Trance

by Southward, Adam

  ‘What?’ said Alex.

  ‘Organise some stuff. Whatever it is you need to do. Victor is . . . beyond you now.’

  Alex slumped as Sophie left the room. She used an odd turn of phrase, but she was right. The police needed to take over and protect the remaining doctors – the scientists and psychologists in the photo and any others they could trace. Alex had no idea if Victor would be caught, but Alex’s job was over, and he’d failed at it. Until Victor was back in a cell, he had no role to play, and even then it was unlikely they’d let him near Victor again. The rules had changed. Victor wouldn’t see a normal prison, if a prison at all. He’d be sedated, confined and kept in solitary forever. Alex wouldn’t be told where, and he’d be thanked for his time and given his pay cheque. Told to go home to his private patients. As if nothing had happened. Just like his last case.

  That was if the police had their way. What if Victor had other plans?

  Alex looked around the office, looking for alcohol. He found none and cursed, taking the remaining two Xanax from his pocket, crunching them dry.

  He needed to call Mikey, and pulled out the crumpled note with the drug combination he’d got from his father. He might as well still get them. Better to be prepared.

  He checked the study door and the hallway. The various visitors were busy and most of them were leaving. He nudged the door shut and pulled out his phone. It rang for ten seconds or so before a cheery voice answered.

  ‘Alex, buddy. How the hell are you?’

  Under other circumstances Alex would smile. Mikey was an old friend and he owed him a drink and a catch-up. Today, however, Alex needed his fix.

  ‘I can’t talk, Mikey,’ he said. ‘I need a repeat of the usual, plus a couple of others.’

  ‘Others?’ Mikey sounded worried. ‘Look, fella. I know we have an understanding, but it’s not as easy as that. You sure you don’t need to talk to somebody? Me, for starters?’

  ‘Nothing’s changed,’ said Alex. ‘And the other drugs aren’t for me. Trust me. OK?’

  There was a pause, and a sniff. Alex hoped he wasn’t damaging this relationship with his brash approach. He needed his source of Xanax.

  ‘OK,’ said Mikey. ‘The usual for Xanax. What are the others?’

  Alex read out the names of the two drugs. ‘I don’t know what dosage,’ he said, aware it would probably cause even more angst. ‘Just give me what you can get.’

  There was silence on the other end for several moments.

  ‘Clozapine might take a day or so,’ said Mikey. ‘We order it in on demand.’

  ‘Is it a problem?’ said Alex, nervous. His father had said all three in combination. The other two on their own were unlikely to help, should he need them.

  ‘Not a problem, buddy.’ Mikey’s voice sounded cheery again. ‘And the dosage is in the patient info document. Be careful. That’s quite a combination. You . . . I mean, whoever takes it might be woozy and dozy for hours. Best not to drive, OK?’

  ‘They won’t,’ said Alex. ‘And thank you for this, Mikey. When things have settled down a little we’ll go for a drink. Catch up. You know.’

  ‘Sure thing, bud,’ said Mikey. ‘I’ll drop them off to you when I have them. Along with your invoice.’

  Despite the circumstances, Alex smiled. ‘Of course. Add ten per cent for your trouble.’

  ‘Oh, you pay way more than ten per cent, Alex. I’m absolutely fleecing you, my friend.’ Mikey laughed and hung up.

  Alex put his phone away and paused, narrowing his eyes. There was a creak by the study door. He walked over and yanked it open.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, relieved, ‘it’s you.’

  Sophie tilted her head and looked surprised. ‘You look like you’ve been caught,’ she said.

  Alex looked past her into the hall. ‘Is everyone—’

  ‘Going or gone,’ said Sophie. ‘DCI Hartley has nipped back to the station. She needed to act on the list ASAP and trace any who are in the UK. She wouldn’t tell me what they were doing but I think she wants to bring them all in – she’ll need to contact other forces if they aren’t in London. She said to call when you’re ready, although she might not be able to see you until tomorrow.’

  It was a relief, as Alex didn’t fancy visiting the morgue.

  The Xanax was kicking in and he relaxed, pulling Sophie into the study and nudging the door shut.

  ‘I want to apologise again,’ he said, his hand not leaving her arm. She didn’t pull away and they found themselves close.

  ‘No need,’ she whispered, drawing him towards her. They paused, faces close, mouths almost touching. Her breath warm on his lips. She smelled sweet and fresh. His mind embraced it and his desire for Sophie surged to the surface.

  Their lips touched, featherlike for a moment, but she pulled away.

  ‘You should tell her. Jane.’

  ‘Tell her?’ Alex frowned. He tasted her lip balm. ‘About us?’

  ‘There is no us.’ Her face twisted with a flash of disappointment. ‘It’s not about us. Tell her you want to break up. That it isn’t working and you’re not happy with her.’

  Her head dipped. Alex studied her face. She was right.

  ‘I will. Tonight.’

  ‘OK,’ said Sophie, disentangling her arms from his.

  ‘Then we’ll talk?’ said Alex, letting her hands go.

  ‘I’ll be back in the office tomorrow at Whitemoor,’ she said. ‘I have other work. Study. Call me?’

  Sophie stared at him, her deep eyes troubled and darting to and fro. Her foot shuffled and her left hand was fidgeting, scratching nails against her palm.

  Alex nodded and watched her leave, the study door creaking shut behind her. His mind, dulled by the Xanax, was still a whir of confusion, emotion and anger.

  Alex arrived home late that night. He’d felt guilty about leaving his mum, even though the carer was there. He thought it funny how guilt pervaded every thought after a death in the family. He was sure he should feel some, and his mother should feel none. His father, however, had gone to his grave without atoning for any of his crimes. Alex would struggle to forgive that.

  Jane had waited up, which surprised him. She didn’t even try to seduce him, which was out of character. Instead, she played a good supportive partner, to a point. The point where she mentioned that Grace had popped round.

  ‘Oh,’ said Alex. ‘I, er—’

  ‘Asking after your mum,’ said Jane. She couldn’t help pouting. ‘I told her everything was fine. She didn’t need to stick around.’

  ‘Fine?’ said Alex. ‘Everything’s fine?’

  Jane’s eyes widened. ‘Not what I meant,’ she said. ‘I meant she didn’t need to be involved. I would take care of you. She said something about Katie staying too. I said I wasn’t sure if it was still a good idea, given the circumstances.’ Jane pulled a rather insincere concerned look. Practised, but badly executed.

  Alex stared at her, suddenly weary of her insecurity. Was it his fault? Of course it was. Who else could be to blame? It didn’t take a therapist to figure it out. Alex’s passive aggressive behaviour was bound to leave its mark, whoever he was with. To make matters worse, he was still sleeping with her, keeping her hanging on. No wonder she was confused. If she were a little more cold-hearted she would have left him long ago.

  Sophie was right. They must break up. Today was as good a time as any to do it.

  ‘Jane,’ he said. ‘We need to talk.’

  Jane’s phone buzzed and she picked it up, waving a finger at Alex. ‘Of course. In a minute.’

  ‘Now, Jane.’

  ‘Shh,’ she said, walking off, phone glued to her ear. Alex sighed and went to the kitchen, pulling open a bottle of red, selecting a glass and filling it to the brim. He gulped it back, feeling the warmth sloshing into his stomach.

  Jane’s grief was perhaps over, although Alex didn’t seriously expect her to mourn for Rupert. He’d never introduced her to his parents and was pleased his father had ne
ver had the pleasure. He would not have approved.

  He was distracted as the front door slammed. Several seconds later he got a text message from Jane:

  Cara’s having problems. Gotta nip round to hers. Talk tomorrow? x

  Alex held his phone in a vice-like grip and counted to ten. He finished his glass of wine and went to bed. He was out of patience and out of ideas.

  He fell into an uneasy sleep, a cacophony of voices echoing in his mind. Victor’s voice rang in his ears more than once, and another voice, female, but not one he recognised. He heard his father shouting, but at whom he wasn’t sure. He woke and sat up in bed more than once, peering into the darkness, but all he could hear was his heartbeat. Eventually the Xanax and alcohol got the better of him and he succumbed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Alex woke, groggy and with an ache in his spine. It was morning. The TV in the bedroom was on, and Jane was perched on the end of the bed, phone to ear, gossiping about the news.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’ She glanced around at Alex and smiled. ‘Speak later,’ she said into the phone, and placed it on the sheet. ‘You won’t believe the news. That was Kat on the phone, over at the Mirror? You know she’s on the night desk? She gets all the best gossip. Well—’

  ‘Shh,’ said Alex, tuning her out as the TV came into focus. It was BBC One, and there was a red banner across the bottom of the screen, signifying breaking news. The ticker read something about an escaped suspect on the loose. A man wanted in connection with five murders.

  ‘Shut up!’ he shouted, as Jane continued to talk. She stopped abruptly, jaw dropping.

  ‘There was no need . . .’ She trailed off as Alex grabbed the remote and turned the volume loud enough to drown her out.

  ‘Police won’t comment on the activity at Holborn Police Station,’ said the newsreader, ‘but inside sources say several university professors have been taken into custody during the night. It’s not clear if they are suspects or connected in any way to the recent murders of several prominent scientists in the UK.’

  Alex listened as the newsreader repeated various facts, guesses and lies. Hartley had warned him that it would hit the news, but Alex was surprised it had happened so soon. Alex hoped Hartley was prepared. If Victor was tracking these people – and they had every reason to suspect he was – a few police weren’t going to stop him. They’d need to get those men and women into hiding pretty damn quick – at least those who were willing.

  His own phone buzzed on the bedside table. He answered it.

  ‘Are you watching the news?’ It was Sophie. ‘No mention of us or HMP Whitemoor. Victor’s name hasn’t been mentioned.’

  ‘What do they have?’ Alex was interested, not that it mattered. It was nothing they could control.

  ‘Details of the murders so far, including Southampton. No connection to the inmate murders here. The police have an unnamed suspect on the run. That’s it.’

  ‘Who leaked it?’

  ‘The police. They always do. It’s hard to keep a murder investigation under wraps for long, especially when it’s linked to an escapee.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about it.’

  ‘I read a lot. And I watch a lot of telly.’

  Alex smiled, but deep down the uneasiness hadn’t gone. Bringing in Victor’s targets was risky. Victor was unpredictable and unfathomably powerful. If he saw this news, there was no telling what he’d do.

  Alex tried to call Hartley but got a constant engaged tone. He left a message urging Hartley to move the doctors as soon as possible. Victor must not know where they were. In the meantime, armed police should be positioned at Holborn Police Station. Hartley would understand why, even if the rest of the police force, the reporters and the public didn’t.

  Jane walked off. Alex thought about stopping her but heard a light tapping at the back door. In the time it took for him to pull on some trousers and head downstairs, the person had gone, but in the rear porch was a small package wrapped in brown paper. Alex glanced back inside before picking it up. He locked himself in the toilet and unwrapped it.

  Inside were two of the drugs he’d asked for, with double his usual dose of Xanax. He rummaged around in the brown paper and found a handwritten note on a post-it. It said:

  Sorry. Couldn’t get Clozapine, distributor was out of stock. Maybe next week. £100 for what I did get, if you please. Usual method.

  Alex transferred the money online. His friend had tried his best and Alex paid his debts. He thought for a few moments and popped one of each of the pills out of their foil. No use buying and not trying. He had no idea if two out of the three would have any effect whatsoever, but he popped them into his mouth anyway, along with an additional Xanax to get him through the morning. He wanted to have the chat with Jane, and he might as well do it while she was already mad at him.

  He hoped the drug cocktail wouldn’t send him straight off to sleep, but he did hope it would at least partly dull the pain of the conversation he was about to have.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  In another part of town, a mobile phone displayed news snippets from the BBC. Nothing new had appeared in the last half hour, but still, Victor read and sneered.

  He was in a metal bed, devoid of mattress but padded with rugs and scraps of carpet, where he’d remained since his visit to Dr Madison’s house. Nearly out of painkillers, Victor had little choice but to wait for the stampede in his head to subside.

  It pulsed and pounded. Waves of nausea tore through him and he had given up trying to reach the bathroom in time. The stench of vomit had been unpleasant at first, but had receded into familiarity and it no longer troubled him.

  He read the news with interest and contempt. He wondered how the police had learned about the list of doctors so fast. He wasn’t fool enough to think that only he knew, but time and distance had buried most of the records relating to his childhood. He should know, for he’d spent many years searching and chasing, bribing and persuading those who had the information. The list of conspirators was not in the public domain and it would have taken them a long time to track down everyone.

  But they were too late. The other doctors, those snivelling vermin, held no interest for Victor any more. They could shrivel and die on their own terms. Victor only had one target now: Dr Alex Madison.

  He’d laugh if he didn’t feel so sick. His head throbbed and he closed his eyes. He leaned over the side of the bed and stared at the bucket, but his stomach was too dry. He didn’t even heave.

  He would make them all pay. A generation ruined. Just like his.

  Bile rose into his throat, his stomach contracted and the thumping in his head made him cry out in pain. Time, he thought. That’s all he needed. A day or two. It would take a lot of effort to get to the doctor, and he couldn’t risk failure. He’d be bundled back into a cell, and he was under no illusions what would happen next time. They knew him now. He’d been careless, messy, and they knew what he could do.

  Time. He’d waited this long for a prize he didn’t even know about.

  He could wait.

  Alex Madison could wait.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Alex tried to placate Jane, but she wouldn’t sit still and insisted on pacing up and down the stairs, pausing only to throw either an insult or an object at him.

  ‘Who is she?’ Jane said for the seventh time.

  Alex shook his head, pausing to grasp the handrail on the stairs as his vision caught up. His head was light and detached, floating above his body. Must be the drugs, he thought, trying to focus.

  ‘That isn’t the reason, Jane. Can’t you see? We’re nothing alike.’

  ‘Alike enough for you to screw me,’ she retorted. ‘Morning, night and whenever you want it. We’re alike enough for that.’

  ‘But that’s all we do,’ he said, his own voice rising to a shout. ‘Sex is great. I’m not complaining about the sex. But it takes more than that.’

  ‘More?’ Jane shrieked with
laughter. ‘What are you? Christ. Most men would kill for a relationship like this. I try and I try. You’ve obviously got a lot of shit to deal with. I get it. That’s why I’ve let you treat me like dirt for the last three months. All my friends say you’re not worth it. I persevered because I thought you were. So I do nothing but please you. I play the meek girlfriend and let you take out your stupid aggression. And this is what I get. It takes more?’

  Alex bit his tongue. He closed his eyes but his balance was off and he forced them open. He felt drunk. ‘Perhaps . . .’

  ‘What?’ Jane was red-faced. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  ‘Perhaps we can take a break for a bit.’ No, he was screaming inside. Don’t give in.

  Jane’s face softened, but her chest still heaved. ‘A break?’

  Alex realised his mistake. ‘No, I didn’t mean . . . I mean, we need to break up. But perhaps we can talk. In a week or so.’

  Her jaw cocked to the right. ‘Break or break up, Alex? You don’t seem so sure. What’s the matter, haven’t quite hooked your new slut yet? Not sure if she’ll have you?’

  Alex shook his head again and wished he hadn’t. He sunk into a chair and waited for the dizziness to pass.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Jane. ‘Give up. Ignore me.’ She grabbed her bag from the hallway and wrenched open the front door. ‘You are such a bastard,’ she yelled as the door slammed.

  Her car roared off and he slumped even further, wondering if he’d expected it to go any better than that. Not really.

  He sighed without an ounce of pleasure. At least he’d done it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Victor staggered and fell into the side of the car. He dropped the keys and crouched, fumbling in the gutter until he retrieved them. Despite eating, drinking and pouring the last of his maximum-dose ibuprofen down his throat, his symptoms wouldn’t subside. He screamed inside. Outside he was pasty and his body stank. He didn’t care.

  He’d had enough rest. He knew where to go and what to do. Then he could rest. Only then.

  The directions were on his phone, the address in Harrow. It wasn’t far to the young doctor’s house and he drove with enough care to avoid drawing attention. Slowly and clumsily, he manoeuvred the small car around the tight corners as he searched the streets. Road after road of unremarkable and tasteless houses. All of them held enemies. Only one of them was worth forgiving.