The cracked, mid-Ulster tones of Terry stopped him in his tracks. Snow was still falling silently, absorbing the sounds of the street, of the river. His own voice and Terry’s breathing on the end of the line were magnified in his ear.
“Terry?”
“We have her, Paul. We have your girlfriend.”
Paul let the words slowly sink in. He swallowed back the large lump in his throat. “You have Lena?”
“Unless that was someone else we took kicking and screaming from your flat tonight,” Terry said, impatiently. He didn’t like having to explain himself twice.
Paul looked up at the sky, at the steadily falling snow, and had a sudden feeling of vertigo, as if gravity had abandoned him and he was hurtling into oblivion.
The river. Darkness. Hot tears welled up inside him. They had her.
He spoke again but his voice didn’t sound like his own. “Where?”
“Somewhere safe. For now.”
Paul’s breath burst out of him in punctured gasps, which he struggled to hold in. Heavy, teeth-chattering gasps. The more he tried to hold them in, the more intense they became. He took the phone away from his ear, put his hand over his mouth to try and muffle them, terrified as a surge of complete helplessness overtook him.
He could hear Terry’s voice, tiny, in his hand. “You still there, Paul? Paul?”
Slowly he lifted the phone back to his ear. “I’m here…” he stammered.
“It’s not her we want, Paul. Surrender yourself and we’ll let her go.” Terry’s breathing rasped in Paul’s ear before his voice crackled again. “Should have finished the job, Paul. Should have checked he was dead, Paul. A soldier would have checked.”
They knew. Manny was alive. Or at least, he’d stayed alive long enough to tell Terry and the mob who it was that had carved two large holes in him. Manny, who knew no limits. Manny, who would get revenge any way possible. How could that be? Paul had stabbed him, not once but twice, twisting the knife. Watched the blood pour out of him. His eyes closed.
Terry’s voice started again. “Remember John? That was child’s play, Paul. That was a mercy killing compared to what we’re going to do to you.”
Paul fought back the vomit rising in his stomach. “Just don’t hurt her,” he whispered.
“Do as you’re told and we’ll see about letting the little lady go.”
“I’m listening,” Paul said, the phone shaking in his hand.
“On the empty plot of land beside your flat, there’s a car. It’s waiting for you. The boys will get you there, understood?”
“I understand.”
Terry had stopped talking. Down the line, Paul could hear the sound of footsteps, then someone shouting, screaming. The screams got steadily louder. Suddenly Lena’s voice came on the phone, shrill with fear.
“Paul? PAUL? Paul, help me! Why are they doing this? PAUL!”
The phone was grabbed away and her voice faded, although he could still hear her shrieks.
“Hurry, Paul,” Terry said before the phone went dead.
“LENA?” He shouted into the mouthpiece, but he knew they were no longer connected. “Lena.” He cried quietly, this time to himself, dropping his arm with the phone at his side.
In the distance, Paul could make out the dark outline of the Finnieston Crane. There was no one else around. Shivering in the night chill, he headed straight towards the empty plot Terry had directed him to. He reached it in a matter of moments. His eyes focused on the small speck in the centre, where amber car lights shone through the blurry haze of the snow. He watched two figures get out of the car. Their shadows loomed over him as he walked, without faltering, towards the beams.
“Stop there. Put your hands on your head. Cunt,” Bucky said, a knife flashing in his hand.
Paul stopped a yard from him and placed his palms flat against the back of his head. Bucky took a step closer and held the knife to Paul’s throat. Dunsmore opened the boot and stood waiting beside it.
“Get in!” Bucky hissed through yellow teeth and walked slowly around Paul, pointing the knife at his back. Paul could feel it poking him in the shoulder blade, pushing him forward. His instinct was to struggle, but he stopped himself. He approached the boot evenly, glancing inside at the dark space, which was empty apart from a scattering of pine needles – someone had transported a Christmas tree. There was nothing that could be used as a weapon.
Everyone had predicted a white Christmas and now it looked like they might just be right. That was the thought going through Paul’s head as he slowly turned around and eased himself backwards into the boot. He’d given Stacy the best part of a grand to get Jack whatever he wanted. He was four now, needed all sorts of things. She had taken the money but asked him not to come round on Christmas Day. It would be better if Jack could see him on Boxing Day. Paul hadn’t been happy about it but he’d agreed. He’d hoped he would get the chance to take Jack out, build his first snowman with him.
A few snowflakes fell on him and he watched them melt onto his black trousers as he lay on his side and curled his legs up to his chest. Bucky and Dunsmore stood over him. “After all he did for you?” Dunsmore said, and spat in his face. Then the boot door slammed shut and he was in darkness.
Ten minutes of twists and turns, starts and stops, then fifteen of steady motorway driving. The twists and turns started again, but only for a short time, before the car pulled to a slow stop. From inside the boot, Paul listened to doors opening and voices talking, loud but indistinct.
He lay very still.
Without the road to concentrate on, the boot seemed to shrink as his thoughts expanded. Fear filled every pocket of air in the cramped space as he tried not to picture all the horrific ways they could kill him. Roll him in the river; the water would fill his lungs. Set the car alight; his clothes would burn, the plastic melting into his blistering skin, toxic smoke choking him to death, burning his eyes. Or maybe they’d do it slow. He thought of John’s head collapsing beneath the baseball bat. The cramp in his lower belly seized.
Suddenly the boot flipped open and he gasped a huge lungful of air. A torch shone in his face.
“Right, time to go,” Bucky sneered as he and Dunsmore reached in and grabbed Paul by a shoulder each, hauling him out of the boot and onto his feet. A strong fist hit him in the side of the head, starting a ringing in his ear. It took him a moment to find his bearings.
They were in a car park. A thin layer of snow lay on the ground. The shadow of two enormous high-rises fell over them. Paul looked up to the windows and desperately hoped that someone was watching. Someone who wouldn’t be frightened to get involved. Someone who wouldn’t close their curtains and turn away.
“Where are you taking me?”
Whatever their destination, they hadn’t taken the precaution of blindfolding him. Wherever it was, he wasn’t coming back from it.
“You’ll find out soon, ya prick.”
They began to walk along a pathway that started between the two high-rise blocks of flats, Bucky and Dunsmore on either side of him, the knife point pressed against his left kidney. They followed on through trees and bushes until eventually they reached the rush of the river. The angry torrent raged beside them as they continued along the snowy path. If the chance came and he threw himself in, would they still let Lena go? In those temperatures it would be over in seconds. Better than what awaited him at the end of the path. It didn’t seem likely. Bucky and Dunsmore were close beside him, the knife jagging with each step. The snow was getting heavier and filled their footprints.
As they approached an iron railway bridge spanning the river, the pair flanking him began to slow. Paul lifted his head to see two figures standing at the entrance of the tunnel under the bridge. It was dark and the snow was obscuring his vision, but he could just about tell that one was bent over, holding his side, with the other tucked beneath his sh
oulder, taking his weight. Even from a distance, Paul knew who it was, though it didn’t seem possible.
They kept going until they reached them. Without warning, Bucky and Dunsmore pushed Paul from behind and sent him stumbling to the ground. The cold snow soaked through his thin shirt. He was cold, colder than he’d ever been before.
Manny’s half-dead breathing was laboured, his canines bared in agonised frenzy. His skin was the colour of ash. He was only upright by the sheer force of his will. Beneath his coat, Paul could see where someone had crudely patched him up, a blood-soaked bandage tight around his middle. He should have been in hospital, but instead he stood there looking at Paul, holding his side, the blood seeping through his fingers. Every disjointed movement caused him obvious pain and his face was contorted in jagged peaks, but his eyes were unflinching.
The person shouldering Manny’s weight was smaller. It took Paul a few moments to place the face. The partially healed gash on his cheek was the clue – Connor, the kid from the club. He suddenly remembered having felt as if someone was watching them in the pool hall earlier. There was no way Manny could have survived without immediate medical attention. Someone had been there. Someone who could identify Paul. And now he had an idea who. They’d known it was Paul from the second he ran out the door.
“I’m… going… to make you… suffer.” There was a sharp intake of breath with every word Manny spoke. The others stood in obedient silence. “Terry!” he called out.
Paul followed Manny’s line of vision to the tunnel entrance.
They all watched as Lena’s small figure emerged from the darkness, cutting through the snow, head up, with slow, easy steps. White flakes clung to her black hair. She stopped still, looked at Paul in trance-like terror. Right behind her was a second figure. The skull face, the hollow socket: Terry. His hand was tightly squeezing her upper arm, holding her in place.
“Lena!” The shout erupted from Paul. He watched as she struggled against Terry’s grip, broke free and ran to him.
Paul half ran, half crawled to meet her and caught her as she flew into his arms. The others watched. She rested her tear-streaked cheek against his chest, making damp patches on his shirt front, and he smoothed his hand over her hair. They touched each other lightly, as you would a wound. An eerie amber glow lit the sky as he tried to store the memory of every caress, every stroke of his fingertips. There just wasn’t enough time to hold her how he wanted. Her body shuddered slightly on his chest and all he could think of was the time he’d wasted. His eyes misted with tears.
“I’m sorry, Lena. I’m sorry,” he repeated.
She lifted her head from his chest and shook it, indicating no. Paul looked into her blanched face and hugged her close. “Paul…” But she couldn’t finish what she was going to say.
Paul looked over to Manny. “You can let her go now. I’ve given myself up. I’ve done what you asked.”
Snow was lying thick on the ground now. Terry, Bucky, Dunmore and Connor, who was still supporting Manny, had formed a circle around them. Spit dribbled from Manny’s slack mouth as he stared at Paul with shiny eyes the colour of a stagnant pond with the light bouncing off it. “Boys,” he said.
Bucky and Dunsmore started to close in on Paul and Lena and the pair huddled even closer. A struggle ensued as Bucky and Dunsmore tore them apart, dragging Paul to the side, leaving Lena alone in the centre of the circle.
Paul’s face puckered. “You said you’d let her go!”
“That’s not going to happen.” Manny’s voice was thin and reedy.
Clouds of white breath hovered over each of them. Paul’s eyes flitted between them, looking ferociously from one to the next. Only Terry was unmoved; he’d seen women become casualties in war zones. It neither scared nor excited him. It was just another day on the field.
“This is your fault, Paul.” Manny heaved and groaned, every utterance an exertion.
Lena’s eyes were closed; she was speaking softly to herself, as if in prayer.
“Lena, run!” Paul shouted.
The knife pierced his back. The shock of it sent him to his knees, panting furiously. Speckles of blood darkened the snow. His hand went to his lower back and came back red. He looked up at Lena.
A blizzard blew wildly between them.
Behind her he saw Connor separate from Manny and begin walking towards her. His arms were raised, shaking violently, holding out a gun.
“Lena,” Paul said. Her eyes opened and locked on his.
“Do it, Connor,” Manny growled.
The gun shook behind her head. The look on her face was one of terror, although she couldn’t see what was happening.
“Turn and shoot him, Connor,” Paul said through gritted teeth. “Turn and shoot the bastard and it’ll all be over. Shoot him!” Paul screamed as Bucky and Dunsmore wrestled him, covering his mouth.
“Don’t even think about it,” Terry said and trained a gun on Connor.
Connor saw it, but still his finger stalled above the trigger. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples as his hands shook, just as Paul’s had when he’d held the bat above John’s head. Connor was poised and ready, but still he couldn’t pull it.
Paul watched Lena’s arms reach out to him as behind her Connor lowered the gun and hung his head. In slow motion the limping figure of Manny closed in on Connor. With a new-found strength, adrenaline pumping through his body, Paul got to his feet and lumbered towards them. But there was nothing he could do. Manny reached out and took the gun from Connor’s limp hand. Paul threw himself towards Lena just as Manny pulled the trigger. At the moment the chamber exploded loudly into the night, her body crumpled into Paul’s arms. A thin red line trickled from her temple.
He fell to the ground and wrapped his arms around her lifeless body. The blizzard raged and Paul could no longer see any of the others, or hear them. Through the thick veil of snow, Manny grabbed him and whispered in his ear, “I fucking loved you.”
Bucky and Dunsmore started to kick. Venting their own anger and frustration. Paul could feel his bones breaking, teeth smashing, head cracking, as he lay on the ground beside her.
He finally lost consciousness. The last thing he saw was her large eyes staring at him as the snow slowly covered her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Annie looked at him with loathing. Paul jerked his head forward and chose a spot in the distance to stare at.
“She died. I survived,” he said, staring listlessly at the water.
Annie was too numb to speak.
“When I woke up a week later in the hospital, my own mother wouldn’t have recognised me,” Paul said. “They left me for dead in the snow. But someone called an ambulance. I never found out who. I was brought back to life. Again.”
The river sparkled beside them in the moonlight. Annie shivered as the temperature dropped in the damp shadows of the tunnel.
Paul went on talking. Talking and staring. Talking and staring. “I remember the first time I met Lena. She was fourteen. I thought she was sixteen. She stayed over at my flat and we talked for two days straight. About everything and nothing. All the deep things teenagers talk about.” He smiled bitterly. “I remember telling her that you need to live your life free of fear. That that was the next best thing to immortality. That no matter what life threw at me, I was confident I could survive. And it gave me strength. I didn’t understand then what I know now – that my ability to survive is my biggest weakness.”
Tears stung Annie’s eyes but she carried on listening.
“In the hospital I woke up alone. I had my own room. A policeman was outside guarding the door. But then a disturbance in another part of the hospital took him away and the nurse sneaked me in a visitor. Manny. He was in his hospital nightshirt and slippers, wheeling a portable saline drip alongside him. His skin was still grey but he was in better shape than I was. He told me they’d fou
nd John’s body. That he knew I’d put them all at the scene. That if I didn’t retract the statement and take full responsibility, or if I told them about Lena, he’d kill my son.”
Paul took a breath and continued.
“Carmichael had done what I asked him to do that night. He sat with my family until morning, protecting Stacy and Jack. He’d stationed a patrol car outside the house. I’ll be eternally grateful for that. But when he came to visit me, a few minutes after Manny left, I gave him a full confession. Said I killed John alone. No matter how much he pleaded and begged, I wouldn’t say anything else. No matter how much protection he offered. I don’t think he ever forgave me.”
Paul inhaled sharply. “And so I went to prison. For John’s murder. Which was right. Because, after all, I did kill the man. Stacy moved away with Jack after it all. I haven’t seen or heard from them since.”
“And Manny? He didn’t try to get revenge? He didn’t try to get even all those years you were in prison? For trying to kill him.” Her face scrunched with scepticism.
“The opposite.” Paul’s voice was hollow. “He protected me. And when I came out, he was there waiting.”
“You’re still in contact with him?” Annie felt like she was about to throw up. “What did he do with her body?” she said, through gritted teeth.
Paul’s face took on an ugly sneer. “What do you do with an unwanted pussy? Put it in a sack and throw it in the river.”
Annie stumbled where she stood. A screech tore out of her throat as she rushed at him. “Bastard!” she screamed, hammering his chest and arms with her fists. “Bastard! Why is he still living? Why haven’t you killed him?”
“Because I don’t care anymore,” he shouted.
“What?” She stopped and took a step back, too disgusted to even touch him.
“I said, I don’t care.” His eyes blazed and for a moment she was frightened. “I should have ripped Manny’s heart out and thrown it to the dogs. I should have stabbed him and waited till the last drop of blood trickled out of him. Should have taken a torch to his home and watched the flesh melt from his bones. I should have done the same to myself. But I haven’t!”
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