‘Mom, do you remember we talked about you going to see Dr Harrison?’

‘Yes.’

‘I know you said that you were fine, but I do think it would be a good idea just to see him.’

‘I don’t see why, but –‘

‘So when I get back we’ll have another talk about that. And we can find a good time to go together. Okay?’

There was silence on the line.

‘Mom?’

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Did you hear what I just said?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re okay with that.’

She got the feeling that her mother had been distracted by something, that or she had lost the thread of the whole conversation.

‘Are you sure you are alright?’

‘Fine, dear, fine.’

‘I’ll see you later. And call me if you need anything. Okay?’

Silence again.

‘Bye, then.’

‘Bye, dear.’

She cut the connection and walked into the dark room. In a few moments, after she had changed the light settings, after she had prepared the solutions in the trays, after she had unwound the spool of film from her camera, she would enter that space that she loved, a zone free of problems.

Carefully and methodically she started to organise the room. She closed the door, switched on the safelight and placed the enlarger on the trestle table. She made sure she had everything she needed – the developing fluid, running water, the photographic fixer and the wash. By the door she placed a small wooden stool, the place where she would sit while she unloaded the film from the camera.

Normally at this point her mind was free and clear, only focused on the task in hand. But today, today was different. Her brain felt clouded by images. What was she going to say to Josh? What was she going to do about her mother? What was going to happen about Gleason? As she pushed one worry away another set of problems would take its place.

She took hold of her camera, enjoying the feel of it in her hands. In order to take the film out of the camera and load it onto a development spool she needed complete darkness. Normally she loved the sense of nothingness that washed over her when she turned off the safelight, but again today she felt that something was not quite right. She froze, stopped breathing for a second as she tried to define the nature of the anxiety that hovered on the periphery of her senses.

Cradling her camera in her hands she walked over to the door. She listened intently. Nothing. She turned the safelight off, plunging the room into complete darkness. Using one of her hands to steady herself she traced the door frame downwards until she came to a sitting position on the stool. She closed her eyes and opened them again. The dark room seemed blacker than her world inside.

She opened the back of the camera and took out the film. She worked quickly, transferring it onto a spool. But just as she was nearing the end of the process she heard a sound. Breaking glass.

The noise sent a splinter of fear into her heart. She knew, in that instant, what she had been afraid of all along. He had come for her.

It was a matter of minutes – seconds even – before he would find her. But she had once made a promise that, no matter what, she would protect her unborn child.

Quietly she put her camera on the floor and turned on the safelight. She opened her cell and pressed Josh’s number on speed dial. It went straight to voice mail. She cut the connection and, with fingers shaking, managed to tap out a short text. ‘He is here.’ She dialled 911 and waited for the pick-up. She started to speak as soon as they answered.

‘Please come,’ she whispered. ‘My name is Kate Cramer, address –‘

‘Sorry, miss, I’m unable to hear you. Can you speak up a little.’

‘No,’ she hissed. ‘Just get here. I’m at 20452 Pacific Coast Highway. It’s a private track down to the –‘

She heard a noise from somewhere outside. Had he heard her? She placed the cell on the trestle table so that the operator could hear, and record, the conversation. If the cops arrived too late to save her at least they would have a clearer idea of the sequence of events.

But what had happened to the officers stationed outside in the car? How had he got past them? Of course, they were dead. He would have killed them. Just as he was about to kill her and her baby.

No. It wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t allow it.

She stood up, quickly turning off the light and locking the door. She moved quickly, like a hunted animal, across the dark room. She could hear him outside, searching the house. It sounded like he was coming closer.

She found the tool box and took hold of the chisel and the piece of cheese wire. She pushed them into one of her pockets. Silently, trying to swallow her fear, she used her hands to trace a path in the darkness back towards the door. She waited there, desperately trying to ignore the quickened pace of her breathing. She listened to his movements as he searched the house, stealthily moving from one room to the next. She pictured him as he walked into her bedroom, defiling her private space with his presence. She saw his black, expressionless eyes, scanning the room for a clue to her whereabouts. She pictured him walking down the stairs, through the lounge, the kitchen, opening the door to the storeroom, before making his way down towards the dark room. As she waited she felt the blade of the chisel press into the flesh of her thigh. She ran a finger over the length of cheese wire, imagining how it could cut deep into the flesh.

She willed him to come to her. Come on, you fucker, she said under her breath. She ran her tongue along her top row of teeth, deliberately pressing it hard onto each sharp edge so she would feel as much pain as possible. She was sure she could taste blood. She pushed her fingers onto the blade of the chisel, nearly slicing into her skin.

She was ready.

67

No. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He had first felt something was not right when Gleason – and then Susan Gable - turned off the 10 and headed towards the Pacific Coast Highway. By the time he saw the sign for Malibu he knew where Gleason was heading. He shouted for him to stop, to turn back, to do anything but this, but still the man carried on driving, and still she followed. Why weren’t they obeying his orders? After all, weren’t they his creations, his characters?