Not Dead Yet

gave Gaia your phone, she could call anyone you wanted and tell them whatever you would like her to say. She could apologize to the newspapers, the radio, television, her Twitter followers, her Facebook fans – she could tell the whole world that you really are her number one fan. That all she had been doing was testing you. Because she has so many imposters claiming to be her number one fan, she had to make sure you were the real one. And she is sure now. No one else would be willing to die with her. That is real love, Anna, and she knows that now. You can film her telling you that with the camera – put it on YouTube!’
    He saw the sudden change of expression in Whiteley’s eyes. Like a cloud moving away from the sun. They shone briefly and he smiled, like a child who had just been given a new toy.
    For an instant.
    Grace caught Gaia’s eye again, moved his eyes to the right. She frowned. She didn’t get his plan.
    Then Whiteley’s face turned to hostility again. ‘You’re lying, Detective Superintendent. This is all bullshit. You’re lying!’
    ‘Ask her,’ Grace said. ‘Go on!’
    ‘Stop bullying me.’
    There was another crack. He saw the alarm on Whiteley’s face.
    This was the moment.
    Grace raised his voice, deliberately, in anger. ‘I am not bullying you! You are not ugly, boring or useless – that’s what they called you at school, isn’t it? Ubu?’
    Whiteley froze for an instant. He looked panic-stricken. In Anna’s voice he said, ‘That’s – that’s what they called Eric. How do you know? How do you know that?’
    ‘I found out, okay? Someone told me. Give Gaia the phone. Let her start telling the world that you are none of these things. She’lltell her fan club that you truly are her number one fan. You’ll be a hero! Wouldn’t it be nicer to be a living number one fan than a dead one?’
    ‘Anna doesn’t think so, I’ve just asked her,’ Whiteley said in his male snarl.
    ‘The phone!’ Grace jabbed a finger at it. ‘Give her the phone!’
    Whiteley’s snarl turned to a whine. ‘You’re bullying me.’
    ‘GIVE HER THE SODDING PHONE!’ Grace bellowed at the top of his voice.
    It threw Whiteley for an instant. He turned, almost like an automaton, reached out for the phone and picked it up. Then he froze, confused, his arm momentarily suspended in mid-air, as Grace launched himself forward.
    Grace took one step, then sprang off his right foot in a long-jump stance and landed with both feet exactly where he had aimed, in the centre of the trapdoor, inches from Gaia. He heard a loud crack, and felt the wood splintering instantly beneath him, his legs plunging through. But he barely noticed, barely heard Whiteley’s yelp of surprise, he was totally focused on positioning his hands on the floor either side of the trapdoor, directly beneath Gaia so his shoulders would take her weight.
    For an instant he was aware of hands grabbing his right leg, sliding down it, and a deadweight that was pulling him down, with Gaia’s feet pushing down on his shoulders. He scrabbled desperately with his fingers to keep a grip on the floor, oblivious to the splinters ripping into his skin and under his nails, just concentrating in these few split seconds on stopping himself – and equally importantly, Gaia – plunging through the open hatch. His arms were being pulled out of their sockets.
    He could feel the weight of her feet on his shoulders even more heavily now. She was pushing him down. He was going. His hands were stinging like hell and he was struggling to keep a grip. He was being pulled down by his right leg, his hands dragging across the wooden floorboards. He heard Whiteley screaming. The weight was pulling him further down, down, too much for him to hold back. Then he felt hands sliding down his ankle. Heard Whiteley screaming pitifully for help again. Then, suddenly, like a hooked fishthat has freed itself from a line, he felt his right shoe come off, and the weight was instantly gone.
    He kicked out, but was just kicking air. His feet dangling over the forty-foot drop, he was acutely aware that only his hands, which were still sliding agonizingly across the wood towards the rim of the hatch, were holding him. And Gaia’s weight on his shoulders was pushing him down. He kicked out, desperately trying to find something for his feet to grip on, in case by some miracle there was a ladder beneath him. Gaia’s feet kicked, wildly, stamping on him as she scrabbled for grip on