Bedlam (14 page)

McNeil faltered. “What are you saying?”

“A closed mind is a dangerous thing. You of all people should know that. This is all a game of strategy and we are both pawns within it. You should pray that you learn the rules before it’s too late.”

“No more games, Nell. I’m too old for them and far too tired to play.”

Nell cocked her head and swept his features, lingering on his scarred brow. He felt her scrutiny as it brushed his skin. “You always liked to play, Joe,” she sighed softly. “What happened to you?”

“I said no games.”

She shook her head dismissively.

“Take me through it from the beginning. Who attacked the orderly?”

“That’s not the beginning.”

“It is as far as I’m concerned. Who attacked the orderly?” he repeated.

“Who do you think?”

“Jacob?”

“You’re a quick learner. There is hope for you yet.”

“If that’s the truth, then you’d better pray the orderly survives and backs up your account. Bedlam is crawling with police officers who think you went on a killing spree.”

Nell smiled slyly. “Oh, there’s no doubt that he’ll survive.” She replaced the spoon in the empty bowl carefully. “You should eat something,” she murmured. “You need to keep your strength up.”

“For what?”

“For what lies ahead.
I told you Jacob is coming. I can help you…”

“But …?”

“But only if you help me.”

“I can’t help you until you tell me what this is all about. I won’t help you unless you tell me the truth.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know what happened to Kit.”

She held his gaze, face scoured of expression. “You’d be better knowing what happened to me.”

“Better?”

“Safer.”

McNeil’s stomach tightened. She was right. If there was a threat, if he really were in danger from this unknown nemesis,
then her knowledge was his greatest defence. But he wasn’t here for her, or even for himself - he was here for Kit.

“All in good time.
Tell me about Kit first.”

“Kit? You assume I know anything.”

“Don’t play games. Of course you do.”

Her lips twitched. “Ignorance has its benefits.”

He scowled his response. “I need to know.”

“Good or bad?”

“Everything. Good and bad.”

“Do you promise to help me?”

“Help you do what?”

“Escape.”

“Justice or Jacob?”

“Both.”

He took a breath. Kit would never get justice if it was left to Mather and Dennis, but if he aligned himself with Nell, he knew his career would be over. This was it, the invisible line that separated him from the woman he loved. He crossed it at his own peril and in full knowledge of the consequences. “I promise,” he said as he steadied his nerve and stepped over the line.

Nell shook her head slowly. “You just admitted that you break promises.”

“Not the important ones.”

“I’m glad you understand the importance of this one. Shall we seal our agreement?” She reached for his hand across the table and he obliged. Turning it palm-up, she traced the thin wound made by the blade with her finger. The cut followed his life-line and ended abruptly just short of the end. “We are connected in more ways than you can imagine,” she sighed, then she dipped her head and pressed her lips gently in his palm.

There was pain, white hot pain, that tracked its way up his arm and straight to his heart. He sucked in a desperate breath and resisted the impulse to yank his hand free. She closed his fingers tightly around the kiss, lifted her head and studied him.

His eyes glazed over. Blurred images fought like colours on a palette, vivid and acerbic. Garbled voices cajoled and taunted in his ear. Sharp teeth nipped at his throat. His chest tightened until he believed his lungs would crush beneath the pressure and his heart would burst through sheer panic.
Inhale, exhale
. Suddenly overcome with hopeless fatigue, he struggled to find his way back, to focus, to hold her gaze.

“What do you know?” he whispered hoarsely.

“You need to sleep. We’ll talk later.”

“No,” he insisted, “tell me now. What do you know?”

“I know Kit is alive. I know you will never see her again.”

Chapter Twenty Three

And now, finally, Joe McNeil is within my grasp, though it brings no pleasure to witness his pain, merely shame that I have stooped so low for my own despicable benefit. He stands before me, head bowed, shoulders slumped, depleted of hope, flayed raw and wounded beyond repair, and in him I see a sad reflection of myself, and I cower at my own propensity for evil. I am indeed a product of Jacob’s warped mind, a disciple worthy of his highest honour, and in my selfish greed I have played directly into his hands. I imagine his mirth at how the game progresses, and I despair at my inability to turn the tables and influence the outcome. It is a fine balance.

I focus now on Joe and concern slithers unbidden into my mind. I wonder if I have made a terrible mistake. His tide of frustration and anger has ebbed through sheer fatigue and hopelessness. His eyes are moist with unshed tears. His heart is broken. I feel the weight of it in my hands. The rhythm is sluggish, without hope there is no reason for it to beat, and I of all creatures should understand this. I have allowed the baring of his soul. Now I must heal him, and when it is done and he is whole again, he will be mine alone, and he will vanquish the beast and all will be well. It has to be.

I reach out and this time he does not avoid my touch. Instead he leans in, seeking comfort, and my fingers skim his brow as he did mine what seems like an eternity ago. His skin is warm, unshaven and rough beneath my caress. I trace the contours of his face, the scars that give title to the chapters of his chequered life, and tease his lips softly with the pad of my thumb. He watches me, powerless, tense and expectant as I in turn inhale and devour his scent.

“No,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Yes.” I smile at his intake of breath, his inner voice that rages beneath the surface, demanding his attention. He is about to betray his love, and he knows it.

I step close and slide my hand to the back of his neck, drawing him down to meet me. My lips brush his tentatively, and I am instantly overwhelmed by the power that ignites as I taste him. My heart pounds, my skin tingles, my ears are filled with the heady thrum as blood pulses throughout my arid frame.

“No,” he murmurs as his lips respond to mine. I swallow his denial and press closer.

He is wavering; his need is great but loyalty holds him tightly. I feel his strength, the tension in his muscles as he holds back. His resistance is ultimately futile, it merely draws me on, and I move closer still until all that is between us is fabric, and all that keeps us apart are his memories of Kit. I must ensure that he has no room left in his mind for her. The page must be emptied, the slate wiped clean.

“This is wrong.” His hands move against me despite his proclamation.  His exploration of my skin proves that it may well be wrong but is pleasurable nonetheless. I take advantage of his weakness, and his need for comfort and oblivion, and deepen my kiss. My breath is within him, my energy seeking out his wounds just as he did for me as I lay broken and spent in the wasteland that is Bedlam.

Still, I sense his reluctance.

Can he not see that this is how it is meant to be? Together we are a force capable of taking on the world, of defeating a hundred Jacobs. And yet I feel resistance in the dark corners of his mind, in the secret compartments of his heart. She will not give him up. Kit holds him with silken threads, and each one must be severed. She must release him. My need is far greater than hers. I have given up everything else. I will not give up my last chance. I will not give up Joe.

“Trust me,” I whisper softly against his ear. I trail my tongue down his jaw line, graze my teeth against his neck, nipping, tasting, and rest my palm against his chest. And just as he brought me back with a hand on my heart, I do the same for him and I feel it thud to life, strong and vibrant.

His response is immediate and shocking.

“Is this what you want?” he snarls. He slams me back against the wall. My head hits the plaster and my jaw rattles with the force. He leans in, head cocked arrogantly to one side as his
expression transforms from abject misery to one of sly calculation. I know that look, and although I fear it, I am drawn to it and excited by it in equal measure. He lifts me roughly by the waist and I straddle his hips, locking my legs around him, feeling his need, sharing my heat. I whimper as he moves against me, pressing close, breath hot and ragged on my skin.

Soon, very soon, he will be mine and the realisation excites me further. He is everything I hoped for. I do not need to heal him. He has strength enough for both of us and far more than Jacob ever imagined.

“I said, is this all you want? Sex?” he crushes his lips against mine, forcing his tongue into my mouth, and I taste blood, his and mine, as it mingles on my tongue. I desire much more than sex, but for the moment I am at the mercy of my senses. I am willing to forgo the ultimate in exchange for the immediate. My need for him is so great I am willing to risk almost anything to have him.

“Tell me, Nell, tell me what you want.” He pushes up against me, his hands at my breasts, his hips grinding against me. “Or shall I just keep you hanging here?”

He stops then, hauls on the ropes, slams a foot on the brake and awaits my response. His breathing is ragged, his heart pounds against mine. Exquisite torture and I am almost gone.

“
Please
, Joe.” I rest my brow slick with sweat against his shoulder and siphon strength from muscles that quiver with restraint.

“
Please?
” he mocks with a bitter curl of his lip, and then he releases his grip, steps away and allows me to fall to the floor.

“What are you doing?” I gasp.

“What am I doing?” He shakes his head as if I am the fool instead of him.

How can he resist? How can he step back from the edge? It is Bedlam re-incarnate, my recurring nightmare amplified to the point of madness, only this time he refuses to step out into the void with me and I cannot succeed alone.

He leans over me. “Now you know how it feels to be used and taunted, to be promised something you crave and have it pulled away at the last minute.”

I already know how that feels. I have lived it for longer than I can remember and now I have visited it upon him. Jacob’s insidious influence has corrupted me beyond redemption. I hang my head.

“I would never betray Kit,” he continues vehemently, “Never. I’ll do anything, absolutely anything, to get her back, and if that means selling my soul to the devil, I will, but I won’t betray her, not here in my heart.” He rests a trembling hand against his chest and sucks in a calming breath. “You can play your games and peddle your wares, and if push comes to shove I might even trade you to get what I want, but the difference between us, Nell, is that I am motivated by love, and you … God only knows what’s going on in that evil little mind of yours. You can’t help me, you never could. You’ve just used me to play your warped little games.”

I stare at him from my position of disgrace, the corner of the room where he has dumped me, where I belong, where I will always belong. To be used and abused is my role in life, and it has taken his brutal honesty to bring clarity to my disordered mind. He has turned the game, loaded the dice, and I finally realise the extent of the task ahead if I am to succeed.

My fury at my defeat and humiliation, my dismay at my own transparency, is tempered as I witness his determination. He stands before me, outrage alone lending him strength. I know, beneath, he is the same tortured man as before, the rule breaker, the thorn in the establishment’s side, the unarmed gladiator, ready to take on the lion in the face of defeat. A surge of hope sears my soul. I was correct in my first assessment. He is the one, the only one, and it is now imperative that I ensure his continued co-operation.

I have erred greatly.

My mistake? To believe evil stronger than good, and hate more powerful than love.

I am resourceful. I can make anew from shattered hopes.

I raise my arm, extend my hand and watch his anger dissipate as the serpents steal his attention and curiosity blurs his resolve. He takes my hand and pulls me gently to my feet. This time his eyes are steady. There is no pain, no anger, just an acceptance of the new order.

“Kit is alive, you said so yourself.  I believe you, though I’ve no evidence to suggest that I should.” He smiles ruefully as if confused and ashamed by his own behaviour, and uncertain how to proceed. “I need your help to find her, Nell. In return I’ll do everything in my power to protect you from Jacob. I don’t want anything from you but the truth. Do you understand?”

I focus on my hand held protectively in his, and I swallow this new hurt, this torture that is worse than any of Jacob’s despicable imaginings. Joe believes I use my body simply to ensnare, that I am a wanton harlot who will pay whatever currency is demanded to further my cause, and indeed he is not wrong. My life to date has been a shameless litany of just such things, but when first I laid eyes upon him in that desolate spot beneath hells canopy, I knew with a certainty bred in my bones that he was different,
the one
. And now I realise that the only way to make him mine forever is to give him his heart’s desire, and alas, while Kit lives, that will never be me.

His love for her has sealed her fate.

I sigh my dismay and incline my head in agreement. “I understand.”

He squeezes my hand gently. Relief fills the space between us and cushions my sadness. I have never felt as bereft, and as if he senses this, as if we are now joined in spirit, he pulls me to him and cradles me in a gentle embrace. I lay my head against his chest, lulled by the beat of his heart, and he rests his chin lightly on the crown of my head. We stand a moment in mutual comfort before he disentangles himself and steps away.

“Now,” he says firmly, “you need to tell me the truth.”

And I wonder how he will survive the telling.