were on his own throat. They seemed to be glued there. His head felt like a balloon ready to pop. “Eve,” he choked out. “Eve.”
When Harlan awoke Eve was there, sat at his bedside, like a prayer answered. She looked worried, but calm. Harlan drank in her face, her scent, and felt it ease through him like whisky. Smiling, he stretched out a hand and she took it between hers. But she didn’t smile back. “How long have you been there?” he asked.
“A while. How are you feeling?”
“They’ve got me pumped so full of drugs I can’t feel anything much at all.”
“You called out my name in your sleep.”
The dream suddenly came back to Harlan. A little shudder ran through him. “I was having a nightmare.”
“About me?”
“No. I wanted you to save me.”
“From what?”
“Myself.”
A sad smile played over Eve’s lips. “I wish I could, Harlan, but I can’t. No one can save you but yourself.” She glanced at the bulge of Harlan’s bandage showing through the sheets. “Only you can decide what’s enough.”
What’s enough? Harlan didn’t have to think to know the answer to that question. Finding Ethan. That was the only ‘enough’ there was for him. He didn’t say this to Eve. He didn’t have to. She’d already read it in his eyes. She sighed. “Jim’s right. You do have a death wish.”
“You’ve spoken to him?”
“Who do you think told me you were here?”
“What else did he tell you?”
“Not much, just that you’d been stabbed. He was pretty cagey, even by his standards.”
“Did he mention Ethan Reed?” Harlan knew Jim wouldn’t have, but he had to ask anyway.
“No.”
“What day is this?”
“Thursday.”
Harlan’s brow contracted. He’d been in hospital two days. Which meant that at the most optimistic estimate, Ethan had seven or eight days to live. In all probability, Ethan would already be suffering the symptoms of severe dehydration: he’d have a headache and nausea; a raised body temperature and increased pulse rate; his muscles would be tingling and twitching; his vision growing dim; he might even be starting to hallucinate. Of course, that was assuming he was still alive at all. Which he almost certainly wasn’t.
“What’s going on, Harlan?” asked Eve. “Who did this to you?”
Harlan told Eve what’d happened. He left out any mention of Jones. Not because he didn’t trust her to keep it to herself, but because he was afraid how it would affect the way she looked at him. She knew, of course, that he was capable of the kind of drunken, self-destructive violence that’d led to Robert Reed’s death. But cold, calculated torture? She’d always despised that kind of violence. If she found out he was capable of it, would she ever again be able to look at him with the same purity of love that she was doing now? He doubted it. And with that doubt came the realisation that he needed her love more than anything, more even than he needed to suffer for his guilt. Without it, there could be no light at the end of the tunnel for him. Just darkness.
Bright-eyed and tight-lipped with tension, Eve listened. When Harlan finished, a light of hope flickering in her voice, she said, “So you got him. You got the guy who took Ethan.”
“Looks like it.”
“It’s over then.”
Harlan shook his head. “Ethan’s still missing.”
“But surely there’s nothing else you can do to help find him.”
“Assuming it was Nash who abducted him.”
“Of course it was. Who else could it be?”
Harlan thought about Jones. He thought about the prison segregation ward where he’d been housed alongside other inmates who weren’t fit for general population — serial rapists, paedophiles, child killers. “There are a lot of bad people out there.”
An edge of irritation came into Eve’s tone. “Do you think I don’t know that? I lived with a policeman for over ten years, remember?”
“Sorry, Eve, I didn’t mean to patronise you. You’re right, Nash almost certainly is the kidnapper. But I’m just trying to point out that things aren’t always as they seem.”
“And I’m just trying to find something to hold onto, something to give me the strength to endure.” Tears formed in the corners of Eve’s eyes. She looked away from Harlan. He squeezed her hand. He wished he could tell her what he knew she wanted to hear — that the nightmare would soon be over. But he couldn’t. When she returned her gaze to his, her tears had receded and she managed a faint smile. “Whatever the truth is, whatever happens from now on, I want you to know how proud I am of you. You’ve done something…” she searched for the right word, “wonderful. Surely it’s got to make you feel better about yourself knowing you saved that boy’s life and prevented that man from hurting anyone else.”
Do I feel any better about myself? wondered Harlan. I’ve taken a life and saved a life. Does one cancel out the other? He didn’t know. All he knew was that the guilt was still there, festering like a pus-filled sore. Perhaps it would never be healed, not even if Ethan was found alive. “I did what I had to do. Nothing more.”
Eve shook her head. “There you go again, always down playing the good things you do. In a way, I suppose it’s comforting that some things about you never change.”
A nurse came to check Harlan’s vitals. After she was done, Eve said, “I’ve got to get back to work. Do you want me to come see you again?” There was a tentative quality to the question.
“Yes,” Harlan replied without hesitation. He suddenly found himself thinking about Susan. He wanted to see her — to try and hold her up. “Hopefully I won’t be in here much longer.”
Eve stood to leave. She looked down at Harlan a moment, before stooping to kiss his forehead. A kiss he felt through the painkillers, like soft, warm hands caressing his entire body. “I love you,” he murmured.
“I know.”
As Eve turned away, Harlan said, “I don’t have a death wish. I just want another chance.”
“I know,” Eve said again, then she left.
Harlan closed his eyes, still feeling Eve’s kiss. Images came at him like bullets. He saw Ethan chained-up, filthy, starving. He saw Susan trying to hold herself together for Kane, but crumbling inside. She needs you there with her. The thought urged him from his bed. Grimacing as his stitches pulled, he swung his legs off the mattress. His head reeled and blood pounded in his ears as he stood up. Trembling, he clutched the bedside table for support. Another nurse entered the room, pushing a medication cart. She rushed to his side, saying, “You shouldn’t be on your feet.”
Harlan didn’t have the strength to resist as the nurse gently but firmly guided him back onto the mattress. “I need to speak to the doctor and find out when I can leave.”
“I can tell you right now that you’re not going anywhere for a few days at least. So you might as well just relax.”
Relax, thought Harlan, how the hell am I supposed to do that? As if in answer, the nurse handed him a pot of pills and poured some water to swallow them with. She wheeled the cart from the room, pausing to give him a glance that said, don’t even think about getting out of bed again. The pills quickly did their job, numbing his physical, but not his mental pain. As a heavy blanket of medicated sleep dropped over him, the images pierced his brain again. Ethan dying slowly. Susan falling apart fast. And there was nothing he could do for either of them. In his sleep, he wept with frustration.
Chapter 17
When Harlan next awoke, a nurse was setting out his breakfast. His heart sat like a stone in his chest at the knowledge that another night had passed. Although he had no appetite, desperate to regain his strength, he ate everything there was to the last crumb of toast. Afterwards, he watched the morning news. Jamie Sutton’s face
