Ascension Day

21

Grey. Everything grey.

Clogging his nose, his mouth, trickling down and burning his lungs.

At most, twenty-five seconds before he finally wrenched his leg free, but it felt like a lifetime, sapping him of strength and vital time to get to the top to burst free for air.

Then he was rising up, up… his lungs searing and aching with the pressure and about to explode. Faint, distant light now touching the grey… how much further? Twenty feet, thirty?

His lungs finally gave just over halfway up, the water bursting down his gullet — and as the sunlight hitting the lake surface cut through last of the grey, making him squint, his consciousness in turn started to dim, dragging him back into grey again. Then finally black.

He recalled briefly some voices, though had no idea how long after.

‘I thought I saw him move a little.’

‘Nah… he’s not moving. He’s dead.’

And he thought: I’m not dead. I can hear you. And he could also feel a soft breeze from the lake hitting one cheek just before hands started pressing hard at his stomach, pumping.

But the second voice was right, he realized, must have seen that he was a hopeless case, because once again the grey started dragging him back down, back towards the black.

There was a strange dream at some stage later; a dream that tried to fool him that maybe he’d made it and was still alive. His last subconscious bid not to accept that he’d actually died.

He was lying in a bed — whether at home or a hospital, he couldn’t tell, because everything was whited out and indistinct. And Alaysha was leaning over and hugging and kissing him.

‘Oh, Jac… Jac. You had us all so worried.’

The softness and warmth and perfume of her felt so good it made him ache and want to cry. And his mother and Jean-Marie were also there — got to meet and talk to Alaysha for the first time. John Langfranc, too, and even his occasional squash partner, Jeff Coombs… all of them smiling, nodding, talking… telling him how good it was to see him.

It was like that closing scene in A Wonderful Life, where half the town turn out to greet Jimmy Stewart and tell him how good it is to see him alive. Except that in this case, Jac knew that he was dead, because he could see his father hanging in the shadows at the back of the room; and then the grey was there again, dragging him back down…

Clogging his nose, his mouth… deeper into the blackness… away from the light at the top of the lake.

‘Jac… Jac!’

Alaysha kissing him again, but this time he pushed her away…no…no! I’ve already had that dream. Don’t tease me like this!

‘Jac… Jac. Wake up… wake up!’

Struggling against her as she shook him harder — but unable to resist the blackness this time, feeling himself dragged deeper and deeper into it… the water again rushing into his mouth, black and thick with mud… filling his gullet, his lungs, stifling, suffocating.

‘No… no…. no!’

His scream was still reverberating in the room as he sat up, his body soaked with sweat. He was trembling violently and felt suddenly cold.

Eyes blinking, adjusting, looking around to get his bearings. Salmon pink and beige. Alaysha’s bedroom.

She leant over and kissed him once more, one hand lingering on his shoulder as she pulled back, eyeing him concernedly.

‘Bad dream again?’

‘Yes… yes.’ He eased a tired sigh and smiled crookedly. ‘Unless I’m dead and this is the dream.’

Then, as he shook the last of the nightmare away, everything that had happened in the ten days he’d been away from the world flooded back in.

He was seen surfacing from the lake by the occupants of two cars passing on the Causeway, and was pulled from the water within minutes by one of them brave enough to take the plunge.

Four more cars stopped as the drama unfolded, and thankfully one of their drivers had basic First Aid experience — going through the resuscitation process for the first time with a real-life case.

A lot of water was coughed up, apparently, shallow breathing resumed and a weak pulse finally felt, but Jac was still unconscious, and remained so — despite medics giving him oxygen and a shot of adrenalin in his drip feed on the way to the hospital — for the next nine hours.

There was some residual water on his lungs, which was duly drained, one badly bruised and cut leg was stitched and strapped and a scan of his brain carried out — no signs of problems there — and when Jac finally awoke, he felt as right as rain and was in good spirits, as if nothing had happened, and his visitors, who’d so far been kept at bay waiting anxiously between the coffee room and corridor outside were finally allowed in to see him.

His mum, Jean-Marie, Alaysha, John Langfranc, Jeff Coombs — just as in the dream, except for his father, and not all at the same time.

His assigned consultant talked about releasing him in only a couple of days. ‘Just need to run a few more tests, some fresh strapping on that leg and let you rest a bit more — then you should be fine to go home.’

But the night before he was due to leave hospital, his temperature rocketed to 102F. Further tests ensued, this time considerably more frantic.

A lung infection was discovered, presumably from the lake water, but it had already entered his bloodstream. Septicaemia had set in.

The greyness was again dragging Jac back towards the black void, as for the next four days Jac hovered close to death.

Alaysha stayed with Jac’s mother and Jean-Marie in the corridor outside his room for most of that time, didn’t go to work and had her mom take care of Molly. Jac’s mother found a church two blocks away where she lit a candle for him and prayed. There were prayers too from Larry Durrant inside Libreville, and Rodriguez had even played a song for him over the prison radio.

All of which Jac was brought up to date on when he finally emerged from the grey abyss, bringing a wry — albeit weak — smile to his face.

Four more days for more tests and for him to regain his strength, he was told.

But the first thing Jac thought about then was Durrant: six days already lost, now another four on top! Twenty-one days left till Durrant’s execution.

John Langfranc had already reassured him about the clemency petition.

‘Don’t worry. I got everything necessary off your computer, put all the file attachments with it, and went out to Libreville and got Durrant to sign it. It’s gone off already — copies to both Candaret and the Board of Pardons.’

When Jac voiced his concern about the extra four day wait, Langfranc again offered to help.

‘I can interview Coyne or Friele and put it on tape for you — at least get something rolling on that front. Hopefully you’ll be able to pick up the ball from there.’

Jac had played the tape countless times during his last days in the hospital, as well as gone through again his earlier notes and the original trial and appeal files. So, that head shot and Durrant’s past MO had initially struck Coyne as out of place.

But everything else from Coyne — the eye-witness, Durrant’s descriptions of the house and the murder further bolstered by that final head shot being held back from all press releases, the blood spots on his jacket matched to Jessica Roche’s DNA — piled everything irrevocably against Durrant.

Jac felt weak, his strength sapped. Not just from the accident and his illness, but with what he now faced with Durrant. He’d just fought his way out of one grey abyss, yet just how he was going to fight his way through this daunting ocean of proof against Durrant, he didn’t know.

‘I know this isn’t the best time to bring this up,’ Alaysha said. ‘But you know that warning letter we talked about having sent to Gerry?’ She sighed and rested her hands in her lap. ‘I think it would be a good idea to now send it.’

When Alaysha had first mentioned likely problems with her ex, Jac had suggested sending an initial warning letter on the firm’s letter-heading; then, if that didn’t work, they’d go the whole hog and get a restraining order.

‘I know you said he’d been phoning you.’ Jac arched an eyebrow. ‘But has he been round here at your door, too?’

Alaysha closed her eyes for a second and eased out a sigh of submission. ‘Yes. Yes… he has. I didn’t want to say anything before while you were ill.’

Jac nodded pensively. ‘Was it bad?’

‘No, I…I…’ Alaysha’s eyes flickered briefly shut again. ‘Yes, it was. He came round a couple of days before you came out of hospital, banging and shouting, and I told him to stop: Molly was home and he was frightening her. He kept shouting a while more, then finally calmed, saying he had a jacket of mine I’d left at his place a few weeks back. He’d come to give it back. I checked through the spy-hole, and, sure enough, I could see it in his hand — so I said, okay, but I was leaving the door on the chain. He wasn’t coming in. He seemed fine with that, just nodded numbly, as if all the fight had gone out of him. “Okay, babe, okay… I understand,” he says.’ Alaysha shook her head, her eyes shutting heavier this time as the memory of what happened played against the back of her eyelids. She bit at her bottom lip as she opened her eyes again, as if still fearful of what they might see. ‘Then as soon… as soon…’

Jac reached out and gently touched her arm, consoling. ‘That’s okay… don’t worry. I’ll… I’ll get the letter sent off as soon as I get to the office.’

‘Thanks, Jac. I appreciate it.’ She swallowed hard, shaking off the last of the images. ‘You know, I thought he was going to rip the chain right off the door. I… I don’t know how I managed to shut it again.’ She glanced back briefly towards the door again, as if it still might suddenly burst open. Then she looked down uncertainly; something was still troubling her.

‘What is it?’ Jac asked.

‘Unfortunately it… it didn’t end there.’

Jac’s concern gripped like a stomach cramp. His hand, laid lightly on her arm, pressed gently. ‘What happened, Alaysha… what happened?’

‘He came by the club the night after, making a scene.’ The shadows in her eyes shifted hesitantly as she forced a tight smile. ‘But, thankfully, the security at the club’s good. They made quick work of getting rid of him.’

‘Thankfully.’ Jac felt his jaw tighten. But what was going to happen when next time he tried and there was no security or a chained door between them? ‘I suppose if all else fails, there’s always one way of handling Gerry.’ Jac held a fist up.

‘Oh?’ Alaysha eyed him curiously.

‘Young kid doesn’t last long on the streets of Glasgow without learning to use these. And my father always kept a boxing bag at our Rochefort farmhouse — said that it was one of the best ways to keep fit.’

Alaysha gave another quick, tight smile, unsure whether Jac was serious or if it was just bravado to make her feel more secure.

Jac wasn’t sure either. He’d spent the first night out of the hospital at her place, for various reasons: he had no fresh food at his place, he was still weak, and Alaysha commented with a sly smile that she wanted to ‘nurse him a bit.’

Their relationship had changed markedly while he’d been in the hospital, without much actually happening between them. Not only because he’d seen how much she seemed to care about him, belying the short time they’d been involved — but so had his mother and Jean-Marie, from witnessing Alaysha’s vigil at the hospital and talking with her there. He’d begged both of them not to say anything about Alaysha to Aunt Camille. ‘She probably thinks I’m still going out with Jennifer Bromwell, courtesy of Jennifer’s parents. It’s a long story — I’ll tell you later.’ But he decided to wait a while before telling them that Alaysha lap-danced. From what she’d told them, they appeared to think she did interior decorating and ‘some modelling’.

He’d also finally met Molly. Almost as if Alaysha kept Molly away at her mom’s while any new boyfriends visited, until they’d passed the initial acid test. Alaysha had brought Molly with her on her last visit to the hospital and introduced them, and Molly was there at Alaysha’s when Jac first came out: ‘Are you okay now?’ she enquired. He couldn’t help smiling, her soft, high tone attempting to be adult and grave. ‘Yes, fine… fine.’ He put one hand lightly on Molly’s shoulder as he knelt down to her height. ‘And you?’ Fine too, she said; then he spent the next half hour on his knees as she led him through the fantasy world of her dolls and informed him who hadn’t been fine recently amongst them.

Alaysha touched his cheek with the back of one hand. ‘It’s so good to have you back, Jac… so good.’

‘For me too.’ He closed his eyes at her touch. He could feel them getting closer, and wanted so much for it to work. But he’d seen those shadows in her eyes when she’d described Gerry trying to break her door down and visiting the club. Just what baptism of fire might their relationship have to endure to finally be rid of him?

Alaysha stroked her fingers gently across Jac’s cheek and back through his hair before taking her hand away. There was something else Gerry had said while at her door that had sent a chill through her, but that was the last thing she’d want to tell Jac about. After all, that was the whole point of this lawyer’s letter now: hopefully finally closing the book on her past life with Gerry and what she’d done with him.

She swallowed, took a fresh breath. ‘When are you supposed to be hearing from the police?’

‘Tomorrow or the latest the day after, they said.’ Shadows in his eyes: knowing finally if his car, dragged up from Lake Pontchartrain, had been tampered with. He put one arm around Alaysha and gave her a reassuring hug. ‘And when Gerry gets this letter — let’s just hope he gets the message and leaves you be.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

But Jac could see from her tight smile that she was as unconvinced as him.

Rodriguez felt in fine form this morning.

Jac McElroy had made it, the sun was breaking through a thin cloud cover, and the air was clear and crisp. Rodriguez inhaled deeply as he sauntered across the exercise yard. One of the first times the air had been crisp for a long while — Rodriguez liked this time of year. The temperature inside the prison was bearable for once, and hopefully would remain so for the next few months.

Rodriguez fired a quick fake-cap acknowledgement to BC and Larry lifting weights on the far side of the yard. BC was by far the keenest muscle-freak in their little circle, in the yard practically every day. Larry, Theo Mellor and Gill Arneck trained-up at most twice a week, and himself and Peretti, never.

‘Hey, you wanna try this som’ time, Roddy,’ BC called out as he approached. ‘Your arms are startin’ to look like strands o’ spaghetti.’

‘Nah. Might give myself an injury.’ Roddy made a mock grab at his crotch. ‘Would ruin my wild sex life here.’

BC shook his head and smiled. ‘Yer know, Roddy, at times you’re such a pussy.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Roddy shrugged amiably. ‘Like they say — you are what you eat.’

BC and Larry laughed out loud, bringing a glare from Tally Shavell, six yards away at the other end of the muscle yard with Jay-T and another crew brother — the separation between them obvious, nobody else daring to go into that electrified no man’s land.

Rodriguez gave them a guarded sideways glance, and signalled to Larry with a small nod that he wanted to talk: they should move further away from Tally and his crew. They sidled five yards away so that even BC would have trouble overhearing them, but Rodriguez kept his voice low in case.

‘Just got an e-mail in from Jac.’ Having almost lost his life trying to help Larry, suddenly he was ‘Jac’ instead of Mr McElroy; one of them. ‘As you know, his side-kick Langfranc filed last week with the BOP and Candaret, and part of that, Jac reminded me, was talkin’ about your literary expertise. He’d like to send a couple o’ the books you edited to back that up, if that’s okay?’

‘Edit’s a bit strong a term. All I did was make some comments in the margin and change some words where I felt the same one had been used too much.’ Larry shrugged. ‘But sure, that’s okay.’

‘He expects Candaret to finally spill forth in about two weeks. But apparently the Board of Pardons will haul your ass in front of ‘em four or five days before that. So they’ll be the first you’ll hear from.’

Larry arched an eyebrow. ‘What the hell will they expect from me? Show I’m a literary buff by quoting from Poe and Shakespeare?’

‘Yeah… yeah. “Justice… justice! Where for art thou, justice”?’ Rodriguez’ smile quickly faded as he looked levelly at Larry. ‘No, I think it’s mainly to fin’ out if you’re a reasonable, balanced guy. Reformed character and all that shit. So don’t be your normal indolent, uncooperative self. Okay?’

‘I’ll try.’ Larry smiled lazily.