The Returned

by Seth Patrick

  Thomas indulged in a moment of fantasy, seeing himself bricking up the cell, blocking out the light in triumph, hearing the final cry of anguish and defeat from the dead man.

  He’d noted that Laure’s car was not in her driveway as he set off for work, but she hadn’t turned up at the station. It came as a disappointment, of course. By now, she would be long gone, presumably with Julie and the boy. It was a shame, he thought. She’d been a good officer. Someone so senior abandoning her post could trigger a cascade, so Thomas quickly covered it, telling everyone that Laure was ill and would try to be in for the afternoon.

  A report of overnight disturbances at the Lake Pub had come in person soon after daybreak. The owners of a nearby house had driven to the station to tell them. They were on their way out of town and made it clear they weren’t planning to come back any day soon.

  Deciding it was time to get out of the station and take his turn on the streets, Thomas took Alcide to check out the situation. He expected there would no longer be any troublemakers there by the time they reached the scene, which suited him fine.

  When he radioed back to let the station know they’d arrived, he was dismayed by the level of static. He looked at Alcide.

  “Atmospherics?” the young officer suggested.

  “I hope so,” said Thomas. At least that way, things were likely to improve, but he thought it was overly optimistic. Failing radios fit into the pattern of attrition the town seemed to have succumbed to.

  The Lake Pub appeared to be empty, but it had taken a hell of a beating. As they approached, they could see that every window was broken. Stepping with care, they entered through the open front door and surveyed the devastation within. There wasn’t a piece of glass intact in the place; shattered bottles lay all over the floor. Tables and chairs weren’t just overturned—some of them had been broken, legs snapped off. Light fixtures had been torn from the walls and ceiling and smashed.

  “Jesus,” said Alcide, and Thomas threw him a silencing look. He’d heard a noise. He turned his head, getting a bearing on it, then pointed toward the open door to the bathroom. He took out his gun and headed to the door, Alcide following a few steps back.

  The noise kept going, repetitive and watery and familiar. Thomas stepped into the bathroom and moved along the stalls. One by one, he pushed each door wide to find the stall empty. Two were left when he placed the sound.

  It was like a dog lapping water.

  He pushed the next door. It swung open to reveal a man on his knees, head deep in the bowl of the toilet.

  Drinking.

  Thomas stared in disgust. “Don’t move,” he said.

  The man kept drinking for a few seconds, then stopped. His head came up slowly. He was wild-eyed.

  Thomas took a step back. The man’s face was covered with wounds, the skin broken, dark, and infected. It seemed mutilated almost. “Don’t move,” he said again. He sensed Alcide behind him as he took a pair of handcuffs from his belt, keeping the gun leveled at the man.

  “What’s wrong with him?” said Alcide, but Thomas had no answer.

  None he wanted to say aloud.

  The man in the stall lurched to his feet and ran straight at them, a guttural noise coming from him like the growl of an animal. Thomas fired. The man fell and was still.

  Neither officer moved for a dozen seconds. Ears still ringing from the shot, Thomas knelt down. The man was dead.

  He took the handcuffs he was holding and put them on the corpse. When he looked up again, Alcide was staring at him. Thomas could see it in his eyes: Alcide knew why he’d cuffed a dead man.

  • • •

  The station was almost empty when Bruno saw her.

  As ordered, almost everyone was out patrolling, attempting to demonstrate that the town was still under control. He’d been going to check on their sole prisoner, the one nobody wanted to talk about, and as he came up the corridor, she was there in front of the cell.

  Smiling.

  “What are you doing?” asked Bruno, and as he spoke, he realized who the woman was. Lucy Clarsen. Surely, he thought, she’d been evacuated with the rest of the hospital patients?

  “Oh, I’m not even here,” she said, smiling still, as if she knew something, as if she were in on a joke that Bruno was about to hear.

  She brushed past him, walking out. Bruno turned to check the prisoner. Delaître gave him a smile too, but it was one loaded with venom.

  Then Bruno went after the woman, to tell her to leave and to stay out of restricted areas. But he couldn’t see her ahead of him. He hurried along the corridor, up the stairs, out of the secure door.

  Another officer was walking past.

  “Did you see a woman come out of here?” asked Bruno, but he shook his head, bemused by the look on Bruno’s face, and Bruno ran back down, knowing something was wrong.

  He ran all the way back to find the cell empty.

  Delaître had gone.

  84

  Adèle had felt Thomas kiss her cheek as he got up to head out to work. It had seemed ridiculously early, but she hadn’t even been awake enough to check the time. She went back to sleep, and when she woke again, she knew it was late morning. She dressed and went to wake Chloé to ask what she wanted for breakfast.

  What kind of mood her daughter would be in today, she had no idea. The night before, Chloé had veered from talking about Simon to hoping aloud that school would be shut for a few days more. The talk of Simon had left Adèle feeling exhausted, but she couldn’t blame the girl for being conflicted over her father.

  Adèle knocked on Chloé’s door before she opened it and was halfway through her question about breakfast when she froze.

  Chloé wasn’t there. Adèle could see her shoes were missing, so she’d presumably already gotten dressed.

  “Chloé?” she called, checking the bathroom before running downstairs. Maybe Chloé had gone out again, she thought, to see the boy staying with Julie?

  But then she saw him, standing in the kitchen by the back door.

  “Everything’s fine,” said Simon. “Don’t worry.”

  She could only stare. Dead, she thought. You were dead. But it hadn’t stopped him before.

  “What are you doing?” she said. She looked past Simon and saw Chloé outside the patio door, frightened, a woman standing beside her. Adèle ran toward them, but Simon moved into the way and put a firm hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Who is she?” asked Adèle.

  “That’s Lucy. A friend.”

  “Is she like you?” He said nothing. “Tell her to let Chloé go.”

  “Your parents need to talk,” said the woman to Chloé, leading the child into the garden, out of sight.

  “Let her go!” shouted Adèle, terrified now, trying to force her way past Simon. His hands held her, his fingers gripping until they hurt.

  “Calm down,” said Simon, smiling. “You know I wouldn’t hurt our children.”

  “But you…” started Adèle, before she noticed the word he’d used. “Children?”

  He put his hand on her belly. She felt herself flinch. “You’re pregnant,” he said.

  She shook her head.

  “Don’t worry,” said Simon. “This time it’s different. I’ll be with you. No matter what.”

  And she could see it: no matter what she wanted, not even death would keep him away. Whatever choice she made, Simon would be there. The thought terrified her.

  She stepped away from him and grabbed a knife from the kitchen block. “Don’t come near me,” she said.

  “Adèle…don’t be stupid.” He was angry now, the smile gone, and she could see the contempt he held for her whenever she defied him. It was a familiar look.

  “Simon…” she said, then plunged the knife deep into his gut, screaming as the blood came out around her hands, blood that somehow she hadn’t b
een expecting.

  Simon grunted and stumbled back. He looked down at the knife buried deep in his stomach, then straightened up, more determined than ever, angrier than ever.

  “Adèle,” he said, sneering. The fist came out quickly, too quickly for her to move, hitting her temple, shattering the world into gray and black for a moment. She fell, hitting the floor hard with her head, then pushing herself up, up, trying to stand, dizzy, and feeling the threat of unconsciousness dragging her back down. Simon watched her and gripped the handle of the knife, tensing, then pulling it free. His eyes didn’t leave her and she could see what was in them.

  Punishment.

  You know I wouldn’t hurt our children. That left plenty of ways to hurt her, though.

  “No!” she screamed and ran for the cellar door, taking the key and getting inside, knowing Simon was coming, coming for her, as she could feel her consciousness fading.

  She closed the door behind her, frantically trying to get the key back into the lock, her hands slick with Simon’s blood.

  He hit the door just as the key turned, the lock thudding home.

  “Open it, Adèle!” he shouted. “Open the fucking door.” He kicked at it, again, again, and Adèle fell to her knees.

  With Simon’s voice in her ears and Chloé’s name on her lips, darkness took her.

  85

  Julie stood at the edge of the dam, looking through the mist toward the town.

  “I think it’s clearing a little now,” she called to Laure, who was sitting in the car with the doors open. If she heard, she didn’t acknowledge it. Julie knew she was angry about throwing away the police radio, even though it had been Laure’s idea. A heartfelt gesture now bitterly regretted, converted into an exchange of sniping comments that had come down to two possible courses of action: take Toni to the station, or drive out of town and hand him in elsewhere. Laure wasn’t willing to drive anywhere except town until the mist had gone, but Julie absolutely didn’t want to go back. So they would wait it out on the deserted road.

  Toni was sitting in silence at the curb, handcuffed. Julie looked at him, and beside her Victor tugged at her sleeve.

  “You know him,” Victor said to her, and Julie nodded. Ever since she’d seen him, she’d been trying to work out where she knew him from. Laure had said he was the manager of the Lake Pub, but she’d never been there, not even before the assault.

  “How do I know him?” said Julie, thinking aloud, but Victor answered her.

  “He saved you,” said the boy. Julie turned to Victor, staring. He was right. This was the man who’d taken her out of danger, taken her to the hospital.

  She stepped over and knelt beside Toni. “It was you,” she said. “You brought me out of the underpass.”

  Toni met her eyes and nodded. He looked despondent.

  Julie put her arms around him. “You saved my life. Why did you want to jump?”

  “I wanted to see Serge,” said Toni, close to tears. “I wanted to see my brother again.”

  Victor tugged at her sleeve once more. Julie turned to him and he pointed along the road into the mist. He seemed agitated, but she couldn’t see anything for a moment. Then they came: slowly walking along the road. She watched for a few seconds, frozen. “Come on,” she said. “Into the car.”

  She helped Toni to stand, and the three of them got inside.

  “Did you—” Laure began, but she broke off the moment she saw Julie’s terrified face. Julie pointed to the road behind the car; Laure looked in the rearview mirror and immediately started the engine. She turned to Victor. “Were they the ones who came to the car last night?” she asked.

  Victor nodded.

  “Are they like you?”

  He nodded again.

  They drove fast, off the dam, forest either side of them. Julie realized it was toward town. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I have to warn the station,” said Laure. “We can leave Toni with them.”

  “And Victor?”

  Laure said nothing, eyes fixed on the road.

  “Tell me,” said Julie. “Laure!”

  “He can’t stay with us,” she said. “All right? Happy?”

  “What, you want to put him in prison?”

  “You think we can keep him safe? We couldn’t even leave town, Julie. Because he was with us.”

  “You haven’t changed at all,” Julie said, her heart sinking. “Pull over.”

  “We don’t have any choice.”

  Julie opened the car door. “Pull over!”

  “Christ, Julie, what are you doing?” Laure slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a halt.

  “Leaving,” said Julie angrily. She got out of the car; so did Laure, who stood blocking the passenger door beside Victor.

  “Out of the way,” said Julie.

  “Will you stop this? I wasn’t dreaming. You saw them. You saw what was coming.”

  “So?” said Julie. “We don’t know they mean us any harm.”

  “Victor said they came to get him. You think we should just let them?”

  Julie shook her head. “Laure, all I want is for him to be safe. You saw how your captain was acting earlier.”

  Laure put her hand out and took Julie’s. “Please. If we leave Toni at the station, then we can find somewhere for Victor. OK?”

  Julie looked at her, wanting to believe. Wanting to trust.

  The gunshot from the car changed everything.

  • • •

  “Don’t I know you?” Toni said to Victor as the two women got out to argue. “You lived in the village.”

  The boy nodded.

  “You’re dead, aren’t you?” said Toni. “I went to your funeral, like most of the town did. I was younger than you, but I remember the photos in the paper of you and your brother.” Brother, Toni thought, thinking of the last time he had seen Serge, disappearing under the water, he himself flailing around, unable to help. “My brother died as well,” he said. “He came back like you.”

  The boy looked at him with calm, cold eyes. “You killed your brother,” he said. Toni was speechless. “And you killed your mother too.”

  “No,” said Toni desperately. “You don’t know what—”

  “It’s not me,” explained the boy. “It’s all from you. It’s what you think. Your mother died because you hurt her so much.”

  “He was sick,” pleaded Toni. “I had to stop him.” The boy climbed into the front seat and opened the glove box where the officer had put her gun. He took the gun in his hands. “What are you doing?” asked Toni.

  The boy shook his head. “I told you, it’s not me. It’s all from you.” He held the gun out, and another hand took it. A man’s hand, in the driver’s seat.

  Toni smiled when he saw him. “Serge?” His brother, with him again. Serge pointed the gun at Toni. “What are you doing?”

  “Paying you back,” said Serge, and Toni smiled, and when he did, he saw there was no one in the car but himself and the boy. The gun was in his own hand, pointing into his own stomach. He looked at the boy and nodded.

  “This is what you wanted,” the boy said, and Toni pulled the trigger.

  86

  I’m just a nurse, thought Julie. The blood was pouring from Toni’s wound. Victor was in the front seat, Laure ready to drive, but Julie didn’t want to move anywhere until she had some kind of plan to work from.

  Think, think.

  “We need to stabilize him,” she said. “Stop the bleeding, get a paramedic out here.”

  “We can get into town in fifteen minutes,” said Laure. “I don’t know if the hospital could send anyone out, even if we could contact them.”

  “He’ll be dead by then. I need him to lie still; I need pressure on the wounds. I can’t do that on the move. What’s nearby?”

  La
ure thought and got her bearings.

  They pulled into the Helping Hand three minutes later, Julie shouting for help. A man came over. Pierre Tissier.

  “Someone’s been shot,” said Laure. “We had nowhere else to go. You need to try to call for help. We need a paramedic.”

  “I’m a nurse,” said Julie. “But there’s only so much I can do.”

  “You did well,” said Pierre. “Come with me.” He gestured to two others who helped carry Toni, then he led the way down into a basement, through a corridor, into a room at the end. Toni was laid on a treatment table in the middle of the room while Julie looked around uneasily at the equipment. What the hell?

  “You’ll find what you need here,” said Pierre. “Help her,” he said to the two others. “She’ll need you.”

  “But I don’t know—” said Julie.

  He looked at her and gave her the bad news. “The hospital was evacuated,” he said. “You’re the only one who can save him.”

  Julie turned to her patient and got to work.

  87

  Thomas returned to the station to the worst news possible. All the way back, their radios had become almost useless; what fragments of voices they could hear were so chopped up it was unintelligible.

  He was met with a serious and shamefaced look from Bruno, who took him to the empty cell.

  “How did he get out?” growled Thomas, barely above a whisper.

  Bruno looked ill. “He just wasn’t there, sir. I checked the CCTV. There must have been a power glitch or something, because one moment he’s sitting in the cell, the next he’s not. The Clarsen woman was here, I’m sure of it, but then she vanished. And Delaître had gone as well. I…I don’t know what happened.”

  “Lucy Clarsen was here?” said Thomas. She was involved too then? He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Whatever had happened, it didn’t matter. And he doubted it could have been stopped. “How many officers are in the station?” he said.

  “Ten, I think. And two patrols should be back shortly.”