He didn’t know how long he was out. But his first thought was that he was making a habit of this.
He surfaced gradually, coming back into the world, with slight indifference. He opened his eyes—his left one was back to being glued shut. No doubt the figures’ barrages had reopened his cut. He felt the rough ground on his cheek and saw a canal of blood flowing from his face down the alley. He jerked his head up, a rock clanking around inside it every time he moved even ever so slightly. Of course, he was alone—the figures were long gone.
He got up—his body shifted around him before his mind caught up. He had a sharp pain in his chest—a biting, grating feeling, as though something was out of place and rubbing up against something else. His legs ached, and a certain point in his spine, about halfway down at the bottom of his rib cage, was on fire.
He tripped—reached out for one of the garbage cans and used it to steady himself. He sniffed blood and was sent into uncontrollable splutters as it flowed into his mouth. He tasted pure iron.
He brought a sleeve up and ran it under his nose to try to quell the constant bleeding. It didn’t work. His sleeve just came away drenched in his own blood.
Shoulda gone home, city boy.
That gruff voice. He didn’t recognize it. Could have been anyone. Literally anyone in Marsden. After all, why shouldn’t he now be public enemy number one. After what had happened. Maybe he deserved it.
No, Sam said strongly in his head, you don’t get to feel sorry for yourself.
“You’re right, Sam,” he said, and then realized he was talking to no one. He needed rest—he needed to try to clean up. The Hamlet. It wasn’t far. Even he, in his broken state, could get there.
He started to walk down the alley. When he stepped on his left leg, a spike of white-hot fire shot up to his brain. He tried to ignore it, skating the wall of the butchers’ with his hand. It took longer than he would care to admit to get to the opening of the alley. When he did, he looked around, hoping against hope no one was there to see him.
No one was.
Small mercies.
He left a trail of nose blood from the alley to The Hamlet and he crashed through the doors trying to block his nose with his sleeve. He kept his head down, not wanting to see the life of the pub and any reaction to his entrance, but he couldn’t help noting the deathly silence as he entered the scene.
And then a voice, familiar. “Robin.” It was Amber.
Robin looked up to see her rush over to him.
“Robin, what happened?”
He grunted something, didn’t even know what it was meant to mean himself.
“Come on. Sit down.”
The scene was fluid, pulsing. He couldn’t concentrate on it. Behind Amber, people were looking now. There was a family sitting at the table by the window, the table where Ethan Pack had attacked him. The golden retriever was there, looking at him.
“Not here,” Robin said, in a voice he didn’t recognize.
“Okay.” Amber put an arm around him. “There’s no one downstairs. We’ll go there.” She led him downstairs to the basement, helping him with every step. Soon, they were down, and she was helping him into a chair. Amber disappeared and Robin slid back on his chair. He lifted up his shirt to see where one of the figures had kicked him and saw that a small amount of blood was rising up under his skin. He had never been great at anatomy but he knew that that wasn’t supposed to happen.
Amber came back with a bowl full of water and a cloth. She put them down on the table and pulled up a chair. “What happened?” she said, as she dipped the cloth in the bowl.
“Couple of guys, in the alley,” Robin muttered.
“Jesus,” she said, as she put the wet cloth to Robin’s forehead. It stung and he let out a gruff gasp. “Sorry, I should have warned you.”
“Do you know what Ascend is?” Robin said.
Amber dipped the cloth back in the water. It became pink instantly. “What?”
“Ascend. A church group called Ascend.”
“Yeah,” Amber said, continuing to clean him up. “I used to run it. But that was like two years ago.”
“Were the Five there? Were they at the meetings?”
Amber put the cloth down and looked confused. “Yeah, they were. Now, how would you know that?”
“Because each of the Five had the word Ascend tattooed on their wrists.”
Amber looked lost, utterly and genuinely lost. “They...what?”
“Their wrists. Do you know why they would do that?”
“No,” Amber said. “They would come to the meetings but they would just sit there in silence. They would never even say a word. They would just sit there and then when it was over they would leave. Sometimes they were the only people who would turn up and I would just have to sit there with them. It was bizarre, so in the end I canceled the groups, because I didn’t want to do it anymore. I didn’t want to be around them. I didn’t want to be around him.”
“Tim?” Robin said.
“Yeah, Tim. We...we didn’t get on. After we... I didn’t tell you the whole truth that first night, when we talked. Tim and I were a couple for a while. But it didn’t work out. It’s rather sad, really. First love. You start to realize that love actually isn’t the whole world, you know.”
“The cat,” Robin said. “Was it true what he did?”
Amber’s brow creased. “Where did you hear that?”
“Benny Masterson and...your mother.”
Amber looked away, around at the room, as though she couldn’t look at him. And then finally she did again. “You talked to my mother? My mother is a fickle bitch who would say anything to make herself the victim.” Amber got up and picked up the bowl with a force that made some water splash onto the table. Amber sniffed; she was almost crying. “When you’re doing your investigating, Robin, remember that you’re not just hearing stories—you’re seeing into other people’s lives.”
“She’s your mother,” Robin said.
Amber scoffed. “My mother can burn in hell.”