‘Jac… Jac. Wake up… wake up!’
Struggling against her as she shook him harder — but unable to resist the blackness this time, feeling himself dragged deeper and deeper into it… the water again rushing into his mouth, black and thick with mud… filling his gullet, his lungs, stifling, suffocating.
‘No… no…. no!’
His scream was still reverberating in the room as he sat up, his body soaked with sweat. He was trembling violently and felt suddenly cold.
Eyes blinking, adjusting, looking around to get his bearings. Salmon pink and beige. Alaysha’s bedroom.
She leant over and kissed him once more, one hand lingering on his shoulder as she pulled back, eyeing him concernedly.
‘Bad dream again?’
‘Yes… yes.’ He eased a tired sigh and smiled crookedly. ‘Unless I’m dead and this is the dream.’
Then, as he shook the last of the nightmare away, everything that had happened in the ten days he’d been away from the world flooded back in.
He was seen surfacing from the lake by the occupants of two cars passing on the Causeway, and was pulled from the water within minutes by one of them brave enough to take the plunge.
Four more cars stopped as the drama unfolded, and thankfully one of their drivers had basic First Aid experience — going through the resuscitation process for the first time with a real-life case.
A lot of water was coughed up, apparently, shallow breathing resumed and a weak pulse finally felt, but Jac was still unconscious, and remained so — despite medics giving him oxygen and a shot of adrenalin in his drip feed on the way to the hospital — for the next nine hours.
There was some residual water on his lungs, which was duly drained, one badly bruised and cut leg was stitched and strapped and a scan of his brain carried out — no signs of problems there — and when Jac finally awoke, he felt as right as rain and was in good spirits, as if nothing had happened, and his visitors, who’d so far been kept at bay waiting anxiously between the coffee room and corridor outside were finally allowed in to see him.
His mum, Jean-Marie, Alaysha, John Langfranc, Jeff Coombs — just as in the dream, except for his father, and not all at the same time.
His assigned consultant talked about releasing him in only a couple of days. ‘Just need to run a few more tests, some fresh strapping on that leg and let you rest a bit more — then you should be fine to go home.’
But the night before he was due to leave hospital, his temperature rocketed to 102F. Further tests ensued, this time considerably more frantic.
A lung infection was discovered, presumably from the lake water, but it had already entered his bloodstream. Septicaemia had set in.
The greyness was again dragging Jac back towards the black void, as for the next four days Jac hovered close to death.
Alaysha stayed with Jac’s mother and Jean-Marie in the corridor outside his room for most of that time, didn’t go to work and had her mom take care of Molly. Jac’s mother found a church two blocks away where she lit a candle for him and prayed. There were prayers too from Larry Durrant inside Libreville, and Rodriguez had even played a song for him over the prison radio.
All of which Jac was brought up to date on when he finally emerged from the grey abyss, bringing a wry — albeit weak — smile to his face.
Four more days for more tests and for him to regain his strength, he was told.
But the first thing Jac thought about then was Durrant: six days already lost, now another four on top! Twenty-one days left till Durrant’s execution.
John Langfranc had already reassured him about the clemency petition.
‘Don’t worry. I got everything necessary off your computer, put all the file attachments with it, and went out to Libreville and got Durrant to sign it. It’s gone off already — copies to both Candaret and the Board of Pardons.’
When Jac voiced his concern about the extra four day wait, Langfranc again offered to help.
‘I can interview Coyne or Friele and put it on tape for you — at least get somethingrolling on that front. Hopefully you’ll be able to pick up the ball from there.’
Jac had played the tape countless times during his last days in the hospital, as well as gone through again his earlier notes and the original trial and appeal files. So, that head shot and Durrant’s past MO had initially struck Coyne as out of place.
But everything else from Coyne — the eye-witness, Durrant’s descriptions of the house and the murder further bolstered by that final head shot being held back from all press releases, the blood spots on his jacket matched to Jessica Roche’s DNA — piled everything irrevocably against Durrant.
Jac felt weak, his strength sapped. Not just from the accident and his illness, but with what he now faced with Durrant. He’d just fought his way out of one grey abyss, yet just how he was going to fight his way through this daunting ocean of proof against Durrant, he didn’t know.
‘I know this isn’t the best time to bring this up,’ Alaysha said. ‘But you know that warning letter we talked about having sent to Gerry?’ She sighed and rested her hands in her lap. ‘I think it would be a good idea to now send it.’
When Alaysha had first mentioned likely problems with her ex, Jac had suggested sending an initial warning letter on the firm’s letter-heading; then, if that didn’t work, they’d go the whole hog and get a restraining order.
‘I know you said he’d been phoning you.’ Jac arched an eyebrow. ‘But has he been round here at your door, too?’
Alaysha closed her eyes for a second and eased out a sigh of submission. ‘Yes. Yes… he has. I didn’t want to say anything before while you were ill.’
Jac nodded pensively. ‘Was it bad?’
‘No, I…I…’ Alaysha’s eyes flickered briefly shut again. ‘ Yes, it was. He came round a couple of days before you came out of hospital, banging and shouting, and I told him to stop: Molly was home and he was frightening her. He kept shouting a while more, then finally calmed, saying he had a jacket of mine I’d left at his place a few weeks back. He’d come to give it back. I checked through the spy-hole, and, sure enough, I could see it in his hand — so I said, okay, but I was leaving the door on the chain. He wasn’t coming in. He seemed fine with that, just nodded numbly, as if all the fight had gone out of him. “Okay, babe, okay… I understand,” he says.’ Alaysha shook her head, her eyes shutting heavier this time as the memory of what happened played against the back of her eyelids. She bit at her bottom lip as she opened her eyes again, as if still fearful of what they might see. ‘Then as soon… as soon…’
Jac reached out and gently touched her arm, consoling. ‘That’s okay… don’t worry. I’ll… I’ll get the letter sent off as soon as I get to the office.’
‘Thanks, Jac. I appreciate it.’ She swallowed hard, shaking off the last of the images. ‘You know, I thought he was going to rip the chain right off the door. I… I don’t know how I managed to shut it again.’ She glanced back briefly towards the door again, as if it still might suddenly burst open. Then she looked down uncertainly; something was still troubling her.
‘What is it?’ Jac asked.
‘Unfortunately it… it didn’t end there.’
Jac’s concern gripped like a stomach cramp. His hand, laid lightly on her arm, pressed gently. ‘What happened, Alaysha… what happened?’
‘He came by the club the night after, making a scene.’ The shadows in her eyes shifted hesitantly as she forced a tight smile. ‘But, thankfully, the security at the club’s good. They made quick work of getting rid of him.’
‘Thankfully.’ Jac felt his jaw tighten. But what was going to happen when next time he tried and there was no security or a chained door between them? ‘I suppose if all else fails, there’s always one way of handling Gerry.’ Jac held a fist up.