‘No, they’re completely different crimes. I reckon Mr Parker walked in on a drugs deal. The dealer attacked him to get away.’
‘Still,’ the policeman insisted. ‘It might be worth some surveillance.’
‘He’d be stupid to come back,’ the detective said. ‘If he’s got any sense, he’ll know we’ve found the knife. We’ve got other places that need surveillance more.’
Their voices died away as they moved up the stairs. Relief whooshed through me. Murderers were part of their everyday life – they knew more about them than me. If they said he wouldn’t come back, then he probably wouldn’t. Even though we’d lost this chance to catch him, I didn’t care. If I was really being optimistic, maybe we’d even scared him enough to stop his brutal spree. I didn’t even care if not catching him meant I couldn’t pass across, as long as I never had to stare into those soulless eyes again. I didn’t even mind spending eternity in a toilet, as long as I still had Ryan. It might not be Buckingham Palace, but at least now it felt safer.
Chapter 22
No one likes getting it wrong. I’m no different from anyone when it comes to the sinking realisation that something isn’t how you thought it was. But it wasn’t often I got things as badly wrong as I did after Jeremy’s stabbing.
It was six o’clock on Sunday, a little over a week since the attack, and the police tape and serious crime signs were long gone. I’d managed to convince Ryan that it was fine for him to leave me and head over to the Dearly D. So when I heard the heavy tread of footsteps on the stairs and the tattooed man came into view, I was as alone as I had ever been. Somehow, seeing him in the daytime was even creepier. I shivered with shock and futile anger. I didn’t know what he intended to do, but there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop him.
I watched through narrowed eyes as he warily checked over his shoulder. Why had he come back? Surely he must have known that the police had found the knife. Then he closed his eyes and his mouth curved into a tender smile. With a burst of sick understanding, I realised what he was doing. By coming back to the toilets, he was reliving his hideous crimes.
‘The blood was so beautiful,’ he crooned, his voice so low I struggled to catch the words. ‘Like glorious, scarlet roses blooming against the snow.’ His eyes snapped open and his face hardened with sadistic pleasure.
A burst of bitter venom rose inside me. He made murder sound so trivial, something pretty to satisfy his savage urges, and I knew he intended to kill again. Something twisted in my heart, fed by hate. This man had stolen my future and broken the hearts of my family. When I thought about how many other lives he’d casually torn apart for his own twisted desires, my hatred burned more strongly. It had to end. No one else could die by his hand.
I knew exactly what to do. With ice-cold deliberation, I went to the first sink and pushed the tap down hard. Water gushed into the sink. The man froze. Slowly, he raised his head to stare at the sink. My steel gaze never leaving him, I moved on to the next tap and repeated the action. The second sink began to fill with water. By the time all six taps were flowing, he was standing still, a wary expression on his unshaven face.
‘Have I got your attention yet?’ I moved to stand in front of him. With intense concentration, I tapped the brim of his baseball cap, sending it somersaulting upwards. ‘Believe me, it’s going to get worse. I’m just getting warmed up.’
He gasped and scrambled backwards to snatch the hat from the floor. ‘Who’s there?’ he stammered.
Eyes darting left and right, he turned to leave. I was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. I should have known he was a coward. Apart from Jeremy, his victims had been young and trusting. He hadn’t taken the chance that they would be able to fight back.
‘You’re nothing,’ I snarled as another burst of cold fury shot through me and my palms smacked hard into his chest. Hep had been right when she said anger helped. I was about to make this man wish he’d never been born.
Whimpering, he picked himself up off the tiles and tried the stairs again. I lashed out a solid foot and he tripped, crunching painfully on to the first step. Rage gave me superstrength. With a furious howl, I seized his outstretched trainer and heaved backwards. He flew across the room, crumpling against the urinal on the far side.
‘Help! Somebody, help me!’ he screamed, his voice thick.
‘No one’s coming to help you,’ I thundered, pushing my face close to where he lay in a stunned heap. ‘It’s my turn now!’
I whirled around and slammed my fist into each of the cubicle doors. They crashed against their frames, echoing in the emptiness. Utterly enraged, I ripped the toilet-roll holders from the walls and sent tissue cascading across the ceiling. In the last cubicle I hauled the final metal toilet-roll holder from the wall and hurled it at the man’s head with a shriek. It connected with a sickening thud.
Babbling in dazed incoherence, the man shook his head and fixed his eyes on the stairs. Fuelled by fear, he leapt to his feet and made a dash for the exit.
He reached the top of the stairs ahead of me and started off down the street. I paused, mind racing. Could I outrun him? Probably not, even in his injured state: he had terror to drive him. But if I didn’t do something fast he’d get away, and this time, I knew he wouldn’t be back. I spun in a wild circle, searching for any source of help. My eyes stopped in the doorway of a shop. Gonzo was there, staring after the man. Ripper was snarling, straining at the rope. In a flash, I knew what to do.
Dashing over to Gonzo, I concentrated once more and snatched the rope from his fingers.
‘Go, Ripper! Get him!’
The greyhound didn’t need to be told twice. Intent on his prey, he sped along the street. Gonzo let out a shout and raced after the dog. For the second time that week, I found myself running faster than I’d ever done before. Ripper was way ahead of us. He lunged forwards, teeth gnashing. Man and dog tumbled together. My killer lashed out with his foot, catching Ripper on the side of his head. The dog whimpered and let go.
‘Oi!’ Gonzo bellowed as he reached them. ‘No one kicks my dog!’
He dived forwards, fists raining down on the man. Passers-by were stopping. I saw one punching numbers into a mobile phone. Please be calling the police, I prayed.
Obviously realising he was about to be caught, the man started desperately pummelling back and Gonzo was coming off worst. With so many witnesses there was no way I could do anything to help. Then I saw Celestine pushing her way to the front of the crowd. Sagging with relief, I caught her eye.
‘It’s him!’ I bellowed. ‘That’s the man who attacked Jeremy!’
She understood. ‘Someone call the police! That man tried to kill my boyfriend.’
Several people pulled out their phones and a few of the men dived forwards. They pulled Gonzo and my killer apart, gripping both of them tightly as they struggled.
‘Not that one,’ Celestine gestured at Gonzo. ‘He’s done nothing wrong.’
A loud wail split the air as a police van screeched to a halt. Officers piled out and rushed towards us. Some took hold of my murderer, others began asking what had happened.
Celestine stepped forward. ‘My boyfriend was stabbed in those toilets seven nights ago. I saw that man running away.’
‘Are you sure, miss?’
Celestine glanced at me. I nodded.
‘Yes, it was definitely him. I’d know those tattoos anywhere.’ She lowered her voice, her eyes fixed on mine and filled with sadness. ‘And that’s not all. A young woman was stabbed to death in the same place last New Year’s Eve. Unless I’m very much mistaken, this man was responsible. You’re looking at the man who killed Lucy Shaw.’
Chapter 23
‘How did you know?’
Even as I asked the question, I knew what Celestine’s answer would be. Jeremy had told her. That was why she was on Carnaby Street. He’d sent her to make sure I was all right.
Celestine shifted on the edge of Jeremy’s bed and gave a sad smile. ‘I’m sure y
ou don’t need to ask. I wanted to know what was going on the night Jeremy got hurt. He explained, and in doing so, told me your story.’
‘I’m glad you turned up when you did,’ Ryan said, leaning back against the window. ‘Lucy’s killer might be walking around still if you hadn’t.’
Jeremy looked thoughtful. ‘We should tell Sarah her attacker has been caught. It’ll do her good to know he’s behind bars, and she might be able to identify him.’
I was feeling strangely empty. The see-saw emotions of the last few days were catching up with me. It wouldn’t have taken much to burst my fragile self-control and set my tears free. Once I started, I wasn’t sure I could stop.
‘How are you feeling, Lucy?’ Celestine turned concerned eyes on me. I didn’t care what she said about her mind-reading skills, she guessed far too many of my thoughts for my liking.
I tried to summon a convincing smile. ‘I’m OK.’
‘Good.’ Jeremy winced as he sat up. ‘I’d hate to think I went through this for nothing.’
My sight shimmered with tears. ‘You didn’t.’
Ryan came over and put a protective arm around my shoulder. ‘Hey, what’s with the sadness? Everything worked out fine.’
I couldn’t hold it back any longer. A heartfelt sob escaped me. ‘I know and I’m ha-happy, really I am. It’s a bit m-much to take in, that’s all.’
They fussed around, trying to soothe me. I let them. It was either that or explain the real reason for my tears: I might have been relieved it was all over, but I was also petrified about what came next. We’d caught my killer, and although that brought me some peace, it also reminded me that Ryan was still tied to this world. If catching my killer meant leaving Ryan, then a tiny selfish part of me couldn’t help wishing he’d got away.
Ryan glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s visiting time.’
A spark of understanding passed between us. ‘Do you want to go and see her?’ I asked Ryan.
Jeremy looked confused. ‘What? See who?’
‘Ryan’s mum,’ I supplied. ‘She never misses an opportunity to visit his dad.’
Sympathy etched itself on Celestine’s face. ‘Off you go then. We’ll be here when you get back.’
The room was dimly lit when we entered. A woman I guessed to be Ryan’s mum was sitting beside the bed, reading from a sheet of paper.
‘The lads at work said hi,’ she said, her voice determinedly cheerful. ‘Big Pete still says no one makes a cuppa quite like yours.’
I risked a glance at Ryan. His eyes were fixed on his mother. I could almost feel his pain. ‘Have you tried talking to her?’
He sighed. ‘She can’t hear me. Neither of them can.’
I reached for his hand. ‘At least you’ve tried.’
We listened in silence as Ryan’s mother spilled out the details of her day. I knew she wasn’t that old, but her greying hair and lined face made her look it. I supposed that was what the death of a loved one did – drained the life from the family they left behind – and already I knew what it did to the dead. Ryan’s anguish was unbearable. I had to try and help.
‘Sing to him.’
He stared at me. ‘What?’
I gripped his fingers. ‘Sing him a song. I read somewhere music reaches coma victims more than talking.’
Unconvinced, he shook his head. ‘I don’t have a guitar.’
‘You don’t need one. What was his favourite song?’
His gaze straying back to his father’s face, Ryan thought about it. ‘Something by The Beatles, I guess. “Yesterday”, maybe?’
‘Try it,’ I commanded, my voice soft. ‘He taught you how to play so it must have mattered to him. What have you got to lose?’
After a few minutes, Ryan’s mother seemed to run out of things to say.
‘Here’s your chance,’ I whispered.
He hesitated. ‘I don’t know if I can.’
Pouring all the encouragement I could into my voice, I said, ‘You can. He’s waiting for you.’
The room was still for a moment longer. Then Ryan cleared his throat. Uncertainly, he began to sing.
He grew more confident as the verse went on, colouring each line with his pent-up sorrow and longing. By the time he reached the chorus, tears were running down my face and the strain of holding it together for so long, and for so many people, was showing in Ryan’s glistening eyes. I gazed at the still figure on the bed, praying for a miracle. Please hear him, I begged silently, willing the unmoving eyelids to open. Please come back.
Listening to Ryan reach out to his dad was one of the most haunting and beautiful things I’d ever witnessed. He opened himself up more with every word and I knew he was holding nothing back, even though the strength of his emotions hurt. I had no idea if I was the only one who could hear the song or whether the music was working its magic. I hoped with all my heart it was.
As Ryan reached the end of the song. I scarcely dared to breathe. Ryan’s head drooped exhausted on to his chest but his eyes were fixed on his father. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Ryan’s mother let out a gasp. ‘John?’
Her chair flew backwards and she stumbled to the doorway. ‘Sister Margaret, come quickly! He squeezed my hand! I felt it!’
Ryan stepped forward, his expression intent. ‘Dad?’
As we watched, one eyelid fluttered. Nurses crowded into the room. A second later, the other eye opened.
One of the nurses looked at Ryan’s mum. ‘It’s a start. Why don’t you say hello to your husband?’
She burst into tears. ‘Oh, John.’
Whooping with delight, I threw my arms around Ryan. ‘You did it!’
He tore his gaze away from his dad and smiled back. ‘No, we did it. I’d never have thought of that on my own.’
‘But it was you he came back to.’
Ryan glanced over at the crowded bed. ‘Yeah. Maybe now they can put their lives back together.’
Thinking fleetingly of my own parents, I rested my head on his shoulder. ‘I hope so.’
He took a final agonised look at his parents and swallowed. ‘I think it’s time we let them get started.’
* * *
Jeremy and Celestine were full of compassion.
‘That was a lovely thing you did, Ryan,’ Celestine said. ‘And I’d be happy to speak to them someday, if you think it might help?’
‘I’d like that, thank you.’
Jeremy looked at me, his pale face puzzled. ‘I don’t understand why you haven’t passed over. We caught your killer.’
I didn’t know what he expected me to say. It wasn’t like I was working from a manual. Miserably, I stared at the floor.
‘I had a thought about that. Do you believe in fate, Lucy?’ Celestine was gazing at me, her blue eyes soft and warm.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
‘Me too.’ She smiled and cast a veiled glance at Jeremy. ‘I think you were here for a very specific reason, and it might not be just the one we all thought.’
Jeremy turned to meet her gaze and something extraordinary happened. I swear I saw a spark pass between them as a connection was made. Sharply, I looked from one to the other and understanding dawned. If Celestine was right, my real task hadn’t been to stop a murderer. It had been to lead Jeremy to his soulmate.
‘Did you see that?’ I demanded of Ryan.
‘Like magic, isn’t it?’ Head tilted to one side, he was watching me closely. ‘Are you ready?’
He didn’t need to explain what he meant.
‘No,’ I whispered, as the fear of losing him tightened its stranglehold. ‘I don’t want to go.’
‘Don’t fight it,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time.’
Even though I knew he was right, my sorrow caused a lump to grow in my throat. I swallowed hard and nodded.
‘You worried me, you know,’ I told Jeremy. ‘You’re a total nightmare. How could I expect you to cope on your own?’
His gaze was suspiciously damp
as he looked back at me. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going to be fine.’ He reached out a hand to grasp Celestine’s. ‘We’re both going to be just fine.’
‘You have to promise to name your first child Lucy,’ I said, tears streaming down my cheeks. ‘Even if it’s a boy.’
Celestine was crying too. ‘We promise.’
I caught sight of my hands. They sparkled with a thousand twinkling lights. ‘It’s happening,’ I sobbed. Blindly, I turned to Ryan. ‘I can’t leave you.’
He stood up and walked towards me. ‘You don’t have to,’ he said, smiling softly. ‘Look.’
I stared at his outstretched fingers and let out a ragged gasp. They were filled with the same glow as mine. ‘You mean —?’
He grinned. ‘Yep. There’s no getting rid of me. Wherever we’re heading, we’re going there together.’
My sadness vanished in a searing burst of happiness. I turned my face upwards. ‘You know,’ I said in a low voice only he could hear, ‘I’ve always wondered what it would be like to snog in another dimension.’
Ryan smiled down at me. ‘That’s quite a coincidence, actually. So have I.’
His lips lowered until they gently brushed against mine. A blaze of golden light blossomed all around us, and the final truth crystallised. It didn’t matter where we were going next. I had Ryan, and in that one perfect moment, he was everything I needed.
Acknowledgements
In order to acknowledge everyone who had some input into this book, I’d have to thank pretty much everyone I’ve ever met because they all contributed something to how I view the world. However, narrowing it down slightly, the following people deserve a mention:
A teacher called Eugene Tumelty, now the headteacher of St Bernard’s RC Secondary School, who encouraged a gawky teenager to believe that just maybe she had something special. Thanks, sir.
My dad, Phil, for setting the bar so high I needed a pogo stick to get over it and my mum, Meg, for teaching the eight-year-old me that if a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing properly.
Tamsyn Murray-Afterlife 01 My So-Called Afterlife Page 13