‘You … willaaargh.’ Bubbles of saliva formed in the corners of his lips as he rejected the prediction. His tongue rolled to form the words and he bit down hard, causing a stream of blood to trickle through his fingers.
‘Are you, OK, mister?’ the woman said.
Bert stumbled away from the table, his blood-stained mouth still fighting to speak as the words backed up in his throat.
Heart pounding, he gulped in mouthfuls of fresh air as he burst through the swing doors. His tongue throbbed as he leaned against the wall, hastily spitting blood into a tissue. A bird’s caws echoed in the distance.
The woman rushed out, dragging the boy behind her. ‘Are you OK?’
Bert swallowed hard, and a burning sensation slid down his throat and settled in his belly. ‘Yes,’ he gasped, ‘thank you for asking.’
‘Good. I thought you were having a stroke,’ she said, her voice lowering to a whisper before glancing either side. ‘What you said about my boy … I’m trying to get help. It won’t happen again.’
‘Lots of people struggle,’ Bert said, relieved to have control of his voice. ‘You have to be strong.’ He turned to spit into his hanky. Silence passed between them. He fixed his black fedora as the woman turned to go back inside.
‘Oh and miss? Don’t go out on your own at night. It’s not safe where you live.’
‘How do you know …?’
‘I don’t. I’m just passing on the message. I advise you listen.’ A cawing from above alerted him to the high-heeled footsteps crunching up the gravel drive. Bert flattened against the wall, peeking around the corner to see the slim, well-dressed detective push through the double doors.
[#]
Bert’s uncharacteristic act of compassion baffled him as he sat at the bar of the Hare and Hound pub, downing his fifth pint. His triumph at dodging DC Knight was short-lived, as he counted the last of his money. If he had delivered the prophecy he would have been rewarded in so many ways. He would have awoken in the morning feeling rejuvenated and pain free, at least for a while. Money would have found its way into his hands, leaving him free to continue his mission. Why did I do that? I disobeyed the prophecy. His scaly fingers touched the swollen bite mark on his tongue, regretting his moment of weakness. What will happen now? The prediction would have to be fulfilled. He knew that from sorry experience. But now he had messed everything up by warning her. She wouldn’t go out alone tonight. His skin crawled with agitation, and he scratched the back of his neck. His fingernails returned hooked with blood. Alcohol had anaesthetised his nerve endings, but it was a temporary solution to an endless affliction.
A pair of eyes bored into his back as he shoved the folded-up cash into the crevice of his hat. He stumbled down the path into the night, cursing under his breath as car tyres splashed puddles and drenched his clothes. Lost in his anger, he did not hear the lone figure approach. A dog barked in the distance, as the clouds blotted the moon, but Bert was alerted to the familiar scene too late. His eyes bulged as a gloved hand clamped over his mouth, his captor spitting angry threats. Bert gagged, the smell of vomit and cigarettes overpowering as the gloved hand dragged him backwards into an alleyway. Staring but not seeing, Bert tripped over the broken concrete, desperately trying to gather his thoughts. An icy wind cut through the alley as the moon cleared the clouds, bringing a familiarity to the scene. It hit him with frightening clarity – this was the scene of Emily’s prediction. His heart hammered in his ribcage as he fought for breath. Was he taking the punishment in Emily’s place? A strike of terror drove through his heart as the pock-faced man bore down on him.
Chapter Twelve
Bert
Searing white pain greeted Bert as he awoke with a groan in the narrow metal bed. ‘Mother?’ came out as a muffled ‘Muffah?’ through blood-crusted lips, and the world began to sway as he struggled to focus with swollen eyes. Panic rose in his throat as he clawed the bed, trying to find his bearings.
‘Steady now.’ A soft voice approached and a hand touched his bare arm.
Bert shrivelled from the contact. This was not mother.
‘You’re in hospital. Just try to relax,’ the nurse said, smoothing his blankets with soft, gentle hands. She was so close he could smell her perfume, which was flowery and sweet, somewhat like her.
Bert drew soothing breaths and his vision began to clear. ‘What happened?’ He touched his temples and winced. His head felt like it had been stuffed with bricks.
‘You’ve had a beating and concussion, but nothing that won’t heal. Here, have a drink.’
With trembling hands, Bert gripped the plastic tumbler and gulped down tepid water.
‘There’s an officer here very keen to speak to you. I’ll go and get her.’
Police involvement was the last thing Bert wanted, at least not yet. But by the time he sat up to argue, the nurse was gone. He gave a weary sigh as a broad woman in a very tight police uniform plodded through the curtain surrounding his bed. Her black bobbed hair hung limply as if it were attached to the inside of her police hat.
Bert looked past his unwelcome visitor and through the gap in the hospital curtain. A yellowed semblance of a man slept in the bed across from him, his toothless mouth drawing in the hospital air that could soon be his last. Bert shuddered. The thoughts of sleeping in a shared ward gave him a sudden impulse to grab his things and leave.
A deep voice broke into his thoughts. ‘I’m Officer Wallace, the neighbourhood constable for this area. Can I have a minute of your time?’
Bert stared, mesmerised by the woman’s facial hair.
She did not wait for a reply. ‘You were found in an alleyway by a man looking for his dog. We’ve had several reports of robberies in this area. Can you tell me what happened?’
‘I can’t remember,’ Bert croaked, wishing the flowery nurse would return.
The woman bit the top of her pen as she shuffled closer to the side of his bed. For one horrifying moment, Bert thought she was going to sit on it.
‘Can you start by giving me your details? You didn’t have any ID when they brought you in.’
‘My cards. They’ve taken my cards?’ Bert whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
She nodded sympathetically, completely missing the point. ‘You’ll have to report any missing cards to the bank. Now if you’d like to provide me with your details we can find out who’s done this to you.’
‘No. I don’t know anything. Just leave me alone.’ Bert flapped his hands. Why wouldn’t she go away instead of mooing in his ear?
The officer slapped her pocket notebook shut and backed away. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll come back tomorrow when you’re feeling better.’
‘Have a shave first,’ Bert felt like saying. He was not feeling charitable. If there was one thing he hated it was hospitals. He always left feeling like he had been taken apart and put back together the wrong way. Bert tried to remember the last time he was in hospital but the memories were behind doors that would not open.
He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, too tired to stop the voices flooding his mind. The dog barking, the broken concrete, the pock-faced man. They’re all from the premonition. Bert replayed the reading at the psychic fair, and biting his tongue to stop the words, which felt so unnatural in his mouth. Once a premonition was invoked, it was almost impossible to halt. What goes around comes around. It was the law of the universe.