Trapped!   part 3 (730 words)

The numbness begins to wear off. A man is dead, a man you met for the first time at a mate’s party last night. What should you do about it? Is it possible to brush it aside and move on with your life?  After all, that bloke could have killed you.
The gorgeous woman makes herself a sandwich and texts a friend. She’s advised you not to visit any news or social media websites connected with the crime in case investigating officers detect an unhealthy interest in the matter and decide to talk to you at a later stage.
But you want to find out more about the fight and what happened afterwards. It’s destroying you. You can’t believe you’ve killed someone.
In the tiny bathroom space, you do an online search for local news.  
FATAL INCIDENT: POLICE APPEAL FOR WITNESSES
So it’s true, according to the online article.  A fight took place on the High Road last night and a man has since died.  Police have now launched a murder enquiry.
‘Good news,’ the gorgeous woman says, placing a mug of tea by the sofa bed when you return from the bathroom. ‘My friend wants to help and she’s agreed to drive over tomorrow evening when she finishes work. Obviously, this must remain confidential.’
‘The CCTV on the High Road...’
‘I’ve already looked into it. There’s no retail outlets on that corner of the High Road and the pub’s further down the road, so it’s unlikely the fight would have been captured.’

***
The woman’s freshening up in your bathroom, as she’s wary about going back to her place and leaving you alone when you have concussion.
It’s just turned seven on Sunday evening, and it’s raining outside and bitterly cold. You feel sluggish. Your eyes keep shutting, despite your efforts to keep them open. You let the empty mug slide from your hand, landing on the floor with a clank, and you lie back on the sofa, ignoring the police helicopter that has begun to circle the neighbourhood again. You just want to sleep and escape from everything.
You drift off. Happier times. The perfect childhood you had. You would have described your childhood as the best. That’s until you grew up and realised that life hadn’t turned out as you planned. Cynicism crept in after that, souring your mind as the years passed.
You dream that you’re on a camping holiday in the Yorkshire Dales. You relive the smell of the sun and grass. The scent of the sheep. The sausages that sizzled on the camp stove while your stomach rumbled with hunger. The deep Yorkshire sky is blue but rainy. You hear the crackle of lighting and then thunder.  
The scene changes abruptly, creating prickles of fear. You’re a man now, walking home from the bus stop after the party last night and as you approach your flat, a figure comes out of the alleyway, towards you. A beautiful woman, lost and forlorn. Long black hair. The gorgeous woman who spent the night and most of today at your flat.
You bolt forward on the sofa bed.
The gorgeous woman.  You must have let her into the flat.
But that’s not what she told you earlier.  She said she ran across one of the side streets off the High Road when she saw you fighting.
Unless she lied.
But why would she do that?

***
She’s still in the bathroom, doing something.  Make-up, probably.
Grabbing your phone, you text your mate Simon. Your hands are shaky and you misspell words. You tell him you’re in some sort of trouble and ask him to contact you in a discreet manner.  On no account, must he alert the police or come round to the flat. You’re aware that your message sounds crazy. You have no idea how he’ll react.  But you need to find a way of speaking to him without the gorgeous woman overhearing. Urgently.  
Surely, this woman wouldn’t lie to you.  The blow to your head must have affected your recollections of last night.  
hey what’s up?  Simon texts back.
You regret sending the text now. But before you can respond, you find yourself slipping into a stupor again, unable to fight the suffocating blackness that swoops down with a vengeance.
Seconds later, you hear the bathroom door creak open, followed by soft footsteps on the floorboards, but you can’t move or open your eyes.
There’s a click, and the woman goes out, leaving you alone in the flat.
And then you drift into a deep dreamless sleep.