Haterz Read Online Free PDF Page B

It was Guy.
    My best friend Guy. Had Danielle told him?
    “It’s Danielle. It’s Danielle...” He broke off. There was an odd sound. Like a gasp, but lower down in the throat. “She’s been in an accident. I’m, I’m on my way to the hospital. It’s bad. Sorry for ringing you so late, but oh, my god.”
    “That’s... that’s okay.” I heard my voice. Calm. Clear. Very, very strange. Like a swim in a cold pool. “It’s fine. Would you like me to come over?”
    “No. I’m not at my flat. I’m at Danielle’s.” Hence the unrecognised number. Right. “I’m off out. I’ll... I’ll call you from the hospital.”
    “I’ll come. I’ll come. It’s fine, I’ll come. I’ll put some clothes on and come.” Again, an odd tone.
    “No, no it’s fine... well, look, could you? If you could... Maybe. I just need someone. It’s St Stephen’s. I’m going with the police.”
    “The police? What? How bad is she?”
    “Er... yeah.” A terrible pause. “I really need a friend. If I’m not disturbing you.”
    “Don’t be daft. I’ll get a minicab.”
    “Thanks, mate. I can’t go through this alone. You’re one in a million.” Guy tried a laugh, but it was just that same odd gasp. Oh. He was crying.
    I ended the call. The police had come for Guy. Did he know she was dead? Still, no-one had called me. That was fine. The police didn’t know I’d done it.
    I pulled my trousers on.
    My phone beeped. An email. Linking to an eCard.
    ‘BE OUTSIDE LEICESTER SQ MCDONALDS IN HALF AN HOUR.’
    What to do, what to do? The needle in my brain bumped uselessly across the surface of my mind.
     
     
    S O. I DIDN’T go to the hospital that night. I’d promised, but I didn’t go. Which meant that Guy wasn’t speaking to me.
    Instead I went and stood outside Leicester Square McDonalds. Which, at 2am on a Wednesday, is a weird place to be. It was cold, and my jacket couldn’t keep the wind out. A nightbus roared past, its side advertising careers with Sodobus in neon. A few people wandered in and out of the cafe. Men wandered past, shouting in Eastern European into their phones.
    I waited. I was frightened and bored. Like waiting for a date.
    A car pulled up. An oldish women with tight silver hair got out of it. She marched up to me. I looked at her, questioningly. She stood, appraising me coldly, waiting for me to say something—maybe to ask her for directions. Then she shrugged and walked away into the restaurant.
    Clearly, it wasn’t her. Well, I didn’t think it could be.
    I waited a bit longer.
    Normally, you’d text the person you were waiting for. But I didn’t dare. Not in this case.
    I waited half an hour, then I went home.
     
     
    T HE NEXT MORNING, I sent Guy an apologetic email, explaining that I’d fallen asleep. This was after he didn’t answer the phone.
    It was a long time before he answered the email. ‘I needed you. She’s dead.’
    Well, this was horrid.
    I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t tell him any of the truth. I couldn’t say, ‘Well, yes, I killed her. Oops.’ I couldn’t even tell him that, half an hour after I got home, there was another message: ‘MADE YOU LOOK.’
    I did not reply to the message. I said plenty to it out loud.
     
     
    I WAITED FOR the police to come and knock on my door. They didn’t. No one came and knocked on my door. I thought about skipping work. But then realised that would look suspicious, so I went even though I pretty much zombied my way through it. I thought I’d never sleep again, but the night after I killed Danielle, I got home and fell straight asleep. I’d just about taken my shoes off.
    I did not dream about Danielle. That came later. Dreams where I stood over her while she looked up at me with her eyes wide, as she choked and choked. Over and over.
    There was an inquest. It was ruled to be an accident caused by an allergic reaction. That was it. No mention of her phone. Why? Why was that? Someone had it. With a photo of me and