The Siege of Reginald Hill

by Corinna Turner

  Fiery pain ripped along the path of the needle’s forced exit. Ooouch. But I was free. No, not quite. After repeating the DIY removal procedure with the standard IV drip, I tried to shift myself to the side of the bed without moving my left knee, ignoring the sharp, searing pain that erupted over the surface of my legs and stomach with every tiny movement. I stared down at the floor below. How on earth did I get down there without half-killing myself?

  Margo’s chair… I manage to grab it, drag it closer, then slide my bottom off the bed… I dropped into it with a thud. The impact exploded fireworks of pain in my left knee. So much for the brace. I’d definitely jolted it. Blast, blast, blast.

  I wasn’t stopping to worry about it. Uncle Reginald was crying like a lonely kitten. He’d lost it entirely. The icy self-control that’d helped him succeed so much, his whole life, had surely been achieved through a great proficiency in delayed gratification. But, believing as he did, what future prize could he possibly offer himself for motivation now?

  Rather than repeat my previous unsuccessful manoeuvre, I bent my right knee and lowered myself down onto it. A slipping sensation followed by excruciating pain ran right up that leg as half the skin tore completely free. I lay there gasping until the pain eased, then started crawling across the floor, trying to merely drag my left leg behind me, but every movement drew an ominous complaint from my bad knee, as though someone stabbed it with a knife.

  I’m never going to walk again without a stick. I pushed the little voice to the back of my mind and kept going. Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes…

  Surely, I’d been crawling in this haze of pain and rapidly increasing exhaustion for…for years… Where was I even going…? Why was I…? Wait! A bed loomed ahead. Uncle Reginald’s bed. My head cleared. Nearly there. Thank God.

  Finally, I lay staring up at the bed-shape above me. Just the minor matter of getting up there remained. Oh, this would be fun.

  I hooked my remaining fingers around the bed frame and dragged myself into a sitting position, panting in agony. Then I got my right leg under me and tried to push myself up. Okay, I was still weaker than I thought. Or I’d used all my recovered strength crossing the room.

  O God, I can’t do it. I can’t. I’ve put myself through this for nothing…

  No!

  Lord, help me! I pushed with my left leg as well. Something—several things—tore searingly in my knee—but my chest came level with the bed, a little higher…I tipped myself onto the mattress just before my left knee buckled completely and somehow managed not to topple back off. Then I simply used my half-hands to help heave my wobbling legs up after me.

  Finally, finally, I lay beside Uncle Reginald, my legs and hands fiery balls of pain, my chest aching fiercely. I buried my face in the pillow and gasped—sobbed—as I struggled to get control of myself.

  Okay, okay, enough, Kyle. Enough. Uncle Reginald needs your attention.

  I turned onto my side and looked at him in the glow of his night-light. Although his body shook and trembled with sobs, he was staring at me, his eyes wide and shocked, as though he still couldn’t believe I’d just climbed up there beside him.

  I could barely believe it myself.

  Quickly, I slipped my arms around him and held him tight. “I’m here. I’m here…”

  His thin frame was so rigid with tension he could’ve been suffering rigor mortis already. But the words, it’s alright, stuck in my throat. I didn’t believe he would be all right. I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him, not even now. Especially not now.

  So I just held him and held him and whispered “I’m here” over and over, until his sobs trailed off into mere tremulous breathing, and he finally sniffed, tried to speak, cleared his throat, then said with a shadow of his usual harshness, “What the blazes are you doing over here?”

  “You asked me for help. I’m helping. Trying to, anyway.”

  “How did you even…?”

  “Crawled.”

  “You’re not supposed to be using your—”

  “I don’t really want to talk about my knee, Uncle Reginald. I’d rather talk about you. Are you alright?”

  “Alright…” His voice trailed off into a sob. He jerked his head at his muted monitor, glowing silently in the darkness. “I’m on my way out, Kyle. Very soon. Where’s my blasted acceptance? Where is it?” Smaller, softer, despairing sniffs trickled from him.

  I tightened my grip again. “I’m here.”

  “Is that all you can say?” snapped Uncle Reginald. A hesitation and he added, “I’m…I am glad you are.”

  “What else can I say? If I tell you it will be alright, I’m lying. If you accept God, accept His forgiveness, everything will be fine. You’ll be safe with the infinite Creator—to say nothing of blissfully happy. But since you refuse to accept him—and with everything you’ve done—well, things are going to be about as far from alright as it’s possible for them to be. I’m terrified for you, Uncle Reginald. But you’re the only one who can save yourself. I can’t do it for you!”

  “Do you really…believe all that?” The words straggled from him, his voice thin.

  “Do I really believe it?” I didn’t try to keep the astonishment from my own voice. “Have I done anything, anything at all, since we first met, to suggest that I don’t believe it with all my heart and soul?”

  Startling me, Uncle Reginald burst into full-out crying. I hugged him tighter, afraid he would sob himself to death.

  When he finally quieted, he whispered, “Baptise me.”

  Desperate hope stiffened my body. “Did you just say…?”

  “Yes.”

  Goodness knows I wanted to ask what had changed his mind—but that could wait. Turning agonisingly onto my back, I somehow managed to get his water glass between my palms and with enormous care, lift it over and onto the bed.

  “Now,” I told him, “Remember, you don’t need to have any emotional feeling of belief. You need only desire it and assent to it with your will and intellect. Do you understand?”

  He nodded, still sniffing slightly.

  “Very well. Do you believe in God; the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?”

  A frown wrinkled his brow as he considered this, but finally, he whispered, “Yes.”

  “Do you reject Satan and all his works?”

  “What if I am Satan?” His tone was dry—but troubled. Had he finally accepted his guilt?

  “You’re not Satan,” I said firmly. “One of his favoured instruments, perhaps, but you can reject him and start over. Do you?”

  “Start over? I’ll have to be quick. But yes.” His brow creased—real distress flickered across his face. “Do I…need a new name? Only…my mother named me…”

  His mother? You fool, Kyle! If his age hadn’t blinded me, I’d have thought to probe that key human relationship several days ago.

  “You don’t have to,” I said quickly, “though it’s nicely symbolic. Or you can just add one.”

  “Add one. You…you choose.”

  “Uh—right.” Quick, a name, Lord? Memory stirred of the very first time I’d ever performed this Sacrament. Yes, perfect.

  With exquisite care and a big, big prayer in my heart against clumsiness, I lifted that glass between what remained of my two hands and tipped it over his forehead, just enough. Once…twice…thrice… “Reginald Joseph Hill, I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

  Trying to set it down on the bed again, I dropped it at last. What remained of the water drained into the pillow as the glass rolled down against the headboard, but it didn’t matter anymore. I traced a cross on Uncle Reginald’s forehead with my middle finger.

  Finally, I could relax—and so could he. “There. All done. No more worrying about hell, Uncle Reginald. No more worrying about nothingness. You’re a child of God and will go straight into his arms, if you can just try not to have any nasty thoughts for the next little while and will good to everyone.”

 
; A faint laugh puffed from his lips, at that. But as I slipped my arms around him again, I felt the absence of that painful tension. Something in him had relaxed, unwound. He’d stopped struggling against death, hadn’t he?

  “Do you understand, then? That God loves you?”

  “It’s hard to imagine. But you seem very certain it’s true.”

  “If you’re not certain, why get baptised?”

  Hill stayed silent for a long time. “Because…you were right, I don’t really think you’re mad. Yet you came over here to help me. Everything else, I’ve managed to explain away. But this…I can’t explain this away. The way you love me, despite everything I’ve done to you—well, according to my understanding of reality, you’re either mad or…or amnesiac or…or it’s a miracle. You’re not mad, and you’re clearly not suffering from amnesia, so…it’s something that can’t exist. And that means you’re right and I’m wrong. So…I accepted your version of reality.”

  “Just like that?” Although I’d seen the Holy Spirit’s work before and shouldn’t be surprised, it still took my breath away. Every time.

  “What else can I do? You really think I survived this long without knowing how to recognise an indefensible position—when to cut my losses and surrender? Live to fight another day and all that. Not that that’s…exactly what I’ve achieved here.”

  I couldn’t help a soft snort. “Uncle Reginald, that is exactly what you’ve achieved.”

  His brow wrinkled up for a moment. “Yes… Huh.”

  “So you do believe God loves you?”

  “I suppose…I’m starting to get an inkling.” His eyes probed mine in the dimness. “If…He loves me the way you do.”

  “The way I do? Infinitely more, Uncle Reginald. Infinitely more. Do you love Him?”

  Silence. “That could take some practise, for me.”

  “How about you practise now? Just will to love him and say it. The emotion will follow in time.”

  “I imagine I’m going to miss out on that, then.” Uncle Reginald stared at the ceiling, his brow creasing again. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Just will. And speak.”

  Uncle Reginald huffed slightly. But finally spoke tentatively. “I love…God. I love God. I love the Father, the Holy Spirit, and, er, Jesus. Am I even doing it right?”

  “Are you willing it?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Then you’re doing it right.”

  “Huh. You know, I’ve never really loved anyone but myself before.” After a moment, he added, very softly, “And maybe you—crazy boy.”

  “Well, now you love me and the Most High. Your list of friends is growing exponentially.”

  “I wish…wish I’d met you…long time ago…boy…”

  “Nah. You’d just have killed me. For a Being Who exists outside of time, the Lord really does have the most incredible sense of timing, you know.”

  He smiled faintly, but he strained to draw breath to reply. “Well…they say…it’s never too late…to learn something…new.”

  My turn to smile. “Now you really sound like an old uncle.”

  His lip twisted. “I note…you don’t add…wise…or nice…”

  I gave him a gentle squeeze. “You’re getting there, Uncle Reginald. You’re getting there.”

  No reply.

  I stole a look at the monitor. I wasn’t as expert as he was at interpreting it, but it did not look anything like a healthy heart rhythm to me and from its soundless flashing, it agreed.

  “Uncle Reginald?” No, he’d fallen unconscious.

  I carried on holding him, trying to ignore the pain devouring my body. The morphine was wearing off, just to cap it all.

  Lord, thank You that he has accepted You—Your forgiveness, Your mercy. Thank You for this miracle you have wrought in his stubborn, prideful heart, that now he seeks to love and follow You…

  Eventually, Uncle Reginald’s eyelids fluttered. “Am I still here?” he murmured.

  “Yep. You’re keeping the Lord waiting.”

  His lip twitched, but he seemed too weak to laugh. “Shall I…will some good…towards your sister…while I…kick my heels?”

  My eyebrow shot up. “If you could, that would be wonderful.”

  “Right. Tell her…no, tell Bane, more to the point…or Willmott… Don’t be…complacent…because I’m gone. Be careful of…especially…of Gunvald…”

  “Gunvald Anfeltson? Head of the EuroBloc Genetics Department, what’s left of it?”

  “Him. Hates…Margaret. Even more than…than I do. Did. Thorn in my side, your sister…but…destroyed Gunvald’s whole department. He gets a chance…he’ll hurt her. Any way he can… She should…be careful.”

  “I’ll tell her. I’ll tell all three of them. And Eduardo.”

  He gave a tiny, satisfied, nod.

  “Will you give my love to your namesake?”

  His brow creased in thought. But only for a moment. “Joe Whitelow?”

  Yes, I’d thought he could figure it out. Margo had finally felt it safe—for Joe’s parents, that was—to share Joe’s story on her blog, which Uncle Reginald was known to read attentively. Know your (former) enemy and all that. “Joseph Verrall Whitelow, yes.”

  A faint smile touched the corner of his lip. “I’m…” His laboured breathing made speaking so hard, now, but he forced the word out. “…honoured.”

  He fell silent again, so I started to recite a psalm to him. “Out of the depths I cry to thee, O Lord! Lord, hear my voice!”

  He listened quietly, until I reached the lines, “My soul longs for the Lord more than watchmen long for the morning…”

  As though in sudden enlightenment, he broke in hoarsely, “If there really is…God…then there’s no reason…to fight fight fight…against death…no reason to kill…torture…lie… maim… No reason…” He dragged in another breath, barely able to speak, but struggling to finish. “Say…something like… that…more eloquent…more…useful… I said it…okay? You’re a…a bright boy…”

  With another great effort, he went on, “But…I can’t…now… I think…I’m…due at a…a very, very important meeting…”

  I kissed his forehead and spoke softly in his ear. “Go in peace, Uncle Reginald. You are a child of God and all your sins are forgiven. You are a new person, clothed in a spotless white garment and fit to enter the presence of God and dwell there forever. Pray for me…”

  He didn’t speak—couldn’t speak?—so I carried on with the psalm. Soon he lost consciousness entirely. It seemed ironic for someone who had overseen so many lingering, agonising deaths, yet so appropriate too, in light of his new birth, but he slipped away very peacefully about fifteen minutes later, without waking again.

  I held him the whole time, until finally that thin, flat line appeared on the monitor, and I knew that I needed to turn my thoughts to the welfare of the living: namely, me. Not that I wanted to do anything. Emotionally and physically, it felt as though giants had been beating me with massive hammers and axes. I just wanted to close my eyes and sleep for a decade or two, right there beside Uncle Reginald. Or be with Uncle Reginald in God’s loving embrace. But that was out of my control.

  Anyway, the damp stickiness on my legs—especially around my precious left knee—suggested that I needed medical attention, and I couldn’t just leave Uncle Reginald lying there all night—however much of it remained—unattended to. I had to get someone in here. Pain fogged my mind worse than ever and reaction left me cold and shaking, a few tears of pain and irrational grief oozing from my eyes.

  Laboriously, I inched onto my other side, looking for Uncle Reginald’s call button. I could just shout for the guard, but the thought of him rushing in, the glare of the lights coming on, the panic and overreaction…I couldn’t face it. I’d just ring for a nurse, nice and calm.

  But where was the…

  There. It’d slipped almost off the bed, hanging down near the floor. If I leaned over, surely I could just rea
ch it?

  Almost…almost…

  The blanket shifted, slid—and I was falling. The ground smacked me hard, pain exploded in my knee and black spots spun over my vision…

  Was I going to pass out? Well, that would stop the pai…

  MARGO

  Ugh, those noisy African birds.

  I glanced at the guest room’s bedside clock. I’d woken early again. Despite all my sleepless nights of late, I couldn’t settle back off, so I left Bane sleeping soundly, pulled my clothes on and crept out.

  Only a room guard stood outside the guest suite—already raising his wristCell—no doubt one of my poor bodyguards would be rousted from their bed and dispatched after me in about a minute flat. Prudently avoiding eye contact, I hurried off before the guard could suggest I wait for them.

  I’d see if Kyle was awake. If he wasn’t, I’d head to the chapel for a little quiet time before the children got up.

  Another guard leant against the wall outside Kyle’s room, equally bored and equally wide awake. He gave me a slight nod, and I smiled back at him, then opened the door quietly and slipped inside.

  The sunlight spilling around the curtains clearly illuminated the room, and as I turned from closing the door I stopped, confusion morphing into horror as my eyes darted around.

  Kyle’s bed was empty! A trail of blood ran across the floor to Hill’s bed…and beside it… Kyle, oh no! I rushed forward, drawing my nonLee automatically as my eyes flew to Hill, checking for danger the way Eduardo—and every first aid course—had drilled into me. But Hill lay so white and deathly still that it barely needed the glance I threw at the heart monitor to know that he posed no threat to anyone. Not anymore. But what had he done to Kyle?

  Kyle lay motionless beside the bed, tangled in a gore-soaked blanket. As I crouched beside him and sucked in a breath, coppery blood smell filled my lungs, but I managed a strangled yell: “Help!”

  Then I turned Kyle gently onto his back and tried to check his pulse with one hand—O Lord, you can’t have taken him from us, not now, not after everything!—while drawing the blanket away with the other, looking for wounds.