I wake with a start. Heart hammering in my chest. My sheets cling to my sweaty body. Gasping for air, I whip them off me and fall over to the window, opening it the full way and look out onto the street. The busy city noises greet me. Soothe me. The honk of a car horn. The squeal of a cat, followed by a few barks. I start to relax as I rest on the windowsill, my head against the cold surface. The nightmares are getting worse. More realistic. Always getting caught. It’s like I’m being hunted.
I know the case has run dry, there’s no way they could link his disappearance to me… But a niggling feeling in my head just keeps me up at night, and when I do drift off, I wake screaming. I need to do something. Get help. Speak to someone. Obviously, I can’t indulge everything, but I can start with little things. Describe the nightmares. Ask someone what they mean. I know what they mean, of course. A confession of guilt. But why all of a sudden, again? I wouldn’t say they disappeared, but they became less frequent… Especially in the months after. But it’s been years.
So why now? Is it an omen, telling me I’m going to be found out? Warning me. I need to go back. I need to move him. Before it’s too late.
Chapter Sixty-Six:
Car doors slamming jolts him from his half sleep. Sitting up in bed, Victor strains his ears for any sound of movement from outside, but all he can hear is his heart thumping in his chest. Sighing, he tries to settle himself back into his damp sheets. Despite the two police officers parked up at the front door, he just can’t seem to relax. Staring at the ceiling above him, he thinks back on the last few hours.
Getting lead out of the station into an unmarked police car and told to lie down in the back seat, a blanket covering him. Taken to this safe house, he doesn’t even know where he is. Is he still in Derry? He doubts he’s very far out of it, he hadn’t been in the car that long. Not that it matters. He doubts he’ll be able to show his face around Derry for a long time. Maybe even ever. He’d heard of people that had betrayed Taylor before. And it never ended well for them.
He only has himself to blame. Bringing Taylor’s name into an open murder investigation. How could he have been so stupid? He’s just glad he hasn’t got any family that the organisation can threaten, or to put through this as well. The sad thing is, the closest thing he had to a family were the guys at the Crown, who are now probably plotting their revenge against him. That ship has well and truly sunk.
Deciding the car doors were probably officers changing shifts, he rolls over, facing the window. Willing sleep to overpower him. Moments later, he hears the creak of a floorboard. His ears perk up, and he struggles to keep his eyes closed. Was that another one? He’s being too hypersensitive. It’s his imagination. But is it? They sound too… Rhythmic. And they’re getting louder. Almost as if they’re sneaking down the hall towards him. A gurgle of a pipe behind the wall makes him jump and almost topple out of bed. He nearly laughs aloud, but stops himself. As he moved, the creaks stopped.
Refocusing his attention on them again, they resume. He can’t be imagining this. Is it an officer making their way down? Making sure he hasn’t tried to escape? No, they wouldn’t be so stealthy. Surely, they’d just announce themselves? Whoever this is doesn’t want to be heard. It has to be someone here to kill him. Or shut him up. He’s sure of it. He’s a wanted man in his former community… They’ll be after him. How they’ve found his hiding space or bypassed the police, he’s not so sure. Either way, he needs to get out of here.
Stepping out of bed as quietly as he can, he pulls on his shoes and tiptoes over to the window. Looking out through his curtains, all he sees are fields. Straining his neck around to see further along the garden, he sees a bunch of trees collected together. He’ll go there, he’ll be able to survey the scene undetected. Making sure the coast is clear, he struggles to open the window to his left without making a sound. It’s an old house, so the screech of the window pierces the night. Waiting a few more seconds, expecting an officer to round the corner and order him back into his bed, he’s surprised when nothing happens. Lifting his foot, he drapes one leg out of the window, content when he feels his shoe pad onto the concrete beneath him.
Just as he’s pulled his body through, and is about to lift the second leg through the window, his door bursts open and he’s met with the wails of gunfire. Falling through onto the ground, he’s momentarily stunned as he looks up at the stars. Flashes of light illuminate the dark garden as bullets continue to fly about the room he was in seconds before. Finally coming to his senses, he stands, doubles over and makes a run for the back of the house towards the surrounding trees, away from the window.
Jolting through the vegetation, Victor doesn’t stop. Whoever is behind him is looking him dead. This wasn’t a kidnap, or a lesson to be learned. This was pure murder. He can still hear the gunfire ringing in his ears, and isn’t sure whether it’s his flashbacks or the echoes from the room he
