The swelling on Grace’s face throbbed as Dan pressed a cold, wet cloth to it. Her hip and elbow were swollen and bruised. She sat uncomfortably on the sofa, hoping the painkillers would work fast. She’d run to a nearby house after the attack and waited there until Dan had come for her.
‘You’ve got actual nail marks on your face! What the hell were you thinking, taking a shortcut that time of night? Putting yourself at risk…’ he said, his voice tight.
A brief flare-up of resentment pulsated alongside her injuries. Was he really suggesting it was her fault that a man had jumped out of the shadows and attacked her? How many times had she heard that from the police officers when Lottie had taken one of the street girls to them after a punter went too far?
He must have seen the look in her eyes, and recoiled.
‘You had the car, remember,’ she said flatly.
He lifted her hand and placed it on the cloth to hold it in place, then moved over to the armchair on the other side of the room.
‘I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you.’
‘It must have been one of the protestors. They’re outside the clinic most days now. If I don’t take the car, I sneak out the back, but one of them must have seen me leave, maybe followed me.’
He didn’t reply but went out to the kitchen and brought back two AltCon drinks, Sweet & Soothing. He handed one to her. It was pineapple flavour with a hint of coconut.
‘Did you get a look at him?’ he asked, sitting down again.
She took a sip from the bottle, still holding the cloth to her face. ‘Not really… dressed all in black, hood over his head.’
‘Tell me what he said again.’
‘No, he threatened me about the clinic – “Get out of Tier Three, or next time, you won’t survive.”’
Repeating her attacker’s words refreshed her fear. She shivered as though still lying on the cold pavement. ‘How did he know I work in Tier Three?’
‘Maybe he just guessed? I don’t see why you won’t call the police and report it.’
‘I’m already in enough trouble with Conrad, and Janus doesn’t need any more negative publicity.’ She put both bottle and cloth down and went to reach for her phone. ‘Talking of Conrad, I’d better ring him.’ She stopped when she saw Dan’s expression.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Before you do, there’s something you should know. There’s been another case of reoffending. Noah Begbroke. I wasn’t going to say anything, seeing as we’re not exactly swapping information… But in the interests of safety, you should know.’
She put her phone down.
‘Another arson attack,’ he said. ‘Killed an ex-girlfriend last night. Torched her in bed.’
‘Oh my God, I was there when they treated him. Have the police got him?’
‘Yes, well, no.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘They have his body. He died in the fire.’
‘That’s just horrible, I can’t believe…’ Dan was still staring at her. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’
He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair.
‘For God’s sake, what is it?’ Grace asked, alarmed now. ‘Just tell me.’
‘Myriam Kyriacou was also found dead last night, at her flat. Someone killed her.’
Grace half stood, caught her breath and swallowed hard before sitting back down.
She couldn’t face ‘how’, so instead she asked ‘When?’ It came out as a whisper.
‘A few days ago.’
‘But Conrad said she resigned, sent an email.’
Dan shook his head. ‘She was strangled. Anyone could have sent that email.’
‘Any suspects?’ It could have been a protestor, or someone who’d been through Aversion Therapy and wanted revenge.
Next time, you won’t survive.
Maybe the man who attacked her was the same man who had killed Myriam.
‘Police think vigilantes killed her – in their minds she was supporting a flawed system, letting criminals off with a rap on the knuckles,’ he said.
Then something occurred to Grace. ‘Dan, tell me you didn’t put this report out already? The story about Myriam and the stuff about Begbroke reoffending.’
He shrugged. ‘Went out this afternoon.’
Grace felt the blood rushing in her head.
‘I thought you were going to wait until you had more information.’
‘If I didn’t report on it, then someone else would have.’
Anger overwhelmed the fear and shock from her attack. ‘And what about Payback? Have you reported on that yet? Or Mikey Kilgannon reoffending?’
When Dan didn’t answer she grabbed her shell and brought up NewsFlex with its familiar yellow and black logo.
The headline: TWO-FACED JANUS – AVERSION THERAPY LIES!
She scrolled down – it was all there:
mistakes made … cover-up … Mikey Kilgannon’s treatment unsuccessful … does Aversion Therapy work? … post office Golders Green … murdered staff psychiatrist … efficacy … denied at highest levels in government … millionaire Becker … claims of lasting effects … an eye for an eye … ‘They are cured, I can guarantee’ … Noah Begbroke treated only a few days ago … protestors justified…
‘I begged you not to put this story out!’ Rage engulfed Grace. ‘You’re worried about me, you say? So worried that you went ahead and published this information – without so much as a warning, without thinking about the impact it might have on me?’
‘You’re not seriously blaming me for this, are you?’ he asked indignantly, pointing to her bruised face.
When she didn’t reply, he said, ‘If it’s so dangerous, then I don’t think you should work there. Tell Conrad to stick his job. The article’s out.’
‘Oh, so now you don’t think I should work there?’ Sarcasm emerged from the shock and horror. ‘You were more than happy for me to go there when you wanted me to get information for you!’
‘You need to leave. It’s too dangerous now.’
‘Yes, and whose fault is that? I make my own decisions, Dan. I’m not leaving just because you say I should! And what about the treatment? I can’t give up now! I need to sort out the problem with the therapy.’
‘You’re not seriously going to—’
‘You’ve told the world that Aversion Therapy is flawed, so now the whole system will be called into question, even Tiers One and Two. All that important, life-changing work, will be washed away in a flood of outrage about bloody Tier Three. I can’t let that happen!’
‘Christ, Grace, maybe people should be calling this system into question! Don’t tell me that you’re starting to support Aversion Therapy?’
‘No, but I need to prove it works so that I can clean up this mess! I might be able to fix it. I need to help those people. Who’s going to save them if I don’t?’
He stared at her, incredulous.
‘Listen to yourself! Who do you think you are? Grace Gunnarsson, saviour of the wretched? Some people can’t be saved!’
‘That’s not for you to decide!’
Couldn’t save her… a grey, scratchy woollen blanket, a spider, Gracie… the biggest in the block!
Her thoughts turned to Remy and her head swirled. She was back on thin ice again, a cracking sound ripping through her brain as the brittle membrane between her two worlds became even more fragile.
She scrabbled to find her shoes on the floor, stood up and grabbed her coat and bag from the arm of the sofa where she’d dumped them. ‘I’m going out.’ She didn’t look at him.
Dan stood too. ‘No, you’re not! At this time of night, after what’s happened…’
Grace thrust her arms angrily into the sleeves of her coat and pulled it up over her shoulders.
Anxiety mellowed Dan’s features. ‘Please, Grace, love, don’t go out now. You’ve had a fright, let’s sit down, have another drink…’
But the front door slammed behind her as he was still talking.
Grace’s hands were still shaking as she turned the steering wheel and pulled up in front of a small row of shops half a mile from her house. At this late hour, the shops were shut, the main road quiet. She turned off the engine and sat in the shadows, feeling safe in the bubble of her car.
She took her shell out of her bag and reread the NewsFlex reports on Janus. Too wrapped up in her work, she had missed them before.
DOCTOR FOUND DEAD
By Dan Gunnarsson
Myriam Kyriacou, a psychiatrist at Janus Justice, was found dead at home last night. Ms Kyriacou lived alone in a flat in Belsize Park and had not been in touch with friends for a few days, which was described as ‘unusual’. Police have asked for anyone with information to speak directly to them, and to avoid speculating on social media.
Speaking from the Headquarters of Janus Justice, CEO and pioneer of the Justice Tier System, Conrad Becker, said that Ms Kyriacou had emailed her resignation with immediate effect. ‘It wasn’t clear what her reasons were for leaving us so abruptly,’ Mr Becker said. ‘She was an integral part of our team here at Janus Justice and a trailblazer in criminal rehabilitation. Her loss will be sorely felt. She was irreplaceable.’
What a hypocrite Conrad was!
Another article on Noah Begbroke read:
Begbroke had recently been treated with Aversion Therapy at Janus Justice for a firebomb attack on his ex-partner’s home. During the attack, Corrina Saunders suffered extensive burns.
She scrolled down.
His body was found at the scene of another arson attack in which another previous partner, Lexi Woods, was also found dead. Identification was made using dental records…
…This case, and a recent possible reoffence by the vigilante group Payback, raises questions about the efficacy of Aversion Therapy, something which vigilantes and protestors have been conflicted about since the Tier System was implemented over ten years ago…
Grace’s eye caught a movement outside the car. A man walking his dog paused briefly nearby as the dog relieved itself on a clump of weeds. She felt herself tense until he moved away.
Grace’s chest felt tight, her mind raced. Things were only going to get worse now that the public knew they were having problems at Janus. The protestors would up their game, there was no doubt about it. The Department of Justice was going to be all over the clinic. They’d carry out an investigation and then who knew what would happen?
She had to find Remy and treat him before the clinic was taken over by the authorities. It was only a matter of time. Once they were under investigation, how would she be able to get him the right treatment? Would the authorities even allow her to try? She had to find him, fix him and free him. Was it even possible?
She flinched as a jogger ran by her window, his grey hoodie flapping as he passed, the zip catching the wing mirror with a clicking sound. She cursed him under her breath as she watched him move away down the quiet street, bouncing rhythmically across the eco-tarmac, past the recycling deposit units at the end of the row of shops, towards the park. His hood reminded her of the man who’d attacked her. She checked the doors were locked.
She picked up her phone ready to call Shannon and tell her everything – the attack, Dan’s attitude, she would even tell her about Remy. She could trust Shannon. Shannon would know what to do.
But then she threw her phone back down on the seat and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. If Shannon knew about Remy, then she might be found culpable if everything came out. There was too much to lose.
A few moments later, her phone rang. It would be Dan, telling her to come home, but her anger refused to let her answer.
The ringing stopped and almost instantly started again. She put it to her ear.
‘Dan, I—’
‘Gracie…’
Her heart leapt into her mouth. ‘Remy?’
‘Yeah, it’s me.’ He sounded out of breath.
She opened her mouth and closed it.
‘Gracie?’ he said again.
‘Yes, I’m here. It’s nearly one in the morning.’
‘I’ve just run past your car.’
She twisted and turned in her seat, trying to catch a glimpse of him.
‘Have you been following me?’ There was no sign of the jogger in the grey hoodie. ‘Where are you?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I need your help. I’m in trouble.’
‘I know! I’ve seen the reports, at work. Remy, what were you thinking? Killing a drug dealer… what the hell?’
‘I didn’t do it, Gracie. I swear I didn’t.’
She sighed heavily. He would see it as a betrayal if she questioned his innocence, so instead she said, ‘You have no idea what they do to people who have reoffended.’ The image of the bodies under white sheets in Siberia ward flashed into her mind.
‘I need to get out of the country, Gracie… to get away from them.’
‘From who?’
He didn’t answer.
‘I need a biochip to get through airports…’
‘You can’t go to an airport! The police are looking for you.’
‘It’s not the police I’m worried about.’
She looked out of the car windows again. Was he nearby? Maybe behind the recycling deposit units, watching her?
‘Who are you trying to get away from?’
‘You don’t need to know.’
‘We’re not kids anymore, Remy, I don’t need you to protect me, for God’s sake! How am I supposed to help you if you don’t even tell me what the problem is?’
Silence.
She looked down at the display – a street-shell.
‘Have you got a phone? Give me your number. Let’s talk…’
‘No, Gracie, you don’t understand. If they get me – when they get me – I can’t let them have any way of getting to you.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked desperately.
His last words before the line went dead were: ‘You know where to find me.’