Читать книгу The New Girl: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist perfect for fans of Friend Request - Ingrid Alexandra - Страница 12

‘Mary.’

My fingers dig into the pillow and a groan escapes.

‘Mary, Mary, quite contrary.’

I open my eyes to a room full of shadows, my heart thundering. There’s a low whisper somewhere nearby.

Shhhhhhh. Shhhhhh.

Is someone whispering? Is it the waves?

A scream pierces the air, followed by a thud.

I lunge for the lamp switch, and yellow light spills into the room. Jaunty shadows paint the walls, but there’s no one here.

‘You dumb, fucking bitch! This is the last time!’

‘Fuck you, you don’t even care! You never did!’

The voices are coming from outside. It’s the couple upstairs, fighting again. They must be on the balcony.

I sigh with relief, but my heart is still racing and my mouth is dry. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and tiptoe out the door. The clock on the microwave reads 03:30 as I creep through the fragrant summer darkness into the kitchen. I could wait until my vision adjusts, but I’m dying for water, so I slide my hand along the hallway wall until my fingertips find the switch. Fluorescent lights blink to life and it’s a moment before I can see.

Rachel stands in front of me.

With a shout I stumble backwards, the small of my back slamming into the countertop. ‘Ow. Sorry, I … I didn’t think anyone …’ I stop. There’s something funny about the way Rachel’s standing. And her expression. She’s hunched over the counter, both hands flat on its surface, staring into what would have been darkness before I turned on the light. ‘Rachel?’

She remains silent, staring ahead. A strange chill creeps through me.

‘Rachel? It’s just me, Mary.’

She cocks her head, those golden-hazel eyes meeting mine, but they’re blank. Unseeing.

I take a step backwards. Then something changes. I can’t explain it. It’s like there was a film over Rachel’s eyes, and now it’s peeling back and they’re clear again. She’s looking, not through me, but at me.

‘Hey.’ She smiles, blinks. She stares down at her hands, still pressed flat to the counter, and pulls them away as though she’s been burned. She puts them behind her back, turns to me, smiles wider. ‘Just, uh … came to get some water.’

‘Right, yeah. Me too.’ If I knew her better, I’d make some joke, tell her she was out of it like a zombie. I’d ask her if she was sleepwalking, whether that’s something she does sometimes. I’d make sure she’s okay. But we only met two days ago, this is her first night here, and ingrained social etiquette overrules. I say nothing.

‘Did I disturb you?’ Her pretty smile is still in place, but there’s something in her expression. Worry? I can’t help but notice the network of blood vessels in the whites of her eyes, like fine red cobwebs, and the dark circles beneath.

‘No! No, you’re fine. I’m just thirsty.’ I quickly grab a couple of glasses from the washing-up rack and fill them at the sink. I hand one to Rachel.

It’s as if the gesture vanquishes Rachel’s strange mood. Her eyes shine as she takes the glass. ‘Thanks.’

‘Sure.’ I shrug, looking away, feeling like I should say something more, but what?

Muffled shouts sound from outside and Rachel glances towards the balcony doors. She purses her lips. ‘Are they always like that?’

I mirror her expression. ‘Often, yes, unfortunately.’

Rachel sighs softly. She turns to me, and the way the light hits her eyes makes them gleam. ‘Are you okay? After the other day, I mean. I got the feeling something really bad happened.’

‘Oh. No … well. It’s nothing, honestly.’

There’s the sound of a door banging, more muffled shouts. Someone crying, pleading.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Rachel looks so sincere. I’m touched that she would remember.

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Sorry, um … I’d just rather try to forget about it.’

She tilts her head to one side and smiles. ‘I know the feeling.’ She pauses, not taking her eyes off me. ‘Well, night … roomie.’ Her smile widens, as though she’s pleased with the idea, and she steps close to me, her arm brushing mine. Her hair smells flowery, feminine. She pauses – or do I imagine that? – before stepping past.

‘Night,’ I mumble, shuffling out of her way.

I ignore the weird feeling, the fact that my heart is racing and my senses have gone on alert. I rest my palm over the light switch, watching as Rachel’s slim, white figure crosses the living area and disappears into her room. Then I press the switch, plunging the world back into darkness.