Tania Carver: Cage of Bones

Interesting, thought Marina. DCI Glass was Ben Fenwick’s replacement. She wondered in how many ways.

She nodded once more, said nothing. Rose Martin’s attitude was typical of a lot of officers she saw. They felt they could handle themselves. Reached a point where they found their convalescence too constricting, where they knew they were ready for the challenge of the job, raring to go once more. And if any problems came up, if they had flashbacks, they could always rely on their old inner strength to pull them through.

Even in the comparatively short time that Marina had been doing the job, she had seen too many of them try that, only to crash and burn. Their inner strength had deserted them at the first opportunity. They had crumpled, folded. Been back at square one.

She leaned forward in her armchair. ‘Look, Rose. I don’t want to seem negative, but it’s easy to think you can just walk back into work like nothing’s happened and pick up where you left off.’

Rose leaned forward too. ‘I know myself. I know how I feel. I know when I’m damaged and when I’m good. And I’m good now.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘Never is, is it?’ Rose gave a harsh laugh. Nodded. ‘This is about Phil Brennan, isn’t it? I know what he thinks of me. And if anyone’s blocking me coming back, it’ll be him.’

Marina sighed. Didn’t bother to hide it. ‘I’m a psychologist, Rose. Bound by the oaths of the medical profession. Do you really want me to add “paranoid delusions” to your file?’

Rose Martin sat back, stared at Marina.

Marina leaned forward once more. ‘Look, Rose. Over the last five months, you’ve refused to talk to me. Ignored all attempts to let me help you.’

‘Because I didn’t need help. I’ve coped on my own.’

‘So you say. You wouldn’t even attend the anger-management course I recommended.’

Rose Martin’s eyes flashed at the words. ‘I didn’t need your help,’ she repeated.

Marina sighed. ‘I just wanted to say, I know how you feel.’

Rose snorted once more. ‘Is this the bit where you try to be my friend? Tell me you’re the only person who understands me?’

Marina looked at the notes in her lap, deciding. She looked up again. ‘No, it’s not, Rose.’ Steel in her voice hiding a battened-down anger at the other woman’s manner. ‘This is the bit where I put professionalism aside for a while and deviate from the script. Forget that I’m a psychologist and you’re a police officer. Where we talk as one human being to another.’

Rose said nothing.

‘I do know what you’re going through, Rose. Because the same thing happened to me. It was before your time here, but the circumstances were very similar. If you don’t believe me, check it out.’

Marina paused, tried not to let the memories overwhelm her. She continued.

‘And I did what you did. I thought I could cope. Just get on with things again, live my life like nothing had happened. I tried. And I couldn’t.’ She bit back the emotion in her voice.

The shield slipped. Rose frowned, interested. ‘What happened?’

Marina shrugged. ‘I coped. Eventually. Took a while. Longer than I thought it would. Longer than I felt it should have done. It wasn’t easy. But I got there. In time.’

The two women sat in silence together. Then Rose’s phone rang.

She answered it, even though Marina had started to speak, to tell her it should have been switched off. Marina watched the other woman’s face. It changed from initial hostility to polite interest. A smile then split her features as she listened. She took a notebook and pen from her bag, wrote something down. Hung up. Turned to Marina.

‘That was DCI Glass. He has a case he needs me to work on.’

Marina nodded, noting her words. Needs . ‘Right. When would this be?’

‘Straight away. Shortage of staff. He thinks I’m ready.’

‘Does he?’

Another smile from Rose Martin. Triumphant. Adrenalised.

Marina shrugged. ‘You’d better go, then.’

‘Don’t you have to write a report on me?’

‘Doesn’t seem a lot of point now, does there?’

Rose left the room.

Marina shook her head, clearing Rose Martin out of it. She checked when her next appointment was, looked at her watch. Thought about what she’d be having for lunch. Wondered what her daughter Josephina was getting up to with her grandparents. Then her phone rang.

She answered. DC Anni Hepburn.

‘You busy?’ Then, before she could answer, ‘You want a distraction?’

Marina leaned forward. ‘What’s up?’

Anni’s voice became hesitant. ‘I’m at the hospital. The General. And I could do with a bit of help… ’

Paul had left him in the cave. Stuck in as far as he could push him. Tried to push everything in after him. Stopper him up. He hoped he would never come out.

Right at the far end, the black, dank far end. With the crying and the sobbing and the wailing of the lost souls. With the hideous dirt-encrusted earth creatures. The back of the cave. Away from the light. As far away from the light as he could get.

It was Paul’s turn to be out. To put his face to the light. Close his eyes. Breathe in the air. Remind himself of what was important. That he could still live like this. That he could still live with his face to the sun if he wanted to. Close his eyes. Breathe. Relax. He still could. He just had to believe in it enough.

Not be dragged back. Into the cave again.

Into the dark.

He closed his eyes. Sat on the floor. Back in place. His sacred space. His special place. He tried to relax. Couldn’t.

Because of the noise out there. The people. What were they doing? Rushing round, talking in loud voices, their cars screeching, their voices coming through the air. Talk. Talking, talking. Always talking. Not saying anything. Like radio static. Just noise. Horrible noise. Giving him a headache.

And then he had seen the boy.

Dragged out of the sacrifice house. Kicking, screaming. Pulling, pushing. Crying.

And Paul had hid his face in his hands. Put his arms round his head, over his ears. Blocking out the sound. The noise of the boy. The crying boy.

‘No… no… ’

Because that wasn’t what it was about. Never had been. Never. No… Not that. He had tried to stop that. Tried to…

And look where it had got him.

The boy had kept screaming.

Paul sang to himself, chanted words, rocking back and forward, warding off the noise, keeping the bad spirits away. Songs from the old days. The happy days. Good-times songs. Community songs. Together songs.

But it didn’t work. He still heard the boy’s cries. Imagined his tears. Felt his fear.

Eventually the noise stopped. The boy stopped screaming. Or stopped screaming outside. Just the blue suits and their noise left.

He dared to watch. Gave a small peek. Saw them going into the sacrifice house.

Knew what they were going to find.

Ducked back down again, heart pounding.

Knew what they were going to find. Knew…

And knew something else too. They would keep looking. Come to his house next. Find him. And then… And then…

He couldn’t have that. Not that. No.

So he curled up, small as he could. Back to a child, back in the womb.

Back when he was happy.

Curled up. And hoped they wouldn’t find him.

At least he wasn’t in the cave.

That was something.

‘Right,’ said Phil. ‘Plan of action.’

He wanted to go above ground, feel sunlight on his skin, breathe in clean air. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

He turned to Mickey. ‘What did we get from the guy who called it in?’

Mickey checked his notes. ‘Two of them. Demolition team. House was going to be turned into a housing estate. They’ve both been taken to hospital. Kid who got bitten needed some attention. Kept going on about old comics. Shock, probably.’