Luke Delaney - The Keeper

As she drew closer and closer to the square object she began to realize what it was — a cage, maybe four foot wide and high, six feet long. Worse, the door to the cage was open. Her breathing became instantly short and laboured like a panting dog, as she convinced herself she was trapped in the cellar with some escaped wild beast that was now circling her in the gloom, clinging to the edges of the room where it couldn’t be seen, preparing to pounce as soon as she ran for the stairs.

Then she heard it, a noise away to her right, something moving, the animal positioning itself to attack, the terror of her situation freezing her rigid. But eventually she forced her head to twist towards the sound, at least enough so she could see out of the corner of her right eye, another large box silhouetted in the gloom, a shape huddled in one corner — an unthreatening shape — something that feared her more than she feared it. She turned fully and headed towards the box until she could see it was an identical cage to the first one, only this one’s door was shut and there was something inside — something alive, cowering.

Sally shuffled slowly forward, her ASP gripped tightly at her side, moving endlessly towards the cage before suddenly freezing again and looking from the empty cage to the cage with the thing inside. The image of Keller coming from the door above carrying a mattress and clothes flashed in her memory, the fear lifting and allowing her to think, the realization of where she was and what she was seeing flooding over her. The true awfulness of what must have happened down here suddenly dawned on her as she covered her mouth with her free hand to try and disguise her words. ‘Oh my dear God,’ she said, louder than a whisper. ‘Oh my dear God.’

She almost ran the last few feet to the cage and kneeled by its side, peering through the wire at the wild-eyed creature trapped within as she simultaneously fumbled for the key she knew would fit the lock. ‘I’m a police officer,’ she told the filthy, terrified woman trying to hide in the corner of the cage. She fished her warrant card from her pocket and pressed it against the wire mesh. ‘You’re Deborah Thomson, yes? I’ve come to get you out of here.’

The woman didn’t reply, her eyes full of mistrust and fear. Sally moved quickly around to the cage door and wrestled to free the lock, struggling to find the slot for the key in the dim light. Finally it popped open and she was able to pull the door free and swing it ajar.

‘I think it’s time to get out of here. Don’t you?’ she said.

The woman remained where she was, cowering virtually naked in a corner of the cage.

‘It’s over,’ Sally reassured her. ‘He can’t hurt you any more. It’s over.’

The woman’s bloodied lips finally cracked open. ‘Who are you?’ she asked, her voice hoarse and barely audible.

‘My name’s Sally.’ She stretched out her arm, offering Deborah Thomson her hand. ‘Detective Sergeant Sally Jones.’

Kate sat tiredly in the staffroom hidden in the corner of Guy’s Hospital Emergency Department, watching some hideous Sunday afternoon cooking programme and drinking instant coffee — her sixth of the day. She’d had to dump the kids on her mum again, thanks to Sean’s unscripted absence. No doubt he wouldn’t be home until well after she’d picked the kids up, taken them home, fed them and put them to bed. She was beginning to feel like she was doing two full-time jobs without a whole lot of support and she was having to try harder and harder not to resent it. It wasn’t as if Sean was being paid a fortune as a detective inspector. Worst thing he ever did was take promotion — at least as a sergeant he got paid overtime, some compensation for never being around. Now he seemed to work more hours for less money.

Hearing the staffroom door open, she looked up and saw Mary Greer, the A and E manager, enter. Ignoring the other people slumped around the room, she made a beeline in Kate’s direction. Kate smiled, but Mary didn’t smile back. Her own smile faded as she recognized the expression on the other woman’s face. It was an expression that said she was the bearer of bad news — personal bad news.

Kate’s first thought was that it was one of the girls, the fear almost stopping her heart. But if it was the children, surely Sean would have come? No matter what was going on at work, he would have dropped everything to be here …

In that second she realized she’d solved the puzzle. Her hand covered her mouth as tears pooled in her eyes and her throat swelled almost shut. Mary crossed the room quickly and held her gently by the shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told her. ‘It’s Sean. He’s on his way in. He’s been shot.’

Mostly it was darkness — silent darkness, but the nightmares found their way through — the orange blast of a gun pointing towards him, faces too close to his own — his father’s, sneering and leering — Thomas Keller’s, his red teeth gritted in hatred, eyes blazing with evil intention — Sebastian Gibran, mocking him with laughter — Sally lying in the hospital with tubes snaking down her throat — Kate crying and pleading with him not to leave her — the faces of Louise Russell and Karen Green, their dead eyes staring at him, their lifeless blue lips parting to whisper to him: Why didn’t you save us? Why didn’t you save us? Why didn’t you save us? — their faces slowly changing, growing younger and younger until they became the faces of his own daughters, their eyes also the eyes of the lifeless, their lips as pale blue as the lips of the dead women who’d spoken to him from beyond the grave as they lay broken in the woods — Why didn’t you save us? Why didn’t you save us? Why didn’t you save us? Then the darkness came and brought him peace — peace like he’d never known before — peace like he’d never had since being forced from his mother’s womb.

Three Days Later

He heard sounds though he couldn’t see anything other than light. Sounds in the distance, surreal and difficult to make out. A few seconds later his eyes flickered and opened and he remembered where he was. Kate was sitting by his bedside, dressed in her hospital uniform, loose blue cotton trousers and shapeless blue top, her name tag clipped to her breast pocket. ‘You fell asleep again,’ she told him. The sun shone brightly through the window of his private room. He’d only escaped intensive care the night before.

‘Sorry,’ he murmured, his mouth painfully dry.

‘Don’t be,’ she assured him. ‘It’s the painkillers. You’ll be dopey for a few days yet.’ She lifted his covered water beaker and eased the straw between his lips. ‘You’re still pretty dehydrated. You need to try and drink.’

He nodded he understood, sipped the water and looked around the room, even in his present state able to process the information his eyes were passing to his brain. Since he’d recovered from his initial surgery he’d been waking for brief periods and nearly every time she’d been there, waiting for him, snatched conversations before he drifted away, emotional and tearful at first, but increasingly calm as the gut-wrenching fear faded somewhat.

‘A private room?’ he asked, the straw still in his mouth.

‘Press got wind of your heroics ,’ she said. ‘They were sniffing around all over the place dressed as everything from surgeons to porters. We thought we’d better ferret you away somewhere out of sight.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, pushing the straw from his mouth with his tongue and relaxing back into his pillow, the movement making him wince with pain and turn to look at his shoulder wrapped in heavily layered white bandages with a thin tube disappearing under them.

‘It’s a self-administering morphine feed. If you’re feeling any pain, just press this switch.’ She pointed at a grey box close to his right hand. ‘It’s regulated,’ she added, ‘so you can’t overdose.’