Mermaid in a Bowl of Tears (Exit Unicorns Series) (98 page)

He bent down and took the ankle in hands that were gloved. She hissed through her teeth as he prodded it. “That bloody hurts!”

“Aye well it would, though it’s not broke,” he said, “but there’s a good sized bullet hole in it. I expect it’s still lodged in there. Don’t worry lass, we’ll have ye to hospital in no time at all.”

The trip to the car was long and painful, impaired a great deal by the fact that he refused to let her take the scarf from her eyes. Beyond the occasional burst of swearing, he didn’t speak to her. She didn’t mind, and kept her silence as well. The less she asked the better the chances were that he’d not think her a threat. And the bullet in her ankle would be the only one she’d have to worry about.

She only threw up twice more before they arrived at the car. It had begun to rain by then and a cold wind had sprung up, clearing her spinning head slightly.

The man settled her into the passenger seat, belting her in and then taking the driver’s side for himself.

“It’ll take a bit, I can’t afford to take ye anywhere near here, we’re goin’ to have to drive to Belfast.”

“Is that wise?”

“Better that than someone rememberin’ our faces around here.”

Pamela nodded, feeling another bout of incipient nausea coming on.

“Ready?” he asked, turning the ignition and then downshifting the car.

“Give me a minute,” she heard herself say in slow tones, before sticking her head out the door and throwing up yet again. It seemed to require superhuman abilities to shut the door. The man reached across her with yet another muffled oath and slammed it shut.

“Are ye ready now?”

“Think so,” she said, voice slurred. “I’m going to sleep a bit, wake me when you’re there.”

“No lass, I think yer concussed. I suspect that’s why ye keep pukin’. Ye need to stay awake. Drive faster for fock’s sake,” this last directed sharply at himself, apparently. She stayed somewhere just below the level of consciousness for the rest of the trip, the man talking to her, though she couldn’t make out much of what he was saying, the words running into one long stream of nonsense. She’d vague impressions of rain whispering against the windows, a smell of dusty burning and an urgency that she couldn’t quite understand.

Then there was the whoosh of opening doors, someone placing her in a chair that moved and she knew she had been left at a hospital. Questions came at her, the doctor’s face fading in and out of her vision.

There were lights in her eyes, a prodding at her ankle that made the stars swim merrily in front of her again and then a prick in her arm before she let the blackness take her down into blessedly quiet depths.

WHEN SHE WOKE, CASEY WAS STANDING at the foot of her bed. She was tempted to close her eyes again but knew he’d seen her. Her head, hard as it was to fathom, hurt even worse than it had before, though her ankle was numb and felt very far away down the bed.

“Hello,” she whispered groggily, throat feeling as though it had something furry lodged in it. “Where am I?”

“Yer in hospital,” he said shortly.

“I know that, but where?”

“Altnagelvin. Do ye not remember what happened to ye?”

“Not entirely,” she said, wondering if it was possible that an hour long trip had compressed itself down to a few confused minutes for her.

“Ye were dumped off on the doorstep with a bullethole in yer ankle an’ a concussion that they couldn’t wake ye from. What the hell happened to ye, woman?”

“I—I can’t remember all of it right now,” she said feebly.

He gave her a look that told her clearly that he didn’t believe her for a minute and that they would be discussing this at length in the very near future.

“Are ye happy now?” Casey asked. She winced under his tone, noting that his eyes were the deep heavy gray they turned when he was truly furious. This wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Happy to be alive,” she said, regretting the words the minute she spoke them.

“Oh aye, joke about it then. Find it funny, do ye? I got called at the center an’ thought ye were lyin’ here dyin’ the entire trip.” He was standing at the end of the bed, but she could see how hard he was shaking even at that distance. “Jaysus woman, can ye never use yer damn brain! If ye weren’t lyin’ in a hospital bed I’d kill ye myself.”

“If you want to lecture me,” she said faintly, “that’s fine, but do it in a lower tone, will you? My head’s a bit sore.”

“Yer head’s a bit sore?” He snorted derisively. “Yer lucky that’s all that’s wrong with ye. Ye might have been killed.”

“I know,” she responded meekly. “But I wasn’t, and I think that’s the main point, don’t you?”

He shook his head, mouth still drawn tight with anger. Then suddenly he dropped his head into his hands, shoulders shaking visibly. “Aye,” he said, voice hoarse. “I suppose it is.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but really it’s only a scratch, the bullet went straight through, I heard the doctor say so before they gave me the shot.”

Casey raised his head, a look of disbelief on his face. “Do ye hear yerself? The bullet went straight through—Jaysus, Mary an’ Joseph!”

She sat up, ignoring the nasty throb in her head. “Come here to me, man.”

He gave her a narrow look. “What for?”

“Just come here,” she said.

He came up the side of the bed, still looking suspicious as though she might be about to box his ears.

“Now sit.”

He sat.

“Closer.”

He hitched closer.

“Now listen.” She put her arms around him and drew him close, “Can you feel me?”

“Of course I can,” he said, a slight edge of exasperation in his words. “Do ye have a fever, woman?”

She put her face against his own, his whiskers raspy against her jaw. “I’m here, I’m whole, and I’m relatively unharmed. Okay?”

He nodded and then pulled her tightly against his chest. She could feel how hard he was shaking now and understood his anger was mostly born of fear. “Don’t ye ever scare me like that again, woman. I don’t think I could manage it. Thought my heart was goin’ to come out of my chest, an’ then the walk up the stairs here had to be the longest I’ve ever taken in my life. I wasn’t sure if I could face what—” Here his voice broke and she rocked him gently, hand rubbing the taut line of his back.

“Sshh, it’s alright now.”

He shook his head, but fortunately for her he was still incapable of words. She had a feeling the ones he’d find would be fairly unpleasant. She breathed deeply, laying her cheek against his hair. He smelled comfortingly of cut wood and apples, with a sharp under note of fear. She
had
scared him badly.

“Lie down with me?” she asked.

“Ye’ll get me in hot water with the head nurse,” he said. “But I suppose I’ve encountered scarier people in my life, though none quite so intimidatin’.”

“I’ll protect you,” she said, shifting over as he climbed in behind her. She settled into his embrace with a sigh, feeling safe for the first time in several days. Around her bustled the noises of the hospital, voices over the intercom and the running of feet bent on errands of mercy and deliverance. Here, though, in the narrow bed, with her husband’s arms strong around her and his warmth wrapping her in a blanket of comfort, she felt as though she was within a private sanctuary that even the smells of blood and antiseptic could not violate.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. The hand that was smoothing the hair back from her face halted.

“Go to sleep,” he said roughly, though his hand was gentle on her face. “I’ll be here when ye wake.”

AN ASHEN DAWN WAS FILTERING through the heavy curtains when she woke. The pain in her ankle had subsided to a dull throb and her head felt as though it were wrapped in layers of muffling cotton.

She turned her head slowly. Casey was asleep sitting in the chair, head cushioned on his arms on the edge of the bed. His face looked bruised in the faint light, lashes a soft fan against his cheeks.

She brushed a hand over his hair. He was dead to the world, though, and didn’t so much as stir at her touch. He slept a full twenty minutes more before blinking and yawning, eyes turning automatically to her.

“Good morning.”

“Mornin’, Jewel.” He reached up and kissed her forehead. “No fever, that’s good.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“You didn’t sleep in the chair all night, did you?”

He smiled wearily. “I told ye the head nurse was a fearsome beastie. She ordered me out of the bed round midnight, said I ought to know better at my age. Felt like I was back in grammar school with the nuns.”

He stood and stretched, touching his hands to the ceiling. Several joints popped and he yawned widely. “An’ yerself, Jewel? How’s the head this morning?”

“Better,” she said. It was true; the fire inside her skull had settled down to a bed of coals that, while uncomfortable, was a decided improvement over yesterday.

“I’m sorry I yelled at ye before,” Casey said quietly. “I was so afraid, though, an’ the fear made me angry with ye.”

“It’s alright,” she replied. “Where’s Lawrence?”

“He went home with Pat, after assuring himself that ye weren’t goin’ to die. Jamie was by while ye were sleepin’.” He added this last with a grin. “The nurse took a wee strip off him as well.”

“It was nice of him to stop by.” She felt rather glad she had been asleep when Jamie visited, she had a feeling his words for her would be only slightly more pleasant than Casey’s.

“I’m goin’ down to the cafeteria for some food, I’m starvin’.” This assertion was borne out by the sound of a lusty growl from his stomach. “D’ye want somethin’ yerself? The nurse said breakfast would be along shortly.”

“Just some tea.”

“Alright then, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The door had barely closed behind Casey when a bald head with kindly blue eyes popped in. It was Constable Fred McGilligan, whom she knew through work and who had always treated her well without ever once inquiring as to her religious affiliations. He was the man she suspected of being the conduit between the note writer and herself. It stood to reason that the man had an inside contact within the station. Over the months since the fire and the hanging, she had been inclined to believe this inside source was Constable Fred, merely because he seemed the least likely suspect in many ways.

He was a kind man with never an ill word for anyone and he had eased her path considerably with the other officers at the station, who had become accustomed to viewing all outsiders with what she supposed was a fairly just suspicion, if not a moderate hostility.

“Ah, there ye are lassie. Might I step in for a minute?”

“Of course,” she said, making a vain attempt to smooth her snarled head. She had a feeling she looked considerably worse for the wear.

“I’ve just nipped in to see that yer alright. Johnny said as ye were fine, but I didn’t feel right unless I came to see for myself.”

“I’m fine, ankle’s sore and so is my head, but I’ll be fine in no time at all.”

“Well that’s good then, isn’t it? I’ve brought somethin’ along for ye, ‘tis just a wee posy from the flower shop, an’ the wife sent along some of her lemon scones.” He set an aromatic bag on the bed, along with a bouquet of snapdragons and silvery lamb’s ears.

“Thank you so much.” She held the posy to her face, feeling the soft tickle of the velvet lamb’s ears against her cheek. “And please tell your wife I’m very grateful for the scones.”

He smiled shyly, the top of his bald head going pink with pleasure. “Will do lass. She’ll be pleased to hear it.”

A nurse came in then with a glass of water and a shot for the pain, which Pamela, sensation returning to her ankle, was very grateful to see. The nurse pulled the curtains and gave her the shot in the hip, promising that breakfast would be along shortly. Then, all brisk efficiency she continued on her route of mercy.

Constable Fred was pretending a great interest in the hideous watercolor that seemed to be present in every hospital room the world over.

“It’s alright, I’m decent now.”

“Oh, er that’s good then. Now lass, I must talk to ye about the bullet ye took in the ankle.”

“Is it common knowledge already?” she asked, trying to quell the panic in her chest. If Casey should walk in while the Constable was questioning her about this, it could go very badly.

There were too many questions she simply could not answer. If anyone in the RUC found out she'd gone to meet William Bright she’d be in the center of an inquiry, and losing her job would be the least of her worries.

“Not just yet lass, but it’s inevitable it will get out.”

She knew if she was going to trust anyone, now was the time. “It was an accident. I don’t even know who shot me.”

“Now lass, I may look gullible but I’ve spent many a year takin’ statements an’ I know when one doesn’t sound quite right.”

“It really would be best,” her voice was low but forceful, “if it could just be filed as an accident. Case closed so to speak.” She wondered momentarily if she’d made an enormous mistake and that this man was not the one that had been leading her down the path to the truth of her father-in-law’s death.