Darkhouse

by Alex Barclay

  They sat down together and Joe put an arm around him. He remembered going to the hospital with his mother when he was fourteen and showing none of this strength. She was distraught because she knew she was about to be told she had cancer. And all he was thinking about was himself. He was worried he’d meet the doctor who used to patch him up at the back door whenever he got into a fight.

  ‘I can’t do this – just sit here, waiting,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll be back. I need to…’ He ran for the emergency department. He looked around, panicked. A nurse rushed past him and before he realised it, his hand shot out and he grabbed her arm. ‘Please,’ he croaked. ‘My wife. Anna Lucchesi. Is she…tell me is she going to be OK?’ He took his hand away. ‘I’m sorry, I’m…’

  ‘Hold on,’ said the nurse, gently. She disappeared behind one of the curtains and brought back the nurse that had spoken with Shaun.

  ‘I don’t even know what happened to her…’ said Joe.

  ‘As soon as she’s out of surgery, the doctor will come and talk to you, Mr Lucchesi. We know where to find you. What I can tell you is your wife is critical and we’re doing everything we can.’ She looked at him with kind eyes. ‘You’re soaking wet,’ she said. ‘Let me get you some towels, you can dry off.’ She paused. ‘Is there anyone you think you might need to call?’

  Frank Deegan stood with O’Connor in the waiting area, his head bowed. ‘And I was stupid enough to think he wanted to be a guard to save people, to give himself a second chance. But watching that Dwyer boy drown…well, some part of him must have got a kick out of it.’ He shook his head.

  ‘It was a power thing with Richie,’ said O’Connor.

  ‘And this was the only job he thought would give him that? Jesus Christ.’

  ‘How he came to that conclusion…’

  ‘Did he feel he had to fight against something?’ said Frank. ‘But, you know, there was always a fight in him. You could see it there, waiting for a reason to—’

  ‘There’s no point,’ said O’Connor. ‘You didn’t know. I didn’t know…’

  ‘Has the whole world gone mad?’ said Frank, his voice cracking. He pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it against his eyes. ‘This is it for me,’ he said. ‘You were right, what you said. I’m on my way out.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘And this is it.’

  Joe couldn’t bring himself to call Anna’s parents. He would wait until he had good news, until she came out of theatre. He sat with Shaun and they tried desperately to fill the growing silences and keep their imaginations from making up the wrong endings. They talked about sport and school and New York and movies and books.

  ‘We could talk about Mom,’ said Shaun.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Joe. ‘I just can’t.’

  The red Renault Clio stood in a quiet corner of a reserved parking lot at Rosslare ferry terminal. Duke Rawlins sat low in the cramped passenger seat. He sensed the presence at the window, then grabbed his bag from the floor and got out.

  ‘Come on,’ said Barry Shanley. He was dressed in black combats and a green parka. Underneath he wore a grey T-shirt with a black Apache helicopter and You Can Run But You Can’t Hide stamped across it. He led Duke along a darkened passageway through a thick wooden door and up a short flight of concrete steps.

  ‘It’s through here.’ He checked his watch. ‘We’re going to have to wait a minute.’ He leaned back against the wall. The strip light above him shone on his shaved head.

  After two hours, a young surgeon knocked on the door. Joe stood up, his heart pounding and nodded for Shaun to stay where he was. He guided the surgeon into the corridor.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘The surgery went well.’

  ‘What happened to her? I haven’t been told.’

  ‘She was hit from behind with an arrow that pierced her left kidney. It caused some damage to the kidney itself but, more importantly, to the main artery to the kidney. She also suffered a deep cut to her abdomen, but we didn’t find any obvious damage to the bowel.’

  ‘Was she assaulted in any other…’

  ‘No. That was her only injury.’

  ‘Will there be any long term…’

  ‘She will have scars and she may have pain for quite some time, but it should be minimal. She’s on her way to ICU. We’ll see how the next few hours go. You can see her when she’s settled.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Joe. ‘Thank you.’

  The surgeon nodded, then walked away, leaving Joe standing, shaken, in the empty corridor. He took a deep breath and turned around as Shaun was pulling open the door.

  ‘Your mom is one hell of a toughie,’ he said, ‘for a short-ass.’ And he got the smile he wanted, not the tears.

  Duke put a hand firmly on Barry Shanley’s arm. ‘You’re sure this is all good,’ he said.

  ‘We always come this way because of my old man,’ said Barry. ‘Employee privileges.’

  Duke stared at him.

  ‘Look, it’s cool, OK? Dad’s friend will let us on. It’s no problem. You’re my friend, you’re coming with me, we’re going to Fishguard. Then I’ll get off after you’re on board.’

  ‘The guy’s gonna say somethin’—’

  Barry smiled. ‘This guy says nothing to no-one.’ He looked through the small frosted glass panel in the door. ‘This is all so easy for you, anyway,’ he said, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘Fucking Delta. Unreal. How can you walk around all normal after fast-roping down from a fucking Black Hawk into the middle of a shitstorm like that? Unreal.’

  Duke shrugged. ‘You do what you have to do.’ You fuckin’ sucker.

  Barry looked back through the glass, then pulled the door open.

  ‘OK. Go, go, go,’ he said. And Duke Rawlins went.

  EPILOGUE

  Joe sat on the cream and gold sofa, staring at the coffee table. A glossy magazine wrapped in plastic lay on top. It was addressed to Pam Lucchesi. Joe slid it towards him and stuck his thumb into a puckered corner, tearing it slowly open, pulling until it came free. Vogue Living. Rustic Revolution: Alight on the Coast of Ireland. The cover shot was stunning: the stark white of the lighthouse against a bare platinum sky. He skipped the contents page and flicked through, suspending the moment when the full impact of his former life hit him. His breath caught when the spread finally appeared, the opening two pages of twelve. The house was pristine, warm whites and minimalism. Angles he had never seen the rooms from, perfect candles, unworn shoes and robes.

  The kitchen was too empty, no chili sauce on the counter, no boots by the door, no Anna. Until he lifted his hand. Underneath, was the thinnest of shadows, stretching twisted and long-legged across the grass outside the sliding door. She usually refused to be photographed for a feature, but here she was, caught and kept forever in one shot, in shadow. Joe pressed his fingers to his eyes, but there were no tears. Everything he felt was held under pressure in his chest. The last photo in the spread was the lighthouse as it had stood, tragic and shabby and untouched. This was the photo he was still looking at an hour later when Giulio walked in.

  ‘How is she?’ he asked.

  Joe blinked. ‘We haven’t spoken in a while. I guess she’s doing OK.’

  ‘You know you can go over there any time and I’ll look after things here.’

  ‘I’m only just back on the job. They’re not gonna to let me take off.’

  ‘I think under the circumstances—’

  ‘Look, honestly? I don’t think she’s ready to see me yet,’ said Joe. ‘I’m responsible for the fuck-up that is our lives. And now I’m back catching psychos…oh, yeah, minus one pretty important one. You think that’ll have her rushing back? Do you think that’s something that makes her feel safe?’

  ‘She’ll come around. Your job is part of who you are…and you do it well.’

  Joe raised his eyebrows.

  ‘If I did it so well, Duke Rawlins would never have gotten out of Ireland. But, no – he’s got more freedom than we do, for Christ
’s sake.’

  ‘Is there any hope of tracking him down?’

  ‘Depends on your definition of hope. I get every shitty update on the investigation, hoping it’ll be the one, but…’ He shrugged. ‘And I’m doing what I can. But I don’t know. He’s smart. He’s been getting away with this shit half his life. Who’s to say things aren’t going to stay that way for the next half?’

  ‘The authorities will find him.’

  Joe stared at him. ‘I don’t want the authorities to find him.’

  Silence stretched between them.

  Joe took a deep breath. ‘I think Anna needs to stay with her parents for now.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Giulio. ‘For now.’

  ‘I just don’t know how to help her. In the middle of the night, she’s crying, I can’t tell her it was only a nightmare and it’s not real and it’s never going to happen. What the hell use is that?’ He exhaled slowly. ‘And then there’s her blaming me, which I know she can do nothing about right now. He said he’d kill her and Shaun. Not me. She knows that. He wanted a world of pain for me, but he didn’t want to see me dead. No, I had to live through it all, like he did with whatever fucked-up life he had.’

  He paused. ‘And you know what? I have my own nightmares.’

  ‘Time will take care of that.’

  ‘Anna’s not even forty and she’s already hovered on a flatline. She’s in pain, she’s got scars she can’t bear to look at. She keeps calling, wanting to know where Shaun is, who he’s with, what he’s doing. I’m not gonna tell her he’s been drinking and out late. You’ve seen him. You’ve seen how hard it is to stop him. What do I do? Do I take the chance he’ll come out the other end in better shape? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. When Shaun talks to her on the phone, he’s so patient. They have this weird bond. And I’m just this person watching. It’s like they’re afraid of me.’

  As Giulio reached down to put a hand on Joe’s shoulder, he saw the magazine. He picked it up and brought it close.

  ‘Her work is very impressive.’

  Joe nodded. ‘Here, listen to this.’ He took the magazine and read out the small type at the end of the page. ‘“Anna Lucchesi is on vacation. For more details on this feature, please contact Chloe Da Silva.”’

  Joe laughed. ‘Vacation? Jesus Christ. I wish.’

  He leaned back and looked out the window to where Shaun sat on a low wooden bench in his oversized parka. He was bent forward, his legs crossed at the ankle, his mobile phone pressed to his ear. His breath was misting the cold air.

  He snapped the phone shut and jogged towards the window. He was smiling, then mouthing something Joe couldn’t make out. He gestured for him to open the latch.

  ‘It’s Mom,’ he said. ‘She’s leaving Paris tonight. She’s coming home, Dad.’

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I thank my agent, Darley Anderson, for his belief, enthusiasm and kindness. And for all their hard work, I thank everyone at The Darley Anderson Literary Agency.

  Thanks to my publisher, Lynne Drew, for her insight and guidance.

  Thanks to Amanda Ridout for her vision and thanks to everyone on the brilliant team at HarperCollins.

  For outstanding achievement in editing and entertaining, thanks to my gifted editor, Wayne Brookes.

  For their constant and gracious support, thanks to Moira Reilly and Fiona McIntosh.

  For their expertise and their generosity in sharing it with a rookie, thanks to Ron Campbell, Dr Stuart Carr MRCSEd (A&E), Professor Marie Cassidy, Gerry Charlton Barrister-at-Law, Joan Deitch, Dick Driscoll, Jim Fuxa, Colin Hennessy, Martyn Linnie, Brett McHale, Tony O’Shea. They do the facts, I do the fiction; any mistakes are mine.

  For their faith, love and laughter, I owe so much to my beloved family.

  For their encouragement and the perfect environment for work and play, thanks to Sue Booth-Forbes, Maureen and Donal O’Sullivan and family, Anna Phillips, Una Brankin, Mary Maddison, Maggie Deas and Matthew Higgins.

  Thanks to all my wonderful friends.

  Special thanks to Brian and Dee for grabbing on, taking the leap and never ever letting go.

  Alex Barclay

  Alex Barclay lives just outside Dublin. Darkhouse is her debut novel.

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  Praise for Alex Barclay’s

  Darkhouse

  ‘Darkhouse is a terrific debut by an exciting new writer’

  Independent on Sunday

  ‘Excellent summer reading…Barclay has the confidence to move her story along slowly, and deftly explores the relationships between her characters…’

  Sunday Telegraph

  ‘With no-hold, non-stop action moving seamlessly between North Texas, New York and Waterford, Barclay confidently delivers a knockout first novel’

  Irish Times

  ‘This rips along and shows great technique for a debut novel. Take my word for it we will hear more of young Barclay’

  Irish Independent

  ‘A great thriller…There are loads of twists and turns, it will make your bus journey home fly by!’

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  Copyright

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  This paperback edition 2006

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  First published in Great Britain by

  HarperCollinsPublishers 2006

  Copyright © Alex Barclay 2005

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  James Baldwin quote with the kind permission of Gloria Smart for the Estate of James Baldwin

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