Who Pays The Piper Calls The Tune
by Andrew Burdon
Don’t show your face in here again, Timo had said. Then broken her arm. What the hell was she thinking coming back?
The music boomed as Jenna took deep breaths to stay calm, which wasn’t easy in the crowded nightclub’s thick air. She rubbed her recently-mended wrist.
“You sure you gonna be alright?” Coco shouted above the din.
Jenna smiled and lied. “I’m fine. You go on—I’m good.”
“I know you gotta do this, but I still think you’re a crazy bitch. That kid is lucky to have you.” Coco gave her a quick hug. “Ping me if you need anything. Seriously. Okay?”
“Thanks.”
The two women parted company on the dance floor. Holograms and lasers whorled to the beat of the loud liquid funk that pulsed through every organ and bone in Jenna’s body.
She plunged into the shifting crowd, her course wholly dictated by the tide of dancing bodies. Now alone she was unable to shake the feel of unseen eyes on her, and willed herself invisible to the club’s surveillance software. But so far, so not-fucked.
A huge static projection above the island bar, the club’s name, Mitogen, the ‘i’ spelled with the number one referencing the club’s central Manchester location, was the only constant light.
Jenna skirted the bar at a distance. She needed a drink but couldn’t risk it. The doorman was new but the bartends would recognise her and tip off security.
But anonymity wasn’t an option. She was here to make money, and had to dress the part. She wore an eye-catching white tulip skirt which hugged her thighs, and white stiletto boots that added inches to her long legs. A phenomenally expensive deluxe body cream imbued her skin with a lucent glow ineffectively veiled by a carefully-chosen gossamer crop top. The holster-style Prada handbag strapped tight to her body completed the persona, and the drugs therein, the unhappy resurrection.
A backward glance catapulted Jenna’s heart into her throat as two heavy-set security men cut through the crowd towards her.
With trembling legs and ice-cold hands, she pushed through the club-goers a few metres before her progress was halted by the sheer density of gyrating bodies.
In desperation she wrapped her arms round the nearest man and moulded her body to his. They moved as one to the music. His hand slid down to her backside and pulled her hips close. She felt the cold moisture of a drink held against the small of her back.
It took her a moment to find the two bouncers, but she soon saw them manhandling some undesirable to the nearest exit.
Pins-and-needles flushed her body.
“What’s your name?” her partner asked.
Jenna liberated him of his drink. She held the glass by it’s base in her palm; anti-fingerprint sprays and condensation being a bad combination.
“Find me later,” she said, “Maybe I’ll tell you.” Without a backwards look, she continued through the crowd.
She navigated the sea of bodies to a support column, downed the drink with one swallow, and ditched the empty glass with others around its base. Raking her fingers through her loose blonde curls, Jenna took her bearings in the flaring darkness and resumed her voyage through the swell.
The Back Room was her destination—a corner of the nightclub screened by clusters of scintillating cord lights. They hung from the high ceiling like stalactites, some almost to the floor, and looked very pretty. But better appreciated was the light and heat that blinded the nearest security node.
Jenna breached the boundary with relief. Cherry-red glimmers cascaded within the lights as she leaned past some and bushed others aside like a curtain. When the last of them, hot to the touch, fell from her shoulders, she blinked to adjust her eyes.
The Room, infamous amongst clubbers not into the fetish scene, was popular as ever. The lust-heightened pulses and impaired judgement in this seedy little cove were why Jenna risked coming back tonight. Here where couples and individuals on and around the dance floor exposed and explored themselves and each other for their own pleasure and the excitement of voyeurs, her gear practically sold itself.
Her name was shouted, all but lost in the thumping music. “Jenna! Hey!”
A shirtless man zigzagged through the dancers towards her, a young-looking woman trailing his heels. Bright pulses of gold and red light punctuated the rhythm in the club illuminating his face. Jenna recognised him as one of her new regulars.
She gave him a wave and pointed to the nearest wall. The three converged underneath a massive wall-mounted speaker where it was marginally quieter.
In a glance it was clear to Jenna the girl was underage. Sporting hotpants, a dropped twist-afro and far too much makeup, she looked the very definition of ‘jailbait’. Her date however, with his red-frosted tips waxed solid and a douche-bag pencil line beard, looked at home amongst the club’s habitué. His sculpted bronze torso glistened with the same lustre as the chunky gold chain draped about his bull neck, and probably cost about as much too.
Try though she might, Jenna couldn’t remember his name. Ediz? Edim? Something like that.
“Ash, you gonna introduce us?” the girl asked.
Ash. I was kind of close, she thought, scoffing at herself.
The man grinned at Jenna and cocked his head at the girl as if sharing a joke. Jenna’s heart went out to her. There was a time when she would’ve warned any girl off such a man, but you could tell just by looking, if it wasn’t Ash it would be some other asshole. Life was going to chew this girl up and spit her out.
Ash didn’t bother to introduce Hotpants. Jenna gave the pouting girl her friendliest smile, and said, “I’m just a friend,” she barely heard herself above the din. “I know how to get hold of stuff.”
Jenna switched her attention from Hotpants to Ash. “Speaking of which..?”
Ash enveloped the girl, one hand traced the contour of her breast as he spoke in her ear. Hotpants looked uncertain.
“Don’t worry, honey,” Jenna said. “It shows up as a charitable donation. And no geo-tag.” She felt terrible, but this girl was on a downward trajectory headed for rock bottom anyway.
“Yeah, okay.” Hotpants said, or looked like she said—Jenna couldn’t tell above the noise of the club and her guilty conscience.
The girl fished inside an impractical golden clutch bag and withdrew a mobile capable of far more than the browsing, chatting, and shopping Jenna bet she used it for.
At least it looked like daddy could afford the rehab.
Jenna offered Ash tonight’s choice, “Lube or drops?”
“Both,” he said, grinning. “Always both.”
“What’s your channel?” Hotpants asked.
“Purple two-oh-nine, sweetie.” Jenna said, and squeezed her mother-of-pearl e-bangle tight to her wrist. She extended the flexscreen up her palm and looped the silver pullring over her middle finger. The strip of flexiglass illuminated with icons and she waited for conformation of the payment.
Ash moved close and spoke in Jenna’s ear. “How’ve you been, by the way? I heard you broke your arm or something?”
The conversation was innocent, but his shift in stance was deliberate. A hand, hidden from Hotpant’s view, slid up Jenna’s skirt.
Jenna forced a coy smile. “Wonders of the NHS.” Prick.
Her e-bangle pinged a notification; transaction complete.
Jenna firmly liberated Ash’s fingers. “That is cash on demand, honey. Don’t touch what you can’t afford.”
Ash shrugged and smiled.
As she fished a sachet and two twist-off capsules from her bag, her e-bangle pinged again. It was her flat’s ePA.
“Shit.”
“Problem?” asked Ash.
Jenna acknowledged receipt and tapped out a quick message. She quickly loosed the ring and the flexscreen retracted.
“I’ve gotta go,” Jenna said. She handed Ash the drugs and headed for the exit.
Coco was waiting for her at the stairs. “What’s happened? You okay?”
Jenna didn’t break her stride and the pair ascended together. “Fucking cops are at my flat.”
“Is it Dylan?”
There was no queue for the coat room. Jenna gave her ticket to the girl in the booth.
“I don’t know. God I hope not! But I’ve got fifteen minutes to haul ass back across town or they can start all that procedural bullcrap. You know what cops are like.”
The dirty look given her by the girl fetching her coat made Jenna aware she was shouting over the ringing in her ears, here where it was quieter.
“I’ll come with you,” said Coco.
Jenna snatched her coat from the booth-bitch and threw her arms in its sleeves. “No, it’s alright. No point in tonight being a washout for us both.” She kissed her friend’s cheek. “Thanks for everything. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Coco hugged her. “Take care, baby-doll.”
#
Jenna hurried past people queued outside the club. The line snaked to avoided large puddles in the street reflecting Mitogen’s colour-shifting frontage.
She doubled-tapped her e-bangle. The time illuminated beneath its curved surface read 02:41.
She headed for the underground metro. Home was a five minute tube ride away, then another five minutes by taxi. Manchester’s autocab system didn’t extend into her neighbourhood, so the fare would be steep.
On the way Jenna tried Faye’s number, wondering why the babysitter hadn’t called, but Faye didn’t pick up. She was tempted to ping the police case-number forwarded by her flat’s e-PA, but knew better.
The taxi rolled up the narrow road to stop outside her block of flats. Erected in the 2050s in sympathy with their semi-detached locale, as Manchester’s city centre expanded, and tall sleek buildings replaced gardens and cul-de-sacs, the ageing block of flats surrendered into low-rent assisted accommodation Jenna was ashamed to live in.
Tonight was no night to gamble on the lift, so she headed straight across the foyer to the stairwell. Jenna mounted the stairs with alacrity, but on the fourth and last flight her energy flagged, and she relied on the heavily painted handrail.
She reached the top floor and trotted down the bright hallway. A bored-looking black police officer, all crisp white shirt and black flack-jacket, leaned against her flat’s already open door, tapping at a mobile phone.
Seeing her, the officer pocketed the phone and gave Jenna a nod of greeting.
“Hey Donny,” she said.
“Hi Jenna.”
“Where is he? Where’s Dylan?”
Donny pointed to the flat opposite. She crossed the hall and knocked on the door.
“You might want to button up,” Donny advised in his thick Caribbean accent.
He had a point. She zipped her coat just as her neighbour’s door opened.
“Misses Nasir, I’m so…” Jenna began, but the plump little Indian woman shushed her and ushered her inside.
‘It’s alright, pet,’ Mrs. Nasir whispered, ”Come in, come in. Look, the bairn’s asleep on the settee there. Spark out, he is.’
Jenna crept over and knelt by the sofa. She adjusted the thick fleece blanket her sleeping nephew had wriggled into disarray. The light of a small table lamp illuminated his face, where a large welt marked his forehead. His eyes were red and puffy from crying.
Jenna’s own eyes fill with tears.
“Oh here now, you daft sod.” Mrs. Nasir rubbed her back. “Chuffin ‘eck, it’s only a bump.” A clean tissue appeared from the sleeve of her fuzzy dressing gown.
A quiet tapping came from the open front door. It was Donny. “Jenna.” He nodded towards the hall.
“I’m sorry, Jenna,” Mrs. Nasir said, “I hate havin’ to call Plod, but we could hear Dylan crying and he wouldn’t let us in. Just kept callin’ for his mam, bless him. Bet he misses her somethin’ rotten, ey?”
Another man’s voice, one familiar to Jenna, spoke in the doorway. “Sorry Misses Nasir, I need a word with Jenna.”
Detective Sergeant Parker-Hall had replaced Donny in the hall. The detective was an old—acquaintance? The word ‘friend’ certainly didn’t fit, but that he was here all was confusing. He was as tall, dark and handsome as ever, and apparently still rocking the boy scout do-gooder routine.
Jenna climbed to her feet and Mrs. Nasir squeezed her arm. “We’ll keep Dylan for the night, sweetheart. I’ll call you if he wakes up.”
“Thanks.”
She left her neighbour’s flat behind the detective. Although it’d been years since they’d been in this kind of situation, Jenna wondered if she’d just been thrown a rope. But she resolved not to get her hopes up. His presence here was probably a reflex reaction—old habits die hard.
Parker-Hall preceded Jenna into her lounge. Donny followed them in and shut the door behind him.
The flat was small but tidy. The front door led directly into the living room where a worn two-seater sofa faced a geriatric wall-mounted entertainment centre A low coffee table covered in magazines and action figures filled the little remaining space.
Parker-Hall turned to face her. Something in the detective’s bearing told Jenna that as far as he was concerned, the past was past and all bets were off.
“Constable Clarke called me,” Parker-Hall said.
“So I gathered,” said Jenna. “Look, before you begin, I didn’t leave Dylan here alone tonight, okay? Faye was babysitting—I swear to God.” More to herself, she added, “I’m gonna strangle that stupid cow when I get my hands on her!”
The police officers exchanged a look and remained silent.
Jenna stiffened. She wanted to slap the scepticism off their faces, but confrontation would get her nowhere. And assault would be especially stupid considering the contents of the handbag she wore.
“Let me get changed, yeah?” Jenna asked. “I’ll be two minutes.”
Parker-Hall nodded, and she headed up the hall to her bedroom. From the doorway she said, “If one of you gents wants to whip up a round of coffee, you know where the kitchen is.”
Inside, Jenna locked the door, kicked off her boots, and crept round the bed to the window. She eased the wooden sill forward in its slot, careful not to upset the candles and various nicknacks. A sprinkling of mortar dust dislodged in the process was invisible upon the talcum powder carefully ‘spilled’ on the skirting.
She looked into the hide-hole and swore under her breath.
The wall cavity was empty.
Jenna stuffed the drugs from her handbag into the gap and slid the windowsill back into place.
She chewed the inside of her cheek. It had to be Faye. The trick with old wooden sills was one Faye had taught her. That neglectful bitch must have grabbed the stash and left while Dylan was still in bed.
“Jenna?” Donny’s voice called from the kitchen. “Your unit’s not working.”
She cleared her throat. “The hot water’s child-locked.” Stick that in your goddamn report.
Jenna threw off her clothes and changed into jogging bottoms and a baggy jumper. She sprayed her hair with relaxant, ran a brush though it, and tied it in a ponytail. A once-over with a cleansing wipe took the makeup—and years—from her face.
She found the two men in the kitchen, seated at the small dining table. A third chair was pulled out and a coffee awaited her. She should have told Donny no milk.
Exhausted, Jenna sat down and sipped the dubious drink anyway.
“So where were you tonight?” Parker-Hall asked.
“Mitogen.”
The detective’s eyebrows raised. “After what happened to you?”
“You heard about that?”
He ignored her question. “Are you mad or just plain stupid? These boys don’t piss about, Jenna.”
Here we go. Colonel Perfect mounts his high-horse.
“You were doing so well,” Parker-Hall condescended her. “Ellen said you were clean—that you’d got a job. A good job.”
“Yeah well they laid me off,” said Jenna. “The week I was due to get Dylan. If I’d registered for unemployment Child Services would’ve pulled the goddamn plug.”
“Well they’re going to ask you support yourself now.”
Jenna looked at Parker-Hall’s face, hoping he was bluffing.
“The call-out’s on the system,” the detective said, “So there’s a case file. There’s nothing I can do about that. Not that I would anyway. Not under these circumstances.”
“It’s like that is it?” she said. “Ellen’s dead, so I don’t matter anymore?” She knew it was a low shot and avoided his glare with a drink of her coffee.
Donny was still and silent as a statue.
When Parker-Halls replied, his voice was tight. “Dylan deserves a proper home. Like the kind he lost when Ellen…” He paused, then said, “You know she used to beg me to help? Beg me. For you.”
“Fuck you, Guy!” Jenna thrust to her feet and banged her hands on the table. “Fuck you!”
DS Parker-Hall stood in kind. He towered over her. “Child Services will be here tomorrow, but I for one think that’s a good thing. I came by tonight to say don’t bother calling. I’m done wiping up your shit.”
She lacked the energy to respond.
“Donny, you can finish up here.” Parker-Hall said and left the kitchen.
Jenna’s legs were shaking when the front door banged.
Donny blew out a long breath. “Jesus, Jenna. This isn’t your night, is it?”
He rose from his seat and undid his flack-jacket. “Don’t blame yourself though. I hear he be up for promotion or something. Probably making sure no skeletons jump out of the closet, not that he got many. Righteous prick.”
Jenna only half listened to the police constable. She felt… odd. The room started spinning and her stomach cramped.
“Sorry Donny—I’ll be right back.”
She almost didn’t make it to the bathroom. On the toilet, elbows propped on her knees, Jenna voided her bowels.
The door opened and Donny came in.
Jenna tried to look at him, but couldn’t move her head. Her limbs were becoming lead weights.
What was happening?
Donny loitered to the bath and sat down on the rim, mere inches away.
“Don-ny?” she stammered.
“Sorry gorgeous,” he said, “But you knew this was coming didn’t you?” His cold fingers tucked her fringe behind her ear.
She flinched at his touch. With alarm she found herself unable to control the movement and slumped forward, but Donny caught her shoulders and propped her against the cistern.
“We’ve known each other for a long time, girlie,” he said. “Donny never got no sugar, but this ain’t personal. Hell, I like you.” His teeth were brilliant white against his dark lips as he smiled.
He withdrew from his flack-jacket a package which Jenna instantly recognised. It was the stash missing from her bedroom.
Donny hefted the bag. “Return to sender, know what I’m sayin’?”
Oh God, this is Baptiste, she thought. She wanted to plead, beg for mercy, but her mouth mumbled rubbish. She felt tears run down her cheeks. She wanted to run—she tried to run—and set herself toppling off the toilet.
Donny shot forward and caught her.
“Ooo-hoo, girly-girl!” Donny flashed her a grin. “We don’t want no bruises, now. We’re after a nice simple suicide.”
Suicide? “Donny…” she managed, “…please…”
From a pocket he donned a pair of surgical gloves, turned to the sink, and said, “You know how much a badass motherfucker your ex-boyfriend is.” He tipped toothbrushes and toothpaste from a glass, and filled the glass with water.
Donny bent down on one knee in front of Jenna, placing the glass on the floor. A sudden coldness seized her as he opened the stash and withdrew a large handful of blue-red pills.
“You can’t just be takin’ his shit and sittin’ on your ass months on end,” he said. “Terms and conditions, bitch.” With a smile he leaned close and pinched her nose.
Jenna snapped shut her mouth and tried to shake free of his grip.
“Come on now,” said Donny, his face close to hers. “Be a good girl.”
He pushed the pills against her tightly drawn lips, increasing the pressure pinching her nose to such a painful degree Jenna wanted to scream. She needed to breathe, and managed to flop a feeble hand to his chest.
“Baptiste was a fool,” said Donny, studying her intently, “Lettin’ you waltz back in, givin’ you favours and shit. Hell, girl, you knew how this was gonna end.”
She closed her eyes to banish his face. This can’t be happening, she thought, this really can’t be happening. I’m not finished yet. I’m not finished! She urgently needed to breathe. Her thoughts turned to Dylan, and to the losses he’d suffered already, and the damage her own death might to do him. My poor angel, I’m so sorry!
Jenna gasped for air and pills filled her mouth. The peppery flavour made her salivate and cough. Donny let go her nose, but a hand clamped over her mouth.
Snuffing in great lungfulls of air, Jenna felt the pills begin to dissolve on her tongue. Her cheeks were pinched in a painful squeeze and the glass touched her lips. Water trickled into her mouth. She tried to spit, but Donny was ready for that, and she half-choked, then, with his hand on her face, she swallowed.
He let go.
Jenna’s head lolled forward as she gasped and coughed. “Fuck… You…” She drooled the words onto the floor through gritted teeth.
Jenna felt the drugs’ effects almost immediately. Her heart begin to race and she felt light-headed. She couldn’t seem to take deep enough breaths.
The squeak of turning taps preceded the splash of water in the bathtub.
“Now just sit tight, princess,” Donny said, “We be needin’ a knife to open those pretty veins of yours.”
Oh Jesus. “Please… no.” She started to sob.
On his way past he cupped her cheek, the gesture horrifically gentle, almost sympathetic. Then he was gone.
Jenna knew she had minutes. Less, probably. As the amphetamines coursed into her bloodstream the room seemed ten times brighter than before, and she felt acutely alert. Another effect of the drug manifest itself in the strength returning return to her lax muscles.
Donny, you dumb-ass fucker, she thought, but her elation spiralled into despair as the reality of the massive overdose shattered her odds of surviving the night.
It spurred her into action. She pitched forward off the toilet and smacked onto cold, hard floor tiles. Heart pounding, Jenna lurched onto her hands and knees. She had to get help, but she could barely move.
Blinking constantly, Jenna dragged her weakened body to the door and pushed it shut. She scrabbled at the sliding bolt and it slid into an empty space chiselled in the doorframe.
Shit! She’d removed the bolt housing when Dylan arrived.
She sat with her back against the door. Tears poured from her wide open eyes as they searched for something—anything—she could use as a weapon, but she had long since cleared away anything dangerous to a little boy—even the damn mirror was break-proof.
She’d have to run for it.
Expecting at any second the door to be kicked open, she fumbled at her trousers. Her frantic wriggling rolled her almost flat on her side which sparked an instinct to vomit. She stuck two fingers down her throat and noisily disgorged the watery bile in her stomach.
It made her light-headed, but the purging felt good—amazing, even. She felt invigorated, verging on euphoric. Laying there, she marvelled up at the incredible greenness of the vine leaves tumbling down the side the old shelving unit.
The unit, made from solid oak, was a foot or so square and stood at chest-height next to the door… Easily within arm’s reach.
Jenna grasped the wood and, using the heavy shelves like a ladder, dragged herself to her knees, then climbed up to lean on shaky legs against the bathroom door.
Over the sound of the sloshing water, she heard a creak from the hall floorboards.
Oh fuck, oh, fuck… A wave of dread threatened to rob her of consciousness. She splayed her arms to steady herself and hit her elbow against the potted vine. The decorative pot was large, made of stoneware, and filled with damp soil.
A plan flashed fully formed into her brain, and Jenna inched her way around to the other side of the selves. She grasped the pot with both hands, but the thing was heavy—she couldn’t lift it. She wrapped her arms around the pot and tried again, this time managing to to hug it to her chest.
Braced against the wall, she hooked a foot under the shelves, bent her knee, and heaved.
The heavy unit toppled and hit the floor with a loud thwack, spilling towels and half-empty toiletry bottles across the vomit-spattered tiles.
“What’s all the noise, girlie?” Donny’s voice grew louder as he approached up the hall. “Where you think you goin’, huh? You gonna make my life easy and jump out a window?”
Jenna could hear the smile in his voice. With Herculean effort she struggled the pot-plant high above her head and held it there, elbows locked. Her heart palpitated and her whole body trembled.
The door banged open a crack, blocked the fallen shelves. There was a pause.
Come on, you bastard!
The wooden shelves grinded on the rough tiles as door was slowly pushed wider.
Jenna blinked away the bright stars that burst in her vision, her arms close to buckling.
Come on!
The door stopped a shoulder’s width open. Donny’s head craned round the edge and she struck the heavy pot down, bashing his temple.
He dropped to floor, the pot falling with him and smashing to pieces on the tiles.
Jenna didn’t waste a second. She managed to yank the door open a fraction farther, and clinging to the handle for support, straddled the shelves. She had to step on Donny’s prostate body, but had scarcely begun peeling herself into the gap when the flesh and fabric stirred under her feet.
A hand grabbed her ankle and she screamed, pulling on the doorframe, trying to both keep her balance and jerk free.
“Help! Somebody help!”
Donny’s grip tightened and he twisted onto his back, dislodging her weight-bearing foot to the floor. She cried out in shocked pain and looked down beneath her foot at the upturned blade of a kitchen knife.
Agony burst up her leg.
She collapsed on top of Donny, who—yanking on her ankle—was anticipating her weight, and grappled her to his chest. A sinewy arm wrapped round her throat, silencing her cries for help.
Jenna struggled for air, one hand prising at the choke-hold as the other groped across the floor. A panting chuckle sounded near her ear. She felt him growing hard against her backside, making her flesh creep.
Blood pounded in her ears and a red film was spreading before her eyes, when her searching fingers touched the knife.
Making fast her grip on the bloodied handle, she thrust awkwardly below her, and felt the blade scrape against Donny’s police vest.
Concentrate! Angling the knife lower—near his hip—she stabbed again.
Donny bellowed. His arm loosened just enough to allow her a desperate half-breath before it fastened even tighter. “You’ll pay for that you fuckin’ bitch!”
In panic, Jenna slashed over her shoulder at the man’s arm and face.
Donny howled and threw her away from him. She careened off the doorframe and landed in a coughing sprawl in the narrow hall.
With pricks of light dancing in her vision, Jenna quickly oriented herself and half-crawled half-slid the few feet to her bedroom. She passed the threshold and scrambled clear of the door as she slammed it shut and engaged the lock.
Jenna slumped on the floor gulping deep breaths down her bruised and swollen windpipe. Tremors wracked her body and her foot burned as if a scission laser was bisecting tendons and ligaments, seeking her bones.
Jesus Christ! What—
A bang on the door made her jump.
“Slow and painful,” Donny shouted, banging the door. “That’s how you gonna die, bitch.”
She lunged for the e-PA remote docked on the bedside table. A touch should have woken the controller from sleep, but the display in her hands remained dark. She shook it and frantically tapped the lifeless screen.
Fuck!
Donny pounded the door, roaring curses and threats, but the noise faded to the periphery of Jenna’s awareness. A sensation had begun in her stomach which became a pressure in her chest. She experienced a strong sense of déjà vu, and the inexplicable taste of burnt toast filled her nose and mouth.
Her jaw clamped shut and she felt the tendons strain in her neck. Her spine arched and her body contorted on the carpet. The sensations were exquisite.
A bright light blossomed in her right eye, but she didn’t really care. The noise at the door no longer bothered her either.
Jenna’s body convulsed and she tasted bile in her throat. She convulsed again, and the world departed.
#
Rain pattered on the window. The muted sounds of hospital staff toing and froing in the hall outside pervaded the passing of the dreary morning.
Alone, Jenna waited.
A knock on the door broke the stillness, and Parker-Hall entered, his hair and trench coat damp from the rain. He nodded to someone outside and closed the door.
Jenna finished a painful sip of mercifully weak blackcurrant cordial and returned the glass to the table above her lap.
“Where’s Dylan?” she asked, her voice croaky. “Nobody will tell me.”
The detective crossed the room and sank into the uncomfortable-looking armchair beside the bed. His eyes were tired and an uncharacteristic five-o’clock shadow darkened his jaw.
He wiped a hand down his face. “How’s your foot?” he asked.
“Itchy. Where is he?”
The detective’s mouth formed a hard, straight line. “He’s in Broadhurst for now.”
Jenna shook her head. “No.”
“It’s done.”
“Then undo it!”
Parker-Hall’s face remained stony. He withdrew a handheld from his coat pocket. A case-file—her case-file, Jenna assumed—must have already been primed for transcript by reason of his tapping the screen only once before putting it down on the table.
“Just tell me what happened last night, after I left. Your neighbours reported screams.” He waited for a response. When none was forthcoming, he continued, “The blood in your flat and on the kitchen knife matches yours and Donny’s. He’s been missing—“
“He tried to kill me.”
“Donny?”
“Yeah.”
Parker-Hall retrieved the handy and began an update.
“Why?” he asked as he typed.
“I don’t know! He drugged my coffee. He started yammering on about Baptiste—“
His head shot up. “Donny’s working for Baptiste?”
“You can’t tell me you’re surprised,” she said. “You know Baptiste. Half the beat cops in Manchester are in his pocket, though some names in CID would surprise even you.”
“What?”
Since waking up, she’d had plenty of time to think. Although this wasn’t how she’d intended to broach the subject.
“The people that you work with,” she said, “Some of them are corrupt.”
“Hang on, Jenna,” Parker-Hall said, “Donny’s one thing, but…”
“And not just cops…”
He paused the software on the hand-held. “Jenna, I can’t hear this.“
“I know names of councillors, businessmen—”
“Jenna—“
“People you’d never dream were on the take…”
“Jenna stop!”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a fucking police officer! If you say any more I’ll have to bring you in for questioning, and if what you claim is true—”
“Then Baptiste will hear about it, which slaps a bullseye on my forehead.”
“Exactly!”
“So what?”
He gave her an incredulous look.
“Think about it! Donny was dumb, but he he wasn’t retarded. None of Rafiik’s soldiers so much as fart without his say so.”
Parker-Hall was quiet a moment, then said, “He had orders.”
Jenna nodded. “Baptiste already wants me dead.”
Parker-Hall followed the thought to its logical conclusion. “He needs to be shut behind bars—for good,” he said. “It’s the only way you’ll be safe.”
“That we’ll be safe,” she countered.
“We? I’m touched, but…”
“No, not you. Me and Dylan.”
He blinked.
“You’re kidding,” he said, finding his answer in the look on her face. “You were put though a lot last night, nobody can argue with that. A judge might sympathise, but immunity and protection…”
“Don’t bullshit me, Guy. I know how this works. I want Dylan, and there’s nothing the CPS can’t fix.”
“Oh yeah? Well no offence Jenna, but what makes you so damn special?”
“For fuck’s sake, haven’t you been listening? You know damn well I lived through seven years of hell with that monster. I’m the fucking holy grail of prime witnesses against Baptiste.”
“That doesn’t make you a fit parent.”
“I fucked up—I know that. But you saw how well I was doing before. You even said it yourself. If you back me up, the courts will agree—it’s in their interest.”
“And what about the boy’s interests?”
“Damn it Guy—I love Dylan!” she said, throwing her hands up, “I love him like he was my own son! I’ll do anything to keep that boy…” she was about to say ‘out of the system,’ but stopped short. Parker-Hall believed in the system. “Look, I made some shitty choices, but don’t punish Dylan for them. I’m all he’s got left.”
“Alright, I’ll think about it,” he said, “But I’m not making any promises.”
“Don’t patronise me. We both know nailing Baptiste will make your career. I’m your goddamn golden ticket…”
Parker-Hall was out of the chair and walking to the door.
Bollocks, she thought, bravo, Jenna. She raised her voice. “Guy, I’m sorry. That was unworthy.”
He paused with his back to her, a hand on the door handle. “What if they say no? Have you thought of that?”
“I’ll give them Baptiste, but keeping Dylan is non-negotiable.”
He turned around. “Even if it means your life? Whether or not they throw you in jail for obstruction of justice, Baptiste will make sure you’re dead within a week.”
Jenna had thought about that. But she had lived half her life amongst reprobates spawned by failures of the foster care system.
“Custody of Dylan,” she repeated, “Or there’s no deal.”
#
Signal Hill Botanical Gardens was proving popular with weekend tourists. The viewing platform had become busy and it took Jenna several scans to locate Detective Sergeant Parker-Hall. To be fair, he was dressed like she’d never seen—in sunglasses and civvies—and almost looked liked an actual person.
She eyed his lemon-and-white hawaiian shirt and decided not to pass comment as she joined him at the railing.
“Not bad, I guess,” he said, indicating the spectacular view of Cape Town.
Sunlight glinted off the twisting lines and elegant curves of the city’s six supertall skyscrapers. The sparkling waters of Table Bay brimmed with the usual mix of fishing vessels and tourist boats, whilst sleek pleasure yachts vied for space in and out of the marina, all tiny-looking in the distance.
Jenna smiled. “It’ll do.”
This was the first time they’d met face-to-face since Manchester, and there was an awkwardness in their meeting that she’d not anticipated.
“I love the waterfront,” she said, “And Dylan’s obsessed with the infodrome.”
“Aunty Jen!” The sound of small feet running on the wooden platform preceded Dylan’s appearance. The boy’s checks were flushed and the short curls beneath the peak of his baseball cap were damp on his forehead.
“Speaketh the devil’s name and he shall appear,” said Jenna, bowing to the boy. “How may I serve thee?”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Hi Guy!”
“Hey, kiddo.” The Detective Sergeant and the boy exchanged a high-five.
“Are you coming to Tanzania?” Dylan asked. “We’re going on a safari!”
“Sounds great, but I’m afraid not. I’ve got some things to get ready before I steal your aunt for a couple of days.”
“Oh, okay,” Dylan looked to his aunt. “Kurt’s mum wants to know if you’re still coming, and if you’re not then she says I can go with them. And she says we can start the sleep-over tonight if you need time to do grown-up stuff. I’m supposed to emphalsize ‘grown-up stuff’ and then I’m supposed to do this.” The boy nudged Jenna with an elbow and winked.
With hands cupped to his mouth, Dylan turned and shouted, “I did it!”
A children’s play area overlooked the platform where Vivian, grinning from ear to ear beneath large sunglasses, mimed applause and gave Dylan a double thumbs-up.
“Who’s Cary Grant?” Dylan asked.
Her cheeks flaming, Jenna ignored the question. “Tell Vivian that I’ll be along in a minute and we’ll all go together. Unless I decide to kill her. In which case Kurt can come with us.”
“Okay!”
They watched the boy dart away through the swell of tourists, then turned back to the spectacular view.
“I’m sorry, Jenna.”
What’s this, now?
Parker-Hall removed his sunglasses. “You needed me, that night. You needed me and I wasn’t there for you. And I’m sorry.”
She watched a string of skycabs ferry holidaymakers between the city’s single skypad and a cruise ship far out at sea, unsure what to say.
It was typical of him to save an apology to be made in person. He was old-fashioned, but he wasn’t all bad. He was a career obsessed, yes, but he was forever—with one recent exception—putting others first. The two combined were probably why he’d never pushed his chance with Ellen. And he’d been good to his word and got some big-name law firm to broker her deal with the Crown Prosecution Service, in no small way helping her achieve a second chance at a normal life for both Dylan and herself.
“It’s okay,” she said eventually. “You more than came through for us in the end.”
There was a pause in the conversation, but this time without tension.
“Any news on Faye?” Jenna asked.
“Not since we last spoke,” he said, ‘But no news is good news. She’s probably just laying low.”
“Probably.” Jenna suspected her sometime-friend lay dead at the bottom of Manchester’s ship canal. “And they only gave Donny twenty years?”
“That’s a good result considering no prior. Though your neighbours reported a man shouting threats, he claimed self-defence. With a good enough lawyer he might’ve even got away with it if he hadn’t used his own police access to freeze your e-PA.”
A swell of excited yells from the playground attracted their attention, where Dylan was involved in a team game with other children.
“You ready for Monday?” he asked.
“Yeah, I suppose. I just want it to be over.”
“So does the CPS,” he said, watching the children play. “They’ve been crusading against Baptise for what…? A million years? This is the best headway they’ve made in at least a decade. And it’s all built on your testimony.”
“So no pressure, then.”
He flashed her a sideways smile, but his gaze followed Dylan as the boy charged about the play area.
Jenna understood.
Her nephew—not just in looks, but in small gestures and his ingenious charm—further resembled his mother with each passing day. Even the cadence of his laugh, bubbling across the busy observation deck, sounded like Ellen’s.
“She did love you, you know.” Jenna said gently.
Parker-Hall nodded and put on his sunglasses.
“I’ll let you get back to your friend,” he said. “There’s a lot of security I need to go over before we leave, but call me when you’re back in Cape Town. Let Dylan pick a restaurant—my treat.”
Jenna watched him leave the platform.
So much had happened since the accident. Dylan, she knew, would always miss his parents. But he was doing okay now. Jenna hoped that despite everything, her sister would be proud.
Her gaze picked out her nephew now playing on the climbing nets. Her heart skipped a beat when Dylan jumped from the top of the climbing frame, but he was fine.
Jenna couldn’t help but smile. The boy may have his mother’s eyes and sense of humour, but he’d definitely inherited his aunt’s overconfidence, and it suddenly seemed a very long afternoon lay ahead of her. She made Ellen a silent promise to try and instil a bit more caution in the boy. With a little luck she might even stop him getting himself eaten by lions or trampled by elephants in next four hours
Whatever waited in the wings after that, she’d figure out. And if she couldn’t? Though the lesson had nearly killed her, Jenna finally understood that needing help didn’t equate to her being a failure. Her failure had been letting pride ruin her life for too long.
But no more. The next time Jenna needed help, she knew she’d have the strength to ask.