to wash away the blood crusting around the wounds on her chest. A knife stuck out of her just above her left breast, slipping between her ribs. I recognised the knife. It was mine.

My legs gave out and then I was sitting on the cold tiles, my back pressed against the doorframe. No matter where I moved, Stephanie’s dead eyes seemed to follow me. This is all your fault, she said. And she was right.

I ran my hand through my hair. I couldn’t make sense of it. I couldn’t make sense of anything. All I’d wanted to do was get answers. Get the guy who’d strung up Ella by her neck. I never wanted this. But now, somehow, it seemed inevitable.

Sirens in the distance, coming closer. My legs shook, but I managed to stand. I swayed in the corner for a second. Then I crossed the room, heedless of the shoeprints I left on the damp floor. There wasn’t any point in covering up the fact that I’d been here. My fingerprints were all over the place. All over the knife. Our used condom was probably in the rubbish bin. Traces of my blood would be littering the bed sheets. And even if I had time to clean all that up, it wouldn’t take the cops much work to find out where the knife had been bought from and who’d bought it. I was no expert, but I’d bet the bruising around her neck would match the clothesline I bought from the supermarket.

I could stick around, explain things to the cops. Maybe even get off. But not soon enough. Dennis and his friends were running. I couldn’t let them get away. This was all I had left. I felt no guilt, no sorrow. There was no way back for me now. This was my fate. I had to see Ella’s killer die. Slowly.

I turned off the shower. I bent over, ignoring the ache in my ribs and the pounding in my head, and pressed my lips against Stephanie’s cool forehead. Whatever she’d done, she’d paid for it now.

I went out of the bathroom, slung my backpack across my shoulder, and slipped out of the apartment.

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