Trapped!    part 4 (750 words)

You come to late on Monday morning with a vice-like headache and a metallic taste in your mouth. The gorgeous woman’s sitting at your table, smiling as she texts on her phone.
‘You’re awake,’ she says.      
‘Yeah,’ you mutter.
‘You don’t look well at all. We might have to consider finding a walk-in clinic if there’s no improvement by tomorrow. I’ll need to do a bit of legal research, though. It could be that we don’t have to disclose the reason for the blow to the head if you are not presenting as an emergency.’
That’s when memories of yesterday trickle back. The party on Saturday night. The bloke that wanted a fight. Waking up on Sunday to find a stranger in your flat. The news that you punched the bloke hard enough to cause a fatal injury. The uneasy notion that the gorgeous woman might have lied to you.  After all, she went out last night, didn’t she?  She left the flat, despite telling you that you had concussion and needed a person present at all times.    
‘Where did you go last night?’ you say.  
‘My flatmate got locked out, so I hurried back to let her in. I’m really sorry about that. I assumed you were asleep. It only took me a few minutes. I had no choice but to go back and let her in. It was raining heavily.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ you say, observing her carefully.  There’s no hint of hesitation on her part.
‘Remember the friend I was telling you about yesterday? I helped her out of a major crisis a couple of years ago?  She’s been grateful ever since.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘She’ll be here about around half seven this evening. We can discuss a cover story then.’


The gorgeous woman has prepared a cooked breakfast, but you can’t eat. The sight of poached eggs makes you gag and you stagger to the toilet to throw up, although nothing comes out. You can barely stand, so you spend a good ten minutes sitting on the toilet seat, wishing you’d stayed asleep.
‘I need to get checked out,’ you say, once you’ve finished in the bathroom.
‘I agree,’ she says. ‘And I’m sorry I didn’t call for medical help straight away.  Obviously, I was worried about the hospital alerting the police, which they would have had to do. But you’re right. We’ll get a taxi to a walk-in.’  


The gorgeous woman’s online, trying to locate a walk-in with the least waiting time. You sip black tea to settle your stomach, and look at your texts. Your mate Simon has sent you another text, asking about the text you sent him last night?  Were you concerned about the food poisoning?  Or did something else occur?  He seems perplexed.
You start to compose another text but you don’t know what to tell him. After all, the local news headlines yesterday confirmed that a man died in a fight on the High Road in the early hours of Sunday morning.  And if you really did kill the bloke from the party, you face a prison sentence. You mustn’t say anything to Simon in that case. How can he help you, anyway?
Without warning, your mind travels back to a couple of nights ago after the party. You see the gorgeous woman approach you from the alleyway near your flat, tearful but stunningly beautiful. She tells you she has nowhere to go, no money. Her boyfriend has thrown her out.  She’s scared, she says. Her boyfriend’s got a temper.  So you let her into your flat.
Startled, you take a sip of tea.  
More missing information returns... this time, she’s sitting at the table in your flat during the early hours of Sunday morning. You’re both laughing over a bottle of wine. You don’t normally drink wine, but someone gave you a bottle as a token of appreciation for helping them move home last month. Presumably, you opened the bottle of wine after you invited the gorgeous woman into your flat.    
Wait.  If that’s the case and these flashbacks reflect what actually happened, you can’t have killed the bloke.  You’re innocent.
Which means the gorgeous women’s lied to you from the start.
She turns now and smiles at you. The smile is benign, yet it contains sinister undercurrents.  She knows that you know.
‘Poor Harry,’ she says. ‘You don’t look very well at all.’
Your eyes are getting heavy again and you feel dizzy. You start to sway on the sofa bed before blackness swoops, swallowing you up like it did before.