OUT THERE

Chapter Twenty Three

"By betrayal, I mean promising to be on your side, then being on somebody else's." (Jeanette Winterson, 'Oranges are Not the Only Fruit')

He should have been filled with horror - his life had just been threatened, after all - but the only thing that Adam felt right now was an overwhelming urge to sink down onto the floor and curl up in a ball. Embarrassing, but true. The rush of adrenaline that had carried him this far was leaving him, like a rat on a floundering ship. His heart was banging and his legs felt impossibly weak; a warning sign that they were no longer willing to support him. "I need..." he murmured, but the path between his brain and his mouth was breaking apart and the rest of his sentence went astray. He could not find the strength to chase after it. Today was the longest day of his life. "Um..."

"You want my help, then you need to give me some information in return," Mac said, dragging Kyle's gaze away from Adam just as the lab tech wavered and fell back against the nearby wall, sliding downwards with a dazed expression on his face. He tried to pay attention - knew somehow that this was important - but the conversation wasn't making sense to him.

"Cop tactics," Kyle sneered, yet the young man seemed to listen all the same as Mac went on, his voice tight with suppressed pain.

"My question is a simple one. What are you doing here? What do you want? I can't help you find it unless I know."

"I want what he wants." Turning back for a moment, Kyle levelled the gun at Adam's head. "He's been sniffing around here for weeks, alright? He knows."

"Do I...?" Adam said, full of confusion. "Okay, but... what do I know?"

Kyle gave another of his high, tight laughs. "You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not." Muddled as he was, a strong sense of indignation forced its way to the surface and made him bold. "You've got no right to say that."

"You expect us to believe that you and this old woman are - what, best friends? That you're not here for the money as well?"

Adam froze. "There's no money," he whispered at last. There wasn't... was there? Elma's apartment was small, like his; she never went out and she certainly wasn't extravagant. Her greatest vices seemed to be pot pourri, gold-wrapped toffees and tea, for heaven's sake. What exactly was Kyle implying? That she had some kind of nest-egg stashed away under her mattress? That she was a miser, just like her husband? He stared at the old lady, wondering now if he knew her at all, and full of irrational shame at Kyle's unfounded accusation. It made his actions seem petty and selfish, when he had only been trying to do something kind for his neighbour. Why did everything have to be spoiled, in the end?

"Are you saying all this is some kind of... ongoing robbery?" Mac said. His face was the perfect picture of disgust. "You think you have the right to treat her this way because she's an old woman, living alone? You drug her; you make her think she's losing her mind and then, when she's no longer capable of understanding who and what you are, you steal from her. That tells me just what sort of person you are."

"Beth-Anne, get out here!" Kyle snapped. He clenched the gun in a hand that shook, not with fear but with barely suppressed anger.

From the safety of Mac's arms, Elma stared at the young man in horror, her brown eyes wide and her thin fingers twisted in Mac's lapel. The blood from his sleeve was beginning to seep across into her blouse. Mac pressed harder on his unseen wounds. His lips were white and there was a stiffness to the way he held himself that Adam did not like.

"David, ask him to leave," Elma said. "Please! He shouldn't be here."

"Believe me, I'd like to," Mac muttered grimly, just as Beth-Anne sidled out of the kitchen, her eyes on her brother, her pale face mulish. She could not bring herself to look at anyone else. Guilt had sunk its claws into her conscience and she writhed in its painful grip.

"Tell them, Bet." Kyle rapped out his order like a drill sergeant and his sister leapt to attention. Gone was her sudden rush of courage. Clearly, that had been a fleeting thing. Gone, too, was the wide-eyed expression that had seemed so charming when Adam first met her. Beth-Anne's overriding instinct, born of self-preservation, was to obey her brother. Adam felt a twinge of pity, and of understanding, as he watched the young girl's hands twist together compulsively.

"Tell 'em what?" she asked, and her tone was sullen. "I wasn't listening."

"Tell them what they already know. What they need to find." He glared at her. "Go on, Bet - tell them about the treasure."

The word sounded ridiculous coming from a grown man, especially someone as cold as Kyle. It belonged in a pirate movie or a child's imaginary game. As a young boy, one dream-filled summer, Adam had spent many secret, filthy hours in the attic of his grandparents' farmhouse, poking through boxes and rattling loose boards - a lonely quest and an empty one, in the end. The only gold shone through the cracks in the walls, bright threads cast off by the distant sun. The only hint of silver gleamed on the webs spun by silent, methodical spiders. The rest was dust and rubbish. There was no such thing as treasure - not really.

But wait...

An echo sounded in his memory of a dark room, days ago, and a quiet conversation. He looked up at Elma uncertainly. Beth-Anne also lifted her eyes to stare at the old lady and, as she spoke, her voice was full of accusation.

"You said it," she announced. "I remember we was lookin' at that photo album of yours, an' you said..." Her face twisted with the effort of pulling the right words from her memory. "You said you lived alone an' never went out 'cause David's ghost came an' told you to guard his treasure." There, said her look of triumph, as she finished and folded her arms.

A ghost story. All this - all the trouble and pain of the last few weeks - had spiralled out of control from a simple ghost story? Beth-Anne was naïve, no doubt about it, but surely her brother couldn't believe...

"You see?" Kyle said firmly. "The old man liked to hoard stuff; that's a fact. The money's here, and we intend to find it. It's no good to her, after all." He waved the gun carelessly in Elma's direction.

"Beth-Anne," the old woman said in a low voice, and this time Adam knew that it was his Elma, not some fleeting shadow of her younger self that was speaking. Mac held her close and, whether she thought him to be her husband or a stranger, she did not choose to pull away. "Honey, you've made a mistake. There's nothing here but sentimental junk."

"But you said..." the girl protested, casting a frightened eye at her brother.

Kyle shook his head, smiling ever so slightly, a fool who believed that he could not be fooled. "She's lying, you stupid thing."

"No," Elma said, "I'm not. Ask my husband." She turned and appealed to Mac with a confident smile that sliced through Adam like a knife. Lost again...

A tight ball of anger rose up through his chest, gathering the tattered shreds of resolution that were left inside him. Using the wall as a prop, he hauled himself back to his feet and confronted Kyle with a red face and tears standing still in his eyes. "You did this," he told the young man, through clenched teeth, urging him to feel some kind of shame.

Kyle moved closer, until his hot breath was a fog that clouded Adam's brain. His scent was an ever-present nightmare. "So?" he demanded quietly.

"So, look at her. Why drugs, for God's sake? You're not a doctor; you don't know what you're doing. You could've killed her." Adam kept his voice low too, directing his comments at Kyle and away from Elma's hearing. Creeping closer, Beth-Anne had picked up every bitter word, however, and now she turned on him indignantly.

"That's not true! It's not like we poisoned her. No one's dead, are they?"

"What did you use?" Mac's probing was casual - disarming, even. He, too, was following the conversation and his level tone brought Adam back to himself, slowly but effectively. His own anger seemed to be under control by now and it was clear that he wanted Adam to adopt the same tactic. Be careful... Be calm... The two men locked eyes briefly before Kyle stepped between them but that tiny moment of reassurance was enough. Adam pressed his lips together, embarrassed by his outburst and determined to show more restraint, like his boss.

If she had seen Kyle's face, Beth-Anne would have known better than to speak again. Tortured by her guilty conscience, she strove to justify her actions, and those of her brother - but he didn't look very grateful. "Grammy's medicine, at first. She left it behind, an' the doctor never said to give it back... so it wasn't stealing, right?" Her eyes grew large. "But it made Elma sick... and I thought that was bad. So I begged Kyle to try somethin' else."

Adam's gut roiled in memory at her words. All at once, he was back in the hospital bathroom after that first visit to Conrad Valens, curled up on the floor with an empty stomach, a bad taste in his mouth and an overwhelming sense of failure.

Not my fault...

"Something else?" Mac prompted.

"Beth-Anne," her brother snapped, daring to swing the gun her way. But the young girl was staring at Elma by now, and either failed to notice or simply did not care any more. Elma's expression, in turn, was one of deep concentration, edged with sorrow.

She knows, Adam guessed. And wished that he could be there, right now; inside her head at this moment of stark revelation, helping her to bear it.

"Kyle's a cleaner," Beth-Anne said in a high, sing-song voice. She never broke the connection with Elma, but her confession was meant for Mac. "One of the places he cleans is a pharmacy. At midnight, see, the cameras stop an' start again. That's when he took 'em; a couple each night. Nothin' scary - lots of people use 'em. He promised Elma wouldn't get sick this time. An' you didn't, did you?" the girl added fondly, taking half a step forwards. The gun still followed her. She glanced at it and shook her head as if to say, how strange. "Those allergy tablet things. Real strong ones, from behind the counter. I crushed 'em up and put 'em in her food - white for white - but I never stole 'em and I never hurt her. That's good, right? That's okay?"

Once more, she stepped forwards, switching her gaze from Elma to Mac in a wide-eyed appeal for confirmation. Behind her, Kyle's hand swung into the air... and down, as the gun smashed into the back of her head. She gave a tiny, puzzled grunt and then dropped like a stone. Elma screamed and covered her face with her hands, as though trying to block out the image altogether.

"No!" Adam yelled, and moved to help the fallen girl - but Kyle was quicker and so was the gun. All at once, the barrel rammed into the fading bruise on Adam's cheek, with a fierce jolt of pain that rocked through his head to the back of his skull, and out through bone and muscle and skin - the same direct path that a bullet would take. Cross-eyed, he watched Kyle's finger as it hovered on the trigger, right before his eyes. One little squeeze, he thought, full of horror. One little squeeze and that would be the last thing he ever saw.

"I knew you were trouble," Kyle whispered into his ear. The cruel words were meant just for him and they made him shiver. "When she told me there was an interfering cop next door - that you were eating Elma's food... I should have killed you right there on the street. Could have, if I wanted - and if that demon girl hadn't attacked me. How's your shoulder...?" he added, pulling back and baring his teeth in a heartless smile.

"None of your business."

Kyle shook his head. "I think I'd like to take another look at my handiwork," he said thoughtfully. "Give us something to do while your boss here puts his cop skills to good use and finds my money. Let me see it."

"What... no!" Adam shuddered. "I don't want to..."

"Leave him alone," Mac said, loosening his grip on Elma and shuffling forwards to the edge of his seat with an effort. "There's no need. I'll do what you're asking - but you have to promise me something in return. No more violence." He gestured to Beth-Anne, who was beginning to show signs of life, much to Adam's relief. She twitched and groaned, but did not open her eyes just yet.

"Fine." The gun pulled away, leaving only an echo of pain and Kyle's ugly, whispered promise: "Later..."

Adam sank back against the wall, but managed to stay on his feet this time. Both he and Kyle watched together as Mac turned to Elma and fixed her with his solemn gaze.

"Can you help us?" he said.

She nodded. "I'll try." Her voice was thready, but full of determination. Adam's heart went out to her. She was his friend, and it was only now that he understood just how much he had come to care for her.

"Thank you." Mac nodded. "I'm sorry - I have to ask; do you know where you are, Elma?"

"Home," she said firmly.

He waited in tactful silence until she continued. "My home - and David's. Not in Wales; not any more. I miss it so much..." she added softly and her eyes grew dull for an instant. Mac let her drift backwards, sensing her need and trusting her to return. Moments later, she did. "New York City," she told him, as if there had never been any doubt in her mind. "My apartment. Such a nice man living next door." Adam flushed at the unexpected compliment, but met her rueful gaze. "I'm afraid I've caused him an awful lot of trouble lately."

"Not your fault," he whispered, shaking his head. Unable to reach him, Elma squeezed Mac's arm instead. The detective winced and caught his breath. When at last he spoke again, his voice was shaky.

"Do you know who he is?" Mac gestured to Kyle with a nod of his head.

Elma's eyes were clear as she stared at the tall young man who was clinging to Mac's gun as though it held the answer to everything. "You're Beth-Anne's brother," she said. "And you've come here to rob me, you silly boy."

Scared as he was, Adam wanted to laugh at the sneering, wounded look on Kyle's face. With three simple words, she had dealt his ego a powerful blow and he struggled to retaliate with equal force. "Crazy old woman," he muttered.

"No doubt," she nodded wisely. "Though some of that's your doing, I gather? Adam, are you alright? I'm so sorry..."

"He's fine," Kyle snapped, and turned to Mac. "Get on with it," he urged. "All this talking is driving me mad."

"He's a rude young man, isn't he?" Elma said to the detective. Lifting her hand from his sleeve, she gasped. "Oh, but you're hurt. David, how did this happen?"

"It's not important now," Mac reassured her. Listening in silence, Adam only hoped that he was right. "Elma, I don't want to rob you, and neither does Adam here. But we do need to know - is there money in the apartment? It's important - a matter of life and death."

Elma's brown eyes locked onto Adam. "If I had it," she said, "I would give it away in a heartbeat to keep you safe."

"I know that," he nodded. The words almost choked him. "There's nothing here, is there? No money at all - I was right."

She shrugged. "Ten dollars tucked in a coffee jar, there in the kitchen." She shrugged. "My emergency fund." It was almost a joke, but no one was laughing.

"Ten dollars..." Kyle said slowly. "Ten dollars..." Scowling, he sought out Beth-Anne, who had managed to drag herself backwards by now, well away from the rest of the group. Like any wounded creature, she had wormed her way into a tight corner, whimpering softly as she cradled the back of her head with a shaking hand. The blood-stained fingers of her other hand were clamped around her cell phone.

"911," said a tiny voice, piercing the shocked silence. "What's your emergency?"

-xx-

A/N: *Smuffly runs and hides...*

More soon - I promise. Thanks for reviewing!