I don’t know how I manage to get myself involved in these things. My friend Jake—actually more like an acquaintance, who I knew from a job I’d held for all of six months before quitting—suggested we go hiking.
I thought he just meant a long walk in the hills. I was surprised, because he didn’t seem the type to enjoy nature. Bars and seedy clubs were more his cup of tea.
The hike mutated into some kind of a thing where we had to stay overnight in tents, and then it was two nights, perhaps even three, and somehow I ended up agreeing to it all. Then, at the last minute, it turned out that his friend Stevo was coming along too.
I attempted to extricate myself from the whole business, but Jake said I’d be ruining the trip if I backed out at that point, and that he was relying on me to carry supplies.
In those days I used to feel like even a simple “no” was a kind of offence or insult, so I was easy prey; easily manipulated. The idea somehow hadn’t occurred to me that you don’t have to agree to everything, and that if people are going to be hurt or offended by a pleasant refusal then that’s their own lookout.
I had understood that the proposed hike would take place in Scotland, but soon even that had changed to Italy, a country I knew nothing about, and whose language I didn’t speak a word of. I finally flatly told Jake that I wasn’t going, that it was all too much and that I couldn’t afford the time off work. Then he said he’d already bought the tickets, and he laid on the guilt tactics with a spade.
In the end I resigned myself to it.
I met Stevo for the first time at the airport. His first words to me were, “Bloody hell, look at this total dweeb. How’s he going to carry anything? Looks like a stick on legs.”
I’ve even toned down his language quite a bit, since there’s no point writing down the various expletives with which he punctuated his speech. I nearly turned and walked off, but Jake said, “He’s only joking, mate. Can’t you take a joke?” and Stevo said, “Sorry mate, I’m just joshing you. Jake said you’ve got a great sense of humour.”
“Jake said that?” I asked him.
“Yeah, you said that, didn’t you, Jake?”
“Yeah, totally.” said Jake, in a way that was quite unconvincing.
“Stevo.” said Stevo, holding out his hand.
I made to shake it, then he pulled his hand away and made an obscene gesture and dissolved into laughter.
“I’m just teasing you mate, don’t be such a wimp.”
“We’re really happy you’re coming.” said Jake.
Stevo held out his hand again and I shook it.
“I know I’m a bit of a donkey, pay it no attention.” he said, and for a moment he almost seemed genuine.
“You’re a complete donkey all right.” said Jake.
“Yeah, I know.” said Stevo.
I’d never been out of England before; not even to Wales or Scotland. My expectations around planes were conditioned by old films where people sat in well-spaced comfortable chairs, being served glasses of champagne. So I wasn’t really ready for the realities of modern budget airlines, which seemed to involve almost more queuing than flying, and a rather degrading security process. Then I somehow ended up in the middle of three seats, sandwiched between Jake and Stevo, both of whom seemed to need an extraordinary amount of space, while I shrank into my seat as best I could.
The air in the cabin started rather cool but warmed as we approached our destination. When we began to descend, Jake, who was sitting by the window, pointed out some landmarks to me, including the long bridge that led to some place called Chioggia, then St. Mark’s Square, and the Grand Canal.
By then I was feeling a bit sick, so I wasn’t all that interested, and wished he’d just shut up. The smell of the food he and Stevo had ordered, combined with the movement of the plane, had distinctly unsettled my stomach.
Then of course there was a whole process of disembarking. When I finally saw a bathroom I ran to it. I was perplexed to discover not a conventional toilet as I understood it, but rather, a flat area on the floor with striated spots for the feet and a kind of drain in the centre. At that point I had no choice but to hurl the contents of my stomach into it. Fortunately it had a button for flushing it.
When I rejoined the passport queue I was a bit shaky, but felt a lot better.
“Did you just puke?” said Jake. I nodded and he said, laughing, “You idiot!”
Stevo laughed too. I couldn’t really see what was funny about it, but I tried to laugh, just to fit in.
At Venice we hired a car. Jake drove. Somehow they didn’t have quite enough cash and couldn’t use their credit cards for reasons I didn’t understand, so I ended up having to pay the whole thing. I sat in the back, listening to them laughing about stuff and people they knew, who I’d never heard of.
What a disaster! I bitterly regretted agreeing to any of it.
Stevo said we ought to take in what he called a “Gentleman’s Club” in Milan, where he said illegal drugs could be purchased at a decent price, but at that point I was in desperate need of peace and quiet, and I told them I absolutely wasn’t interested, and if they wanted to go there I’d happily wait in a hotel somewhere, and in the end, they shelved the idea.
After about two hours we began to wind our way upwards along roads with hairpin bends, my ears popping with the altitude. Finally I began to feel a little more like myself, and I was able to take an interest in the surroundings.
We were driving in among mountains the like of which I’d only seen in films. Tall, sometimes jagged things, their peaks half-covered in snow.
Even Stevo had become quieter, more reflective, remarking on the beauty of the place in-between risqué jokes and anecdotes about various women he’d been with. I started to think perhaps I’d misjudged him. Certainly he had a rather bluff manner about him, but perhaps underneath that there was an element of something more sensitive.
“Where are we actually going?” I asked Jake.
He told me the name of the place, but I don’t know how I’d even spell it, and I can’t remember it.
“There’s not really anything there,” he said, “but it’s the starting point for an ancient trail.”
“That’s not all though.” said Stevo.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You didn’t tell him, Jake?” he said.
“Tell me what?” I asked.
“About the place.”
“What place?”
“He’s just having a laugh, mate.” said Jake. “Lay off him a bit, Stevo, yeah? Olly’s the sensitive type.”
“Sensitive type.” echoed Stevo, laughing, and Jake laughed too.
Back then I used to think everything was my fault. Now I’d just think they were a pair of idiots and I should extricate myself from whatever idiotic thing they’d got planned, but instead I forced myself to laugh along with them. What we were laughing at, I wasn’t sure. My shy and retiring nature, I supposed.
At least I could appreciate the beauty of the place. It was breathtaking, astonishing, unlike anything I’d ever imagined. Endless forest in vivid green interspersed with vast grey mountains, clouds floating around us on all sides. Like a magical wonderland.
We had to stop as a small herd of deer crossed the road in front of us, some with enormous antlers.
“Drive into them, they’ll clear out the way.” said Stevo. “And if not, we’ll have free venison.”
“Yeah, and who’s going to pay for the damage to the car?” said Jake.
They were laughing, but I wasn’t sure they weren’t serious.
Eventually we pulled into a car park at the side of the road. It was nothing more than a flat area of dirt, but it had the tracks of at least one other car in it, so presumably it was considered a car park.
“We walk from here.” said Jake. “We can get in four hours today before it’s dark.”
“Let’s have a drink first.” said Stevo.
“Later. We need to make progress.”
“Just a quick drink! I picked up something in the service station. Don’t know what it is but it’s 60%.”
“Later.” said Jake.
Stevo swore.
We put the backpacks on our backs and walked off into the forest.
At first I quite enjoyed walking through the forest. I only wished Jake and Stevo would shut up for a bit, or else talk about something other than parties and their various amorous conquests. I spotted plants and animals that were unfamiliar to me, including a massive yellow-and-black lizard. But then the monotony began to get to me. The forest path seemed to go on forever, never really changing. Probably I would have enjoyed it more if the walk could have been conducted in silence, or with silent periods, but that wasn’t the situation.
Initially the path was marked with white-and-blue markers, but soon we strayed off the main path, Jake following a GPS tracker, onto unmarked routes where sometimes it was hard even to discern any trail.
When it began to grow dark I grew a little nervous.
“Shouldn’t we make camp?” I said.
“Shouldn’t we make camp!” echoed Stevo in a mocking lisp.
“It’s almost dark!”
“We haven’t reached our destination yet.” said Jake.
“What is our destination?”
“You’ll see when we get there. Almost there.”
We had been gradually ascending, getting higher and higher, but soon we began to descend sharply. The temperature declined noticeably. Had we not been undergoing vigorous exercise and protected from the wind by the trees, I’m sure we would have been shivering.
We arrived at a boarded-up house in a clearing.
“This is it.” said Jake.
“Faaa-ntastic.” said Stevo, rubbing his hands together in glee.
It seemed we had arrived somewhere quite exciting, but why they were excited by this old ruin of a house, I had no idea.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You’re going to have to tell him.” Stevo said to Jake.
“Tell him what?” I asked.
“Let’s make camp and have a drink first.” said Jake.
“Always time for a drink.” said Stevo. “Olly, you gather wood, mate.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Set up a fire.” he said. “Be sure to get only dry wood. Check it snaps cleanly.”
“We could end up setting fire to the whole forest.” I protested.
“Do you have to be such a loser your whole life?” said Stevo. Then he repeated, “We could end up setting fire to the whole forest.” in his mocking lisp.
“There’s no need to be insulting.” I said.
“Olly, do what he says.” said Jake. “We’ve got to discuss some stuff.”
Feeling rather aggrieved, I went off to look for wood, muttering “Idiot!” under my breath.
Stevo heard me, unfortunately.
“You what did you just say to me?” he said, suddenly angry.
“Nothing.” I said, turning round.
He glared at me, but then said, “Better not ‘ave.” and I returned to the business of finding wood.
Soon we had the tents up and Jake and Stevo had a fire going, and they were trying to toast various baked items they’d bought at the service station we’d passed, on the ends of sticks, only really succeeding in blackening them with smoke. I quietly ate a sandwich.
Stevo and Jake were sharing a tent. I had brought my own, freshly-purchased from a camping shop, and they tried to argue that it would be “fair” if I let one of them have my tent for the night, then I could have it to myself the next night.
I absolutely resisted the ridiculous idea. Why hadn’t they brought separate tents themselves? Fortunately, neither of them could decide who should get my tent, and who should have to share with me, anyway, so the debate was dropped.
They began taking it in turns to drink from the bottle of some liquor or other that Stevo had bought. They tried to get me to drink it, but I’m not keen on other people’s saliva and they didn’t push the issue, wanting it all for themselves.
When they’d almost finished it, Stevo said, “Let’s take a look in the house.”
“Nah.” said Jake. “Better do it tomorrow, when it’s light.”
“It’ll still be dark in there anyway.” said Stevo. “It’s all boarded up.”
“I’m too pissed now.” said Jake. “Better tackle it tomorrow. We need to be systematic.”
“What’s in the house?” I asked.
“Drugs.” said Jake.
“What?”
“Don’t freak out.” said Jake. “We didn’t want to tell you because we knew you’d get on your high horse about it. The bloke who lived here was a scientist, but he went renegade. He made a living manufacturing illegal drugs in there and selling them. The police caught him and he died in prison. We’ve got information that says there’s an undiscovered cache in the basement.”
“You’re going to help us carry the stuff back to Old Blighty.” said Stevo.
“I’m absolutely not.” I said. “I’m not getting mixed up with this!”
“You either help us, or you make your own way back.” said Jake.
“Yeah, and good luck with that.” said Stevo. “Without GPS you’ll never find the way. We’ll tell them to organise a search party when we get home, and they’ll find your rotting corpse if you’re lucky.”
I exploded at the pair of them, but mainly at Jake.
“You absolute cretin!” I shouted, jumping to my feat. “I never agreed to any of this! I’m not going to help you! How do you even think you’re going to get a load of drugs through the airport?”
“We’re not.” said Stevo. “We’re going to drive it to the border, then we’ll take trains to the coast. Then a ferry. Very few checks. Sit down and stop acting like a ponce.”
I strode about, thinking. Suddenly I noticed it had got extremely cold. Surprisingly cold.
“All right, since I’ve no alternative, I’ll help you carry the stuff back to the car.” I said. “After that I’m going to make my own way. I’ll find a main road and catch a bus and get to the airport somehow. Give me my ticket.”
“There’s no ticket.” said Jake. “I didn’t book a return journey, for obvious reasons.”
“You lied to me!” I said.
“Yeah.” said Jake. “No choice, mate.”
“Never mind. I’ll buy a ticket when I get there.”
“‘Ere,” said Stevo suddenly, “it’s bloody freezing. What’s going on?”
“It just gets a bit cool at night.” said Jake. “It’s the altitude. You’ll survive.”
I sat down again by the fire and tried to warm my hands. The fire was gradually dying.
“We should get more firewood.” said Stevo.
“Took me ages to find this.” I said. “Most of it’s not all that dry. We’ll never find another load in the dark.”
As the fire died, we all began to shiver uncontrollably.
“How can it be this cold?” said Stevo.
“I think I might know.” I said.
“What?” said Stevo irritably.
“We’re in a cold-air trap.” I said.
“A what?” said Jake, looking alarmed.
“A cold-air trap. We’re in a concave depression on the side of the mountain. It traps cold air that falls down the mountain, because it’s heavier than warm air. I saw a video about it. We could die here.”
Stevo swore loudly.
“That’s it.” he said. “I’m getting in that house.”
“It could be dangerous in there.” said Jake. “The owner was a bit of a nutter. Who knows what’s in there?”
“I don’t care.” said Stevo, and he produced a heavy crowbar and a hammer from his rucksack.
So that was why they didn’t want to carry two tents. They were weighed down with equipment for breaking and entering.
“Fine,” said Jake, “We’ll all go then. Not much choice.”
“Why would anyone build a house in a …. cold trap?” said Stevo.
That, I couldn’t answer.
“Saves on refrigeration costs at least.” said Jake sardonically.
“I’ve got a torch.” I said. “If we all work together we might be able to find enough wood to keep the fire going.”
Stevo uttered an expletive to indicate his disproval of that idea.
We went to the door of the house. It was protected by a heavy chain. Stevo inserted the crowbar into the padlock and began to pound it with the hammer, taking careful aim but mostly missing it since he was fairly drunk. Eventually he did manage to break the lock. Then he pounded at the edges of the door with the hammer, eventually managing to splinter it off its hinges. He finished the job off with the crowbar and a couple of strong kicks.
“Let’s just find somewhere we can put our tents for the night.” said Jake. “We can investigate the chemical situation tomorrow.”
“No way.” said Stevo. “We’ve got this far. I want to have a look around.”
Stevo made his way cautiously into the house, lighting his way with small but powerful flashlight.
I felt in something of a quandary. Surely, the more I was involved with their illegal scheme, the more likely I was to be seen as a perpetrator by the law (if it ever came to that) rather than an innocent victim who had helped transport drugs only out of absolute necessity.
In the end, my curiosity got the better of me and I followed Jake and Stevo into the house.
Inside, it looked as though someone had certainly lived there, then abandoned it suddenly, then teenagers had broken in and given it a going-over, and finally spiders had worked their magic to achieve the final effect.
A living room of the kind I might have imagined would belong to an elderly Italian man was decorated with graffiti and strewn with webs. Numerous old vases and cups had been smashed and the cupboards ransacked.
“Not much of use here.” said Jake.
“His lab was in the basement.” said Stevo.
“Let’s go then.” said Jake, curiosity apparently having impelled a change of heart.
We made our way down a set of winding stone stairs, brushing spider webs off ourselves. At the bottom was a large room with a curved roof that had clearly once functioned as a chemical laboratory. Bits of apparatus still remained, mostly broken or smashed. There were pipe fittings to supply water, a smashed-up fume cupboard and several vents, their interiors covered in stringy black mould.
“Look at this!” said Stevo, examining a badly-dented machine.
“It’s an NMR machine.” I said.
“What’s that?” said Jake.
“It’s for analysing chemicals. I took some chemistry classes at college.”
“Might be worth a bit.” said Stevo.
“In that state?” said Jake. “Doubt it, mate.”
“There’s nothing here.” I said. “Nothing of value. Everything’s all broken or smashed. Anything of value’s either been scavenged or taken away by the police.”
“Maybe, and maybe not.” said Jake. “Search everything. Look for hidden compartments in the walls.”
He began to run his fingers around the bricks that formed the sides and even the low curved roof of the cellar.
“Hey!” said Stevo suddenly.
“What?” said Jake.
Stevo held up a test tube filled with a white powder and plugged with a cork. It was labelled, but only with the number 357.
“It was behind the machine.” he said.
“What is it?” said Jake.
“Don’t know, mate.” said Stevo. “There’s one way to find out.”
He began to empty some of the powder out onto a dusty workbench.
“What are you going to do?” said Jake.
“Snort it.” said Stevo, rolling up a five euro note.
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“Worse that happens is it gives me a sore nose.”
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” I said.
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” echoed Stevo in his silly high-pitched lisping voice.
“He’s right.” said Jake, “give it here.” and he started trying to yank the tube out of Stevo’s grasp.
Stevo clung onto it tenaciously, but eventually Jake succeeded in parting him from it. When Stevo led go of it a little cloud of powder emerged from the tube, drifting past Jake’s face.
Jake wafted it away and spat a couple of times to clear it off his tongue.
“You idiot!” he shouted. “Now I’ve got it on my face.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, man.” said Stevo. “It’s probably harmless.”
“You’ve no idea what it is you ruddy cretin.” said Jake.
I’ve toned down his language a bit to avoid offending the sensitive reader. Trust me, it was pretty fruity.
They started arguing and eventually agreed to a compromise; they would resume investigations the following morning, when perhaps it would at least be warmer. Even in the cellar, we could see our breath in the air.
Outside, the temperature was continuing to drop. It had got amazingly cold for the time of year, and the grass was thick with frost that hadn’t been there when we’d entered the house. We began to move the tents into the house.
We’d almost finished when Jake sat down heavily against the wall.
“What’s up with you?” said Stevo. “Does sir feel like taking a little rest now? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re in danger of freezing to death here, mate.”
“I don’t feel too good.” said Jake miserably.
He was sniffing heavily.
“You’ll feel better when we’re in the tents.” said Stevo.
He nodded, but then a trickle of blood emerged from his nose.
“Bloody hell, mate.” said Stevo.
I found a packet of tissues and gave them to Jake. He began mopping at the blood but it seemed like it just wasn’t stopping.
“He needs to lie down.” I said to Stevo. “On his side.”
“No, you idiot, he needs to keep his head elevated. Lying down will make it worse.”
“Maybe, but he might pass out like that.”
We began to argue about it. Meanwhile Jake began shivering again. In the light of the torch, we could see that all the colour had drained from his face. He appeared an ashen grey.
“I need to lie down.” he said, so that settled it.
Soon we had Jake lying in the tent. The flow of blood from his nose had lessened but not stopped. We quickly used up an entire roll of toilet paper trying to soak up the blood. Fortunately I’d also brought my own since I hadn’t trusted Jake and Stevo to bring all the stuff we’d need, and Jake got halfway through that as well before the blood finally stopped, and he lay there shivering and panting.
“Why’s he breathing like that?” said Stevo.
Jake’s breathing did seem unusually laboured.
“Maybe it’s the blood loss.” I suggested. “Fewer blood cells to carry the oxygen around. I think we need to dial emergency and see if they can rescue us.”
Even as I said it I was thinking that Jake probably hadn’t lost more than a pint of blood, and you can safely donate that much, so the blood loss didn’t really explain it.
“No way.” said Stevo. “That’s absolutely not happening. We’re not supposed to be here. I’ve already got a couple of convictions. Another one and they’ll lock me up. We’ll walk out of here when he’s better.”
Jake didn’t seem all that bad, so I let it go.
That night I went to sleep shivering, my sleeping bag pulled over my head, leaving only a tiny space for air, listening to the sound of Jake’s raspy breathing. I had the impression it was getting worse.
It took me a long time to get to sleep, but eventually, tired from the trek, I managed it.
In the morning, I was woken up by Stevo kicking my ankles, having unzipped my tent.
“Wake up.” he said. “Jake’s gone. We need to find him.”
“What?” I said.
“He’s bloody gone, mate. Help me look.”
“He’s probably gone to use the toilet.” I said, immediately conscious that my language was excessively delicate, given that there there was no actual toilet out there. But Stevo didn’t pick up on it. “Let me make myself a coffee first.” I added.
I had a little camping stove and instant coffee.
Then I looked at Stevo and realised he was half-covered in blood.
“I woke up in a pool of blood.” he said, wildly, seasoning his speech with a good many curses. “He might be dead or something.”
“OK.” I said, and I scrambled to get out of my sleeping back.
There was a trail of drips of blood leading directly out of the door. I had the impression the trail was almost frozen, but that seemed impossible. The air was already significantly warmer and Jake surely couldn’t have got up in the night to wander about in the forest.
Outside, there was no sign of Jake, except that I spotted a few drops of blood that had fallen on sticks, the trail of blood apparently leading off down the faint track by which we’d arrived.
“Maybe he got confused due to the loss of blood and he’s trying to walk home without us.” I suggested.
“Yeah.” said Stevo, then he thought about it a bit more and said, more enthusiastically, “Yeah! We’d better go and find him. I can’t have people trying to say I’ve murdered the bastard.”
Stevo started off down the trail. I rolled my eyes, sighed heavily and started after him. I really had the impression that, even now, Stevo was only thinking of himself.
I’m not sure how far we walked down the trail. Maybe a couple of miles. I kept saying we should go back, rather than risk losing our way and getting separated from our tents and other stuff, but Stevo insisted on continuing on, convinced Jake was somewhere up ahead. I couldn’t spot any more drops of blood.
Eventually even Stevo agreed that it was useless, and that we might as well turn around. We began to walk back towards the house, where our tents still stood in the living room.
“This is all your fault, you idiot.” said Stevo irritably.
“How’s it my fault?”
“If it was just us two, we wouldn’t have messed it all up. We’d be walking out of here with the stash by now.”
I bit my tongue. No point arguing with this lunatic, I thought.
We were almost back at the tents when Stevo stopped short. I was walking behind him and I almost ran into him. I looked up, and had a bit of a fright.
There was Jake. He was standing in front of us, staring at us with a blank expression on his face. He looked awful. He had lost his jacket somewhere, and a discharge of bloody mucus from his nose had coated his mouth and the front of his sweater. He was as pale as death, but it was his eyes that disturbed me the most. They were wide, but vacant, heavily bloodshot, slightly yellowish and rimmed around with blood.
“What the hell’s happened to you mate?” said Stevo, and he went to take hold of Jake, presumably intending to turn him around and lead him back to the camp.
He jumped back suddenly.
“Ow!” he shouted. “The bastard’s stabbed me!”
In Jake’s hand was a pocket knife, locked open.
We backed away slowly, and Jake began to slowly raise the knife. Stevo was looking at the blood on his hand, which had emerged from a cut on his side. It didn’t look too serious, but then, I’m not a doctor.
Suddenly Stevo shouted, “Run!” and Jake simultaneously lurched towards us.
We ran, back down the trail, away from the tents. I hardly dared pause to look behind me, but I could hear Jake running after us, snapping twigs and crashing through tree branches that overhung the trail.
Gradually we managed to get a little bit ahead of him, running for our lives, but then Stevo suddenly stopped, clutching his side.
“I can’t go any further!” he said.
“We have to!” I told him. “He’ll be here in a minute. Listen!”
The crashing and snapping sounds of Jake drawing ever-closer was all too audible.
Stevo sank to a sitting position, sliding down a tree. He was very pale.
“I can’t.” he said, and he began to cry.
I looked around desperately for a place to hide. There was a large patch of bracken just a little way off the trail.
“We can lie in the ferns.” I said. “Come on.”
I yanked Stevo up. His legs seemed to have turned to jelly, and he could barely stand. Clearly he had used up his last reserves of energy. Perhaps he was bleeding internally; I had no idea.
He staggered over to the bracken while I heavily supported him, and we lay down in it.
He was still crying.
“Sshh!” I said. “Don’t make a sound!”
He did his best to be quiet, but his breathing was loud and irregular.
I froze, hardly daring to breathe myself, as Jake ran past the point where we had departed the trail. Then I heard him stop, pause, and begin to walk back towards us. Soon I could partially see him, in-between the fronds of the ferns.
“I won’t hurt you!” he shouted.
His voice sounded thick and slurred, as though he was drunk and his face full of blood and mucus.
Stevo was whimpering quietly.
“I’ve realised something.” shouted Jake. “We don’t need to fear death! It’s just like passing through a door. We can all go together. Stevo, where are you? I can smell your fear! Don’t be afraid! Soon we’ll all be together in Valhalla!”
Then he began laughing derangedly; a high-pitched hysterical laugh.
Stevo grabbed me.
“Don’t let him get me!” he whispered frantically. “Please don’t let him get me!”
I tried to shush him into being quiet, but it was too late. Jake had heard him.
“There you are!” he said, and he ran at us holding the knife out in front of him.
I sprang at him in a delirium of fear and tried to grab the knife, but he managed to sink it into my shoulder. As I reeled back in pain, he fell on Stevo and began stabbing him frantically, over and over again.
Blood was pouring from my wounded shoulder.
Jake began stabbing Stevo’s neck and eyes. There was nothing I could do. It was too late. No-one could survive that. I turned and fled, running uncaringly through brambles and thickets.
“Come back!” Jake shouted. “It’s destiny! You can’t run from destiny!”
I glanced backwards, and I saw him apparently commence eating Stevo’s face.
I ran like a maniac. I hardly cared if I died of cold in that forest, as long as I didn’t die at Jake’s unhinged hands. Periodically I thought I could hear Jake behind me, but it was hard to be sure.
Eventually I had to stop. I was spent. I couldn’t run any further. I could only stumble numbly forwards.
The forest seemed endless. I had long since departed from any kind of trail or path. There was only endless green, sometimes sloping uphill and sometimes downwards, on and on.
You can hardly imagine my relief when I staggered onto a road. It wasn’t much of a road, but it was enough of one that a 4-wheel-drive car might have navigated it.
The road led eventually to a proper road, and there, after walking along for perhaps an hour, I flagged down a passing motorist, letting myself into his car, shivering, shaking and bleeding, and desperately shouting “Drive!”
I’m lucky he didn’t throw me out immediately, but he must have seen that I was in a bad state, and desperately afraid of something. I still kept expecting Jake to spring out of the bushes at any moment.
Jake was never found, although they found the knife, with his fingerprints all over it. He had dropped it about a mile away from where he had killed Stevo, and a hiker came across it by chance.
They found Stevo without too much trouble. They brought his body back to the UK. I didn’t attend his funeral. After all, I didn’t really know him, or like him.
I begged the police to somehow get the Italian authorities to investigate the house, emphasising they must warn the Italians about the tube of mysterious white powder, but I’m not sure anything was done.
I managed to find out a bit about the man who’d lived there. He had worked for a while in Serbia as a psychologist, and as a consultant to a large chemical company in Italy. Before that, he’d passed a spell in the Italian army. It was an odd combination.
There are rumours on the internet, on old Italian forums, that he is still alive, and that his incarceration was only some sort cover.
“They always protect their own.” said an anonymous poster, and it was unclear to whom “they” referred, but the thread as a whole involved intelligence agencies, mafia, and drug lords.
I hope they’re wrong. I hope he’s dead.
As for Jake, he probably died of hypothermia or the effects of the chemical somewhere in the foothills of the Alps. Unless someone happens across him, I suppose we’ll never know.
