And it was none of Rebus's business anyway.
`Let's go,' he said.
So Flight drove him to King's Cross. Drove him through streets paved with nothing so very different from any other city. Streets ancient and modem, breathing with envy and excitement. And with evil. Not much evil, perhaps. But enough. Evil, after all, was pretty well a constant. He thanked God that it touched so few lives.' He thanked God that his friends and family were safe. And he thanked God he was going home.
`What are you thinking about?' Flight asked as they idled at yet another set of traffic lights.
`Nothing,' said Rebus.
He was still thinking about nothing when he boarded the busy Inter City 125, and sat down with his newspapers and his magazines. As the train was about to move off, someone squeezed into the seat opposite him and deposited four large cans of strong lager on the table. The youth was tall and hard-looking with shorn hair. He glared at Rebus and turned up his personal cassette player. Tscchh-tscchh-tscchh it went, so loud Rebus could almost make out the words. The youth was grasping a ticket denoting Edin?burgh as his destination. He put the ticket down and pulled on a ring-pull. Rebus shook his head wearily and smiled.
His own personal hell. As the train pulled away, he caught its rhythm and beat that rhythm out silently in his head.
FYTP
FYTP
FYTP
FYTP
FYTP
FYTP
All the way home.
The End
Table of Contents
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
