The light was blindingly bright. Clara slowly opened her eyes. She had been crying. Her throat was extremely sore too.
She felt warm and comfortable. She attempted to look beyond the light to take in her surroundings and realised that she lay in her own bed, in what appeared to be her own room. She slowly raised herself to a sitting position, her whole body aching.
Noises began coming from a distance. Clara recognised the clanging of plates from the kitchen. She froze, hearing the kitchen door close and footsteps leading down the hallway.
Her heart pumped vigorously whilst her brain furiously attempted to calculate who it could possibly be.
The footsteps seemed to get closer and began climbing the stairs. She could hear faint whistling.
A wave of terror coursed through her body as the whistling got louder. It was the same whistling she had heard from the man whom she believed had killed her. The entire event began flooding back.
Suddenly, her door crept open as a figure backed in to her room, slowly turning around to face her with a large plate stacked with jammy dodgers.
It was him.
"Clara! You're awake!", he beamed. He dropped the plate on to her bedside cabinet before grabbing her head in his hands and kissing her on her forehead.
Clara was too stunned to even react. She just gazed at this kind and joyful man who had apparently killed her just seconds previously.
He stood up straight to fix his bow tie in the mirror opposite, then glanced over at the bedside cabinet, moving closer to it.
"Ah, you've no idea how much I love these!", he expressed with happiness.
"It was either these or the rich teas. No contest", he chuckled, as he grabbed a handful of the biscuits and sat down at the end of Clara's bed.
Clara, still stunned by all that was happening, had her eyes fixed on him.
Her mouth began to move slowly.
"You…", she began, "Threw me… from that mountain? The tower?", she whispered.
The man, having already scoffed a jammy dodger with glee, looked over at Clara with a warm smile. Even though she had just been murdered by this man's hands, she still felt completely safe and reassured by his presence.
"Urm, yes. About that…", he began, "…I should apologise. A warning would have been nice, but I had to be sure it looked convincing".
The man saw that Clara's eyes were full of confusion.
He looked at her, puzzlingly.
"Do you trust me, Clara?", he asked.
His expression changed and his tone lowered slightly. His voice was not too deep a voice, though it still contained an element of authority and seriousness. Even so, he had a very warm voice.
Clara's tension disappeared. She somehow felt safe. Perhaps it was the fact that she was tucked up in her own bed, regardless of the fact that her apparent demise was sat in front of her.
"Would you?", she joked, "Would you trust the person… your killer… after placing all of your faith in them?", she questioned in an almost angry tone.
The man smiled back at her.
"That depends on whether or not I woke up afterwards, back, 'safe and sound' as promised".
Clara stared at him, stunned by how accurately truthful his unexpected answer was.
"You knew this was going to happen?", she asked, "You knew I wasn't going to die and that we'd both end up here?"
"Of course I did. I wouldn't have done it otherwise!", he chuckled.
Clara continued to stare at him, her confusion building.
"What do you mean you knew? How is that possible? And, who are you? Where did you even come from?", she questioned.
The man placed the plate of ever decreasing jammy dodgers on the ground and shifted closer to Clara.
Once again, he took her hand in his now warm hands. Ready to explain.