Mike Shevdon - Sixty-One Nails

"What's the matter?" The male voice in the corridor was joined by a face over Claire's shoulder. The ruffled sandy hair over grey eyes regarded us with suspicion. "Who the hell are you?"

Claire pushed into the room, followed by the man.

"How did you get in here?" he asked, looking at Blackbird and me, then glancing back towards the corridor. "Elizabeth, are you OK?" he asked the woman standing in front of the bed. She nodded.

"They said they were friends of yours," she said to Claire.

"How did you…?" Claire trailed off, glancing back at the man in the doorway. Then she stepped sideways, taking his sleeve and drawing him into the room so she could push the door closed behind him.

Blackbird and I moved away from the door to give them some room. It was getting crowded.

"Claire? Who are these people?" Elizabeth wanted an explanation.

"And how did they get in here?" the man asked.

Claire took a deep breath. "These are the people I told you about, the ones we were to meet downstairs."

"There are two men at the end of the corridor that are supposed to be turning visitors away," he said. "What? They just walked past them?"

"It's not their fault," said Claire.

"Of course it's their fault," he blustered. "They'll get their ears bent for this, I can tell you."

"We came to see if we could help," Blackbird said quietly.

"The doctors are already doing everything possible," Elizabeth told her. "There's nothing anyone can do except wait."

The younger woman, who had been watching this exchange, took the limp hand of the man on the bed in hers, watching her mother.

"Perhaps I could take a look at him?" Blackbird suggested.

"As I said," Elizabeth spoke more firmly, "the doctors are doing everything possible."

"Perhaps if Veronica were to take a look?" Claire suggested. "She might see something the doctors have missed?"

"The tests were very thorough, Claire." Elizabeth glanced towards the bed. "It's down to him now."

"Not necessarily," said Blackbird.

"I think Mrs Checkland would like you to leave now," the man said.

"Very well," said Blackbird. "Claire, we need the nails. It's what we came for. Can you get them for us?"

"Please help him," Claire said. "You can see how he is. I can't leave him like this."

"You must," Blackbird said. "You must, because if you don't, there will be more of this and worse besides. You know it and we know it. Soon enough, they'll all know it unless we get the nails and you find another Remembrancer, someone alive enough to carry out the ceremony."

At her words, Elizabeth's expression hardened, her lips blanching to a fine line. Her hand lifted to cover her mouth.

"Oh that was uncalled for," said the man. "How insensitive can you get?"

"It's the truth," Blackbird stated. "Let me see, how does it go? His breathing is shallow, but there's nothing wrong with his lungs. His heartbeat is weak, and yet there is no trace of cardiac problems. He has no indication of disease; in fact his body temperature is low, not high as you would expect with an infection. He appears to be asleep, but he's not."

Elizabeth nodded. "They did a brain scan. They said it could be a shallow coma; he could wake up any time."

"He won't wake up," Blackbird told her. "I'm sorry for your husband, Mrs. Checkland, but he won't wake up because he isn't asleep. He's lost."

"What do you mean, 'lost'?" said the man.

"Can you help him?" Claire asked, cutting across the question.

"There may be a price to pay," Blackbird told her.

"We have money," Elizabeth said. "We can afford the best." The sliver of hope was enough to push back the tears from her eyes.

"I wasn't talking about money. There are higher prices than money can afford."

"What are you suggesting?" Elizabeth said.

"Let me see if I can help him first. Then we can discuss what it may cost you."

"Does anyone else here see that she's talking nonsense?" protested the man. "She's just exploiting your worst fears and taking advantage of your vulnerability at a bad time. It's the oldest con-trick in the book."

I edged closer to the door, intending to seal it if he tried to raise the alarm at our presence. Claire noticed my movement and held up her hand to me, her mute expression asking me to pause a moment.

"Sam, I asked you here to help. I know you think you're protecting us, but Veronica is possibly the only person who can help us. Don't ask me how I know this because I could never tell you, but I do know it. There have been plenty of times when you've been on assignment that you couldn't talk about and you've told me I just had to trust you. Now I'm asking you to trust me."

"But this is ridiculous," he protested.

"Is it? You have this place wrapped up tight yet they walked in without a soul seeing them. How do you explain that?"

"I'm about to ask that question myself."

"Please don't. I'll do my best to explain later, but you have to accept there are things I can't tell you. You're used to secrets in your job. It shouldn't be too hard to accept that I have them too."

Something in her words stung him. His face registered shock and surprise.

"If you'll allow them to help Jerry," she continued, "then I'll try and explain later. In the meantime I need you to accept this. In fact I need you to do your best to conceal the fact that these people were ever here at all. Sam, I need your help. You have to trust me on this."

"This is crazy, you must see that."

"Please, Sam?"

For a moment, he was debating within himself, then his shoulders fell. "OK," he lifted his hands in a gesture of uselessness. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

"Elizabeth?" she asked, turning to the woman standing between us and the bed.

"What are you intending to do?" she asked.

"Initially I just want to see how bad it is," Blackbird told her. "If I can't help him then I'll tell you. I won't lie to you."

"It won't hurt him, will it?"

"Not this part. Bringing him back, though, may not be as easy."

She stood aside. "You can take a look."

Blackbird walked around the side of the bed, looking across at Sam, standing with his arms folded in challenge.

She paused. "What do they call you, Sam-who-keepssecrets?" Blackbird asked him.

"Veldon. Sam Veldon." He looked at Claire's crestfallen expression. "What?"

Blackbird smiled. "Are you a policeman?"

"No," he said, the lie in his tone apparent immediately to me as it must have been to Blackbird.

"Something similar?" she asked.

"What's it to you?" he challenged.

"Will you have to write a report of this?"

"That depends what you do," he said.

"Claire said you know how to keep secrets. Is she right?"

"I have kept secrets, yes."

"You must promise me," she said to him quietly and evenly, "you will tell no one outside this room what transpires here, by whatever means. Are you willing to make that promise?"

"I don't have to promise you anything." His stance was rigid, arms crossed, feet square.

"Then I must ask you to leave," she said.

"On whose say-so?" he challenged.

"She's right, Sam. You have to promise," Claire insisted. "This must never be spoken of."

"What are you?" he asked Blackbird. "Some kind of witch?"

The intake of breath through my teeth drew everyone's attention, rather than Blackbird, so they missed seeing Blackbirds eyes narrow and her chin come up at the use of that word. The temperature in the room dropped and I could feel the magic prickling across my skin as she directed her anger back at Sam.

"Use that word again, Sam Veldon, and you will regret it for the rest of your short little life." She was moving slowly around the bed, stalking towards him, each tread increasing the pent-up tension building in the room.