So I wrote this story at my Writer’s Retreat back in the summer. It was for a competition that unfortunately I didn’t get placed in, so I can now post it here! I may write some prequels/sequels if people enjoy this one…

The lake nestling between the peaks of the snow-dappled mountains is beautiful. It is perfectly clear, right down to the stone-strewn sandy floor. Sunlight sparkles on the tips of tiny ripples and eddies emanating out from the column of water cascading down the peak in front of me. I shiver as the breeze blown across the top of the ice-cold water ruffles my clothes and reaches freezing tendrils between the teeth of my zip.

“Going for a swim?” I ask the girl next to me.

“Not sure I can cope with the cold getting changed afterwards.” she replies, with an apologetic smile.

I shrug and start stripping down to my cossie. “It’s up to you, but you’ll regret it later.”

Her scrawny shoulders hitch. “I’ll just take pictures for you.”

I’m annoyed but make sure I don’t show it as I pick my way across the slate shards to the water’s edge and prepare for the cold water’s bite. This was her idea; we could have hiked somewhere far less remote if she hadn’t insisted on a ‘wild swim’ for some bucket list she was working on. 40 years old. I hope I’m not that chicken when I get there.

I relish the tightness of my chest as I dive in, and the breathless panting as my heart goes into overdrive when I surface.

This is living.

I roll over onto my back and see her snapping away, the sunlight glinting off the pastel pink glittery phone case she affected. It matched the pink velvet hoodie and the pink laces of her trainers. She seems shiny all over, from her blonde-highlighted hair in a bouncy tail to her brand-new Balenciagas. She waves and I frown, glancing away, and catch a glint from another part of the shore, about a hundred yards from our base. I see it again as the sun reflects off what I think are binoculars. I feel disquieted as I make for the shore, the moment well and truly lost. I’m pretty sure those binoculars were trained on me.

The walk back is faster – stones and grit spew from beneath the toes of our shoes as we stride downwards. I look back over my shoulder and see a flash of purple – looks like Mr. binoculars is following us in his purple pac a mac.

“I think we should pick up our pace.” As I glance at her I realise I’ve interrupted her mid-flow about her holidays, hopes and dreams – or something – and I have to repeat myself. “We need to go faster. There’s someone behind us and I’ve got a bad feeling.”

I think I catch a look of irritation before my words sink in and her big blue eyes grow even rounder and her little rosebud mouth creates an ‘o’ of surprise, making her look like a startled Betty Boop.

“What makes you think he’s following us?” she asks with her slightly husky voice, a contrast to her bubblegum appearance.

“I saw him at the lake.”

“But surely…”

“He was watching us through binoculars. Keep moving.”

She shakily touches her neck, as if feeling for her pulse. “What should we do?”

“Keep moving. Get back to civilisation. Have you got any phone signal? Just in case.” I tap my fingers against the phone in my trouser pocket, comforted by its cumbersome presence. The girl beside me is patting her pockets frantically, her breath hitching. She abruptly stops and throws down her backpack, pulling it open and pawing through the contents. “I’ve lost it, it isn’t here. I must’ve left it on the rock after taking your photos. What shall we do?” Her voice ends on a squeak, and I’m pretty sure I hear an emphasis on the ‘your’ as if it was my fault she had designated herself the role of trip photographer. Her eyes start to glisten, and I wonder if she’s going to cry, and if she’s always this wet. She hasn’t shown much resilience of character since I met her two days ago – she’s clung to me like a limpet on my trips out – but right now I’m glad of even her presence. I don’t think I’d enjoy being alone out here right now. Not that I’d be up here if it wasn’t for her.

I hear stones clink and clatter and heavy footfalls. Binocular guy is in a hurry. I’m really wishing we hadn’t picked such a secluded route now – he’s the only sign of human life we’ve seen all morning.

“Quick, he’s gaining on us. Let’s get back to civilisation.”

“But, my phone…”

Her whine grates and I grit my teeth. “Hope that it’s still there tomorrow and come back for it then – when we don’t have a potential maniac following us.”

We skid and slide our way down, my shoulder blades tingling as I imagine him reaching out and grabbing my coat. She’s panting next to me. Her legs are shorter and skinnier than mine, maybe she’s not used to the exercise. I may be chunky but at least I’m fit, which suddenly seems so much more important than looking good in a swimsuit.

Then she grabs my arm and pulls me sideways, displaying a strength I didn’t think she was capable of. “In here!”

The sunshine cuts off suddenly and we are plunged into cool shadows as we slip through a thin opening in the cliff, into an almost-cave, hidden from sight by bracken and fern. The sudden drop in temperature sends a shudder down my spine, and my hoarse breathing is drowned out by the sound of my heartbeat and the blood rushing and pulsing in my ears. “Good spot! How did you see this was here?”

She doesn’t answer me. She’s stood at the entrance, listening intently.

Thudding footsteps grow closer,

                                                                closer,

                                                                                closer,

                                                                                                slowing…                                            

then speeding up and growing fainter as he continues down the hill.

Adrenaline drains, leaving me shaky as I blow out a breath of relief. I feel a bit silly now, and feel the need to giggle hysterically. Had we (I) overreacted? I turned to her, thinking to make a joke of it, but something has changed, and the words fall from my tongue silently.

“I’m so glad you saw him. It makes this so much easier.”

She steps forward, her eyes now narrowed, now less like Betty Boop and more like Lucretia Borgia. What I had taken for slightly vapid innocence now just seems empty and cold.

My breath catches again and my chest tightens, only this time it isn’t the euphoria of hitting icy water, but the icy touch of impending death. Something about her expression makes me feel that I’m definitely not overreacting this time.

As she steps across the entrance the sun back-lights her, turning her into a burning silhouette and reflecting off something slim and shiny in her hand that throws ripples of light across her face. I see a wide smile splitting her face, and realise that this is the first moment since I’ve met her that she is wearing a genuine smile. She twists the blade, playing with the light, and it sparkles, like it had off the water. It slashes towards me.

It’s funny, the water pouring down me is no longer cold, but warm and viscous as I slip into its embrace.

************************************************************************

Anita wiped the knife clean on the body’s clothes and slipped it back into her backpack. Then she searched the corpse’s trousers for her phone, since hers was still on top of the mountain, and snapped some photos, the flash a shocking shaft of lightning in the shadowy gloom.

She stepped outside, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the daylight. Footsteps sounded once more, and a voice called “hey, lady!”

She turned and saw a man in a purple pac a mac hurrying towards her, binoculars hanging from his neck.

“I’ve been trying to catch up with you,” he said in an American accent, obviously out of breath from his multiple trips up and down the mountain. “I found your phone at the lake and have been trying to give it back to you. Not sure how I managed to get past you, but when I saw you weren’t at the bottom, I thought maybe you’d gone back to look for it. Anyway, here it is.” he thrust her garish pink phone towards her. She took it from him, making sure to smile just enough to flash a dimple and letting her eyes fill with innocent gratitude. “Why thank you so much. I was so worried.”

“What happened to your friend?”

“Oh, she got tired of looking and went back to the hotel. I’m all alone. Would you…”

She put a little hitch in her voice and a shy look up at him from under her eyelashes. He was short and balding, with a pot-belly visible even through the pac a mac. That the girl could even have thought this man could be a threat was laughable. She had certainly had an active imagination. “Would you walk back with me? It’s so nice to hear a familiar accent. Maybe I could buy you a drink to say thank you.”