need to tell me what happened beneath the viaduct. Just take your time and start at the beginning.”
She sighed gently and began to twist the corner of the sheet between finger and thumb. Her skin appeared almost translucent under the harsh hospital lighting, and although he tried to concentrate and to stick to the questions, he found himself distracted by the pale blue veins.
“In the beginning … now that is profound, but I’m afraid it would take far too long, and we simply don’t have the time.”
There were faint marks on her arms and in the soft depression at the crook of her neck, track marks maybe, which would certainly explain her dislocated behaviour. He dragged his eyes from her skin and his attention back to her face. In truth he wasn’t concerned about how she’d found herself face down in the mud. He was more interested in the man she claimed was still after her … and him, and in the strange tattoo at her wrist.
“We have plenty of time. You’re not going anywhere. What did you mean before, about Jacob, about being in danger?”
Draping the covers haphazardly around her shoulders, she slipped from the bed and padded to the window, trailing the sheet behind her. An angel wrapped in her downy wings or a demon in a shroud, McNeil couldn’t decide, nevertheless he studied her, absurdly fascinated, as she placed her palms against the glass and gazed out at the world.
“I know what Jacob is, what he did, what he still does.”
Her breath misted the glass as she spoke, the condensation expanding and receding like a living thing with every exhalation.
“And what did he do?”
She sighed, leaning forward to rest her forehead against the cool glass, humming gently to herself. “The unthinkable, the unforgivable.” She added the words to a tune McNeil recognised as a nursery rhyme. It distracted him as he struggled to remember the name.
“Did he kill those men?”
She turned to him and raised one brow quizzically. “Perhaps.”
“Did you see him do it?”
“We don’t need to see, to believe something is so, isn’t that right, Joe? Ask those who flock to church every Sunday or face Mecca when called to prayer. We all have things which we hold dear and we do so regardless of evidence to the contrary. An unbeliever will always look upon the devout as a fool, simply because they lack the capacity to open their mind to possibilities. Jacob is evil. I believe it, therefore it is so.” She left the window, stepping closer, her head angled as she studied him. “Do you hold someone close to your heart, detective? Do you cling to possibilities in the face of disbelief?”
Despite his best intentions, despite his absolute resolve not to bring Kit with him into the room, he could not prevent it. She was there always, in his head, and Nell smiled as if she knew it. He accepted defeat, submitted to the lure and took the bait. “What possibilities?”
“The possibility that you are right and they are wrong, and someday soon the truth will be known.” A slight twitch to her lips betrayed her amusement at the game. His heart sank, resolve hardening instantly. He had no desire to play, not with something as precious as hope.
“The truth,” he continued bluntly, “a short word with endless possibilities. So let’s start with that. What were you doing in Bedlam?”
“Running.”
“Running from what, from whom?”
“Life, death, eternal torment. Take your pick.”
Eternal torment , he knew all about that. He wore it daily like a horse hair shirt.
“How did you get there?”
“I jumped.”
“Be serious. If you’d jumped, you’d be dead.”
“Exactly.”
The moment stretched between them, a vacuum that sucked out all reason. Nell blinked slowly, dusty lashes on pale skin. McNeil swallowed. He dropped his gaze, following the pale blue veins from her neck all the way to the pulse at her wrist. His palm burned and he clenched his fist to dispel the pain. He closed his eyes and recalled
She sighed gently and began to twist the corner of the sheet between finger and thumb. Her skin appeared almost translucent under the harsh hospital lighting, and although he tried to concentrate and to stick to the questions, he found himself distracted by the pale blue veins.
“In the beginning … now that is profound, but I’m afraid it would take far too long, and we simply don’t have the time.”
There were faint marks on her arms and in the soft depression at the crook of her neck, track marks maybe, which would certainly explain her dislocated behaviour. He dragged his eyes from her skin and his attention back to her face. In truth he wasn’t concerned about how she’d found herself face down in the mud. He was more interested in the man she claimed was still after her … and him, and in the strange tattoo at her wrist.
“We have plenty of time. You’re not going anywhere. What did you mean before, about Jacob, about being in danger?”
Draping the covers haphazardly around her shoulders, she slipped from the bed and padded to the window, trailing the sheet behind her. An angel wrapped in her downy wings or a demon in a shroud, McNeil couldn’t decide, nevertheless he studied her, absurdly fascinated, as she placed her palms against the glass and gazed out at the world.
“I know what Jacob is, what he did, what he still does.”
Her breath misted the glass as she spoke, the condensation expanding and receding like a living thing with every exhalation.
“And what did he do?”
She sighed, leaning forward to rest her forehead against the cool glass, humming gently to herself. “The unthinkable, the unforgivable.” She added the words to a tune McNeil recognised as a nursery rhyme. It distracted him as he struggled to remember the name.
“Did he kill those men?”
She turned to him and raised one brow quizzically. “Perhaps.”
“Did you see him do it?”
“We don’t need to see, to believe something is so, isn’t that right, Joe? Ask those who flock to church every Sunday or face Mecca when called to prayer. We all have things which we hold dear and we do so regardless of evidence to the contrary. An unbeliever will always look upon the devout as a fool, simply because they lack the capacity to open their mind to possibilities. Jacob is evil. I believe it, therefore it is so.” She left the window, stepping closer, her head angled as she studied him. “Do you hold someone close to your heart, detective? Do you cling to possibilities in the face of disbelief?”
Despite his best intentions, despite his absolute resolve not to bring Kit with him into the room, he could not prevent it. She was there always, in his head, and Nell smiled as if she knew it. He accepted defeat, submitted to the lure and took the bait. “What possibilities?”
“The possibility that you are right and they are wrong, and someday soon the truth will be known.” A slight twitch to her lips betrayed her amusement at the game. His heart sank, resolve hardening instantly. He had no desire to play, not with something as precious as hope.
“The truth,” he continued bluntly, “a short word with endless possibilities. So let’s start with that. What were you doing in Bedlam?”
“Running.”
“Running from what, from whom?”
“Life, death, eternal torment. Take your pick.”
Eternal torment , he knew all about that. He wore it daily like a horse hair shirt.
“How did you get there?”
“I jumped.”
“Be serious. If you’d jumped, you’d be dead.”
“Exactly.”
The moment stretched between them, a vacuum that sucked out all reason. Nell blinked slowly, dusty lashes on pale skin. McNeil swallowed. He dropped his gaze, following the pale blue veins from her neck all the way to the pulse at her wrist. His palm burned and he clenched his fist to dispel the pain. He closed his eyes and recalled
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