The Edge of Sanity

by Sheryl Browne

  Meanwhile, Charlie clicked his fingers, indicating she should serve him his coffee.

  ****

  Damn it! Right in the line of fire. DI Short cursed silently, more frustrated than he’d been in twenty odd years of being a copper. He’d only one choice after all, he realised. The parasite would stick close to his host. And if they started the engine, it would be a fait accompli anyway.

  Carefully, he shifted his position, ready to move swiftly as soon as he had to.

  Charlie whirled around.

  He narrowed his eyes and scanned the undergrowth to the side.

  A rustle in the bushes was all he’d heard—probably just a bird—but his nerves were on tenterhooks with these two going out of their way to irritate him. He’d sort them though, once and for all when he’d got the cash. Only question was, which one to shoot first. Her?

  He glanced at Jo. No, Danny Boy, he decided. And watch her suffer. Nah, whatshername. Watch them both suffer. Right now, he needed some coke. He jerked around to summon Steve and knocked into wifey.

  Jo stepped back, but not fast enough. ‘Oh, God!’ She clamped a hand to her mouth and looked down horrified as the contents of the coffee mug spewed forth.

  Charlie clutched his brand new shirt from his chest, blinking stupefied at the white stripes turning coffee-coloured brown.

  An agonising second slipped by while he studied it, and another before he lashed out, sending Jo sprawling, and bringing Daniel swiftly from nine down to one, nothing in between.

  ‘Clumsy cow.’ Charlie seethed, dabbing at his sodden shirt, his attention diverted from Daniel, whose eyes were fixed firmly on Charlie.

  Daniel stood shakily.

  It was right inside his head this time, the lightening turning the room blue-white.

  The thunder clapping as an old man hit the last stair.

  Metal concertinaing against metal.

  The front of the car crushed by a truck.

  Over and over, twisted metal unfurling, so loud in his head, he couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to hear Jo sobbing. See the tiny white coffin, so small he …

  Should have carried Emma home in his arms.

  Daniel shook his head, tried hard to stop the slide show in his mind.

  Jo sobbing? That filthy psycho standing over her …

  ‘Shut your fucking noise up,’ Charlie snarled at Jo. ‘Or I’ll—’

  Charlie stopped as Daniel’s arm snaked silently around his neck.

  ‘What will you do, Charlie boy?’ Daniel yanked him backward, jerking his arm upwards, savouring with sweet satisfaction at the sound of teeth hitting teeth, of sinew stretching. ‘You’re not answering me, you snivelling little shit.’ Daniel grated, locking his arm tight.

  Charlie gagged, flailing about with his free hand, finding Daniel’s forearm and desperately trying to prise it from his windpipe.

  ‘Didn’t quite catch that, Charlie.’ Daniel squeezed tighter.

  ****

  Charlie struggled, determined not to free his other hand and let go of … the gun! A spark of hope surfaced above his desperation. He brought his gun hand up, and back, and home, sharp, into Daniel’s side.

  Heard ribs cracking.

  A low moan close to his ear.

  Daniel’s breath cut short—and then his grip faltered and loosened.

  ‘Thank you, Lord,’ Charlie muttered as he spun around to see Daniel keel forwards, clutching his chest.

  ‘Bastard,’ Charlie rasped, kicking out, forcing Daniel onto his back. Face twisted, he advanced, gun pointed, intent on his aim. His heart thudded, his finger itched. Kill him, a little voice said. But he’s the golden goose, another argued.

  ‘Bastard! You are dead meat!’ Charlie shouted, turning the gun around, holding it high.

  ‘Choose a spot, Danny Boy.’ Charlie smirked as Daniel writhed, but the smirk slid fast from his face as the gun tensed above him.

  ‘No need,’ Steve said. ‘No need for any of it.’ He clamped his other hand around the gun.

  ‘What the—?’ Charlie turned awkwardly, still hanging onto it. ‘What the hell are you doin’!?’

  ‘Relieving you of this,’ Steve informed him calmly, and wrenched the gun out of Charlie’s grasp.

  Charlie faced Steve full on. ‘Have you gone mental, or what?!’ he gasped incredulously. ‘Did you see what he did?’

  ‘Yep.’ Steve skirted around him and then, holding the gun with one hand, he eased his other under Daniel’s arm to help him into a sitting position.

  Daniel’s breathing came short and sharp. He wiped his hand across his mouth and looked from the gun to Steve’s face. ‘You’re going to have to use it,’ he warned him, struggling to swallow a cough. ‘Because there’s no way that bastard goes near my wife.’

  ‘Shoot him in the arm,’ Charlie muttered. ‘That should stop his bravado.’

  Steve locked eyes with Daniel. ‘For what it’s worth,’ he said, ‘I’ve seen how much you care for your family. Charlie’s got it coming.’

  Steve nodded at Daniel, then handed him the gun. ‘I’m out of here,’ he said, standing up to help Jo, who was crouched in the corner, to her feet. ‘Course, you could stop me.’ He glanced at the gun, then back to Daniel. Waited, seemed to debate, and then turned to step off the boat—and straight into DI Short.

  ‘Crap!’ Charlie panicked. How did he get …?

  Shit! He looked frantically for an escape—only to find a swarm of uniforms advancing towards him. Oh, man …

  Charlie backed off, intending to go inside and grab whatsername, forgetting the crucial component required to carry out that course of action.

  ‘Stay,’ Daniel instructed.

  Charlie snapped his attention back to Daniel, and found himself looking down the barrel of his own shotgun.

  DI Short herded Steve Simmons towards the officers behind him, and turned his attention back to Daniel Conner, who was in possession of the firearm, which was aimed squarely at Charlie Roberts.

  ‘Dammit. Don’t shoot!’ he instructed, as armed officers closed in from all quarters.

  Charlie eyed Daniel steadily. Shocked at first, he had to admit, and nervous, until he noticed the tremor to Daniel’s hand.

  He wasn’t going to pull the trigger. Needed killer instinct that did, he reassured himself. Danny Boy hadn’t got the bottle. Shaking in his boots he was. ‘What you gonna do then, Danny Boy? Gonna shoot me, are you?’

  Charlie smirked and looked towards to the safety of DI Short and his minions.

  ‘Yes,’ Daniel said simply.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Charlie laughed. ‘Move over, Bruce Willis.’ Got his own police protection, hadn’t he? No way was Danny going to use that gun, especially not in front of wifey, who was still snivelling behind him.

  He smiled leisurely as Daniel stepped back to assist Jo.

  Nah, Charlie decided, as Daniel urged his wife gently into a waiting officer’s arms, his non-nondescript eyes locked on his as he did so, annoying sod. He wouldn’t do anything in full view of her, and certainly not in front of whatsername.

  Daniel’s eyes flickered away from Charlie for a second. ‘Come on, baby, come out,’ he said to the daughter, who was standing hesitantly on the top step. ‘It’s safe now.’

  ‘Yeah, come on, baby,’ Charlie mimicked. ‘Come and join the party.’

  Charlie stepped sideways, allowing the girl to exit, her eyes like a terrified Bambi’s and shaking as much as Danny Boy, poor cow. Must be hereditary.

  ‘Give me a shout if you fancy another quick shag, sweetheart,’ Charlie called as she stepped onto the towpath.

  A tic went at the side of Daniel’s mouth. He walked calmly over to Charlie and smiled, which had Charlie momentarily flummoxed, then pulled back the gun and rammed it hard into his stomach.

  DI Short flinched as Charlie doubled up. ‘Ouch,’ he said under his breath. ‘Okay, Daniel,’ he called. ‘I know how you feel but let him go now. He’ll get what’s—’

  ‘You have no f
ucking idea how I feel,’ Daniel shouted, glancing quickly at Jo. ‘The only way that bastard goes anywhere is feet first.’ He raked a hand angrily though his hair. ‘Got that, Charlie? Now, get down on your knees.’

  Charlie looked up, astonished. ‘You must be joking. I ain’t—’

  ‘Do I look as if I’m joking?’ Daniel asked, his eyes burning with hatred.

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Charlie uttered, turning to DI Short, his hands nursing his stomach.

  ‘On your knees, Charlie,’ Daniel repeated. ‘Now!’

  DI Short’s inclination was to turn a blind eye as Charlie blinked at him, beseeching and scared witless, he noticed with huge satisfaction. But his position wouldn’t allow him to stand by and watch Charlie Roberts get a taste of his own, unfortunately.

  ‘Drop the gun, Daniel,’ he said, moving towards the boat. ‘Leave him to me and get your wife and child—’

  ‘Don’t,’ Daniel warned, his eyes and the gun still fixed on Charlie. ‘Back off.’

  DI Short hesitated, uncertain. He had every reason to … But was Conner actually going to shoot Roberts? DI Short hoped fervently not. ‘I can’t do that, Daniel.’ He stepped carefully onto the boat. ‘You know I can’t.’

  ‘Stay!’ Daniel shouted, swinging the gun around, then fast back to Charlie. ‘And you,’ he grated, ‘down on your knees, while you still can.’ He aimed the gun lower, which had Charlie dropping to his knees, fast.

  ‘Get them out of here.’ DI Short said grimly, indicating Jo and Kayla over his shoulder. Roberts had pushed Conner right over the edge. He bloody well was going to shoot him, and sod the consequences. Good God, hadn’t this family already been through enough?

  ‘Daniel,’ DI Short proceeded cautiously, ‘you can’t take the law into your own hands.’ He stopped and waited, wondering whether Daniel, who was now swaying on his feet, could even hear him. ‘You have to do this the legal way. Give me the gun, Daniel.’

  ‘Can’t.’ Daniel closed one eye.

  DI Short took a tentative step closer. ‘Why’s that, then?’ he asked guardedly.

  ‘Three, two, one,’ Daniel replied, nonsensically.

  ‘Right.’ DI Short nodded and knitted his brow. ‘Which means what, exactly, Daniel?’

  Daniel shrugged. ‘Bang.’ He concentrated his aim.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Charlie, turning a pale shade of white. ‘Don’t, Danny,’ he pleaded.

  Daniel cocked the gun.

  ‘Look, I didn’t touch your daughter—’

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ Daniel yelled.

  ‘I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.’ Perspiration broke out on Charlie’s forehead. ‘Danny please. I’m sorry. Okay? I –’

  ‘The name’s Daniel, not Danny. Not fucking Danny Boy. Daniel! Got it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Charlie nodded quickly, ‘Daniel. Whatever. Just put the gun down,’ he begged.

  Daniel continued to stare at him.

  ‘Shit. This is nuts.’ Charlie looked desperately to DI Short. ‘Do something!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t let them go. He won’t do anything in front of his wife and daughter.’

  Charlie Roberts, that’s probably the first, and might well be the last, time you’ve said anything sensible in your life, DI Short thought. Conner cared about his family. They’d endured too much to go through anymore. He must know it.

  DI Short took a deep breath, and then took a gamble. ‘Oh, go on then, Daniel,’ he said tetchily. ‘Show everyone what a big man you are and shoot the bugger.’

  Charlie gawked.

  DI Short turned away. ‘Go ahead. Do the world a favour.’ He shrugged. ‘Blow his brains all over the boat, Daniel.’

  He paused for an instant, and then turned back. ‘And leave your wife wondering why you did it in front of your daughter. Whether to visit you in prison, when you didn’t care enough about her, or Kayla, not to.’

  Daniel tightened his grip on the gun.

  His hands shaking, DI Short noticed. Shaking badly.

  ‘I have kids of my own, Daniel,’ he said softly, taking another careful step towards him. ‘It would destroy me if anything happened to one of them.’

  Daniel’s shoulders stiffened.

  ‘I know you lost your little girl, Daniel.’ DI Short stepped closer as Daniel reeled on his feet.

  ‘And that bastard has piled pain on top of pain, hasn’t he?’ DI Short pressed on, ‘Persecuted Kayla and Joanne? Taunted them. Touched them, Daniel?’

  Daniel’s jaw tightened.

  ‘Dared you to do anything about it, so he could revel in his pathetic power and beat you senseless, hey, Daniel? I know him,’ DI Short said forcefully. ‘He’ll get what’s coming to him. But you have to stop this. Now, Daniel. For the sake of your wife and daughter. Show them you care enough not to put them through this.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Daniel let go of one trembling hand from the gun and dragged it through his hair. ‘Of course I care,’ he raged frustrated, and obviously confused. ‘But he’ll get out, won’t he?’

  A sharp cough rattled his chest.

  ‘Jo and my kids are my life. Jo and Kayla … Were my … I …’ Daniel trailed off.

  He closed his eyes.

  And lowered the gun.

  ‘Hah.’ Charlie levered himself to his feet. ‘No bottle. Knew it. I’ll catch up with you when I’m out, Danny Boy.’ He smirked, as DI Short stepped towards him. ‘Keep that pretty wife of yours warm for me, won’t you?’

  Daniel brought the gun back up sharp. ‘Say your fucking prayers, freak,’ he hissed.

  ‘Daniel!’ DI Short stopped dead. ‘Don’t!’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Sonofabitch!’ DI Short shouted. ‘Get them out of here!’ he ordered his men, glancing over his shoulder to where Joanne and Kayla were been being ushered towards the squad cars parked on the bridge. Dammit, Conner had gone and done it now. Good and proper. DI Short cursed under his breath as he scrambled onto the back of the boat.

  ‘Oh, Daniel, Daniel …’ DI Short tore off his jacket to try and staunch the flow, and found himself praying for the first time in his life for a scumbag the likes of Charlie Roberts.

  He pressed the heels of his hand hard against the gaping wound in Charlie’s side, but the blood kept right on spurting. ‘Someone get an ambulance! And get him …’ He turned to glare at Daniel who’d fast been flanked by two officers, but his agitation faded to dismay as Daniel Conner dropped like a stone to the deck of the boat, his breathing laboured and his face the colour of death.

  ‘Get those bloody paramedics here! Now, for pity’s sake!’ DI Short pressed harder against the steady trickle of lifeblood from Charlie Roberts. ‘Live you bastard,’ he muttered. ‘Live, damn you.’

  ****

  Jo tried to shield Kayla. Gulping back her own tears, she tried desperately to hold onto her, but Kayla seemed to possess the strength of three men.

  ‘Let me go!’ she sobbed, breaking free to run back down the towpath, DI Short was close behind and, thank God, faster than she.

  ‘No, Kayla!’ He caught hold of her arm, wrapped his own free arm around her waist, and held her tight. ‘Give the paramedics space to do their job, hey?’

  ‘Let go!’ She writhed, desperately attempting to wriggle free of him.

  ‘Kayla, no!’ DI Short wrapped both arms around her, pulling her hard back into a firm bear-hug. ‘It won’t help! You need to wait in the patrol car.’

  ‘He’s dying!’ Kayla screamed. ‘I have to go to him. I have—’

  ‘Kayla, he’s not!’ DI Short insisted forcefully. ‘What you have to do is try to stay calm, for your father’s sake.’

  Ashen-faced, Jo clamped a hand to her mouth as the paramedics fought to resuscitate Daniel; to get him to take a breath of his own. Please breathe, Daniel. Please.

  He’d told her he loved her. He’d laid his soul bare. Swallowed every ounce of his pride. Been prepared to die to protect his family in what must have already felt like a tomb, and she hadn’t been able to respond, because
that disgusting … thing … had stolen the moment away.

  Stolen her husband.

  She wouldn’t let him. Wouldn’t!

  Couldn’t.

  Please God, not her man, as well as her child.

  Her own breath coming in sharp gasps, Jo watched terrified as the paramedics tore at Daniel’s shirt, searching for a spot, she could see, searching for the right spot. She saw the sharp glint of a scalpel and felt the ground sway beneath her as they found it.

  ‘Come on.’ DI Short eased Kayla around to face him, the fight draining out of her as she watched and saw what Jo saw. He looked back to Joanne, trying to reassure her. ‘It’s a standard procedure, Mrs. Conner. They’re just trying to ease the pressure from his lungs. He’ll be fine.’ He folded Kayla to him and reached out his other arm for Joanne. ‘I’ve seen it done a hundred times.’

  He was lying. Jo felt the tension in DI Short’s muscles as he pulled her towards him and knew he must be praying as hard as she was. She buried her face in his shoulder and reached a hand out to circle her daughter’s waist, to hold Kayla close and never, ever, lose sight of her again.

  ****

  He might never know was all Joanne could think, as Daniel was lost in a flurry of white coats and taken straight to the operating room. He might never know how much she had loved him. Still loved him. Would never be whole again without him.

  God, how hard would it have been to have told him before this? That though she hated what he’d become, withdrawn, emotionally inaccessible, she hadn’t hated him for Emma.

  Why hadn’t she made it clear? Because alcohol had muddied her brain.

  All she’d had to do was think, clearly. She’d known Daniel didn’t speak easily of emotional things. She could have eased the door open for him, instead of slamming it in his face, leaving him with the guilt, piling guilt on top of that guilt. Wasn’t that what insisting on going to counselling had done, in reality? Implied that guilt was what he should feel?

  What was the point in raking over old coals? What had his childhood got to do with any of this? She repeated to herself what Daniel had said at the counselling session, selfishly, Jo had thought then, before he’d stormed out, effectively shutting her out.