by Lucy Cameron
Rhys needs to be able to think clearly, that’s all. Hard to do when he can’t sleep properly, when he’s so goddamn tired all the time. He needs to work out where he’s seen this man, why he keeps appearing in the dream. Simple really. Goosebumps scatter down Rhys’s arms. All he needs a good night’s sleep.
‘You keep telling yourself that,’ says the little voice inside. He pushes it away. A few hours of peace. He rubs at his arms, focuses on the road ahead.
They’re heading to St James’ Hospital. Quinn has decided it’s the best plan of action while they wait for the Constables to finish boxing up Andrews’s front room. Eddie Reynolds is in the hospital. They’re the ones that need to make their presence known. PR and policing all wrapped up in one.
‘Who knows what kind of shit they’ll bring from Andrews’s place.’ Quinn talks out loud, but requires no response. ‘We’ll probably find Andrews’s sofa and picture of his mother in the office when we get back. Like we need more work to do.’ The arrival of a sofa at the station would be a blessing compared to what they will receive.
‘You’ve never been to Andrews’s house?’
‘Why would I? We weren’t mates.’
‘No one had any concerns about his health prior to… this?’
‘Why would they? You may all sit about in circles discussing your innermost feelings over at Quarry Road; here we do things a little differently.’
‘How’s that working out for you?’ Quinn looks at Rhys out of the corner of his eye, chews something around in his mouth.
‘See you’re still living in your folks old house.’ Rhys turns his face away.
‘And that’s your business why?’
‘How’s that working out for you?’
They drive the rest of the way in silence.
St James’ Hospital looms over the horizon.
Quinn spots a space in the quickly filling car park. He swerves in ahead of a four-by-four full of women and children.
‘Too slow,’ he mutters under his breath. He sticks his police badge out of the window and shouts, ‘Police business’ at their angry faces. ‘Who needs a four-by-four in the city anyway?’ His head still shakes as he climbs out. The slam of the car door is loud. Quinn pulls out his notebook as he strides towards the hospital entrance. He scribbles notes Rhys can’t see.
The automatic door slides open and the hospital swallows them whole.
A Constable sits at the door to Eddie Reynolds’s room. What percentage of him secretly hopes the killer will return to finish Eddie off, allow him to be the hero his mother always wanted?
Down the corridor, sits Eddie’s son, Tony.
‘Tony,’ Quinn speaks, heads away from Rhys.
‘Please, not now.’ Tony stands.
Rhys turns and enters Eddie Reynolds’ room. The room is small but alive with the hum and click of stark white machines. They run multicoloured tubes and wires to Eddie’s body. He’s framed in the middle like an electronic god.
Rhys steps inside.
The light inside the room flickers.
Rhys holds his breath, stares at the overhead strip lighting. Waits. The rhythmic beep of machinery does not falter. Seconds pass.
Footsteps sound in the corridor. Outside Quinn introduces himself. He enters the room with a small, bald man whose features are sharp like an eagle.
‘Doctor Curtis, this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Rhys Morgan.’ The doctor extends a slim hand.
‘Hello. I would like to say it’s a pleasure, however,’ the doctor waves at the machinery.
‘Perhaps under different circumstances.’
‘Jesus.’ Quinn’s eyes are wide as he looks at Eddie. The doctor doesn’t flinch. He takes the clipboard from the end of Eddie’s bed. He makes illegible notes based on the monitors around them. He gives Quinn a moment to compose himself. Quinn’s mouth still hangs open as the doctor begins his address.
‘As I said to your colleague on the phone, Eddie will be of little assistance to you. He lost consciousness in the ambulance and has yet to regain it. If indeed he ever will.’ Quinn’s lips move to speak. No sound comes out. The doctor waits. ‘I will tell you what little I can, although I am not sure if it will be of much help.’ The doctor slots the clipboard back into its holder. He speaks, never taking his eyes off Eddie.
‘As you are both aware, Eddie arrived with us in the early hours of Monday morning. As I have mentioned, he lost consciousness, was barely alive.’ The doctor shakes his head in bewilderment. ‘The level of pain he has endured… ’ The doctor pauses for a moment, allows his human emotion to surface for air. Deep breath. He swallows it back down. Gives himself an internal shake.
‘Eddie appears to have been, what I can only describe as, tortured prior to incarceration.’ Rhys keeps his eyes on the doctor. Quinn’s eyes do not move from Eddie.
‘Eddie has been beaten, severely and with extreme malice. The initial blow to the head would have rendered him helpless.’ The crimson stain on the floral wallpaper. ‘The marks on his skin show this beating was done both by fists and an object, so I guess you are looking for someone strong. Strong and angry. The skin has not been deliberately broken, unlike the bones that most certainly have. Broken jaw, cheekbone and nose, collarbone and multiple ribs. The pelvis in several places. Right radius and ulna, the left femur and knee… ’ The doctor stops. He is not reading from a chart. These are the things he knows.
‘You get the idea. The list goes on. Heinous as this is, I’m afraid it’s not the worst part.’ The doctor’s eyes drop from Eddie. ‘The worst part is the hands.’ Rhys looks the end of Eddie’s arms.
‘Every single bone in both his hands has been broken. No, broken is the wrong word, crushed suits better. I can only imagine the killer, is that the right term…?’ Quinn nods. ‘The killer used some kind of hammer to inflict such, such mutilation. Such pain.’ Their heads all bow in unison. Mourners at a funeral paying last respects. But Eddie is not dead. Not quite. Chemical signals still fizz somewhere deep inside, fed by the machines.
‘There really was nothing we could do, you understand. If there was we would have.’ The doctor’s voice is fast but speed will not detract from the horror. ‘There is nowhere in the country that could repair that kind of damage. Nowhere.
‘We had to amputate both his hands.’
If a pin dropped they would all have heard it. The mechanics of the life-giving machines that beep around them drop an octave. The doctor clears his throat.
‘One of your people has already been for his clothes, taken what I assume are the relevant pictures and samples. I can show you the paperwork if needed?’
‘No need,’ says Quinn. ‘It’s standard procedure.’
‘Standard procedure?’ The doctor stares up at Quinn. ‘How can this,’ a gesture to Eddie, ‘be anything near standard procedure?’
‘You’d be surprised.’ The doctor shakes his head.
The lights inside the room flicker. There is a flash. Blindingly bright in the clean white room. Rhys blinks rapidly. Shadows in his eyes.
‘What’s that?’ A power cut? A power surge? That can’t be safe where people rely on electric machines to keep them alive. His heart beats slightly faster. Is there a backup generator?
‘What’s what?’ Quinn and the doctor look at him blankly.
‘That flash. The lights?’ Rhys nods his head upwards.
Everything slows right down. The doctor and Quinn melt away. The lights flash again. They turn the room into a series of silhouettes. Black. Then white. Then black again. The smell of must and orchids fills his nostrils.
His stomach drops and he is falling.
Pitch black rushes at him from all directions. He wants to scream. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Then the creature is there. It catches him. It makes him safe. The creature’s fingers brush the back of his neck. Every hair on his body stands on end. He turns his head to the creature. The vivid blue eyes hook his.
The eyes in his dream.
/> The eyes holding his from the door.
17.
‘What the fuck?’ The words are out before Rhys can stop them. The eyes holding his from the door? The doctor’s voice twists back up to full volume. The room pulls sharply back into focus.
‘Detective, are you okay?’ The doctor reaches out to Rhys. He turns before the fingers touch him.
‘I can only apologise for that, sir.’ Quinn scowls. ‘As I am sure you are aware we in no way promote or tolerate that kind of language… ’
‘The door.’ Rhys is already moving. No time to wait for affirmation. ‘Then. There was a man at the door.’
‘What?’ Quinn’s voice is sharp. A deep red colour starts to creep up his neck.
‘I don’t think so, Detective.’ The doctor glances to Quinn. ‘Look, it is rather warm in here and what I’ve just been telling you, are you sure…?’
‘A man. There was a man at the door.’ Rhys says the words for himself. His hand touches the doorframe inches from where the creature’s face had been.
‘I’m sorry.’ The doctor’s voice is behind him now. ‘I really don’t understand… ’
Rhys is already out of the door. His knees like jelly. His fingertips on the wall to steady himself. The corridor is ice cold.
There he is.
The creature, the man from his dreams, his nightmares. Rhys only just sees him as he disappears around the corner. His golden hair perfectly cut to the nape of his neck.
Rhys starts to run. His shoes echo in the eerie silence. His knees don’t betray him.
‘What the… ?’ Quinn and the doctor must have reached the doorway.
‘He really can’t go running off around the hospital like that, Detective. He will cause alarm in the… ’
Rhys rounds the corner as the man disappears. He should have caught up with him by now. He’s running full pelt. Around the next corner and the next. Always the man rounds the corner up ahead. Surely there can’t be this much corridor, this many corners in one hospital? Rhys’s shoes skid on the polished floor. He rounds the next bend.
Should he stop? Stop and take a serious look at himself? This isn’t quite right is it? But then again, it isn’t so wrong either. He probably knows this man, must do. An old case? One of the kids’ schools? All he needs to do is speak to him, get some clarity. Do what he needs to get rid of the feelings of dread darkness brings. He can then dream of the garden in peace.
That makes perfect sense.
The corridor straightens out. The man disappears through a set of double doors. Rhys reaches them, hears the click of the locking sensor.
‘Fuck.’ Rhys thumps the door. The keypad. Nothing budges. Behind the glass panel in the door, something moves. Rhys presses his face against the glass. There he is. The creature. The man? Rhys cannot breathe. The man picks up a file and turns to the door. His vivid blue eyes lock with Rhys’s. The wind roars in Rhys’s ears. And then the creature behind the glass smiles. A smile that slowly stretches its face like someone’s hands are beneath its skin. The head tilts. The ground beneath Rhys’s feet gives way and he drops into darkness.
A sharp, desperate pull of breath. A blink. The floor is once more solid beneath his feet.
Rhys stands, breathes deeply. A fine sweat has broken out all over his body. He looks through at the glass panel.
Nothing.
He steps away, runs his fingers through his hair. His head spins. What the bloody hell is going on?
Suddenly the doors swing open. Rhys’s heart stops.
Two young nurses step towards him. They chat and laugh. Rhys tries to push past. For a small woman, the female nurse is surprisingly strong. She stops him dead.
‘I’m sorry, sir. You can’t go through there. Not without authorisation.’
‘I’m a police officer.’ Rhys reaches for his identification. It’s not there. Where the hell is it? Harry best not be playing with it again. The door’s locking device clicks back into place. Shit.
‘Please, I really need to go through there. I’m here on police business, with Doctor…’ Shit. What was the doctor’s name? Carter? Campbell? ‘Doctor Campbell.’
‘We don’t have a doctor here by that name, sir.’ The male nurse speaks this time.
‘Yes! Yes you do, he’s back there with my colleague.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ The female nurse. ‘We really can’t let anyone through without prior permission.’
‘I have that.’
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think you do. Do you, sir?’
‘Okay, fine.’ Rhys stands his ground. ‘Can you tell me, did a man go through there. Tall. Blond hair?’ Why is the male nurse smiling? Has he seen him?
‘No, sir.’ The female nurse speaks. ‘I’ve been on the desk all morning. It’s been quiet, definitely no tall, blond men passed my way. I would remember that.’ Why are they smirking?
‘Why are you laughing?’ That stops them. ‘Why is that funny? It’s a serious police question. I don’t see any reason to laugh.’ With perfect timing a walkie-talkie crackles down the corridor. Two security guards fill the far end. Head towards them. Head towards him.
‘Yeah we’ve found him, Guv, outside the chemo suites.’ There’s a crackle of response. ‘Yeah, he looks fine. We’ll bring him up.’
‘Hi guys.’ The friendly approach. ‘Sorry about all this, I don’t really know how to explain…’
‘There’s no need, sir.’ The tall one gestures for Rhys to move between them. Away from the doors. Away from the nurses who don’t giggle anymore. Away from the man.
‘Not to us at least.’ The second slightly smaller guard retorts. His face is long and thin with small teeth, like a weasel.
‘Could you do me a favour before we go?’ Why is no one listening? Why won’t they help? It’s not a lot to ask. ‘Nip in there,’ a gesture to the secure doors, ‘and see if there’s a tall man, with blue eyes and blond hair?’
‘There’s no one in there with hair.’
The weasel realises too late he’s spoken out loud and pointed to the chemotherapy sign above the doors. If they were in a cartoon, the tall guard would slap him around the back of the head.
‘What the fuck, Dave?’
The male nurses gasps.
The words crash around Rhys. Along with some sense of reality. What on earth is he doing?
‘Shit, sorry, I didn’t….’
Get a grip.
Right now.
Rhys’s head pounds. He needs fresh air. They are all looking at him like he’s crazy. Why would they think otherwise? He is only upstaged by the weasel and his runaway mouth. Rhys doesn’t want confrontation. He knows how it will end. The tall guard cracks his knuckles, speaks,
‘Let’s not have any fuss here.’
There’s nothing more to say. Rhys follows the guards quietly back along the corridor, without glancing back at the doors once.
The doctor waits for him in a small room to the right of reception. He rises as they enter.
‘Detective, are you okay?’ The doctor’s arm twitches. He stops himself reaching for Rhys.
‘Yes. I’m fine. Sorry. I thought I saw someone I knew. From my son’s school. Someone important that I need to catch up with. You know how it is.’ The doctor’s lying head nods.
‘You really can’t go running off around the hospital like that, I’m afraid.’
‘Again, I really am sorry. I don’t know what came over me. It’s been a long week, you know how it is.’ Rhys laughs. Too loud. Too forced. It’s only Tuesday. Rhys looks around the room. Needs a distraction. An out.
‘Where’s Inspector Quinn?’ The doctor visibly perks up at the change of subject.
‘He said he would wait for you at the car.’ Rhys is sure those are not the words Quinn used. The doctor gestures to the door. Dave the Weasel offers to show Rhys the way out.
‘There’s really no need.’
Dave the Weasel follows him anyway, until he is clear of the building.
Quinn stands by the car, leans against the no smoking sign and lights a cigarette. The gathering wind tugs at his hair.
‘What the fuck’s up with you?’ Quinn’s stare is cold.
‘Nothing.’ Rhys opens the car door. ‘The flashing light in there made me think I saw someone I knew.’
‘The lights weren’t flashing.’ Quinn takes a long drag of his cigarette. ‘And it was some guy you knew.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You asked if there was a man at the door. Before you set off on your little chase. You’re not, you know…?’ Is he for real? Rhys stares at him.
‘I’m married.’
‘So what?’
‘I’m tired. I got it wrong. Let’s forget about it. Jesus.’ Quinn flicks his cigarette away as if it has somehow offended him. Somewhere deep inside his leather coat, his phone rings. Loud. The National Anthem.
‘Hello… yeah… go ahead. Okay we won’t be long.’ Quinn flips the phone shut, stares at Rhys across the roof of the car. ‘Much as I’d love to watch you chase men, sorry, “people”, round here all day, they’ve finished unloading. Time to reassemble crazy Andrews’s front room. By the look of things, you’re the perfect man for the job.’
18.
Will is late. It is ten-thirty in the morning and still he manages to be late. Pam shouldn’t allow herself to be surprised. She’s been married to him for long enough.
Pam collapsed three days ago, and due to her age, has been confined to the overcrowded hospital ward ever since. Due to her age indeed. She didn’t think people could get away with saying such things these days.
It turns out her collapse was stress related, which is ridiculous. She has three grown-up children she may as well have raised single-handedly. There’s no way that becoming involved with some local charity work would be the cause of her collapse. Pam untangles a length of blue wool.
Pam blames Will. She’s made sure everyone on the ward knows it. Made sure he knew it when he visited. She feels no guilt. It’s his fault for behaving the way he does. In one ear, out the other.
As she sits and waits, Pam realises she has come to hate and love her husband in equal measure. It should make her sad, but it doesn’t. Her knitting needles start to clack rhythmically.