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Chapter 52
"I could cook dinner," John suggested hopefully and a second later, he regretted it. The last thing he wanted was to sound too eager. This day had started out in the worst way possible and his boss had only marginally improved it with her suggestion to lighten Clara's mood with a romantic gesture. However, the flowers had worked and the public kiss had blown away his reservations. He was deliberately turning a blind eye to everything he didn't want to see, but the view was so much nicer with his eyes closed.
Clara arched her eyebrows at him as they made their way towards the front door, both of them carrying bags filled with enough groceries to last for a week. "You're being exceptionally nice today," she remarked, her voice a touch wary.
John merely shrugged, racking his brain for a good excuse that didn't give off the impression he was desperate. "I mean, you're a guest at my house for the time being. So far, you've helped with all the cooking and the dishes and-"
He broke off when he heard a rustling in the bushes and came to a halt immediately. Clara cursed behind him as she walked straight into his back.
"Hey, what-"
"Shhh!" John hushed her instantly. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones and in the prickling on the back of his neck. Just like a bad smell, rotten and decaying, it hung in the air. In the pit of his stomach, he knew that something had happened and it didn't help that the rustling continued and grew louder until something large and heavy pounced on them from out of the hedge.
John uttered a loud groan when the wagging tail and the panting betrayed his useless pet. "Odin," he said harshly, "how on earth did you get out of the house?"
Clara chuckled next to him and bent down to pet the agitated dog. "Hey buddy," she greeted him. "Did you open the door and escape? Clever dog. Too clever."
John hadn't noticed it until Clara pointed it out, but now, his gaze didn't leave the door that was ajar and the hint of light that shone out into the darkness. Odin had never opened the door before and in the back of his mind, he remembered something he had read about the breed when he had decided to keep him. A Labrador is not a guard dog. In fact, they'll be happy about a visitor and help an intruder carry the valuables. It had made him laugh back then, but right now, John didn't feel like laughing. He could feel it even out here; a presence inside his home that shouldn't be there.
"Wait here with Odin," John instructed as he put the shopping bag down.
"Why?" Clara enquired a little more loudly than he would have liked and in response, he placed his index finger on his lips.
"I just want to see that everything's okay," he lied. He already knew that it wasn't.
For a moment, John feared that Clara might not listen to him, but she didn't follow him as he carefully made his way towards the open door. Not for a second did John believe that Odin had opened it. If his pet was capable of that, he would have done it a long time ago or at least displayed a certain affinity to want to try it. The only other options were either friendly visitors or visitors with less friendly intentions. John dearly hoped it would prove to be the first.
As he stepped into the house, John started to pray that it was Kate or another colleague or maybe even his old friend Missy who had broken into his home because anything was better than assuming the very worst, but the very worst was what he found in the living room.
"I need your professional opinion," Ciaran O'Neill said matter-of-factly as he twirled the gun around his index finger. The man was sitting on John's sofa as if he belonged there, but he tried his best to focus on the positive aspects of this visit. O'Neill, a dangerous man, a criminal, had broken into his home and left his dog unharmed. That had to mean he wasn't killing for fun and he and Clara had a good chance of getting out of here alive, but John knew that he was grasping at straws. "If a person has something that belongs to you but refuses to hand it over, that's theft, isn't it?"
John swallowed hard. There was something that O'Neill thought Clara had, but she had sworn that it wasn't the case. He didn't know who to believe because both of them seemed absolutely determined. "And following people and taking photos of them without their knowledge is stalking," he remarked, hoping that the defiance was showing in his voice.
In a matter of seconds, the gun was pointed at him and as O'Neill cocked the weapon with incredible ease, something suddenly occurred to John. He knew that it was a strange moment to make the connection – while he was being threatened – but he was a detective and he couldn't help himself. If O'Neill owned a gun, then why hadn't Bonnie died of a gunshot wound? Why had she fallen or been beaten to death, whichever it was? He didn't have time to voice his question aloud when O'Neill raised the weapon, his finger dangerously close to the trigger.
"Clara has something that belongs to me," he said and he sounded too calm for John's liking. The man in front of him was prepared to do anything to get what he wanted and the fact that he wasn't nervous as he threatened John's life only made it worse. There was no way he could talk him out of it or convince him that he wouldn't find what he was looking for. "I don't want to kill you, but I will unless Clara hands it over. Once I have it, I'll gladly leave you alone."
"I don't know what you're talking about," John said, imitating the tone of O'Neill's voice to show that he wasn't scared when in fact, he was. At least a little. For Clara more than for himself.
O'Neill started to chuckled. "I'm not surprised, DI Smith. Those sisters, they're incredible liars," he stated as if the fact amused him. "Bonnie fooled us all for months."
John merely shrugged. He had no idea what to say to O'Neill, he had no idea what to do. He didn't doubt for a second that O'Neill would shoot him without a second thought, and it wouldn't be his first time taking a bullet either, but he hoped that Clara had the sense to take his car and drive off to call the police as soon as she realised what was going on. John was beginning to feel nervous.
"Tell Clara to come inside," Ciaran O'Neill told him, still pointing the gun in his direction. He wasn't holding it particularly steady, so chances were good that he would miss. But was John willing to take that risk? "Or you will receive more than a whack across the head like your colleague."
"She's not here," he replied. "You'll have to make do with me."
The man jumped to his feet faster than John could react and he instinctively took a step back, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest. He had entered this house, thinking about having a lovely meal with Clara and now, John couldn't see a way of getting out of here uninjured.
"You should've learned something from Clara Oswald because I can smell a lie on you from miles away," O'Neill hissed. "I heard her voice. She's right outside, so call her or I will shoot."
"There's no need."
John's head shot up when he heard the sound of her voice and sure enough, Clara was standing in the doorway, looking defeated and smaller than ever. Had she always been so short or was it the effect of Ciaran O'Neill and his gun?
In a swift movement, O'Neill reached out and John didn't even have a chance to fight back as the man grabbed his arm and twisted it up behind his back, a surge of pain running through his muscles as O'Neill held the gun to his head. Now he was sure that the bullet wouldn't miss and it should have frightened him, but all John felt was gratitude that the gun was aimed at him and not Clara. But what would happen if she couldn't give O'Neill what he was asking for? What if she didn't have it, whatever it was? What if she refused to give in because whatever she was hiding meant more to her than his life? John had no idea what would happen next because it all came down to the one question he hadn't wanted to think about. Was Clara hiding something from him or not? Whatever the outcome, one way or another, John would get hurt.
"This man is trying to protect you," O'Neill spat at her, nodding in John's direction. "And you're trying to protect him. I promise I won't harm him if you give it to me."
Clara looked even more frightened than he felt which was odd, given the circumstances. Her eyes were so large, so full of fear and he could that she was torn. That was all the information he needed to know that she had lied to him. She had what O'Neill was looking for and she had kept it a secret from him. Right now, John was willing to place a very high bet on matters and say that whatever she was hiding, it was inside the metal box which he was keeping in his safe. The story about her papers, all of that had been a lie and he had bought it without a second thought. What else had she lied about? Bonnie? Her involvement in this case? John couldn't say, but looking her in the eyes right now hurt him more than the weapon that was pressing into his temple. John closed his eyes and hoped that Clara, despite her lies and secrets, had enough decency left to save his life. The last thing he wanted was to die without knowing the truth.
"I have it," Clara said, her voice small and frail. "John has it in his safe."
His assumption had been correct.
"All of it?" Ciaran O'Neill wanted to know.
John opened his eyes just in time to see Clara nod. She had started to cry and the tears were silently running down her cheeks.
"Everything Bonnie gave me," she replied, obviously struggling to force the truth out of her mouth even now. Everything Bonnie gave me. John's world collapsed around him in that instant. Everything he had believed was a lie and he had seen the signs and ignored them because he had wanted to believe the lies rather than search for the truth. Clara had tricked him with her pretty face and all those sweet words coming out of her mouth. For a moment, John thought he had forgotten how to breathe as the realisation came crashing down on him. She had lied about everything from the beginning. How on earth could he have been so stupid?
O'Neill brought him back from his trance as he pushed John towards the wall. "Open the safe!" he commanded, gesturing menacingly with the gun.
John didn't hesitate for a second before he led O'Neill towards the hidden safe inside his cupboard. He didn't care about Clara or her secrets, he didn't care about whatever she was hiding from him because she had lied and deceived him and right now, he just wanted to get O'Neill to stop pointing that goddamn gun at him. He unlocked the door and entered the pin until the safe beeped and swung open.
His heart sank into his boots when John looked inside and realised that it was empty. He was as good as dead.