Bad Intentions

CHAPTER 33

Reilly awoke with a shudder.

There was someone in his room. Someone was standing in a corner, breathing softly. He sensed movement, detected a faint smell. He fumbled around the sleeping bag for the revolver. The darkness was so compact that it was impossible to see anything. Even the kitten was startled. It clambered over him and jumped on to the floor. He became aware of an even denser darkness which might be the outline of a man by the door. The black mass was immobile, poised as if it were watching him. Reilly propped himself up on one elbow.

‘Axel?’ he whispered.

No reply. All he heard was the wind. It had dropped considerably, and the morning was not far off. He eased himself into a sitting position, keeping the weapon ready all the time. His heart was pounding and it was difficult to keep the revolver still. Was that a glimmer of light in the darkness, the blade of a knife, or the gleam in Axel’s eye? He could not be sure. He wriggled out of the sleeping bag and stood up. He could no longer make out the black mass by the door. He tiptoed across the floor. Every nerve on edge. There was no one there. His hands felt only timber with the occasional splinter in the walls. He opened the door as noiselessly as he could and peeked into the living room. A barely perceptible grey light fell through the windows, and the back of a chair was just visible. Reilly still thought he heard breathing. He crept across the room and stopped at Axel’s door. It was a simple pine door with a plastic handle. He clutched the butt of the revolver and eased the door open. Grey light from the living room seeped in. The green sleeping bag on the bed reminded him of a limp cucumber. He had no idea how long he stood like that, his arms dangling, the mouth of the gun pointing towards the floor.

Axel came at him from behind. Reilly was yanked backwards and crashed to the floor. The revolver slipped out of his hand, skidded across the floor and hit the wall with a bang.

‘Are you trying to shoot me?’ Axel cried. ‘Eh?’

He put his arm around Reilly’s neck and squeezed as hard as he could. Axel was strong. Reilly could hardly breathe. All he could do was kick his legs, but that did not help him get air into his lungs.

‘I’m always one step ahead!’ Axel screamed. ‘Don’t you understand?’

The grip around his neck tightened. Reilly tried to force out a reply; he could only manage some unintelligible grunts, and while he lay there, growing weaker because of oxygen deprivation, it dawned on him that he wanted to give up, that it no longer mattered to him either way. Jon couldn’t cope with being alive and neither can I, Reilly thought. He was starting to black out. His head felt very hot.

‘I understand people and I see through them,’ Axel snarled. Reilly felt his breath in his ear. The smell of Axel, his raw strength.

‘You can’t even put up a proper fight,’ Axel said. ‘You don’t deserve to live.’

Reilly wanted to beg for mercy. He wanted to explain and to put forward a proposal, but he couldn’t get a word out. Finally Axel let go of him. Reilly filled his lungs with air, but he was too terrified to move. Something in his throat had been badly hurt and he did not know if he still had a voice.

Axel got up and stared at Reilly lying on the floor.

‘So what the hell were you doing?’

‘I was unsettled,’ Reilly said. ‘I heard something.’ He tried to work out what he was feeling. He realised he did not feel much of anything. Now I know why people kill, he thought. They’re scared.

‘Would you have shot me?’ Axel asked. ‘You would have, wouldn’t you?’

He picked up the revolver. He opened the chamber and looked inside.

‘Six bullets. Bloody hell.’

Reilly dragged himself to standing. He massaged his neck for a while, then staggered to a chair and collapsed. After some time he began to recover; he got up and fetched the kitten. He put it inside the travel kennel. He gathered his belongings and packed them in his bag, along with his toiletries, his spare sweater and the Koran. Finally he put on his long coat.

Reilly did everything at a very slow pace.

Axel watched him calmly. ‘And where do you think you’re going?’ he asked.

‘Home,’ Reilly replied. ‘I’m going home to my flat.’

‘Walking, are you? You intend to plod along the road with that cage in your hand? Do you know what time it is?’

Reilly opened the front door and went outside on to the grass bank.

‘You look like a ghost in that coat,’ Axel shouted after him. ‘No one’s going to give you a lift.’

Reilly left. His coat-tails flapped, the travel kennel swung in his hand. After an hour trudging along the narrow track through the woods, he reached the main road, and later that morning a lorry driver transporting timber gave him a lift.