Chapter 14: the mole
…
Gemma Stark sat at her desk after guiding Danielle back to her cell a few minutes later, and let out a long, slow sigh. She'd had a pretty good idea what she had wanted to talk to her about given their conversation the week before. She'd also seen her and Myers interacting in the yard. He'd held her hand every day. For the first time in her professional career, Gemma Stark began to wonder if she'd made a mistake. Or at the very least, been too hasty with her refusal. There was no way Myers would try to harm her. Was there?
She poured herself some coffee from the pot by her desk and looked out the window towards the common room. It was almost empty now; most of the inmates were back in their cells. Should she go and speak to Loomis right now? Ask him what he thought? Yes, she was a trained Psychiatrist just as he was, but on this particular occasion, she felt uneasy. Had she made the right choice?
It was true ever since she had attempted suicide, causing her to be committed into Smith's Grove, that Myers had certainly kept a close watch on her after a few weeks. Dr Stark had always insisted to Dr Loomis that Michael was a man and could love the same as anyone else. Seeing their interaction had only strengthened her conviction in that regard. Should she have allowed the move? She'd seen the tears in her eyes when she'd refused… Yet…
Dr Stark sighed again. There was still the fact that Halloween was coming up and they all knew Michael Myers was at his most dangerous on October 31st. Whether to her or not, it was too big of a risk. Right?
She remembered the conversation she and Dr Loomis had just hours after Michael had first held Danielle's hand.
"I may have to accept my mistake," Dr Loomis said as they sat in his office. "There may be something left for Michael after all. Did you see that?"
"I did," Dr Stark said curtly. Her tone made Dr Loomis look up at her in surprise. "What?"
"You stopped the guards from intervening. Why? She could've been killed Sam! You were furious with Joanne the first time she accidentally crossed his line and now you're allowing it to happen? Don't you think he's just luring her into a false sense of security?"
Dr Loomis shook his head. "Michael doesn't work like that. He just kills on the spot. I think he's fascinated with her, purely because she cannot see him. He's probably never met anyone with her condition before."
Dr Stark snorted. "Yeah, ok Sam. What difference will that make to a cold-blooded killer? If anything, it would help him! She'll be easier to kill because she can't see him! Fascinated? Please!"
"Then why did he hold her hand out there?" Dr Loomis asked quietly. Though Dr Stark knew her boss was asking a rhetorical question. "Why did he not just make an attempt on her life right then?"
"How should I know?" Dr Stark stood up and slapped her hands on the desk in frustration. "I'm not Michael Myers! But I still say you're making a big mistake! You're the one who says there is nothing left, yet you're letting them get close so he can hold her hand! Joanne rushed over, and I saw you and her physically stop the guards from stepping in! Why? Are you trying to use her as some kind of…? Pawn to prove you're right? She could get killed!"
There was a long silence. Eventually, Dr Loomis spoke quietly.
"No Gemma," he said. Using her name for one of the very few times in their working relationship, but it got her attention. "I believe that what we saw was real. I'm serious. Michael crept up on Judith while she was naked and brushing her hair for God's sake! You're right. She would've been an easy victim, stupidly easy even, guards or not. But he didn't touch her! That's what I'm saying. He held her hand, and if you ask me, he felt protective towards her! I'm hoping she will prove me wrong, not right. He may have just met the one person who can get through to his heart, based on the simple fact that she can't see him."
"That…" Dr Stark spluttered. "That's… I'm sorry Sam but have you finally lost it? That's… Well insane! You've been trying to reach him for years! Thirty-five to be exact if you include before 1978. Why the hell would a blind person make any difference?"
"Michael has scars too," Dr Loomis said very quietly. "He is, whatever else he may be, still a man."
"I just think you could be putting her in danger!" Dr Stark persisted. "I'm her therapist, Sam! It's my job to look after her, and you're letting her stand beside a cold-blooded killer!"
"Just give me the benefit of the doubt. Ok? You were there. The guards will step in if they need to, they told us as much. But I honestly believe they could help each other through their separate pasts."
"Insane," Stark said again, standing and leaving without another word.
But now, sitting in her office, she was starting to wonder if what Dr Loomis had said all those weeks ago might not be right. Or at least in part. But she also knew she had to do what was best for Danielle. It was after all, Halloween in just a few days and she didn't want more innocent blood on her hands. Her decision had been the right one and she would stick with her convictions. She was almost as experienced as Dr Loomis was and could make decisions just as well as he could.
At last, over two hours late Gemma Stark finally headed home, hoping her husband Luke would still be up. She needed his arms around her and a large glass of wine with dinner. She needed him to tell her everything would be alright, even if she couldn't tell him what the problem was. She just hoped it wasn't a lie.
…
Derek Chancer was rudely woken by a loud tapping against his cell bars. He scowled at the guard. What was his name? David? He looked up. "What?" He snapped.
"You've got a visitor Mr. Chancer," David said. Chancer gaped at him. "Eh?"
"You've. Got. A. visitor," David said as if he were slow or didn't speak English. Chancer felt his anger rise. "I heard your dickhead, but who is it?"
"Mind your language, don't want Solitary, do you? It's an old friend of yours, Mark Sarcozi is his name."
When visitors entered Smith's Grove, they had to show valid ID to prove who they were. Chancer's jaw dropped. Mark Sarcozi had abandoned him years ago. What the fuck was he doing here? Irritated, Chancer pulled on his uniform shirt. "Alright," he said. "I'll see him." He knew patients could refuse visitors, but he couldn't lie, he was curious. What the fuck was Mark Sarcozi doing here after all this time? Frowning, he didn't resist as David shackled him, then led him towards and into a visitor's room. Sarcozi was behind thick glass. Without a word, the guard unshackled him, and left.
…
Mark Sarcozi looked up at his former friend through the security glass as he entered and shivered. Those cold, calculating eyes hadn't changed a bit. What the fuck am I doing here? He thought. "Ching-Ching," Chris' cruel voice mocked again. Mark sighed. Could he, should he really do this? It wasn't too late to turn back…
"Well, well, if it isn't Mark Sarcozi." Chancer's cold, soft voice came through loud and clear. How the hell could Mark here him through all that glass? It was then he looked up and saw the speakers in the ceiling. He assumed there must be a microphone built into the glass somewhere, but he couldn't see it. All he could see was the button to call for a guard if necessary.
"Can, can you hear me?" Mark inwardly cursed when he stuttered a little. Shit. Chancer would know he was nervous.
"Loud and clear," Chancer said softly. "My ears are working just fine, but thank you for your concern, Marky Mark." That same, bitter sarcasm Mark had known from this man all his life. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "So what can I do for you? I'm going to take an educated guess that you haven't come to drop off flowers and grapes for your old friend?"
"I…" Mark swallowed again. This was it. It was now or never. She's blind, he thought. I can't… But next thing he knew, he was speaking. Ching-Ching.
"I… I've only just got out the nick," he admitted and heard Chancer's snicker. "What for Marky?"
Mark hated being called Marky and suspected those who knew him guessed that and did it all the time just to wind him up. He took a breath. "Nothing much," he said vaguely. He really didn't want to go into it with this man, even if he'd once been a friend. "Just a bit of drug stuff."
Chancer actually laughed. "Oh Marky," Mark could almost hear his glee. "You disappoint me. Such a small-time crime. I hope this means you're on the way up now?"
Mark didn't answer. Not if I can help it, he thought. But then, what would he call what he was about to do now? He was about to put a blind woman's existence and maybe even life in danger. Could he really do this?
"So what can I do for you Marky? How nice of you to drop in, but I suspect you have another reason to be here as opposed to just missing your old friend? Do tell."
Mark wondered for a moment how Chancer knew this, but then stopped. He was visibly nervous. It wouldn't take much for a man like Chancer to figure it out.
"Ok," he began. "I did genuinely want to see you Derek, that's true," he lied. "But I've also been asked to make contact with you by our old friend C.L." He heard Chancer's soft, "ah" and felt himself shiver again. Chris Leach that is a man you don't mess with. "So what did he have to say?"
Mark wondered if these visitor's rooms were wired. If so… Then oh well, it wasn't his problem. Part of him almost hoped they were, so she would be warned and protected. What the fuck was he doing here? But it was too late now. He could easily walk away, consciously he knew that. Chancer couldn't get anywhere near him. But the consequences if he did… He shut that idea down as soon as it formed. Way too dangerous. Chancer also knew people. Mark wouldn't live past next week.
"He wants you to help him," he said quietly, leaning into the glass, hoping he was near the microphone that he couldn't see. "His organisation has been hired by a guy who wants reports on a patient here, on your ward. A woman named Danielle Hayward?"
Chancer laughed. "You're not serious Marky?"
Mark raised his eyebrows. "Yes I am, C.L. contacted me last night. Why would I not be serious?"
Chancer looked at him as if he was stupid, the second person to do so in less than twenty-four hours, Mark observed. "Marky, she's never out of her cell the same time as me, the quacks in here saw to it. I can't even get close to her. Not to mention the one guy who scares the shit out of me is protecting her. You've got to be joking. I've heard rumours that he's already killed one guy here. No thanks man. Tell C.L. He can keep his cash. Not doing it."
"What do you mean?" Mark asked before he could stop himself. He knew Smith's Grove housed dangerous people; it was a mental hospital after all. But who had killed another inmate and now protecting Danielle?
Chancer scoffed. "Come on Marky! Really? Who's the one masked killer who scares every motherfucker in Haddonfield? Jesus man, think!"
"You don't mean Michael Myers?" Mark asked in disbelief.
"Have a medal. Yes I fucking do. He won't let her leave his side and he's always watching her. No man, I'm not doing it. I want to fuck and kill more bitches when I get out of here and if I cross his path or anger him, I won't live past sunrise the next day."
"Um, I take it our client doesn't know this?"
"That his bitch is being protected by Michael Myers? How the fuck would I know? That's not my problem Marky. But you can tell both him and C.L. to go fuck themselves. I don't have a death wish."
"I don't think he's asking you to get up close to her," Mark said, his mouth going dry. She was being protected by the "boogeyman" Michael Myers? Holy fuck! No wonder Chancer wasn't willing. He wouldn't be either; he'd be running as fast as he could in the other direction. "He knows you'd kill her if you could and I don't think that's the idea. Our client just wants to know what she says, who she's talking to, etc."
"I say again, you've got to be joking Marky! I'd never hear a word when she talks to that bitch quack Stark for obvious reasons, and Loomis won't tell me a damn thing, should I even try to ask, duh!"
"Just…" Mark sighed. This was actually good as far as he was concerned. It looked as if Chris' plan wouldn't work and he would be in the clear. He hadn't told Chancer anything that could hurt her, nor his boss'. So far, his involvement hasn't done any damage and Mark would like to keep it that way. If Chancer wasn't able or willing to report anything, Mark wouldn't have to come back, which was just fine with him.
"Not to mention," Chancer continued. "She's in a cell up the corridor from mine, I wouldn't be able to hear anything."
"Um, yes you would," Mark said. It looked like his not causing damage was about to change. "You'd be provided with an eavesdropping device designed to look like something else."
Chancer rolled his eyes. "I'm not fucking James Bond; plus how do you plan to get it in here without being stopped by security? How do you know someone's not listening right fucking now? I don't have a phone, forget that one, they'd find it within hours Marky. So it'll have to be pretty damn good."
"But if it works," Mark said softly. "Would you?"
"I'll think about it," Chancer said finally. "Get this device in and I'll let you know then. You'll have to do that anyway, before I even consider this crazy request. What's the pay packet anyway? It's not like money is any good to me in this shit hole."
"Funds will be deposited into a secret bank account," Mark murmured. "Tax free, no questions asked."
Chancer snorted derisively. "Yeah, ok. Heard that before. But I say again, I am not tangling with Michael Myers. No fucking way! If I sense he's caught on to this, I stop. Done. Finished."
"Ok," Mark agreed. He couldn't blame Chancer for that. So would he. "I'll come back with it for you tomorrow," he said as he slowly stood up, for some unknown reason his heart was pounding. The "Boogeyman" Michael Myers was in the very building he was standing in now. It made Mark's blood go cold and Goosebumps rise on his arms and neck. Michael Myers was one scary man.
"Right," Chancer said, standing too. "Nice to see you, Marky Mark. Get this device thingy in and we'll talk more. Good day my old friend. He walked away from the glass as a guard appeared beside him. Mark only dimly saw his former friend being shackled.
…
"How did you sleep? Liking your soft cell?" Dr Stark asked the next morning as Danielle sat in her usual place in the therapy room, window once again open, speakers off.
She grinned. "I love it, thanks. But I wasn't bouncing on the soft walls last night… Not yet anyway. Need more tea for that."
Dr Stark chuckled. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"A little on edge," she admitted. "Not just for me, but Charlotte too. Adam won't stop until he's found us, he's a very determined man. I'm safe and I know this, but Charlotte…"
"Don't worry," Dr Stark said. "We're already putting measures in place for her security, she'll be protected every step of the way, you have my word. Just for a moment, can we talk about you?"
She sighed. "It scared me," she said eventually. "I won't lie to you Dr Stark. I'd hoped he'd somehow lost my number. Sadly not. I'm going to have to change it, aren't I? That said, it's not like I've got many people I want to give it to," she sighed softly.
"One of our Domestic Violence Advisors will be able to talk to you today as soon as we're done here and can help you with all that if you're willing to work with her."
"Of course. I know I was a bit… Well, bitter when I first got here and I'm sorry for that Dr Stark. I know you guys are just trying to help me. I just… I didn't want to be saved at the time, I wanted to be dead. In the past, doctors had only let me down and I didn't trust you. Any of you. I'm sorry, I was wrong. I love Joanne, she's been nothing but kind to me, as have you. I know I was… Not the most engaging at first. Neither with you or Joanne."
"For which we don't blame you," Dr Stark said kindly. "Dr Loomis didn't switch with me because you didn't engage, I promise you. He switched because one, I'm a woman and two, this is more my field than his. When I told you that at the time, I was telling the truth."
"Thanks. I do trust you now Dr Stark and will do whatever you ask, because I know you truly want to help me."
"That's our girl," Dr Stark squeezed her hand. "In which case, please answer me? How did it make you feel?"
"I think I was angrier than I was scared at the time that he'd dared to call me after court and everything. But…" She sighed. "The fear did sink in afterwards, of course it did. But after that I just couldn't close my eyes. Ryan was amazing too. I'm actually glad it happened on a night he or Joanne were there. Those two and Rick make me feel...well, safe."
"Good," Dr Stark said. "But you know any of our guards will protect you right?"
"Perhaps not Mr. Jackass," she muttered. For the first time, her doctor actually laughed.
"I know who you're referring to, he just needs a bit of…"
"A whack?" She offered. "Canes are good for that."
Dr Stark grinned, she could hear it in her voice. "Training. But I agree, he doesn't look out for or after you very well. I intend to speak to him, don't worry about that."
She smirked. She had a feeling Dr Stark could be really scary when she had to be.
"Thank you for being honest with me," Dr Stark said. "Are you ready to talk to one of our DV Advisors?" They can help you with anything, from changing your number to extra counselling if you want it. They also only tell me things I have to know. The rest is up to you. They don't tell me anything they say to you or you to them, unless it presents any risk to you or someone else. I will say this again, we already have one working with Charlotte, so please try not to worry about her. We'll protect her, I promise."
"I know. Thanks Dr Stark, yes whenever she's ready, I am. I just have one request. A cup of tea? I think I'll need it." Dr Stark chuckled, standing up. "Done," was all she said before she walked away.
…
The Shape stood in his cell; his steady, unblinking gaze fixed and unwavering from the single one just up the corridor. He was looking for her. But why? If he didn't care for her, why was there an ache in his chest since she'd moved cells the night before? Why did he constantly need to know if she was ok? Why did he desperately need her back in his arms? She'd told him how safe she felt while he was holding her. But why was he doing so? How had she squirmed her way into his heart? He couldn't have said why he'd touched her arm, held her hand and then held her. Night after night! That had not been his intention at all, but the way she'd trusted him had done something to him that he still didn't fully understand. Then there was Jefferson. He had sexually assaulted her and that had made The Shape snap. He'd killed him because he'd hurt her. He couldn't deny it, not to himself.
If he didn't care, why couldn't he look away from her cell until he saw her come back? Why did he constantly need to know where she was and if she was ok? Even her moving cells had caused a slight jolt of… Something in his chest. He was missing her. The Shape smashed his hand against his cell bars causing an echoing clang. He felt his need to kill building up in him again, but it was aimed at one specific man. Adam Dawson. He wanted to kill him slowly, painfully, creatively. All because he'd hurt her?
So why was he longing and desperate for her to be in his arms, now that she'd moved? Why would his steady gaze not leave her cell door?
…
Derek Chancer lay in his bed, tossing and turning. It wasn't like him not being able to sleep. He was normally a heavy sleeper and an unapologetic snorer. It normally didn't matter because he always slept alone. He never allowed any of the women he fucked to sleep next to him and they usually ended up dead before sunrise as it was. They spent their last night alive locked in his basement, tied to what he liked to call his operating table. He smirked to himself at that thought, then sighed. All he wanted was to get out of this nuthouse, insane asylum, pick your phrase. But so far, things were not working out his way. Not only was he locked in here with no chance of getting out any time soon, as he was still deemed a danger to women, but now someone had hired his once friend Mark Sarcozi to come in and talk him into some sort of crazy job for some fucking rich guy.
Chancer stood up and walked to the bars. He could hardly see anything; it was pitch black and the small light in his cell set high in the ceiling only illuminated his bed. He couldn't see her cell at all from where he was. Maybe that was why she had moved, he thought with a brief flash of amusement. Because I snore.
This was crazy. Certainly more insane than the people he was currently occupying this hell hole with. Michael Myers was just across the way and was constantly watching the woman, and ready to jump in and protect, that he'd been asked to eavesdrop on. It was suicide! Yet… Although Sarcozi hadn't specified an exact payment amount, Chancer guessed it would have to be a pretty hefty sum for an operation like this. Too bad he wasn't allowed to kill her at the end of it. Myers aside, the biggest block on that plan, is also the last thing their client wanted. He probably wants to fuck her when she gets out, he thought with a grin.
Chancer knew of Chris Leach, although he'd never met him. He knew how many people he had working for him in his criminal organisation, they weren't small time that was for sure. So how had Sarcozi wound working for them? Maybe he'd met someone while in prison. Chancer grinned to himself. Sarcozi really was an idiot. If you were going to get yourself arrested, there were way better and more fun ways to do it, not to mention more creative.
He walked slowly back to his bed, lying back down. He sighed softly. What he wouldn't give for a kill. Just one, right now. He could feel the craving for it running through his very veins. He let out a long breath. At least he and Meyers had that in common. But Myers didn't care who he killed, was silent and did so with no remorse just as he was when on the kill. Chancer suspected Myers also had some kind of supernatural abilities. How else did he know where people were and then sneak up on them the way he did? Chancer envied that. What he wouldn't give to do that. The amount of women he could get his hands on. He thought dreamily.
He forced his mind back to the here and now, the matter in hand. Sarcozi, Leach and their crazy job. Could he do it? Even if this eavesdropping device was good, state of the art even, was he brave enough to risk it? He'd meant what he'd said to Sarcozi. If Myers caught on to this, he was a goner. No arguments. He didn't fancy dying just yet, there were more women to kill for one thing.
…
It was past 8AM by the time Joanne reached her house. She'd got off on time, but there had been an issue with the gates, the security staff being late for the early shift. Joanne cursed. Why did they have to be so damn inconsiderate? She was tired, as she knew the other night staff were.
When she finally reached home she entered, making herself some strong coffee. Slumping into her leather armchair, she sighed. She knew she wasn't supposed to take work home with her, but Danielle Hayward had become much more to her than just a patient. She genuinely liked and cared for the woman, who trusted her as well. She'd stood right next to her in that courtroom while the man who'd abused her was released without a scratch. How was that fair? Not only that, but the man had called her later that night. Talk about selfish, heartless and cruel! She recalled how she'd thought she'd help Michael get to and kill him. No denying it, she still meant that. Every word. She wanted to help her even after she left Smith's Grove, but wasn't sure how she'd do it.
Sympathy crashed over her again and she felt the tears start to slide down her cheeks. Little things did it. Like how she loved the sound of whistling, or touching someone's ears. Or how she obviously trusted a masked serial killer with her life. Irony! How Myers seemed desperate to protect her and seemed to genuinely care about her. Joanne had grown very fond of her in the time she'd worked as her guard, which she hadn't planned to do but didn't regret it. Danielle Hayward was as kind, as according to her file, people had said she was. Of course she'd been bitter when she first arrived. She'd been saved from killing herself after Adam had done what he had. Now she was in a mental hospital, clearly and unsurprisingly thinking people thought she was insane. But Joanne was glad she'd managed to slowly but surely crack her hard shell and get to the real woman underneath. She reached for a box of tissues and wiped her eyes. She would not stop protecting her even after her release. No way. She would do whatever she could to help her. She was determined on that. Whatever it took. Even if…
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock, then gentle arms wrapping around her, pulling her close. It was Rick, he wiped her eyes on his soft shirt. "Hey babe," he soothed. "What's wrong?" He sat on the sofa and pulled her onto his lap. Joanne hugged him tighter. God she loved this man. Without fail, he came to check on her at the end of every shift, and after a night shift stayed to hold her while she slept. She wasn't ever letting him go. She'd found "the one" as she'd heard people say, she used to roll her eyes at that, but not anymore. Now she totally understood the meaning of the old, overused expression.
"Nothing," she said quietly as Rick lent in to kiss her. Their lips connected which turned into a long, lingering kiss. "Just everything," Joanne said as they broke it, but still held each other tightly. "That poor woman's been through so much and it breaks my heart. Not to mention I've had the displeasure of meeting Adam face to face and he really is a slimy bastard! He's horrible, Rick. I want to help her even after she's released but I'm not sure how I can do that."
"That's just one of many reasons why I love you," Rick murmured, kissing her again. "You're kind, caring and absolutely selfless, Joanne Turner."
She blushed, but couldn't help a small smile. "Oh shut up."
Rick sighed dramatically. "Can't a man even pay his woman a compliment anymore?"
Joanne laughed, she couldn't help it, hugging him close. "I love you too Rick." She said softly.
…
"He's agreed to do it," Mark said, as he and Chris sat in their usual spot at the pub. They were drinking lagers, disguised in coke glasses. Mark wasn't sure if their being served alcohol at 10AM meant the owner didn't care about licence laws, or he was privately as terrified of Leach as he was. Mark secretly suspected the latter.
"Excellent," Leach said, rubbing his hands together in a highly self-satisfied way as he lounged back in his seat, his feet up on the old pub table. Mark recognised the casual, arrogant words said by this action alone. I'm untouchable, it said. I'm Chris Leach. I'm invincible. Mark privately hoped one day someone would prove him wrong. Someone like Michael Myers, perhaps? They were of course the only ones there except for the owner and he was hiding in the back room. Mark didn't blame him. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him and all that.
What the hell am I doing here? He thought again. This could be suicide! How did I get pulled into this? All because I know Chancer? I hardly know Leach! How did he get my number anyway? Probably some criminal passed it to him. How the fuck do these guys do that? Had they spoken to Chancer before contacting him and he'd given them his name? But no that wasn't possible. Was it? How had a childhood friendship, with a man who'd gone on to kill and rape countless women, and who Mark had severed ties with for precisely that reason, led to this moment? How was he now sitting here in this vile pub, talking to a top crime boss about surveillance work? He consoled himself knowing that Chancer was the one near Michael Myers, and not him. Once he gave over whatever Leach gave him, his part was done. He'd never have to see either of them again and that was just fine with him.
Leach reached across the table and handed him a small leather case. It contained what looked like an iPod, but with Leach you never knew for sure, headphones and the charger, which looked like any other.
"Take this in for him," Leach said. "You've given him the brief I take it?"
Mark had to resist the urge to punch the guy. Leach clearly thought he was stupid or something. "Yes," he nodded.
"Good man. Tell him all his instructions are on said iPod and to gain access he needs a password. So tell him as he's a chance," he smirked. "He'll have to play the game to get rich."
Mark stared at him; not sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"
"He'll have to play the game to get rich," Leach repeated slowly, again making Mark want to hit him. "You don't need to know Marky, safer that way. Derek will understand I'm sure. Fewer who know the better, wouldn't you agree?"
Mark couldn't deny that Leach made sense, and in truth, did he really want to know? So he simply stood up, and pocketed the case. He decided then and there that he was not touching that iPod himself. Just for a second, he'd been tempted to warn Leach and by association his client about Michael Myers. But something stopped him. He wasn't sure what, but that was one piece of information he'd keep to himself. Maybe there was a slim chance Leach and Myers would meet? If Myers caught on to this like Chancer said, Leach would certainly be one of those to meet his death. He shook his head as he walked out of the pub, sincerely hoping he'd never have to enter it again.