Eventually she managed to get herself to the wall and slump against it. She looked down at her body, now alien to her. One arm dangling like limp spaghetti. Some blood seeping through her shirt. She wanted to feel her stomach, but didn’t dare. Her legs seemed okay. She breathed. A pain deep in her chest, sharp as a knife. She attempted to stand but her legs weren’t up to it. Or maybe it was her spirit. She fell back onto her arse, crying out.

Next she struggled her way over to behind the front desk. She pulled herself up onto the chair and swivelled it around so she faced the telephone. She picked it up, dialled her home number.

Roger answered.

Sharon panicked, unsure of her voice suddenly. She succeeded in croaking out, ‘Hi honey.’

‘Oh, it’s you.’

‘Who were you expecting?’

‘Dunno.’

She sighed.

‘What do you want?’ he asked.

‘You still pissed off with me?’

‘I don’t know. Yes?’

‘Can you come give me a lift?’

‘Can’t. I’m about to head out. You know they run those raffles at the pub during the festival.’

She wanted to reach down the phone and throttle him. Really do it. Watch his eyes bulge as he realised how murderous she was.

‘What do you need a lift for?’

‘The car won’t start. Is Pete home?’

‘He’s still at the hospital, I think.’

‘Can you call him and ask him to come get me then?’

She hung up and sat staring at the phone, before picking up the receiver again. She dialled the number for the Trenton police department.

She cleared her throat. Wiped at her nose with her good arm, her hand coming away bloody. ‘It’s Newbury here,’ she said when the call was answered.

‘Newbury? You boys never call.’

Sharon tried to chuckle, to sound normal, found it ached too much. ‘Is Fitzy there?’

‘Nah, he’s not in today, being Easter and all.’

‘We need you to send some of your men down here.’

The man laughed. ‘You serious? It’s Easter.’

‘We’re having trouble with a few of the locals. We could use a few extra bodies to keep an eye on them. We just need two extra.’

‘What’s wrong with your men?’

‘One of them just quit on me.’

Silence on the other end, the officer said reluctantly, ‘S’pose we could call them in. If you’re sure it’s necessary?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘They won’t be happy.’

‘Thanks. Send them to the hospital and get them to ask for me, Sharon Wornkin.’

‘The hospital?’

She hung up. Then sat and waited for Peter to arrive. Every part of her body ached. At the end of the counter was a computer they used to type reports––Jack did, at least––and she shuffled the chair over to it. She looked at her face in the dark screen. Her chin was thick with congealed blood. Her nose bent. One eyelid was thicker than the other. She touched it tenderly, felt the pain renew itself. In the non-light of the computer monitor the blood appeared black, like she’d dipped the lower part of her mouth in tar.