Contents (48)
- PAST LIFE
- David Mark
- PART ONE
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- PART TWO
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- PART THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
‘Suits you, anyway,’ says McAvoy, looking at her for a moment too long.
She gives a nod of thanks. Stares through the dirty glass and out across the fields that hem the edges of Cottingham. ‘What did you think?’ she asks, quietly. ‘What did it feel like, when you thought that we were … that maybe …’
He shakes his head. Pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘I can’t,’ he says. ‘Can’t imagine how … I mean, if I lost you …’
She sniffs. Blinks back tears. ‘And Roisin? When you thought she was in danger?’
He can’t meet her eyes. Stares at the backs of his hands. ‘What about you?’ he asks. ‘Did you go towards the light? Life flash before your eyes?’
Pharaoh breathes out, slowly. For a moment, she remembers. Remembers the absolute darkness; the warm black oblivion of the void. ‘Yes,’ she lies. ‘There was something more. Something else. Some kind of peace, maybe. Something that felt, I don’t know … good.’
McAvoy reaches out for her hand. Squeezes it tight. ‘It matters, then,’ he says, mostly to himself. ‘What we do. Right and wrong. Good and bad. It really matters.’
Pharaoh reaches out. Squeezes his arm and pulls him closer. He rests his head against hers. She feels the sweat of his forehead; feels as though she can hear the endless static of his thoughts.
‘Of course it matters,’ she whispers. ‘Of course there’s something more. You’re on the side of the angels, Hector.’
She feels the tension bleed out of him. Strokes his back. Clears her head, lest he somehow read her thoughts.
‘I thought of you,’ she says, into his crown, her lips muffled by his damp, red-grey hair. ‘All I thought of was you.’
And then she is stroking his back, her cheek against his head, as his breathing finds a rhythm, and he gives in to sleep.
Pharaoh closes her eyes. Leans back.
Thinks of the moment that Roisin McAvoy stuck a hammer through her attacker’s skull. Thinks of the ease with which she delivered the killing blow. Thinks of the recording, safely stored on her phone – a confession of murder, and more.
Breathes him in, and makes a promise to herself. It’s good to know where the bodies are buried, so to speak.
And as sleep envelops her, she smiles.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It’s been a little while since the last McAvoy outing. Sorry about that. Authors are self-indulgent beasts and I’ve been off writing all sorts of other thrillers. Some of you may have read them, and for that, I’m grateful. There is little more depressing than pouring your heart, soul and pulverized brain matter into a book only to find that it’s been read by two librarians and an insomniac. So, please accept my nod of affection for following me into the places my imagination dictates.
Everybody else … thanks for coming back to Aector. He wouldn’t ever speak up about it but he does feel a bit lonely and abandoned when he’s not risking his life on your behalf and is grateful that you still like him. He’s blushing and doesn’t know quite how to say it, but he wants you to know that you mean a great deal to him and that he’s here if you want to talk. Trish thinks you probably need to pull yourself together.