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It was a good job Ste had slept in the car. He was working so hard to stay awake right now.
Not because he was comfortable. He really, really wasn't. But his mind was desperate to switch off, to push out everything that had just happened, to throw it all away. He tried to kid himself they were Brendan's arms wrapped around him; they were strong and toned like Brendan's and in the darkness he couldn't make out colourings. But they weren't of course. Ste could have recognise Brendan even if he'd been blinded and deafened. Only Brendan was Brendan.
God, when would this horrid old bastard turn over? Or loosen his grip or something. When Leah slept, even when she was desperate to cling to her toys, they could always sneak it out when it needed to go in the washing machine. She couldn't keep clinging in her sleep. Surely Brady couldn't either?
Ste couldn't see the time. One phone had been destroyed and lay in bits on the table. He didn't know where the other was. Somewhere in Brady's pockets probably. And this filthy shit hole didn't have any working clocks, even if he could have seen them.
It did have electricity though. Brady had switched on a nasty bare bulb that hung from the ceiling just before they'd done the deed for which Ste now hated himself. He switched it off again after, and laid them both down on a rug in front of the fireplace (with no fire) with a couple of coats. Then they'd repeated the deed in the darkness. Ste had been grateful the old bastard couldn't see his face, which was scrunched up in revulsion.
It had to be enough time now, though, didn't it? If Paddy hadn't found somewhere by now, he wasn't going to. It was pitch black and the middle of nowhere. Ste just needed space away from this man until Brendan got here.
Assuming Paddy had found a phone. And told Brendan how to find Ste. He would have found somewhere by now wouldn't he? They were in Ireland, not the Sahara. He couldn't walk for this long and not find any sign of life, could he?
He wasn't completely certain Paddy would send Brendan after him too, though.
But Paddy had had long enough to make his escape now. It was time for Ste to make his own. Preferably before Brady woke up and realised Paddy was gone, or the fall out would be massive. Ste wasn't in a good enough place emotionally to be certain he would win.
He just needed to escape.
He lifted the arm over his waist. The other was underneath his shoulders. Brady shifted in his sleep, so Ste froze, heart beating like a wild animal in his chest. Brady stilled, but Ste remained perfectly still for a moment longer. He probably would have woken up if someone had been holding his arm like that. Or maybe not. He'd have to ask Brendan.
O God, how was he going to explain all that had happened to Brendan?
He would have to worry about that later. He managed to rest Brady's arm on the man's own chest. Now he could only wake him as he took his own weight away.
He sat up as slowly as he could, then sat dead still for a moment. He listened to the slow breathing beside him. It wasn't disturbed. His boxers were only a little way down his legs, so he tugged them up, and searched for is tee-shirt. He'd tried to be careful of where his clothes landed when Brady had ripped them off. Ripped was an accurate word to describe what happened to the tee-shirt. A tear ran the from the neck down for about two inches, but he put it on anyway. He'd managed to be more careful with his jeans, which were on the table, he remembered. He'd managed to throw the razor away before Brady found it, but had no clue where it was now. He put the jeans on, then realised he was facing the biggest decision of his life.
A few feet from him, sound asleep, was the most evil man he had ever had the misfortune of meeting. Much as he wanted to think a couple of fucks on the floor of this scabby cottage was enough to satisfy whatever it was the old man was after, he didn't really believe it. And he'd been after Paddy, today anyway. Ste had no reason to believe that was over and done with.
He stared at the prone sleeping figure in the darkness. The world would be a better place if the old bastard never woke up.
If Ste could just stop that soft sound of breathing, they might all get a decent life. They might get to be happy.
Could Ste do that? Could he kill another person? Brendan's father? Maybe he had to. Brendan had killed to protect him. Maybe he had to kill to protect Brendan's children?
But Danny Houston was already a murderer. Brendan did what he did to save Ste's life, and Ste was pretty sure Brady wasn't going to kill Paddy, even if Paddy hadn't got away.
He was less sure Brady wouldn't try to kill him. But it wouldn't be self defence right now. Right now it would be him killing a defenceless old man in his sleep. Ste couldn't do that. He had no weapon for a start.
That was the first thing to deal with. He edged his way through the darkness, avoiding anything that could make a sound. He reached the door at the back, and opened it. It creaked so loudly he flinched and went still again, to hear Brady's sleeping breath. It was still regular. Ste breathed out and went through.
Closing the door would make another squeak, and he may not be so lucky a second time, but he had to have a light or he'd never find anything in a room he'd never seen before. He groped at the wall, found a switch and took the risk. It was another nasty bare bulb that cast a hideous yellow glow on the sleeping figure.
Still sleeping. Thank God.
It was a kitchen. Ste could see cupboards, some drawers and an ancient looking cooker. Ste took a guess and pulled open the top drawer. Nothing sharp in there. He opened the second, and found a sharpish looking knife. He didn't think it could do much damage, but hopefully he would never have to use it.
He didn't bother closing the drawer, or turning the kitchen light out. He edged back out into the main room and tiptoed carefully to the door.
IT was such slow progress. Some floor boards creaked, sometimes he thought Brady opened an eye. He didn't have anywhere to put the knife, so he clung to the handle with his sweaty hand, expecting to drop it at any moment.
Three steps from the door. Two steps.
With his hand on the handle, Ste jumped a mile at the sudden knocking from upstairs.
What? But Paddy escaped. Ste saw him!
He dashed up the stairs. There were two doors; one open, leading to a bathroom, the other shut.
"Granddad?" called a little voice through it. "I need to pee."
"Shut up!" he hissed back. He tried the handle. It turned but the door wouldn't budge. He dropped the knife and grasped around, until he found the key in the lock. He turned it.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed at the determined looking boy behind the door. "I saw you escaping!"
Paddy looked frustratingly proud of himself.
"I came back. For you. To protect you."
Ste gaped like a fish. "You did what?"
"I called Dad, he's on his way, and I came back to make sure you didn't get hurt."
Ste could barely believe his ears. "You… to make sure…. Have you got any idea what I did to make sure you got away?"
He was talking too loud, but what was the kid thinking?
"What did you do?" asked Paddy, frowning.
"Just… something awful. What were you thinking?"
"I couldn't let him hurt you because I wasn't here, and he would have, wouldn't he? When he found I wasn't here? I'm so glad you're alright, Ste."
Ste sighed. Paddy was trying to be brave, to do the right thing. He stepped closer to Ste as he said that, and put his arms around him.
"Oh, Paddy," Ste said, and hugged him back.
"Well," sneered Brady, from the top of the stairs, "this is a touching scene."
