The Edge of Sanity

by Sheryl Browne

  He waited for Daniel to respond.

  Daniel didn’t.

  ‘ … not just yet.’ Charlie examined his nails.

  Daniel wiped a hand across his mouth.

  Charlie took a long draw on his spliff, and then went on. ‘She’s going to keep me warm tonight, you see, Daniel, while you’re flying so high you won’t give a toss.’

  ‘Oh, man, if looks could kill …’ Charlie laughed. ‘Danny Boy, you should see your face.’

  Charlie took another slow draw on his spliff. ‘In fact,’ he exhaled, ‘I quite fancy a threesome.’

  Daniel locked smouldering eyes on his. ‘Bastard,’ he grated, attempting to lever himself to his feet.

  ‘Tut, tut.’ Charlie turned the gun rapidly toward Jo. ‘Sticks and stones, Daniel. Names can’t hurt me.’ He smiled. ‘But I’ll hurt her.’

  Daniel sank back to the floor, and slammed his head back, hard. ‘Bastard!’

  ‘We’ve established that, Daniel.’ Charlie smirked coldly. ‘And you’ve just demonstrated my point admirably, haven’t you? You just won’t do as you’re told. So you have to learn a little humility, to be a bit more submissive, Daniel. Get my drift?’

  Charlie waited.

  ‘You’re not answering me, Danny Boy.’

  ‘Christ!’ Daniel raked his hand through his hair. How much more? How much more was he supposed to take?

  ‘Obviously, you don’t.’ Charlie tossed his joint aside. ‘So I’ll spell it out for you, shall I? I’m going to soothe you to sleep, Danny Boy. Just like daddy did.’

  Charlie smiled nastily. ‘Now, have you got it?’

  ‘Hope that’s good stuff, Steve.’ He motioned Steve who stood, apparently dumbstruck, with a syringe and a rope. ‘He is paying for it after all.’

  Charlie winked at Daniel. ‘Sweet dreams, sunshine.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  DI Short sized up the front door, impatiently. At this rate, the night would be over and they’d still be no nearer to finding Daniel Connor. ‘Force it,’ he instructed an officer.

  Might as well go in, he’d decided. See if there was anything he could dig up on the inside. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ He rolled his eyes and nudged the officer aside, who, obviously having left his ingenuity at the station, was trying to break down the door. Must teach it in training school.

  ‘Use brains, lad,’ DI Short jabbed himself in the temple, ‘not brawn. Oh, never mind,’ he wriggled out of his jacket. ‘If you need a job doing …’

  ‘Why don’t you use the key?’ Hannah suggested, behind him, as DI Short was poised to punch out a low pane of glass.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ DI Short clamped a hand over his palpitating heart. Who the hell let her slip by? He glowered across the yard, then back at Hannah. What was it with this girl? Did she not realise that this was a police investigation?

  Sighing, he turned to face her. ‘What key would that be, Hannah?’

  ‘This key,’ Hannah replied matter-of-factly, shoving a ceramic tub to one side. From under which she retrieved the key and plopped it into a disbelieving DI Short’s hand.

  Diligent detective work Inspector, DI Short congratulated himself. ‘Thank you.’ He smiled sweetly at Hannah. ‘Now, go home!’

  ‘Oh, no, not again.’ He sighed, as Hannah looked close to tears. ‘Hannah, this is a dangerous place to be. Very dangerous. If your parents knew you were here,’ he arched an eyebrow, ‘you’d be in big trouble, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Parent.’ Hannah corrected him. ‘My dad doesn’t much care what I do.’

  Hell … Talk about policeman-flipping-plod. DI Short tried another tactic. ‘Hannah, if you don’t go home, I’ll be in big trouble. Please give me a break and—’

  ‘Go,’ Hannah finished.

  ‘Yes,’ DI Short said, serious-faced. ‘Please.’

  Hannah shrugged and turned to slope off. DI Short watched her trail towards the gate, a pretty, chippy, young woman on the outside, but just an insecure child on the inside. He shook his head. What was it with some fathers? He could never be disinterested in his daughter’s activities, much to his daughter’s chagrin.

  He was barely through the front door into the house, before several officers bustled past to check out the place. Well, they were keen, he had to admit. He’d try to tone down his temper, DI Short decided, aware that he was being a bit snappy. Not surprisingly, with the lives of three people at stake, and him utterly clueless.

  Too much to hope that there’d be anything useful in the post, he supposed, bending to retrieve a wad of envelopes from the doormat, and …

  Bingo! He muttered thanks to the ceiling. A bank envelope, if he wasn’t mistaken. A statement by any small miracle? He tore the envelope open, not letting private and personal stand in the way of police work.

  ‘Yesss!’ DI Short stopped short of punching the air as an officer descended the stairs.

  ‘Still there, Sir,’ the officer reported.

  ‘Hmm?’ DI Short furrowed his brow, looking over the mortgage statement, which showed the mortgage redeemed, ergo not quite a million quid available. Did Charlie Roberts know that? There was still a fair whack left over though—in account at the same bank.

  However much it was, Roberts would be aiming to get his hands on it. Presumably, Daniel would have to give notice, so the scumbag was lying low somewhere between Worcester and Birmingham, toying with the psyche of his hostages to amuse himself while he waited. That narrowed it down a bit.

  ‘The suitcases, sir,’ the officer repeated. ‘They’re still there, where the girl …’ he nodded past DI Short ‘ … said they’d be.’

  ‘Yes, right,’ DI Short said distractedly. ‘Thank you,’ he added, and turned, straight into a sheepish, but determined, Hannah.

  ‘Good God, girl!’ DI Short barked, no attempt this time to hide his annoyance. ‘What do I have to do? Have you escorted off the premises? Will you please—’

  ‘I’m going. I’m going.’ Hannah raised submissive hands. ‘It’s just,’ she hesitated, ‘I had a hunch.’

  ‘A hunch,’ DI Short repeated, with dry amusement. He shook his head despairingly.

  ‘There’s a boat out,’ Hannah ploughed on. ‘It wasn’t out before, because Kayla and I got ready on it, but it’s out now.’

  ‘It’s a boatyard, Hannah,’ DI Short pointed out. ‘Boats generally go out of boatyards. Unless …’ He stopped, frowning as he followed Hannah’s gaze across the yard and noted the Closed sign.

  ‘ … the boatyard’s closed,’ Hannah finished triumphantly.

  DI Short dispensed with decorum, cupped Hannah’s face in his hands and planted a kiss firmly on top of her head. ‘Thank you.’ He sighed gratefully. ‘Now go home. Your mother will be frantic.’

  He chivvied her out of the door and headed towards the towpath. ‘No wait.’ He turned back. ‘Which way to Birmingham?’

  ‘That way.’ Hannah pointed. ‘But it’ll take you an awful long time on foot.’

  Dammit, she was right. They’d be a fair way along the route by now. So what was he going to do? Drive along the towpath? He looked around helplessly.

  ‘Kayla and her mum have bikes,’ Hannah suggested.

  ‘Where?’ DI Short asked, tucking his trouser leg in his sock.

  ‘In the garage. Where else?’ Hannah looked at him askew. ‘The keys are hanging in the kitchen,’ she added, as DI Short headed swiftly for the garage.

  He did an about turn. ‘Thank you, Hannah.’ He smiled back at her. ‘You’ll make some lucky policeperson a wonderful partner one day. Now—’

  ‘Go home.’ Hannah nodded and turned reluctantly for home.

  DI Short found the keys, hanging in the kitchen as Hannah had said. She really had been invaluable. She was a nice kid, he decided. He owed it to her to keep her informed. He’d check up on her afterwards, too, especially if the news was bad. It wouldn’t be. It better damn well not be. ‘You, lad, come with me,’ he instructed one of the officers.

  The officer
eyed the mode of transport dubiously. ‘Er, it’s getting a bit dark, sir,’ he pointed out.

  DI Short rolled his eyes. ‘And you’re afraid of the dark, are you sonny?’

  ‘No, sir. I—’

  ‘Do you think the dark is going to make any difference to Charlie Roberts?’ DI Short glared at him. ‘Do you think he’s going to say, Oh, dear, it’s getting a bit dark and postpone persecuting those poor bastards until morning!?’

  Probably what the despicable little shit would do, he thought with a shudder. Anything for kicks.

  ‘No, sir.’ The officer looked suitably reprimanded.

  ‘On yer bike,’ DI Short instructed him.

  ‘And you,’ he glanced at another officer, as he mounted a second bike, ‘get that air surveillance here, now!’

  ****

  ‘No choice, mate,’ Steve told Daniel as he tightened the tourniquet. ‘If I don’t do it, he will.’

  Daniel flinched as he pushed the syringe home.

  ‘Hold still,’ Steve said, keeping eye contact with him. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

  Daniel looked hard at him, daring to hope that Steve might be his only last hope. He kept looking at him. Then cocked his head to one side as the drugs he’d pumped into him coursed through his veins, red hot. Flowing. White hot. Lava, inside his mind.

  Christ, he couldn’t cope with this. Couldn’t …

  Daniel tried to draw breath. It hurt. Nausea swept through him. His stomach churned. His heart slammed against his chest.

  Oh, Jesus. He reeled forwards. He was going to throw up. How? How could he throw up, if he couldn’t breathe?

  He moaned, dropped his head to his knees, and the floor tilted and slipped to one side. It’s folding up, Daniel thought blearily, as a wall leaned to meet it. The room was shutting up shop and going home. He couldn’t think straight.

  No. Daniel breathed deep, and a pain seared through his side.

  He started counting.

  Tried to stop shaking, as a stair creaked beside him.

  But … Daniel shook his head, blinking against the light, the naked bulb swinging on the landing. He blinked again, hard.

  Tried to focus, but swayed to one side.

  … how could the stairs creak, he wondered obliquely, when there weren’t any stairs? No bulb. No landing.

  Crap! Daniel jolted. Then jolted again. He was falling. He jolted again. The floor shifted beneath him, faster this time, pulled itself from under him and stood on its side.

  Steve waited until Daniel’s eyes rolled. ‘Leave him alone now, Charlie. There’s no need for more,’ he said, trying to make sure Daniel fell on his good side, before getting to his feet.

  Charlie watched, amused. Steve had missed his vocation in life. Should have been a mother, he thought cynically. ‘You wouldn’t be telling me what to do, would—’

  ‘Yes!’ Steve squared up to Charlie. ‘You touch him while he’s out over my dead body!’

  Charlie laughed, though he was actually quite taken-aback. Steve bailing on him at this stage he didn’t need. ‘Oh, man, lighten up,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to …’

  Charlie stopped and glanced at Jo. ‘Outside,’ he said, motioning Steve towards the door.

  ‘Steve, use your brains, hey?’ He draped a chummy arm over Steve’s shoulder, once they were out of earshot of wifey. ‘I’m not actually going to do anything … much. It’s what he thinks we’ve done.’

  ‘We have to have him a psychological disadvantage, mate,’ Charlie went on, as Steve looked at him warily. ‘That way, when Danny Boy’s in the bank, knowing rather than wondering what we’re capable of, he’ll be making sure to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s correctly, won’t he?’

  ****

  Jo flew over to Daniel the second they turned their backs, crouching beside him, trying to somehow stop his shaking.

  Daniel stirred, lifting eyelids heavy with heroin. ‘I can’t do this, Jo,’ he said, barely audible, jerked, then let go a moan that seemed to come from his soul.

  ‘Oh, God, just make it stop. Please!’ Jo pleaded as they came back into the room. She raked her hair from her face, wiped the sweat from Daniel’s.

  ‘Out of my way,’ Charlie lashed out with his foot as he strode past.

  She was getting under his feet and on his nerves.

  ‘I said, move! Now!’ he shouted, when Jo didn’t budge. Well annoyed, he was, with all of them, and Steve in particular.

  Acting like he was Danny Boy’s guardian angel or something. Touch him, he had said piously, and you’re on your own. Soft twat. Anyone would think he was intending to screw the bloke. Yeah, right. Mess with his mind, was all Charlie intended. But, for the sake of their friendship—and a cool million—he’d relented.

  He’d just re-adjust his attire, he’d promised … maybe.

  And still Steve had got a strop on, spineless twit.

  Charlie squatted beside Daniel, once Jo had moved. ‘How you doin’, Danny Boy?’ he cooed. ‘Nice trip you havin’? Hey?’

  Didn’t look as if he was having a very nice trip, actually. Shame that. Charlie reckoned the bloke could have used a bit of mellowing out, being so stressed, and all.

  He didn’t demand an answer this time. Fairly, Charlie thought. Daniel was hardly capable of giving one, after all.

  ‘Too hot, are we, sunshine?’ He ran a hand across Daniel’s forehead, trailed it slowly down his cheek, unfastened a button of his shirt, and the next, and then stopped to have a little look at the wife’s face.

  Oh, man, what a picture. Her cat’s eyes were about to pop right out of her head. Shocked she was, and he’d barely touched him.

  ‘Let’s see if we can’t cool you off a bit, hey, Daniel?’ He smirked at Jo, and then proceeded slowly through the rest of the buttons, laughing as Daniel tried to lift his head from the floor.

  ‘Come on Daniel, don’t fight it.’ Charlie yanked the shirt open and ran the gun over his chest. ‘You know you want it.’

  He laughed again as Daniel made a supreme effort to raise himself, and failed miserably. Charlie had been wrong. The bloke obviously wasn’t a user. Couldn’t handle it at all, poor sod. Shame really. Danny Boy putting up a bit of a struggle might’ve been more interesting.

  Still, the look in his eyes was enough. Wasn’t looking right through him anymore. Oh, no. He could see him all right. See exactly what he was doing.

  He trailed the gun slowly over the flat of Daniel’s stomach.

  Deliberately slowly, he followed the gun with his hand to let it rest lightly on his waistband.

  ‘Would you like your pretty little wife to watch, Danny Boy?’ He grinned as Daniel’s eyes flickered open, swam hazily, and closed. ‘Or shall we ask her to leave, hey?’

  ‘Stop!’ Jo screamed, jumping up on her feet.

  ‘Sit!’ Charlie spat, whirling around.

  ‘Please.’ Jo took a hesitant step forwards. ‘He’s done everything you’ve asked. Please, leave him alone now.’

  ‘Pack it up!’ Steve said from the doorway. ‘Lay off, Charlie. I mean it.’

  Blimey, thought Charlie, what’s this? A conspiracy? He noticed the tight set of Steve’s jaw, and decided telling him to button it might not be prudent.

  ‘What?’ Charlie blinked in surprised innocence and held his hands in the air. ‘I haven’t touched him.’

  ‘Well, don’t.’ Steve fixed him with a furious glare. ‘I’m warning you, Charlie. I’m out of here if you do.’

  ‘One more minute, and that’s it, I swear.’ Charlie did his best to look like a boy scout. ‘Just let me get him out of the shirt. Nothing else, honest.’ Dib bloody dib, he thought.

  He leaned back over Daniel, making sure to hold his gaze.

  Daniel looked back.

  Watching from a faraway place, the psycho drifting in and out of his vision, undoing his shirt? The gun, not slamming down so hard this time, he heard his bones crack.

  Trailing instead.

  Slow cold metal, caress
ing his skin, sliding over his stomach. Christ, he was going to throw up.

  Instinctively, Daniel heaved himself from the floor, swallowing back the nausea, trying to still the merry-go-round room. The troglodyte was behind the psycho now, mouthing something. And Jo? She’d come to the fair, too.

  Daniel squinted. She didn’t like the music though. She’d clamped her hands over her mouth. Kayla was there, somewhere. Daniel could feel her. But where was … Oh, shit, no. He struggled to sitting, reached a hand to the wall and tried to stand up, but the floor tipped and tilted beneath him.

  ‘Can’t,’ he mumbled, and staggered, and the troglodyte caught him.

  This wasn’t right. This was all wrong. This wasn’t the fair. It was a freak show, and there were too many people. And someone was missing.

  ‘Where’s Emma?!’ he shouted suddenly, shaking his head to try to clear the fog from his mind. ‘Where is she!?’ Sheer panic swept through Daniel, fast on its heels, absolute terror. He clutched two fistfuls of the troglodyte’s shirt, bunching it at his neck.

  ‘Where!?’ Daniel screamed, his throat tight, his head pounding.

  His heart bursting.

  The floor undulating.

  His body shaking. Why couldn’t he stop?

  Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop shak …

  ‘Please!’ Jo begged, as Daniel slid to the floor. ‘No more!’

  ‘Shut it!’ Charlie snapped. ‘You’re doin’ my head in!’

  ‘I hope you’re satisfied?’ Steve glared at Charlie as he eased one of Daniel’s arms over his shoulder to half-carry him towards a berth.

  ‘Come, on, you’re all right, mate,’ he tried to reassure him, unhooking Daniel’s arm from his neck. ‘Just try to lie back. It’ll pass.’

  But Daniel wouldn’t lie back. Couldn’t seem to stay still. He was twitching and gasping, his chest rattling.

  Steve held Daniel by both shoulders and studied his face. ‘He ain’t breathing right,’ he said, drawing in a terse breath of his own and turning to look Charlie over with open contempt. ‘You finished now?!’

  ‘Serves him right.’ Charlie paced to the door, obviously agitated. Then back again.

  He stopped. Lit up a spliff, drew back hard, and paced some more.