Ian Rankin - Exit Music

'Tell me now,' she demanded.

'It would just be more baggage, Shiv. Trust me, you're better off without it.'

'Tell me anyway.'

Rebus had just started to open his mouth when a high-pitched alarm sounded from inside the ward. No expert in medical equipment, he reckoned he still knew a flatline when he heard one – and coming from the equipment next to Cafferty's bed. He stormed back in, hauling himself up on to the bed, straddling the prone figure.

Started pumping both hands down on Cafferty's chest.

'Kiss of life,' he yelled at Clarke, 'every third beat!'

'Staff are coming,' she told him. 'We should leave it to them.'

'Damned if this bastard's going to give up the ghost on me now.'

Flecks of Rebus's saliva hit Cafferty's forehead. He pumped his hands again, one palm on top of the other. Counted it out. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Knew people who'd recovered from CPR but with a rib or two broken from the effort.

Push hard, he told himself.

'Don't you bloody well dare!' he hissed from between gritted teeth.

Saw the first nurse on the scene draw back, thinking the words were meant for her.

Blood rushing through Rebus's ears, almost deafening him. No cold, cleansed death for you, he was thinking.

One, two, three. One, two, three.

After all we've been through… can't end with a couple of whacks from Todd Goodyear…

One, two, three. One, two, three.

There should be mess… and fuss… and blood.

One, two, three.

'John?'

One, two, three.

'John?' Siobhan's voice seemed to be coming to him from some far-distant place. 'That's enough now. You can let go now.'

The machines were making noises. Sweat in his eyes and the hissing in his ears – couldn't tell if they were good news or not. In the end, it took two doctors, an attendant and a nurse to drag him off the bed.

'Is he going to be all right?' he heard himself ask. 'Tell me he's going to be all right…'