Ben lurched back to the couch and peered timidly over his shoulder, towards the thing that threatened to destroy everything he loved. He looked down at the phone in his hand, resisting the urge to fling it into the fireplace.

‘Do you want to call anyone?’ he said, holding it out to Chloe.

She shook her head.

‘What about your mum?’ he asked.

‘My mam died two years ago,’ she replied, sniffing back the tears.

Ben stared at her; breathless, speechless, hopeless.

How could he have been so selfish? It was as though no one else mattered. There were only his problems, his daughter, and his natural-born ability to let everybody down.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ben whispered, placing the phone between them.

That’s all he ever said, as if sorry could fix all the damage he had done. Ben held his head in his hands and waited for the tears that never came.

*

The curtains had lightened, as had the walls on either side, though only a keen eye would have noticed the change. Ben was sat on the edge of the coffee table, hands holding his heavy head upright like a marble statue, his countenance as stoic.

Chloe was asleep. One moment they were talking and the next they weren’t. He couldn’t remember the last thing she said. Her voice had lulled to a low whisper, the words trickling slow and few from her lips, and then there wasn’t a sound; just Ben’s thoughts, tangled and torn.

Detective Barry never showed up. After their conversation, Ben kept expecting his headlights to flash across the curtain. Seconds became minutes, and then hours. The longest of his life. Every call thereafter rang out. No response was still a response. Help wasn’t coming.

One day left and that didn’t include the night. Ben considered his options like a death-row inmate choosing his last meal. He was screwed either way. That much was a given. But fate had forced his hand to make a choice.

Driving to Donegal to see Aoife one last time was a hot contender. He could visit his parents on the way to thank them for all they had done for him and to apologise for all that he had not. The Benjamin French Farewell Tour wouldn’t be the worst way to close out his life.

Night would fall. He would die and the curse would remain.

Ben could have thrown himself at Sparling’s feet, begging for forgiveness, pleading with the man to grant them sanctuary. Any kindness on the doctor’s part was unlikely, especially after their last encounter. And even if the gates did open and he welcomed them in with open arms, Aoife was still out there.