Chapter 14

He pulled into a place that I didn't know, in a district I had never been to, but I could see what it looked like: a derelict amusement park. He got slowly out of the car, a smile spreading across his face. Leaning in, he said:

'Get out. We're here.'

I did as I was told, shaking a little, worried sick now that my cell was gone. Had Ran followed us? I desperately hoped so. I also prayed he would call the police, that he wouldn't do anything stupid. Not that he seemed the have-a-go type.

'This is where I started,' he said. 'I had a booth, one of those little attractions. I enjoyed fleecing the punters, but it was too easy and I wasn't making any money. You can only fleece so many idiots in an hour.'

He led me through the park, past the rusting rides, some of which were starting to break apart, past the tatty booths, destroyed by the weather and vandals, past the haunted house, with its closed and shuttered window eyes, like it didn't want to see what was happening. I was sure I would not want to see what was going to happen. The building we finally entered was the hall of mirrors.

'I love this place,' Nashton said. 'What's real, what isn't – you can't tell. You can't believe the evidence of your own eyes. But you know that, as well as I do. You are so going to love this.'

He took me into a small room inside, dusty and dirty, with almost nothing in it except a wooden kitchen-type chair. After he had forced me to sit down, taking my purse from me, he attached me to the chair with a handcuff round my wrist. It was just like a scene from a movie. A movie I didn't want to be in.

'This is just . . . I need to get ready for the show, and I can't have the guest star disappear on me. Don't worry, I am not going to hurt you. Who else gets hurt – oh, but I mustn't spoil the surprise. Wait for me.'

I had no option, unless I dragged the chair with me. As he left the room, he flicked off the light and I was plunged into darkness. My heart was pounding and I could hear my fast, shaky breathing. I was seconds away from a full-blown panic attack, I was sure of it. I closed my eyes and concentrated on all the yoga breathing exercises I had ever done. Slowly things calmed down a bit. Why I had thought I could deal with this, I didn't know, but I had trusted him, believed him. Big boys' games, big boys' rules. But I did not want to play with the big boys.

At the time, the waiting in the dark was the worst part. I could move a bit, as I was attached to the chair in only one place, but the bar between the two cuffs was short. I could only swing round on the seat. I was convinced I could hear scuffling in the corners.

It was difficult to keep track of time. Eventually he came back, flicking the light on and dazzling me.

'Okay. Are you ready?' he said, in a game-show host sort of voice.

After he released me from the cuff, gripping my arm, he took me down a dim, derelict wooden corridor, our footsteps echoing a little. Throwing open a door, he towed me into a brightly lit space.

'Look around you. Isn't it wonderful?'

We were in a large-ish space, the walls of which seemed to consist only of mirrors, some angled slightly towards each other, some facing into the room. It was disorientating, the most confusing hall of mirrors I had ever been in. Illuminated globes littered the floor, and were reflected over and over in the mirrors, as were we, from all angles. Lights around the mirrors, lights on the ceiling, reflected infinitely, stretching away into the distance. There appeared to be one or two corridors out, but I knew from experience that they probably weren't. I started to feel lightheaded, unbalanced. I did not like to see so many versions of myself, every movement of face and body reflected back to me.

'Isn't it the best hall of mirrors ever?' he turned to me for approval, one hall of mirrors lover to another.

'I've never seen anything like it,' I managed to say.

'It has taken ages to design. A lot of trial and error. Isn't it beautiful?'

It certainly was, but I couldn't appreciate it fully. Anxiety about what might be coming next gripped my heart, the word hurt echoing round inside my head. Shaking, I had eyes only for him. He noticed.

'Oh, I understand, you want to get on with it. So do I. But this is a lot of work. I want you to appreciate it. There aren't many of us who can.'

I made myself look around, trying to identify any panes that might be just glass, and not mirrors: that might have an exit behind them, although how I would break such a pane I did not know. Usually in a hall of mirrors you moved through a series of rooms, with the occasional pane of clear glass to confuse you. The best one James and I had ever been in was the Alhambra Mirror Maze in Lucerne, Switzerland, years ago, the only time I had seen James close to panic when he thought we wouldn't find our way out. I had laughed, but I had been on the verge of panic, too, and it had taken all my experience to figure it out. I had a feeling that this was going to take all my experience as well. Experience of what, though, I had no idea.

'It's . . . magnificent,' I said. This is what he had been designing on those sheets of paper he had artfully placed on the counter in the bookstore, so long ago, it seemed, when he stole the first of the Larsson emails and discovered what Lacey and I had. I could see now.

'Look,' Nashton said. With a remote control, he brought up lights behind two of the mirrors or panes. I gasped and stopped breathing. My fingers flew to my mouth to stop me crying out. Behind one was Rafe Harlowe, no longer so elegant and superior, tied to a chair and gagged, looking for once terrified and drawn. Pinned to his chest was a square of white cloth. He looked like nothing so much as a World War One deserter, waiting for sentence to be carried out. Behind the other, the Bat was standing, cuffed by both wrists to something, his arms spread wide, with little room to move. He struggled against his bonds. My eyes widening, I realised he was not wearing the top half of the suit, nor the cowl. There seemed to be a dark mark on his left cheekbone and a trickle of what might have been blood had run down the side of his face. He also had the white square pinned to his chest. I could barely breathe. I thought I was going to die of a heart attack there and then, and at that moment, I would have considered that a blessing.

'Lady and gentlemen, welcome to the show,' Nashton announced. 'A present for you, Emma. The truth.'

He held out his arm towards his two captives, like he was presenting them to me. Then he pointed to a mark on the floor, a cross made with masking tape. 'Stand there.'

'Emma. Emma,' the Bat was calling. 'Are you okay?'

'Yes, yes – '

'Shut it,' Nashton said crossly. 'I'll tell you when you can speak.' He took a breath to compose himself, to get back into whatever persona he thought he was playing. 'Moving on. Are you ready to play, Emma?'

'Play what?'

'Why, the game, of course. Play up, play up, and play the game. Isn't that what you British say? I told you, I used to work here. The three card trick. Puzzles. They were so easy to beat, the stupid punters, it became boring. But I will give you an easy one to start with. And you, Batman, let her answer. You answer, I will kill her.'

I looked towards the Bat. Although he had spoken to me, I didn't know if he could see me at all, let alone the terror that had to be in my eyes. I wanted to cry, to run away, to be anywhere else but here. How had this happened?

'Okay, Emma, are you ready?' Nashton asked. 'Here is your question. What is more powerful than God, and more evil than the devil?'

I had an answer, I had seen this one on the internet, when I was researching Lucifer and the fallen angels. But I wasn't sure if this was the answer Nashton wanted. Frantically I looked towards the Bat. A slight movement of what might have been his left hand caught my eye; he was making a subtle circle with fingers and thumb.

'Nothing,' I said. 'Nothing is more powerful than God, more evil than the devil.'

Nashton clapped, but a slow, mocking hand clap.

'Is – the original answer! But I wanted the new answer – which is . . . me! Am I not more powerful than God? I have you here, Batman, at my mercy, awaiting my will. And am I not more evil than the devil? Asmund Larsson and Ouray Mahigan have found that out. And I am coming for the rest. There will be no hiding place.'

'You don't know who they are,' the Bat dared to say. I could hear a slight tremor in his voice.

'Oh, but I do. Mr Mahigan was most obliging. He sang like a canary, thinking it might save his sorry ass. I can't say soul. But it didn't. He had some very interesting papers in his safe – like an insurance policy. So I am all-knowing. But Emma isn't, are you, Emma?'

I looked at him, puzzled.

'So it is time for the next game – truth or dare. There won't be a lot of choice in it, gentlemen. Sorry about that. The dare element will be missing. So I suppose it's just the truth game. This is how it is going to work. Emma is going to ask a question she wants an answer to. If I think the answer is a lie – well, we'll find out what happens, won't we?'

'What questions?' I asked. 'I don't have any questions.'

He sighed and rolled his eyes and told me of course I did: questions about James's death, the land contracts, the Archangels.

'You are spectacularly dumb sometimes, but I suppose you are old. What else did I expect?' he said. 'Harlowe, you're number one. Batman, you're number two. Emma, off you go. Question for number one.'

I asked Harlowe if he was an Archangel. Harlowe's head was down on his chest. Nashton went over and knocked on the glass, startling Harlowe. When he looked up, Nashton repeated the question. Wearily, Harlowe nodded, then let his head drop again. Nashton rapped sharply on the glass.

'No. No. We're playing the game now. Pay attention.'

'It's not admissible,' I dared to say. I didn't want to be part of any more of this cruelty. I didn't want to find out like this.

'What, so you're a lawyer now? Did I ask you? Did I?'

Pressing my lips together, I shook my head.

'No. I didn't. So shut it. Next question. To number two this time.'

I asked the Batman if he had killed Ouray Mahigan. He said no; Nashton looked like he was considering the truth of that answer, but he knew it was true, despite what he had suggested to me out by the harbour. How long ago that seemed now. So we progressed, and it seemed to take an age. Harlowe admitted cheating the Unalachtigo out of proper compensation for the land

and of burying James's report. When he denied any knowledge of the concrete procurement, Nashton's face shut down into a frown, and suddenly Harlowe arced upright, crying out. An electric shock.

'Sorry, did I fail to mention the forfeit?' Nashton said.

The Batman got the same treatment when he denied being an Archangel, and again when he denied murdering James. Looking at the way he shook his hands, the shocks were coming through the hand-cuffs.

'Why – would I?' the Bat asked through gritted teeth.

'To protect your name. Your wealth.' Nashton buzzed him again. 'Final answer?'

'Final answer.' It was not much more than a whisper. His head also went down.

'Oh, you are one stubborn cuss, aren't you?'

By the time Nashton was sufficiently bored, I had answers of some sort, although they had been coerced and would not stand up in court: the vindication of James's work and the knowledge that Harlowe had confessed to ordering James's death, and also that of Thomas Wayne. We both heard the Bat's sharp intake of breath when Harlowe nodded assent to that one.

'Well, that's one mystery solved,' Nashton said. 'Looks like that's a new one on you. Glad to be of service. Okay, game over, children. On to the last one. I can't tell you how excited I am about this.'

He took himself out of the room, bolting the door shut behind him. I still stood on my mark, shaking. Surely enough time had passed now; surely Ran had contacted Lacey and the police were coming. Thank goodness I had thought to send him Lacey's number. I just had to hope against hope that he had followed Nashton's car. The cavalry had to be on the way. I couldn't cope with much more of this. Or bear the thought that rescue was not coming, and this cruel game would have to play out to its bitter end, whatever that meant for the three of us trapped in it.

The lights flashed on and off for a few seconds, like a game show. Then came the quiet, menacing voice:

'Emma. As you can see, there is a table in the room with you, with a cloth over it.'

I saw it. It was a step away, small among the globes of light.

'Take off the cloth.'

I did so. I started to shake, more than I already was.

'Pick up the gun. Go back to your mark.'

Slowly I did as I was told. It was heavy, solid. It looked like the one he had used to frighten off Harlowe and his heavies in the store – not that I was any judge of firearms.

'It's a Glock 17, so beloved of your revered British police forces. So you can feel like – I don't know – a British police officer, delivering justice. It's ready to fire, so don't touch the trigger yet. Now. I am going to offer you a deal. I am going to make a statement. If it is correct, I will give you two lives. If it is false, I will give you one life. Do you understand?'

'I – I'm not sure I do.'

'Oh, you'll get it. Don't worry. Now – you don't have a choice about taking the deal. It's kind of assumed. . . Now listen carefully. Here's the statement. You will shoot and kill either the Batman or Rafe Harlowe.' He paused for effect, but I was too shocked, too frozen with fear, to move anything or make the smallest squeak. The men were slumped and silent. Nothing moved.

'Rafe Harlowe,' he continued, 'condemned out of his own mouth as the godfather of Archangels – does that even make sense? – and the person who caused the death of your husband. And, of course, the late, lamented do-gooder, Thomas Wayne. Among others, no doubt. Happy to build substandard buildings, and to let honest businesses go to the wall. And for what? Nickels and dimes. He will never be brought to justice in a court of law because he has made sure he is too far removed from the dirty work.'

Another pause for dramatic effect, lost on his traumatised audience. Where were the cavalry?

'So we come to the Batman.' (His head came up at that point).'Or should I say Lucifer? And you are Lucifer, aren't you? You are challenging the Archangels so that you can become God. You seek to become what you say you wish to destroy. You want the power of life and death. You think you are an avenging angel, but you are not. You are exactly the same as them. And you will end the same way. Your pride will bring you down. For that is your sin, isn't it? Your pride. Your sense that you are so much better than all of us. That you are right, you are entitled to dish out vengeance, no judge, no jury. Well, I am here to tell you – and show you – that I am the one true God, and I alone have the power of life and death. Let's play. Let's see who wins – God or Lucifer.'

The voice spoke to me:

'Emma, does that make it any easier, my dear?' The lights flashed on and off again. 'Ladies and gentlemen, who will she choose?'

I sank to my knees, throwing the gun to the floor.

'Please don't throw up. That is such a cliché,' Nashton said.

I stared at the Bat. I had to kill someone. And he couldn't help me. He couldn't help me work it out.

If I shot one of them, that would make the statement true, and Nashton would give me two lives. But one of them would be dead, so I couldn't save both of them. If I didn't shoot one of them, he would give me only one life. But which one?

'Have to hurry you, Emma.'

Then it dawned on me: he was including my life in this tariff. If the statement was true, my life would be the second life he gave me. If the statement was false, only one of the three of us would walk out alive. If indeed he could be trusted.

'How – how do I know you will keep your word, and not kill all three of us?' I dared to ask.

'Oh, good question! Emma, I'm a bit disappointed in you. Have you not noticed? I always tell the truth. Unlike some people – '

'But you don't,' I shouted. 'You lied to me about not killing Ouray Mahigan.'

'Don't believe I said it in so many words, if you remember correctly. Which you clearly don't. Do you want me to apologise, or something, for your misinterpretation? I can't be held accountable for your inferior intellect. But the end justified the means at the time. And . . . candy and babies comes to mind. You are so gullible, so stupid, so ready to believe what anyone tells you. Normally, I do hate lying and I always, always, tell the truth. So – if I have told you I will give you back two lives, then I will. If I have told you I will give you back only one life – your own – then I will. You have my word. You will walk out of here.'

If no-one else. Harlowe, the cool, superior CEO of Gotham Developments, the chief Archangel, appeared to be weeping with the stress of it all, just waiting to die. And probably not quickly, if I chose him: despite the thoughtful target over his heart, I couldn't guarantee a clean kill. I wanted to cry as well, but I was too panic-stricken, struggling to breathe, just waiting for the heart attack that must be coming.

'Emma.' This was the Bat. His voice was shaking but he was calmer than Harlowe and me. 'Take the shot.'

'I can't.' I whispered.

'Conscience. You have to. Take the shot. Save yourself and Harlowe.' He took a deep breath. 'It's – okay.'

'No. It's not. It's not okay.'

Another deep, shaky breath. 'I don't care what happens to me.'

'Well I do, even if you don't! I care.'

'Aw, sweet.' This was Nashton. ' Not. Just get on with it before I start crying. With boredom.'

The cavalry must be coming by now. I just needed to stall. 'This is not justice, is it? Is it? This is vengeance. It's not the same.'

'Are you saying it's not going to make you feel better?' Nashton asked.

'No. Yes, I'm saying it won't make me feel better.'

'Knowing you've killed the man who wanted your husband dead? The man who wanted your husband dead. Dead, Emma. Now you can take revenge. Kill him.'

'His confession will not stand up in court. You know that.'

'This is the court. Your court. Pass the sentence, for God's sake.'

'I would prefer him to rot in prison for the rest of his life.'

'Vindictive, aren't you? I thought I told you last time, in your friend's house. That's not how we do things here. He definitely won't. Get on with it, and either shoot him or shoot Romeo. While you still have the choice.'

Trembling, tears starting to blur my vision, I stood up and picked up the gun. Holding it in both hands, extending my arms, copying what I had seen in countless cop shows and movies. Harlowe wasn't looking, his eyes were closed, his mouth moving, no doubt praying, so I pointed the Glock towards him. Then my arms went down.

'What is it now?' Nashton asked irritably.

'I need my glasses.'

'Your what?'

'My glasses. In my purse.'

I hoped he had tossed it aside, and would have to look for it.

'Why? Just point and shoot. How hard can it be?'

'I can't see straight. I can't do it without them.'

'Get a grip, Annie Oakley. There's no fluffy toy for accuracy.'

I heard his heavy sigh. Tense, I waited. As I had hoped, he flicked on the light in his little compartment to look for it. Now I knew where he was, I turned towards him. Trying not to look at all the versions of me I could see, holding the Glock as steady as I could, I fired. The glass shattered. Faster than the blink of an eye, the fractures spread across the pane, there was an immeasurably brief pause, then the fragments fell tinkling to the floor. And Nashton fell with them. I dropped to my knees, letting go of the gun, placing my hands on my head, stunned.

'You bitch. You bitch,' he cried.

And suddenly doors were crashing open, someone came down through the ceiling above Nashton, the room started to fill with people, many of them shouting, most of them wielding guns. More glass was shattered as they broke through to Harlowe and the Bat. A figure in black, like special forces uniform, was freeing the Bat. A figure I recognised. Mr Pennyworth.

'Let's get you out of here,' I heard him say.

The cuffs still dangling from his wrists, the Bat pushed past him and rushed over to me. He knelt and crushed me in a tight embrace. I could feel both our hearts pounding. Then Mr Pennyworth was at his side, a hand under his upper arm.

'Great shot, Mrs Rossingdale,' he said. 'Well done. You beat me to it. Come on, we have to go. Now.'

He got the Bat to his feet. I scrambled up as well. Agonised, I watched Mr Pennyworth hustle the Bat out down one of the hidden corridors, before anyone could see him without the cowl, without the top half of the suit. Before anyone could identify him. Then arms were going round me, holding me close, pressing my head to a shoulder.

'Emma. Emma. Are you okay?'

It was Ran, anxiety and relief evident in his voice. I burst into tears, which I thought was the best way to stall any questions. And there were many questions, from Ran, from Lacey, who rushed in soon after him, from the police, from paramedics. I felt my legs giving way. Ran held me up till a chair was fetched for me. Rafe Harlowe was taken out in an ambulance wheelchair, Nashton on a stretcher with a police escort. As the stretcher passed us, the paramedics had to pause for a moment, to let Harlowe go in front. Nashton pulled his oxygen mask away from his face.

'They sleep together, did you know?' he said hoarsely to Ran. He looked at me. 'And she loves it. She's . . . well, you work it out. Sorry, Em, but the guy needs to know, you know? The truth. The whole truth.'

'What the eye doesn't see,' I retorted.

'Still hurts.' He moaned in pain. I could see I had hit him in the shoulder.

The stretcher moved off. Ran turned a bewildered face to me, but I just shrugged and shook my head. I couldn't get into all of that right then. I got bullied – by Ran, by Lacey, by the paramedics – into getting into an ambulance and going to the emergency room. There was no-one else to argue my case, to back me up and take me home. He had been taken home himself.

It was almost midnight by the time I managed to talk my way out of ER. I came out unsteadily into the waiting area, filling up with drunks, arguing voices on cell phones and the smell of vomit, unsure how I was going to get home. Then my heart lifted to see a figure in a dark suit and cowl, waiting by the exit. But Ran was also there, the faithful retriever. It was tempting to go home with him, he would take great care of me, but I knew he would expect me to give him an account of what had happened. He must have been desperately worried, especially after he saw Nashton dump my cell. He would want me to listen to his side of the story, to praise him for rescuing me, to allow him to process what he had been through: something he hadn't remotely bargained for when he started chatting me up at the Founders' Ball, the demure Englishwoman with the second-hand bookstore and the love of Tennyson and Simon and Garfunkel. Who knew where that was going to lead him? And he deserved to be heard, to have the chance to tell his story, to be seen and noticed for his part in saving my life, and two other lives. And I would give him that time. At some point. When I was ready. But that time was not now. He would eventually dine out on this, as someone who was on the edge of it, to whom it had become just a good story, but he would be able to say he was involved and enjoy the attention he got as a participant, with an insider's view. But right then, he had nothing to offer me to help me come to terms with the night's events, the momentous, unthinkable thing I had done. I had shot someone. Just the thought of it made me start shaking. I needed to be with someone who would not expect me to speak if I didn't want to. Someone who I knew was comfortable with silence. Someone who would just hold me and connect with me, and allow me to connect with them in a deep, inexplicable way. Someone who saw me,someone who would understand what I had just been through, what I was processing. Someone who had been on the journey with me.

That someone was back by the exit, keeping his distance from Ran. I approached Ran. I took his hand, and put a finger on his lips.

'I'm sorry. Not tonight. Just not tonight. I can't explain.'

He took my hand away from his face. He held both of my hands earnestly, almost desperately.

'Will there be another night – for us?'

I had to make eye contact with the Bat, to make sure he didn't fly, that he understood what I wanted. He was watching, with those steady grey eyes. Then I looked back at Ran.

'Yes,' I said. 'If – you still want it.'

'Do you?'

He glanced away, no doubt at the Bat. I kept my eyes on him.

'Yes. Yes, I do.'

I raised his hands to my lips. Impulsively he took hold of my face, and kissed me. Then he let me go. I walked through the waiting area to the Bat, who let me take his arm. He led me out to the car.