by Anne Riley
We hurry to the other side of the patio and I fall to my knees when we reach him. His breathing comes in shallow gasps and his eyes stare into the sky, glazed over. He’s worse than I thought.
“We’ve got to get him to a hospital,” Albert says. “I only hope it’s something that can be treated.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that they may have given him something… unnatural. But we won’t know until we have him looked at.”
My stomach twists. “Unnatural, or supernatural?”
“I don’t want to waste time speculating. Let’s just get him up.”
Something clicks behind us.
“Or not,” says a deep, ragged voice.
My eyes meet Albert’s, and his expression reflects the dread I feel in the pit of my stomach.
“Turn around,” the voice says.
In slow motion, I look over my shoulder. A man with white hair stands behind us, his face hard with cold rage. One glimpse and I’m positive he’s the man who shot the
Bestia outside Albert’s flat. The fingers of his right hand are woven into Dan’s hair, pulling his head down at an angle. His other hand presses a gun to Dan’s temple.
The man is familiar—and not just from the shooting on the heath. When he shot my attacker, I’d been all the way up in Casey’s room, too far away to see his face. I know him from somewhere else, too.
“Back away from the boy,” he says, his eyes darting between Albert and me.
I throw a desperate look at Albert. He replies with a tight nod and holds his hands up, then takes a few steps back.
I hesitate too long. The man cracks his gun across Dan’s face, and Dan cries out as his nose splits open. “I said move,” the man growls.
Swallowing a sob, I force my feet to move away from my brother. It feels like ripping off one of my legs.
Dan’s bloodied face is pinched with panic. His freckles stand out even more now that his cheeks have drained of color, and he shakes under the white-haired man’s grasp.
“That’s good,” the man says as Albert and I back away from Paul. “Good. Keep moving. Now, hands on your head and face the street.”
We turn toward the access road and stare into the darkness—and that’s when we see the police cars barreling down the street, sirens wailing and lights flashing. They screech to a stop and officers spill onto the patio.
Who called the cops? Wait a minute—there was a crowd on the bridge before Albert Pulled. I look up, and sure enough, there they are. In all the chaos, I hadn’t even noticed them.
There’s a splintering sound behind us, followed by a howl that makes my blood run cold. Albert and I spin around to see Dan jerking free from the white-haired man, who is doubled over. The gun drops onto the cement with a clatter. The man cradles his arm, which hangs loose like it has been pulled out of its socket, and screams.
Dan ducks toward Albert and me as the police swarm the injured man. I take off in the direction of my brother.
“Paul!” I shout as I reach him. “Talk to me!”
His head jerks from one side to the other as he gasps for air. “Help!” I scream in the direction of the policemen. “My brother needs help!”
Two policemen jog toward us, one of them speaking into a walkie-talkie. They kneel beside Paul and shine their flashlights in his eyes.
“We got one that looks like he’s on something,” the one with the walkie-talkie says to someone on the other end. He turns to me. “What did he take?”
My throat tightens. “I don’t know.”
It seems to take a decade for the ambulances to arrive, but once they do, everything moves faster. Paramedics appear next to my brother. They lay him on a stretcher and one of them checks his vitals while the other secures the straps. I stand at a distance with my hand over my mouth, choking on panic.
“He’ll be okay,” Albert says, appearing next to me.
A hand squeezes my elbow and I look up. Dan stands next to us, his face already covered in purple welts. He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it, looking weak.
“All right, load him up,” one of the paramedics says.
I rush toward them. “Can I come with him?”
“No room,” one of the men replies as they carry Paul toward the nearest ambulance. “Meet us at the hospital.”
“Which one?”
“St. Thomas. The police can bring you.”
I close my eyes and remind myself to breathe. If Paul doesn’t make it through this night, I’ll never forgive myself for failing to lock him up in Nana’s house when I had the chance. I should have been more assertive with him. I should have forced him to listen to me, or at least told Mom and Dad what he was up to, even if it meant temporarily sacrificing his trust.
“Anything from Casey?” I say to Albert, more to distract myself than anything else.
“Not yet, but I’ll check in with her. She must be close.” He gives me a long look. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
I feel my mouth open, but I’m too off-guard to reply. He saw what I was feeling, and he said exactly what I needed someone to say—
“I can’t let you go,” says a voice behind me.
I spin around to face a police officer in his late twenties. The droop to his mouth suggests he’d rather be anywhere but here.
“Roberts,” Albert says with a huff. He gestures toward Paul’s ambulance as it pulls onto the road. “Surely you’re not going to question us now, when her brother’s just been taken to the hospital.”
I look at Albert, then at Dan, for clarification as to who this guy is. Neither of them seems surprised to see him, and Albert obviously knows him fairly well. But neither of them returns my stare.
“You can see,” Albert goes on, waving a hand at the scene around us, “that this is not exactly the best time for a trip down to your office. We can answer your questions tomorrow, once Rosie’s made sure her brother is okay.”
Roberts puts his hands on his hips and sighs. “Unfortunately, I’m not just going to question you. I’m going to arrest you.”
THIRTY-ONE
“ARREST US?” ALBERT SHOUTS, JUST AS DAN SAYS, “What for?”
Roberts holds up his hands. “We got a lot of conflicting calls about a fight by Tower Bridge. About half the witnesses said they’d seen a man matching your description”—he nods at Albert—“antagonizing two other men. There was an argument, and then a fourth man with red hair appeared and initiated a fight.”
“We didn’t antagonize them!” Dan cries out, his face flushed. “They were—” He stops and gives Albert a look of barely controlled frustration. There’s nothing else he can say without sounding like a lunatic.
“Roberts,” Albert says. “Please. You have to understand. We were acting out of self-defense.”
It’s close to the truth.
Roberts seems to be considering something. He steps closer to us and we lean in automatically. “They said you two didn’t stop when the other blokes were down. That you knocked them out cold and tied them up. This much, at least, is true.” He nods behind us, where Luther and Max are being inspected by several paramedics. “And some of them said”—he shifts his attention to me with a raised eyebrow—“that a girl kicked one of them in the head when he tried to get up.”
We turn to the crowd of onlookers above us. Tower Bridge is packed with witnesses, and roughly half of them think we’re the bad guys.
“I kneed him, actually,” I mutter.
Roberts’s lips pull into a tight line as we turn back to him. “I’ve worked loads of cases involving you lot,” he says, nodding at Albert and Dan. “And it always seems like you’re defending someone else, even when things turn violent.” He lowers his voice even more. “But because of how many people say that you were the instigators of all this, and because it’s already quite late, my chief inspector has ordered me to hold you overnight. You’ll be questioned in the morning and hopefully released.”
A bubble of pan
ic rises in my throat and explodes from my mouth in a single word. “ Hopefully?”
His expression hardens. “Yes. That’s the best I can do; I can’t go against my chief ’s orders. If your friends had taken my previous advice to heart and left the crime fighting to the police, you might not be in this situation.”
“No!” I shriek. “You can’t do this! My brother— I have to go to the hospital! What if he’s not okay? What if he—” I can’t bring myself to finish the question.
“I’m sorry,” Roberts says again, and even though I believe him, it doesn’t make this any better.
Dan glances toward the other officers, who are watching the medics load Max and Luther into a second ambulance. The white-haired man is still on the ground and I wonder if they will take him to the hospital, too, or if they’ll just pop his shoulder back in and arrest him on the spot.
I’m hoping for the second option.
Dan takes a subtle step closer to Roberts. “What if we run?” he whispers. His eyes dart toward the rest of the policemen. “Could you stall them?”
Roberts shakes his head. “You’d only be making things worse for yourselves. Let’s get this over with.” He nods at an officer behind him, who approaches with three sets of handcuffs. He hands one of them to Roberts.
“Cuffs?” Albert says with a scowl. “Really?”
“It’s protocol. The sooner you get in the back of the car, the sooner I can start working on getting you released.”
“Where are Casey and Isaac?” I whisper at Albert while Roberts handcuffs him.
He shakes his head. “They must’ve gotten held up.”
The other officer moves behind me and pulls my hands together. I close my eyes as the cold metal clamps around my wrists.
THE HOLDING CELLS ARE COLD, WITH BRIGHT BLUE GATES that click loudly when Roberts locks us in. A narrow bed with grimy linens sits wedged into a corner of each cell; I wonder when the sheets were last changed and how often they’re washed. Judging by the brown stains, not often. My toilet provides zero privacy. A couple of flies buzz above the water, fighting. Or mating. Either way, I have to cover my nose and mouth to keep from gagging at the smell.
“This is cozy,” Dan says from the cell he and Albert share next to mine. He runs his fingers over the split on his nose and perches on the edge of the bed. “Never been in this station before. What were you doing on this side of town, anyway, Roberts?”
“I was actually trying to track down the man with the white hair,” he says, hooking his keys onto his belt. “We never found him after he shot that woman in Blackheath, but this evening we got a tip that he was hanging around Tower Bridge.”
“Who is he?” I ask.
Roberts shrugs. “He didn’t have any identification on him, but he’ll be fingerprinted at the hospital.” He looks at me through the bars. “I know you’re worried about your brother. I’m going to get you out of here as soon as I can.”
Albert slams his hand against the bars. “You don’t understand what kind of danger her brother is in! Those two guys—they’re not just a couple of thugs, and the man with the white hair is working with them somehow; I’m sure of it!”
“You know who they are?” Roberts says, tilting his head. “Tell me.”
Albert’s jaw works. “Just let us out. We have to get to the hospital.”
“Why?” Roberts moves closer to the cell. “What is it you think you can do that the doctors can’t? How are you always in the right place at the right time?”
Silence.
Roberts looks at Albert for a moment, frustration lining his face. “Fine,” he says. “Have it your way.” He pulls a walkie-talkie out of his back pocket and clicks it on. “Mark?”
A voice comes through from the other side, edged with static. “Sir?”
“Need you to watch some hooligans for me tonight. Can Alistair cover for you out back?”
There’s a pause. “Yes sir, coming over right away.”
He strides to the door and puts a hand on the knob. “Mark is a new guard and doesn’t quite know the ropes yet,” he says with his back to us. “He lacks confidence.
Common problem in society, of course, but most unfortunate for a guard.”
He leaves without looking at us.
I rest my forehead on the metal bars and close my eyes, taking deep breaths. Roberts is trying to help us get out. He’s not making it easy, but he’s trying.
Albert pulls his shirt collar up to his mouth. “Case. Where are you?”
He chews his lip while she responds.
“Is Isaac still with you? Okay, stop swearing and listen. We were at the docks, but then a load of crap went down and now we’re in jail. Rosie’s brother got in with a couple of Mortiferi, and we think they’ve drugged him. They’re all at St. Thomas—of course we knocked them out, stop interrupting—we have to get to the hospital to make sure they don’t get to him again. It’ll take all of us to bring them down, if it comes to that.” He pauses as footsteps come down the hall. “Borough High Street, Casey,” he says quickly. “Bring Isaac. You’ve got to get us out of here!” He drops his collar and leans against the wall with his hands in his pockets.
I barely notice when the door opens. My thoughts are stuck on one thing Albert said that I hadn’t even considered yet—what if another Mortifer comes for Paul before I get to him? What if they drag him off somewhere and turn him into one of them?
What if it’s not drugs in his system, but the beginning of his transformation into a Mortifer?
A large guy with sweat stains in every crease of his tan uniform enters the room, huffing as though the walk from his previous post nearly did him in.
“Right,” he says, trying to sound authoritative. It comes out too forced to be convincing. “I’m supervising you three tonight. Don’t do anything you’ll regret, yeah?” His fingers fumble over the baton on his belt.
He moves toward a desk in the center of the room and then drags the chair back with a screech. Someone left a newspaper— The Sun —which he opens with a rustle. It hides his face completely, and the three of us start shooting visual messages at each other.
I spread my hands out to my sides and give Albert a What do we do now? look through the bars that separate our cells. He stares at me, and I can tell he’s trying to come up with something, but finally he shakes his head. He’s got nothing.
Dan shrugs and mouths Casey. We just have to wait on Casey and Isaac to get here. But what are they going to do? How could they possibly get us out?
Something else needs to happen.
I turn toward the guard, still invisible behind the sports section. “So, your name is Mark?”
He peeks over the top of his paper. “Yeah.”
“I’m Rosie.” I smile. Please, oh please let me come off as charming and not suspicious. I need him to think I’m cute and innocent.
He gives me a shifty look and then raises the newspaper again.
“What are you doing?” Albert whispers. I ignore him.
“I have a question, Mark,” I say. “It’s, um…kind of embarrassing.”
He folds the paper and lays it on the desk with an expression that is one part irritation, two parts anxiety. I’m making him nervous just by talking.
“Where am I supposed to use the bathroom?” I ask.
He looks past me into the cell, where the fly-infested toilet sits in the corner.
I follow his gaze and laugh. “Yeah, I don’t really want to contract any diseases while I’m here. And I’m pretty sure making me use the bathroom in front of three men is illegal, especially since I’m only seventeen. Isn’t there somewhere else I could go?”
“No,” he says with false firmness. “Either use the toilet or hold it.” Insecurity haunts his eyes. Mark is not used to being in charge of anyone, especially a girl.
“It’s not really a matter of holding anything,” I say with a small laugh. “I, um…need to take care of something. A feminine issue. So unless you want to watch me do th
at…”
A shadow of horror flits across his face. I’d find it funny if I weren’t so desperate for him to heave himself out of that chair and open my cell door.
“Right,” he says. “Just, ah, let me…” He glances around the otherwise empty room as if looking for someone to help him, then picks up his walkie-talkie. It looks like a child’s toy clenched in his thick fingers. “Are there any available guards who can help me with a small situation?”
“I’m covering for you out here, mate,” comes another male voice across the walkie-talkie. Probably Alistair, the other guard. “What’s going on?”
“Are there any female guards here tonight?”
Pause.
“Seriously, Mark, you know it’s just me and you. What’s going on? Need me to switch posts with you? It’d be okay, you know, since it’s your first week and all—”
“No, no,” Mark says quickly. He glances at me as his face flushes red. “I can handle it. Never mind. All’s well.”
He clips the walkie-talkie back on his belt and stands up, fingering the key ring that hangs from his belt loop. “I’ll take you to the toilet down the hall,” he says to me. “Under one condition.”
“That I don’t try to escape?” I give him a wry look. “Unless there’s some kind of trap door in the bathroom, I think you’re safe.”
“There’s no trap door,” he says firmly.
I widen my eyes. Hopefully, my fake worry will pass as genuine; I’m so close to success. “Can we go now? This is about to be an emergency.”
Mark lets out a resigned sigh. Then he unlocks my gate and I slip through. I can feel Albert’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare glance in his direction. Just because Mark is new on the job doesn’t mean he’s stupid. I do my best to look docile, yet desperate for a toilet.
“Right,” Mark says to Albert and Dan. “Don’t try anything. We’ll be back in five minutes.”
Dan rolls his eyes. “What do you think we’re going to do? Bite the bars in half?”
Mark’s lips press together. “Just five minutes. Stay where you are.” He grabs my arm and tugs a pair of handcuffs off his belt.
