Page 21

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her: Hannah’s broken form, motionless, crawling with insects, blood seeping from her head.

Lying there, soon to be devoured by the creatures of the jungle.

Behind his shut lids, the images grew more and more hideous – nightmarish visions of her body surrounded by vultures; flocks of them picking her flesh clean until there was nothing left of her except pale bones.

The visions made him want to cry out, or sob, or vomit.

In the end, the only escape from them was to force his eyes to stay open, try to adjust to the deep gloom of the damp forest around him.

He tried to focus on his breathing, to force his body to relax, but he could barely keep still, he was so damn uncomfortable.

The stack of branches covered over with his lightweight jacket in place of a mattress kept digging into his spine; the rucksack under his head as a pillow was too solid and bumpy to relax into.

He had no blanket, nothing to cover himself with – nothing to protect him from the thousands of insects that were no doubt waiting to crawl all over his limbs, his hair, his face.

He knew he wasn’t the only one lying there tortured by thoughts, uncomfortable and wide awake.

He could feel eyes on him, but he didn’t know whose – whether it was the stares of one of his companions, or one of the jungle’s nocturnal creatures, sizing him up.

He could hear Scott rustling around in the dark close to him too, and a little further away, there were fraught whispers coming from where Naya and Mira were lying down to rest.

His mind drifted to his companions, and everything they’d said this evening. They’d talked over and over the events of the day as they’d set up camp before dusk. The questions, murmured by all of them in dazed, anxious voices. The terror they all felt; the confusion.

‘Could someone really have done that to Hannah?’ Mira had kept asking, again and again. ‘But who – and why?’

‘I don’t know – it’s impossible. It makes me think it must have been a terrible accident, instead.

I just can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her,’ Naya had said.

‘Hannah seemed so... I can’t think of any reason she’d have an enemy, you know?

Her whole purpose in life is – I mean was – to try and help people, to do good. It makes no sense.’

‘And what about those messages from her?’ Ben had wondered. ‘How could she have sent us those selfies from Golfito this morning, if she was already dead?’

‘Well, she couldn’t have – she just couldn’t have,’ Mira had mused.

‘Someone must have faked them somehow – or perhaps Hannah even took them another time herself. Or... or...’ She’d faltered then, probably realized she was unable to come up with another viable explanation for something that was so nonsensical.

‘Well, there’s at least one thing we can be sure of,’ Scott had said.

‘Oh? What’s that?’ Carly had asked.

‘I was thinking about it and, if someone really did murder her, it can’t have been any of us. We weren’t here when she... you know, when Naya thinks it happened, were we? None of us were even in the area – we were making our way here.’

There’d been a silence while the group digested this. Ben swallowed. ‘Hang on, man. Does that mean you even considered that as a possibility? Did you seriously think any of us could have killed Hannah?’ he’d said.

‘Yeah – are you saying you suspected one of us, Scott?’ said Carly, an edge to her voice. This line of thought had clearly rattled her – as it had rattled him too.

‘Nah, I’m not saying that. Not saying I thought it was any of you – of course not. I just mean, it’s good that we can put that possibility from our minds. And the police can too.’

Naya had cleared her throat. ‘I don’t know... we were still the ones to find her – we were still on our way to the retreat around the time she died. From the perspective of the police, that’s going to make all of us seem suspicious...’

Something whooshed by now, uncomfortably close to Ben’s ear – a bat, most likely; through the moonlight his eyes had caught a bunch of them swooping through the trees, identifying them through their fluttering, erratic movements and sharp, chaotic turns.

It brought him back to the present, lying there alone, awake in the dark.

He thought the same thing now, though: that it was impossible to imagine any of the group here could have killed Hannah.

And he still had the nagging suspicion that the real cause of this might lie elsewhere; that Hannah might have managed to get herself tangled up in something she wasn’t meant to.

All those news articles he’d read about supposedly innocent tourists getting caught up in drug gangs and cocaine cartels were still floating around in his head.

It was most likely that Hannah had gotten herself involved in something out here in the Costa Rican wilderness that she shouldn’t have.

But he had to know; one way or another, he had to find out: who did this to her?

Ben imagined these same, inevitable questions running through the minds of the police when they got here.

As well as Hannah’s friends and family, of course, and her followers.

They’d be desperate to find the culprit.

Then, surely, those questions would start to take on a shape, a focus.

They’d zoom in on the people who’d been in contact with Hannah close to the time she died – wouldn’t they?

A flash of light to his right-hand side, a few feet away, caught his attention, and he pushed himself up to sitting.

Underneath the beam of her torch, he could see Carly, her face eerily hollowed out and bony white under its gaze.

She hadn’t even tried to lie down in the hours they’d been here, by the looks of things; she was just sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, moving her flashlight around the space.

She looked like she was keeping watch for – Ben wasn’t sure.

Something . Just like him, Carly was too scared to sleep – to even close her eyes.

Ben squirmed, shifted on the spot, then: ‘Ouch,’ he said, as something sharp dug into the base of his spine, sending a wave of hot pain through his back.

For fuck’s sake. He was getting nowhere with this.

He might as well get up, have some company instead of being stuck alone with his awful thoughts.

‘Hey, Carly?’ he whispered.

It took her a few beats to respond, then finally, ‘Yeah?’ he heard back. Her voice sounded thick with something: sleep, or maybe tears, he couldn’t be sure.

‘How are you holding up?’ he said.

‘I’m... not sure I am, really,’ she said.

‘Yeah, me neither. I can’t sleep – I keep thinking over and over about... and besides, I can’t get comfortable enough on the ground. Do you want to take my spot over here? Try and get some rest?’

Another pause, then: ‘I don’t know. Shouldn’t one of us stay on the lookout? You know, for any predators – animal ones, I mean.’

Or human, thought Ben.

‘I can do that,’ he said. ‘Give me your flashlight and I’ll take over for a while, so you can get some rest.’

There was a crunch of footsteps and then Carly was next to him. ‘Are you sure?’ she said, the beam from her flashlight bouncing again off the grooves and hollows of her face. ‘I wouldn’t mind lying down for a bit.’

‘Totally sure, you can take my spot,’ said Ben, pointing to the pathetic nest behind him. ‘Just let me grab my bag.’

He reached for his rucksack, then fumbled his way to the lookout point where Carly had been sitting. He sat down, stared at his bag.

Just a small one.

After everything I’ve been through... finding Hannah... the shock.

I can’t do this any more without a hit.

Instantly he recoiled at the voice inside his head – he wasn’t still that dependent, surely? He didn’t need them that much – not now? Not after the last stint in rehab, when he’d really, truly, thought he didn’t need them in the same way; that he could take them or leave them.

No . It wasn’t withdrawal or cravings that was messing with his head. It was all this . Hannah’s death, getting lost in the jungle, the whole disaster of coming here.

He should never have got on that plane. He should be at home in his apartment right now, catching up on work emails, the dog snoring at his feet. He could have avoided ever being part of this, ever having to see the horrors of the day.

He turned back to his bag, checked again to make sure no one was awake, watching him. Because it wasn’t only the remnants of what was inside his pill packet that he needed to protect now.

There was something else in there too; something he was keeping a tightly held secret from his companions.

Just for now; just until he knew what to do with it.

Ben thought back to the moment he’d first seen it.

When he’d pushed through the trees and taken in the horror in front of him; when, after a moment, he’d realized what – and who – he was seeing, his body had responded without his brain’s command: he had moved towards her, fallen to his knees, let his hands sink to the earth near her head.

He was at once repulsed by her body, and at the same time compelled to move closer to her; as if to confirm this was really, truly her – the same Hannah whose voice could both energize and soothe at the same time; whose facial expressions could tell a hundred different stories at once.

That woman, who was so vibrant, so full of life – how could that be the same person that was now inhabiting this lifeless, bloated corpse?

And then, as his eyes moved over her, they had latched on to something else, something he’d not expected to see. It was poking out the top of one of her unfurled hands, but buried almost underneath it – as though she were both trying to tuck it away and make sure it would be found.

A photo.

Four inches by six, printed on shiny paper.

He’d almost said it out loud, that he’d seen it.

He was so close to doing that, to telling them, wondering out loud whose picture it was, and why Hannah was holding it when she died.

But at the last second he decided against it.

Quickly, with no more than a brief glance at the stranger in the photograph, he shoved it into the side pocket of his rucksack, not knowing exactly why.

But if he could work out who it was, perhaps it would help to incriminate the right person – and shift suspicion away from anyone else who’d happened to be there, who might be seen – wrongly – as a suspect.

Ben looked across at the others: all four of them seemed to be resting now – or at least, they were all lying on the ground, turned away from him.

Perhaps now is a good time to take a look at it?

If he kept the flashlight on, but turned his back to the others, he could focus the beam on the photo without them noticing.

He glanced behind him again, waved the flashlight across the faces of his companions; yes, they all had their eyes closed.

He turned back to his bag, rooted around in the side pocket, and felt his fingers touch the edges of the picture.

He pulled it out, turning the flashlight onto it as steadily as he could with trembling hands.

He paused, the roar of blood in his ears nearly drowning out the rainforest’s nocturnal cries, and stared at it.

The woman in the picture was unfamiliar to him; he didn’t recognize her face, and he was sure he’d remember seeing her, if he had.

She was cute: tan skin, choppy, bobbed hair and bright blue eyes looking up under heavy lids; brows raised teasingly, as if to say, Get over here .

She was smiling broadly, showing neat rows of teeth, and Ben could just tell she had one of those deep, throaty laughs that always made his heart thump a little faster.

She seemed to be in a bedroom; Ben could see the shape of a pillow behind her, but nothing much else.

There were deep grooves criss-crossing the centre of the photo, as if it had been folded up and carried around; tucked in a pocket, or a wallet maybe.

But no other clues as to who she was. Was this woman in the picture Hannah’s killer?

Or might she know who was? Ben wanted to will the photo to talk back to him; to ask this person all the questions turning over and over in his mind.

He flipped the photo over, scanned its back for any letters or dates – anything that might give him a hint as to who this woman was, or why Hannah died holding her picture. He found nothing; just a blank white surface.

He sighed, folded the picture carefully back up and tucked it in his bag.

He should tell the others about it – he should show it to them, see if they could shed any light on it.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them exactly, though he doubted he was the only one holding things back.

He just needed to find a good moment, that was all.

In the morning, when they all got up, he’d tell them about it.

Until then, just for tonight, he’d keep it to himself; a secret he could grip close to his chest.

It wasn’t the only secret he was keeping, of course. But there was no way in hell he could let the other one slip.

He needed to be far away from Costa Rica before anyone here found that one out.