Darren Shan - Hell's Horizon

Ali found us together that afternoon. He walked in unannounced, as he usually did, and stopped when he spotted the beautiful naked woman by my side. He exited rapidly, ears burning, apologizing profusely. Just before he left, his head poked round the door for a sneak look at Priscilla. That produced my first genuine smile in a long time. I squeezed her tightly and cuddled up close, burying my face in her hair, trying not to compare it with Ellen’s.

She didn’t bring much with her — a small bag of clothes, underwear, shoes, cosmetics — but enough to make it clear this was more than a one-night stand. She also brought spirits and liqueurs. I didn’t like having them in the apartment, or the way she left the tops open so they filled the rooms with their sickly-sweet scent, but I didn’t say anything. She needed the drink, and I understood that. I’d just have to be stronger while she was around.

She slipped out to work every morning and returned as early as she could. We’d make love or talk or simply hold one another. Cook a late dinner, eat slowly, make love again. Most nights we didn’t get to bed before two.

Bill was delighted. He thought Priscilla was the best thing that could have happened to me. He had dinner with us in the apartment a couple of times and we sat around talking, none of us making mention of Ellen or Nic.

One night, when conversation did turn to the murdered women, Priscilla blurted out the truth about Valerie Thomas. She’d been drinking a lot. Bill said something about being glad Valerie was dead. Priscilla snorted and said, “One down. Now we just have that fucking boyfriend to—”

She caught herself. Tried to backtrack. But it was too late. She caught me glaring at her, burst into tears and fled to the bathroom. A stunned Bill prevented me from going after her.

“Something you want to share with me, Al?”

Since there was no point trying to hide it any longer, I told him the truth about Valerie, her god , the boyfriend.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” He sounded more pained than outraged.

“It would have been my word against her confession.”

“You know only too damn well which I would have believed,” he growled.

I nodded. “I should have told you, even if I kept it quiet from the others. But…” I wasn’t sure I could explain. “I want out of this, Bill. I’m sick of suspects, clues, twists, death. I want to drop the whole sorry sack of shit and pretend it never happened.”

“Do you think you’ll be allowed to?” he asked softly. “Do you think the bastard who killed Nic and Ellen will stop? Whatever his motives, he’ll come after you, or Priscilla, or somebody else. I wish to God you’d never gotten involved in this mess, but you’re in it now. The time to quit passed long ago. Drawing in on yourself like this serves no purpose. It only leaves you — and those close to you — open to attack.”

“I don’t care.” I locked gazes with him and said it again for added effect. “I don’t care. That’s why I didn’t tell you about Valerie, why I holed up. I don’t have the energy to worry anymore. I can’t fight any longer.” Tears were rolling down my cheeks. “When they took Ellen, I went crazy. I was capable of anything. But then I confronted Valerie and saw the hate in her. Something snapped. I was ready to fight to the very end. Now it seems useless. So I’m walking away from it.”

“But this isn’t the right time to throw in the towel. You’re vulnerable.”

“Fuck it. If they want to kick me while I’m down, or kill me, let them.”

“This isn’t you speaking,” he said sadly.

“It’s me, Bill,” I assured him. “What’s left of me.”

When he went, it was with a vow to carry on the investigation. He swore he wouldn’t rest until the real culprit was brought to justice. He’d even bend the law if he had to. Snap it in two if that was required. It was the first time I’d heard him speak like that. I didn’t like it, but if he wanted to waste his time chasing ghosts, let him. I was through trying to sort out other people’s problems for them.

Priscilla apologized when she emerged. I told her not to worry, took her in my arms and we made love. And for the first time I realized how mechanical our lovemaking was.

I started going for walks while Priscilla was at work, long, punishing walks, during which I strove to clear my mind, concentrating on my lungs and leg muscles, oblivious to everything else.

Bill called a couple of times to say he was following leads. I lent him my notes and files, even material that was for Troop eyes only. I neither encouraged his investigation nor tried to dissuade him. As far as I was concerned, it was his life and he could do what he liked with it.

Frank got in touch, sounding me out. I said I was considering a return to work, but wanted more time to think about it. He never mentioned Ellen, Valerie or any of that, though I knew he must be frothing with questions.

I studied a calendar one morning and realized it had been almost two months since Nic met with her end, three and a half weeks since Ellen went the same way, and only — I had to count three times before I’d believe it — ten days since Priscilla moved in. Ten days! It felt like months. I wondered if time was moving as slowly for her as it was for me.

I returned from a walk to discover Priscilla sitting in the living room, looking troubled. She was tapping a small parcel on the table in front of her. I sensed danger. I almost turned tail and ran. But where would I go?

“Buy something?” I asked, closing the door.

“No. I mean, yes, I had a half day and I was shopping, which is why I’m home early. But my bags are in the bedroom. I got…” She stopped and pushed the parcel away. “Nice walk?”

“Lovely.” I sat beside her and gave her a quick squeeze, eyes fixed on the box, which was wrapped in brown paper, something scrawled across the top.

“I ran into a blind beggar on my way back,” she said, and the ice in my stomach spread. “He gave me that.” She pointed at the box. “I thought it was a religious book. I started to tear it open. Then I saw the name and decided to leave it.”

I studied the name. Block letters. AL JEERY. No address, just my name.

“Do you think it’s a bomb?” Priscilla asked.

I smiled grimly. “I doubt it.”

“Maybe we should call the bomb squad anyway, or take it to someone who knows about these things.”

“ I know. I learned about explosives in the Troops.” A lie, but it calmed Priscilla. I picked up the box and shook it gently, listening intently, as if I could tell from the noise whether it was safe.

“It’s not a bomb,” I said, faking confidence.

“Thank God,” she sighed, relaxing. She glanced at me and licked her lips. “Are you going to open it?”

I nodded. “But you’d better go to the bedroom and lock the door before I do.”

“But you said—”

“I know. But it’s as easy to be safe as sorry.”

She half-rose, hesitated, then sat again in spite of her fear. “No. If you stay, I stay too.”

I unwrapped the paper. It peeled away, revealing an unremarkable cardboard box. I handed the paper to Priscilla, who crumpled it up and held it in front of her lower face, as if it would protect her from the blast if there was one.

I ran my fingers around the join between the lid and the box — no trace of a wire. I thumbed up the section of the lid closest to me, lifted the other end a few inches, shifted the lid clear of the box and laid it on the table. Inside was a cloud of pink tissue.

“What is it?” Priscilla asked.

“Tissue,” I told her, rubbing part of it between my thumb and index finger.

“Nothing more?” she frowned.