OUT THERE

Chapter Twenty One

"Danger, like a third man, was standing in the room." (Ian Fleming, 'From Russia With Love')

"Slow down," Mac said. "Tell me your reasoning."

Elma's keys were in Adam's hand already. He stared at them, full of surprise, as he hovered by the door. How did that happen? "What... now? We need to go."

"Five minutes, Adam, I promise; no more. Explain it to me." Mac rose to his feet and moved closer. "Elma - she's the neighbour you've been helping? The one who made you late the other week?"

"Yes." Adam nodded; his fingers twisting around the keys. Guilt was swelling inside him. How much could he hold before it tore him apart? "Mac, I've been so stupid..."

"Stop that!" his boss ordered sharply and he flinched in shock at the sudden change in tone. Seconds later, however, his face began to clear and his hand relaxed.

"Thanks," he murmured. So much had passed between them tonight that he should have gone beyond the need for embarrassment - yet that didn't stop the colour rising in his cheeks as he ploughed on, using words to cover his confusion. "Elma, yes; we're friends. I guess that's odd, you know, 'cause she's this amazing old lady and I'm just... well, me. Anyhow, she told me about these real bad nightmares she's been having and I made her promise to knock on the wall if it happened again - her bedroom's next to mine, you see..."

"How often?" Mac said quietly.

"When I was late for work - that was the first time. And the night after that." He frowned. "I remember... reading poetry. Weird, huh? Then I slept on the couch for a while after - well, you know - so I never heard her knock again. That was bad. But I visit most days now and she's been giving me food in return; lots of food. She's kind, Mac. She thought I was lonely..." The look in his eyes was rueful but his voice was full of warmth.

"She thought she was helping you?"

Realising that he might have said too much, Adam quickly changed the subject. This wasn't his tale any more. Elma was the priority, as far as he was concerned.

"Oh, yes. She made this awesome cake, right, and she taught me how to brew the perfect cup of tea. There were cookies too; Flack and I... oh!"

Mac's grasp on the situation was so immediate that Adam felt like a dunce in comparison. "When?"

"That night he stayed with me." Adam's eyes grew wider. "Mac, please don't tell him, okay? I didn't know... Explains a lot, though, if it's true..." He turned and stared at the seat where Flack had stretched out, kicking his leg against the table and losing himself in memories of Jess.

"I may have to tell him at some point - but I promise to give you a head start," Mac offered solemnly. Adam gaped - and snorted with laughter. He couldn't help himself.

"Very funny, boss. I find out I may have drugged Detective Flack, of all people, and you're making jokes?"

Mac raised his eyebrows and neatly evaded the accusation. "Tell me more about Elma's behaviour. Have there been any significant changes in the last few weeks?"

"Yes." Adam sighed and clenched his empty hand with renewed frustration. "That's why I should have known, okay? I'm so mad at myself right now. But I thought... I've seen it before, that's all. The past feels closer to her than the present, and she's losing herself in it - more and more each day. I thought..." he repeated earnestly, unable to finish the sentence but knowing, somehow, that it wasn't necessary. Mac understood; he could tell.

"People see what they expect to see. Don't blame yourself, Adam."

"I have to. She's all alone and she trusted me to help her."

"All alone? There's no one else?"

"Just a home help; Beth-Anne. Guess we've got ourselves another suspect, right, boss?" He thought of the fluffy-haired girl with her naïve manner. "I'm not sure if I can believe it, though. She's not really the type."

"They never are," Mac said wryly. "Haven't you learned that by now?"

Adam toyed with the keys and glanced longingly at the door. "Yes, boss. Look, are we done with the talking?"

"We are. But we need to tread carefully. If your theory is true, then you know just how bad Elma feels - you've been feeling it too. If you thought that you were going crazy, imagine how terrified she must be."

"I get that, Mac; I really do. And I know I'm a mess right now, but please - will you let me go in first? I know I can do this. I have to. She trusts me, okay, and she knows me... well, most of the time." He stared down at his feet. "These last few days, it's not been so good. I offered to fetch a doctor, but she wouldn't let me. She's scared they'll force her to leave the apartment. She's not been out of there for years; not once."

"Agoraphobia." Mac's face was full of pity for the old lady's plight and suddenly Adam was glad that he had chosen to share such delicate information. Elma's problem had been weighing him down far more than he realised, lost as he was in the swell of his own anxieties.

"Yes. She's in prison - and somebody's making that worse." He tightened his grip on the keys, his knuckles straining as he let the metal dig into his skin. The pain was dull, but strong enough to spur him on. "Time to stop 'em, right, boss?"

-xx-

As they stood in front of Elma's door, he could hear the low rumble of someone speaking but the words were indistinct. It didn't sound like Beth-Anne or his neighbour, both of whom spoke softly. This voice belonged to a man.

Adam turned to Mac and his face was troubled.

"Someone's in there with her," he said. "She never has visitors; only the two of us. Me and Beth-Anne, I mean."

"There's an easy way to find out," Mac suggested. "Knock on the door."

"Alright..." Holding his breath, Adam knocked three times. He tried to sound confident but his whole body was trembling with concern for his elderly friend. "It's Adam," he called out, glancing sideways at Mac. "I always do that," he added in a whisper. "You know, because sometimes... well, it can take her a while..."

Mac shook his head. "No need to explain."

"Okay. Thanks, boss..." Adam turned back just as the door swung open and Beth-Anne's wide green eyes stared out at them.

"Oh - it is you. He a doctor?" she demanded, peering over Adam's shoulder.

"Why? Do you need one?" Mac's voice was calm on the surface but to Adam, who knew him, there was an underlying note of urgency.

"What? No... You jus' look like a doctor, that's all."

"He's my friend," Adam told her hastily, anxious to avoid any probing questions until they were safely inside. "He wants to meet Elma, 'cause she's been so kind to me. Mac Taylor, this is Beth-Anne... I'm sorry, I don't know your last name."

"Sullivan." Nervously, she reached up and began to twist a strand of her flyaway hair around her finger. Her eyes never left Mac's face and he offered her a reassuring smile.

"Pleased to meet you," he said.

Beth-Anne shrugged. "Okay." Still she hovered on the threshold. Adam could feel his impatience rising. "Um... don't you think it's a bit late for callin' round?"

"You're here," he told her pointedly. "And it sounds like you brought a friend as well." He tried to look past her without being obvious but Beth-Anne caught the subtle shift in his gaze.

"My brother. He's come to take me home, that's all. It's dark, you know," she said unnecessarily. The hallway was lost in shadow and the soft light from Elma's apartment framed Beth-Anne like a golden aura. It made her seem angelic - but Adam was aching with suspicion by now and reluctant to take anything at face value. Drug-induced paranoia or well-reasoned logic - he didn't care what was driving him. He'd been caught out too many times in the last few weeks and no one, no matter how fluffy and charming, was going to deceive him again. Especially not when the well-being of his friend was at stake.

"You know, I visit Elma every night, so I'm sure she'll be happy to see me. And if you're leaving..." His tone was pointed. "Look, she really won't mind, okay? Just ask her and she'll tell you. I've got keys and everything; doesn't that show how much she trusts me?" He jingled them in the young girl's face like a magic talisman..

Startled, Beth-Anne staggered backwards, leaving the doorway unguarded. Raised to respect boundaries, Adam knew all too well that he should wait for an invitation - but the need to see Elma was far greater than the need to be polite, so he boldly defied his upbringing and slipped past the wide-eyed girl in one swift move. Mac followed close behind him.

"Help," Beth-Anne squeaked. "Intruders! Go away..."

Adam ignored her and spun round quickly, taking in the whole room at a glance. Much to his relief, the first thing that he saw was Elma, fast asleep on the couch, her head on one side and her hands folded in her lap. She looked peaceful; younger, somehow - and happy. He let out his fear in a long breath... until he caught sight of the third person in the room.

Beth-Anne's brother was tall and lanky, with the same pale, flyaway hair as his sister, except that it seemed to grow upwards from his skull, twisting into a peak like a strange kind of hat. He stood behind Elma, both hands resting on the back of the couch. His wrists were long - too long - and his fingers hovered lightly over the brown velvet, almost as though the sensation was much too soft for his skin to bear. Adam stared in sick fascination. A dark feeling of unease was creeping slowly through him and he couldn't quite explain it. The young man caught his gaze and held it steadily.

"Hello," he said, with Beth-Anne's own voice - only deeper in pitch, and far more self-aware. One word only - and then he pressed his lips together, waiting. Your move, the action seemed to say.

Adam broke first and turned away. He locked eyes with Mac instead, needing the strength that he found there. He knew beyond all doubt that something was out of kilter here. He only hoped it wasn't him.

What should we do? he pleaded silently, hoping that, by some miracle, Mac would understand him.

Mac's eyes flicked across the room to Elma, before darting back to Adam. Twice, he repeated the movement. Then, quite deliberately, he stepped away and focussed the whole of his attention on the young girl, who was still fuming visibly.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "You must think we're very rude. Let's start again - Beth-Anne, right?" As the flow of pleasantries continued, the girl began to soften. At the same time, Adam's sluggish brain glimpsed the meaning of Mac's silent message.

Go and wake Elma.

Slowly, he crossed the room and crouched down in front of her. All the while, Beth-Anne's brother watched him, but never a word passed between them. "Elma," Adam whispered, as he brushed her worn hands with his fingertips, hoping to rouse her with a gentle touch. She stirred, and shifted. Watching her pale face come alive, he breathed in the heavy scent of her beloved cinnamon, which laced the air around them. Cinnamon - and something else... What was that...?

Lurking beneath the spice was a sharp, intrusive smell that clawed at the back of his throat and stole his breath away, attacking him with brutal, stabbing shards of memory.

... waves of pain from the bruise across his cheek...

... coldness, as the fabric of his shirt was slashed...

... a weight that crushed him...

Adam froze completely, unable to bring himself to look up at the source of his terror.

... a strange scent of chemicals mixed with sweat...

Was this another cruel trick of his senses? Was it a lie, or the truth this time?

... the hand of Death at his shoulder...

With a struggle, he found his breath again and forced his gaze to crawl upwards, inch by inch. He stopped at the sight of the long, pale fingers resting beside Elma's head. Because now, there was something else... The glint of a silver blade, tucked away, almost out of sight but showing an edge to taunt him. His shoulder burned, like a warning fire.

"That's right," said the cool voice, just as Elma opened her eyes and stared at Adam blankly.