The Sacrifice

by Donna Collins

  The ache in his groin intensified his need for the toilet, so he gently removed his overnight guest’s arm and whipped his legs out of bed. His left foot landed on the threadbare carpet, his right on a carton of leftover chicken chow mein. The foil container crumpled beneath his weight, and oyster sauce shot between his toes. Glazed carrots and strands of noodles clung to the bottom of his foot, and when he shook it, shards of Chinese food spiralled in all directions, hitting everything in sight, including his crumpled navy linen suit.

  When the hell did I buy Chinese? He gazed up at the water-stained ceiling for help. He bloody hated Thursdays.

  Ten minutes later, and without time to shave, Roman was ready to be anywhere but here. With a chocolate digestive gripped between his lips, he tucked the crumpled shirt he’d found at the bottom of his wash basket into his jeans and headed to the kitchen, fastening tight his belt buckle as he went. He filled a glass with tap water, waited for the bubbles to clear, and then gulped it down, hoping to wash away the filthy taste at the back of his throat. It didn’t. He needed something stronger.

  A box of cigarettes lay beside the briefcase on the work surface, and Roman pulled one out. The young girl from his bed appeared in the doorway, wrapped only in the bed sheet, hair on end, mascara smeared halfway down her face. She smiled, and scratched beneath her left breast.

  Classy.

  The girl yawned and stretched, letting the sheet fall to the floor, revealing she wore no clothes whatsoever. “What’s for breakfast?”

  And there it is. Roman casually slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans, finding an old tissue and the Zippo lighter he’d misplaced the month before. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, holding the smoke at the back of his throat until it burned, and then exhaled. Grey-blue smog polluted the air, forming the perfect line, but it still wasn’t enough to kill the bad taste in his mouth. He dunked the cigarette out in his glass of water, took a beer from the fridge, and headed to the front door. Remembered the briefcase of money on the table, and grabbed Eliza’s bag and the cigarette box along with it. “I want you gone by the time I get back.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sunshine blazed through the hospital window, its rays warming the right side of Eliza’s face.

  She shielded her eyes and turned away. Her perspective on the room, which was identical to every other room she frequented when on her rounds, seemed different now she was the patient.

  Her brother, Billy, turned from the window. Usually dapper, he looked disorganised and sloppy this morning. “Hey, you’re awake.” He came to her and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’d wish you happy birthday, but under the circumstances...”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “A couple of hours.” His police hat lay on the side table, his car keys nestled inside. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “When can I leave?”

  “Not yet.” He settled beside her. Tiny red veins coloured the whites of his eyes, and Eliza guessed her first diagnosis had been right: Billy couldn’t have had any shuteye at all in the last twenty-four hours. “The doctor wants to keep you in, make sure you’re okay.”

  “But I feel fine.”

  “Three stitches say otherwise.” Billy squeezed her hand and gave a reassuring, if not condescending, smile.

  Eliza slipped her hand free. “It’s too bright in here.”

  Billy’s eyes narrowed, but he got up and lowered the blinds, dimming the morning sun. “Is that better?” he said. His posh boarding school accent sounded misplaced while he was dressed as a police officer.

  Eliza nodded, and prayed he’d stay where he was. Her head ached, sickness churned in the pit of her stomach, and the last thing she wanted was to deal with her brother and his quest to find out what had happened to her.

  He must have sensed her feelings, because he remained by the window. He pulled the clip-on tie from his collar and struggled to unbutton the top of his shirt. “Uniform has way too much starch in it. I don’t have to hang it up when I take if off at night, it just stands in the wardrobe like a mannequin dummy.”

  A slight smile creased the corners of Eliza’s mouth. Billy, the Eton boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth who only seemed happy when he had something to moan about.

  “So, how are you?”

  “My head hurts.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know. But I’m not discussing Dad with you, Billy.” Eliza sat up and felt her head, the ache intensifying even under her light touch. Billy was right: there was a huge lump there.

  “You know, you scared the bejesus out of me last night,” he said. “What on earth were you doing at the train station so late?”

  Eliza thought back to the night before, trying to make sense of the muddled mess inside her head. She recalled Bob in the supply cupboard, which seemed more than ironic because that whole episode was the one thing she desperately wanted to forget. “I was waiting for a train. I left work and missed the bus.”

  “You should have called me.”

  “You are not my taxi service.”

  “I am if the alternative is you walking the streets late at night.”

  “You’re treating me like a child.”

  “I’m treating you like a sister.”

  Sister? It seemed an age since they’d shared the sibling thing. It felt nice hearing him say it. “Always looking out for me, eh?”

  Billy smiled. “Maybe just making up for lost time.”

  “You didn’t choose to go to boarding school.”

  “Don’t go there, Eliza.”

  She couldn’t help herself. “But it’s time you call a truce with Dad.”

  “Please. Don’t start that up again.”

  “Start what? Every time I look at Dad I see you and remember.”

  “Remember what? How he sent me there because…” Billy paused. He stared at her and it was a moment before the fire in his eyes died. “Would you like me to say I made a mistake?”

  “If you meant it?”

  Billy sighed.

  “Why can’t you let it go? Mum died.”

  Billy huffed. “Mum was murdered.”

  “Seriously, Billy. It’s been years. You need to let it go. It’s destroying you.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Look at you! Your clothes, your hair. You’re falling apart.”

  “Hey, I look like this because, thanks to you, I’ve had no sleep.”

  Eliza relaxed back against the pillow. They were going around in circles, just like always. “It’s not healthy.”

  “I knew the truth. So did dad. That’s why I was sent away.”

  “How many times do I have to say it? Dad did not kill our mother.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Eliza shook her head. “You were just a boy.”

  Billy turned back to the window. “I’m going to prove it.”

  Eliza watched him. His shoulders rose with every heavy breath he inhaled. She loved her brother to death. Would do anything for him. But, their mother’s death was slowing destroying him and there was nothing she could do about it. “I can’t take any more of this.”

  “Any more of what? Our relationship is fine. The only time we argue is when you mention Dad.”

  “Because you’re stopping us from being a real family.”

  “He stopped us, the moment he killed our mother and sent me away.”

  For a second, Billy’s shoulders slumped and his eyes glazed. He looked ready to say something else, seemed to think better of it, and swiped his notebook from the table with little enthusiasm. “Tell me what happened last night.”

  Eliza paused. She wanted to console Billy. She wanted to be close again like they had been when they were kids.

  “Well?”

  “Billy, don’t be like this.”

  “Be like what? We believe different things.”

  “We don
’t.”

  “Oh, so you no longer think the sun shines out of Dad’s backside?”

  Eliza turned away. She wasn’t going to get anywhere with Billy now he was in this mood. She repositioned herself against the pillow. Nothing about last night made sense, and if she struggled to believe it herself, how would Billy react? “I slipped and hit my head on the tracks.”

  “Your injuries are from more than just a fall. You kept mumbling about a man in the shadows.”

  Eliza nodded. She flexed a cramp from her fingers. “He helped me.”

  “Off the lines? Why didn’t he stick around? Why didn’t he call for help?”

  Eliza didn’t know why. She wasn’t even sure whether this man existed or was a figment of her imagination. She shrugged and reached for the water jug beside her, but Billy intervened. He filled a plastic cup and handed it to her.

  “What did he look like, this man? Do you know him?”

  Eliza sipped the water, which even at room temperature still managed to refresh her mouth. “Timberlands. Rust-coloured I think. And a hat, a baseball cap that hid his face.”

  “Have you seen him before?”

  “No.”

  “And this wasn’t the man who mugged you?”

  “Mugged me?” Eliza handed back the cup. “Stop it. I fell. That’s all, and now I just want to go home.”

  Billy’s eye twitched. He was nervous about something. He caught her staring and closed his notebook. “Dad’s on his way.”

  “What? You called him?”

  “No. George did.”

  Eliza slumped back against the cushion.

  “Hey, I don’t like it either, but George is my sergeant and he pulled rank.”

  The room whirled before her and she closed her eyes, allowing the darkness to clear her mind. Images flickered across her memory like a flipbook. She remembered seeing the lamppost and hearing the sound of the bulb exploding; the feeling that she’d somehow done it even though she couldn’t possibly have.

  Billy felt her forehead. “Are you okay? Do you need me to get a doctor?”

  “I’m fine. Just tired.” Her father was the last person she wanted to see – especially while Billy was there. “You’d better go if he’s on his way.”

  “Screw him. You’re my little sister. How about I go fetch us a coffee?”

  Eliza shook her head. Having Billy nearby gave her the confidence to deal with her father, but the awkwardness between them was just too much to handle.

  The hospital door swung open. Her father, a handsome man by any standard, sauntered into the room. Hitting fifty, not one lock of his dark-brown hair had turned grey, and he looked as young as any forty-year-old she knew. Only a hint of crow’s feet betrayed he may be older than one first assumed.

  He ignored Billy completely, and went straight to his daughter’s bedside. “So it is true.”

  Eliza tried to interject, but her father was having none of it. Once he started on one of his lectures, there was no stopping him.

  “You have a car for a reason, Eliza.”

  “I thought you were in Geneva?”

  “Landed an hour ago.” He looked her over. “I was informed you were mugged.”

  Billy cleared his throat and stepped forward. “She slipped and banged her head. Has a couple of stitches and a concussion, nothing more. She’ll be fine.”

  James glared at him. “When you have a medical degree, son, then I’ll listen to your prognosis. Until then, I suggest you get on with what the good people of Looe pay you for: directing traffic and visiting primary schools.”

  “Well, Dad. I still have an hour before my shift starts.”

  “Then I suggest you use it to have a shower and smarten yourself up. Or is this the level of professionalism our police force aspires to these days?”

  Billy stepped forward. “Hey—”

  “Billy, it’s alright,” Eliza intervened.

  Billy took a deep breath, and it was several seconds before the annoyance in his eyes died. His rigid lips hardly moved when he next addressed Eliza. “I’ll phone you later. Maybe do Curry Thursday here tonight?” He grabbed his hat off the side table and opened the door.

  “I’m sorry,” he mouthed before closing it behind him.

  “There was no need for that.” Eliza glared at her father. “Billy found me last night. He’s here as my brother.”

  “Trust me. He is only here to cause more trouble.” Her father turned to her, clearly irate. He tugged at the sleeves of his casual yet no doubt expensive sweater, and folded his arms. “You’ve had a traumatic night, and I have to be outside in ten minutes to open the new wing. The amount of money I’ve thrown at this hospital, it’s about time it increased in size and joined the twenty-first century. Now, the car’s outside the main entrance—”

  “Doctors want to keep me in overnight.”

  “What do they know? I’ll talk to them. Arrange for you to be taken to the car. As soon as I’ve finished, we’ll get you home.”

  “My home?”

  A trying sigh escaped her father’s lips. His jaw tightened, and impatience hardened his eyes. His whole face seemed to take on a new dimension. Then it simmered, and he was once again in control.

  “Dad, we’ve had this conversation a thousand times. I have my own place now. You even agreed.”

  “That was before your safety was put at risk.” He lowered his head and clasped the bridge of his nose. Deep furrows creased his brow, and Eliza wasn’t sure if he was in pain or if she’d really tested his patience this time. He walked around the bed and stood by the window with his back towards her.

  “You okay?”

  He took a pillbox from his pocket and swallowed two tablets. “Your shenanigans cause me nothing but bloody headaches.” He crossed his arms. It was nothing more than an elaborate display to show his disappointment in her – something she’d seen him do a hundred times before to staff and colleagues.

  After a moment’s silence, his stance softened and he let out another long sigh, although this one seemed more from relief.

  “I don’t wish to cause you pain, but I am old enough to make my own decisions now, Dad.”

  The stiffness returned to his shoulders. He glanced towards her, his cheeks burning red like they did every time her strive for independence aggravated him. The veins in his neck swelled, and Eliza prepared herself for his retaliation. She bit her lip, suddenly worried she wouldn’t be strong enough to stand her ground.

  “I will not argue over this, Eliza. You’re hurt and need care, so like it or not, you are coming home with me. You can have your independence back when the doctor says you’re fit enough.”

  Eliza wanted to argue, but she honestly didn’t know what else to add. That today she’d turned thirty – something her father had obviously forgotten? Or that she was way too old to be controlled by him any longer? The weight of his glare bore down upon her. She wanted to reach for her necklace, but then he’d know she was nervous and take it as a sign of her weakness and his victory.

  He paused, then forced an unconvincing, “You know I love you?”

  Eliza’s hands trembled. She clasped the bed sheet, scrunching it between her fingers.

  Her father clapped his hands together, and rubbed them like he was trying to start a fire. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

  There was a gentle tap at the door and her father’s male assistant popped his head in. He was a very good-looking guy, but so far up her father’s arse that at times Eliza was surprised he didn’t vanish up there altogether. “They’re ready for you, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “Ah, just the person.” Her father pulled on the cuffs of his shirt, his silver cufflinks emerging from beneath his jumper sleeve. “My daughter will be accompanying me home. Arrange for her to be taken out to my car.”

  The assistant straightened and nodded, and for a moment Eliza wondered if he was about to salute. “Right away, sir.” He backed out, bowing as he went.<
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  Eliza relaxed against the pillow, defeated. Her head hurt, and she no longer had the energy to argue.

  Her father watched, as if to bask in his triumph and remind her who was boss. “We’ll have an hour together at home, then I am off to Switzerland. I’ll be back tomorrow evening.” Then he also left the room.

  Wow, she got to have a whole hour with her father. He must be worried about her health. When she realised she’d started to stroke her hand she gazed towards the window and thought back to the previous night. Had the lamppost’s bulb broken because she’d wanted it to? Or had she imagined it all in the blur of the attack? She looked at the vase of flowers beside her bed. “Move,” she muttered. The flowers stayed where they were, and she was glad she was alone and nobody had seen her.

  The wheelchair squeaked like a supermarket shopping trolley, attracting the unwanted attention of both staff and passing visitors.

  Several openly gawked, one even smirked, and just when Eliza didn’t think things could get any worse, she saw Doctor Dick. He leaned over the reception desk and reached for a pen, using the opportunity to cop an eyeful down the young receptionist’s blouse. He stood back, a satisfied twinkle in his eyes, and waved the pen (his ogle alibi), before scribbling on his clipboard. When he looked up, he saw Eliza. She wasn’t certain, but for a brief moment she thought she saw him lick his lips.

  “Crap.” Eliza gripped the wheels of the chair and tried to stop it continuing forward.

  “Hey, hey, hey. What’re ya doing?” the orderly said, his Jamaican accent thick and heavy.

  “It’s okay, I can walk from here.”

  “No can do. ‘Ospital policy states I ‘ave to wheel de patient in da chair.” He forced the wheelchair forward.

  The rubber chafed Eliza’s palms, and she let go. Bob sauntered towards her, the top button of his shirt undone. He winked and overextended his grin. Did he mistake her agitation at having to speak to him after last night’s fiasco for that of excitement? Crap, I think he does. Eliza pressed harder on the wheels, but the orderly ignored her protest and continued to push her closer to the randy doctor.