Suspicions start to stir to life inside him.

The light is draining from the day when the idea comes to him. It was Mark who planted the seed. An idea so simple there’s a kind of purity to it.

He waits until the hour is right. Then he goes upstairs and starts running a bath, leaving the water flowing, while back downstairs, he fixes himself a whisky, counts out the pills. There’s a science to it, and he’s careful not to go too far. Using a pestle and mortar he crushes the tablets to powder.

The bath is hot. He sinks into it, closes his eyes, feels it all seep from him. Waves of sadness and disappointment and faded dreams. He is a man who has been pushed beyond all endurance and yet still he has survived. The leg with the security bracelet is slung outside the bath. It’s a risk, and yet it’s worth the gamble. He’s got nothing left to lose.

And in those last few moments before consciousness leaves him, he thinks of Agamemnon, returning from Troy. His body weary and used. His soul darkened and bloody and needing to be cleansed. He wonders if Agamemnon welcomed the water as he slipped into his bath. Did he see the shadow of his wife fall over it as she approached with her net and her knife? Or were his eyes closed against the light, locked in the memory of another woman, another girl brought to sacrifice?

15

Leah

Leah wakes to the sound of rain. She listens to its distant patter, a child’s cry echoing up from her dream. She knows not to trust this cry. Knows it’s not real. For a moment, she lies there, listening to the rain, waiting for her heartbeat to steady itself. If she concentrates on her breathing, the moment will pass.

She is lying on the sofa in the living room, darkness pressing all around her. Her breasts feel heavy and tender, her mouth parched. When she tries to sit up, pain communicates itself through her neck and back, searing through the muddiness of her thoughts.