Hooded Man (45 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

R
OBERT MISSED THE
dreams.

He’d never mentioned it to anyone, because he doubted whether they’d understand – not even Mary. But God, did he miss them. Those vivid – sometimes nightmarish – visions he’d experienced during his time in Sherwood had saved his life. He’d seen his friends in those dreams, before he’d even met them, and he’d seen what the Sheriff, De Falaise, had planned during their final confrontation – allowing him to twist as he plunged the knife into Robert, avoiding a fatal belly wound and taking the blade in his side instead. It had taken him a while to recover, but he would surely have been dead if it hadn’t been for the tip-off.

Since moving into the castle, though, he hadn’t been able to remember a single dream. Of course, you needed to sleep to dream – and that was something Robert had been doing very little of lately. The mattress he lay on seemed far too... luxurious. He’d slept much more soundly on a blanket of grass and moss, in his handmade lean-to or outside, looking up at the stars. All he saw these days was the ceiling.

But it was more than simply missing the dreams. They were part and parcel of a way of life. Of a place where he’d felt completely at ease.

Yeah, except when intruders were coming in after you with guns, or firing grenades off into the trees.

No, before. The time when he’d been alone in the forest, just him and nature – with only the birds, animals and foliage for company. He’d been happy –

Happy? You went there to escape, have you forgotten that? You went there because you didn’t have anyone else in the world, not after... Now you have. People who love you, people who care about what happens to you.

People who counted on him, every minute of every day. Responsibilities the likes of which he never could have imagined; not even when he was after those promotions on the force. Everything seemed to have snowballed since they came here. He’d turned around and suddenly he was this mythical figure in charge of his very own policing network. How exactly had that happened?

Because you made it happen. You wanted people to be safe, for there to be some kind of law, some justice after the Sheriff’s rule. You did a good thing, Robert.

But at what cost? Leaning up against the headboard, he sighed. If he’d had a dream about this when he’d been back in Sherwood, he might not have got involved. Who was he kidding? He wouldn’t have done a thing differently. He’d still have saved Mark and Bill; been persuaded by Tate to fight, to build an army that could take on De Falaise; taken in Granger – rest his soul – and Jack.

And Mary...

He looked down at the sleeping figure, her dark hair splayed on the pillow. If anyone had told him, even a year ago, that he could fall in love again – even if he’d dreamt about it – he would have thought it madness. But then, wasn’t love a kind of insanity, or so the old pop and rock songs said? Songs like Dale used to sing... still sang on some occasions, when the residents of the castle needed their spirits lifting.

Robert remembered how awkward it had been at first with Mary. He’d pushed her away. The thought of being with anyone again after Joanne was just... But somehow she had broken down his defences, or slipped past them, just as his troops had done when they took the castle. When he remembered what had almost happened to her at the hands of De Falaise, it tore him up inside.

So why was she giving him such a hard time? Why had she barely spoken to him all evening, turning her back on him when they got into bed? She had to know that there was nothing going on with him and Adele – he’d only known her five minutes! How could Mary possibly believe he was trying to replace her?

But wasn’t it partly down to Mary that he was stuck in this castle, when he should be out there doing more of what he’d done in York? Was it really the fact that he’d saved Adele that bothered her, that the woman was so grateful, or was it because he’d gone there regardless of Mary’s wishes?

“You’ve been out of the game for a little while, boss. You’re rusty. That psycho almost had you.”

He’d dismissed Jack’s words, but the man had been right. If he hadn’t been there, Robert wouldn’t be alive right now. Out of the game. Too much time stuck behind a desk. Now where had he heard that before?

Sitting in the dark, a face from the past floated into his mind. Now he flashed back to his very first days as a rookie, to his old station house in Nottingham, just south of this very castle in fact – before Joanne had made him move away from the city. To Constable Eric Meadows, who’d puppy-walked him through his first weeks, pounding the beat alongside him.

Robert watched as the scene played in his head, of them chasing a thief who’d just snatched a woman’s purse in broad daylight before disappearing up a side street.

“You go after him,” Meadows had instructed. “I’ll go this way, try and head him off.” Holding onto his cap, Robert raced after the man.

The felon, checking back over his shoulder, saw that there was only one young copper chasing him – and he’d slowed down, fancying his chances. Robert skidded to a stop only metres behind. “N-now don’t try anything funny,” he said, with absolutely no confidence. “Come along quietly and it’ll be better for everyone.”

“I’m not going back to jail,” the scruffy-looking man had warned him, then approached, balling his hands into fists.

Robert knew how he should tackle a situation like this; he’d been trained, after all. But reality was completely different. Here was a real criminal, a desperate criminal, and only one thing stood between him and his freedom: Robert.

The thief ran at him, readying to punch. But before his blow could land, the man was falling over sideways. A puzzled Robert lowered his gaze and saw Meadows there, rugby tackling the fellow to the ground. His plan had worked, going round the houses to take the villain by surprise while Robert distracted him. It was a good strategy; one Robert would later use on a much larger scale.

The thief tried to fight, knocking off Meadows’ cap to reveal his salt and pepper hair. “Well, don’t just stand there gaping,” Meadows shouted, struggling to hold the scruffy man down. “Get your arse over here and help me cuff him!”

Snapping awake, Robert had gone over and assisted, listening while the veteran officer read the thief his rights. Then they’d escorted him back to the station, putting him in a cell.

“Nothing quite like it, is there?” Meadows said to Robert as they’d come away again, the job done.

“What’s that, sir?”

“That adrenalin rush when it’s you or them.” Meadows’ eyes were twinkling. “Facing your fear, lad. Did you feel it?”

Robert nodded, but all he’d really felt was scared. He suspected he wouldn’t actually know what Meadows was talking about until he arrested someone himself, until it was just him and the other guy... or guys. In the years since that day, he’d felt that rush many, many times.

“Never let them put you behind one of those,” Meadows told him, gesturing to the officer behind the duty desk. “You stay out there, young Stokes. Stay where you can make a difference and leave all that to the paper pushers.”

Sadly, they’d all become paper pushers by the time the virus struck, with more and more government bullshit tying them up. But before that, Robert had learned a lot from his old mentor: not least of which was that guns were not the real answer to tackling gun crime. “It all escalates, you see,” Meadows had warned him. “And then where’s it all going to end?”

Another memory crept in now; Meadows, the last time he’d seen him, before Robert moved to the outskirts of Mansfield. A combination of injury – sustained on football match duty when one crazed supporter had broken Eric’s leg – and old age had landed in the last place he wanted to be. Oh, there’d been a promotion that came with the office, to sergeant no less, but the fact remained that Meadows was trapped, drowning in responsibilities. When Robert shook his hand and thanked him for everything, he could see the spark had almost completely gone from those eyes.

“You’re awake.” The voice made him jump. Robert hadn’t even noticed Mary had stirred; he’d been so wrapped up in his recollections. “What are you thinking about?”

In the half-light, Robert stared down at her face and shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Liar.” It wasn’t said in a nasty way, but it stung nonetheless.

“Am I not allowed to just sit here peacefully now?”

“That’s not what I said. I asked you what you were thinking about?”

“The past.”

Mary sat up, resting against the headboard beside him. “You were thinking about Joanne and Stevie again, then?”

Robert sighed. “No... why does it always have to come back to that? Why can’t you let it go?”

“Why can’t you?”

“This isn’t even about... If you must know, I was remembering an old friend of mine from the force. And before you ask, no, he wasn’t a woman.” Mary’s turn to be stung. “I’ve been thinking about what’s been happening, what I’m doing here.”

“With me?”

Robert sighed again. “No, you’re twisting it all... What I’m doing here at the castle, Mary. How I’ve become rooted to this place, been hiding behind its walls for too long. It’s not where I belong.”

“And where should you be? Sherwood? Alone?”

“No...” Robert shook his head, but there was no conviction in it, only confusion. “I don’t know... Anywhere but stuck here, organising the men, sending them out on missions.”

“I help you as much as I can, you don’t have to shoulder it all on your own.”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m not the man you met anymore, Mary. Staying here’s done that. I’m... rusty.”

“So this is about York? I said it was a bad idea to –”

“Mary, you’re not listening. That’s not the issue. The men we saw out there, the cult. They’re dangerous.”

“More dangerous than the Frenchman?”

“They have the capacity to be. And they’re not interested in wealth or power like he was. They’ll fight until every last one of them is dead.”

Mary was silent for a few moments. “We have men, loyal men,” she said eventually.

“And what if they fall? What if the fight is brought here again? How am I supposed to defend the people I care about, how am I supposed to lead men into battle, when I’ve lost my edge? When I’ve become...”

“What? A family man? A leader?”

“You just don’t see it, do you? I’m no better than De Falaise.”

Mary pulled a face. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true. He stayed here in his ivory tower with Gwen while he sent his men off to their deaths, to do his dirty work for him.”

“To do his killing. And he wasn’t exactly the dutiful partner when it came to Gwen, was he? She was his plaything, Robert. His toy. You care about your men. You care about me... don’t you?”

“You really need to ask that?”

Mary gave a little shrug which he could barely see in the dark. “When girls like Adele –”

“Adele again?” Robert snorted. “What the bloody hell’s she got to do with this?”

“It’s another consequence of going out there. You’re a living legend, Robert; women fall at your feet.”

“That’s your paranoia again.”

“Is it? I saw the way she looked at you. You can’t have missed it; and you invited her back here, of all the things, to –”

He pulled the covers aside, climbing out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

“For a drink of water.” Robert pulled on his robe, making for the door.

“Robert, I –”

“They don’t mean anything to me, Mary. None of them. You’d know that if you really knew me.” He took one last look at her, then he opened the door and slid out, whispering under his breath, “I love you.” Robert wasn’t sure whether she’d heard him or not, but he’d said it and as far as he was concerned that was enough. As he shut the door he thought he heard a faint sob, and almost went back in. But he was in no mood to keep talking about it.

Robert crept down the darkened corridor, careful not to wake the others sleeping in this part of the castle. He padded down the stairs, heading for what had once been the castle café. He struck a match on the counter and lit a couple of candles, then took a glass, opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of water his men had found out on their travels. He looked at it. There weren’t many still around, but even this was somehow mocking him – reminding him he’d returned to a life he’d once turned his back on. When he’d been in Sherwood, he’d trapped his own water and filtered it. Now, it was like that had never happened. Hanging his head, he unscrewed the lid and poured.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and dropped the glass, spinning round, simultaneously grabbing whoever was behind him by the throat and shoving them against the wall.

Robert was breathing hard. He blinked, and realised the figure he was holding was a woman with short hair.

“I... I’m sorry...” croaked Adele. “I...”

Horrified, Robert let her go. “No, I’m... you shouldn’t creep up on me like that.”

She rubbed her throat and said hoarsely: “I... I wasn’t creeping, Robert. Honestly. I had to go to the loo and got lost finding my way back. This place is so huge, and I’m still figuring it all out.”

Robert’s breathing slowed. God, he really was losing his touch; there was a time he would have heard... felt someone come up behind him. If it had been an assassin, they’d have plunged a knife into him before he could even turn.

“I saw the light and, well, if I’d realised you wanted to be alone...” Adele said sadly.

“It’s not that. I just...” Robert shook his head. “Did I hurt you?”

Adele coughed and smiled. “Nothing a glass of water won’t fix.”

Robert walked back to the counter, then stooped to pick up the bits of broken glass. He looked across when Adele followed him, noticing what she was wearing for the first time. A man’s shirt – probably Jack’s, by the size – with the sleeves rolled up... and nothing else. Her long legs looked pale in the light from the candle, and he chastised himself for letting his eyes linger on them before getting back to his task.

“You’re very fast, you know.”

“Hmm? Not nearly as fast as I used to be.”