rolled over onto her knees as she attempted to get up. But a hard kick to her back winded her, forcing her down again.
Suddenly the scarf was pulled from her hand.
‘Ahh!’ she cried out as her head was yanked back by her hair.
She felt something being slipped around her throat. She couldn’t understand what was happening. And by the time she did, it was too late. The scarf was already securely knotted around her neck. She screamed as she clawed at the material. But the harder she fought, the tighter the scarf was twisted, silencing her.
She frantically tore at the scarf, desperate to breathe but she couldn’t loosen its hold over her. Panicking, she scratched at her neck ferociously as the burning pain in her lungs intensified. Finally, she collapsed forward, unconscious of what was about to follow.
The phone was ringing. It had to be bad. He could feel his heart pounding. He turned over and buried his head into the pillow but the ringing continued. He tried to ignore it but it was pointless. He opened his eyes and lay there for a moment drenched in sweat.
It was dark, still night. He looked down at the cluttered floor gingerly and squinted at the alarm clock, his head exploding with the effort. It took a few seconds before he could make out it was only 4.30 am. And another couple of seconds before he realised the phone was still ringing. He stretched out his trembling hand and groped around on the floor.
‘Yeah?’ he mumbled hoarsely.
‘Detective Inspector Brady?’
Without answering, he disconnected the call and dropped the phone to the floor. His head was thumping. He had the mother of all hangovers, which wasn’t surprising considering he’d been on a suicidal bender for the past couple of weeks. He had been downing a toxic mixture of whisky and beer to forget his wrecked life and block out the recurring nightmare he had had for as long as he could remember. But lately nothing seemed to work. Even when he sank into a drunken sleep he always woke up sweating, heart racing.
He tried to recall the previous night. All he could remember was drinking too much and then …
He felt sick at the thought. He winced as the knot in his stomach tightened. He turned his pounding head tentatively. A young woman lay asleep on her stomach beside him, naked from the waist up, the duvet discreetly covering the rest of her body. Her thick, dark, shoulder-length hair was spread out over the pillow. He watched as she gently breathed in and out. He couldn’t even recall her name let alone what she did for a living.
He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the sour taste in his mouth. Never before had he plummeted to such a nadir. There hadn’t been anyone since Claudia, his wife, had left. And now here he was with some young woman who he didn’t even recognise lying naked beside him.
The drinking was supposed to distract him from who he was, not make him feel even worse about himself. He thought about getting some painkillers and decided that he couldn’t be bothered to get up and rummage around in the dark. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up Sleeping Beauty.
The phone started to ring again. He froze as she started in her sleep.
‘Fuck!’ he muttered.
He stretched his right hand out and blindly searched amongst the months of debris scattered on the floor.
‘What?’ he answered in a thick Geordie voice, silencing the shrill ring.
He watched as she stirred briefly before slipping back into a restless slumber.
‘Brady?’ questioned a low, deep voice.
‘Who wants to know?’
‘DCI Gates.’
‘Sir?’ questioned Brady, thrown.
‘You’re a hard man to get hold of, Jack,’ continued the dispassionate voice.
‘With all due respect, sir, I’m not expected back until Monday.’
He regretted the words as soon as he had spoken them. Gates wasn’t the kind of man that you wanted as an enemy.
‘You have half an hour to get it together.’
‘But …’ he objected.
‘I’ll have a car waiting for you. Make sure you’re ready,’ Gates ordered, leaving him no choice.
By the time he had thought of a response the line was dead.
He stared blankly at the phone trying to figure out what was going on.
Moments later he was roused from his musings by a dull, heavy pain in the pit of his stomach. He needed to piss. He pulled the duvet back and swung his legs onto the floor.
A searing pain shot through his left inner thigh. He instinctively pressed down hard with both hands onto the knotted wound and held them there as he waited for the pain to subside.
He didn’t know who he hated more; the bastard who had tried to blow his balls away or Claudia for leaving him while he lay fighting for his life. Admittedly he had given her a good enough reason, but even he hadn’t expected to come round from surgery to the unwelcome news that she’d had enough. Not only had she left him, she had left the area. It didn’t take him long to find out that she had gone to London and had no intention of coming back to the North East.
He hated his life, hated what he’d become without her. Not a single day had gone by since she’d left him when he hadn’t considered finishing what the bastard who had shot him had intended. But that was over six months ago, and here he was, still drunk, still bitterly alive.
He could feel a clammy sweat building up on his forehead and wasn’t sure whether it was because of the pain in his leg or alcohol poisoning.
He looked at the clock. 4.54 am, he thought, sighing heavily. He stood up shakily and waited a few moments, unsure of whether he was too drunk to stand. Finally certain that he could stay on his feet he slowly limped over to the bedroom door.
‘Where … where are you going?’ murmured a sleepy voice.
He paused.
What could he say? Sorry, I don’t even remember fucking you last night, let alone your name?
He shook his head.
‘Go back to sleep,’ he muttered.
He watched her mumble her consent and turn over. He stood for a moment wishing that his life were that simple.
Bleary-eyed he blinked back at his reflection and ran his fingers through his long dark hair pulling it back from his face. He’d been meaning to get it cut but hadn’t got around to doing it. He stared at his heavy hooded, dark brown bloodshot eyes.
He was six feet two and slender with some muscle. He was attractive; at least that’s what his soon to be ex-wife had told him. Not that he could see it. But he knew there was something about him that women liked. Sleeping Beauty lying in his bed was testimony to that.
But throughout the five years he had been married he had never fooled around. Not once, not until that fateful night. And even then it was over before it had even started. But it was enough for Claudia to bail. He knew it was a convenient out for her. After months of Claudia working long hours in a blatant attempt to avoid him, Brady drunkenly and pitifully fell into the arms of a seductive new colleague – Detective Constable Simone Henderson. Claudia had walked in on them without Brady knowing. It wasn’t until the following night when his balls were nearly blown away on an undercover drugs bust that he realised that Claudia knew about his indiscretion. She had rushed to the hospital as soon as she heard he had been shot, wanting the reassurance he was still breathing so she could have the satisfaction of handing him divorce papers.
Brady lifted a wet hand and tried to wipe clean the smeared blur that was his reflection. He looked rough, too rough to crawl into work. He ran his right hand over the dark stubble that covered his chin and crept up over his
