by Sam Millar
“It’ll never be over,” said Brendan, his voice almost a whisper. “Don’t you understand, Karl? Hannah has too much power and influence. He’ll never see a day in prison. He’ll walk free and simply wait for the right time to continue his madness. There is no cure for creatures like him. Don’t you understand?”
“I don’t have an answer for that.”
“I do!” shouted Brendan, snapping the gun out of Karl’s hands, pointing it at Hannah. “I’m not letting him roam the streets, Karl, murdering and torturing young girls. It’s over for him. Take Katie and get out of here.”
“Don’t do it, Brendan,” pleaded Karl. “You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“You don’t have much time, Karl,” said Brendan, removing a small package from the discarded rucksack on the floor. “It’s got a pressure plate release. It’s primed to go off as soon as I remove my fingers from it.”
“What … what the hell are you going to do with that?”
“I need you to get Katie the hell out of here! I’m ready to lose consciousness. As soon as I do, this whole area is going to kingdom come.”
“Please … please, Brendan. Don’t do this. You have a great wife who loves you dearly. Don’t do this to her.”
“Claire died badly, Karl,” said Brendan, his voice suddenly soft and solemn. “Shortly after Patricia’s funeral, and still suffering from the gunshot wounds, Claire went home and filled a bath with water before climbing in and slitting both her wrists.”
“Oh God, Brendan … I … I’m so sorry …”
“Now, I need you to go. Now! Take Katie. She’ll never have to worry about Hannah again.”
“I …”
“Go, damn you!”
Offering his hand to Brendan, Karl said, “When we first met, you said you would love to shake the hand of the man who killed Bulldog.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on Brendan’s face, a spark of revelation in his eyes.
“Goodbye, Brendan.”
“Goodbye, Karl.”
For almost one minute, the sound of Karl moving down the tunnel echoed all around Brendan Burns. Then came silence.
Weakening, Brendan felt his hands trembling. “Not yet. A few more minutes!” Gritting his teeth, he willed the hands to steady.
“Who … who are you?” asked Hannah, sitting opposite, motionless, eyes glaring.
“Who?” said Brendan, grimacing a smile, pointing the gun at Hannah’s face. “I’m the one who’s here to take away your purpose. I’m the end of your world.”
Passing the Circle before heading in the direction of the door at the end of the corridor, Karl ran clumsily with Katie scooped tightly in his arms. Breathing was quickly becoming laboured, and his legs felt ready to collapse while running on empty.
Come on. Almost there. Despite trying to think positive, he couldn’t help but wonder how long the adrenaline coursing through his body would last, before he would eventually collapse in a heap? His heart was going mad. Air was impossible to taste.
Less than twenty seconds later, he reached the door, kicking it open, the cool night air lovingly hitting his sweating face. Directly ahead, the door leading back out towards the side entrance of the prison waited for him. He blinked sweat from his eyes.
You can do it. Not too far, now. Almost …
Suddenly, lights were blazing in the courtyard and surrounding area. Blue. Red. Orange. They looked like spotlights dipped in dull rainbows.
“What the …?” An ambulance! Oh my God … “Help! Help! Over here! Helpppppppp!”
The ambulance crew – two men and a woman – stared back in amazement. Two police cars were pulling up alongside the ambulance.
“Help! My daughter needs medical help! Quickly!”
Swiftly producing a stretcher from the back of the ambulance, two of the crew came rushing towards Karl. Three police officers quickly emerged from the cars and rushed forward also.
“It’s okay, sir. Everything will be okay. We’ve got her,” said one of the ambulance crew.
“How … how did you know to come? I called, but couldn’t get a signal,” asked Karl, following quickly behind as the crew reached the back of the ambulance.
“We never received any call concerning your daughter, sir. It was about this man,” said the ambulance man, pointing at a figure stretched out inside the ambulance. “He was attacked, and left for dead with his throat cut.”
Karl felt faint seeing Willie stretched out, unmoving.
“Do you know this man, sir?” asked one of the police officers, suddenly standing beside Karl.
“His name is Willie … William Morgan, a good friend of mine.”
“You’re going to have to make a statement, sir, down at the station. We need to know what happened here.”
“My name is Karl Kane. Call Inspector Mark Wilson. He’ll explain everything to you, I’m sure. Right now, I’m accompanying my daughter and friend to the hospital. Understand?”
“Well, I suppose we –”
The ground suddenly shook.
“What the hell was that?” asked one of the police officers. “Felt like a miniature earthquake.”
Karl looked back towards the prison, distraught, before climbing into the back of the ambulance.
“Will he make it?” asked Karl, staring at Willie’s motionless body.
“Who knows?” said the crew member, his face noncommittal. “It’ll be touch and go if he lives, but if he does, he’ll owe his life to Mrs Blackburn.”
“Mrs Blackburn?”
“Yes. The old lady at number eighteen,” replied the man, pointing at the old lady standing at her door across the street. “She saw him being attacked and called 999.”
Karl stared across the street. The old lady – the one whom Willie had referred to as a nosey old bag – stood, arms folded, watching the scene and gathering crowd.
Seconds later, the ambulance began pulling away, into the night.
EPILOGUE
Lynne and Naomi sat in the apartment barely talking, while Karl busied himself producing coffee. A tangible iciness permeated the room.
“How is Katie holding up, Lynne?” asked Naomi awkwardly, concern on her face. “Karl said she was having difficulty sleeping.”
Long seconds passed before Lynne finally answered. “I was with her last night, and she was in a deep sleep, but that was due to her being heavily sedated. She will have to undergo months of extensive psychological tests for the effects of post-traumatic stress.”
“What a terrible nightmare she’s gone through.”
“Thank God it’s over.”
“God had nothing to do with it, Lynne,” stated Karl, coming from the kitchen area. “Brendan Burns brought it to an end.”
“Of course. I only meant –”
“Sorry for sounding so harsh, Lynne. I know what you meant. But God must have been sleeping when all this was going on, as well as all the other murders.”
“Let’s just be grateful for how it all ended,” soothed Naomi, diplomatically.
“I just got off the phone to the hospital. They’ve downgraded Willie’s condition from critical to serious. Doctors say he’ll make a full recovery,” said Karl, glancing from Naomi to Lynne.
“What a relief to hear,” responded Lynne.
Nodding in agreement, Naomi said, “Oh, before I forget, Tom called earlier enquiring about Katie. He said the police have released the name of that young girl murdered by Hannah in the tunnel. Judy McCambridge. Another runaway, apparently.”
“That bastard Hannah is in hell now,” said Lynne, her face suddenly changing. “A pity he died so quickly in the explosion.”
Karl said nothing, his thoughts centring on a man called Brendan Burns, the architect of the explosion. According to newspaper reports, little vestiges were found of either Burns’s or Hannah’s bodies, such was the force of the bomb blast in such a confined space, making it virtually impossible for the police to say for certain if one or two bodies had been discovered. The me
dia itself was equally uncertain, debating if Brendan Burns was a hero or a villain. Despite their ambiguity, most of the media begrudgingly admitted Burns had played a major part in Katie’s rescue. In contrast, Mark Wilson soon let it be known to Karl – via Lynne – that he thought Burns was nothing more than a terrorist and murderer, and that Karl had deliberately picked Burns, hoping to rub salt into the wounds in Wilson’s face.
“I’ve got to go shortly,” said Karl, finally breaking his own thoughts.
“Where?” asked Naomi. “Can’t you take a break for a while?”
“I’ve … I’ve got to go see Dad. With all this madness, I never got the chance to see him last week.” Suddenly, the sound of a car horn screamed from outside.
“That’ll be my taxi. I must be going also,” stated Lynne, standing, nodding to Karl while totally ignoring Naomi. “Give Cornelius my regards, Karl. Tell him his favourite daughter-in-law sends all her love.”
A few seconds later, Karl and Naomi were left alone to the sound of the taxi driving away into the distance.
“Brrrrrrrrr,” said Naomi, forcing a smile. “Did you feel that chill, or was it purely my imagination?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, my dear. They don’t call Lynne Electrolux for nothing. Actually, she wasn’t as bad as I dreaded she’d be. You want to see her when she really dislikes a person,” said Karl, smiling, kissing Naomi before walking down the stairs and out into the unseasonably cool Belfast air.
Entering the nursing home, Karl’s senses immediately collided with stomach-churning smells of urine, excrement and boiled unimaginative food. But it was another encompassing smell making guilt rise to the surface of Karl’s mind: loneliness.
At the reception, he was asked to wait for a moment. Doctor Moore – his father’s physician – wished to speak to him.
It was just over a minute later when Moore appeared, ushering Karl into a tiny office. The normally cheerful Moore looked quite solemn.
“First things first. How’s Katie coping after that horrendous ordeal?”
“She’s doing well, considering. Thank you for asking, Doctor.”
Moore nodded, before continuing. “It’s concerning your father’s tests, Karl. They arrived this morning. I’m afraid it’s not good news,” said Moore, opening a top drawer before producing a folder.
Something began gnawing Karl’s stomach, like tiny mice in a shoebox.
“What … what kind of tests?”
“There’s no easy way to say this, Karl, but Cornelius has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.”
“Alzheimer’s …” The word came out slower than he had meant. “How? I … mean, how long has he had it?”
“The brain scan revealed significant shrinkage of the brain, possibly over the last year.”
“A year? But I was told from the start that it was a mild form of dementia, resulting in the occasional lapse of memory. How the hell could Alzheimer’s not have been diagnosed?”
“When Alzheimer’s begins to destroy brain cells, Karl, no outward symptoms are evident immediately. After a while, small memory lapses appear and grow more serious. The afflicted individual may forget the names of familiar people or places, the words to express what they want to say or the location of everyday objects. As the disease becomes more serious, behaviour problems develop.”
“What sort of behaviour problems?”
“Memory loss and cognitive deficits, advancing to major personality changes and eventual loss of control over bodily functions. Your father wasn’t showing most of these symptoms until lately. That was when I ordered the brain scan and other tests.”
“I know he’s been having memory lapses, but I never realised he had no control over bodily functions.”
“He’s been urinating and soiling himself more frequently.”
“My dad’s been urinating and soiling himself? Why the hell wasn’t I informed?” asked Karl, trying desperately not to lose his temper.
“It only started the last few days. I made the final decision not to inform you because of what you were going through with Katie’s abduction. Was I wrong not to inform you?” asked Moore, holding Karl’s gaze.
“No … I … suppose not. I should have been here last week anyway.”
“Under the circumstances, Karl, you know that would have been impossible. So stop blaming yourself.”
“I just … I just wish I’d have known sooner, I suppose.”
“Cornelius is becoming more aggressive towards staff. That’s understandable, as it is all due to frustration. But there have been other incidents, ones that can’t go unchecked indefinitely.”
The gnawing in Karl’s stomach increased. More mice were piling into the shoebox.
“Incidents? What kind of incidents?”
“He’s … he’s been masturbating openly at the windows to visitors and staff.”
“For fuck sake.” The mice began turning into rats.
“One female member of staff had to be relocated because Cornelius kept referring to her as his wife, demanding to have intercourse with her, among other things.”
Karl released a long sigh. “If it wasn’t so serious, it would be comical. I don’t know whether to laugh or wet myself. I suppose if I wet myself, you could inform the staff that lack of control over bodily functions runs in the family.”
Moore smiled politely. “I wish I could give you better news, Karl. You’ve gone through hell the last few weeks. I hated the thought of burdening you with this.”
Something about Moore’s words brought an immediate balm to the situation.
“What is the outlook, Doctor?” asked Karl, finally resigned. “I need to know so that I can prepare for whatever is coming down the line.”
“There are three stages in Alzheimer’s progression. Early, mid and late. People vary in the length of time spent in each stage, and in which stage the signs and symptoms appear. Because the stages overlap, it is difficult to definitely place a person in a particular stage. However, the progression is always toward a worsening of symptoms. Cornelius is showing classic late stage symptoms, I’m sorry to say.”
“Isn’t there any cure, something, some sort of wonder drug?”
“At the minute, Alzheimer’s is a progressive fatal illness. That’s not to say that medical science isn’t trying to develop a cure, as we speak.”
“Are … are you saying he’s going to die soon?”
“Well … just letting you know to be prepared in case something sudden happens. I wish I had a different, more upbeat report, Karl.”
Stunned, Karl stood, offering Moore his hand.
“Thank you, Doctor. I know Dad would be more than appreciative of what you and the staff have done for him. He always praised … I mean … he always praises you,” said Karl, almost immediately correcting the past tense of his sentence.
“If there is anything I can do, anything at all, do not hesitate to call me,” replied Moore, shaking Karl’s hand.
“Just one thing. Dad hasn’t had access to TV or news over the last few days, has he?”
“No. I gave strict orders to staff not to discuss Katie’s abduction. In all honesty, Karl, your father probably wouldn’t even know, had he been watching or listening to the news.”
Cornelius was sitting, staring out the window, when Karl entered the room without knocking. His father was a tall, desiccated husk of a man, whose only flesh was prominent on the neck in small fleshy accordions of skin.
“Is it medicine time, sir?” asked Cornelius, glancing from the window, looking directly at Karl.
To Karl, his father’s eyes appeared glazed over, as if in a trance. He seemed to have shrunk physically from the last time he had set eyes upon him, well over two weeks ago.
Oh God, Dad … “It’s … it’s me, Dad. Karl. Your son,” said Karl, bending, kissing the top of Cornelius’s full head of hair.
“Son …?”
“I brought you some bars of Bournville chocolate, along with some bottles of
Lucozade.”
“Son …?”
“Yes, Dad. Karl. Remember?”
“Karl … I remember a Karl … it’s hard remembering …”
“I … know, Dad. It isn’t easy. Don’t … don’t be worrying about it.”
“He was … he was a good boy.”
Karl felt a lump in his throat. He needed a drink of water.
From a plastic beaker stationed atop a table, he poured some water into a plastic cup for himself, before twisting the cap off the Lucozade and pouring some of it into his father’s cup.
“Here you go, Dad. Wish it could be a Jameson for you,” smiled Karl, thinking of his father’s love of the stuff.
Cornelius took the drink from Karl’s hand and immediately began sipping the Lucozade’s dark orange liquid, smacking his lips at each mouthful.
“Karl …”
“Yes, Dad?”
“Karl …” repeated Cornelius. “He … he was a good boy …”
“And you’re a good father, Dad. The best in the world,” said Karl, feeling something uncontrollable welling up inside.
Suddenly, Cornelius gripped Karl’s hand, pulling him downwards, closer, whispering, “Don’t … don’t let me … live like this, Karl. Promise me.”
“What?” Karl tried pushing away, but his father’s grip was incredibly strong.
“I still have brains. I can still laugh and cry. I still have feelings! But soon, they’ll be gone … don’t let me live like a vegetable in the dark … please … tell me you’ll do the right thing … when the time is right …” Cornelius’s eyes were suddenly bright and clear, the fog lifting and dispelling.
Karl wrapped his arms around his father, gripping him tightly, remembering the time a million years ago, of a young boy crying, fearful of the dark and the monster with a knife hiding in the ironing cupboard.
There is no monster, son, assured his father, hugging him tenderly. He’s gone for ever. I’ll never let him touch you again.
Promise?
I promise …
“I … I won’t let any harm come to you, Dad.”
“Promise?”
The air outside was beginning to cool when Karl entered the almost deserted grounds of the care home. Residents and staff were filtering towards the canteen, and the smell of fried food hung heavily in the air.