Brendan said, ‘I’m going to get the old man.’

‘Good idea,’ Martin said.

‘We’ll take him somewhere else, right?’

‘Just go get him.’

Brendan hurried to the door leading to the cells. He opened it and went inside.

Martin said, ‘You go get that wrist seen to once we’re gone. Don’t let it heal all on its own. It’ll heal wrong. You won’t get full range of movement back. You know all that?’

Sharon nodded dumbly, all fight in her gone. The steel of the gun still on her stomach. Her head on the chopping block. Daisy in her father’s hands accepting her fate.

Brendan returned from the cell, his face confused. He said, ‘There’s nobody in there.’

‘What do you mean?’ Martin asked.

‘I mean,’ Brendan said, turning to look at Sharon, ‘she’s been lying to us. She never got the old man.’

For a moment Sharon was relieved that they’d discovered her deception. As though the worst of it was over. With her lame wrist cradled to her chest she waited and then Judah kicked her in the guts again. It forced the wind from her. As she hunched forwards his fist smacked into her nose. She flew back, head hitting the linoleum floor, hard concrete beneath. Through the haze another kick to the gut. Her hands now barely moving to cover herself. Shaking as she was pummelled all over and she knew for sure she was about to die.

She pictured Daisy again. Her final moments and she was focused on a chicken. It almost made her laugh as Judah kept at it, the other two trying to drag him off her. She wished to God she’d acted. Maybe that moment in time had cemented her character in all else. She’d never acted. This thrashing, her death, wasn’t the same. She’d changed things. She’d done something good for bloody once.

Then suddenly the beating stopped. Sharon lay on her stomach, swimming in agony. She was crying, breathing with difficulty. Hard to fathom her wreck of a body.

Through the pain she heard Martin say, ‘Was that worth it?’ He leaned closer to her. ‘We’re still going to get the old man. You taking this beating hasn’t changed a damn thing.’

She said, through blood and pain, ‘The trick is, you gotta be careful, and calm. Get their heads right off quick.’

Martin looked baffled. As well he might.

Brendan’s voice then, from somewhere else. She tried to see where but attempting to focus her eyes hurt, caused only red.

‘Reverend Kelly came to visit Moore when he was in here last night,’ said Brendan. ‘Says so in here.’ He waved the visitors’ log.

‘We’ll go see him, then, if Moore’s not home,’ Martin said. ‘And if he’s at all smart he won’t be.’

‘And the son?’

‘We’ll see about him, too.’

Sharon said, almost to herself, ‘Thought you didn’t like hitting women, Brendan.’

Brendan said nothing, nothing she could hear.

She breathed, ‘Hypocrite.’

There was the sound of footsteps walking out the door. Then there was nothing. Only silence. She rolled onto her back, stared at the ceiling. Coughed. She put her hand up to her mouth and looked to see if there was blood. There wasn’t. She contemplated sitting up. Tried it once, fell back down.