Gregory slumps back against the wall, one leg straight, the other bent. He unbuttons his shirt while he catches his breath.
All I can do is watch him, unable to move.
He looks at me, then Jackson, and crawls towards us. ‘Can you stand, Jackson?’
‘Yes. Help me.’
I’m looking beyond Gregory and Jackson to the evil bastard on the ground.
Pearson’s leg flinches. I slowly walk towards him and raise the Glock in front of my eyeline with two hands. My body moving on autopilot.
My arm shakes under the weight of the gun and what I know I’m going to do.
Suddenly, Pearson throws his hand sideways, picks up his own gun and points it at Gregory.
I have no time to think. I pull the trigger.
The bang brings with it an image of the boy from my dreams, holding my dad’s hand. They’re happy, playing in the rocks by the sea, but the attacker is there too. Then Dad is alone, dead in a hospital bed.
I open my eyes to see blood pooling around the devil’s head and splattered on the white walls.
This is it.
This is what it looks like. Revenge.
A father for a father. A father for the life of a son. A father for the man I love.
I drop the Glock to the floor and fall to my knees, turning my hands in front of my face as though they’re someone else’s. Then I stare at the dead body, now floating on a red river, a neat hole through one side of his head.
‘I killed him,’ I say, barely audibly.
I watch the pool of blood continue to expand.
Gregory is on his feet. I’m vaguely aware of two men leading Jackson towards us. Their voices warped and indecipherable.
The sweetest smell of flowers, fully bloomed lilies, fills my nose. I look around me but can’t locate a vase. A distorted face moves close to me, so close, it terrifies me. And it’s staring right into my eyes. I flop my head to one side to see if I can work out whose face is in front of me but I can’t and it’s bright, so bright, a mix of bright colours. Those colours are moving, spinning. The movement and the sickly sweet smell of lilies forces me to retch and retch again, a heave so hard, it tears my insides. Vomit projects from my mouth.
I’m cold. My body trembles, then I’m shaking uncontrollably. Until I’m moving through the air, weightless.
The distorted voices become sharper until I can make out some words. The room stops turning and colours separate into distinct lines. I’m on a sofa. Something warm, a hand perhaps, strokes my hair. There’s a face in front of me. A man. Slowly, the blurred face comes into focus. I recognise it.
‘Gregory.’
Sitting up, I wait as first Gregory then the rest of the room comes back to normal.
‘Give her this,’ Jackson says, handing Gregory a small glass of liquor.
I take it from him and sip. The brandy burns my sore throat.
‘Scarlett, I need you to listen to me,’ Gregory says. ‘Can you do that? Can you listen to me?’
I nod.
‘When we came home, we noticed the tyres of the Mercedes had been slashed. The door from the basement into the building had been broken into. Are you with me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Jackson put out but it was going to be at least half an hour. We all took the lift to this floor. When we got out of the lift, it was apparent the apartment had been broken into. The door was ajar. Jackson kicked open the door and was immediately shot at. Okay?’
