Bright Air - Barry Maitland [106]
Anna was lying beside me on the wet stone, choking. When I put an arm around her and tried to get her upright I felt her whole body racked by convulsive sobs. I held her as they slowly subsided. She was trying to swallow, a hand clutched at her throat, her face distorted in the shadowy light.
‘Oh … Josh!’ she finally managed. ‘He tried … to kill me … his hands round my throat … and all the time saying he was sorry …’
She turned her face against my chest and began to sob again. I stroked her head, soothing her like a baby.
Finally she pulled away and said, more collected now, her voice hoarse, ‘I couldn’t get a taxi and decided to walk back, but then I got lost in the winding streets … when I finally got here the front door was still open and I went inside. In the back room Marcus was sitting in his chair, Damien crouching beside him. As soon as our eyes met I saw that he knew that Marcus had told us what they’d done. I started to back away, and he called after me to stay, softly, like not to scare me, but then getting angry. I turned and ran. He caught me in the living room … We fell, his hands round my neck, and he was shaking me and choking me, telling me he was sorry he had to do this. There was an empty bottle by my hand. I hit Damien with it and he looked so surprised and annoyed, rubbing his head, and I managed to get up again and run for the door …’
‘Can you stand up? I’m going to call the police and an ambulance for you.’
‘Josh!’ She gripped my arm. ‘I don’t know if Marcus was alive. He was slumped in the chair—like he was dead.’
I tried to think. Had I killed him? I said, ‘You go and wait in the car and I’ll go round to the terrace to try and see.’
‘I’m coming with you.’
She insisted, and we found the narrow path that led down the side of the house towards the rear. We had to push our way through wet branches and several times lost our footing, but eventually we found ourselves on the edge of the terrace. Light spilled out onto the paved surface through the French windows. We walked over and looked in. There was Marcus, just as Anna had said, slumped in his throne, his pale face tipped forward and to one side, as if asleep. He was no longer wearing the lab coat, and the left arm of his shirt was rolled up above the elbow.
And there, too, was Damien, seated in the armchair at his side, crouching forward as if trying to fix something that I couldn’t make out. He raised his head and saw us, and for a moment our eyes met and he gave us what appeared to be a sad smile. I could see now what he’d been doing; his left sleeve was rolled up too, and he was pressing the needle of a syringe into his forearm.
I grabbed the door handle and tried to open it, but it was locked and of a heavy, solid construction. I rattled and banged it and called to him to stop, but he took no notice. We watched helplessly as he went on with what he was doing. I got out my phone and rang for help, then I stepped back and charged with my shoulder. The door burst inward, its glass panels shattering all over the floor as I stumbled in. Anna followed me, and I told her to go and open the front door to meet the ambulance.
I squatted beside Damien, who was staring at the broken door with eyes bright with tears, preoccupied with some internal experience I couldn’t share. The syringe was empty, and I had no idea what he had taken. I asked him, but he just closed his eyes and smiled. His face had become flushed, and there was a purple bruise forming on the side of his forehead where Anna had hit him. Then something changed. His face darkened and took on a glow of sweat, and he whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Josh. Really.’
By the time