'I didn't think it was odd.'
'Maybe you knew—'
'I didn't think it was odd,' Glass said. 'Get me off these fucking drugs.'
'Maybe we should call it a day.'
'Please.' Glass ran his hand over his scalp, let his fingers wrap round the tip of the spike sticking out of his skull. 'They're screwing with my head.'
'Okay,' Riddell said. 'We'll reduce your dosage a little each day. You'll be off them before you know it.'
'I just want to feel normal for a change.'
'Of course.' Riddell nodded. 'I'll get someone to take you back to your room.'
*
That night, Glass woke up so suddenly and completely that he wasn't even sure he'd been asleep. But his room was darker than before and all he could see now were blobs of colour, mainly greens and oranges.
His eyes were wet. His cheeks were wet, too.
He heard voices. He sat up, listened to them. They came closer, stopped outside his room.
Then the door opened and the light clicked on. He blinked several times, peered through narrowed slits at half a dozen white-clad figures.
He didn't want them here. This was his room.
'Get out,' he shouted, his voice as bright as their clothes.
They looked at one another.
'Get the fuck out.'
They made a decision, moved towards him. He saw the flash of a needle.
He dug under his pillow. His fingers touched something solid. Quick. Before they get too near. He clasped the grip in his fist, pulled the gun out, aimed it at the ceiling. Give them one last chance. 'I'm warning you.'
They froze. Not sure he'd use it.
He pointed the gun at them, eyes wide now, absorbing the light. 'Don't fucking doubt me.'
They backed up a couple of steps, looking at one another. One turned, then they all turned, scurried away.
Glass breathed in the still air. Tucked the gun back under the pillow. They wouldn't be back any time soon.
They'd left the light on. He knew when he'd woken up in the dark that this wasn't home. He couldn't get familiar with this room no matter how long he was here. It wasn't his. He was just visiting.
This wasn't his bed.
He didn't want to stay in it any longer. He didn't want to stay in this room.
It wasn't his room. They could have it.
He should leave. Let them take over.
He should call them back.
Why didn't he? What was stopping him?
He couldn't remember.
He levered his legs out of the bed.
On the floor, by his feet, an open suitcase. Jeans, blouses, a hairdryer, all neatly packed.
The spike slammed into his skull again. It hurt to turn his head, but he forced his neck around, tendons groaning.
Lorna was sitting a couple of feet to the side of the suitcase, propped against the leg of the bed. Opposite, Caitlin was slumped against the wall, milk from her tumbler spilled on the floor, turned sour.
He stood up. Took a few steps. With each one the spike bored deeper. He dropped to his knees.
Lorna stared at him. He saw Watt in her eyes.
'What did he do?' he asked her.
'It wasn't Watt,' she said.
He looked at Caitlin. 'Caitlin, babygirl.' He kissed her cheek. Her skin felt hard.
'This is what he did?' he asked her.
'No,' Lorna screamed. 'He never touched us.'
It was cold in the space between Lorna and Caitlin.
Glass grabbed the spike with both hands, yanked it out of his head. Threw it at the wall. It bounced off, twanged onto the floor, clattered. He stayed there, on his knees, until he felt his heels ache.
Then he got to his feet, climbed back into bed. He took the gun out from under the pillow and stuck it in his mouth.
Thumb inside the trigger guard. He pulled the trigger.
No pain.
Death was just like life.
No difference at all.
THURSDAY
'When do we get to watch TV?' Glass asked Riddell. They were thirty minutes into the session, going over the same old ground. Only today, there was a TV and video recorder on a stand against the wall.
'Let's try something first.' Riddell fanned out the sheets of paper on his desk. Absent-mindedly touched his photo frame. A different one from the one he'd had at the Hilton. This one was wooden and had a family portrait in it. Glass had caught a glimpse of it a couple of times. Riddell, his wife, two girls. 'Let's imagine that only one prisoner took you hostage.'
'You serious?'
'Never more so.'
'You all set on demonstrating that you're as crazy as the rest of us?'
'Humour me. Just one prisoner. Okay?'
'Okay. But there were two of them.'
'Just imagine that Mafia decided to stay in his cell.'
'Why would he do that?'
'Remember what you said when I asked you why Mafia killed himself?'
'Not exactly.'
Riddell looked at his notes. 'You said that as long as Mafia was alive, he'd protect his brother.'
'That sounds about right.'
'So if that's how Mafia felt, don't you think it's strange that he'd have offered to lead you right to Watt?'
'He said he had unfinished business. Stuff he should have sorted out with Watt a long time ago.'
'And he did that by killing himself?'
'I don't know. Things didn't exactly go according to plan.'
Riddell opened his desk drawer. Took out a jiffy bag. He drew a videotape out of the bag and waved it in front of Glass like a fan. 'Know what this is?'
'A tape. Porn?'
'It's a copy of the security tape from the Hilton. From the night you were taken hostage.' The shrink placed it on the desk. Pushed it across to Glass. 'You want to see it?'
'You think I want to watch myself get shot?'
'I don't imagine so.' Riddell picked up the tape. 'But it's curious. I think you'll find it interesting.' He walked over to the TV stand, switched on the TV, slid the tape into the video machine. Pressed a few buttons.
And there it was. A grainy black-and-white picture. Glass recognised the Hilton. The corridor leading to the main gate. Saw himself. Staggering along, a gun on him.
'What's missing?' Riddell asked.
Glass watched. 'Jesus.'
'Or should I say, who is missing?'
Glass kept staring at the screen. Couldn't believe what he was seeing.
On the TV, there he was. And there, next to him, was Darko. But where was Mafia?
'Stop it,' Glass said. 'Stop the fucking thing. You're messing with my head now.'
Riddell pressed the pause button, freeze-framed Darko and Glass, arms around each other. It was just seconds before Darko shot Glass in the shoulder.
'I'm not lying. Mafia was there.'
'Here's the thing, Nick. It's not that I don't believe you. Or should I say it's not that I don't believe you think you're telling the truth. I completely believe you think Mafia was there.' He nodded at the TV. 'But the evidence suggests otherwise. Darko took you hostage. He was alone. Just you and him. Look at the screen.'
'No, the tape's been doctored.' Glass lifted his right foot off the floor, rotated his ankle, placed his foot back down again. He did the same with his other foot. Right foot again. He could do this all day. Someone had erased Mafia from the tape. That's all there was to it. No big deal.
'Nick?'
'Yeah?'
'It's not just the tape. There were eyewitnesses …'
Glass put both heels on the floor. 'They're liars.'
'Not just them. Darko told the same story.'
'He's been caught?'
'Yes. But let's get back to the—'
'Why didn't you tell me?'
'I didn't think you were ready to discuss this.'
'But you do now?'
Riddell frowned. 'I think so. I hope so.'
'Well, let me talk to him. I'll
get him to tell you the truth.'
'I don't think that's the answer.'
Why was Riddell insisting on playing these stupid games? 'You feed me this pile of crazy drivel with your so-called evidence on doctored videos and … and you won't let me show you how wrong you are?' The spike sank deeper into Glass's brain. He wiped his forehead. Felt his armpits prickle.
'Like I said, Darko was caught,' Riddell said. 'Quite some time ago.'
Glass could see the spike, wedged there, and recognised it. The cons had made it in the machine shop, thrown it at him. They hadn't missed this time.
He didn't like the idea that he could see inside his own head.
'About five days after he escaped,' Riddell said. 'With you. Just you. Just the pair of you.'
'Stop saying that. The fuck do you hope to gain by lying like this?'
'I'm trying to help you, Nick.' He pointed the remote at the TV, turned it off. 'Mafia never left his cell that night.'
'You can help me if you stop talking shite.' Glass winced as the spike throbbed.
'Are you okay?'
'I am. But just now and then …' He shrugged. 'I'm fine.'
Riddell stared at him for a while, then pursed his lips, walked back to his seat. 'Let's move on. To the hotel room. Darko said he had to leave you there. He thought you might die if he dragged you any further with him.'
That was sort of true. Glass put his hand to his shoulder, remembering. No pain there now. He'd healed fast. He lowered his hand, felt its heat through the leg of his trousers. 'He did leave me, but I wasn't alone. Mafia was there too.'
'Nick, I think it best we do this now.'
'Do what?'
'There's someone here to see you.'
Glass bent down, pressed his face into his hands, breathed, pushing his fingers into his eyeballs. He ignored the steady pounding of the spike's heart in his head.
'He's just outside.'
Glass massaged his forehead with his fingertips, looking up at Riddell through the gap between his hands. 'Darko's a con. Lying's second nature to him. He left me in that hotel room with Mafia, I'm telling you. God's honest truth.' He sat back, folded his arms. 'I swear it.'
Inside Glass's head, the spike vibrated. He shivered. He couldn't figure out Riddell at all. He sounded genuine, like he really believed what he was saying. But he had to be lying, or playing a game. Trying to provoke a reaction, testing the subject. Maybe Riddell had doctored the video himself. Glass wasn't so easily fooled, even if he was drugged stupid. 'What about Watt? He saw Mafia all right.'
'No, he didn't.'
'He shot him!'
'Watt says he fired the gun in the flat, yes. But not at anyone. There was no one there but you.'
Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck off. 'Mad Will, then. He saw Mafia in the hotel room. Drove us to the flat.'
Riddell shook his head. 'Mad Will said you were alone all the time. Delirious. Talking to yourself.'
'No.' Glass rubbed his temples with the heels of his hands.
'You were full of drugs. All those painkillers. And speed. Blood loss. Shock. Been that way for a while. Since cutting your finger off.'
'They're lying. All of them.'
'Then perhaps you'll believe the truth when you hear it from your visitor's lips.' Riddell got to his feet, placed his hand on Glass's shoulder as he passed him.
Glass didn't move, didn't turn round. Stared straight ahead.
He heard the door open. Whispered voices. Footsteps behind him, closing on him. Then a hand once more on his shoulder.
And then a voice he never thought he'd hear again. 'Nick,' Mafia said. 'How've you been?'
*
Glass stared at the dead man. 'You're a ghost,' he whispered.
'Christ, no,' Mafia told him. 'Flesh and blood.'
'If he was a ghost,' Riddell said, 'do you think I would see him?'
'But you can't be here,' Glass said to Mafia. 'You died.'
'So I hear,' Mafia said. 'Strangled myself, I believe.'
'Yeah.' Glass lowered his head, stared into his lap. 'I don't understand. I saw you.'
'Like you see your sister?' Riddell asked.
Hazel? Why was he bringing up Hazel? 'Hazel's … she's different.'
'Yes,' Riddell said. 'Why did you tell me about her?'
'You wanted to know what happened.'
'That story about the picnic. The horses. Her laughing at your fear. Why mention it, Nick?'
'That's what I was thinking about at the time. Anyway, what does my sister have to do with any of this? I haven't seen her in years. She couldn't even make it to my mum's funeral. Can we not talk about her? Mafia—'
'You were in a car,' Riddell said. 'Thinking about your sister.'
Glass squeezed his hands together.
'What triggered that?' Riddell asked.
'How should I know?'
'Imagining Mafia was in the car with you, maybe?'
Glass said, 'He was there.' He looked at Mafia again. 'Tell him. You were there.'
Mafia shook his head.
'In the flat,' Glass said, 'you told me all about how you took the blame for Watt. You don't remember that?'
'What did I take the blame for?'
'For Watt killing his wife and kid.'
'He's never been married.'
Now wasn't the time to be pedantic. 'His girlfriend, then.'
'Watt's got no kid.'
'Watt killed them,' Glass said, his chest tight. 'By accident.'
'I don't know where you got that idea.'
'You told me. In the flat.'
'This is the first time I've been out of the Hilton since I got sentenced.'
'But you didn't kill anybody. You're innocent.'
'I'm no more innocent than I'm dead.' Mafia sighed. 'Nick, I killed two people.'
'No,' Glass said. 'You covered for him. Watt told me his wife and kid were dead.'
'He didn't,' Riddell said. 'That's just what you heard. According to my notes, Watt said, "Beautiful daughter. Lovely wife. Perfect family. Where's mine?" and you asked, "Your wife and kid? Did something happen to them?"'
'You think you know everything,' Watt said.
'No, I don't—'
'Shhh. Just listen. Do you know why Mafia's in prison?'
'For murder.'
'And do you know who he murdered?'
'Mafia would never do that. No way.'
'Ask him.'
Riddell said, 'Watt never said who Mafia killed. You made an assumption.'
'Why are you doing this to me?'
'It's his job,' Mafia said.
'So who did you kill?' Glass asked, sure Mafia wouldn't answer.
'My parents,' Mafia said without hesitation. 'They were going to kick me out of their house. My home. I'd grown up there. Never lived anywhere else. But Mum and Dad told me they were fed up with me bringing my friends home. They kept nagging at me about the noise, and about a couple of times when some stuff went missing. Videos and that. After I'd had a wee party. But that was petty shite. I couldn't cope on my own. Eyesight's worse than I let on. I got upset. Each day they got on my back about when I was going to move out. And each day I got more upset. Finally they went to a lawyer, see if they could evict me. From my own fucking house. I hated them for that. Making it public how much they despised me.' He paused. 'So one night I strangled them.'
'Just like that?'
'Wasn't a whim, you know. Didn't happen overnight. It'd been building up for months.'
'But you killed them because they wanted you to move out?'
'I killed them because they rejected me.'
Glass swallowed. God help him, but he could almost understand. 'Why did you never tell me?'
'Killing your folks isn't the sort of thing you brag about.'
'Do you … do you regret it?'
'What'd be the point of that? They rejected me. I rejected them.'
If Mafia could kill his parents and feel no remorse, then Glass didn't know him at all. Mafia had come back
from the dead a different person. 'How come nobody at the Hilton would speak about it?'
'Respect.'
'For you?'
'A bit,' Mafia said. 'But mainly for Caesar. He shattered a guy's legs for talking about it.'
'Why did it matter to Caesar?'
'My parents were his uncle and aunt. Me and Caesar are cousins.'
'Jesus,' Glass said. 'How come he didn't have you killed?'
'Dunno. I think he would've done if Watt hadn't asked him not to.'
Watt had saved Mafia's life? 'Why would he do that?'
'He's my brother.'
'I know, but being family didn't stop you doing what you did.'
'I'm not sentimental.'
'And Watt is?'
Mafia didn't reply.
'Why tell me all this now?' Glass asked.
'Riddell begged me to. Said it would help you. I hope it does.'
'I thought you weren't sentimental.'
Mafia stood there for a moment, then said, 'I should go now.'
TUESDAY, 2 MARCH
A couple of weeks later and Glass was off the worst of the drugs. He was so much better that Riddell thought he was well enough to go to group therapy. It was held in a room off the kitchen where Glass smelled meat cooking.
A middle-aged woman was looking at him as if she wanted to say something. He'd seen her before. Or someone like her. Maybe her daughter.
'What is it?' he asked her.
'My knickers,' she said, in a quiet voice. 'They're falling down.' She turned to the rest of the room. A circle of seated bodies, their pain dulled enough that they could cope.
He counted them. Seven. Plus the three nurses standing. And Glass and this woman. Twelve.
'Everybody,' she said, loudly this time. 'My knickers are falling down.'
She was wearing jeans. Glass thought it unlikely she was telling the truth about her knickers.
'Don't worry,' a tall bald guy in a T-shirt said. 'We'll not look.'
'But you must, Jason,' she said.
Glass looked at the guy's arms. One was massively scarred down the inside forearm. Maybe he'd taken a machete to it, like Peeler, stood there with his veins in his hand.
'I must have an audience. What's the use of me performing in adult films if I don't have an audience?'
'Annie,' Riddell said. 'I'd like you to stop that now, please. You'll get everybody over-excited.'
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