_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

know that I had a cut on my head, another on my lip, bruises on my
arms. I think I remember being in the underpass. It was dark. I was
frightened, confused. I heard voices. I heard someone call Megan’s
name. No, that was a dream. That wasn’t real. I remember blood. Blood
on my head, blood on my hands. I remember Anna. I don’t remember
Tom. I don’t remember Kamal or Scott or Megan.
He is watching me, waiting for me to say something, to offer him
some crumb of comfort, but I have none.
“That night,” he says, “that’s the key time.” He sits back down at the
table, closer to me now, his back to the window. There is a sheen of
sweat on his forehead and his upper lip, and he shivers as though with
fever. “That’s when it happened. They think that’s when it happened.
They can’t be sure . . .” He tails off. “They can’t be sure. Because of the
condition . . . of the body.” He takes a deep breath. “But they think it was
that night. Or soon after.” He’s back on autopilot, speaking to the room,
not to me. I listen in silence as he tells the room that the cause of death
was head trauma, her skull was fractured in several places. No sexual
assault, or at least none that they could confirm, because of her
condition. Her condition, which was ruined.
When he comes back to himself, back to me, there is fear in his eyes,
desperation.
“If you remember anything,” he says, “you have to help me. Please,
try to remember, Rachel.” The sound of my name on his lips makes my
stomach flip, and I feel wretched.
On the train, on the way home, I think about what he said, and I
wonder if it’s true. Is the reason that I can’t let go of this trapped inside
my head? Is there some knowledge I’m desperate to impart? I know that
I feel something for him, something I can’t name and shouldn’t feel. But
is it more than that? If there’s something in my head, then maybe
someone can help me get it out. Someone like a psychiatrist. A therapist.
Someone like Kamal Abdic.
TUESDAY, AUGUST 6, 2013
MORNING
I’ve barely slept. All night, I lay awake thinking about it, turning it over
and over in my mind. Is this stupid, reckless, pointless? Is it dangerous? I