On unsteady legs, I tottered out of the ward, found the ladies and staggered into a cubicle. Clouting both my elbows, I managed to get dressed. Emerging into the wash area, I nodded at a cleaner. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I concluded that Dusty was right. Like tracing the scars on an old piece of furniture, I could map the emotional trajectory of the last two weeks by the fresh lines on my face.
I slipped out into the corridor and made my way through two sets of double doors and took the stairs. So many people coming and going in the main reception hall, it was easy to mingle and sneak outside.
A white-bright sun took pole position. The air was cleaner and fresher, apart from where a hardcore group of smokers puffed away a short distance from a sign that announced; ‘No Smoking.’ When a taxi dropped off an elderly man right outside the door, I snuck in and asked the cabbie to take me home. There was no other place to go. Had to be done. If I’d gone back to the ward, Dusty and Lenny would have put up all kinds of reasons for me to stay put. I’d apologise and explain to them later.
“Bad storm, last night,” the driver remarked.
“Uh huh.”
He quickly gathered I wasn’t much of a talker and the rest of the journey was silent. When we reached my place, I emptied my purse and paid him.
The second my key scraped the lock, Mr Lee let out a yap, stood up on the sofa on his hind legs, and threw himself at the front window. It was the first sign of normality in days. Seeing his soft, slobbery face cheered me.
I walked straight into the sitting room and scooped him up. Shiny-eyed, he licked my face and generally let me know he was pleased to see me. He adored my mother, but in lieu of her absence, he was prepared to transfer his affections. Stuck in that moment, I thought of the futility of a lifetime of trying to make her love me. I wondered where they were and how far they’d got. Knowing my father, they would be out of the country in a place where the extradition laws were flaky.
I put Mr Lee down, his claws skittering on the polished wooden floorboards, released the lock on the sash window and opened it wide to get rid of the doggie stink.
“Want to go out?” I said. Interpreting his dance around my legs as an affirmative, I followed him to the kitchen, opened the back door and watched as he trotted out into the garden.
Rocco, I thought, gazing across the lawn, where the hell are you?
A sudden movement behind and I felt a pair of hands slide over my eyes, the body of another pressed close to my back. “Rocco,” I laughed gently, “You’re a dark horse.”
Drawn back, I went with it, played along, and took a couple of steps away from the door. I giggled but, as the pressure on my eyes increased, I stopped finding it funny. Starbursts of light flew in front of me and I felt disorientated. “Hey, stop messing about.” The heaviness slackened, fingers gliding down my cheeks, slipping to my neck, my throat. Big hands. Man’s hands. Hands that wanted to kill me.
Fear as sharp as razor wire cut through me. My arms flung out wide and wild. My feet scrabbled for purchase. I was dragged backwards. The air in my lungs never made it to my throat, the scream that threatened to emerge summarily executed.
His sour breath was hot and close to my ear. I caught a bitter smell, a distillation of coffee, sweat and ruthlessness. I should twist and turn. I should bite and scratch. Determined to extract his DNA, I should take lumps out of him with my nails. I did none of these things. Maybe, if I pretended my hyoid bone had snapped, he’d let me go.
Pitiable and feeble, I stopped moving at all. I took a last look at freedom, the garden beyond, the dog pottering about, sniffing every bush, peeing on every blade of grass, oblivious to the chaos in my kitchen. I’d never envisaged life ending this way. Finally, I keened my ears for Scarlet’s voice, but there was nothing there apart from my assailant’s.
“You crazy bitch. You fucking ruined everything.”
Compression increased. Veins in my cheeks careered to the surface. Blood vessels in my eyes bulged. Pressure built and expanded until my head was empty of thought, of belief and hope and love.
In the sickly silence, my thoughts grew faint, like I was calling from a faraway place and nobody could hear me.
The room slid. With a tremendous bump, I hit the deck. My chin banged on the tiles, splitting my lower lip and chipping a tooth. Greedy for air, I gulped and tasted blood in my mouth. My heart vibrated against my already battered ribcage.
Stumbling to my knees, I heard shouts and the dull thud of fists on flesh. On unsteady feet, I stood, swayed and turned around.
His face contorted with rage; Rocco sat astride Mallis. He had him by the collar of his shirt, smashing his head again and again against the floor. Mallis cursed but didn’t resist. Weirdly, his snake-eyes smiled. And then I saw why.
Everything happened in slow-mo. I saw the gun first. My voice wheezed, “Rocco.” He dived. My trainer connected with the side of Mallis’s hand, unbalancing me, though I did not fall. A loud crack and flash and the pistol cartwheeled across the kitchen. Mallis rolled towards it, arm reaching. God alone knew how many shots he had left. Enough. That’s all I knew.
My ears rang and I did not hear the sound of the front door battered off its hinges. I did not see eight firearms officers armed with MP5’s storm the house. My eyes were only for Rocco.
“Get down, get down,” a man’s voice yelled. I dropped, lead-weight, to the ground, face pressed against the floor. I heard the noise of metal scraping across tiles, Mallis letting go of the firearm and a firearms officer, a stocky figure in black, kicking it away. Glancing up, I watched Mallis, bloodied and granite faced as two officers cuffed and arrested him.
Alive and unharmed, Rocco’s gaze met mine. As surprised as me that we’d made it, he beamed a magical smile.