The Siege of Reginald Hill

by Corinna Turner

  He had a pulse. O Lord be praised, he had a pulse! He wasn’t dead.

  The blood covered his legs, mostly, though the bandages on his hands were also soaked, so I tried shaking him, very gently. “Kyle? Kyle?”

  He stirred feebly, opening pain-glazed eyes. Good grief, where was his… Yes, the morphine machine remained attached to his bed, nothing but a bloody wound visible in his wrist. How long had it been disconnected? He’d never turned if off entirely; what must he be suffering?

  “Kyle, are you alright? What happened? What did Hill do to you?”

  “M’fine…” he mumbled incoherently. “Fine, Margo. Just want to…just need to sleep. Tha’s all… Just sleep…”

  “You can’t sleep. You need a doctor!”

  The horrified guard leaned over my shoulder, reaching for the call button that lay on the ground nearby. He grabbed it and held it down, much as I had the other day.

  Soon a bevy of nurse-sisters rushed into the room, only just beating U, who followed close on their heels, dressed in a long silk dressing gown with his nonLee holster strapped on over the top.

  “Oh!” One of the sisters gasped as her eyes fell on the unexpected corpse. “Mr Hill is with God, it seems.”

  “I very much doubt that!” The words fell from my lips with unstoppable honesty.

  Kyle’s attention sharpened slightly, a joyful, though pain-addled, smile curving his lips. “Oh, but he is…he is…”

  My gaze returned to Hill. This time I noticed the empty water glass on the bed, resting near Hill’s body. “Did you…baptise him?”

  Kyle nodded, still smiling that smile: half-joy, half-grimace.

  “For pity’s sake,” I said to the nurses, “can you get him some morphine?”

  “Of course. Sister Mwassaa.” The senior nurse addressed one of her juniors as an alarmed looking Georg darted into the room. “Unfasten the machine and bring it here. We mustn’t move him until the surgeon has evaluated his knee.”

  “I’m fine…” Kyle murmured again. “Just need to sleep. Can sleep here…right here…”

  I tried to soothe him, stroking his hair, but wasn’t sure he noticed. “What did Hill do to him?” I glared at the lifeless figure in the bed, while Georg, relaxing a little, silently took up his protective stance nearby.

  U straightened from his inspection of Kyle’s empty bed and trod back over to us, avoiding the bloody trail on the floor. “Margo, I’ve no idea what role Mr Hill played in Father Kyle’s decision making, but it seems quite clear that Father Kyle did this to himself. Stubborn fool that he is.”

  Oh. I tried to look again at the scene and engage my reason. U was right. No way Reginald Hill could’ve got Kyle over here. Kyle had done it under his own steam—but at a devastatingly high cost.

  U bent to examine Hill’s bed. “O, Lord protect us,” he moaned. “Father Kyle got right up on here beside Mr Hill! Argh…” He shook his head, as though unable to decide which thought bothered him more—the idea of the physical exertion it must’ve cost Kyle or the thought that Hill, had he undergone a change of mind, could have hurt him. “Margo, I swear, your brother has the self-preservation instincts of a lemming. Why on earth did I agree to closing that blasted door?”

  “But…did you hear?” I said to U. “He baptised Hill. Hill’s in…in heaven.” It seemed too incredible to be true. Too implausible. And yet…wonderful ? Did I forgive Hill enough to believe that?

  “Aeii, what has happened?”

  Thank goodness, Doctor Fathiya and the head surgeon, whose name I kept forgetting, were now hurrying in, dressed in voluminous, all-enveloping dressing gowns and with veils askew.

  Several people started explaining what we knew or thought we knew, all at once, so I kept silent. Lord, please let Kyle be okay. Why does he have to be so insanely brave and good?

  But the surgeon knelt beside him and began to unfasten the blood-drenched brace from his knee, giving orders about anaesthesia and surgical equipment, and in a reassuringly short time Kyle had been transferred onto a trolley and wheeled off to the operating theatre to have his knee tended and his skin re-reattached.

  A couple of other sisters prayed briefly beside Hill’s body before spreading a sheet over it and wheeling it away to morgue to be cared for. Which left me and U (and on-duty-Friedrich, nominally invisible) in an empty room—into which Bane burst soon afterwards, frantic from whatever garbled rumour he’d heard.

  KYLE

  Birds were raising their voices when I woke—as usual—but more of a mid-morning demi-chorus, this time.

  A memory lingered, of horrible, horrible pain, yet I felt wonderfully pain-free. I opened my eyes, peeping at the morphine machine. Yes, right up. But I felt far too drained to reach for it immediately.

  Actually…Uncle Reginald was in heaven, wasn’t he? All was well. I could stop hurting Margo and leave the thing alone, then. Well…I eyed the raised frame that held the covers off my legs, wondering about my knee. Was all well?

  All that truly mattered was well. Uncle Reginald’s soul rested safe in God’s hands. If I walked with a stick for the rest of my life—or worse—it wasn’t really very important, in comparison.

  O Lord, I really don’t want to be walking with a stick for the rest of my life… I smothered that plaintive prayer-grumble as it tried to pop to the surface.

  “Kyle?” Bane sat beside the bed, leaning forward, his hands lying loosely on his knees. “Awake, huh?”

  “Seem to be.”

  “Margo and Unicorn are quite upset with you, y’know.”

  “Are they? What about you?”

  Bane shrugged. “I figure you did what you felt you had to do. Though I am really sorry about your knee.”

  My turn to shrug. “On an eternal scale, knees don’t really matter—useful as they are.”

  “Watch out, Kyle, I think you may be levitating slightly.”

  “Ha ha.” But heat rushed to my cheeks. Many stupid jokes like that and I’d probably spontaneously combust! How was my knee, though? I opened my mouth, but Bane had just picked up something from the bedside cabinet, placing it beside me. My Bible.

  “This was on the floor when they found you. Looked like it had slid off the bed along with you and the blanket. Some of the pages were rather crumpled and there was blood on it. Mostly on the cover. I’ve cleaned it up, but a few pages are stained.”

  “Thanks, Bane. I really appreciate it.”

  “How did you even get that over there with you?” Bane eyed me bemusedly.

  “I didn’t. I’d lent it to Uncle Reginald earlier, via a nurse.”

  “Oh.” Mystery solved, Bane leaned back in the chair, but his eyes never left my face. “How are you, Kyle?”

  “Oh, fine, they seem to have glued me back together—”

  “No, how are you? Really. ’Cause…I know what it’s like to have everyone flapping joyfully around you, so delighted you’re alive, so cheerful—while all the time, you’re actually feeling…” He shrugged again, then said, “…plain awful. Because I’m looking at you, Kyle, and there’s no smile in your eyes. Hasn’t been since I got here.”

  I swallowed, taken aback by the depth of his perception. But I didn’t want Margo to know how I felt…

  “I won’t tell Margo if you don’t want me to.” He read my mind—or maybe my expression. “I know she’d rather that—and you talk to me—than that you don’t.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk about it, really. But I probably should. And Bane was clearly worried. I struggled for words. “It’s just…when I was on that gurney…I was…I got so close to God. It was…I can’t possibly describe it, Bane. I just can’t… It was… No, there just aren’t words. I wanted to be with Him—completely with Him—so much.

  “Then…” I stumbled on, “then I was rescued, and I was going to live and…and that was good for, for different reasons. And then I turned out to be poisoned, so I was going to be with Him again. And then…then that fell through. Again. And…and part of me wi
shes it hadn’t.” The final confession squeezed out all in a rush, before I could stop it. “I just…I long for Him so much.”

  Bane’s eyes were wider than normal, his brows drawn together. What did he read on my face? “Wow. This is the first time I’ve felt like I need to apologise for saving someone.”

  Guilt stabbed me. “No! No, you don’t need to apologise, Bane! I’m so grateful you came to get me. If I’m alive, it’s because the Lord wants me alive, so I’m just…kicking against His will by feeling sorry for myself and I should stop. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “But easier said than done, right?”

  I looked away. My throat burned and my eyes stung, but I didn’t want to cry in front of Bane. I was his confessor, for pity’s sake. Now and then. And older than him, although those couple of years that had seemed so important as children barely seemed to matter these days.

  But the next thing I knew, his arm settled around my shoulder. “It’s okay, bro. It’s okay. You can cry. You’ve had a hellish time. Just cry if you want to. Let it out…”

  His kindness and understanding undid me. The tears broke out after all, and I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. All the disappointment and heartache and fear and grief of the last week just poured out of me in a salty wave.

  And poured out…

  And poured out…

  And poured…

  “Kyle?”

  I opened my eyes. Margo. I smiled at her. No sign of Bane. My eyes felt gummy, scratchy. I rubbed one. Ah, salt. I must’ve cried myself to sleep. Hopefully it looked like mere sleepy dust.

  She smiled back, looking more anxious than cross. “Kyle, why did you do it?”

  “I had no choice, Margo.” Not really true, I suppose. I could have stayed right there in my bed and let Uncle Reginald cry himself to hell—but I don’t know how I could’ve lived with myself afterwards.

  “Kyle…” Margo’s voice shook slightly. “The surgeon says you’ll be lucky if you can get around on a crutch after this.”

  A crutch. One worse than a mere stick. And designed for people with opposable thumbs. Blast. “That’s…a shame. But it can’t be helped.”

  “You must not move from that bed. Do you understand? Not until it’s healed!”

  “I won’t. Why would I?”

  My sister glared at me, so I smiled as innocently as I could.

  Her glare intensified. But after a moment, she sighed, relenting. “Oh, some good news. Pope Cornelius said you’re to come home with us to the Vatican. Not just to recuperate. Permanently. He said there’ll be plenty of work for you there and you’ll have your family around to…” She shifted awkwardly. “Um, to help you, you know…”

  Adjust to being a cripple she sought so delicately to say. But my heart lifted at her words. Yes, I would miss my parish, my parishioners, this vast, wild, beautiful, dangerous country. But to be able to see Margo, Bane, and the children every day… It seemed the Lord had answered my yearning in a very roundabout way.

  “We’re, uh, taking Hill back with us, too.” Margo sounded bemused, as though she still couldn’t quite make out how she felt about Reginald Hill. “His funeral Mass is to be held there. That’s going to be some balancing act and no mistake.”

  Yes… I could see what she meant. On the one hand, we’d want to make it quite clear he’d converted, that he was one of us—massive win for us on the world stage, that it was—and that we’d totally accepted him—but on the other hand, the man’s entire life, bar the last few hours, had been an unmitigated disaster, one evil act after another, and it must not, for one moment, seem like we were celebrating that. I wouldn’t want to be the one trying to balance all those needs and choreograph the event.

  “He’s stuck me with the organisation,” Margo added glumly.

  I laughed, then tried to look apologetic. “Sorry. I was just feeling bad for the person with that job and then you said…” I grinned at her. “Well, I’d be very happy to do the homily, if that helps.”

  Margo smiled. “Perfect.” She glanced at the clock but didn’t move.

  “Are you supposed to be somewhere?”

  “No. There are some elephants close to the town and Bane’s taking the children out to see them, with a guide. But I’m going to stay right here with you.” She gave a determined nod, though her eyes slid longingly to the clock again.

  I looked at her in disbelief. “Margo, you’re in Africa for the first time in your life—and for all we know, the last, if Eduardo has any say in the matter—and you’re passing up the chance to see elephants? I’m perfectly alright. Look, they’ve put me back together again, and I’m leaving the morphine turned up, and you’ve just told me that you’ll be seeing me all the time in future, anyway.”

  From the stubborn set of her chin, she’d made up her mind that staying behind to keep me company was the right thing to do.

  “And all I’m going to do today is sleep, you know?” I added. “In fact, I’m going to settle off again right now.” No acting required to let rip a big yawn. “So if you really…” another—unplanned—yawn stretched my jaws, “want to sit and watch me snoring, instead of go ogle elephants, then be my guest. But I’d much, much rather you went and enjoyed yourself.”

  I settled my head comfortably into the pillow and closed my eyes. And kept them closed. And kept them closed. Blast, I wanted Margo to go and join the others too badly toactually doze off…

  But finally, after several long minutes, a creak of floorboards marked her departure. Good.

  I opened my eyes again and looked across at Uncle Reginald’s empty bed, suddenly lonely, for all I’d encouraged Margo to go.

  Achingly lonely. Sleep had fled far away.

  It wasn’t really Margo’s temporary absence, of course, or Uncle Reginald’s permanent one. It was The Absence. The Absence I would have to bear as long as I lived. The thing I had not mentioned to Bane, despite it being the very worst wound of all. It was just too private, far, far too private. I wouldn’t be mentioning it to anyone, except just possibly my Spiritual Director.

  Uncle Reginald, I wish I could have gone with you.

  Did I? Really? The pain I would’ve inflicted on Margo and my parents and everyone.

  Lord, I don’t seem to know what I want, do I?

  Yes, I did. I want what you want, Lord. There, simple.

  But that ache, that longing, would it ever dim? Probably not. But if it had helped save Uncle Reginald, it was worth it. It wasn’t like the Lord couldn’t speak to me in other ways.

  Enough moping. My Bible had made its way back onto the bedside cabinet—I managed to grab it and shift it to my lap. What had Uncle Reginald read after I’d fallen asleep, night before last? I’d never know, not until I saw him again. But I couldn’t help wondering.

  Awkwardly, I opened the book at the ribbon marker. It wasn’t where I’d left it. Someone had ringed a verse of the Song of Songs in black pen: Love is a fire no waters avail to quench, no floods to drown; for love, a man will give up all that he has in the world, and think nothing of his loss.

  Beside it was scrawled:

  !Crazy Boy!

  I read the words again, happiness bubbling in my chest. What thoughts had been going through his mind when he marked it? Had it simply reminded him strongly of me or had it touched him or even influenced his thinking later that night? The Lord spoke through his Word, after all.

  Smiling, I re-opened the Bible at random. Hmm, what should I read?

  But my eye fell on the verse right under my finger: I am with you always, until the end of days.

  One more tear trickled down my cheek.

  A tear of thankfulness.

  A tear of consolation.

  I closed the book, hugging it tightly to my chest as warm sunbeams shone through the window, caressing my face.

  Seen or unseen, He was with me.

  Until the end of my days.

  And over that last horizon.

  ###

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