“There’s no one called that here,” he said. I couldn’t tell him that she had snuck a message to me, so I decided to stall for time and look for an opportunity. I needed information that she had if I was going to have any chance of helping my coworkers, not to mention saving my own bacon.
“I’m afraid I shoulda been clearer, sonny. I’m here from the embassy, and I’ll be waitin’ here until you produce her now, won’t I?” I asked, hoping that my red hair and ability to bullshit would let me pull this off in the absence of any documentation. I sat down in one of the waiting room chairs before the sergeant could respond. To avoid any chance of being kicked out, I immediately picked up my phone and started fiddling with it as officiously as I could, not meeting the man’s gaze. After a couple of minutes of thinking, I came up with a plan, yelled (once again in my thickest Hibernian accent) about bein’ back soon, and went outside to wait.
Within a few minutes, a figure bounded up the steps to the station. Unfortunately, instead of my on-demand legal representation (there’s an app for that!) coming toward me, I recognized the man from the Redderton Agency. When he saw me, his brows knitted together like lovestruck caterpillars, and his frown could have curdled milk. I wondered if he’d gotten in trouble for overstepping his orders earlier in the evening.
“I thought you’d know enough to stay at home?” His condescending sneer made me want to punch him, and when he took a sudden step toward me, I didn’t move a muscle and just stared into his ugly, flat-nosed, too-wide face.
His sneer dropped away and was replaced by a scowl before he continued speaking: “You seem to need another lesson. I’m running a different errand now, but I’ll get back to you later.” He turned and went into the building, and I was disappointed to see that the cop at the desk greeted him warmly while a small paper bag changed hands. Before the door even closed, I could see the private investigator being led back toward the holding cells.
I clenched my fists, and a juddering breath of frustration got stuck in my breast. I’ve been called clever in the past, and I swiftly figured out that assaulting someone in a police station, especially while under suspicion for a stabbing, might be counterproductive. Nevertheless, I had to fight down the urge to rush into the station and wipe the smug look off of the other man’s face.
I wanted to wait for the solicitor I’d just called, but I couldn’t let the Redderton man be alone with Kelly. It was time to double down on the bluff. As soon as I was back in the station, I strode to the officer at the desk and informed him that Ms. MacDonnell’s private counsel was on the way and demanded access to the prisoner. The guard, quite rightly, asked me to stay put and picked up the phone to start stonewalling me.
That was when Kelly started screaming. I couldn’t make out what she was yelling, but I took advantage of the chaos to tag along with the desk officer and the mass of police that trotted back toward the holding cells. As soon as we rounded the corner, I understood the cause of the commotion, and a lot of things happened simultaneously.
The private investigator, who I decided in that moment to call “Smiley” on account of my desire to knock out the rest of his teeth, dashed forward into the open door of a holding cell while I bellowed about my client having the right to an attorney in any interview. The duty sergeant recognized me and called for someone to stop me, and Kelly let loose with a tirade of obscenity that would have made Quentin Tarantino blush and pull out his dictionary. For my part, I ignored the duty sergeant and gimped toward the commotion at my best pace.
I’ve heard of the straw that broke the camel’s back, and my attempt to lurch into a sprint was just that straw for my battered body. After two steps, both of my hamstrings cramped, and I fell to the floor, writhing in pain. This had the unexpected benefit of tripping up the desk officer that had been following. Every cloud has a silver lining, but this one would have been better if the cloud hadn’t weighed two hundred pounds and fallen directly on top of me.
I heard a brief struggle, and then there was a piercing scream that ended in a sob. The officer on top of me had just managed to roll off when the door opened. I somehow wasn’t surprised to see Detective Inspector James Badger trundle into the hallway. He glanced at me and cocked an eyebrow.
“Would somebody care to enlighten me as to the disposition of this station? I’ve just come in to find the front desk unattended, and then I run into this little soiree,” he said. The man’s physical presence was negligible as he peered out myopically from behind his Coke-bottle lenses, but his voice cut through the room and demanded attention. His august personage had the two uniformed bobbies on the verge of crapping themselves, but taking no notice of Badger, my good friend Smiley calmly sauntered out of the interview room, tucking a pen into his pocket.
“’Fraid she was a lover and not a fighter, Jules.” Smiley’s rough voice grated on my nerves like sandpaper as he sneered at me. “A lovely family you have. What a shame you haven’t decided to spend more time with them.” He never broke stride, and before anybody could think to stop him, he was through the security doors and out of the station. Under Badger’s glare, the desk officer apologized and hurried back to the front of the station. Badger ordered me to the second interview room, and he joined the still-sobbing Kelly; as I hobbled past, I saw her digging into the back of her hand so hard that it was weeping blood.
As I sat in the empty and impersonal little space, waiting for my turn with the detective inspector, I could hear the door to the other interview room shut, which was followed swiftly by the sound of the duty sergeant being read the riot act. I couldn’t make out many words through the soundproofing, but I was fairly sure that “contemptible shit for brains” and “worthless sack of excrement” were used. I grabbed my phone and texted Dana. Surprisingly, it seemed that my lie had somehow been validated; I had indeed ended up meeting Badger.
Got put on leave at work, big problems today. Need to talk. Love you and I am so sorry. Be home very late.
It was quite some time before Badger entered the room, and that gave my wife enough time to reply and for the cramps in my thighs to fully release.
That’s horrible? How can they do that? UR N idiot & asshole but come 2 bed when u r home I 4give u. This time.
I read her note, and my shoulders slumped in relief as I took in the content, becoming aware only then how much tension I’d been carrying around from our argument. I almost smiled at the idea of making up for all of this on vacation, but then I thought of the investigation swirling around me, threats from Smiley, and the nightmare-demon thing on the loose. By the time Badger entered, my head was in my hands, and I was slumped over the table, the weight of my troubles and exhaustion combining to crush my momentary ray of hope.
I settled back in my seat, motioning for Badger to start. “I am happy to say, Mr. Adler, that at this time, I shall not be charging you with any form of manslaughter or murder. However, you are a witness to multiple crimes, and I’m very interested in how you tried to get in to see a prisoner. Something about working for the Irish embassy?” he said, glowering through Coke-bottle lenses and twitching his mustache in irritation. I furrowed my brow in puzzlement but didn’t say anything. After a short pause, the expression faded from his face and he continued, “As I said, I won’t be charging you with murder or manslaughter, Mr. Adler, because although Mr. Philip Buckley has now shuffled off his mortal coil, I can definitively state that it was not as a result of the wounds that you inflicted upon him.”
I reeled back in my chair, and a terrible notion occurred to me. Voice trembling, I lifted my eyes to meet Badger’s. “How did Phil die? Was…was anyone hurt?”
The puzzled look that crossed the DI’s face told me that I should keep my mouth shut but, as I sat silently in anticipation, my head swam and goose bumps broke out on my arms and legs. I knew what he was going to say before the words left his mouth.
“As it so happens, yes there was, Mr. Adler. He—”
I ignored my better judgment to stay mum and cu
t off the detective in midsentence.
“He was told by his doctor that the wounds he sustained to his liver and kidneys were terminal. Enraged, he killed her with a scalpel by slicing her throat. Somehow, though horribly injured, he still managed to tear half a dozen other members of the hospital staff to shreds before being killed by the police. Witnesses on site provided…conflicting statements,” I said.
As soon as he picked his jaw up off the floor, I continued to rattle off a description of the events I’d witnessed couple of hours previously in a flat monotone, providing meticulous detail. I felt sick, realizing that my actions had led to the death of at least six of the hospital staff.
“How did you hear of this? I’ve just come from the crime scene. You had better have a watertight alibi for your whereabouts, Mr. Adler.”
With the weight of so much guilt pressing down on me, I wanted nothing more than to confess to every instance of jaywalking and copyright infringement that I’d ever committed. I felt like I deserved to be drawn, hung, and quartered, but I knew that if I didn’t stop the creature, at least two of my colleagues as well as Kelly were in the line of fire.
“I was at home. I used my Oyster card to travel from Greenford station five minutes after the incident occurred. I overheard your desk sergeant telling a reporter about it. You might want to check out the paper bag sitting next to his desk…” I trailed off, lying so poorly on the last point that I received an exasperated sigh.
“I’m not sure I understand how you have the information you just provided, but I don’t believe that cock-and-bull for a second. I’ve said it before, but don’t try leaving the country, Mr. Adler. The coroner’s verdict is due by Sunday, and we’ll see about any charges at that point. Until then, expect to have some officers outside of your house…for your protection,” he said.
After that, I was led to the waiting room, where I took the opportunity to be violently ill several times on the station floor. Vaguely hoping that the duty sergeant would need to clean it up, I wandered outside for some fresh air.
I’d just finished canceling the on-demand solicitor when I heard the door open, and my head snapped around. Kelly stepped into the humid night, wearing the same gray pantsuit that she’d had on when I’d last seen her in Paddington earlier this afternoon. Tears streaked her cheeks, and her eyes were puffy, and I could see her hand bleeding where she’d tried to scrape off the mark. My eyes were wide, and I opened my mouth to speak, but Kelly held her finger to her lips. When she flagged down the first cab that passed by, we both got in by mutual, unspoken consent.
“Where are we going, and how did you get out of the station?” I asked immediately after the door slammed.
Kelly sniffled, but after a few moments she answered my question: “We’re on our way to a flat that my firm keeps for clients that need somewhere relatively close to the airport. It isn’t anything special, but I think that I should be safe there for the night.” She paused for a minute before continuing, “It was really gutsy to pretend to be from the embassy. Thank you, Julian.” She then burst into tears again, but when I tried to comfort her, she pushed me away, which was probably just as well. Even in these circumstances, she was an incredibly attractive woman, and I’m not one for tempting fate.
By the time we were turning off of the A40, she had calmed down enough to speak. “I…I agreed to turn Queen’s evidence. In exchange for describing the organized criminal activities such as bribery, intimidation, electronic tampering, misuse of computers, conspiracy to defraud, poisoning, and murder perpetrated by OMG, I’ll receive a reduced prison sentence for the arson and immunity from prosecution for those crimes. I’ll go to West London Magistrate’s Court tomorrow to formalize it.” She was much more composed by the end of the sentence and had leaned progressively toward me as she spoke, her voice dropping into a husky register. She’d been locked up in a sweltering holding cell for hours, and her scent filled the car. The small car. I stared into her deep-green eyes.
“You said that you had important information?” I prompted the redheaded woman pointedly as I tore my attention away with an effort of will. She shook her head, and I started to get pretty annoyed. I’d rolled out of bed in the middle of the night, and I’d put myself on the line for her, but she was still playing all of the wrong games.
***Kelly***
Kelly looked at the American and dug well-manicured nails into her thighs as hard as she could. When she’d told herself that she needed to spend some time with Julian to thank him, she had intended to give him the promised information about how to help his colleagues. However, after five minutes in the back of the mini cab, she’d gone from sniffling misery at having been betrayed by her friends and colleagues to lip-throbbingly aroused. She needed to get out as quickly as possible.
“Pull over—I’m not feeling well!” she yelled. The cabbie swerved to the side of the road, and Kelly thought that she’d been lucky—they were just a couple blocks from the flat. When the car came to a stop, she almost changed her mind and asked Julian to get out with her; she knew he had a family, but she was pretty sure that if she really tried…but no. Seducing the man who had just gone to so much trouble on her behalf would be just one more black mark on her soul.
“Meet me at court tomorrow! Eight o’clock!” She turned and sprinted off into the night, frightened, friendless, and frustrated.
***Julian***
I was stunned at the events of the last sixty seconds but after a few moments, I told the cabbie my address, and the car swung back onto the A40 to take me home to Greenford. Kelly’s behavior hadn’t been natural, and I wondered if it would be safe to meet up with her in the morning. It might trigger another attack, either from Kelly or the shadow creature. Sitting in the back of the cab, I couldn’t help but think almost nonstop about the people that I’d been partially responsible for killing. One part of me desperately wanted to spend time with my wife, but a stronger part needed absolution. That part asked the driver to stop outside of Our Lady of the Visitation.
The clock read a minute past midnight when I knocked on the door of the rectory, and a bleary-eyed Father O’Hanrahan came to the door.
CHAPTER 30 0001–0230, Tuesday, August 4, 2015
***Julian***
Father O. answered the door in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and it was apparent that I’d woken him. However, he looked at my face, nodded, and motioned me in.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to the old missionary priest, but whether or not I believed that a mortal man could grant forgiveness of sins, I needed to unburden myself somehow. I sat at the kitchen table of the small, slightly stale-smelling rectory. I stared at the older man for thirty seconds, not sure where to start.
“Julian, I’d make some joke here about it not raining but pouring in regard to your visits, but I can see that you’re troubled, my son. I said on Sunday that you weren’t telling me everything, and I can see now that you have even more on your mind. I’m here to listen, and you’d be surprised what I’ll believe. I’ve been many places and seen many things,” the priest said, preempting whatever I might have been prepared to say.
I felt myself hanging from the rim of a precipice. I’d spent my entire life hiding what I experienced from friends, family, and even Dana, so I wondered how I could even consider telling the man across from me secrets that I wouldn’t divulge to them. In some ways, he was almost a stranger, and maybe that’s what made it easier in the end. I had a final moment of hesitation, during which I saw the hospital staff helping their colleague and getting ripped apart for their trouble because of me, and I let go of the edge.
“Father O., you may want a cup of coffee…” I said, and I saw his eyes flash with satisfaction as I began to relate my story. I started at the beginning, telling him of my experiences as a boy: the initial terror, how my understanding of what control I could exercise grew, and the realization that the dreams I visited weren’t my own. I described the good I tried to do and the frustration that I felt at my
near impotence in the real world. I then skipped ahead and filled in the gaps that I’d left during my confession and brought him up to speed on poor Don’s death in the fire, the attack in our office, and the horrible, unforgivable actions I’d taken that had led to the deaths of six hospital workers. I finished with what I suspected about my presence acting as a catalyst for these attacks and the danger that my coworkers, Kelly, and potentially all of England were in. By the end of my story, I had gotten a substantial quantity of dust in my eyes (because men don’t cry), and nearly two hours had passed. Father O. had waited silently throughout, attentive even though the lateness of the hour must have been hard on him. We sat for a minute after I finally finished, and then the good man spoke.
“I’m disappointed in you, Julian.” The clergyman’s words stung, and I must have visibly flinched, because he held up a placating hand before continuing with a gentle smile, “Don’t be getting me wrong, my son. I’m not disappointed about what happened with your coworkers or with what happened with Don or even with what befell those poor souls in the hospital. What I’m disappointed in is that you haven’t spoken of this before to anyone. Perhaps your family and certainly your wife deserve to know about this. She’s very confused, and I think she fears that you might be having an affair.”
My jaw really dropped at those final words, and Father O. put a hand on my shoulder. How could Dana pile this on top of all of the other problems that I had? I shook with anger, which slowly subsided into manly sobs of shame as I thought about my behavior: the long nights in the office, the mysterious phone calls, the ruined clothes. I wondered where she thought the cuts and bruises were coming from and then decided that I might not really want to know the answer to that question.
Dream Job (The Dreamwalker Chronicles Book 1) Page 18