Page 6 of The Time of My Afterlife

‘How did we get here?’

Thinking makes my brain ache. Somehow, I force it to rewind the course of events. There was the handbag thief. We both gave chase and ended up arguing in the middle of a pelican crossing when a silver car ploughed into us. I recall watching the ground fall away as the car flipped us into the air. I must have passed out on impact as everything went dark after that.

Blood drains from my face. ‘Oh, God – we’ve been kidnapped, Clark! The driver must have bundled us into their car and brought us here.’

He casts me an odd look. ‘You’ve been watching too many true crime documentaries.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ I snap.

‘It was an elderly man who was driving. He lost control of his car after a tyre blowout. I doubt very much he kidnapped us.’

I scowl at him. ‘What else am I supposed to think? This feels weird. It all happened so fast.’

Clark nods. ‘One minute I was telling you how annoying you are, and the next we were airborne.’

I gasp as I remember watching the ground fall away. Panic takes hold of me. If we were hit by a car, I must still be bleeding or have sustained a nasty injury. The sight of blood always makes me feel faint. If I look down at myself now and see a gaping wound or some awful injury, I will pass out. I take a deep breath. Slowly, I tilt my head downwards and brace myself for something out of a horror movie.

This is strange. I can’t see any blood. My jeans aren’t sporting any dramatic rips, and my little yellow apron is still intact. I move all my limbs and don’t feel any pain.

A loud belching sound makes me scream. ‘What the hell is that?’

‘It’s the sink.’

I cast him a bewildered look. ‘The sink?’

He nods. ‘It burps.’

On jellified legs, I stagger over to the rusty sink. As I peer over, it makes that awful sound again. I yelp as icy cold water shoots out and splatters over my face.

I don’t think I’ve ever screamed so much in all my life. Clark rushes over to me with a grubby tea towel. He thrusts it into my face in a bid to clean me up. This turns into a bizarre struggle where I’m fighting him off, and he’s intent on wiping my cheeks.

‘Get off me,’ I yell.

‘The same happened to me, while you were still unconscious,’ he gasps, trying to get his breath. ‘Sorry, I was trying to help.’

After doing my best to tidy myself up, I chuck the tea towel at him. ‘Do that again, and I will punch you.’

He reaches out and touches one of the brown patches on the wall behind us. ‘Ugh, the wall is sticky.’

Knowing that the walls are sticky makes me feel dizzy. The room starts to tilt. I stagger towards the sofa bed and sit down. Which is a mistake, as it feels like every spring has poked through the thin mattress to greet me. I yelp and stand back up.

‘I’ll take the left side,’ he says, which makes me stare at him in horror.

‘You mean we have to share this contraption?’ I exclaim.

He shrugs. ‘I guess so. There’s nowhere else to sleep.’

‘I’m not sharing a bed with you, Clark Fielding.’

‘I’m not exactly thrilled about sharing a bed with you, Florence Hill.’

I walk over to the old toilet and consider lifting the lid, but without rubber gloves and bleach, I’m risking my life. ‘There’s no privacy. Where are the walls?’

Clark shrugs. Tears rush to my eyes. This is a nightmare. I blink them away and look over at Clark. I feel a prickle of irritation. This is his fault. ‘I told you to let me deal with the handbag thief.’

He shakes his head. ‘It was Pearl’s handbag. She is my friend.’

‘I didn’t need your help. If you had listened to me and gone back to the café, we would not have argued on that crossing, and we wouldn’t have been run over. Nor would we have been kidnapped and imprisoned in this… awful place that looks like a crime scene.’