The Last Girl by Michael Adams Read Free Book Online

he’d heard her.
    But her and I being in each other’s minds frightened me more than being out of my own.
    Brendan-you-bastard-You’re-going-to-jail.
    Stephanie’s shock was wearing off. She wasn’t scared now, she was furious. She’d been scorned and she’d been assaulted. She looked at Dad’s slumped form. Ugliness blasted from her in waves.
    Limp-dick-loser-Attack-me- You-coward-Jail-that’s-where- Hope-someone-beats-you . . .
    ‘I’ll, I’ll—’
    I started. Tell the police you attacked him— I wanted to take back my unspoken lie. But I didn’t have to.
    ‘You’ll what?’ Stephanie snarled.
    She hadn’t heard me.
    Can you hear me?
    Nothing. Thank God.
    Stephanie didn’t react to my relief. Goddamn-you-Danby- you-better—
    She wasn’t in my mind. How and why didn’t matter right now.
    ‘I’ll—I’ll help him,’ I said. ‘Help me.’
    I felt sick at the red bump rising from his hairline. But I felt sicker at what was rising from Stephanie’s head. Help- him?-She’s-kidding-For-all-I-care-he-can-go-and-f—
    ‘Maybe you killed him!’
    Brendan-dead-Danbyn-jailed-Not-so-bad : she didn’t feel too guilty thinking it.
    I shot her a look.
    ‘Just because you can’t hear me,’ I hissed, ‘doesn’t mean I can’t hear you.’
    Stephanie recoiled like I’d spat at her.
    ‘Lalalalalalalala.’ Lalalalalalala .
    She sang it, thought it: hoping it’d keep me out.
    I’d done First Aid at school. Remembered the mnemonic DRABCD.
    D for danger. I’d neutralised that by knocking Dad out.
    ‘Dad, Dad?’
    I shook his shoulder. No R of Response.
    His tongue and teeth were in place. Nothing obstructed the A of his Airway. Listening and watching his chest rise and fall confirmed the B of his Breathing. I moved him into the recovery position, thankful there would be no need for the C of CPR or the D of a Defibrillator jerry-rigged from Christmas lights.
    ‘Dad, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Hang on I’m going to—’
    Yes-operator-I-need-help . . .
    ‘I’m phoning the police,’ Stephanie yelled. ‘You saw him try to kill me.’
    She wanted her emergency call fresh and panicked when it was played in court .
    Come-quick-my-husband’s-gone-crazy-and . . .
    ‘He needs an ambulance,’ I yelled over her silent rehearsal.
    I looked around for Dad’s phone.
    Gotcha : Stephanie thought as she beat me to it and snatched it from the floor.
    ‘Police!’ she screamed.
    I lunged to grab the phone from her. Stephanie swerved away into Evan’s scattered golf balls. Her silly heels shot out from under her. For a second my stepmother windmilled like a cartoon character as her emotions tumbled inside a black thought bubble. Afraid she wasn’t pretty enough. Angry that Dad had pushed her away. Resentful I never gave her a chance. Hopeful Evan might someday be cured. Sure she had a lot more to do with her life.
    Then Stephanie’s body smacked hard onto the polished floorboards and her head smashed harder onto the marble hearth.
    ‘Steph—’ I said.
    But in that instant she ceased. I was in her mind and then her mind was gone. No bright light, no heavenly chorus: just gone. I scrambled to her side. My stepmother’s eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling, and her lips were parted, as if she wanted to say something. Blood flowed from under her hair, bright against the marble, oily on the floorboards. I opened her mouth, breathed into her. I did compressions, counting them off loudly. Knew it was useless. Had to try. If I hadn’t lunged she wouldn’t have fallen.
    Stephanie’s fingers were curled around the phone. I gave her two more breaths and grabbed it. I punched the emergency number and put it on speaker by her shoulder. I continued compressions as the call went through.
    ‘You’ve reached emergency services,’ a calm recorded voice said. ‘We are unable to answer at this time. Please try again or call your local police, ambulance or fire service directly.’
    How was that possible? Weren’t there