Stuart MacBride - Shatter the Bones

Logan scratched the fur between the bear’s ears. ‘There’s going to be a ceremony later and the Lord Provost’s going to give it back to her. I think her mum and dad want to bury it… Anyway, the little girl would like to meet you, if you’re free later? Would you like that?’

Silence.

He swallowed. Let out a long breath. Then pulled up a plastic chair. ‘Jenny, the doctors want me to tell you about your mummy…’

‘So, the Chief Constable made an official complaint, and now Green’s buried under a mountain of paperwork, trying to explain why he charged into a hostage situation and let someone shoot someone else with the gun he wasn’t supposed to have.’

No reply.

Logan stared at the ceiling. ‘The caravan still smells like a mouldy tramp, by the way. You should see the size of the spiders — bastards are demanding squatters’ rights…’

He squeezed Samantha’s hand. The skin was cold.

The machine hissed and pinged, breathing for her. Another bleeped, displaying her heartbeat. Everything stank of disinfectant, boiled cauliflower, and despair. Even Wee Hamish Mowat’s huge bunch of flowers couldn’t cover that up.

‘They found out who torched the flat.’ He cleared his throat. ‘When they ran Craig Peterson’s DNA through the system, it matched the stuff on the outside of the flat door. It… That’s why there was no fibres or fingerprints. I picked on him because I thought he needed taking down a notch, and he…’ A deep breath. ‘He must’ve through I was on to them. So he tried to get us out of the way. It was my fault: all of it. All of this…’

Logan bent forward until his forehead rested on the scratchy blanket.

‘I don’t want to be a police officer any more. I don’t fucking deserve to be one any more.’

The machines bleeped and hissed. The building throbbed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s OK. Shhhh…’ A hand stroked the back of his neck. ‘It’s OK.’

He looked up and Samantha smiled down at him from her nest of pillows.

‘God, Logan, you make such a fuss about stuff.’

‘I thought you were-’

‘I’m fine. Didn’t think you were going to get rid of me that easily, did you?’ She pulled the wires from her wrist and chest. ‘Come on, let’s blow this corrugated craphole before they decide to stick me in another sodding coma.’ Samantha swung her legs out of bed and hopped down onto the linoleum…

Logan blinked, jerked upright in his seat. Wiped a hand across his mouth, clearing away the drool.

Samantha just lay there, hooked to the machines with tubes and wires, not moving, not saying anything.

Because in real life there were no happy endings — in real life there was just pain and shattered bones.