Linny was supposed to have been the last one. He’d decided to make this one different. Take her and set her up at the hotel, splay her out, ready for Sam. Ready for him to see her, so glorious in herself, and yet so incredible as a part of his plan. This is what I did for you, Regan had wanted to tell Sam as they stood there before the dying girl. This is what you made me.
But Linny had slipped away from him. He’d got Caitlyn instead. No matter. She’d do. And then the terrible news that Sam had escaped him, too.
It was OK. If Regan was anything, he was adaptive. He kind of liked it when things became chaotic, went awry. The little jerk of his heart as the rug slipped out from beneath him.
Now he’d discovered Harry. And his plans for her would put his former work to shame.
Regan was shaken out of his daydreams by the pain. He hugged an arm into his side and re-gripped the wheel, waiting for the spasms to pass. He needed to get off the road soon. It wasn’t finished yet. He turned onto the highway heading west and followed the ramp down to the deserted road, picking up speed.
Chapter 131
I DRAGGED MY suitcase along the walkway between the plane and the airport terminal, listening to it clunk over the rubber seams in the grey carpet. I knew people were staring. I hadn’t showered, changed, fixed my hair or so much as washed my face since the previous morning. There was grey duct-tape glue adhered to the burned skin of my neck. Blood spatter on my shirt. I’d ignored the number on my ticket and gone straight to the back row of the plane, sat there staring out the window and saying nothing until we landed. The flight attendants did not approach me, nor did anyone sit near me. They might have known who I was. Or they might simply have been terrified by my appearance. I didn’t know. I was counting the seconds until I got home, and that was all I had the mental strength for.
My phone bleeped as I turned the corner. My mother. I opened the text as I walked.
They just told me about Sam. I’m sorry but I have to keep the money.
I stared at the text, trying to understand what it meant. It didn’t matter. I didn’t have time for her. My Day Zero was mere minutes away.
As I walked into the terminal, a hand reached out and touched me. I turned and saw Edward Whittacker standing there.
It was all I could do not to cry. He looked as bad as I did. Strangely damp. Blood-soaked. He was steadily working on two black eyes, a blow to the head, it seemed. This was not how I was used to him looking. His shirt was torn. He grabbed my arms before I could throw myself at his chest and held me achingly away from him. His eyes were filled with tears. I didn’t get to ask him how he knew what flight I was coming in on. Why he was there. Why he wouldn’t let me touch him.
‘I need to talk to you before you hear it somewhere else,’ Whitt said. He glanced at the people around us, many of whom were staring, pretending to stop and adjust their bags. ‘Tox … Tox found the killer. He fought him. He got injured. He’s stable at the moment but it’s … it’s complicated. He’s … not well. He’s on the edge. Last night I cornered the killer. Regan Banks. He told me that he set your brother up. He told me Sam is innocent.’
I grabbed onto Whitt’s shirt. I held on, partly so I didn’t fall. Partly so that I could shake him if I needed to. My whole body was afire. He wiped at the tears running down his cheeks.
‘He got away,’ he said. ‘I let him get away.’
‘We’ve got to find him,’ I said. ‘We … Where was he last seen? Have there been sightings since? Where’s Tox? What hospital is he in?’
‘ Harry.’ Whitt held on as I tried to twist away. His grip was hard. Painful. ‘Word came through from the prison a couple of hours ago. There was an incident early this morning. A fight broke out in Sam’s cell block. Harry, your brother’s dead.’
Chapter 132
I STARED UP at Whitt’s eyes. The airport around me had been reduced to nothing. No light. No sound. Just a hollow in which this man and I stood. The words tumbled out of him, even as I willed them to stop. Whitt ran a hand through his filthy hair.
‘Sam’s dead,’ he said again.
The words rang in my mind, vibrating, the echo of a bell struck hard. I held onto Whitt’s shirt. He pulled me into his chest, wrapped an arm around my head, trying to shield me from the onlookers I could still see over his shoulder. Whitt didn’t know what to do. He rubbed my back hard, tried to squeeze the pain out of me even as it began to creep into my blood. I shook my head against his chest. My eyes were wide. I was terrified of closing them, of losing my fragile grip on the room around me. If I could just stay here in this moment, in the airport terminal, if I could just hold on, maybe it wouldn’t be real.
No, a voice inside me said. Please don’t take my brother. Please. I don’t want to be left here alone. Don’t leave me here alone.
As the tears formed and I closed my eyes, I recognised what I’d been feeling since I left Last Chance. The sickness, the heat, the giddiness. It was Sam.
He was gone.
Chapter 133
I FELT THE fabric of Whitt’s shirt pull tight as someone tapped him on the arm. ‘Sir, ma’am? Is everything alright? Can I offer you some assistance?’
Whitt pulled away from me, took in the sight of the flight attendant before him like she was an alien creature, her spotless red blazer and unreal make-up a puzzlement. He spoke to her. Gestured. I didn’t listen. I turned and looked at the faces of the men and women who’d gathered around us. I looked from face to face. An elderly lady and her husband clutching their matching suitcase set. A pair of pierced young women lugging backpacks. A family. A group of businessmen. I looked at them, and I didn’t recognise them.
Once, I would have thought of these strangers as ‘civilians’. Non-police. Members of the public whose protection was my duty. They were what I woke for. What I breathed for. These strangers standing around me, those walking back and forth beyond them, getting on planes, getting in taxis.
Now they were just faceless people standing in my way.
I felt a rush of warmth over my limbs, an inner surrender. I was no longer a good Harry struggling to control her bad half. A battle had been lost. I felt dark inside. Hollow, dark and empty of goodness.
Because somewhere out there, beyond them all, beyond the terminal and the airport, Regan Banks was waiting. He was my purpose now. He would be what I continued breathing for. There would be time to grieve properly for Sam later, once I had Regan in my hands. I needed to find him, make him confess what he had done, force him to exonerate my brother. I couldn’t let the tears fall yet. There wasn’t time for that.
Second by second, he was getting away from me. And I was not going to let him escape.
I was not going to let him be caught by my colleagues, by Whitt or Tox, men who would spare his life.
He was going to be mine.
I walked away through the crowd. By the time Whitt noticed I was gone, it was too late.
I CAN’T STOP running. Not now. Not ever.
I think the police are following me. Unless they’re not.
That’s the crazy part. I’m just not sure.
Maybe somebody recognized me …
My picture’s been all over. I bet someone called the NYPD and said, “There’s a crazy guy, about forty-five years old, stumbling around SoHo. On Prince Street. Wild-man eyes. You’d better get him before he hurts himself.”
They always say that—“before he hurts himself.” Like they care.
That crazy guy is me. And if I had seen me, I would have called the cops, too. My dirty blond hair really is dirty and sweaty from running. The rest of me? I feel like hell and look worse. Torn jeans (not hip, just torn); dirty army-green T-shirt, dirty classic red-and-white Nikes. “Dirty” is the theme. But it doesn’t really matter.