Is it that all creatures are made to suffer? The pelican in the waste-land. Is that all God created when he birthed the world? Kelly knew how to phrase a thing. And if there was no God, was there any point to the suffering? No, there was no divine purpose. They just existed and suffered and died and that was all. That felt far truer.

When he’d returned from his Snake Island escape, Penelope had not spoken to him for days. He’d been surprised to find that she, too, had not visited their son. The two had accidentally fallen into agreement; they would punish their son with their absence, cast him into isolation to teach him repentance.

And so his boy had remained on this cold bench, waiting. He couldn’t imagine. All his anger had been focussed on Brendan when he’d done far worse to the boy. Should have taken that shotgun and pointed it at himself.

The sun had set, the light stretching across the floor and winking out entirely, before the door down the corridor finally opened. It had been so long that Vernon held no hope of seeing William Kelly emerge from the darkness. His pessimism proved justified. Sharon Wornkin looked at him through the bars, draping her forearms casually over the metal struts.

‘How’s it going, Vernon?’

‘How do you think? I’m thirsty, to begin with.’

She stared a moment longer before unlocking the cell door. She sat on the bench next to Vernon.

She said, ‘Now, have you had a think about what you’ve done?’ Like she was scolding a child.

‘Give it a rest, Sharon.’ When she said nothing he sighed. ‘You want to know where the car is?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘What will happen to my boy?’

Sharon had her hands pressed together between her knees. ‘I don’t know anything about that.’

‘You talked to Ernie, didn’t you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come off it. You’re in Cahill’s pocket, aren’t you?’

Sharon seemed to sink into the bench for a moment. Her whole body slumped forward. Vernon felt he had the upper hand finally and added, ‘You’re a coward. I know you think you’ve got the whole town fooled, but they know. We’re smarter than you give us credit for.’

He felt the force of his words. Every one of them seemed to land on her back and make her slump further.

‘Everybody knows you’re in his pocket,’ he went on. ‘Woman in your position should stand for something.’ He snorted. ‘Reckon I can’t bloody talk, though, being the same. Cowards together. Well.’ He sat back. ‘Guess that’s what my dad taught me. And what I gave to Caleb. Your dad teach you that, too? Teach you to obey, do as you’re told?’

Vernon could feel the change in the air as soon as the words left his mouth, unsure of what had happened. She stood up, looming over him. He wasn’t immediately intimidated and so didn’t shrink away.

The fist he noticed too late, as it was swinging towards his temple. The pain spread to his jaw, his tongue, his fake teeth, as he sunk into the bench. His ears rang. He blinked, fell back, his hand still chained. Something hazy in the air. The shadow before him raised a leg and Vernon lifted his free hand to fend off the boot as it struck his chest. He noticed, absurdly, her pants stretching at the crotch. He clenched his teeth to keep them from rattling. Her boot struck again. Maybe cracked his sternum, the ribs. Couldn’t use both arms to shield himself. He coughed, spluttered. The boot kept striking him what felt like everywhere. He was too old for such a beating and he knew he would die if it went on. The wind knocked out of him made him desperate. Clawing at her boots like a child.