Thorn In My Side

by Sheila Quigley

  'No, no need.' Evan groaned, the pain biting in.

  'Yes, there is, mate. The blood’s pouring out of you, and God knows where that blade’s been. Ohh, the druggie bastard!' Danny ground his teeth together and clenched his fist, staring up the now deserted road.

  'Danny, use…' Evan shook his head slowly as Danny took off before he could stop him. Pressing his arm into his body and bringing his foot up on the bench, he used his leg to keep the T-shirt in place. With his good hand he took his mobile phone out of his pocket and stared at it, wondering whether to phone an ambulance himself. He decided not to. The ambulance service wouldn’t take too kindly to being called out twice for the same incident.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  She made it across the old bridge, which had been built in 1611, and now was one way only but not, thank God, on foot. Looking frequently behind her, leaving bloody footprints, she slowed as she came to the end, looked all around, then quickly crossed the road to get out of the way of the street lights and sat down with her back against the wall in a dark corner.

  Huddled in on herself she wondered again how she’d managed to escape, and prayed her luck hadn’t run out. It had been luck that had made her lunge to the left, catching the smaller man unawares. In other circumstances she would have laughed at the girly scream that had come out of him when she’d bitten down hard.

  She had to rest now. Her body could only take so much at a time, and she was burning up energy quickly, far too quickly. At this rate she wouldn’t even get out into the fields.

  Two cars came speeding across the bridge, their headlights cutting huge swathes of light in the dark. Pushing her body flat against the wall, she prayed that they couldn’t see her.

  Because of the angle of the jutting wall, the lights went up the outside of the wall and over her head. She remembered to breathe a few minutes later.

  What a mess!

  What a fucking mess!

  She stared down at her bleeding feet and wanted to cry. She had never felt more alone in her whole life.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The hospital was relatively quiet, four or five sitting in the waiting area, with another three outside smoking their heads off under the No Smoking sign as the ambulance carrying Evan and Danny pulled up to the doors.

  'I hate these places,' Danny muttered, jumping down from the ambulance as the paramedic helped Evan down and took them up to the reception. Giving what details he had to the receptionist, he left them to fill in the blanks as he hurried back to his waiting ambulance, which had already received another call.

  As they sat down, Danny looked at the red-lit moving sign on the wall. 'Bloody hell, two hours waiting time… Shocking.'

  Evan sighed. His arm was giving him pain and he felt totally exhausted, which he put down to blood loss. He could still feel it oozing out and running down his arm. 'Go home if you want,' he snapped, not meaning it to come out sounding the way it did, but Danny took no offence.

  'Don’t be bloody stupid, man, would you leave me?'

  'Well, stop whining then.'

  'Sorry.'

  'We won’t be that long anyhow. It’s hardly bleeding at all now. Only a couple of stitches, the medic said.'

  Danny grunted, then pulled his feet off the seat in front as a middle-aged woman and a younger one, obviously her daughter and sporting a spectacular black eye, sat down.

  When they were settled, the younger one said, 'Mam, what am I doing here?'

  'He hit you,' her mother stated with anger in her voice.

  She took a moment to digest this, then went on, 'Who’s got the kids?'

  'Your brother’s got them.'

  This went on for more than an hour, the same two questions over and over. Everyone sitting there realised that the poor girl was suffering concussion, and her mind was on a loop. Finally, after what seemed the hundredth time, she got as far as. 'Mam…'

  'He hit you, and your brother’s got the kids,' Danny, unable to stand any more, said quickly.

  There were sniggers from the waiting people, one or two belly laughs, plus a dig in the ribs from Evan.

  The younger woman turned and gave him a soulful look, which made Danny feel about two feet tall, even though the mother's lips had twitched in a semblance of a smile.

  Two and a half hours later, plus three stitches, they were climbing out of a taxi at Evan’s flat. Danny fumbled for change as Evan, looking at the dark windows, said, 'Alicia must have gone to bed.'

  'Can you blame her? It’s bloody four o'clock in the morning, mate… Keep the change,' he nodded at the taxi driver.

  'I’m not that friggin’ hard up.' The man threw five pence at him then pulled away.

  'Ungrateful sod.' Danny glared at the taxi.

  Evan stared at his friend, and shook his head, 'Sometimes...'

  'What?' Danny held his hands up, feigning amazement.

  'Never mind. Are you coming up?'

  'No, I’ll see you in the morning.'

  'It is the morning.'

  'Yeah, see you later in the morning… Actually,' Danny yawned, 'it’ll probably be tomorrow morning.' He walked away, and Evan went up to his flat.

  Quietly Evan opened the door, not wanting to wake Alicia. They had decided not to worry her -- after all, his injury was far from life-threatening. They just didn’t hadn’t thought it would take this long. He knew though that she would go spare when she woke up.

  He slipped his jacket off and hung it over the side of the chair, sitting down to take his shoes off, easing his body back into the red settee that Alicia loved, and he hated with a vengeance. He sighed, and staring at the clock thought, Tonight I got off lightly.

  Would I do it again?

  Probably.

  Shaking his head at his own stupidity he got up and tiptoed into the bedroom, because the floor was wood and creaked like an ancient door. Plus at four in the morning Alicia was never at her best. He reached the bed.

  The empty bed!

  'What?'

  Dragging the quilt off to make sure, he stared open mouthed at the empty space.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Danny headed for home, his hands deep in his pockets, his mind on Shelly. Where the hell is she?

  She wouldn’t have gone home, she hates her brothers. All they ever do is boss her around all the time and treat her like a little kid.

  They did, too. He’d seen it first hand. Got to admit that Liam’s all right, and a good laugh at times but Gary, nothing but a pain in the arse.

  The other two brothers were married with their own families now, but they all still did what Gary said. Danny knew that they had, in all fairness, brought her up when their parents died. Really they were just being overly protective, but Shelly couldn’t see that. She would do her own thing, whatever the cost.

  There was a wooden bench outside the flat. Sitting down, he pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes, lit up, watched the blue- grey clouds swirl from the glowing tip in the breeze that had sprung up from nowhere. Then stared at the sky, which was becoming lighter by the second. Pretty soon the early morning workers would be heading off to their daily grind.

  He silently thanked God that he and Evan had another three days' holiday left. The way he felt today, work would have been impossible.

  He shook his head and puffed air out of his cheeks. They should have gone abroad. A few years ago they would have been on the plane and away.

  Bloody women!

  Complicate everything. ‘Cos they couldn’t all get their holidays at the same time, me and Evan are denied our annual trip abroad. No lying on the beach this year for us, slyly watching the topless babes.

  Blackpool, Alicia had suggested. A weekend even, as a last resort, just for a break, she’d argued.

  Last resort all right. Who the fuck wants to go to Blackpool? Full of rampant teenagers, screaming kids and the bloody blue rinse brigade.

  Finishing the cigarette, he stamped it out and was about to get up when he was suddenly flooded with l
onging for Shelly. His body sagged. He flopped back on the bench, the longing becoming an actual pain.

  I should have listened more, not been so bogged down by work. Gotta find her and tell her that I do love her.

  A ring! That would make her really happy. Doesn’t mean that we have to get married – well, not for a good long time anyway. A long engagement. Yeah, he nodded, smiling to himself. That would be good. As long as possible. Ten years? Maybes. I could live with that all right, lots of people have really long engagements these days.

  'I do love you, Shelly,' he muttered to the newly emerging buttercups on the grass verge.

  Should have been saying it more often!

  Really should have.

  Whatever we fell out over, it’s all my fault.

  Gotta be!

  Slowly he nodded his head. He would look for her today, even if it meant going back to Durham and facing her brothers. But first he would try those flaming weirdo friends of hers. His eyelids began to droop. His last thought before falling into a deep sleep was, find those weirdoes.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DAY ONE

  Danny was woken up a good hour and a half later by the milkman vigorously shaking his shoulder. 'Wh…?' he muttered, opening his eyes. The sun was just coming over the rooftops. He blinked, wondering where he was, and shivered.

  'Somebody nick yer shirt, son?' the milkman asked, noticing the blood on Danny’s jeans, but saying nothing.

  He knew the young man well enough, having passed the time of day with him more than once, but in this day and age it paid to be careful. Far too many nutters around. He stepped away, closer to his cart, one leap away if needs be.

  But he needn’t have bothered. The guy was his usual amiable self. 'No, no, my friend got in some bother last night, you know how it is…Never mind, I’m going in… Bloody freezing.'

  'Yeah, you do that before yer catch yer death, sunshine. It’s a bit nippy this morning all right.'

  Danny hurried up to the flat, his teeth chattering all the way. His mouth tasted like a dead rat had taken up residence in there, and he could murder a cup of coffee. He also needed about twenty-four hours or more sleep before he could even hope to feel like a human being again.

  Opening the door quietly, he crept inside in much the same way as Evan had done a couple of hours ago. Then he remembered there was no need, Shelly wasn’t here.

  'Unless,' he muttered, ever the optimist. With hope rising, he thought, she could have come home last night. Yeah, she might have. And at the end of the day I can’t really remember what the hell she was gone for.

  'Well, she could have,' he argued with himself, then quietly, full of hope, he opened the bedroom door, ready to jump on the bed.

  'Oh, yes! Shelly babes,' he yelled, seeing a mass of black hair spread out on the pillow. 'Shelly, I’m sorry, it was all my fault. What ever it was, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry… I’m sorry, sorry, sorry… Here I come, babes.'

  With a grin wide enough to split his face in half, he crossed the small space in four strides, cast off his shoes and yanked the quilt off, his grin by now even wider. 'Shelly, oh Shel----'

  The quilt slid out of his suddenly slack hands and fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. Danny gasped. His jaw hung open; not believing what he saw, he blinked rapidly and started to tremble. His lips moved, no no, no, but there was no sound. His vocal cords were frozen in shock.

  Shelly’s naked body was covered in blood. Her hair was hanging over her face, partially obscuring it, and what could be seen was hardly recognisable. Every single inch of her was red, as if she’d been painted the colour of death. He looked at his hands, covered in blood from the quilt. Forgetting that he had no T-shirt on, his whole body shaking in horror, he wiped his hands across his chest, leaving large red swathes.

  'No,' he yelled loudly, finally finding his voice and backing away from the bed, then 'No,' again before turning and running out of the bedroom. Practically in free fall, he made it down the stairs. His hands still slippy with blood, he struggled a moment with the lock. Then he was outside.

  He ran in a blind panic along Mary Street, bumping into early morning shoppers, scattering parcels of newspapers. A bakery delivery boy cursed him as a tray of pies hit the pavement, but Danny was oblivious to everything and everyone around him except the fact that Shelly was dead. He carried on shouting over and over, 'She’s dead, she’s dead.'

  Fearing this half-naked, barefooted screaming madman careering along the street yelling his head off, people scattered out of his way. He saw none of them. His eyes were full of blood, his mind was full of blood.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  She couldn’t go on, no matter how terrified she was. She had to stop, or collapse in this field miles from anywhere, to be found God knows when, after dozens of crawly slimy creatures had feasted at her body. The mental picture of it stopped her in her tracks. She shuddered and felt sick. Gagging, she headed slowly towards a fallen tree.

  Shaking with fatigue, she sat down and took her Nova pen out. After a moment staring at the pen she hated, but knew was much better than the needles she’d once used, she dialled five units less than usual, then injected the insulin into her stomach. Quickly she threw four fruit gums into her mouth, but almost at once she knew it wasn’t enough. Sweating profusely, her hands shaking, she managed to get another three sweets into her mouth when she’d swallowed the first lot. Then to be on the safe side, she popped another two. She still had a long way to go, and eyed the half-packet that was left with dismay.

  She knew she wouldn’t make it without food.

  She had walked most of the night. Kept to the fields as much as possible, ducking every time she saw the headlights of a car or lorry, fearing a heart attack at any moment the way it pounded in her ears each time she saw a light or heard something in the field.

  'Oh God.' The information she carried in her head weighed heavily. She had to get to safety so that she could pass it on. Everyone should know about this, but until they did, nothing would be done, these people would go on forever.

  She knew that she would have to be even more careful now that it was full light. She needed a phone box. There were two or three small villages within the next couple of miles. At least one of them should still have a working public phone. With a deep sigh, and dredging up a wealth of determination -- a lot of people depended on her without them even knowing it yet -- and keeping close to the hedgerows, she plodded on.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After jumping on the train at the last minute, disappointed that Smiler hadn’t turned up to at least say goodbye, and having shown the train guard his badge and assured him that Tiny was a well-behaved police dog, Mike found a seat in economy.

  Thank God, he thought, after pushing Tiny as far under his seat as he could get him, which wasn’t very far – fully half of him was touching the facing seats. Three hours to Durham was a long time to stand in the corridor.

  Shaking his newspaper out, he settled himself down for the journey, wishing that he’d driven down in the beginning. He hated long train journeys. He felt captive from getting on the train to getting off, and would much rather travel by car.

  A few minutes later he decided to take his jacket off. Even though it was lightweight summer wear, he knew he would be more comfortable in his shirt sleeves.

  At last the train pulled away and he scanned the rest of the carriage. Pretty full for this time of day, holiday season, families desperate to get out of the big city, see a bit of green. Although he had to admit London had surprised him in that respect, more grass around than he had ever thought. In more ways than one, of course. Apart from this three-month stint, the only other time he’d been to London had been a school trip.

  A young mother with three kids under five, all, the mother included, dressed in yellow T-shirts, caught his eye. The kids were reasonably well behaved so far, occupied as they were with drawing paper and colouring pens. He wondered how far up the line
they would get before pandemonium broke out. The mother had piqued his interest because she reminded him of Kristina Clancy, same short dark bob and large brown eyes. He’d worked with Kristina on a few cases. They’d even had something going once. It had petered out though, probably due to the pressures of the job. They were still friends, although she had moved further north and married someone called Timothy Mears, or Myers, he couldn’t remember. He’d never met the bloke anyhow. The last he’d heard Kristina was somewhere on the edge of Scotland.

  Relegating Kristina to the back of his mind he opened his newspaper. The first thing he saw was a full page advert for perfume, the girl with the red hair and red dress smiling out at him. He’d also noticed her on just about every billboard in the city on his way over to Kings Cross.

  Well, that just about explains that, he thought with a slight smile. Of course, the other business that was just Smiler’s mind hyper acting again.

  He knew he would miss the kid, and didn’t even want to admit to himself how disappointed he was about Smiler not turning up at the station to see him off.

  Although in all fairness he may not have got the message, in which case he might phone. Though it had struck him at the time that Rita was so grateful, she would scour the earth to pass the message on. The main thing was that Smiler had promised that he would never again under any circumstances attempt to take his own life, and that drugs were a thing of the past. Whether these were promises he could keep or not remained to be seen, but Mike believed that Smiler would try. All he’d ever wanted or needed was someone to give him a chance. At least he’d managed to keep off the drugs for the longest time in nine years, the poor bugger had been smoking dope and dipping into his mother's other habits before he was even eight years old. Yesterday must just have been a flash back, and I certainly handled that all wrong.

  He sighed inwardly. If there was some way that he could go back and find the creeps who had used Smiler, Mike would see that they would be behind bars for life, each one of them with a severe chronic complaint, after he’d dealt with them himself, of course. But with Smiler’s mother dead there was no way of knowing who or where they were, nor even just how many of them there had been. No one to even ask, as most of those years were blocked to Smiler, his mind doing him a great kindness by closing over the worst of it. But sometimes, mostly when it was least expected, Smiler’s eyes would cloud over. Mike would know that a breeze had lifted the curtain at the edges and Smiler was peering into the abyss.