Past Darkness

by Sam Millar

  Chapter Forty-Three

  You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the victim.

  Harvey Dent, The Dark Knight

  Two days went by before Karl was able to receive visitors at the hospital. Both broken legs were in stirrups, with plaster of Paris encasing his entire lower half. His ribs hurt like hell, as did parts of his spine. His face looked a mess, but in a ruggedly handsome, tough-guy sort of way. Ironically, it was his birthday. He was feeling sorry for himself, but did his best not to show it.

  First in the long line of visitors were his beloved daughter Katie, and not so beloved ex-wife Lynne. He was quite surprised to see Lynne, though he knew it was probably through Katie’s pressure rather than any sense of sentimentality from Lynne.

  ‘Happy birthday, Dad!’ Katie hugged and kissed him, before setting a birthday card on the table, alongside a large bottle of Lucozade.

  ‘You’ve not come bearing gifts of chocolates, fruit or flowers?’ he asked Lynne, as she sat down behind Katie, well away from the bed.

  ‘If I remember correctly, you’re allergic to flowers and chocolate. And I’m not going to make these young nurses’ lives more miserable by bringing fruit. Can you imagine the state of your bedpan?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. How inconsiderate of me to want to take a shit.’

  ‘Mum? Dad? Can we stop the squabbling for a few minutes?’ said Katie, getting no response from either parent.

  Katie could do nothing but cry once she took in the extent of Karl’s injuries, no matter how many times Karl lied that the broken bones and messed-up face were all superficial.

  He was more than a little suspicious about Lynne’s attitude, though. At times, she showed some sympathy for his injuries; but there were a few times he thought he could detect a hint of gloating in her voice. Perhaps a broken neck would have been more up her street? Despite himself, he had to smile when she said, ‘It could have been worse; could have been a broken dick.’ He wanted to, but didn’t, respond that she would probably know more about broken dicks than he.

  Katie signed the plaster cast, but Lynne ignored it, stating she ‘didn’t do that sort of thing’.

  No sooner had Katie and Lynne left, than in walked Detective Chambers, also bearing no gifts of comfort.

  ‘Not even a grape? Are all cops such tight-arse cheap bastards? How the hell can you come to hospital and not bring something with you?’

  Chambers looked embarrassed. ‘I…I just never thought.’

  ‘That’s the problem with people nowadays. Anyway, hurry the hell up with whatever questions you have. I’ve real people coming to see me in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can. May I sit down?’

  ‘Just don’t get too comfortable. I think I may have to use the bedpan very shortly.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Chambers pulled a chair close to the bed. Sat down. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Are you for real? I’ve a bedpan under my arse and I’m pissing down a straw. Want to ask any more stupid questions?’

  ‘Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘I hope you understand, I don’t have to give you an interview. I’m only doing it out of the kindness of my heart and civil duty.’

  ‘I fully understand that, and appreciate it, especially after what you went through,’ said Chambers, pulling out a notepad, and flicking through a few pages. ‘Any idea what Butler was doing at the house?’

  ‘Didn’t you ask him?’

  ‘Can we conduct this without levity, please? People died back there, regardless of what they may or may not have done.’

  ‘Really? Did you see what that bastard Arnold did to that little girl, Dorothy Reilly? No may-or-may-not bullshit. So you don’t get to tell me not to laugh at him. Fuck him. Rot in hell. Now, hurry up with your next bloody question, before I have you kicked out on your arse.’

  Flustered, Chambers flicked a page, quickly studied his notes. ‘This mysterious figure you were talking incoherently about, in the ambulance? According to you, she came out of nowhere, and she saved your life by cutting Arnold’s throat?’

  ‘I was in a state of shock, so I really can’t remember much about what I supposedly said in the ambulance. Can’t even remember the ambulance, to be frank. Okay?’

  ‘Of course. I fully understand that. I’m just trying to clear up as much of this as I can, for the record.’

  ‘For the record? If I tell you anything, it’s off the record. Understood?’

  Chambers was hesitant, unsure. Finally he said, ‘Okay, provided it doesn’t incriminate me down the line. And don’t ask me to withhold evidence.’

  ‘It was my mother.’

  ‘Your mother…?’

  ‘The mysterious figure. I know it sound nuts, but it’s the truth. Don’t ask me how, but it was. Thank God she was there; otherwise I wouldn’t be here, and neither would you.’

  Chambers studied Karl, a man with concussion, a man traumatised beyond understanding, doped to the eyeballs on morphine and God-alone-knew-what-else he himself might have added to the mix. A man who lived perpetually outside the sphere of normal people’s understanding and thinking about this world.

  ‘I’ll leave you now.’ Chambers stood. ‘I think I have enough for my boss.’

  ‘Wilson? The bastard’s back from Edinburgh?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘What did he say when he learned of my misfortune? Bet he couldn’t stop laughing?’

  ‘I wasn’t the one who informed him, so I’m not privy to what he actually said. However, I have heard from a reliable source that he seemed…uplifted…’

  ‘Uplifted? Yes, that would be him all right, the bastard. You just watch your back, with him. He’s a natural liar, whose tongue could fry an egg. Tell him if he wishes to come visit, I’ve a bedpan needs emptying.’

  Chambers low-laughed. ‘I doubt I’ll pass that particular request on to him.’

  ‘Before you go – what about Dorothy? Any news of her?’

  ‘She’s in a children’s ward in this hospital. They’re keeping her there for observation. They haven’t told her yet about her parents and younger sister.’

  Karl shook his head, a huge weight of sadness in his voice. ‘Puts everything into perspective, doesn’t it? I’m lying here, moaning about not being able to take a leak, and that child has yet to be told of the nightmare awaiting her. Doesn’t seem right, does it?’

  ‘No. It doesn’t.’ Chambers turned to leave, but stopped. Held out his hand. ‘I…we all appreciate what you did, rescuing Dorothy. It was very courageous.’

  ‘Well, you could have shown your bloody appreciation a little more clearly by bringing something with you, something in liquid form.’

  ‘You’re right. I should have. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll pick something up and leave it at reception for you, later. How’s that sound?’

  Karl finally shook the hand. ‘Make it a large bottle of Hennessy, but don’t leave it at reception, in case it grows legs and disappears. Leave it at my office. No, forget that. Naomi’s on her own. Leave it till next week, when I can be there to keep a close eye on you. Good day, Detective Chambers.’

  Finally, in walked Naomi, looking as if she hadn’t slept in a very long time. She burst into tears the moment she set eyes on Karl, on the ruined state of his body. Ran to him. Hugged him tightly, before kissing his wounded face over and over again.

  ‘Oh, my poor Karl! What have they done to you?’ She held him for so long, he eventually had to lever himself out of her grip.

  ‘I should break my legs more often if this is the outcome.’

  She giggled nervously. Brushed away the tears. Laughed some more. Tears returned.

  ‘I don’t want to say happy birthday, under the circumstances, but happy birthday, big fella.’ She handed him a small, oblong box.

  ‘For me?’ Karl said, playing coy while opening the box.

  ‘I know you don’t believe in all that religious stuff, but it wo
uld make me feel a lot happier to know you have it.’

  ‘Your Saint Christopher medal? But this belonged to your grandmother. I know how much this means to you, Naomi. I can’t take it.’

  ‘You can and you will. Anyway, it’ll comfort me to know you’re wearing it. It’ll help keep you safe.’

  ‘Bit bloody late!’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Didn’t I read somewhere that big Chris was kicked out of the gang, up in Heaven?’

  ‘Will you do this for me, and stop arguing? And don’t worry, I’ve a couple of other presents for you for when I get you home.’

  ‘Do you never stop thinking of sex? To be honest, my cock’s a lot stiffer with all this plaster on it. Want to see?’

  ‘At the minute, I’m more interested in other parts of your body. How are your legs?’

  ‘Still attached to my arse, last time I scratched it.’

  She laughed, and it was the best medicine Karl had had in two days. Then her laughter turned to tears.

  ‘If anything had happened to you, Karl, I…I don’t know what I would’ve–’

  ‘Shhhhhhhhhh.’ Karl bridged a finger on her lips. ‘Let’s not talk about it now, love. I’m safe and sound, it’s okay, I’m right here.’

  Naomi wiped away snot and tears. ‘Look at me! I must look such a mess.’

  Karl pulled her over to him. ‘The kind of mess I love.’

  He kissed her, long and lovingly. Tasted the salt from her tears. Felt tears welling in his own eyes. Placed his head on her shoulder, and hugged her tightly.

  ‘I’d die without you, Naomi. You know that, don’t you? I could never survive.’

  She said nothing, but he felt her head nodding on his shoulder; felt her body tremble as more tears came.

  ‘I hope I’m not interrupting something here?’ Lipstick, smiling, stepped into the room. ‘I rapped on the door, but no answer.’

  Naomi pushed away from Karl, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

  ‘This is the best birthday I could have wished for. All my favourite women in the same room, all within an hour of each other – well, almost all my favourite women. Lynne was here too.’

  Lipstick hugged Naomi, then walked over to the bed and hugged and kissed Karl. She handed him an expensive-looking watch box.

  ‘Happy birthday, Karl.’

  ‘Lipstick…you shouldn’t have,’ said Karl, hesitantly taking the box. He knew immediately it was going to be trouble. Sixty thousand quid’s worth of trouble. The fact it was a dead man’s watch made him uncomfortable. Still, Patek Philippe was not to be sniffed at, truth be told.

  He slowly opened the box. The watch stared out at him. He removed it from its enclosure.

  ‘A Timex…? How timely,’ said Karl, not knowing if he should be glad or sad.

  Lipstick’s face lit up. ‘You like it, Karl? Really?’

  ‘What’s…what’s not to like about a Timex…?’ Karl said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his disappointed voice.

  ‘Take a look at the watch’s motto, engraved on the back. That’s why I bought it. It reminded me so much of you.’

  Karl slowly turned the watch over. Read the motto to himself. A large smile spread across his face.

  ‘What’s the smile for, Karl?’ said Naomi. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘It says, “Timex, it takes a licking but keeps on ticking”.’

  Epilogue

  We all end up dead, it’s just a question of how and why.

  William Wallace

  He sat at the window, watching pellets of rain bounce and skid on the tarmac outside the old building. The radio was playing a song from the fifties. It transported his mind back to better days. Good days. Family days. No betrayal. No darkness.

  He waited until the song ended, before easing himself from the chair and making his way into the bathroom. There, he reached for a tube of denture cream. Looked at it, as if searching for an answer. Returned to his seat at the window.

  Another song came on. He vaguely remembered it. Tried to summon up the singer’s name, but the pain in his head blocked all cognitive thought. He found it exhausting.

  Flipping the tube over, he began working on the sealed bottom. Not sealed enough. False. It had taken him a couple of days to make it look perfect. He couldn’t risk them finding it when they came in cleaning, twice a week.

  After twenty laborious minutes, he had finally managed to squeeze out the hidden gems: sixteen sleeping pills concealed within the mushy mess.

  They had thought him stupid, but he had outsmarted them all. He could outsmart anyone, when the chips were down. Anyone.

  He began to wipe the pills, one by one, getting the gooey mess off them. He had always hated the aftertaste the cream brought after usage. He would never have to worry about that again.

  He filled a glass with lukewarm water, and popped one pill in his mouth. Repeated the action, until all sixteen were gone.

  After a few minutes of contemplation, he made his way to the bed, and got inside. Made himself comfortable. Removed one of three pillows, and placed it on the floor beside his slippers. His nightly ritual, undisturbed. Prying night eyes would see nothing but routine.

  They would find him in the morning, but of course it would be too late – for them, not him. They would make a false fuss, but within a couple of days, he’d be forgotten. He smiled slightly at the thought.

  Then he closed his eyes for the last time.

  Across town, Karl was having difficulty sleeping. The pain in his legs seemed to be intensifying, despite the dosage of morphine injected into his system. From the side table, he picked up this evening’s newspaper, and reread it for the umpteenth time. His story was still making the headlines. He was a hero. A maverick. Perhaps a mixture of both, with a little added gung-ho-bad-boy thrown into the mix.

  Naomi said the phone hadn’t stopped ringing, potential and future clients all queueing up for his services. The business might even have to expand, to keep up with demand.

  Eventually, his eyelids became heavier. The newspaper slipped from his grasp, fluttering onto the floor like a wounded bird. For some unknown reason, his last thoughts were of his father.

  About the Author

  Winner of many awards, including the Brian Moore Award for Short Stories, and the Aisling Award for Art and Culture, Sam Millar is the author of highly acclaimed crime novels, several of which have sold internationally. He has also written a bestselling memoir, On the Brinks.

  ‘Millar’s words will mesmerize you. He is like a poet of darkness…’

  Village Voice, New York

  Also by Sam Millar

  Fiction

  The Darkness of Bones

  Dark Souls

  The Redemption Factory

  Black’s Creek

  Karl Kane novels

  Bloodstorm

  The Dark Place

  Dead of Winter

  Memoir

  On the Brinks

  Play

  Brothers in Arms

  Recipient Golden Balais d’or for Best Crime Book of 2013–14

  Recipient Trophées 813, du meilleur roman

  Le Monde’s prestigious Top Twenty Thrillers for 2013-2014 for Bloodstorm: A Karl Kane Novel

  www.millarcrime.com

  Copyright

  This eBook edition first published 2015 by Brandon,

  an imprint of The O’Brien Press Ltd,

  12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar,

  Dublin 6, Ireland.

  Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777

  E-mail: books@obrien.ie. Website: www.obrien.ie

  First published 2015.

  eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–806–0

  Text © copyright Sam Millar 2015

  Copyright for typesetting, layout, editing, design

  © The O’Brien Press

  Cover image: Getty Images

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilised in
any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or in any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.