by Casey, Ryan
And then he’d found Grant.
Taylor, dead before him.
Then Grant following.
A gesture. A bold move that would stick in the minds of everybody here.
Something that would stir tensions even more.
And it didn’t help that nobody seemed to be taking Mike seriously about what he’d found.
Only that there was one thing that couldn’t be denied.
Tom was missing. He had disappeared.
But there was no denying that he was hiding something.
Hiding something big.
Mike walked towards Vincent’s place. He was alone. He’d got up especially early so he could speak to Vincent about all of this. About what he suspected was happening; of who was responsible.
He’d been mulling it over all night. Trying to make sense of it in his mind. Trying to piece everything together.
And he knew how it would go down with many people. He knew how the masses would respond. Because as much as he didn’t want to undermine democracy… he couldn’t help feeling like Graham had set this up.
Graham had been the one to show him Taylor’s room, after all. He’d been to tell him what he suspected. And why? Why would he tell Mike, of all people?
Conversion? Was that what it was?
An attempt to win Mike over to the idea that outsiders were dangerous in the most stark, blatant way?
Whatever it was, it hadn’t worked.
Because Mike was beginning to see the truth.
He was beginning to see what was happening here.
And he had to stop it. Before it was too late.
He reached Vincent’s floor of the hospital. Walked down to the end of the corridor, picking up with speed by the second. He felt an urgency weighing down on him, building up. An untold urgency that was mounting by the second.
He had to tell Vincent.
He was foolish for not telling him already.
He had to get to him.
He had to tell him what he feared.
He had to—
When he got to Vincent’s room, he was surprised to see the door open.
Graham stepped out.
Mike stopped. Felt the tension grow inside him. Graham looked at him like he was just as surprised to see him, then half-smiled. “Mike. Didn’t expect to see you up and about so early. Not after what happened yesterday.”
Mike nodded. He had to keep his composure—or at least maintain the illusion of composure. “Is Vincent around?”
“He is,” Vincent said, stepping out of his room.
But there was something about the look on Vincent’s face. Something… different about the way he looked at Mike. Like he was questioning him. Like his trust in him was waning for some reason Mike didn’t yet understand.
Mike had noticed Vincent had been acting differently recently. He wondered if part of it was all the time he was spending with Graham. But then running this place was sure to be stressful at the best of times.
At the worst of times… Mike could barely even imagine.
“Is everything okay?” Vincent asked.
Mike looked at Vincent, then at Graham. Then back at Vincent again. “I’d like to speak with you.”
“Well, here we are.”
“Alone.”
Vincent looked at Graham, then. And Mike sensed he was about to argue. That he was about to protest.
But it was Graham who spoke. “No. Of course. You gents deserve your privacy.”
He looked at Mike, and he smiled. “I’ll see you around.”
Mike nodded. Watched as Graham walked past him. And something told him something was going on here. Something he didn’t totally understand. That he hadn’t wrapped his head around yet.
Vincent looked around shiftily, then held out a hand. “Come in.”
Mike stepped inside Vincent’s room. It was sparse and minimalistic. Quite medicinal, almost. There was no sense of the man’s personality to be gleaned from his surroundings. A bed with white sheets. A desk mostly filled with paperwork. White blinds. No little snapshots into the man’s life and his interests. No sense of who Vincent really was, behind the scenes.
“Got to say,” Vincent said, half-smiling—but still appearing edgy. “I didn’t expect to see you this early, either—”
“Vincent, I think Graham’s up to something.”
Vincent looked at him. Glass of water in hand. Then he took a sip. In the other hand, he was holding an empty glass. But he put it down, as if he was intending to hand Mike a glass, but either lost his trail of thought or simply decided not to. “Go on.”
“Last night,” Mike said. “When I was looking for Taylor. I ran into Tom. I found syringes in his rucksack.”
“I mean, we need evidence. Actual evidence. But even so, if you’re right, then what? There’s a chance Tom was somehow behind what happened to the cows. I’m fully aware of that. But it doesn’t implicate Graham.”
“Graham was the one who showed me Taylor’s room. He was the one who just so happened to stumble upon an unlocked door. And Taylor. He never had the chance to explain himself before Grant took that opportunity away from him.”
“And then took his own life,” Vincent said. “Do you really think that was all just a part of some conspiracy, too?”
Mike had to admit it sounded far-fetched when he put it like that. But he couldn’t shake that feeling in his gut that something was wrong.
“I don’t know exactly what’s happening,” Mike said. “I can’t pretend to understand. But—”
“No,” Vincent said. There was a sternness to his voice now. An assertiveness. “No, you can’t. You don’t work behind the scenes. You don’t see what goes on in here. And Graham… well. I can’t say we agree on everything. But ultimately, he has the best interests of this place at heart. Just like I do.”
Mike shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re going to end up walking yourself into a trap.”
“Am I?” Vincent said. “Or is it you who is more reluctant of change than any of us?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You talk about how we should be open and tolerant. How we’ve done so well to get to where we are. But the second a counter-voice comes into the frame, you want to silence it. Because you’re afraid. Afraid of what might happen. Afraid of what might change.”
Mike shook his head. But he knew there was a grain of truth in what Vincent was saying. He didn’t trust himself, after all. He wanted to avoid any kind of leadership responsibilities.
And maybe that’s what he feared. Change. Maybe it was stasis he wanted more than anything, under any circumstances.
“I don’t think you’re right about that,” Mike said. But there was no conviction to his voice. There was only uncertainty. Which in a sense, told the full story.
“Maybe I’m not,” Vincent said. “But the fact stands. Graham is my deputy. And that’s not going to change on a whim.”
Mike wanted to fight. He wanted to argue.
But in the end, he could only nod.
“I respect your decision,” he said. “But I don’t—”
Vincent’s door slammed open then.
When Mike turned, he saw Clive—one of the mechanics—standing there, fear on his face.
“Clive?” Vincent said.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Clive said. “But we’ve found something.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Tom,” Clive said, his eyes wide, his skin a washed out, pale shade. “We found—we found Tom.”
Chapter Twenty
Clive was right when he said he’d found Tom.
The weather was grey and cool. Above, Mike could hear birds cawing loudly. Crows. Everywhere felt silent, calm, still. Peaceful, almost.
But there was nothing peaceful about the scene in front of Mike.
Tom was lying on the ground right at the back of the hospital. There was a little dirt tossed over him, a bit of mud cl
inging to his pale skin. His eyes were partly open, and he looked like he was just waking up from a long, deep sleep.
But this was a sleep Tom wasn’t going to be waking up from.
There was a wound in his chest. Right near his heart. Blood had seeped out from it and covered the ground below.
And Mike felt an utter pain when he saw it. He felt total sadness.
He didn’t know how this had happened. He didn’t know how this had gone down.
Only that Tom had gone missing last night after Mike had confronted him.
And now he was here.
Dead.
“Poor kid.”
Mike looked to his left. Saw Gina there, eyes wide and watery. There were a few others around, too. Vincent. Graham. Sarah. Alison. All of them looked wounded. Exhausted. Traumatised.
It felt like this was just another step in a long line of disasters.
Mike took a deep breath and nodded. “I was the last person to see him,” he said. “I found those syringes on him. I asked him who’d given them to him. Where he’d got them from. But he just wouldn’t tell me. And now… this.”
“Maybe it was a revenge thing,” Alison said.
Mike didn’t nod. He didn’t shake his head. All he could say was, “Maybe.”
Because there was something else going through his mind. A thought that perhaps, just perhaps, whoever had put Tom up to doing what he’d done had got worried he was going to open his mouth. They’d done the only thing they deemed fit.
And it was awful. It was tragic.
But it had been effective.
Because someone who could have helped them get to the bottom of this tragedy had now been silenced, too.
“What’s happening to this place?” Alison said. It sounded like she was saying it to herself more than to anyone in particular. “What’s happening to all of us?”
Mike looked up. Looked past the spot where Tom’s body lay. Looked past Tom and at Graham.
Graham wasn’t looking at Tom.
He was looking right over the body, and right over at Mike.
“I think I know exactly what’s happening to this place,” Mike said.
Alison turned around. Frowned. “What?”
“I just… I just need to get to the bottom of it before it’s too late.”
He looked into Graham’s eyes.
Graham lifted a hand. Raised it, waved at Mike. That half-smile of sadness on his face.
Mike nodded back.
It was all he could do.
He could only lay low, now.
He could only bide his time.
He could only wait.
“The fact still stands,” Mike said, walking closer to Tom’s body now. “Tom was carrying a rucksack. That rucksack is gone, now. But if we can find it… maybe we’ll be closer to the truth. Maybe everyone will be closer to understanding exactly what happened here.”
“I really hope so,” Alison said. And then she stopped. “Oh. Shit.”
Mike turned around. Looked to where Gina was looking.
Kelsie was standing at the corner of the wall, looking around at Tom’s body.
“Oh crap,” Mike said. He walked towards Kelsie, right in her direction. “She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t have to see this.”
But he knew it was already too late.
The image of her friend lying here—whatever he’d been forced to do, whatever decisions he’d made that were contrary to the best interests of this place in the latter stages of his life—wasn’t something that she should have to carry with her.
“Kelsie,” Mike said.
“I just wanted to see him,” she said, her voice shaky, quivery. Her eyes wide. “I just… I just wanted to know. For sure.”
Mike put a hand on Kelsie’s shoulder. Squeezed it. “You should go from here. You shouldn’t have to see this.”
“Is it true?” she said.
Mike frowned. “Is what true?”
“That he was a traitor?”
Mike gulped. He wasn’t sure what to say about that. Especially not when emotions were wrought, when tensions were at an all-time high. “It’s complicated,” he said. “Whatever happened with Tom… he was a good kid. Maybe he just took a path that he wasn’t sure about, towards the end—”
“Because if he was a traitor,” Kelsie interrupted. “He deserved everything that happened to him. Right?”
She looked up at Mike. And he didn’t like the look in her eyes. He didn’t like the changed expression about her.
“I’m not sure it’s as straightforward as that,” Mike said.
“Hey. Look.”
He heard the voice over his shoulder. When he turned around, he saw that it was Sarah.
She’d found something.
Something in the bushes near to Tom’s body.
Something glinting in her hand.
Mike frowned. Because he saw what she was holding. He recognised it.
“Is that…” Alison said.
Mike reached for his pocket, and he felt a sickness spreading through his body. He felt a sense of nausea welling up, taking over completely.
Because he felt like this was the missing piece of the puzzle in this awful game.
This was what everything had been leading towards—and he’d walked right into it.
“No,” he said.
“A Becker BK-2,” Vincent said.
And then he looked around at Mike.
“Mike?”
“Vincent,” Mike said. “This is nonsense. You know I wouldn’t—”
“Apprehend him,” Vincent said, his voice cracking, the sense that he had been betrayed seeping through his every word. “Search his room.”
“Vincent!” Mike said.
But it was too late.
The arms grabbing him.
The horror on the faces of those around him.
There was no denying the evidence in front of him—as obvious and as blatant as it may be.
Tom had been stabbed.
And it was Mike’s knife that had done it.
He felt the cuffs snap around his wrists, and in the distance, he saw a change to Graham’s expression.
He swore he saw a flicker of a smile at the corners of his lips.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mike wasn’t sure how long he’d been locked away in this cell, only that he couldn’t believe just how rapidly things had fallen apart.
The room was pitch black. There were no windows. It was the basement area of the hospital. They’d used it as a holding cell on a few occasions. Other times, it had been used for longer periods. It was important that there was a way of imposing justice here. Any civilised society had a place where law and order could be implemented.
But things had got lax ever since the power had gone. The commitment to law, order, justice… all of those things had gone by the wayside as other priorities powered forward.
But Mike knew that this was different. That discovery, after all. Tom’s body. The Becker BK2. His Becker BK2.
He had no idea how it had ended up where it was. Only that the discovery of it confirmed all of his worst suspicions.
He was being set up.
Something was going on here.
And it looked like it was going to land him in a lot of trouble.
His mouth was dry, and his throat was raspy. His hands were tied around a pole behind him. He wanted water more than anything. He thought about eating, too, but the thought just made him want to puke.
Mostly, he wanted to get the opportunity to defend himself. To fight his corner.
Nothing was worse than the silence that was being forced upon him now.
He thought about the way Graham had looked over the top of Tom’s body, right into his eyes. That slight smile to his face.
And he wondered… why?
Was it because he perceived him as a threat?
Because he wanted him out of the way?
Or something else?
The door slammed op
en. Vincent stepped in.
He walked down the steps. The light from above—as dim as it was—beamed down, made him squint.
He listened to Vincent’s footsteps echo their way down the steps. Saw him appear right in front of him.
He looked at him with such a sense of regret. But also, such a sense of betrayal.
Mike wasn’t sure where he was going to stand, ultimately, or where this was going to go.
“We’ve buried Tom,” Vincent said. “We’ll hold a funeral for him soon. But it’s important we get him… out of the way.”
“Vincent—”
“Your knife, Mike. You need… you need to talk to me. You need to communicate or…” His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat, like he was hitting a reset. “What was your knife doing at the scene of the crime?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’re going to have to do better than that. You know that.”
“I can’t… I don’t even know the last time I had it. I usually carry it with me. But… but I can’t remember losing it. Someone must’ve took it. Someone must’ve…”
He stopped because he could see the way Vincent was looking at him. Like he didn’t believe him. Like he didn’t trust him. Like he was questioning everything.
“We can’t ignore the facts,” Vincent said. “As much as I want to, we just can’t. You were… very keen on the idea that Tom was involved in the death of the cattle, somehow. You were the only one who saw this supposed rucksack of syringes. And you’re probably the last person to see him. You have to know how that looks.”
He knew exactly how it looked. And that’s why he knew it was pointless taking any efforts to convince Vincent otherwise. It was just his word against the doubts and thoughts of this entire community now, after all.
He just had to hope he could convince him to see the truth.
“Think about it,” Mike said. “If I really did what you’re suggesting I did—”
“I’m not suggesting anything.”
“If I really did that,” Mike continued, “then why would I leave him just lying around like that?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to understand this myself. You panicked?”
“Sure,” Mike said. “I panicked. But then why do I leave my knife right by his side for you to find?”
