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<h2>39</h2>
<p>He came swimming up from the dark, reaching for the surface,
trying to break through from the dream.</p>
<p>It had come after him again, up in the high gantries, racing
towards him with preposterous speed. His feet were glued to the
skywalk, hands gripped on the rail, unable to loosen. His breath
was locked in his throat. It came like a black spider, limbs
pistoning, jerky yet frighteningly fluid. He could hear the scrape
of its claws on the metal, the feral bass growl erupting from its
toadlike mouth. Its eyes were like sickly orange headlights,
spearing him with fearsome blight.</p>
<p>Beside him, on the wall, Davy and Julia writhed, stuck on shards
of glass. Behind him, his dead daughter whimpered in pain and
begged him to help her. On the metal gangplank, Lorna lay sprawled
in a pool of blood, eyes wide and blind and dull.</p>
<p>The thing came racing on, angular yet sinuous, solid yet fluid,
an ever-changing black mass, transforming and mutating as it
grunted and gurgled, slobbering its malice.</p>
<p>He backed off, came up against the wall. It jerked forward,
blank amphibian eyes wide as saucers. Its mouth opened, yawned
enormously. Rows of glassy teeth reflected light.</p>
<p>Then he was out of it. The membrane of the dream broke and
shattered and he was through, back in the real world again. He
hauled for the breath that had refused to come, drawing cool air
into aching lungs. He came fully awake, siting up in bed, slathered
in sweat, shivering from the horror of the image.</p>
<p>For several moments, he sat, trying to keep the muscles in his
arms and legs from twitching, attempting to calm himself, to hold
on to the reality that it was only a dream. He switched the light
on, banishing the shadows. Very slowly he turned round, expecting
to see her curled up, auburn hair fanned on the pillow, snuffling
warmly in sleep.</p>
<p>She was sitting bolt upright.</p>
<p>Her hands were held up in front of her face, palms out, as if
she was shoving something back from her, warding it off. As soon as
he turned, he could feel the tremble in her own body, a taut
shivering, tuning-fork fast. Her head was shaking from side to
side, small, jerky movements, little spasms. He reached for her,
touched her shoulder, felt the deep shudder ripple through her. She
was cold as stone, every muscle under his fingers bunched and
contorted. Her eyes were wide open, glassily staring in front of
her, great grey pools. Her mouth sagged slackly.</p>
<p>"What's wrong?" he whispered urgently. "What's the matter?"</p>
<p>It was as if he hadn't spoken. Her head continued its motions of
denial. The hands pushed further from her body. A slick of sweat
ran from her neck and trickled under his fingers. The power of his
own dream faded.</p>
<p><em>What did she see?</em></p>
<p>The wide eyes stared ahead, into the far distance.</p>
<p>"Come on," he urged, louder this time, shaking her quickly.
"Wake up Lorna."</p>
<p>She gave a violent start, hauling back against the headboard. A
pillow flopped to the floor. Under his fingers, the trembling died
instantly. Her mouth closed with a snap and she blinked twice, very
quickly and he heard her breath come out in a long shudder.</p>
<p>"What is it?," he said, now more unnerved than he had been in
the depths of his own nightmare. "What's wrong?"</p>
<p>She turned, as if only just aware of his presence. She blinked
again, then her eyes widened, huge and limpid. A tear spilled from
a corner and traced a path of light down her cheek.</p>
<p>Her mouth opened, closed again, then she fell towards him. He
caught her in his arms and held her tight, smoothing her hair as if
she was a child.</p>
<p>"Tell me," he finally said.</p>
<p>______</p>
<p>It had taken a long time to heal. A long time for all of
them.</p>
<p>In a precursive parallel to the dream he would have, Jack had
come awake, drowsily struggling against the anaesthetic. The drugs
helped, but not enough to completely dull the pain of the mending.
His head throbbed and a warm raw crater, or so it felt, burned into
his cheek. It was sore to breathe, each inhalation bringing a stab
in the ribs, front and back. His left leg was stiff and numb, with
only a dull gripe in his ankle to tell him he still had a leg.</p>
<p>Recollection came back slowly, individual scenes following on
the other like ripples in a pond. He could see them, like an
outsider, an impassive observer watching the thing flit from girder
to beam, seeing Davy hung on the wall, the whiteness of Lorna's
bared breasts. It was happening to somebody else. Even the memory
brought nothing, no emotion, no fear.</p>
<p>"Must be good stuff they serve here," he thought to himself, and
without warning, a laugh bubbled up from inside. He went into a
brief choking spasm and the sudden movement unleashed a rip of pain
in his ribs. He coughed, searing himself on his right side, painful
enough to make his eyes water.</p>
<p>"Only when I laugh," he said when it all subsided, remembering a
line from some long forgotten joke.</p>
<p>A young nurse, blonde and pretty in a rosy-cheeked way, came
bustling through the swing door of the room. She moved to the
clutter of instruments beside the bed and jerked back when Jack
spoke.</p>
<p>"Can I have some water?" he asked.</p>
<p>In three minutes Jack had his water, crystal clear and rattling
with a stack of ice. It was the best drink he could ever remember.
While he sipped it, a middle aged doctor with craggy grey eyebrows
ran through the damage as if reading off a provisions list.</p>
<p>"We've had to put a pin in your ankle," he said. "You've a
pretty nasty break, but I don't think it's anything to worry about.
You'll be walking in six weeks. The ribs were the worst. You'd
punctured a lung. We had to drain it and get the old balloon
inflated again. It's working fine now, but you'll get a twinge
every now and again for a while."</p>
<p>The doctor leaned over and without preamble, pulled Jack's
eyelid down.</p>
<p>"The cheek will heal on its own," he went on. "Nasty break on
your maxillary, but no point in digging in there. You'll probably
find your eye will water for a week or two until the pressure on
the lachrymal duct eases off, and you'll have a bit of a dent
there, but unless you've ambitions to film stardom, it should be
fine. I can get you fixed up at Keltyburn for some re-construction
if you feel the need."</p>
<p>Jack shook his head and instantly regretted it when the ache
thumped in his skull. He didn't feel the need for anything yet,
except sleep, and the need to know how Davy was.</p>
<p>"Bruises all over the body, and some internal, I shouldn't
wonder," the other man went on, lifting the heavy eyebrows with
what looked like considerable effort. "You've been in the wars my
boy."</p>
<p>"How long?" he asked, voice rasping over a tender throat.</p>
<p>"As I said, about six weeks."</p>
<p>"No, how long have I been here?"</p>
<p>"Since last night. You've a good constitution. We had to put you
under to get the lung back up and fiddle about with the ribs, but
it'll soon wear off. If the pain gets too much, just ring for the
nurse. We're real dope fiends here."</p>
<p>Jack smiled tiredly. He knew about pain.</p>
<p>"And the boy? My nephew?"</p>
<p>"Oh, he'll be fine. Strong young fellow. Nasty wound on his
back, and we're a bit concerned about infection. He's still under,
I'm afraid, but he'll certainly play football again. How'd it
happen?"</p>
<p>"Long story," he said. "Too long."</p>
<p>"Well, there's a whole corridor of people want to speak to you.
I can hold them back until you feel up to it."</p>
<p>"No. I have to." The doctor nodded. He turned to go. Jack held
up his hand with some difficulty. It felt weighted with lead.</p>
<p>"Is one of them a girl? Name's Breck."</p>
<p>The other man lifted his eyebrows again.</p>
<p>"Reddish hair? Pretty thing?"</p>
<p>Jack risked another nod, though he took it slowly.</p>
<p>"I need to see her first," he said. The man went out and there
was some noise outside the door. Voices were raised. The doctor
said something loud but unintelligible through the swung-shut door.
It eased open and Lorna came in, face pallid and dirt-streaked. She
was still wearing the long coat Jack had wrapped around her and it
scraped the floor at her heels. She quietly closed the door behind
her, and came slowly forward. He patted the side of the bed
casually, though the movement knifed him in the ribs. He coughed,
screwing his face up against the sharp corkscrew in his side and
her eyes widened in alarm, instinctively reaching for him.</p>
<p>He took her hand and drew her forward until she sat down.</p>
<p>"Well, Miss fortune-teller, did we beat the bastard or
what?"</p>
<p>She nodded, hardly a movement, face still solemn.</p>
<p>"Is it bad?"</p>
<p>"Hurts like hell," he lied a little, and gave her a grin, the
first one he could remember in what seemed like a long time. She
almost responded. "Big boys don't cry. They say Davy's fine and
I'll be out of here in no time."</p>
<p>She looked as if she was going to say something, backed off,
seemed to make up her mind.</p>
<p>"I was so scared," she blurted. "I thought you were dead."</p>
<p>"You and me both. Sure cured my love of heights, I can tell
you," he said trying to keep it light. "I should keep you as a good
luck charm."</p>
<p>"It wasn't luck," she said. "It was meant. I know it."</p>
<p>"I'll have to take your word for it. You've been right so
far."</p>
<p>He squeezed her hand. "Have you been here all night?"</p>
<p>She inclined her head, grey eyes glistening.</p>
<p>"I thought you might die."</p>
<p>"You mean you didn't see it in the runes? It takes more than
that to kill the likes of me."</p>
<p>The tears swimming in swelling crescent broke over and ran
freely down under her eyes, trickling to the corner of her
mouth.</p>
<p>"Oh, come on. We beat the bastard, you and me. We make a great
team. Once I'm out of here, I want to take you to Hobnobs for a
coffee and start over again."</p>
<p>Lorna squeezed his fingers. The tears continued and he wished
they would stop. Her soft grey eyes searched his battered face then
fixed themselves on his as if she was afraid he would disappear,
and the encompassing, insistent gaze bored its way into a part of
him he thought he had closed off forever. An almost forgotten
emotion stirred again in there. He pulled her gently towards him
and she simply toppled against his chest. A grind of pain growled
in his side and he let out a gasp. She hauled back, immediately
concerned and contrite.</p>
<p>"Oh, be gentle with me," he groaned, as a sudden wave of warm
tiredness washed over him. She held tight to him for several
minutes before she realised he had fallen asleep again. Alone with
him, knowing he was safe, she began to cry softly, leaning into his
arms.</p>
<p>The next few days were a maelstrom. It wasn't until he woke the
second time, to find himself alone and aching all over, that he
discovered Julia had been hurt. He refused to see anybody else
until he was satisfied her injury, so serious it had taken three
hours of surgery to repair the damage to her intestine and
abdominal muscles and remove a hard spike of wood that had broken
off inside her - was healing and until he got a promise that he
could see both her and Davy later in the day.</p>
<p>Robbie Cattanach slipped in to the room before the rest of the
crowd.</p>
<p>"Thought I'd be giving you the once over," he said, grinning
boyishly. "Might have been interesting to find out what makes you
tick."</p>
<p>"Sorry to disappoint," Jack said drily. He took a gulp of water
and swallowed down the cough that threatened to send it back up
again. "You won't get another chance, I can promise."</p>
<p>"You'll live," Robbie said. His face went serious for a moment.
"Christ alone knows what you've been up to. Want to tell me what it
was?"</p>
<p>"It was just as you described. Like nothing in the natural
history books. It was a fucking monster. Remember that Ridley Scott
film you were telling me about? It was worse than that."</p>
<p>"And you killed it?"</p>
<p>"I hope to Christ I have. I don't want to go through that
again."</p>
<p>Ralph Slater came in with Hector Nairn, the divisional commander
who had insisted Jack was re-assigned to the case.</p>
<p>"Are you up to a statement?"</p>
<p>"I'll give it my best shot," Jack told his senior officer.</p>
<p>"Miss Breck has declined to make any comment until we've spoken
to you. Any reason for that?"</p>
<p>"She's had a tough time. Where's O'Day?"</p>
<p>"We had to take him to the head injuries unit in Glasgow. You
nearly killed him."</p>
<p>"Nearly isn't good enough. Is he under guard?"</p>
<p>"Not necessary. He's in a coma which he may not survive. I'm
afraid this might cause us a bit of a problem."</p>
<p>"No problem to me. Listen, I don't care what happens, but he is
not to be left unguarded, even for a moment. And there must be at
least two people at all times. With the lights on at all times. Is
that clear?"</p>
<p>Jack reached forward and took Hector Nairn by the sleeve of his
coat. The man pulled back, narrowing his eyes warily.</p>
<p>"Sure Jack," Ralph butted in, taking the heat out of the
situation. "I'll put John McColl on to it right away. He'll make
sure."</p>
<p>Jack sank back against the pillow, breathing a slow sigh after
the sudden effort of his outburst.</p>
<p>"How did he get the injury?" the commander asked.</p>
<p>"I hit him across the head with a scaffolding bar."</p>
<p>"Was that necessary? According to the doctors the man was
emaciated to the point of death. He looked as if a breeze might
knock him down."</p>
<p>"Aye, that may be. But he tried to kill me, and would have done
it too. Me and Lorna Breck and my nephew. That's what we've been
hunting all along."</p>
<p>"I think there will be a few folk who might find it hard to
believe."</p>
<p>"That's fine by me. But as long as you put a guard on O'Day and
keep the lights on him, the killings are at an end. It's finished.
We've got it."</p>
<p>"It?"</p>
<p>"Whatever."</p>
<p>It took three days to get the statements from both of them and
while that was going on, the public inquiries began into the deaths
of all of the victims, starting with Marta Herkik. The fiscal
recorded five verdicts of suicide and one case, that of Jock Toner,
of death by misadventure. Timmy Doyle, Kelly Campbell and the
others with the exception of old George Wilkie who was still posted
missing, and including the other McCann children and their
father who died in the fire in Murroch Road, were found to have
been unlawfully killed by person or persons yet unknown.</p>
<p>The storm blew itself out on the morning after Jack and Lorna
staggered out of the deserted shipyard, carrying Davy between them,
and a fresh day dawned in Levenford. It took several weeks, despite
Blair Bryden's clarion headlines in the Gazette, before people
actually believed the murders had stopped and that the killer he
had dubbed the Shrike was in custody.</p>
<p>Michael O'Day was in intensive care for four weeks while doctors
tube-fed him the nourishment his wasted body needed. John McColl
was as good as Ralph's word. There were two officers on guard at
all times. There was no need to bother with Jack's injunction about
the lights, for in intensive care, they are never off. The man was
comatose for another two weeks and finally began to stir under the
sheet, still emaciated and pallid, but not as corpselike as he had
been. A shallow concave depression reached from his ear to the back
of the skull, showing where Jack had smashed him with the bar.</p>
<p>Several doctors, including two consultant neurologists put him
under a battery of examinations. O'Day was awake, but as they say,
though the lights were on, there was nobody home. He was unable to
speak properly, only managing a few grunted vowels. He had to be
taught how to eat and for hours at a time, he would go into a kind
of fugue, sitting with his head cocked to the side, mouth slack and
drooling, as if listening to far-off voices. His self- appointed
lawyers took the medical report on his assessed brain damage and
went hammer and tongs for Jack.</p>
<p>By this time, he was walking, though slowly, and with a stick.
Julia had been allowed out of hospital after two weeks, when the
infection in her abdomen had finally cleared and Jack re-learned
how to use the washing machine and iron clothes, making the house
tidy for her return. Davy remembered little about the incident,
though he had a repetitive nightmare for several weeks, in which
something came for him in the dark. Jack cuddled him until his
breath smoothed out and he fell back asleep. He saw Lorna Breck
every day.</p>
<p>Internal affairs hauled Jack through the mill, and while he
couldn't care less, the thought of Ronald Cowie's smirking face
helped him defend himself against an accusation of dereliction of
duty - in not arresting O'Day in the first place - and grievous
bodily harm. The senior officer from another force , having heard
the extent of his injuries, and having read Jack's daily reports,
requests for extra men, and uncanny predilection for being right,
dismissed the allegations. He remained off duty for a further two
months until the court case.</p>
<p>Michael O'Day appeared in a wheelchair at the High Court charged
only with the murder of Gordon Pirie, the young policeman,
attempted murder of Davy Forest and the killing of Marta Herkik,
although the evidence in that was circumstantial and his
unwitnessed admission that he had been in Cairn House that night
was inadmissable. His lawyers once again claimed police brutality,
but they were fighting in the face of the certain knowledge that
since O'Day's capture, there had been not a single killing in
Levenford.</p>
<p>The accused sat hunched in the dock, barely visible over the
wooden handbar. Jack sat with Lorna in the public gallery, both of
them mesmerised by the slack eyed thing which drooled between the
two court officers. It took less than a day for the solemn court
pronouncement that he was insane and unfit to plead. The Judge,
furnished by the prosecution with a full dossier on the atrocity
that had spawned in Levenford with the killing of Marta Herkik,
decided that as a matter of public safety, he should be confined to
the state mental hospital at Dalmoak without limit of time. O'Day
passed from the court's jurisdiction into other hands.</p>
<p>Lorna waited with Jack outside the courthouse when it was over.
She stayed close. Finally O'Day was wheeled out of the back door
towards the waiting secure transporter. The two policemen pushing
the wheelchair stopped, turned it to lift it into the van. Lorna
turned away, not wanting to look again at the man who had crawled
out from under the dark stairwell, but Jack could not avert his
eyes.</p>
<p>As O'Day was lifted inside, the vacant expression flicked off.
He blinked, focused, then hooked his eyes on Jack's. For several
eerie, unnerving seconds, he found himself locked with the other
man. Lively, malevolent intelligence danced in O'Day's burning
glare. He sat there, hunched like an old and crippled man, white
hair awry and patchy, yet his eyes were full of life of a kind. He
stared at Jack, mirthlessly challenging, then a creepy smile
altered his vapid face. The smile widened, became a grimace which
showed two blackened teeth. In that instant, Jack got a flash of a
wide, amphibious mouth set with rows of needle shards. O'Day lifted
a skinny grey hand and pointed at him. The small movement carried a
dreadful menace. Jack felt himself suddenly unmanned. Lorna felt
him shudder and looked up at him, saw his eyes fixed on O'Day and
turned round quickly.</p>
<p>As soon as she did, the malevolent light flicked out. O'Day's
hand fell to his lap. His mouth opened and a trickle of saliva
edged down his chin. The officers hauled him into the van and the
door closed.</p>
<p>"It's' over now," Lorna said.</p>
<p>Jack looked down at her, clamped his arm across her shoulder and
pulled her against him.</p>
<p>"Over and done."</p>
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