Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

He was searching my face, desperate for some sign of understanding. After a moment I saw the hope go out of his eyes. He gave a crooked smile.

'Yes, well, life never turns out how we want, does it?'

Suddenly, he slammed his hand down on the table.

'Dammit, David, why couldn't you have made sure Mason was dead? I might have taken my chances then, even with the girl! But now I don't have any choice!'

His frustration echoed around the hallway. He passed his hand over his face, then sat motionless, staring into space. After a while he seemed to rouse himself.

'Let's get this over with,' he said, dully.

As he started to push himself to his feet, I gathered all my strength and lunged out of the wheelchair at him.

It was a feeble attempt. My legs gave way immediately, dumping me onto the hallway floor as the chair clattered onto its side behind me. The sudden movement had set the room spinning again. I squeezed my eyes shut as it canted at a crazy angle, any hope of rebellion swiftly ended.

'Oh, David, David,' Henry said, sadly.

I lay there as the floor wheeled and swooped, helplessly waiting for the prick of the needle and the final blackness that would follow it. Nothing came. I opened my eyes, tried to focus on him through the vertigo. He was staring down at me with something like concern, the syringe held uncertainly in one hand.

'You're only making it worse. If I give you this it'll kill you. Please don't make me.'

'Going to anyway…' I slurred.

I tried to push myself up. There was no strength in my arms, and the sudden exertion had set my head pounding. I collapsed back to the floor as a haze began to creep into my vision. Through it I saw Henry reach down and take hold of my wrist. I had no strength to pull free, could only watch as he put the needle against the soft skin of my forearm. I tried to ready myself, determined to resist the drug even though I knew it would be futile.

But Henry didn't depress the syringe. Slowly, he took it away again.

'I can't, not like this,' he mumbled.

He tucked the syringe back in his pocket. The mist was spreading across my vision now, darkening the hallway. I felt consciousness drifting away again. No! I resisted but it slipped through my fingers no matter how hard I tried to hold on. The world disappeared except for a huge, rhythmic booming. I dimly recognized it as my heartbeat.

From a long way away, I felt myself being lifted. I became aware of a sense of movement. I opened my eyes, shut them again as a shifting kaleidoscope of colours and shapes brought a queasy wave of nausea. I fought it down, determined not to black out again. There was a bump, and then I felt cool air against my face. I opened my eyes to see an indigo night sky domed above me. Its stars and constellations seemed crystal bright, appearing and disappearing behind the torn clouds that raced across it on invisible winds.

I breathed deeply, trying to clear my head. Ahead of me was the Land Rover. The chair was bumping towards it unevenly, its wheels crunching over the driveway's gravel. Now my senses seemed to have been honed to an uncanny clarity. I heard the rustle of branches in the wind, smelled the loamy scent of wet earth. The scratches and mud splashes on the Land Rover seemed as big as continents.

The drive was on an incline, and I could hear Henry panting as he struggled to push me up it. He went around to the back of the car and stopped, gasping for breath. I knew I should try to move, but the knowledge didn't seem to extend to my limbs. When he'd recovered, Henry began making his way around the chair, supporting himself on it until he could transfer his grip to the car. He moved awkwardly, his legs wooden and rigid. He swung open the Land Rover's single rear door and lowered himself until he was sitting down on the back edge. He was drenched in sweat, his exhausted pallor visible even in the moonlight.

He looked up, chest heaving for breath. A weak smile touched his face when he saw me.

'You… you with us again?' Still sitting on the inside edge of the Land Rover, he leaned towards me. I felt his hands under my arms. 'Last leg, now, David. Up we get.'

Years of pushing himself about in the wheelchair had given him considerable upper body strength, and he used it now to lift me again. I thrashed weakly against him. He grunted, taking firmer hold. As he hauled me from the chair I grabbed hold of the car door. I clung on to it, so that it swung with me.

'Come, David, don't be stupid,' he gasped, trying to prise me off it.

I kept hold, grimly.

'Look, bloody let go!'

He wrenched me free, cracking my head against the edge of the door. The impact jarred me, and then I was being laid out on the hard metal floor in the back of the Land Rover.

'Oh, God, David, I didn't mean to do that,' Henry said. He took out a handkerchief, began to dab at my forehead. The cloth came away glistening darkly. Henry stared at it, then leaned against the doorframe and covered his eyes. 'Christ, what a bloody mess.'

My head hurt savagely, but it was a clean pain, almost refreshing after the drug-induced mist. 'Don't… Henry, don't do this…'

'Do you think I want to? I just want it to end now. That's not too much to ask, is it?' He swayed, wearily. 'God, I'm so tired. I was going to drive you down to the lake and finish this there. Take the boat over and see to Mason. But I really don't think I can manage that now.'

He reached behind me into the Land Rover's shadowy interior. When he straightened he was holding a length of rubber hosepipe.

'I salvaged this from the garden while you were out. Don't think Mason will be needing it any more.' The grim attempt at humour was short-lived. He seemed to sag. 'It'll be messier if they find you here, but there's nothing else for it. With a bit of luck everyone will assume it was suicide. Not perfect, but it'll have to do.'

The light was cut off as Henry slammed the Land Rover's back door. I heard him lock it, then he was moving around outside the car. I tried to sit up but dizziness swept over me again. I put my hand out to steady myself and touched something rough and solid. A blanket. I saw there was something underneath it and with a cold shock I realized what it was.

Jenny.

She was huddled on the floor behind the passenger seat. In the near-darkness only the blonde cap of her hair was visible. It was dark and matted. She wasn't moving.

'Jenny! Jenny!'

There was no response as I pulled the blanket from her head. Her skin was icy. Oh God, no, please God.

The driver's door suddenly opened. Henry grunted as he eased himself into the seat.

'Henry… Please, help me.'

My voice was drowned out as he started the engine. It settled into a dull grumble. Henry cracked open the driver's window slightly, then twisted round to look at me. In the darkness it was difficult to make out his face.

'I'm sorry, David. Truly. But I can't see any other way.'

'For God's sake!'

'Goodbye, David.'

Awkwardly, he levered himself out and slammed the door. A moment later something snaked through the gap at the top of the window.

It was the rubber hose. And now I understood why he'd left the engine running.

'Henry!' I called, fear giving strength to my voice. I caught a glimpse of him passing the windscreen, heading back towards the house. I squirmed around and tried to open the rear door, even though it was locked. It didn't budge. I thought I could smell the exhaust fumes already. Come on! Think! I began dragging myself towards the cab, where the rubber pipe was jutting through the window. The impassable barricade of the driver and passenger seats rose up before me. I tried to use them to pull myself up and felt the fog closing in on me. I collapsed weakly into the back again. No! Don't black out! I turned my head, saw the still unmoving shape of Jenny, and fought off the rising blackness.