She’s standing on a sheet of ice, clear but with wisps of opaque white spiralling through it, suspended above deep water. Every muscle in her body is held taut as even a slight movement causes a shift in her foothold.
All around her is calm and cold. The sun shines brightly in a blue sky, but the air is crisp. At a distance, she can see Dan walking along the lakeside. She shouts out to him.
Help me! Help me!
But he just smiles and waves.
Beneath, in the darkness of the lake, she can see movements, a turmoil of memories. Warden Kane’s key card, Lottie’s bronze tea kettle, her mother’s hands. Remy suddenly appears just centimetres beneath the surface, his face bluish-white with cold and terror. He’s trapped, the current moving him along, his grey eyes imploring as he bangs against the thick ice, desperate for oxygen.
She falls to her knees, sliding as she hits the solid water with her fists over and over again, but she can’t break the surface.
She watches helpless as Remy disappears into the darkness, the last thing she sees are his fingers reaching up towards her.
Grace was roused from sleep by her phone which lit the dark bedroom with a blue glow. It rang off before she could answer. When she swiped at the screen it showed a missed voice call from a street-shell, one of the computer kiosks that were available to the public.
She hadn’t received a call from one of them in a long time. An image of Remy, as she used to know him, flashed into her mind from her dream. They used to have a strong connection – would it still be there? They hadn’t spoken in years. So why did she suspect it might have been him calling her?
She lay back on the pillow. Dan’s side of the bed was cold. He’d texted the previous night to say he was out on a job and might not be back before the morning.
It was early, only half five. In just over two hours, she would be making her way to work. Adrenaline needled her as she saw herself standing in Conrad’s office trying to formulate the words. Deal. Trade-off. Quid pro quo? She wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep now. She got up and made herself a coffee and planned how to convince her boss to let her help a man he didn’t know in exchange for a job she didn’t want.
Conrad looked somehow smaller sitting behind his desk. She sat opposite him, holding her nerve.
‘There must be more to all this than you just needing another psychiatrist for the Tier Three clinic, Conrad.’ She ran her tongue over dry lips.
‘No.’ A pause and then he shrugged slightly. ‘I just think you’d be perfect for the job.’
He underrated her if he thought a good psychiatrist wouldn’t recognise a false smile. She tried to decipher his mood – anxious, embarrassed, manipulative? He wasn’t usually on the backfoot. It gave her strength, but she was going to have to be strong to get what she wanted. She was going to have to dig deep – to stop holding herself tense on the slippery surface of a middle-class, married, professional life and break through to the old Grace, the streetwise Gracie, who was ready to take on a fight.
‘There’s something going wrong with the treatment, isn’t there?’ Her words sounded brittle.
His expression spun through a roulette wheel of micro-expressions and he settled on what she thought he would consider candid.
He leaned over the desk now, elbows on the glass, placing his chin on his interlaced fingers. ‘There have been a few issues, yes.’
‘Hmm. And you think I might have the insight to fix it?’
Twenty-four hours ago, she could never have imagined herself talking to the boss of the company like this. But things had changed. Here were two desperate people facing each other.
‘Grace, you are the best psychiatrist we’ve ever had and the therapies that you’ve developed at Tier Two are absolutely second to none. The synthetic self-esteem drug that you created and trialled was nothing short of miraculous, particularly the amphetamine-based treatment.’
‘That was different,’ she interrupted. ‘Self-esteem is a huge deficiency in our offenders at Tier Two and we only offer that particular treatment as a short-term fix until we can encourage the real thing with our confidence-building therapy. It’s the skills we teach at the Agrarian Compound and the relationships the inmates forge that give them the real thing, not the drug. I’d be in over my head here.’
‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Grace. You have real insight into the human condition.’
She stared at the brass statue of the horse, its bulging eyes and flaring nostrils repulsing her. Did Conrad really respect her abilities, or was he just trying to keep this problem in-house?
‘Let’s get to the point, Conrad. Did Myriam mess up? Is that why she left?’
He opened his mouth but said nothing. Was he actually going to have the audacity to lie to her again?
‘I know about Mikey Kilgannon,’ she said.
His face began to flush. ‘How the hell did you find out? Dan doesn’t know, does he? This cannot get out into the public arena, Grace, it just can’t.’
‘He doesn’t know,’ she lied. ‘One of the Tier Three crew said something that put me onto it. Don’t worry. They weren’t aware Kilgannon had previous. I put two and two together.’
Conrad looked a little relieved.
‘Can I trust you, Grace?’
She didn’t answer, but she didn’t break his gaze.
‘We’ve had some reoffences,’ he said.
‘More than just Kilgannon?’
He nodded.
Hadn’t Dan said there had been a cover-up at the post office in Golders Green? It was Grace’s turn now to lean forward over the desk, still not taking her eyes off him.
‘You want me to fix Aversion Therapy for you.’ It came out like an accusation.
He nodded again, more slowly this time.
She steeled herself. She needed courage to cope with what she would hear and see in the clinic. She would have to put her conscience aside for a short time for Remy’s sake, and be complicit not only in torture, but in deception.
She didn’t answer immediately, taking her time, waiting until she saw just enough desperation on his face to know he would agree to her demands.
A slight twitch in his left cheek.
She sat back in the chair and crossed her arms. ‘I’ll take the job on two conditions.’
Conrad perked up, but there was suspicion in his eyes. ‘Go on.’
‘Firstly, I will not commit anyone to Tier Four. If we scan a Tier Three offender and it becomes clear that there’s nothing we can do for them at Tier Three, then it’s not going to be my name on the forms.’ She knew her limitations. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for placing someone in a psych ward for the rest of their life.’
Conrad didn’t look surprised, he just nodded. ‘No problem, Abigail can do that. And the second condition?’
She cleared her throat. ‘If I come up with a way to make Aversion Therapy fool proof, then I want to trial it on an offender of my choosing’ – she emphasised the last two words – ‘whom I consider, as an expert, to be the best chance of proving that it’s a secure and reliable treatment.’ She held her breath and tried not to think about Remy, as though somehow Conrad would pick up on something in her if she did.
‘Okay, that sounds reasonable,’ he began.
‘And,’ she jumped in, ‘I want your solemn word that this offender will be freed if I cure him… or her…’ Remy hadn’t even been caught yet. He might never be. Was she going to put herself through this for a chance that might never come? But then what of the other offenders, like Mikey Kilgannon and Noah Begbroke. If she couldn’t help Remy, maybe she could help someone.
Conrad was weighing her up.
She refused to look away.
He gave her a slight nod.
‘Say it, or I want no part.’
‘Yes,’ he said quietly but firmly. ‘You fix the therapy, you can pick your guinea pig.’
‘And have them freed if the treatment is successful?’
‘Yes, and I will personally sign the release papers.’
‘Then it’s a deal.’ She felt herself relax a little.
‘But…’
She caught her breath.
Conrad continued ‘…not a word of this to Dan. This stays off NewsFlex. You’ll have to sign an additional confidentiality agreement.’
Grace exhaled. ‘Of course.’
He stood up and put his hand out to her. She followed suit, hoping he wouldn’t feel her tremble, and they shook.
‘I’ll let Abigail know.’
Five minutes later, Abigail slunk into the room like a cat. Her amber-coloured eyes glanced briefly at Grace and then rested on Conrad.
‘Abigail, Grace is replacing Myriam.’
‘I said I can sort this, Conrad,’ Abigail said.
‘No, you can’t,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve made my decision. You’re only a technician, Abigail, a damn good one, but a technician nonetheless. You need a psych and the treatment needs a thorough investigation. It’s above your capabilities.’
Abigail opened her mouth as if to protest.
‘But you can still have responsibility for the scans and the paperwork for Tier Four.’
She looked momentarily placated but then said, ‘I really think I can do it—’
‘No, you damn well can’t!’ he shouted.
Grace had never heard Conrad raise his voice before.
‘There was another one last night,’ he told her, more quietly.
Abigail let out a small gasp.
Like Dan, Conrad had his contacts. It probably came straight from his contact in the DoJ.
He gave Abigail a hard stare. ‘Payback have attacked again. A firefighter in one of the cotton warehouses off Penhaligon Road. I don’t know all the details yet.’
‘That’s not possible!’ Abigail whispered. ‘There are other members of the Payback group. It might not have been the ones we treated. It could have been some of the others.’
Grace saw beneath Abigail’s professional veneer and felt a little sorry for her. It was natural to feel threatened by having someone new coming to work alongside her, someone who was more qualified, more senior in status, especially in a crisis. But Grace didn’t see it like that. Abigail had the experience, knew the day-to-day routine in the clinic, and knew how to program and use all the kit. Abigail would have to show her the ropes. They’d be a team, wouldn’t they?
‘We’ll find out, once they’re apprehended,’ said Conrad.
‘You mean no one’s been arrested yet?’ asked Abigail. ‘So we don’t know if we treated them or not?’
Conrad shook his head.
‘What will happen to them then?’ asked Grace. ‘Will they come to Tier Three?’ She shuddered to think what she’d see on the screen for that therapy.
Conrad shook his head. ‘Either way, they’ll go to Tier Four. The first time we treated some of the Payback lot, we didn’t realise they were a gang. We thought it was just a one-off, someone getting revenge. Now we know who they are – what they do – it’s straight to Tier Four.’
‘What do they do to them in Tier Four?’ asked Grace, then immediately wished she hadn’t.
Neither answered. Instead, Abigail asked Conrad, ‘But what if they’ve been to Tier Three already and Myriam messed up the treatment, or misdiagnosed them?’
‘It’ll make the system looked flawed,’ Conrad said, his face pale. ‘If this gets out, then my business is screwed. If doubt is cast on our methods, then the whole Tier System is going to be called into question. Every single case. Imagine the lawsuits we’ll have to face!’
‘If the protestors get wind of this…’ began Grace.
‘They’ll up their game,’ Conrad said. ‘We have to be on our guard. I won’t stand for another attack like the one last year.’ He slumped back his chair.
Grace and Abigail looked at each other and then back to Conrad, who suddenly sat up straight. He swiped at his desk. ‘Call Deacon Security.’
He looked at the women with a serious expression as the call was put through. As soon as he started talking, he looked away, his expression as jovial as his voice. ‘Gary, hi, yes, it’s Conrad Becker. We’re looking into developing our security, you know, tightening things up… No, no problems, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Maybe you could do me a deal…’
Abigail pulled at Grace’s arm.
‘Right, we’ll get on, then,’ she said, but Conrad ignored her.
In the corridor, Grace said, ‘Payback took a massive risk – knowing they’d go to Tier Four if they were caught.’
‘Maybe they thought their version of justice was worth taking risks for,’ Abigail said bluntly.
Remy’s face beneath the ice flashed into her mind and a cold feeling gripped her.
Abigail suddenly turned to her with an expression of panic. ‘I didn’t make mistakes in the clinic. I did everything by the book. I’m not to blame!’
‘Abigail, it’s okay,’ Grace said kindly, briefly laying a hand on her arm. ‘I’m not judging you and I certainly don’t blame anyone. I just want to figure out what’s going wrong so that we can make it right.’
Abigail blinked a few times and then nodded. ‘Sorry. I, you know, just don’t want you thinking I’m not good at my job.’
‘Of course I don’t think that. We’re a team now. We’re going to sort this.’
Abigail seemed reassured. ‘I’ll take you to Tier Three, show you the ropes.’
As they passed the bathroom Grace excused herself, saying she’d catch up with Abigail in a few minutes, and watched her walk away down the corridor towards the clinic.
Once in the cubicle, she called Dan.
‘Do you know anything about an attack by Payback last night?’ she asked in a whisper.
‘Where?’
‘At a cotton warehouse near Penhaligon Road. They’re trying to keep it hush-hush.’
‘Thanks for the tip-off. I’ll get onto it right away.’
Grace put her shell in her bag and came out of the cubicle to see Abigail standing at the sink, her hand on the tap. She caught Grace’s reflection in the mirror and smiled.