Path into Darkness

by Lisa Alber

  He’d pulled away from her then, repulsed. “You should have called Emergency.”

  His memory of Susannah’s death looked like Zoe bending over her slack form at the bottom of the staircase. It looked like his guilt. His faulty memory didn’t lessen the fact that Susannah’s death was his fault. Her death opened the doors for the darkness, that he knew. And later, after his keepers deemed him fit for civilization again, he’d settled into his pottery and a semi-itinerant life. What he’d call normal if normal included eluding his daughter.

  Can yoouu kill, can yoouu kill

  “Not now with that,” he muttered.

  A noise pulled Nathan back into the kitchen. He tensed. The wind continued howling around the house. Thump. He made his way into the studio. The back door whipped out of his grip and banged into the wall. He ran to his firing shed and grabbed one of the aluminum cans. He dropped three bricks into it to prevent the wind from flinging it against the wall again and dashed back to the house. He yanked the back door closed and leaned against it. The wind had blown away the cobwebs. He knew what he needed to do next.

  His stomach ached with hunger. Back in the kitchen, he poured himself another cup of coffee and ate a bowl of corn flakes without tasting them. He rinsed the bowl and spoon, set them in the drying rack, and picked up his mobile. He dialed Annie’s number.

  Can yoouu kill, can yoouu kill

  Nathan thought maybe he could.

  fifty-five

  Monday, 29-Mar

  Well, well, well, dear Annie, your paramour is a more interesting specimen than I’d imagined. I really must chuck your mobile. I’m flirting with my own ruin by holding on to it. If you were here, you’d tell me that I enjoy the risk. You’d be correct, of course, but we both know that most of the time the guards are sucking their thumbs, hampered by their own ineptitude.

  No worries, I’ve now hidden the mobile off my person but easily accessible. I’ll toss it later. I knew keeping it around would prove fun, at the very least to learn who your friends are. You’ve received a few calls. Hellos from people who don’t know that death claimed you. These people can’t be that significant, so I deleted the messages.

  Nathan Tate, though, he addressed me when he left his message yesterday: “Hello, I hope I’m talking to the man who sent me the text message. You have Annie’s journal, don’t you? So you know who I am.”

  No fuddle-headed mistaken call this time. In his way, he’s trying to court me. He’s doing a bad job of it, but I admire the effort. I look forward to his next call.

  fifty-six

  In Ennis Hospital, Ellen’s chest rose and fell on its own now. No more ventilator. Her doctor had tried to talk to Danny about next steps because Ellen’s inert body would continue to attract infections and to deteriorate. He’d brushed aside the attempts, still not ready to consider the doctor’s opinion about whether or not to continue life-prolonging measures.

  Nathan stepped up beside him, full of stink and despair. “Why am I here?”

  “Merrit rang me. She’s concerned about your health. Since I was on my way to the hospital anyhow, I thought we could get you checked out by a friend of mine. Nothing official. He should be along in a few minutes.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I did, but would you have come otherwise?”

  “No.”

  Danny had detoured by Nathan’s house on his way to the hospital, and Nathan acquiesced when Danny said he had more questions for him. Danny arrived in time to see Zoe and a lad squealing off in a beat-up Ford Fiesta. One look at Nathan, and Danny was glad he’d arranged this intervention.

  “You’re not doing anyone any good with this slow death spiral,” Danny said.

  “Which is code for, I’m not doing you any good for your investigation.”

  Danny caught a glimpse of the alert and astute Nathan he’d gotten to know at the Plough. He still existed in there somewhere but submerged.

  A brief knock interrupted them. Dr. Singh, whom Danny now called Sanjay, entered. He’d helped Danny a few years back during a prior investigation. Since then, Singh had become Danny’s source for all things medical. He wore an off-duty outfit of jeans, anorak, and scarf.

  Danny introduced Nathan. Sanjay gazed at Nathan, studying him from head to toe while Nathan edged along the wall toward the door.

  “This is a trap,” Nathan said.

  “No trap, Mr. Tate,” Sanjay said. “I’m here as a friend of Danny’s who happens to be a doctor, although it doesn’t take a doctor to see that you’re not well. Danny told me the barest facts. You don’t sleep?”

  Nathan burst from the wall and elbowed Sanjay in his attempt to flee the room. Danny wrapped an arm around him. It didn’t take much brawn to halt the man; he was weak as a newborn bunny. Danny lowered Nathan to a chair.

  “I’m not for that place again,” Nathan said. “Please.”

  “I’m concerned about your physical health,” Danny said. “Can Sanjay look you over?”

  “My physical health,” Nathan said, “and nothing else?”

  “Nothing else.”

  “Fine,” Nathan said.

  Sanjay peered into Nathan’s mouth and pressed his fingers against Nathan’s skin. He pulled a stethoscope out of a satchel he carried and listened to Nathan’s heart. He then measured Nathan’s blood pressure and pulse. “Too high,” he murmured. “Running on fumes. When did you last eat?”

  “Yesterday,” Nathan said.

  “And water?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Bugger all good coffee does you. You’re dehydrated. I can talk to someone about admitting you overnight for fluids.”

  Nathan shook his head. “I’m not for that place.”

  “Overnight,” Danny said. “For fluids and rest. Nothing else. I’m sure they’ll give you a sedative to help you sleep.”

  “I wouldn’t mind that,” Nathan said after a pause.

  Sanjay beckoned Danny to follow him out of the room. “He’s in bad shape,” he said when they reached the corridor, “but it’s nothing water, food, and sleep won’t fix. At least for his body. His mind is another issue altogether. He’s a suspect, you say?”

  “Let’s call him a person of interest.”

  “Hmm. I’m wondering if he was diagnosed with PTSD at some point. His lack of self-care and his instinct to escape—just a thought.”

  “An interesting thought,” Danny said. “Some PTSD sufferers are dangerous if triggered the right way. I want to show you something. It might shed light.”

  He returned to Nathan with Sanjay close behind. “You’re grand,” he said as he hoisted Nathan to his feet with an arm over his shoulders. The stench of him was enough to make Danny retch. “Sanjay, if you would, please lift his t-shirt.”

  Nathan shook his head but otherwise didn’t resist.

  “Holy Mother.” Sanjay dropped to one knee to view the scar at eye level. He manipulated the thick scar tissue with deft fingers. “This isn’t just one wound.”

  “What do you mean?” Danny said.

  “This is many wounds in the same place. Is that true, Mr. Tate?”

  Nathan’s head sagged on his neck. Danny almost roused him with a shake, but thought better of it.

  “Self-inflicted?” Danny said.

  Sanjay let the t-shirt fall back in place and stood. “Self-harm, cutting—”

  “Do men cut themselves?”

  “They do, in increasing numbers, in fact. As you might expect, if cutting is their preferred method, men are more likely to make larger, deeper cuts than women are.” He placed his hands on either side of Nathan’s face and straightened his head. “Mr. Tate? How did you injure yourself ?”

  He seemed to be searching Nathan, trying to excavate his head. Nathan responded by closing his eyes.

  Later, after reading to Ellen, Danny visited Nathan on the open men’s ward. Unlike Ward 2B, located in a newish wing of the hospital, Nathan’s ward consisted of jam-packed beds with frayed blue curtains and a depres
sing air of the antiquated. A crucifix hung on the wall above the entry.

  Bathed and hooked up to a fluid line, Nathan lay with eyes closed, gaunt face in repose. He opened his eyes wide at the sound of Danny’s footsteps. Then relaxed again. He offered Danny a smile, weary and dazed, but there all the same. “Hospital vacation. Probably a good thing. Thank you.”

  “A shower was a step in the right direction anyhow.”

  “They dosed me with a nice drug. Lessened the noise in my head. I can think straight, and maybe I’ll sleep.”

  Danny pulled up a chair and sat down. “You were correct about one thing—I need you coherent so you can help me with the investigation.”

  “Self-serving, ay.” Nathan closed his eyes again. His head sank deeper into the pillow. “We all are. Even me, with Annie.”

  “Oh?”

  “She was a balm. Being with her took me out of my head.”

  And his head was a dangerous place, that much was obvious. Danny considered how to proceed with Nathan. Best get straight to the point before lunch rounds and sedatives pulled him away from Danny again. “We’re considering a theory that EJ’s and Annie’s deaths are connected, and thus far you’re the only connection between them we have.”

  Nathan’s eyes flew open. His irises expanded rather than contracted. Fear response. Or a sudden realization. Something was going on inside Nathan’s head.

  “There’s no connection,” Nathan said. “Or if there is, it’s not related to knowing me. It can’t be. They both helped people—a connection to health care.”

  “For EJ, that’s a debatable question.”

  “What would their deaths have to do with me?” Nathan shifted under the sheets. “There’s the person who sent me the text.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  Nathan’s confusion appeared authentic, but then so did the fear that lurked beneath the confusion. Danny couldn’t get a proper read on him. He changed the topic. “Tell me about your scar.”

  “Talking about it is part of what sent me to Broadmoor. So I don’t. It’s unrelated.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Do me the favor of not telling anyone I’m here. I’d rather not talk if I don’t have to. I need to think, if I can.”

  “Zoe?”

  “No one.”

  The lunch cart clanked at the other end of the ward and Nathan’s eyes drifted shut. Danny’s mobile vibrated. He drew the curtains around Nathan’s bed to avoid getting caught using the mobile on the ward.

  “Danny here,” he whispered.

  “This is bloody beautiful,” O’Neil said. “I know who Cedric Gibson is, all right, and he’s here in Clare.”

  fifty-seven

  Merrit stood at the door of the men’s ward waiting for an orderly or nurse to let her into this area of the hospital. She pressed the entry button again. A moment later, instead of a hospital employee, Danny almost smacked into her as he pushed through the door. His concentrated expression spoke volumes. He was revved up, eager to be gone, but he halted when he saw her. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s visiting hours. Remember, I’m the one who called you about Nathan.”

  “He doesn’t want visitors,” Danny said.

  “Too bad. And Zoe will arrive this evening.”

  Danny nodded to a row of chairs lining the wall outside the ward and urged her toward them with a hand around her arm. He nudged her down to sit beside him. He lowered his voice. “Have you heard the name Cedric Gibson?”

  Some of Danny’s perturbed energy rubbed off on Merrit. One look at his spotlighting gaze, the one he’d used on her plenty of times, and she blurted, “He’s the one who sent the texts, isn’t he?”

  “Who told you?” His pursed his lips. “Bloody O’Neil. I warned him about your meddling.”

  “Oh, stop. Simon hasn’t said a word. Your demeanor gave it away.”

  “No, it didn’t.”

  “Go on, what about Cedric Gibson? Did he leave the bouquet, too?”

  “Christ. Slow down.”

  Merrit smiled and understood in a flash that she missed talking to someone who challenged her. Liam didn’t count, being her father.

  Danny rubbed at his face. “Your date with O’Neil the other night.”

  “My date?”

  “O’Neil said the two of you met a man named Sid.”

  “Him? But he’s—” In truth, she’d forgotten about him. “He’s not a man you’d notice. Brown hair and fair skin like most of the men in the room. He can’t have sent the messages. He was standing right there when I received mine.”

  “Would you have noticed him tapping on a mobile? No, of course not.” He smiled, relenting. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We don’t know anything yet. Tell me about him.”

  “He was with Zoe, and he’s too boring for her. That’s about all I got from him. What did Simon say about him?”

  “Nothing that stood out. O’Neil”—was it Merrit’s imagination that he emphasized Simon’s last name?—“recognized him when he saw the arrest picture for a man named Cedric Gibson. How did he and Zoe get along?”

  “I don’t think they were on a date—not like that, anyhow. Romantically.”

  Danny had been scrutinizing her as she spoke, but he looked away now. She squirmed. It was true, she hadn’t sensed a spark between Zoe and Sid. She rushed on, past all things “dates.” “When did Annie die?”

  “About twenty-four hours before you received the text.”

  “Why wait a day to send it?”

  “I wish I knew.” Danny glanced at the ward door. “Would you say you have a good rapport with Nathan?”

  Merrit thought about it for a second. “I think so. He’s helping me fix up Fox Cottage.”

  “I need to understand Nathan better, but gentle-like. He may or may not be connected to all of this.”

  “I understand. You need to know one way or another. I can be your unofficial intermediary.”

  Danny straightened, tension dissipating slightly. “Keep this between you and I.”

  Merrit clenched her hands, longing to pump her fists in triumph. For eighteen months, she’d wanted him on her side. Or at least accepting of her as part of his immediate circle of friends. Friends might be pushing it, but friendly acquaintances would do for now.

  “You realize you’re giving me permission to meddle, right?” she said.

  Danny slapped his hands against his thighs and stood. “I might as well accept that I can’t stop you, but you aren’t a bloody private investigator. I want insights into Nathan, his relationship with Zoe, his mental state. Like that.” He’d been rifling through his pockets. Now he stared her down. “Are we square?”

  “Cheers,” she said by way of answer.

  He paused in the midst of straightening his jacket. “You realize that’s not a response.”

  “What should I have said—to be Irish?”

  “A simple ‘okay’ suffices. Or if you want to get fancy, ‘not a bother.’”

  He hurried down the corridor without saying goodbye, but Merrit didn’t mind. She’d passed a test she’d never understood. With one small fist pump, she pressed the button to be allowed into the ward. Nathan in all his turmoil and mysterious complications awaited.

  fifty-eight

  Beneath the medication that the doctor had given Nathan, the static and crackle shivered around the edges of his thoughts, waiting to burst through the soft fuzz brought on by the meds. He still heard the refrain that now accompanied him throughout the day.

  Can yoouu kill, can yoouu kill

  The sound of it gleeful now, having overheard Danny’s whispered conversation and the name that Danny had repeated back to his caller, corroborating it: Cedric Gibson, who went by Sid.

  Nathan knew that name; of course he did. Zoe had introduced them the night Sid picked her up to go listen to a band. He pictured Zoe inviting the man into his house for the introduction. She’d always been proper about introductions, but Nathan
hadn’t cared. He’d continued dipping a vase into glaze without looking up.

  This man—Sid. He was playing a game. Had to be; why else befriend Zoe? Or maybe Zoe had befriended him.

  Footsteps and voices approached his corner of the ward. The curtains around him parted. “He’s awake, yes. He needs to eat his lunch.”

  A nurse bustled in and raised his bed to a sitting position. She arranged him as if he were one of the pillows and swung a tray with his lunch on it over his lap.

  “Chicken breast with mash and peas.” She adjusted the fluid line as she passed. “You should be feeling better with the fluids.”

  A murmur and then Merrit peeked her head in. “Nathan?”

  He picked up a fork and knife, considered the knife for a moment—not sharp—and hacked into the pallid chicken flesh. He ignored the greyish peas that floated on soupy mashed potatoes.

  Merrit squinched her nose up in distaste. “Appetizing. I ran into Danny on my way in. He said you didn’t want visitors, but I was already here. Hope that’s okay. I won’t stay long.”

  The chicken was nothing but textures on Nathan’s tongue. He accepted that he required food if he hoped to hunt down Sid and obliterate him. He’d take on that task to redeem himself of Susannah’s death. And Annie’s. He suspected he was to blame for her death, too. He didn’t know how, but it didn’t matter. He latched onto Sid like a life preserver.

  “That man, Sid,” he said.

  “You know about him?”

  “Yes, yes, Zoe introduced him to me, plus I overheard Danny’s side of a phone conversation.” He cut more chicken and placed it inside his mouth. “What did Danny say about him?”

  So Merrit told him, and Nathan leaned back into the pillows. Cedric Gibson.

  “All I know is that he’s someone from Annie’s past,” Merrit said.

  “I’m sure it’s him,” Nathan said. “It has to be. The man who killed Annie.”

  “Maybe. That’s what the guards are investigating.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “But Nathan, they’re interested in you, too. You know that, don’t you?”

  Of course. He was an utter lunatic with a faulty memory, a man who couldn’t go a day without losing time or going mental or stumbling to his knees under the weight of his exhaustion.