mother to bed.
He was dog-tired, his adrenaline spent. He'd shower in the morning.
He laid his mother on the floor while he worked out where to put her.
He opened the sitting room door, peeked inside. The babysitter was on the couch, snoring, a harsh rattle. Maggie had told her she could use the spare room. The girl must have fallen asleep where she was. He wouldn't disturb her now. It was handy, in fact. He could put his mother in the spare room.
The door shut softly and he crept back along the hallway. Had to be careful. Wasn't just the babysitter he didn't want to wake up. Didn't want to wake Sofia either. He gently pushed open the door to her room. Stepped inside. His daughter was snoring too. Ever so lightly, though. Like wind in the trees.
She sounds like you. Maggie's voice, right behind him, her hand on his arm. She squeezed.
'She'll be awake in a couple of hours,' he whispered.
Let's take her to bed.
'Don't wake her. Not now.' He bent over the cot, smelled the baby sweetness of Sofia's warm head. Kissed her brow. Six months old and he still couldn't believe it. Here lay this little person who would one day call him Daddy.
Come on, Maggie said. We need to get your mother tucked in.
He ought to have slept soundly-he was tired enough-but sleep wouldn't come. He enjoyed lying there, though, Maggie curled up against him, his baby across the room on the other side of the bed. Pair of them snoring in harmony. Everybody in the house snoring apart from him.
Enjoyed, that is, apart from the images that kept flashing into his head.
Nightmare images. Bob, his thick fingers wrapped around a gun. Maggie dead, a hole in her side. His mother dead, gunshot. So vivid that he put on the light at one stage to check that Maggie was there. She vanished when he turned on the light. He went cold all over for a moment, but it was okay, because he thought of turning off the light and when he did so she came back right away. She told him to go check on his mum. He went through to the spare room and his mum was sound asleep.
He tried to squeeze the unpleasant images out of his head. They were making him sweat. Making a speeding drumbeat of his heart. And yet when he turned on the light once again, it was enough to soft-focus everything, enough to cushion his brain, enough to skew reality but not so you'd notice straight away. But not for long before he felt the loss of Maggie and he snapped the light off again. A cold fire in his veins.
Maybe there was a gas leak.
Maybe it was the petrol.
His brain was going to rip apart.
Fuck it. There was nothing to worry about.
Forget it. Go to sleep. Listen to the girls snoring.
Forget about the fact you still don't know who wanted your mother dead.
It was Jordan. Had to be. He'd quoted the letter, almost verbatim. Called him Charlie, taunting him. Carlos was as sure as he could be.
But he didn't know for sure and it made him think. Made him worry about what it might mean if it hadn't been Jordan, or Maggie, or his mother. He wasn't accustomed to worrying.
Anxiety. Was that it? Was he having an anxiety attack? Maybe he should get out of bed, turn on the computer. Look it up, see if the symptoms were-no. That wasn't it. He hadn't experienced any shortness of breath, no pain in the chest. He hadn't felt faint.
He'd just felt… different. Like he was dreaming, even though he knew he was awake. He dreamed he'd shot Jordan. He dreamed he'd burned his hand. He had burned it. The dream was so vivid it made it happen in the real world. Maybe Jordan was dead too.
Carlos got out of bed and walked through to the en-suite and threw up in the sink. This time he didn't hold it back.
He must have gone back to bed and fallen asleep because he was jolted awake by a scream. He fumbled around for the light, scrambled out of bed, flung on a dressing gown, opened the door. The babysitter was standing in the doorway of the spare bedroom.
' Is problemo? ' Carlos said.
She stood there, her head jiggling and her teeth chattering.
'What?' he said, after a bit.
'On the bed,' she said, pointing.
Carlos sighed, padded over to her, peered inside the room. His mother was lying there, fully clothed, sprawled out, on top of the quilt. She didn't look cold or anything, just a little unladylike. 'Let her sleep,' he said. 'She's tired.'
'But…' the girl said. 'But she's…'
'How much do I owe you?' Carlos said.
'Where's Maggie?'
'She's still asleep.'
'Maggie,' the girl said, quietly. Then when Maggie didn't appear, she shouted her name.
'How much?' Carlos said.
'I'm getting the fuck out of here.' She sprinted for the door, not even bothering to put her shoes on.
Carlos watched her go. Then he went through to the kitchen to get Sofia's feed ready. He'd let Maggie sleep on a bit. It was still early and she'd be tired too. It had been a long night for everyone.
