portable CD player. He plugged it in, put on a disc and finally turned to contemplate his immobile host. He was out cold.
Jason felt the shock of the icy water on his face and jerked his head back. He batted his eyelids and sucked in oxygen. He opened his eyes to look at Brook, who sat to one side of him. Brook was looking at something on the wall, then back at him.
He could hear music. Classical shit. As if to answer, Brook smiled across at him. He seemed sad. ‘You can hear?’ Jason nodded. As he did so he felt the rope lapped around his forearms and waist.
‘This is Tchaikovsky’s sixth symphony. One of the pinnacles of human achievement.’ Brook listened, his eyes far away. Jason watched him. He could see clearly now, though every image was edged with bright colours. He could make out something on the far wall where his aunt’s favourite lighthouse picture used to be. There was a man dressed in black, with grey hair, standing on a rock, looking out over a raging sea or maybe he was on top of a mountain looking down.
‘You can see?’
Jason gulped. ‘Yes.’ His voice was tiny, far away and his throat hurt from the effort of squeezing out even that whisper.
‘That is a poster of The Wanderer over the Sea of Clouds by Caspar David Friedrich. It caught my eye the other day.’ Brook smiled his appreciation at Jason. ‘Stunning, isn’t it?’
Jason made to speak but had to abandon the attempt. He looked at the picture and back at Brook. Not having the physical control to shrug, he did nothing.
Brook studied Jason while removing his leather gloves. ‘You’re taking this better than I expected, son.’
Jason was unsure what he meant. Brook stood up. He looked different. Jason could see his coat was off and he wore some kind of black overalls. Then he saw the latex gloves underneath Brook’s leather gloves and his brain began to register. His eyes widened.
‘I envy you, Jason. The last image you’ll see on Earth is that painting. The last sound you’ll hear is Tchaikovsky. This will be your finest hour. And you’ll have what you’ve always wanted-a place in history.’
Jason was panting now and tried to stand again but he couldn’t move. Instead he looked down at the table and tried to speak. ‘You’re police.’ His speech was a little stronger but still no more than a croak. ‘Please! Don’t.’
‘Don’t? Is that what Annie said to you? Don’t kill me. It hurts. Take my purse but don’t hurt me any more.’
Jason’s eyes widened. He looked away.
‘How do I know you killed Annie Sewell? Don’t waste time on that now.’
‘I never killed her. I never killed no-one.’
‘Did you laugh when you made her snort cocaine?’
‘Not me.’ Jason found his eyes stinging from the sweat and the tears. No blood yet.
Brook stepped up close and showed Jason the brand new cut-throat, before putting it on the table in front of him. Jason’s eyes began to close so Brook gently slapped his face to concentrate his mind. ‘You’re not fit for this world, Jason but, hopefully, if you can die right, you might be fit for the next one.’
‘No. Please. I didn’t kill her. It weren’t me.’ He struggled again but it was useless. The ropes immobilised him from the shoulders down. Talk. That’s all he could do to stop this. Think what to say.
Brook’s face was close and Jason could see the glint of the old-fashioned razor. He felt a hand on his jaw, pulling his head round.
‘Look at the picture, Jason. Listen to the music. Let go and feel the beauty. Look for some in yourself. There must have been some once.’
‘There’s coppers…watching.’
‘We pulled them away two days ago, Jason. According to our budget, you’re no longer at risk.’
‘You’re supposed…to protect…to help…’
Brook smiled and nodded. ‘Protect the innocent, Jason. That’s what I’m doing. Obeying the law sometimes makes that harder. I’ve seen too much thoughtless destruction, too many victims. I’ve seen Mrs Ottoman cowering in her living room after what you did to her. I’ve seen young girls raped, torn apart by lowlifes. Jason, I’ve seen Kylie. I can see her now.’
‘Don’t.’
‘It’s true.’
Jason’s eyes squinted through the tears. ‘What?’ What was the copper saying to him? ‘Where?’
Brook placed a hand on Jason’s head. ‘Here in your thoughts. I can see her struggling, fighting to be free. Her hair’s trapped under your elbows. She can’t move. Her pyjama bottoms are in a heap on the floor. You’re hurting her. It burns! She doesn’t like it, does she? She wants you to stop…’
‘What you saying? Give it a rest. You’re creeping me out.’
‘…but you didn’t stop, did you, Jason? Even though she begged you. She promised not to tell her mam if you stopped. But you weren’t worried about that. Did your mother already know? Did she care? Your dad didn’t. He told you what women were for, didn’t he? Only good for one thing, son-even your own sister.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘The Reaper showed me when he let you live. It’s the only explanation. I thought it was your father but I was blinded by The Reaper’s other victims. Fathers and daughters, you see.’
Brook stepped away from Jason. The music played on. When he looked down the razor was in his hand. He stared at it as though he’d never seen it before.
Jason’s eyes bulged.
Brook shook his head. ‘No, Jason. You killed them.’
‘Well, yer can’t kill me. It ain’t right.’
‘Listen to the music, Jason.’
‘Don’t do it. I’ll do ’owt you ask.’
‘Look at the picture, Jason.’
‘I’ll sign the paper. I’ll tell you everything. You can have the names.’
‘You’ll die with angels kissing your face.’
‘Please don’t. Kill Bianca. Not me. I haven’t lived yet.’
‘You shouldn’t have been so anxious to start…’ Jason tried in vain to get to his feet. The chair fell onto its side. Brook was reminded of Tamara Wrigley He hoisted it upright again and burned his eyes into Jason. ‘Fantastic isn’t it, Jason? The last minute, the last second. Have you ever felt so alive?’
‘Don’t. Please.’
‘Savour every second.’ Brook stepped behind him and pulled Jason’s head back by his hair and touched the cold steel of the blade against the bulging, contorted neck.
‘Feel the air going in. Feel your lungs filling. Feel the blood coursing, your heart pounding away under the hammer of adrenaline. Life. Amazing, isn’t it?’
‘Please…’ Jason was sobbing now. Brook remembered the exhilaration this moment brought. The music surged through Brook’s consciousness, echoing around his mind like a shout in an underground cavern.
‘The Reaper had you at his mercy. He could have killed you. But he knew you were special. That’s why you’re still alive, Jason. He left you for me. He came to Derby for me. Not you. The Reaper can’t die, you see. He must go on. His work must continue.’
Jason howled, ‘Please. I don’t wanna die. Let me go. I won’t tell. Nobody would believe me. Please! I’m sorry, Inspector. I’m sorry. You’re right about Kylie and me. And the old woman. We killed her and we enjoyed it. It was a laugh at first. But I wish I never. I see her at night when I go to sleep.’ Jason sobbed violently, his shoulders shuddering. He tried to bury his head in hands that couldn’t obey. Then more quietly, ‘I’m sorry. I’m real sorry for what I’ve done, mister. Swear down. I can’t change it. But if you let me off, I’ll change. I will. I’ll turn myself in. And the others. Just give me a chance.’
For a moment there was only the music and the quiet sobbing. Brook didn’t move as he stood over Jason. His face was set in stone. The music played on, climbing and descending but the sobbing stopped and finally Jason looked up at Brook.
Brook took a pace forward and lifted the razor. He slashed the blade at the rope.
