O had kindly brought a sketchpad and watercolours two days ago, along with magazines and a fully stocked e-reader. However, the distractions weren’t enough to stop me from watching the news and seeing how many people wanted my head on a spike for the girls my uncle had killed.
My future was undetermined.
My freedom no longer guaranteed.
And it all came to an end at eleven a.m. on the eighth day in hospital.
I looked up as the door opened, a smile already on my face in anticipation of my favourite visitors popping by. My heart pounded harder just at the thought of seeing O. My arms empty to hug both of them, even though O never came in touching distance.
But my smile fell as the kind doctor came in, her professional nod and gentle eyes familiar now. “How you feeling today?”
Sitting in the chair by the window, I sat taller. I didn’t hiss in pain anymore. Considering they’d stitched a big chunk of my side back together again, my body was miraculous with fast healing. The black threads holding my flesh together no longer looked morbid. My skin no longer swollen or infected. “Better.”
“That’s good.”
She read something on her iPad, skimming my notes and updates. “Your blood work looks fine and you’re healing better than I expected.” She looked up and smiled. “The good news is you’ll be fine. No long-term complications. Just listen to your body as you continue healing, and you should have no issues.”
“Okay, will do.”
Her face fell as she looked at the door then back to me. “Unfortunately, I do have some bad news.”
My pulse quickened. “They’re sick of waiting?”
She clutched the iPad to her chest. “Yes.”
“When?”
“Today. Now.”
My heart rate exploded. “Shit.”
I still accepted the consequences of my actions. I would be honest and take whatever punishment they deemed fit. But it didn’t stop the rush of panic or cold sweat at the thought of never having a private conversation with O again. Of never kissing my daughter or tucking her into bed.
Of never being free.
I wasn’t under any illusion that I was a saint. My chances of having a light sentence were slim...especially with the hate threats online and screams for justice on the news.
The doctor came closer. “If you tell me you’re not feeling well, I can ask to keep you here for another few days.”
I half-smiled. “I’m grateful, and believe me, I’m extremely tempted. I don’t want to go to jail, but I also can’t sit in limbo. I might as well get it over with.”
“Fine, but we’ll need to see you for check-ups every other day for the next week, so they’ll have to bring you back. And if you go home, please take it easy. Don’t ruin your progress by overdoing it.”
I thought of Olive and O. I thought about my warehouse that I’d sold to pay yet another ransom. I thought about paying rent on something I used to own and the mess I’d left my paint supplies in.
I thought about all of it in a terror-coloured blur.
Would I be released to sort out my life before I was jailed?
Or was this it?
Maybe I should feign sickness to stay a little longer.
My thoughts blackened as she backed toward the door. “I guess there’s nothing left to do apart from say you’re ready.”
Bracing myself on the armchair, I stood.
My body stayed upright. My pain stayed low.
I’d lived through worse.
I’d survived worse.
I’ll survive this.
“Thanks for fixing me,” I said, smiling gratefully as she reached the door.
She stared into me, stern and worried. “Good luck, Mr. Clark. For the record, I believe you’re a good person and not what they’re painting you out to be online.” Turning the handle, she gave me one last look before slipping into the corridor just as two uniformed officers barged in.
Their legs spread, their arms crossed, their pleasure in finally arresting me glowed bright. “Mr. Clark. Please come with us.”
“Give me two minutes.” Grabbing the bag that Justin had brought me from my warehouse with a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and boxer-briefs, I stepped into the bathroom. Slipping from the god-awful hospital gown, I dressed slowly, favouring my right side. I cleaned my teeth and stared into the mirror, trying to come to terms with no longer being a free man.
When I returned to the room, the police looked me up and down, then moved aside to the now open door. “After you.”
“Can I call my daughter? She’s only eight. I can’t just—”
“That will be sorted later.”
“I can’t be locked up without figuring out her safety.” My voice vibrated with anger. “She’s my responsibility—”
“Should’ve thought of that before you committed a crime.”
My hands balled. “I killed Jeffrey Clark because he’d kidnapped her. I did what I could to save her.”
“And your excuse for killing those other girls?” The older one glowered.
“I didn’t kill them.”
He chuckled. “How about you hold off on your unbelievable explanations until you have a lawyer present.”
“But my daughter—”
“Can wait,” the younger clean-shaven one said. “Now, do you need a wheelchair?”
Temper raged through me, but I managed to stay controlled. Just. “No. I’m fine.”
“Good.”
The older one narrowed his eyes. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
I stiffened.
He chewed his cheek, eyeballing me. “Do I need to handcuff you?”
“No.” I held his stare. “I won’t run. And even if I did, I wouldn’t get far. All I care about is ensuring my daughter has someone to—”
“Fine. Don’t have time for this.” He pursed his lips. “Let’s go. All that nonsense can be taken care of at the station.”
My anger flared hotter. “You’re calling my daughter nonsense?”
“I’m calling you thinking you have any special privileges nonsense.” The older one rubbed his nose and cocked his head toward the exit. “No cuffs is your one and only privilege. Now, no more delays. Out.”
The younger officer moved first, expecting me to follow.
Swallowing back my rage, I fell into line and did my best not to shiver as the older one positioned himself behind me.
A sandwich of law and criminal.
I wished I’d been able to call O and tell her.
I didn’t want her to come here with Olive and find me missing.
I couldn’t expect her to figure out Olive’s living arrangements.
She was only supposed to look after my daughter until I was released from hospital.
But now my custody included police instead of doctors.
This whole fucking mess was on me.
No one spoke as I did the walk of shame through the hospital, down the elevator, and out into the bright sunshine. England looked practically cheerful even though my freedom was ending.
The older officer stayed with me, his hand resting on my elbow while his partner went to collect the patrol car.
No lights, no sirens, just a smooth glide to the curb and a door opening wide to welcome me.
I winced, holding my side as pain flashed. Ducking to climb inside wasn’t as easy as I hoped. The internal pain of healing organs and stitched together muscle grumbled at the movement.