Past Darkness (21 page)

H
e sat at the window, watching pellets of rain bounce and skid on the tarmac outside the old building. The radio was playing a song from the fifties. It transported his mind back to better days. Good days. Family days. No betrayal. No darkness.

He waited until the song ended, before easing himself from the chair and making his way into the bathroom. There, he reached for a tube of denture cream. Looked at it, as if searching for an answer. Returned to his seat at the window.

Another song came on. He vaguely remembered it. Tried to summon up the singer’s name, but the pain in his head blocked all cognitive thought. He found it exhausting.

Flipping the tube over, he began working on the sealed bottom. Not sealed enough. False. It had taken him a couple of days to make it look perfect. He couldn’t risk them finding it when they came in cleaning, twice a week.

After twenty laborious minutes, he had finally managed to squeeze out the hidden gems: sixteen sleeping pills concealed within the mushy mess.

They had thought him stupid, but he had outsmarted them all. He could outsmart anyone, when the chips were down. Anyone.

He began to wipe the pills, one by one, getting the gooey mess off them. He had always hated the aftertaste the cream brought after usage. He would never have to worry about that again.

He filled a glass with lukewarm water, and popped one pill in his mouth. Repeated the action, until all sixteen were gone.

After a few minutes of contemplation, he made his way to the bed, and got inside. Made himself comfortable. Removed one of three pillows, and placed it on the floor beside his slippers. His nightly ritual, undisturbed. Prying night eyes would see nothing but routine.

They would find him in the morning, but of course it would be too late – for them, not him. They would make a false fuss, but within a couple of days, he’d be forgotten. He smiled slightly at the thought.

Then he closed his eyes for the last time.

Across town, Karl was having difficulty sleeping. The pain in his legs seemed to be intensifying, despite the dosage of morphine injected into his system. From the side table, he picked up this evening’s newspaper, and reread it for the umpteenth time. His story was still making the headlines. He was a hero. A maverick. Perhaps a mixture of both, with a little added gung-ho-bad-boy thrown into the mix.

Naomi said the phone hadn’t stopped ringing, potential and future clients all queueing up for his services. The business might even have to expand, to keep up with demand.

Eventually, his eyelids became heavier. The newspaper slipped from his grasp, fluttering onto the floor like a wounded bird. For some unknown reason, his last thoughts were of his father.

Fiction

The Darkness of Bones

Dark Souls

The Redemption Factory

Black’s Creek

Karl Kane novels

Bloodstorm

The Dark Place

Dead of Winter

Memoir

On the Brinks

Play

Brothers in Arms

Recipient
Golden Balais d’or
for Best Crime Book of 2013–14

Recipient
Trophées 813, du meilleur roman

Le Monde’s
prestigious Top Twenty Thrillers for 2013-2014 for
Bloodstorm: A Karl Kane Novel

www.millarcrime.com