Lockdown

Sixty-three

Josh lay on the bed reading a comic, one for boys his age. Not like that horrible album. He’d already worked out that if he looked at enough other stuff he could push those pictures out of his brain. But he couldn’t seem to get rid of the smell of the place where he’d been kept. It was everywhere.

He glanced up as his dad walked into the room. ‘What was wrong with that lady?’

‘She got hurt in an accident.’

‘It looked like she’d been shot.’

‘She had. But like I said, it was an accident. That’s why you should never pick up a gun if you see one.’

‘Had she been bad?’

‘Yes, but that’s not why she got shot.’

‘Was Natalya bad?’

‘No, not really.’

‘A little bit?’ Josh looked up at his father, registering how tired he looked.

‘She trusted the wrong person, that’s all.’

Mareta was sleeping when Richard arrived to check on her, her breathing slow but insistent. He reached out for her hand, shackled to the bed. Her fingers folded into his as she woke. Her hand felt soft and warm.

‘How are you feeling?’

Her pupils dilated and contracted, struggling to find focus through a curtain of morphine. ‘Yani?’

Was Yani her husband? Her son?

‘No, it’s Dr Hulme. I came to check on you.’

‘My leg, did you save it?’

‘Yes, but we need to get you to a proper hospital.’

‘You know what I did to that man?’

Richard had caught snatches from the guards of how Brand met his end. Each retelling was more gruesome than the last. ‘It’s not my job to judge you,’ he said.

‘I had to do it,’ she whispered. ‘He was going to kill me. I had no choice.’

He studied her face, the olive skin, the calm brown eyes, the high cheekbones. ‘Are you comfortable? Is there anything I can get you?’

‘Maybe some water.’

Richard crossed to a sink at the far end of the room and filled a beaker from the tap. He helped her sit up and put the beaker to her lips. She took tiny sips then sank back into the pillows.

‘Thank you.’

Then she tried to reach out for his hand, the cuffs rattling against the bed frame. The tips of her fingers traced a circle on his palm.

‘Help me. If I stay here, I’ll die.’