I see the devil in front of me stand up, his triumphant yells echoing throughout this apparent paradise. I look down at the lump of skin on my trembling lap; the remaining blood now soaking into my white gown.
It’s the last act, enough to take me away, and as the tingling in my hands signals the collapse of my mind I think only of Antonio. I think of him on that beach, my protector and lover; he would never have got us into this mess.
I wake up to muffled moaning and it takes me a moment to realise where I am, then the memories come slowly flooding back into my mind. I think of the man, of Antonio and of the future I had so hoped would come true. And only then, tracing the source of the constant whimpers, do I think of Stan. I look over at the bed and see that he is still tied up; the once clean and white sheets are now covered in the fresh stains of my drained husband.
‘Don’t worry, he’ll be dead soon,’ the man says. He’s at the other end of the sofa, perched on the corner and looking at me. His face is still covered in the blood of his last victim, my partner of so many years, and the knife is still in his hand.
He moves towards me and I cower, my most basic instincts the only thing still with me. I pull away until I fall onto the floor, and then I simply kick out towards him and drag my body across the carpet. I know that even considering all the despair I have experienced – my husband ruining my life, my constant fears about Antonio leaving me – nothing will compare to the horror of what is approaching now.
He’s telling me to be quiet, to calm down, but all I can do is scream through the bloodied and dirty sock that belonged to a man who has already fallen victim to this monster. He suddenly picks me up, pulling me towards him.
‘Sssshhhh, I told you it will be quick.’
I shake my head, not sure what I’m denying. He ignores my muffled pleas and sets me back down on the sofa, pulling the sock out of my mouth and then cutting the fabric tying my wrists. I feel a simple and immediate sense of relief as my body sucks in as much air as I can take, like I’m quenching a thirst I have never experienced before.
He moves back to his perch on the edge of the sofa, and then he pushes the knife into the cushion, like he’s thrusting a sword into the ground. He looks at it and then looks over at me. ‘I promise I won’t use this on you. Your husband has taken the blade so that you won’t have to. I’m sure you appreciate his sacrifice, don’t you?’
I look over at the remains of my dying husband. One simple cut has made an unimaginable mess that can never be fixed, but I don’t feel sympathy for him. I’m not sure that I feel anything; my own situation now seems far more real than whatever he is experiencing. I watch, seeing that his faltering heart still beats, although it’s clearly a struggle and the end must be near. I curse Stan – only he could survive such an experience, still lingering on when the rest of us would have taken the hint by now.
‘He’s only alive because he’s lying down. But it won’t be long now and I don’t imagine that he will feel much of anything anymore. Does that give you comfort?’
I shake my head. ‘I get no comfort from knowing you are a vile murderer!’
He simply laughs, immune to anything I tell him. ‘If you were to survive my visit then you would meet many more of me in the new world, I can promise you that.’
‘What are you talking about? And why are you doing this?’
‘It’s not that simple to explain what is coming but it will change everything. You see, I have seen things and I know that you have to be fit to survive the storms that are approaching. Do you think you’re fit enough, Gloria?’
‘How do you know my name?’
He smiles. ‘You filthy rich have created such a cushioned life that you take for granted so many of the basic things. The computer flashed up your name when you called, and so I decided to pay you a visit. You could say that fate brought me here because if you hadn’t called for champagne then the chances are I wouldn’t have visited this room for some time. You might have moved on by then, or you might have been asleep by the time I arrived. I might simply have cut both of your throats in the night.’
I whimper again, my whole body shaking.
‘But instead, I was brought here. Our destiny is to meet for longer than the quick slice of my blade, of that I am sure.’
I shake my head, showing both my surprise at his honesty and my denial of the plans he has for me. I think about my options and spot a glimmer of hope: there may still be a chance of talking my way out of this. Perhaps the money could be my ticket out of here. If I can only get out of this room, I can get away and into the arms of my Antonio.
He is still staring at me, still looking me up and down like he is sizing up his prize. ‘You can tell a lot in these situations and I’m a good judge of character. For instance, I can tell that you don’t love him, and yet you are “Mr and Mrs” on the computer.’ He walks over to the bed, to Stan, looking down at him. ‘Explain this to me, please. I’m very interested.’
I shake my head, my worn-out mind not able to grasp the complexity of this moment. Nothing makes sense in this new, cruel reality and I have no answer that would help him understand.
His face turns red in response to my continuing silence, and it’s not long before he pushes down on Stan’s chest. He thumps it hard with both hands, forcing another scream out of my husband and causing blood to jet out of the gaping wound.
I start to scream and cry, the horror of what he has just done coming back to me; the fear that beats though my own veins so entirely real.
‘Tell me!’ he shrieks, getting ready for another thump on Stan’s chest. ‘You have until your husband takes his final breath to help me to understand the very interesting, yet ultimately complex inter-personal relationship you two have, so I suggest you start talking!’
I hold out a hand, begging him to stop, silently asking for more time.
He takes a deep breath, as if calming himself down, and then nods as he sits back down next to Stan. He rests his body on the blood-soaked sheets as if he doesn’t see a difference in what they are and what they shouldn’t be; doesn’t see what he has caused.
‘We won the lottery and we’re here to claim our winnings. We have never stayed in a place like this before. We have fought to make enough money to live on and now just want to start a new life.’
He nods again, matter-of-factly, as he takes it all in. He seems to absorb every word that I say. ‘How much did you win?’
I take a deep breath, trying to figure out what motivates him – other than killing people – then say ‘20 million,’ staring at him and hoping it will be enough. I consider offering him half the share, all of it even, but I’m not sure he is in the same place as me anymore. ‘We just wanted to have some happiness for ourselves and then help other people, like charities and those in need, those just like us.’
He laughs, then gets up from the bed and comes towards me, like a predator stalking its prey. When he reaches my face he takes a long sniff, sucking in all the air around me. ‘You really want me to believe that, don’t you?’
I close my eyes, unable to bear having his angry eyes or hellish face so close to mine. I try to imagine him believing me, try to imagine him simply leaving the room, giving me a few minutes to do what must be done to Stan, then allowing me to walk out of the building and into the arms of the nearest policeman, or anyone in authority.
I feel a hand on my throat and I gasp as his fingers push against my skin and his grip tightens. ‘Why should I believe that? Tell me one thing that will make me believe you.’