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Chapter 44

Most of the time, John was a pacifist. Even though all of his colleagues opted to carry a gun for their own protection, John had never wanted to, believing that conflict should always be solved without violence first. Of course, there had been a couple of occasions where he had regretted his decision and today was one of those days. Today, he would regret it a lot.

John hadn't even told Kate where he was going, instead, he had taken the car keys off the armed officer and then taken the van without permission before any of them had even realised what was happening. His boss would be furious, she would give him one hell of a lecture, but it was the fastest way to get to Clara without making a detour to the station. Kate and the others could handle themselves because there was nothing to deal with here; they could call for a car to pick them up and they could take all the evidence back to the station while John raced to do something far more important. He had to protect Clara from Ciaran O'Neill.

The school was only a ten-minute drive from the shabby bed and breakfast and yet John felt like he was already too late. He should have acted much sooner, evidence or no evidence. Clara had told him about the encounter with O'Neill at the hardware shop and she had told him about the break-in and he had done nothing to protect her. He should have known that the bastard was keeping an eye on her, stalking her. He should have known that he was aware of her workplace and he should have made sure she was safe. John made a vow right there behind the steering wheel of his borrowed vehicle as he kept on driving, ignoring all the laws as he raced through the streets: if he got to Clara in time, he wouldn't fail her ever again. John would protect her, whatever the cost.

The tyres screeched as he stepped on the brakes right in front of her school and John didn't hesitate for a second before he jumped out of the van and darted inside, but he soon met his first obstacle. He had no idea where to find Clara inside the building.

"Hey! Watch it!" a boy half his size complained when John accidentally bumped into him. That was it. That was his chance.

"Can you tell me where to find Miss Oswald?" he asked, his voice frantic.

John waited patiently while the boy scanned him from head to toe with a raised eyebrow and he seemed to take an eternity to make up his mind about whether he wanted to share his information or not. "Who are you? Her dad?"

"I'll be your worst nightmare if you don't tell me where to find her," John growled impatiently. If this boy wasn't going to help, he needed to find someone who would and he had to do it quickly.

"Up the stairs, first door on the left," the boy replied eventually and John didn't even take the time to confirm it. He ran up the stairs, following the boy's instructions while he only faintly heard the student complain about the lack of a 'thank you'. It didn't matter now. What mattered was Clara and getting her home safely.

John was panting when he reached the top of the stairs and even though his entire body told him to rest, he knew that they had no time to lose. He took a deep breath, ignoring the sound of blood rushing in his ears when his feet suddenly came to a halt as if by instinct. Not really knowing why he had stopped at first, John took a moment to listen and it was then that he heard it and the sound made his blood run cold.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Clara sobbed desperately and when she cried out, John almost jumped in, but he had to remind himself to be smart. Ciaran O'Neill was dangerous and right now, John wished more than ever that he had a gun. If only he had been a little faster.

"I think you're a liar and I think you're very good at it," a man's voice said slowly in a calm manner. "But I also think that Bonnie was smart. She knew we were after her and she'll have hidden it with someone she trusted."

"I didn't even know her," Clara asserted, followed by another sob.

John didn't care about what O'Neill said next, as his eyes were scanning the corridor for a suitable weapon. If he took him by surprise, he could overpower O'Neill, but he only had one shot at it, one blow and it had to be a good one. He spotted a stack of books, some stray chairs and, at last, a couple of cricket bats leaning neatly against the wall. John picked one of them up and carefully made his way towards the door.

"I need it, Clara," O'Neill almost begged her. "My friends need it. Wouldn't you do the same for your friends if they were in trouble? Believe me when I say that I take no pleasure in hurting you, but if I have to-"

"I don't even know what you're looking for," Clara replied, her voice small and broken.

John glanced around the corner.

Ciaran O'Neill was pressing Clara against the wall, holding a knife to her throat and the sight of it made the rage swell up inside of him. She was crying and she was bleeding and O'Neill seemed to show no mercy at all, and John knew that he had to act quickly before he was spotted. But how was he supposed to do it? If he struck him now, he could hurt Clara. The risk was too great. The only thing he could do was the thing he had tried to avoid at all cost. John took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the bat and stepped into the room.

"Hey, you!" he called out.

Ciaran O'Neill shot around in an instant and Clara gasped audibly when he let her go, but before he could do anything else, John took a swing and struck O'Neill hard across the head. The man fell to the ground and John stepped past him, catching Clara at the last moment before she slid to the floor. She flung her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest while he closed his arms tightly around her waist in return. Everything was going to be fine. Clara was unharmed. He hadn't come too late.

"It's okay," John whispered. "You're safe now. It's going to be okay."

There was a shuffling sound from behind him and John instantly looked over his shoulder, already bracing himself for the worst, but what he saw was the blurred shape of Ciaran O'Neill as he darted out of the room. For a moment, John considered running after him, ending this chase once and for all, but Clara was clinging to him and he knew that it was only a matter of time until O'Neill was caught for good. They had enough evidence now; John had personally witnessed the assault on Clara; they were on an island, and Ciaran O'Neill had nowhere to hide. They would catch him, John knew it. So for now, he decided to focus entirely on Clara.

Once the sobbing had subsided, John led her to the nearest chair and she sank down wordlessly and without looking at him. She seemed so small and frail all of a sudden and he couldn't blame her for it, but he had no idea what to do. Once again, he felt like the least useful person in this situation.

"Are you alright?" John asked carefully. "Did he hurt you?"

As if by instinct, Clara reached for the cut on her neck, but when John bent down to have a closer look, he noticed to his relief that the blood was already beginning to dry.

Nevertheless, he crossed the classroom and reached for the first aid kit attached to the wall. Pulling up a chair, he sat down next to Clara and started to clean the wound as carefully as he could. He was no doctor, but he knew how to apply a plaster.

"It's not as bad as it probably feels," he reassured her as he placed the plaster over the cut. However, the injury could have been avoided if he had acted immediately. That was on him and his own tardiness.

"Thank you," Clara replied hoarsely and then did something that took him by surprise. She leaned forward and brought their lips together for a short, soft kiss before she pulled away almost instantly.

John opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't think of anything that had meaning, so he decided to shut up.

"If you hadn't come-"

"Don't think about that," John interrupted her instantly. "It doesn't matter. I was here, O'Neill is gone and I'll make sure he won't hurt you ever again."

For a moment, it looked like Clara was going to protest, but eventually, she nodded. John knew that it was a bad moment, but he still needed to ask. He needed something to tell Kate.

"What did he want?" John asked carefully.

Clara hesitated. "I, um, I don't know. He kept talking about Bonnie."

John nodded in reply and then reached out to take her hand. She still looked a little lost even though she was calming down. "We have enough evidence to hold him now. Evidence that he was stalking you and Bonnie, and I witnessed the attack. We'll put him behind bars, I promise, but you'll still have to give a statement."

"Is that really necessary?" Clara wanted to know, frowning at him. He could tell that there were probably a whole lot of things she would rather do than return to the station and be questioned by Kate.

"It won't be like last time. This is strictly about what happened here. No one will mention Danny or anything else, you have my word."

"He said it," she replied coldly. Clara turned her head and looked straight at him. For some strange reason, there was no grief in her eyes now. There was a hint of anger and something else, something John didn't recognise. "He said he was the one who killed Danny."

He squeezed her hand a little more tightly. "With the evidence we found and your statement, Ciaran O'Neill will go to prison."

"Good," Clara concluded and when she looked at him, her eyes flashed up for just a moment and John felt a shiver run down over the back of his neck when he finally recognised that look in her eyes for what it was. It was the cold gleam of satisfaction.