Cucumber Coolie (22 page)

He smiled some more when I said that.

As the camcorder filmed from the assault rifle beside us.

Something clicked inside me, then. Just as the sirens got close, as the flames surrounded the exit to the carriage completely, as the smoke made me woozy. This wasn’t for Danielle. This wasn’t what Danielle would’ve wanted.

No. This wasn’t for Danielle.

This was just a part of James Scotts’ film.

The ending
he
wanted. Dying like a martyr in his own movie.

His eyelids had already started to droop when I took the hose away, threw it to one side. He didn’t budge when I did, so I punched him in the chest repeatedly until he coughed and spluttered in my face.

“That’s right, wake up,” I said.

James Scotts gasped for breath. Looked at me with amused bewilderment. “What’s up, hero? Lose your nerve?”

“This is the police!” I heard just outside. “Put down your weapons! We are armed!”

I looked up into the smoke. “It’s okay,” I said, shaking all over, like someone was in complete control of my body. “I’ve got him on the floor.” I coughed out smoke. Shit, I was so close to passing out. “It’s… just get everyone out of here.”

“You’re weak, hero,” James Scotts said. He started chuckling. Chuckling away, as the camcorder continued recording, as fire extinguishers eased the flames from the exploded front of the carriage. “You’re a coward. A coward who couldn’t save his girlfriend, and a coward that couldn’t even give her the revenge she deserves. You really are a villain. No—villain gives you too much of a sense of importance. You’re a parasite. A Wormtongue, or a Peter Pettigrew.”

I held my breath. Tried not to look into James Scotts’ eyes, or at his laughing mouth.

“She screamed, you know? Screamed when I raped her. Made her ass bleed, too, but a few plasters sorted her out for another session later on. Did her with a screwdriver, believe it or not. It’s all on there. All on the camera. Raw, unedited… very raw.” He chuckled some more.

I clenched my fists together as the armed police entered the train, coming through the smoke like aliens from another planet.

“She cried out your name a few times. And another bloke’s, too. Daniel, I think he was called. Yes, she called for him more actually. An affair, maybe? A bit on the side?”

I bit my lip. Did all I could to avoid smashing this fucker’s head like an eggshell.

“And still, the parasite doesn’t act. All of this on camera. All of this on—”

“Fuck your camcorder,” I said.

I picked it up. Lifted it. Prepared to smash it into the ground.

When I felt the sharp pain in my lower left abdomen, I knew I’d let my guard drop.

I fell back. James Scotts wriggled from underneath me, a small blade in his hand. I clutched my ab. Felt the hot blood seeping from my skin. Felt dizzy with the smoke, the stab wound, everything.

James Scotts lifted the assault rifle. Smiled, his curly hair matted and sweaty. “If you won’t act, then I will,” he said.

He squeezed the trigger.

Two shots fired.

I closed my eyes and held my breath and…

James Scotts fell to the floor.

I stared at him as he lay beside me. Stared at him with the two gunshot wounds in his back.

“Everybody this way!” voices said. The police. They’d got him.

I watched as two of the officers picked up James Scotts, lifted him and dragged him away.

I watched as James Scotts smiled one final time before passing into unconsciousness.

And the camcorder watched me as my only shot at avenging Danielle’s death disappeared before my eyes.

FORTY-ONE

“How does that feel, Mr. Dent? Better?”

I leaned back in the hospital bed as a nurse applied some dressing to my stab wound. I nodded once, sharply.

“Glad to hear,” she said. She was so smiley, so airy, considering London had just been rocked by a bloody terrorist attack.

There was a screen just above the bottom of my hospital bed. On it, rolling news aired. Naturally, coverage was all about James Scotts’ attack on a Glasgow—London Euston train just outside the station. About the loss of life—twenty-one deaths, in total. Horrible, but not as bad as it could’ve been, was the news’ verdict.

I didn’t get that. It was just horrible. Twenty-one people had died.

I sipped at some water. It cooled down my hot throat, soothed my dry lips. The hospital ward was busy, packed with people who were crying, wincing with pain. Fellow train victims. I didn’t want to look at them. I didn’t want to see their wounds, or what they’d lost.

I wanted to know what had happened to James Scotts.

I’d seen him being dragged away by police. I’d seen his smile just before his eyes closed. But there had been no word on the news about his condition or his status.

I needed to know he was dead or behind bars. I couldn’t rest until I knew that.

“Mr. Dent? Someone on the phone for you.”

The smiley brunette nurse was back. I nodded at her, hesitant. Who could be calling me? Martha? Lenny? Ip dip doo, really.

I took the phone. Pressed it to my ear. “Yeah?”

“Blake? Is that… is that you?”

The voice was neither Lenny’s nor Martha’s. No, it was a woman’s voice, but it was soft and friendly. A voice I’d heard recently.

Danielle’s mum, Patricia.

My stomach turned as I tried to figure out what to say. “Patricia, I, er… I…”

“We heard about what happened. Down in London. Me and William have been going out of our minds trying to get hold of you.”

I frowned. Not what I expected. “You… you have?”

“Yes. I popped by your place earlier and couldn’t get an answer. And I thought it was odd, not like you. And—and then the local radio just said you were caught in the attack. Are you okay? Are they treating you well?”

Patricia’s first words echoed in my head. I had to be straight up and honest. “Patricia, I was in my flat earlier. I just… I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t face anything… anything Danielle related. I’m sorry.”

A slight pause on the line. I prepared for the barrage of insults that I probably deserved.

“That’s okay. It’s… it’s hard for all of us. Just as long as you’re okay now. You are, aren’t you?”

Patricia’s words were not what I’d been expecting. I felt my eyes welling up, and stopped them right away because I must look like some kind of wuss the amount of times I’d been crying lately. “I… I am, yeah. I’m… bit bruised. Cut my—my stomach. But fine.”

A gasp of relief from Patricia, a woman who I had no idea actually gave a frig about me. “Oh, good. Good. And—and the funeral. Don’t worry. We’ll organise it while you’re in your state. But… but please, Blake. Remember we’re all here. Here for each other. We… we’re family.”

I usually just nodded and grunted when people made remarks like that. But this time, I felt the sincerity in Patricia’s words.

“Thanks,” I said.

“No, thank
you
,” Patricia said. “For surviving.”

I couldn’t speak now. Too much of a lump in my throat. My eyes clouded up as nurses walked past, as curtains of other beds in the ward twitched open and shut. I blanked out the whimpers of pain, and I focused solely on Patricia. “I… I loved her.”

“We all did,” Patricia said. “She was a loveable girl.”

I wiped my eyes. Looked over at the door to the ward. There were some nurses outside. They looked strangely stressed about something. One guy, an Asian fella, was looking over his shoulder, standing like he’d dropped a smelly log in the toilet and didn’t want to take the blame.

“We’ll keep you in the loop about… about the funeral,” Patricia said, as calm and collected as ever.

I kept focused on these nurses. The crowd was growing. All growing around this door, looking agitated, raising their voices now.

I cancelled the call without saying goodbye to Patricia. Something I could apologise for later. I got a bad feeling about this crowd of nurses. They didn’t look organised. They didn’t look controlled.

They looked pissed. Majorly pissed.

I looked around the ward. All of the curtains were shut, except for a chubby guy beside me, but he was snoring away anyway.

I hooked my right foot over the side of the hospital bed. Shuffled myself to the edge, trying my best not to put any pressure on my stomach.

And then I dropped to my feet.

The pain was bad at first, but a few footsteps was enough to ease it. I got closer to these nurses. Closer to them as they chattered away in loud, crappy attempts at whispers. The sound of the rolling news went on and on about the train, the accident, the terrorist.

But still no actual news about James Scotts.

I stopped beside the ward door. None of the nurses had noticed me at all, they were so focused in their little argument. Almost as bloody inept as the police. I looked at them. Looked and tried to focus, tried to lock on to what they were saying.

And then I clocked on to what one of the nurses, a woman with blonde hair and long nose, said.

“He can’t have just disappeared.”

It felt like a punch in the gut. And bear in mind I’d already been stabbed in the gut, so the feeling wasn’t pretty.

He can’t have just disappeared.

I could only think of one person who’d cause so much fuss, one person who’d cause so much panic.

And they were right. He can’t have just disappeared.

That couldn’t happen.

I crept out of the ward. Crept past the nurses, head down, as they argued and bickered away.

“Well you were supposed to be watching him!”

“He’d been shot in the back—how was I supposed to know he’d just walk out?”

“Where’d security go anyway?”

I kept my head down as I walked down the dimly lit, blue-walled corridor. Screw bickering and arguing about this guy—I had to find him. This hospital was big. He couldn’t have gone far, not with gunshot wounds in his back.

I had to find him.

“Sir, where do you think you’re going?”

The voice came from behind me, and although I couldn’t see over my shoulder, I knew it was directed at me.

I gulped. Turned around. Looked at them—looked at all their puzzled, curious eyes.

“Bathroom,” I said.

A ginger guy frowned. Looked at me like I was a kid who’d quite obviously stolen some sweets from the shop counter.

And then he smiled and pointed in the direction I was heading.

“Just down there on your right,” he said.

I nodded. Smiled quite naturally myself, relieved that the security measures really were weak in this place, even if it had resulted in the escape of a frigging mass-murderer.

I walked down the corridor. Held my breath as I passed the bathroom, not even looking over my shoulder to see if the nurses tried to stop me.

I reached some wooden double doors at the end of the corridor. Pushed them, and found myself in an empty, dusty stairwell. Grey walls, tinted windows, concrete steps, all adding to the dire surroundings.

I took a breath of the musty air, stinging my stabbed abdomen in the process.

It was only when I put my foot on the first step and the double doors swung shut behind me that I got the feeling I was being watched.

FORTY-TWO

James Scotts has never been a great fan of hospitals.

He creeps down the corridor. Winces with every move, his back wracking with pain. He looks left, looks right, keeps an eye out for staff, but they are all occupied. All involved in their own little worlds.

He is invisible, even though his face is all over the news.

It’s the smell of hospitals he hates the most. Reminds him of those months ago, when his wife gave birth to that little whingy shit of a kid, Sebastian. Thank God he is a million miles from him right now. Because there’s no chance he’d be changing any more nappies in his life, not again.

He has bigger things to worry about than smelly nappies.

He hears voices up ahead. Laughter, footsteps getting closer. He freezes. Holds his breath. Spins around and lowers his head, leaning against the wall like a run of the mill patient.

He watches the nurses walk past. Watches them as they smile, joke with one another.

This makes him smile, too. It means word hasn’t spread of his escape yet.

Good. He likes to surprise people.

He lifts his head back up. Carries on down the corridor, moving quicker now. He knows he doesn’t have all the time in the world to get away. He knows that at some point, probably in the very near future, word of his escape is going to leak out, and the hospital will be put on lockdown.

But that doesn’t matter. He’ll already be out of here by then.

As he moves further down the corridor, he notices voices getting louder. Hears the chimes of a nearby ward, the low hum of people chattering. He knows he has to be careful here. He knows he can’t be seen.

Like a predator in the wild, he assesses his landscape. Looks ahead. Looks for a door. Somewhere he can go through, make his escape easier.

He sees a surgeon in his blue uniform walk across the corridor. Into a door on the right.

Staff toilets.

He feels a smile twinge at the sides of his mouth.

He has his escape route.

He moves slower towards this door. Stays very aware of the voices from the ward on his left. He can’t look. He can’t risk looking. Looking will look suspicious in itself.

So he just moves towards the staff toilet door.

Moves towards his escape route.

When he gets to it, his heart racing and his stabbed back searing, he hears a huge bang at the end of the corridor. He can’t help but look up.

The moment he looks, he wishes he hadn’t.

A bulky security guard dressed all in black is jogging down the corridor. He isn’t looking at James Scotts, but he is heading in his direction. If James Scotts doesn’t act fast, he will be caught.

So he throws himself into the staff bathroom and presses his back up against the door.

He listens outside to the footsteps of the security guard. Listens to them getting closer, to the rise of voices as the guard informs them of James Scotts’ escape. He enjoys this. He enjoys the panic he is causing. Just a pity he isn’t catching this beautiful moment on video.