Someone Who Isn't Me by Danuta Kot (romance novel chinese novels .TXT) 📕

and slipped her small torch into the pocket. And a towel – she might need it to throw over the kitten if it came out.

Leaving the light on in her room and in the corridor, she headed down the stairs. There was no light on the stairway – George seemed to think the light from the upstairs corridor would be enough.

The small storeroom at the bottom of the stairs was pitch black. The torchlight illuminated the stacks of boxes and the bits of junk piled up in the old sink. She could hear water cascading down from the gutter and when she opened the back door, it was like looking through a waterfall.

Pulling up her hood for some protection, she stepped through the sheet of water. The ground was a sea of mud and puddles. She should have come out sooner. She followed the narrow path of light made by her torch to the fire escape and felt her stomach clench as she saw that something had pulled the tarp away again from the makeshift shelter. The box was a sodden mess on the ground, the bedding scattered. What had happened? The wind? A fox? There was no sign of the kitten.

She checked the wheelie bin, its other hiding place. The huge bin was standing in a puddle that had filled the gap underneath it. If the kitten had been hiding under there, it would have drowned.

Whatever had happened to the shelter, once it was gone, the kitten would have moved to the wheelie bin to hide. And then the water would have risen, and the kitten would have been trapped. Was it under there right now? And she’d just gone in and left it.

This was her fault. Useless, waste of time, just…

Shut up! she told herself. Not now!

The faint, narrow beam from her torch lit up small patches of the yard that suddenly seemed like a vast space with too many hiding places: the bottom of the fire escape, the tarp, gaps left in the wall by loose bricks, boxes stacked up for recycling collapsing in the rain.

There was nowhere to start.

Light gleamed back from the puddles on the ground. There was something lying in one and for a moment, her stomach dropped, then she saw it was just an empty plastic bottle. She picked it up so she wouldn’t stumble over it – ‘Premium Paraffin Fuel’, the label said.

What?

There’d been no plastic bottle when she came through before.

The beam of her torch moved slowly across the ground – the puddle rising up under the wheelie bin, the bottom of the wall, the narrow gap under the gate, the space under the rotting metal of the fire escape, the ruined shelter, the tarp, boots…

Boots. They hadn’t been there before.

She froze.

There was someone here. Someone had been here doing something with paraffin. Someone…

She swung the torch back to the shadows under the fire escape, lighting up the space, but now there was nothing there, just the wet bricks of the wall, a plastic bag stuffed with what looked like rags and cardboard someone had dumped, the sound of the rain, falling, falling…

Hands grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her side, and before she had a chance to struggle, she was shoved forward, hard, as something hooked round her ankle.

Her face smacked into the side of the wheelie bin, then she was on the ground, feeling the gravel and the mud on her bare hands. Something came down on the back of her neck, pressing her face into the wet dirt.

Mud filled her mouth and nose.

She was drowning.

She lay there, too dazed to struggle. A voice above her, low and hoarse, whispered, ‘Snitch bitch.’

Then a light blazed suddenly, flames, a burning rag held above her head. She could smell the paraffin and the person standing above her laughed.

She struggled onto her knees, and something smashed into her ribs, making her fall and roll over again. He was standing over her, straddling her. She could see long, thin legs and above that, the rest of the figure was just a shape in the darkness. In the dim light from the upstairs window, a hand came into view, a hand holding a rag or something. She gagged as she breathed in the smell of paraffin.

The click of a lighter.

She curled up with her arms over her face at the flash of heat as the rag was lit, then it was gone and she heard the whuff! of something igniting.

Something splashed over her face. Shit! Shit! He was pouring paraffin in her face, he was going to set her alight. Panic got her onto all fours and then she was dragging herself to her feet despite the stabbing pain in her ribs and pounding in her face where it had hit the bin.

Not the fire! Not the fire!

She heard laughter again and then the sound of feet moving away. The gate swung open. She turned, grabbing the wall for support and saw a figure, tall and thin, silhouetted in the light from the alleyway, then the gate swung shut leaving her in the darkness with the flicker of flames and the smell of paraffin in the air.

A bitter flavour filled her mouth and she spat and spat.

Chapter 25

Becca struggled to keep herself upright. Her face throbbed, her neck felt bruised and her ribs sent a stabbing pain through her side each time she took a breath.

She needed to… she needed to…

She lifted her arms to her face. She’d thought she was covered in paraffin, but she wasn’t. What had happened? She caught the whiff of a foul smell. She didn’t know what he’d poured over her, but it made her gag, and then she was throwing up, welcoming the heavy rain as it ran down her face and soaked through her clothes, washing her clean.

The paraffin bottle had been empty. He’d already used it.

On what?

A flickering light was illuminating the yard. The plastic bag under the fire escape,