Page 11 of She Saw What He Did

‘We need to take the boat,’ he lied. He felt sure his voice would give him away, but the man nodded and pushed Sparrow towards the jetty. Sparrow couldn’t believe it had been that easy.

‘Let's go,’ said the man.

Sparrow could barely get his legs to move. It seemed to take him forever to get to the boat and he was trembling so much that he couldn’t be sure he’d be able to grasp the oar, let alone hit the guy with it. He was shoved roughly from behind and then he was close. It was now or never. He could see the oar. It was just inches from him. His hands were clammy with sweat. He only had one chance. If he fucked up, he’d be dead meat. He dived for the oar, almost tumbling into the boat as he did so. He felt the man grab him by the back of his shirt and struggled to free himself. In one quick movement Sparrow grabbed the oar, spun around and smashed it into the man’s face. The man grunted and fell from the jetty into the water. Sparrow heard two loud bangs and realised the gun had been fired. For one horrifying moment Sparrow thought he must have been shot but he’d felt no pain. He must be alright. The man dragged himself up, the gun shaking in his hand.

‘Shit,’ gasped Sparrow almost falling as he stepped back.

‘Bastard,’ yelled the man rushing forward, the gun pointed at Sparrow’s head.

‘Christ,’ muttered Sparrow, his sweaty hands slipping on the oar.

He swung it again and felt it hit the man’s head. He heard a sickening crunch and then brought the oar down again. He kept pulverising the man’s head, over and over, his hands twitching as they continued the repetitive movement. A deafening rush in his ears drowned out the man’s screams. Sparrow could only think of one thing. It was the man or him. He had to survive. Sweat ran into his eyes until he was swinging the oar blindly. He finally stopped and breathed heavily. There was tightness in his chest and he prayed he wasn’t having a heart attack. His hands were numb, and the oar slipped from them without him even realising. He looked down at his blood- splattered shirt and for a moment he thought he had been shot. Frantically he felt around his chest and then exhaled heavily. He hadn’t. He sank to his knees ‘I’m alive,’ he breathed. ‘I’m okay.’

The battered body lay on the jetty in front of him. Sparrow turned away in disgust.

‘Jesus,’ he groaned.

The only sound was the crashing of the waves. He was drenched in sweat. He could feel his heart pulsating in his neck. Slowly, he bent over the man. He was dead all right. His brains were splattered all over the jetty.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered. But what choice had he had? The bastard was going to shoot him. He knew that for sure. He relaxed his shoulders. From the corner of his eye he saw something glint in the distance. His head snapped up to see what it was and then he saw her.

‘Fuck it,’ he yelled.

He hurried to get his binoculars and trained them on her. She was watching him through her camera lens. Behind her was a man.

‘Damn,’ he muttered, throwing the binoculars to the ground. What the fuck was he going to do now? He had just two hours before they came for the box. Just two hours before he got his fifty thousand. He would disappear immediately. Just as soon as he had the money in his hand, he’d be off. Meanwhile, though, there were these stupid holidaymakers. At least, he presumed they were holidaymakers. What if they were also after the cargo? How much had she seen? He trained his binoculars on them again, but they’d gone. Then he realised. They had been close to the hiding place, right where he had hidden the box.

‘Shit,’ he muttered, standing up. His legs were weak beneath him. He snatched the keys from the speedboats with trembling hands and focused his binoculars again. There was no sign of the couple now. He threw his rucksack over his shoulders and hurried from the beach, pausing only to pick up the gun. As an afterthought he turned, rummaged in the man’s raincoat pockets and pulled out a handful of cartridges. He then loaded the gun and shot two holes into the holidaymakers’ boat.

Chapter Eight

Abby

‘Calm down Abby.’

I roughly pull myself out of Jared’s arms.

‘He just killed a man Jared. I saw him do it and he knows I did. He saw me through his binoculars,’ I say, my body trembling.

‘Are you sure that’s what you saw? You could have been mistaken. We’re a long way up.’

My tears blur his features.

‘He bludgeoned him to death with an oar, Jared,’ I sob. ‘Didn’t you hear him screaming?’

Jared nods.

‘I heard something.’

Everything seems to be moving too fast. I want to get off this awful island and go back home to Fernsea. We should never have left Sam. What if something happens to us?

‘Oh God Jared, we should never have come here. What are we going to do?’

‘Okay,’ he says, pushing my rucksack onto my shoulders. ‘We’ll get back to the boat.’

He takes my hand.

‘No,’ I protest, and realise I’m whimpering. ‘He’s on the beach. He won’t let us get away.’

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