Chapter 10

Take Two

Sunlight sparkles off the ring as her hand moves, sending rainbows round the walls. He can hear her laugh, relaxed and happy. They'd spent the afternoon window-shopping downtown, then he'd bought her a hotdog as an early dinner and walked her home. Now she's about to go back out, and is getting ready for her late shift on the wards.

He smiles, amazed at his good fortune, his arms wrapped around her. He's going to get to spend the rest of his life with this beautiful, funny, compassionate woman who is currently trying to check her make-up in the mirror while he's trying to steal another kiss.

She gives him a playful push.

'Oh, Ed!' she says.

He's deliberately getting in her way, leaning against her, his arm tightening around her waist. He leans down to kiss the nape of her neck, the closest piece of bare skin he can reach.

'I'm going to be late,' she says, half-heartedly trying to get him to move. 'I have to get ready.'

'You're already ready,' he murmurs against her. 'You're always perfect.'

He breathes in her perfume, savouring the warmth. She tries to push him again, but with much less effort than before. He can feel her stifle a laugh.

'You're being impossible!'

Not letting go, he lifts his arm so he can see his new watch, not moving his mouth from the curve of her neck, enjoying the sensations far too much.

'You've got at least a minute,' he says, running his lips lightly up towards her hair. 'That's an extra minute I get to kiss you.'

'But I have to go,' she said.

He knows what he's going to say, even though he doesn't want to have this conversation. Not again. This never gets any easier. He moves to look at her.

'Why do you have to do nights this week?' he asks. 'You don't need to.'

'You're on night shift,' she replies in a very reasonable tone. 'And we need the money.'

Ed frowns at the statement. He doesn't like it put that way. He never has. But they do need the money. The deposit on the house nearly cleaned them out and they need every nickle and dime to keep afloat. But for some reason he doesn't want her to work tonight. He can tell she's annoyed at his attitude.

'I don't know why you are so upset about me working nights,' she says. 'You work nights. There's always so much to do at the hospital.'

She's right. But he can't shake the feeling that something is about to go wrong. He doesn't speak, both annoyed and unsettled, just looks at her, wanting to communicate his thoughts without having to explain.

'Oh Ed!' she says, in that way she always does. 'Please don't do this again. We've had a wonderful afternoon, don't spoil it.'

Ruefully, Ed nods, but that doesn't change the sensation he has, ominous and uncertain at the same time. She turns to look up at him. With a terse shake of her head, she pushes herself up on her toes and gives him a kiss that barely grazes over his lips, tender and full of promise. He can smell Channel No5, and suddenly wonders what such a wonderful, sophisticated woman would ever see in him. She's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. How did he get to be this lucky?

He smiles at her and she smiles back.

'How come I'm lucky enough to have met you?' he asks, half to himself. She hears anyway and gives that pretty, bashful look that she only uses with him.

'I'll see you tomorrow,' she says.

Yes. They'll see each other tomorrow, they have a date for dinner. Skilfully, she disentangles herself from his arms and steps away, going towards the door to open it. He's about to take her hand, pull her back and kiss her properly, but he can't quite reach. She purses her lips, and for the first time in the exchange she looks nervous and upset.

'Please be careful tonight, Ed,' she says seriously. 'You know I worry when you're out on patrol.'

'I will.' He tries to sound reassuring, he doesn't want her to worry about him.

The door opens, and as it does he reaches out one last time, suddenly desperate to take her hand and keep her safe. He's never going to get another chance. She looks back and waves at him, oblivious to what is going to happen.

She steps through and pulls on the door. It starts to close behind her, shutting in slow motion. The memory starts to fade, as if someone is turning the lights down. He sees her hand resting on the side, with his ring on her finger. It's the last time he'll see her alive. Everything is black, except the tiny sparkle of a diamond catching the last shard of light.

Someone was calling out his name.

Ed groaned.

There was noise. A voice maybe. The sound of footsteps. An anxious cry of worry. For a moment, he didn't understand where he was, then it all came back to him in one overwhelming wave. The shooting. Standing alone at the funeral. Walking through the streets in a daze. Getting back to his house and getting thrown out. Going to the park and being attacked by a group who'd beaten him and searched him, before leaving him lying on the ground like trash left out in the rain.

That was where he was now. He was flat on his back on the muddy grass, right arm thrown above his head, left arm over his chest, his legs twisted at a strange angle. Rain was pouring down in a thick sheet, he was soaking wet and each drop that struck him felt as though it would leave a bruise.

His eyelids flickered, and the indistinct noises came closer. He could hear voices but couldn't make out the words. He wanted to call out for help, but his vocal chords didn't work.

A memory nagged at him. Those men, they'd been searching for something. He didn't understand why. He had nothing of value, only… his watch.

In a flash, he remembered the feeling of shock as it had been pulled over his wrist and everything else faded. His watch was gone. She was gone. And neither were coming back. How could he keep going, knowing that he'd lost it all?

'Hey!'

The sound of someone's voice close by made him try to twist away in panic. Nothing much moved.

'Hey, Carl! I've found him!'

The sound of footsteps grew very loud, very quickly.

'Carl! Carl! Vieni qui!,' said the voice.

There were more footsteps and a gasp of surprise. Then a hand tapped him gently on the side of his face. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt as if they'd been glued shut. He gave a low, almost inaudible groan.

'That's right, kid. You still with us?'

That was a voice he recognised. He tried to say the name, but all that came out was another groan.

'That's it, kid.'

The hand tapped him again, more gently this time.

'Ser-n Re-z,' he slurred at last.

'Close,' Reese said. 'Close enough, anyway.'

'What are we gonna do?' That was the first voice. That sounded almost familiar as well, but he couldn't place it.

'Doesn't look like there's anything broken,' Reese said. 'And there's not much blood.'

'He's going to look like he's done ten rounds with Clay in the morning.'

Ed felt a hand run through his hair.

'Does your head hurt, kid?'

'Nnn,' he groaned. His head didn't hurt more than the same dulled ache that throbbed through the rest of him.

'We should get an ambulance,' Carl said.

That was the very last thing Ed wanted and he tried to shake his head.

'Hey, take it easy, take it easy!'

'N-uh anbulns,' he said. Or that was what he thought he said.

'But if he's hurt…?'

There was the murmur of low voices, Ed couldn't make out what they were saying between them but they sounded anxious. He didn't like that feeling and tried to move.

'Okay, kid, okay,' Reese said, and Ed felt a hand on his arm. 'Okay, we won't call an ambulance. Yet. But if you start throwing up or passing out, that's exactly what we'll do. Fair?'

'Ye-ah.' The word sounded more like it was supposed to, speaking wasn't as hard as he thought it would be.

'Anything broken?'

At the word, an image of his smashed watch flashed across his mind, and Ed pushed it away as hard as he could. He couldn't think about that now, he had to think about other things.

'Kid?'

Ed focused on the question, not the memory. No bones were broken, there was no sharp, grating points of pain. He just ached, as if he'd been dragged by a horse over rough ground.

'N-o.'

'You still with us?'

In response, Ed grunted again. He slowly forced his eyes open. Then, once he had, he had to blink again, thinking maybe he had taken a heavy blow to the head and now didn't remember it. He was seeing double.

There were two Carl Reeses next to him. One on either side.

The Carl on his left was dressed in the same way as Ed remembered from the funeral this afternoon, black suit, white shirt, black tie. On his right, the other one was in a light brown jacket, with a darker jumper underneath.

Ed stared, not sure what to make of the two images, waiting for them to merge back into one. But the two figures stayed and he gave up trying to understand. Two Carl Reeses? That made about as much sense as everything else at the moment. He couldn't figure it out and let his eyes start to close again.

'Oh no you don't,' a Carl said.

One of them softly tapped his face again, and Ed opened his eyes.

'That's it,' Carl said. Or maybe it was the other Carl, Ed couldn't be sure. Why were there two of them? It was too difficult to figure out which one was which and who was Carl. He was just going to call them both Carl for the moment. That would work.

'Let's get him up,' Carl said. The other nodded and Ed just looked on in confusion.

'You ready, kid?' asked the Carl on the left.

They didn't wait for an answer. There was a strange pulling pressure on Ed's arms, that morphed into an unexpected spike of agony across his shoulders, sharp enough to set off fireworks of light behind his eyes. Then the whole world shifted and spun like he was on a roller-coaster as they carefully pulled him to his feet. He felt his legs go weak, but he didn't fall, supported by the two men, one on either side.

'Can you walk?'

He tried to nod, but that just made the ground spin all the faster. He grunted.

'Let's get him back to my place as quick as we can,' said the left-hand Carl.

'What's Marie going to say to that?' the other one asked.

Ed couldn't make out the response, and he had other problems, like trying to make his legs work and not being sick.

Walking wasn't as difficult as he feared it would, he managed to keep his feet moving, and when he stumbled there was a Carl there to make sure he didn't get as far as the ground. He let them lead him slowly on through the park to a big black shape that was probably a car. They propped him up against the side as one opened the door, and he climbed inside. Once the door was closed, Ed let his head tip back. One of the Carls got in the other side, helping him stay upright and the other Carl was the driver.

The car moved off. They travelled in silence for a few minutes, weaving through the streets and Ed had no idea where they were going and didn't have the curiosity to ask. Then the Carl that sat in the back with him urged the other one to stop.

'I just need a minute,' he said, getting out.

Reese trotted across the street to a phone booth and pulled a coin out of his pocket. Ed watched with blank disinterest. His mind was full of a confused jumble of thoughts and memories, all in a mess. Every so often he'd think about his watch, the crack on the glass, or the feel as it was pulled off his wrist, and he pushed those thoughts away as firmly as he could.

True to his word, Carl was back quickly, flopping down into the back of the car with a long, heartfelt sigh. The car started back up and they moved off. The man beside him gave another long, heartfelt sigh and shook his head.

'Couldn't raise Marie,' he said. 'But Ironside flipped. Good job he wasn't alone or you'd have heard the shouting from the car!'

Ed felt a wave of terror at the thought of the Chief's reaction to the debacle. Not again, he thought in despair, feeling sick. He didn't feel he could cope with yet another bawling out from Ironside …such a look of profound disappointment that he'd never be able to forget it… Not tonight.

'Do you blame him?' the driving-Carl asked.

There was a noise of agreement from the Carl next to him.

'Talk about kicking a man when he's down,' he said. 'Who'd do this to the poor kid?'

Ed frowned. Poor kid? Did they mean him? There was movement beside him.

'Here, kid. Use this.'

The man next to him was holding out something square and white. Ed stared at it numbly until the other man pulled Ed's hand out and put the white object in it. Ed stared at that instead, not sure what he was supposed to do now. With a rueful sigh, Carl gently lifted Ed's hand and made him hold the linen handkerchief against his lip.

At the touch, there was a sharp pain in his mouth. Oh, yes, Sam had punched him and split his lip. Were they still in the same day?

'I wouldn't like to be at the boarding house if he goes back there.'

Ed frowned again. Boarding house? The Chief? Back? What was going on?

'Ca-rl…?' he started. The man next to him leaned forward, giving him a warm smile.

Ed took a slow breath, trying to figure out what to say and what to ask about first. What was going on? What had happened? How did they find him? What was the Chief doing? Did he know? Was he angry? Ed had so many questions, but he decided to start with the most pressing.

'Why're th'two-f'you?' he asked, his words still slurring together.

The Carl next to him grinned. He pointed at himself.

'Carl Reese,' he said. He pointed that the other man, the one at the wheel. 'Nick Petrizzi.'

'Y're both… you,' Ed said.

He stopped speaking, not sure what he wanted to say, then gave up, deciding that if he couldn't coordinate his thoughts long enough to ask a simple question, it was better to keep quiet. Carl's grin grew wider.

'Cousins,' he said.

Ed accepted that as a reasonable explanation, even though none of his own close family looked like him, least of all his cousins.

It was hard to keep track of his thoughts for any length of time and the importance of the other questions faded. He let his eyes close, but the sensation of movement as the car drove along was amplified and he soon felt as if he was struggling against ten foot waves. His eyes opened suddenly, but the nausea didn't go.

He was going to be sick. He didn't want to do that, knowing that Carl and the other Carl would carry out their threat and take him to the hospital. That thought made him feel worse. A lightning fast picture of his watch flashed before his eyes. He couldn't go to the hospital, not tonight, not after losing the last piece he had of that day. Unfortunately, the feeling of worry and panic did nothing to help him feel less ill and within a few seconds he knew there was nothing he could do.

'Stop!' he said as firmly as he could. 'M'gonna-'

The car swerved and lurched to a stop amid the angry sound of horns, and Ed fumbled for the handle. Somehow, Carl got out and round in time to open the door, and helped him out. A moment later Ed was leaning on a nearby wall, giving a dry retch. The blunt, bruised pain that crushed his ribs made his head feel light again, but in spite of wanting to be sick, he wasn't.

He stood there, waiting, trying to take deep breaths, and slowly the sick feeling grew less. As he sagged back against the wall, Carl gently tugged on his arm, urging him to move.

'We're almost there,' Reese said, guiding him back to the car and making sure he stayed upright. 'It's just a couple of blocks to go.'

'Not hos-p'l,' Ed managed to croak. 'Can't. Please, can't. Not t'night. Not-'

The rest of the sentence vanished as Ed tried to stifle the rush of emotions.

'Okay, kid,' Carl said soothingly. 'Okay, we'll not go to the hospital. We'll go somewhere safe.'

He let Ed ease himself into the car then closed the door. The driver looked round at him. Ed looked back, vaguely remembering that the man wasn't called Carl but was called Nick Something. Had it started with a "P"…?

'D't un'stand,' Ed muttered.

'You're going to Carl's,' Nick told him. 'It's only a couple more blocks.'

The wave of relief caught him by surprise. Sergeant Reese was a good man, he'd helped, he'd given him a lift back from the cemetery and not made him answer unpleasant questions about the shooting. It would be safe with him.

'The Chief told us to find you,' Nick said. 'And keep an eye on you.'

Ed blinked hard, finding it hard to keep everything straight.

'St'l d't un'stand,' he said slowly. 'Th'Chief?'

Carl slid into the car beside him.

'Don't worry about it, kid,' he said. 'We all find it tough to keep up with him.'

With that, the car pulled off again. Ed let his head tip back but didn't make the mistake of closing his eyes, not while the car was moving.

As promised, within a few minutes they turned off the main road onto a narrow side street and the car pulled up outside a smart-looking town house.

'Thanks, Nick,' Carl said when they'd stopped, leaning forward and shaking the other man's hand. 'I owe you a few beers.'

Nick shook his head.

'No! You owe me a night off,' he said. 'You can babysit the boys. And don't tell Marie I helped, va bene? I value my neck!'

Carl got out and moved round to help Ed. He pushed himself slowly out of the car. As he stood up the ground lurched a little but much less than before. He heard the car pulling off but didn't react to it, he was concentrating on what he was doing, not wanting to fall or throw up. It was easier to stay upright than it had been before. He felt less woozy, but moving took more effort, as if his legs were weighed down by concrete. Slowly, Carl shepherded him up the three steps and unlocked the door, letting Ed inside, then called "hello" cautiously.

They waited.

There was a welcoming feel to the house, it was friendly and bright even at night, stylishly decorated in warm, complimentary colours. It smelled of oranges and flowers, with a background hint of poster paint. At regular intervals along the hallway were various playful paintings of weird trees and strange animals, clearly all done by the same child and all with the name "Tina" scrawled on them.

There was the sound of footsteps and Ed felt Carl tense, as if bracing himself, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.

'Carlos!' said a female voice. 'A che-'

A woman stepped through the far door, and stopped abruptly when she saw the two men.

She was very pretty, slim and athletic, with cascading black hair that hung loosely around her shoulders. She had a plain dress on, but still looked stylish and poised, and only very slightly upset that her husband had brought an unexpected guest.

'Marie,' Carl said hesitantly, gesturing at Ed. 'Um, this is Officer Brown.'

To her credit, she barely hesitated. She took one furious look at Carl, then one compassionate look at Ed, then hurried forward to help guide him inside.

Ed walked slowly forward, not sure where he was going. He was muddy, and still wet from the rain, and must have looked terrible.

'Wait there,' she said.

Carl looked after her nervously, then glanced up at Ed.

'That went better than I thought,' he whispered.

Less than a minute later she returned and handed Ed a large, avocado-green towel and a change of clothes and they ushered him towards the bathroom.

Once inside, Ed lent back against the door, pushing it closed, and just as it clicked shut there was a burst of very angry and very one-sided Italian from the hallway. He ignored it, concentrating on what he had to do.

Ed leaned forward and took a few long deep breaths, resting both hands on the wash basin. He stood still, not thinking about anything, only trying to summon the coordination not to fall over.

He was still shivering, the heat was leaking out of him through his soaking shirt and he knew he had to get changed. He didn't want to, not least because it meant moving and that would hurt, but the longer he waited the more cold he got. It would be better to get it over with.

Taking his time, he peeled off all his dirty, wet clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He dried himself as best he could, but it was difficult when he could hardly raise his arms without making the top of his back ache.

As he cleaned away the mud and dried himself off, Ed could see his reflection in the mirror, and didn't like what he saw. He was covered in red scratches and bruises of various shapes and colours. Of the two most obvious, one was on his left side, just above his hip at the curve of his waist, and the second ran from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, where he'd been hit with a baseball bat. No wonder it hurt to move.

He glanced down to his left forearm, seeing the obvious tan line and a few shallow scratches around his wrist. The chill he felt as he looked was nothing to do with the wet and cold. But there was nothing he could do about that now. He swallowed, trying to keep his composure long enough to get changed.

Slowly, he struggled into the borrowed clothes. They were too short, and too tight, probably because they were Carl's, but they were dry and that mattered more than looking smart. Afterwards, he tried to rub the rain out of his hair, but it hurt to keep his arms up for too long and so he left the towel over his head.

He looked at himself in the mirror once more. Hiding like that under the towel, he looked like he'd just stepped out of the ring, but he was far too exhausted to care. Bruises were starting to show around the side of his neck and his face, his lip was swollen and still leaking blood.

Outside there was an incomprehensible argument going on.

He blew the air out of his mouth in a long sigh, and pulled the towel off his head, making his hair look untidy. Not that he wanted to get involved, but he knew he'd better get out of there while he was still able to stand. Leaning down, and using the wash basin to keep himself steady, he picked up the sodden clothes and wrapped them in the towel, not sure what to do with them next.

As he opened the bathroom door, the speaking stopped abruptly. Carl and his wife stood near another doorway further along. The instant Marie saw him she swooped over, relieving him of the towel and dirty clothes and waved him towards the door opposite. Carl hovered attentively nearby in case he stumbled.

The room was their lounge, decorated in a similar way to the hall, welcoming and relaxed, various pieces of modern furniture, a couple of armchairs and a sofa. Under Marie's direction he slumped down at one end of the long seat, sagging back against the cushions. From somewhere behind him here there was the sound of movement and a clink.

'There you go, kid.' Carl handed him a glass of what looked like bourbon, a large double, maybe even a triple. The smell made his eyes water. Brandy. He didn't like brandy.

Tentatively, he lifted the glass to take a sip and the alcohol made the cut on his lip sting again. With a little encouragement, he took a small mouthful, feeling it burn its way down his throat and into his empty stomach. Looking at the glass, he could see a line of fresh blood curl through the amber liquid, spiralling around, and Ed watched it with a frown. Then he finished the drink off in one long swig, grimacing at the bitter taste.

'The doc will be here as soon as he can,' Carl said.

Ed jerked round, then regretted it as the room tilted and there was a wave of pain across his back.

'I can't af-'

Carl looked back at him sternly.

'Chief's orders,' he said. 'You want to argue it out with him?'

That was one of the very last things Ed wanted to do, ever.

In the stillness that followed, he couldn't hide from the regret that he'd pushed away since he'd come round. His watch. Thinking about it sent a constricting wave through his chest, and a chill down his spine.

His watch was gone.

This time he couldn't push the thought away immediately, and the image of the cracked face lingered. What would Anne have said if she knew he'd gotten himself worked over and let them take her present? He could almost hear her say: 'Oh, Ed! I knew something like this would happen'. Then she would sigh, and put her arms around his neck and add, 'but you're safe and that's what really matters…'

His breath caught abruptly, and the room gave an unsteady lurch. That was exactly how she would have reacted. He didn't want to think about that now. He didn't dare, in case he couldn't ever stop. And he had a lot more unpleasant and difficult things to deal with. He had to focus on what had happened during the attack, every detail he could, and remember enough to make a statement. He was still a cop…

The thought stalled. He wasn't a cop. Not at the moment, maybe not ever again. Besides, what sort of cop blanks out a funeral? What sort of cop gets thrown out of his home? What sort of cop walks himself to exhaustion then gets attacked in a park and can't get himself out of it?

What sort of cop was he?

He glanced around to the two people in the same room, who were looking at him with concern. He barely knew Sergeant Reese and didn't know his wife. He wasn't a friend, he wasn't part of their lives at all. He was a stray that they'd rescued from the rain.

Who was he? He wasn't sure he knew any more.

'You should rest for now,' Marie said. Her accent was New York, just like Reese's, but more European in the way she rolled her vowels. 'Carl has told me what happened and you need to get some rest.'

Ed started to disagree, but she repeated that he had to rest and stay still and help himself recover. When he tried to argue, she just tutted in a disapproving and distinctly motherly way and wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

At last, she sat down next to him, reached out and took his hand tenderly.

'Stop trying to fight, and let us help you,' she said.

The flood of emotion that swept through him was almost unstoppable. Shaking, he held her hand as tightly as he dared. He wanted to say something, to explain, but the words wouldn't come out. At some point very soon he was going to break down, he could feel the pressure at the top of his chest, coiling round his throat, rising like geyser about to explode out, any second now.

But it didn't explode out, as exhaustion smothered everything else he was feeling. Slowly, he let go of Marie's hand and leaned back into the seat, closing his eyes. Tonight, exhaustion trumped everything else. He was so tired he thought that if he went to sleep he'd never be able to wake up again. Besides, he knew from experience that in the morning all his muscles would have stiffened up and he'd hurt like hell all over. That was not something he was looking forward to with any enthusiasm.

'Rest,' Marie said, standing up. From nowhere she produced a pale yellow pillow with a frill around the edge and some blankets, and gently encouraged Ed to lie down.

He had no fight left, and in all honesty he didn't want to go anywhere. It was a nice house, they were nice people. They didn't shout at him, or hit him, or work him over, or throw him out, or accuse him of anything. They'd given him spare clothes and let him dry off, given him somewhere to sleep. It would be rude to leave after they had offered their help.

Tired and aching, he gave in and leaned into the pillow, pulling a blanket around him. He could hear them talking as they walked into the hallway, but it was a lot more calm now. Marie had a lilting, musical voice when she spoke her native language. It was nice to listen to.

It felt like only moments later, and the alcohol hit his system, making the room swim and sway. He felt impossibly heavy, as if he was sinking into the seat and he couldn't keep his eyes open.

The soft noise of Italian faded as Ed drifted off into a heavy, alcohol-induced sleep.