Authors: M.K. Elliott
Escape
ESCAPE
e
Book
Edition
Copyright © 2011 M.K. Elliott
Warwick House Press
Edited by Dawson Editing Services
License Notes
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ook is licensed for your
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ook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
P
ublisher’s Note
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
*You can click on the title from any chapter to be taken to the selection. Additionally, all chapter names will link you back to this table of contents.
Lucy Grey bolted upright
in bed, gasping. Her fingers knotted in the plain white sheets, her clammy skin sticking to the material. Instinctively, she turned to the side, releasing the sheets to reach out beside her. Her hand dropped off the side of the single bed, not touching the warm body she’d expected to find.
Of course
, she remembered,
I’m not in my own bed.
Lucy sank back on
the
bed, staring at the ceiling fan
which spun with a low thrum, washing tepid air over her body. The boy’s terrified face and the flash of the knife filled her head and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to dispel the dream.
From outside came the bright twitter of bird song and the gentle shush of waves hitting the shore. Lucy took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She was so used to waking to the sound of London traffic; this acoustic background reminded her she was supposed to be in paradise. Bright sunlight streamed through the small window; another reminder she’d left the grey streets of the city far behind.
The sheets were damp beneath her, her whole body coated in a thin sheen of sweat—a combination of the humid air and her nightmare.
She needed a shower.
Glancing at the small travel clock on her bedside table, the LED figures blinked 6:45. It was early, but her body clock still needed to adjust after the long flight and subsequent boat trip over to the island. Beside the clock, a pamphlet caught her attention. Pictures of colorful fish and people in scuba gear adorned the front cover.
Her stomach flipped in nervous anticipation. She had booked her first dive lesson for that morning. This was the point of her trip—other than escaping her old life for a while—she planned to learn how to dive.
Lucy
rolled
to her side, fishing beside her bed for the bottle of water she had left on the floor. Her fingers grasped the plastic bottle and she unscrewed the top and took a long swig. Lukewarm water flooded her mouth and she grimaced at the
stale
taste. She needed to face the world and find something decent to eat and drink.
But she didn’t intend on going out looking, and smelling, like this.
Lucy climbed off
the bed and swung open her suitcase. She pulled out a change of clothes—a simple white vest-top and a blue printed skirt that was her favorite—and headed to the shower.
The hot water tap did nothing to the frigid temperature of the shower, but she didn’t care.
The cold water coursed down her hot skin, taking with it all of the dirt and grime of the last two days’ traveling. She’d gotten in so late the previous
night,
she’d only managed to check into the resort before collapsing into bed.
Lucy lifted her face and let the water drum her cheeks and forehead and run through her hair. The shower was refreshing and exhilarating and she stepped out feeling more alive than she had in months.
She dressed quickly, making sure she wore
her swimsuit under her clothes. She
ran a co
mb through her damp blonde hair and pulled
it back into a top knot. Standing in front of the mirror, she rubbed concealer into the dark circles beneath her eyes, hoping the make-up would help disguise her exhaustion. Weeks had passed since she’d been able to sleep without nightmares propelling her into wakefulness and it showed on her face.
Stepping out of her room and onto the stone balcony, she looked up and her breath fell away. The view was spectacular. A bright blue sea, only enhanced by the occasional white horse and a distant small fishing boat, met the equally blue sky. Palm trees stood
motionless in the still air and the sun shone down, hot and white. The resort appeared to be deserted, most of the guests still asleep.
The island
was
exactly how she’d imagined it would be
when she’d spontaneously walked into the travel agency on the East London high street. The agency had a poster of the island hung on the back wall, advertising Thailand. With absolutely no idea what she was doing, she had pointed to the poster and told the young gir
l sitting behind the desk that
she wanted to go
there
.
“Oh, Thailand is wonderful,” the girl (who barely looked old enough to be out by herself, never mind having actually been out of the country) gushed. “The country is so diverse. You’ve got Northern Thailand, which is all forest and mountains for trekking, or you could go to Bangkok for a city break, or of course you could do the traditional beach holiday.”
“I want to go there,” Lucy repeated, still pointing at the poster. “I mean that actual island. I want to go to
that
island.”
Lucy knew what had drawn her to the place. Other than the small wooden dock and a few huts dotted around, the island looked deserted.
“Oh,” the girl said, surprised.
“Right.”
She stood up and turned to the poster.
“The photograph is of an island called Koh Toa,” she said, reading the small print at the bottom. “It’s not too far from the main islands, Koh
Samui
and Koh
Pha
Ngan
, but it’s much smaller. It says here the island is a Mecca for divers.” She turned back to Lucy, the look of surprise still on her face. “Are you a diver?”
Lucy couldn’t help laughing. “No!
God, no.”
But then she thought about it and realized it could be exactly where she needed to be; underwater, completely hidden from the rest of the world.
So now here she was. One very long flight, one overnight train and one ferry later, she was in Koh Toa and her home for the next two weeks: Turtle View Resort.
Lucy stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the place she had chosen to run to. The resort was less of a hotel and more of a collection of wooden huts on a hillside, surrounded by palm trees. Individual huts were nestled between the trees and s
teep steps had been
cut into the rock leading up to them. Each hut had its own little balcony, also cut into the stone. The effect was simple, but beautiful.
With a lighter step, she made her way down the carved steps and headed down to the reception and bar area. Bamboo covered the roof of the wooden building and benches served as tables. The bar area ran down to a narrow beach of white sand. More benches stood on the sand, their sturdy legs sinking into the fine grains. The ocean lapped at the shore only feet from the tables.
A young Thai man stood behind the bar, wiping glasses, and he gave Lucy a bright smile of white teeth. Lucy smiled back and found herself a table. A small plastic menu sat, propped up on the table in front of her. It had simple, traditional Thai food on one page—Pad Thai noodles,
chilli
prawns, fish cakes—and sandwiches, burgers and chips, on the next. She scanned the list of meals, smiling at some of the translations: ‘Coconut Braises the Chicken Leg’ and ‘Fried Beef Rice with Scorn’.
Luckily, the breakfast menu translations were more obvious and, when the Thai man approached her to take her order, she opted for coffee, orange juice and an
omelette
.
Lucy
had brought a novel with her for protection, but she didn’t pick the book up, admiring the view instead.
Gradually, the restaurant started to fill up. The other guests were all relaxed, with tanned limbs and flimsy clothing. Their easy laughter and care-free attitude made Lucy hurt in a strange, sickly way deep in her throat. She could have been one of these girls once upon a time, only now too much time had passed—too much life had passed—for
her to go back to a more innocent time. Even though she was only twenty-eight, she suddenly felt impossibly old and frumpy.
Her
omelette
arrived, gooey and cheesy, with buttered toast accompanying the eggs. After downing several cups of strong coffee, she felt stronger and more like
herself
.
But the food didn’t stop her nerves about the induction. She only had another half hour before the class started and so she picked up her novel, hoping to lose herself in the story for awhile.