‘I’m sorry, Helen, but the Royal Hospital museum has just been stolen; they think there’s about three million euro worth of paintings missing. Everybody here is kicking themselves; it’s got to be Alan Keating. He played us. The calls were a hoax, a distraction. I eh… I just wanted you to know.’
Helen holds the phone in front of her face to stare at the screen. There’s nothing to look at, except for the timing of the call flicking upwards in seconds. Eighteen seconds she’s been on this call. Nineteen. Twenty.
She holds the phone back to her ear.
‘Thanks for letting me know, Charlie,’ she says.
‘You okay?’ he asks.
‘Course I am… course I am,’ Helen replies, her thumbnail in between her teeth as she stares out of her side window.’
Charlie sighs again.
‘I mean… I know I’m going to be in trouble in the morning with Newell, but I just I… I thought you should know. We were wrong, I guess. But thank you so much for the adventure. It might be my last night as a cop, but I won’t forget it. I’ll never forget it. I hope you’re eh… still up for that coffee some time?’
Helen nods her head as an answer… her thumb still between her teeth, her eyes still wide.
‘Helen?’ Charlie says.
‘Yes. Yes. Coffee. Of course, Charlie. Any time,’ she says.
‘Cool. So where are you now?’ he asks. ‘Did you go straight home from here?’
Helen swivels her head slowly, staring around Charlie’s car.
Then she inches her nose a little forward to try and make out any of the bumper damage.
‘Yeah… I’m at home,’ she says, before twisting the phone screen to her face again and pushing at the red button.
She doesn’t scream, doesn’t sigh, doesn’t slap her palms against the dashboard. She just sits in silence, staring at the subtle ripples in the canal, the edge of her thumb back in her mouth.
Her past is playing in her mind in black and white like an old film reel. She’s remembering walking into her bedroom one evening, her stomach flipping, a tiny white stick in her hand. She showed it to Eddie. His eyes narrowed immediately. It was a surprise. A huge surprise. But one they accepted. They’d both talked about not wanting kids — preferring to give their progressing careers all the time and effort they required. But they adored him as soon as he was born. They’d often switch shift patterns at work, just so one parent was always home with their precious boy.
‘I’m so sorry, Scott,’ she says to the glistening lights in the canal. Then she turns the key in the ignition and inches the car forward, before clicking into reverse and backing all the way to the main road.
She dabs at the tears in her eyes while she drives, unsure where she’s driving to. She flitters between thinking about going back to Terenure Garda station and leaving the cop car where she found it — or driving straight home, going to bed and pleading with Eddie to deal with the mess in the morning. But she still can’t get the two girls out of her head. No matter how much her common sense is screaming at her.
She drives up the main Rathmines Road, spots the Clock Tower in the distance. Then, as it gets nearer, she stares at the hands of it. Almost five to twelve. What an embarrassment this whole night has been for her. She cringes, then without even noticing, she finds herself back at the canal again; car stopped, headlights shining onto the ripples.
‘You’re literally driving around in circles, Helen. What the fuck are you doing? Make a decision. Make a fucking decision.’
She looks at herself in the rear-view mirror.
‘What if they’re still out there?’ she says. ‘Two girls about to kill themselves at midnight. Where would they be? Where would they go to do it? Come on, Scott… give me a sign. Give me a sign.’
She looks around herself, out both side windows, out the back windscreen. Then, as she tugs at the rear-view mirror, her eyes widen.
‘Of course!’
She taps the steering wheel, adrenaline rising in her stomach. ‘It’s been staring at me all bloody night.’
She shifts into gear and speed reverses into the street.
A loud horn blares from a passing car that has to swerve out of her way. Then she wheel spins on to the main Rathmines Road and then pushes her foot, as hard as she can, to the accelerator.
She’s almost grinning to herself when her phone vibrates in her jacket pocket.
‘Hello,’ she says, holding it to her ear.
‘Hel, where are you?’
‘I’m at home, Eddie.’
‘You are not at home. I can hear you… driving.’
‘Well, I’m going home.’
‘You told me you were going home hours ago!’
Helen sniffs her nose as a response.
‘I have something to tell you,’ Eddie says.
Helen sniffs again.
‘Keating carried out a hell of a heist tonight. The Irish Museum of Modern Art at the Royal Hospital.’
‘Yep… over three million worth of art, right?’
‘How did you know that?’ Eddie asks.
Helen sighs. Says nothing.
‘Hel… what are you doing? Where are you going?’
‘I know where the girls are, Eddie.’
‘What the hell do you mean girls?’
‘It’s obvious where they’re going to commit suicide. It’s been staring at me all night. I shudda bloody known.’
‘Hel… Hel!’
Helen shifts into fifth gear, the car now speeding towards the moonlit shadow of her destination.
‘Hel!’ Eddie shouts again. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, you hear me?’
Helen sniffs wet snot back up her nose, then lifts the knuckles of her fingers to dab at the tears flooding her face.
‘Goodbye, Eddie,’ Helen says.
‘Wait! Where are you? Where are you going?’
Helen blows out her lips, tears spraying on to the steering wheel.
‘Hel! Hel!’ Eddie sounds frantic… frightened. Then he gasps. ‘I know where you’re going… Helen! You stop. You stop right now. That is an order!’
Helen swallows back some tears, then sniffs her nose again.
‘Bye, Eddie,’ she says, before she tosses the phone on to the passenger seat.
It doesn’t take long. She’s there within seconds, grabs at her door and shoves it open. Then she runs — in her own unique way — as quickly as she can; not even bothering to look up at the top of the Clock Tower. She’s certain the two girls are on that ledge. It makes total sense to her. It all adds up.
She stretches until she can reach the bottom rung of the ladder and yanks at it.
Then, without hesitation, she begins to climb.
23:55
Ciara
I pinch at Ingrid’s tracksuit top as it blows in the breeze; the two of us standing at the edge, staring all the way down to the footpath.
The Clock Tower looks huge from down there when you’re looking up at it. But it always seems higher when you are looking down from up here. I’d know.
This is not my first time on this ledge.
But for some reason, I’m more frightened now than I was when I was last up here, even though my best friend is right beside me.
I guess the last time I was standing here I was doing research or something — testing out whether or not this is the best way for me to kill myself. But this isn’t research no more. This is the real deal. Me and Ingrid are going to hug each other for the last ever time in just a few seconds, then we’re gonna leap.
I decided this was the quickest way to do it. It’ll take us two seconds to hit that pavement. Then our lives will be over; no pain, no suffering, no struggle. I could never imagine cutting my wrists, could never imagine drowning myself. This is the only way I was ever going to do it.
I wrap both my arms around Ingrid and squeeze her as tightly as I can.
She puffs out a sad laugh, then grips me and we hold each other as a quiet breeze whistles around us. Then
I hear a clanging sound. It’s the stairs.
Somebody’s coming.
We both spin around.
‘Ingrid! Ciara!’
Stitch is lifting his leg over the ridge between the stairs and the roof’s ledge.
‘What are you doing here?’ Ingrid calls out, gripping me even tighter. We take a step backwards.
‘No, no, no, no, no,’ Stitch calls out, shaking both of his hands towards us. ‘Please don’t tell me you are both gonna do what I think you’re gonna do.’
Shit. I can’t believe this. The bleedin’ ass hole followed us. Now it’s ruined. Our pact is ruined.
‘Stitch… you just climb back down those stairs and pretend you didn’t see us up here,’ I say, taking another step backwards with Ingrid.
‘Oh my Jesus, no,’ Stitch says. ‘Seriously, You are really gonna do that? Jump? Kill yerselves?’
I’ve never seen anyone look so confused. His whole face has fallen, there are wrinkles on his forehead that I’ve never seen before and his eyes look heavy, his bottom lip is sticking out like a baby about to cry.
‘Because of me? Don’t be bloody stupid. I didn’t mean to… I’m so sor—’
‘It’s not because of you. Don’t flatter yourself.’ I say, interrupting him before he gets inside Ingrid’s head. I release my grip on my best friend and take two steps forward, my finger pointing. ‘This has got nothing to do with you. Climb back down those stairs and don’t get yourself involved.’
‘Ingrid… Ingrid, I’m so sor—’
‘Shut the hell up, Stitch!’ I scream at him. He’s not even bothering to look at me. He’s staring over my shoulder. Trying to plead with Ingrid. But I won’t let him. I take another step towards him.
‘Get lost, Stitch. If you wanna stand there and watch us do this, you can live with that the rest of your life. But if I was you, I’d just get lost back down those steps and forget you ever saw us up here.’
He falls to his knees.
‘Ingrid. Ciara… don’t be stupid.’
‘Get lost, Stitch!’ I scream, taking another step towards him. I stretch out my leg, push the soul of my trainer against his chest.
He stumbles back, holding his hand to the ledge for balance.
‘Jesus no, Ciara,’ Ingrid says, grabbing me from behind. She drags me back a little. ‘She’s right, Stitch. Just go back down… forget you saw us here.’
Stitch gets to his feet, his face still all wrinkled, his mouth still open.
‘I’m not gonna let yous kill yerselves. Are ye mad?’ he says. Then he takes a step towards us and reaches out a hand.
Midnight
Ingrid
‘Jesus no, Ciara,’ I say, grabbing around her arms and holding her back.
My breathing’s gone all funny. I thought she was going to kick him off the roof for a split second.
‘She’s right, Stitch,’ I say over Ciara’s shoulder. ‘Just go back down… forget you saw us here.’
He crawls back to his feet, slowly, and stares at me. His eyes are really wide. So’s his mouth. He looks different. It must be the shock.
‘I’m not gonna let yous kill yerselves. Are ye mad?’ he says. Then he takes a step towards us and stretches out his hand.
‘Get lost, Stitch,’ Ciara roars. I can hear the pain in her voice. She’s angry. Really angry.
Stitch doesn’t listen. He takes another step closer.
‘Stitch… I said get lost!’ she screams.
My breaths are getting sharp. I think I just want to jump.
Now.
Get it over with.
Stitch takes one more step closer.
‘C’mon, Ingrid, take my hand,’ he says. ‘Let’s all go back down the steps and we can talk—’
‘Stitch, I swear to you, we’re gonna jump. Now if you want to stand up here and watch us…’ Ciara says, releasing from my grip and taking a step towards him. I cover my eyes with my hands, but through the cracks of my fingers I watch them square up to each other, their noses almost touching.
Ciara takes another step forward, forcing Stitch to take a step back. This is a mess. What an absolute bloody mess. I can’t believe he followed us up here.
‘Ingrid… don’t mind this mad bitch, come with me,’ Stitch shouts out. Ciara grabs him and then suddenly they’re wrestling, their hands grabbing on to each other’s shoulders.
‘Leave her, leave her,’ I scream as I run towards them. I grip on to Ciara’s waist and try to grab her backwards. But Stitch has her held too tightly. So I thump at his hands… until he lets go. But then he reaches for me. I turn, force both of my hands into his chest and push him away as hard as I can.
All I can do is watch.
As he falls.
Not a sound coming out of him.
He just swirls through the breeze until he stops swirling altogether.
‘Sweet Jesus. Holy fucking Jesus,’ Ciara says grabbing me. I can hear her words in my ears, repeating over and over in slow motion. She drags me to the ground and lies on top of me. ‘Sweet fuckin Jesus,’ she says again, straight into my face. I blink at her. Really slowly. As if I’m a robot.
Then I shake my head. To try to turn back time. To see if Stitch will appear back on the ledge with us.
I crawl to the edge to the ledge and stare down. He’s just lying there. Facing up to the moon.
‘What’ll we do? What’ll we do?’ Ciara screams as she gets to her feet behind me.
I swallow and then press my hands into the ledge so that I can get back to a standing position. I turn slowly, so that I’m face to face with my best friend again, and a tear drops from my eye.
‘Our turn next,’ I say. I sound really strange. As if I’m not me. ‘C’mon.’
I stretch my hand out to Ciara. She just stares at me, her breathing is still really heavy and panicky.
‘We killed Stitch… we have to report—’ she says, her arms flailing in all directions.
‘We don’t have to report anything. We just need to jump,’ I say.
Ciara shakes her head. She’s in a different state of shock to me. Everything is going really slowly for me… but for her it seems to be going really quickly; her breaths, her head shakes, her hands, her thoughts.
‘His parents… his parents are—’
‘I know, Ciara… I know. Which is why we need to do this. Now. It’s time.’ My voice sounds really different. My whole body feels really different. As if I’m no longer alive. Maybe I’ve just accepted it. It’s time to die.
Then suddenly Ciara’s eyes return to normal and her head stops shaking. Her heavy breaths become normal, her arms rest down by her side and her whole body seems to slow down. She holds her fingers out to me and I grip them. Then, for some reason, I smile at her. And she smiles back.
‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘We really need to do this, don’t we?’
I nod my head and then we both turn towards the ledge. But rather than stare down at Stitch, I stare across the tops of the buildings on the other side of Rathmines — as far into the distance as I possibly can.
‘On three?’ Ciara whispers.
I grip my fingers tighter around hers. And then nod my head.
◈
Helen’s almost half way up the fire escape when she has to grip her hands to her knees and bend over. But she doesn’t want to stop for long.
She takes in one large breath, blows it out and then continues; the tick-tocking of the four clocks that sit each side of the tower rising in volume the higher she climbs; the wind starting to swirl, blowing her leather coat behind her like a cape.
She heaves herself over the ridge, then — after scrambling to her feet — she stares across the ledge.
At nothing.
‘You’re an idiot. A fucking idiot, Helen,’ she says, grabbing a fistful of her orange hair. ‘Course they’re not up here. They don’t even exist. They never existed. You’ve been chasing ghosts all night.’
She inches forward to the edge of the ledge an
d stares down at the pavement; down to where Scott landed. And Ingrid. And Ciara.
Then she wipes her face, smudging snot and tears across her cheek.
‘I can’t believe it’s been twenty-two years,’ she says, sucking back up her nose.
She stares off into the distance, over the rooftops of Rathmines, zipping her leather coat up fully so that the collar is fastened tight under her chin. It’s not the first time she’s been up here. It took a year after Scott and his friends died for her to stoke up the courage to visit the scene. Even though hundreds of people had laid flowers at the foot of the Clock Tower in the aftermath of the suicides, Helen couldn’t bring herself to visit. She kept her head low every time she left the house because had she looked up, the tower could be seen hovering above the rooftops of the terraced houses of her estate. The sight of it repulsed her. It still does. But one night, just before Scott’s one-year anniversary, she found a strength within her to sneak out of the house and make her way to the exact spot they landed on. She circled her foot around it, then stared up to the highest point of the tower.
Seconds later she was heading to that point; grabbing on to the ladder that led to the fire escape stairway. She stood on the ledge, staring down at where she had just been circling her foot. She thought about leaping herself. But froze. Eddie kept coming into her mind. She adored him. Even more than she did when Scott was alive. He went out of his way to ensure she got counselling, went out of his way to make sure she had the best mental health support she possibly could have. He saw to it that she got a job back in the station when she was ready. Even though he knew she’d never be the same person again. She wasn’t only heartbroken from Scott’s suicide. She was mind broken. And neither her heart nor her mind would ever mend.
Even though the doctors insisted she shouldn’t return to police work, Eddie conjured up some position at the front of the station for her — doing admin work. It meant he could keep an eye on her all day long. He knew she was capable of going off the rails at any point — especially if she didn’t take her medication — and it was annoying to him that she would poke her nose into investigations every now and then. But at least she was still there, still near him, still existing.
The Suicide Pact (The Tick-Tock Trilogy Book 3) Page 25