The Doctor’s Rescue Mission

inserting the key in the lock, she simply pushed.

The lighthouse door swung wide.

‘It’s unlocked,’ she said, and added, staring down at the lock, ‘It’s smashed.’

‘The wave…’

‘I checked yesterday. It was still locked and firm. This door’s been built to survive battering rams.’

‘It can’t have been locked.’ Grady wasn’t really thinking of locks. He was thinking of Morag. Only of Morag. Of the way she looked…tired and defeated, yet still with shoulders squared and with the flash of fire in her words. Pure courage…

He’d thought it took courage to do what he did. Rescuing people from high seas, from burning buildings, from all sorts of peril.

But maybe Morag had needed a different kind of courage to do what she’d done over the past few years-and she’d certainly found it. In spades.

‘It looks like someone’s attacked the lock with an axe,’ she was saying, and he hauled himself out of his preoccupation and moved forward to see.

She was right. The vast wooden door was intact, except for one slash, splintering deep into the lock.

Grady frowned and pushed the door further inward.

There was an axe propped against the wall where the spiral staircase started its long swirl upward.

‘Who…?’ Morag moved to the stair, but Grady stopped her.

‘Let me go first.’

‘The axe is down here,’ Morag said reasonably. ‘We’re not about to get attacked.’

But Grady was already climbing, his face turned upward and his ears tuned to danger.

‘If you’re thinking it’s a house burglar, there’s not a lot of call for used aerobeacons,’ Morag told him.

‘Hush.’

‘They’re a bit strong for spotlighting rabbits.’

He smiled at that, but schooled his features to seriousness, turned and frowned her down. She was wonderful, he thought. Her humour shone through no matter how black things were. How could he have let her go four years ago?

But he needed to focus on other things beside Morag. ‘Will you shut up, woman?’

‘I only thought-’

‘You didn’t think enough. Hitting lighthouse doors with axes isn’t a reasonable thing to do. So someone’s acting unreasonably. Let’s find out why before we treat this as a joke. We don’t know if someone’s here, but let’s assume there is.’

And a hundred and twenty-nine steps later they had part of their answer. The trapdoor up into the lantern room was securely bolted. From the other side.

Behind Grady, Morag had grown obediently silent. Her spurt of laughter had been as fleeting as any joy on this island this day.

Grady pushed the trapdoor upward but it didn’t move. Frowning in concern, Morag edged him aside and knocked. Hard.

‘Hello,’ she called into the stillness. ‘It’s Morag. Dr Morag. Who’s up there?’

The voice from above them responded immediately-a male voice, deep and gruff, with the hint of an educated English accent.

‘Can you go away, please?’ The man sounded distracted, almost panicked.

‘William.’ Morag seemed confused.

‘Yeah, it’s William,’ the voice said. ‘But, Morag, please…go away. I hadn’t intended anyone to be here. I’m sorry, Morag. I’m sorry you have to…cope with this. Cope with me. But, please, let me be. I need to jump.’

CHAPTER NINE

THERE was a moment’s deathly silence.

‘Why?’ Morag called sharply and urgently, as if William might jump at any minute. Which he might well do, Grady thought grimly. The pressure of onlookers could form an impetus to push a man hesitating on a death urge straight over the edge. ‘William, tell us why.’

There was a moment’s loaded silence. Dreadful silence.

‘Us? Who’s with you?’

Grady let his breath out. Contact established. The first hurdle crossed. He’d been involved in rescue efforts for intending suicides often in his career-taking people from ledges, rescuing them after they changed their minds, bringing them medical attention when a serious attempt didn’t work-and he knew this first contact was vital.

Hauling people back from the abyss.

Often it didn’t work. Too damned often. The hardest part of medicine was the life you couldn’t save.

Morag had done the same training as he had, he thought grimly. She knew how important it was to establish empathy.

‘Dr Reece is with me,’ she called. ‘Grady Reece. He’s part of the rescue team.’

‘William, I’m here to check out the lighthouse,’ Grady said, interjecting just as strongly as Morag had. They needed to establish his presence was non-threatening. No one was going to burst in and haul him away from the edge. ‘There’s only the two of us. I persuaded Morag to bring me up to show me the light.’

‘Grady, this is William Cray,’ Morag told him loudly, as if she was performing an introduction. The last thing they wanted was for William to think they were whispering behind his back. ‘The William Cray. William is the island literary celebrity. He wrote Bleak Cradle and…and…’

‘And Dog’s Night and Evil Incarnate.’ Grady’s mind was working fast as he made his voice sound excited. ‘I know who William Cray is. Hey, I loved those books.’

‘No one here reads them,’ William said, softly now so they were struggling to hear.

‘I read Bleak Cradle,’ Morag told him.

‘Did you like it?’ William demanded, and Grady held his breath again.

‘No,’ Morag said honestly. ‘You killed the heroine.’

Good answer. Honest answer. It was the sort of reply that engendered trust even further. William would know Morag wouldn’t soft-soap him down.

But they could take this further.

‘Hey, I liked it,’ Grady told them, slightly indignant. ‘I thought the heroine asked for what she got. What a dimwit. But the hero-what was his name? Demszel. Boy, you put him through some hoops.’

‘You have read it.’ William sounded disbelieving and Grady thought maybe he could play the affronted card.

‘Hell, yes. Of course I have. Why would anyone not have? I’ve read everything you’ve written.’

‘No one reads every one of mine.’

‘I have.’

There was a moment’s stunned disbelief. ‘Tell me why Lucinda died.’ A test.

He racked his brains. In truth, William’s books were hardly his books of choice, but there were long, boring waits between rescues and a man couldn’t play chess all the time.

‘She made it with her sister’s husband, and her kid was also her brother-in-law’s kid, and the kid found out and…heck, it was really convoluted.’

Silence.

‘Yeah, well, you’ll be the only one who’s read them.’

‘Is that why you’re planning on jumping?’ Morag asked softly. ‘Because you’re depressed about your writing?’

‘I’m not depressed about my writing.’

‘Then what?’

‘I’m not depressed.’

‘You’re not happy,’ Morag said softly. ‘Happy people don’t think about suicide. Even in times like these. Can you