Dream Guy (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Aftermath

Sirens whooped in the distance. The ambulance arrived first, then the police car. The paramedics checked Nell’s pulse. They tried to ease her out of Joe’s arms, but he tightened his grip and they left him cradling her as they went to get a stretcher. The policewoman ushered Liesel off the bus and into the police car. The policeman got contact details for the passengers and the bus driver. The paramedics loosened Joe’s grasp, lifted Nell out of his arms and laid her gently on the gurney. There was no urgency to their movements, just a steady calm with occasional comments to the policeman who’d come off the bus. They didn’t zip her into a bag. Joe had been afraid they’d cover her face. The bus pulled away and more police cars arrived. There were men positioning striped tape, taking samples of things and muttering into their radios and mobiles. One came over to Joe and knelt beside him and the paramedics.

“Look, son, we need to get you to hospital, and we need to contact your mum or your dad. Can you stand up?”

Joe came to. He looked down and saw that his coat and hands had blood on them and that he was kneeling in blood.

The two men helped him to his feet.

“Liesel?”

“Your little sister?”

Joe nodded.

“She’s already in the patrol vehicle with WPC Cartwright. They’ll follow us. We’ll go in another car. You need to be cleaned up, otherwise you might frighten your little sister even more. Okay?”

Joe continued nodding like a toy dog on the rear ledge of a car. His breathing was labored, and the tears kept coming. They eased him into the back seat of a small van where he sat, trying to stop his face crumpling and to suppress sobs. “I don’t want her to be dead. She shouldn’t be dead. Please don’t make her be dead.”

The policeman came round the other side. He strapped himself in and Joe remembered to do likewise. The mundane action helped him. He said softly, “It was Charlie Meek. He had four other guys with him, but he was the only one with a knife. I think they’d been taking something. He was mental.”

“Thanks, son. Let me just get a team to track down this Charlie Meek. You’re absolutely certain?”

“Yes. We’re all at the same school.”

“Lyndhurst?”

Joe nodded again.

“And what’s your name?”

Joe told him, and explained who Nell was. The policeman forwarded the details to the station. When he’d finished talking on the phone, Joe asked, “Where are we going?”

“The hospital. We’ll check you and your sister out there, then we’ll have to take statements from both of you. Will you be able to cope, do you think? Both of you?”

Joe twitched his shoulders. “I suppose so.”

“We’ll get your mum there. We need her permission before we take any statements, and she can stay with you while you give your account of events.”

Joe was convinced that he’d be examined by Dolon and spent the rest of the journey to the hospital trying to work out how to avoid being left alone with him. But of course, Dolon was nowhere to be seen once they reached the accident and emergency unit. It was quickly established that neither of the Knightley children was physically hurt, although a doctor did notice that Joe was bruised and stiff. They took away his coat and trousers and shirt and brought him some clothes that someone had borrowed from one of the male nurses. Before he was allowed to take a shower, a nurse took a DNA swab and a hair sample and a policeman fingerprinted him. They showed him a bathroom. He stood numb under the jet of water, watching as swirls of pinkening water sluiced away—the last he’d ever have of Nell. He closed his eyes tightly and pressed them with his palms to stop the tears, even though under the running water, it didn’t matter.

Then he and Liesel were put in a small office along with the policewoman to await the duty psychiatrist.

Susan Knightley arrived before the doctor. The door to the office opened, and she was standing there, then hugging both Liesel and Joe to her as if she were glued to them. Liesel burst into tears of relief. She calmed down again and all three of them sat there under the gaze of the policewoman.

“What happened? All I was told was that there had been an incident at the bus stop and that you were here. What’s been going on?”

“Mum, Nell Brennan… She’s been stabbed.”

Mrs. Knightley recoiled, her hand at her mouth. “But she’s going to be all right? They’re treating her now, are they?”

Joe shook his head. Finally, he gave way to the mounting pressure within him, and the tears came again. Hiccupping through the sobs, he managed to get out the words, “Mum, it was all my fault. If we hadn’t gone to the other bus stop, she’d be alive. I said we should walk to get warm, but we’d have been safe if we’d stayed outside the school. Mum, what have I done?”

“Oh, Joe, you haven’t done anything. You didn’t stab her. You didn’t attack her. You didn’t do anything. It’s not your fault, darling. It’s not your fault.” She took him in her arms and rocked him as though he were a toddler recovering from a fall, and the tears flowed down her cheeks as fast as his.

The policewoman held Liesel close. As Joe continued to blame himself, she said quietly, “Your mum is right, you know. You didn’t do this. You mustn’t beat yourself up about it. You saw who did it. You’ll be asked to give a statement, then you’ll be able to go home.”

“Who did do it, Joe?”

Joe explained about Charlie Meek and somehow, going over the whole appalling sequence of events calmed him down. When he’d finished explaining to his mother, he asked if Mrs. Brennan had been told. The policewoman wasn’t sure.

The duty psychiatrist came in. He was a plump, matter-of-fact man with very little hair and pudgy fingers. He spoke directly to Joe and Liesel, almost seeming to ignore the policewoman and Mrs. Knightley. He acted as if traumatized teenagers who’d witnessed a murder were his daily bread and butter. He talked to the two of them about flashbacks and panic attacks, about recurring dreams and a sensation of numbness or detachment. Then he turned to Mrs. Knightley.

“May I have a word with you?” He held the door open for her. He left it ajar but took her across the corridor so that neither Joe nor Liesel could make out what he was saying. He spoke at some length to their mother, who was listening intently and nodding in response.

Then Mrs. Brennan came up. She said to Joe’s mother, “Can I talk to him? I just need to know how it happened. That’s all. I just have to know how it happened.”

The psychiatrist reached out. “I’m not sure that’s entirely wise.”

But Joe saw Mrs. Knightley look into Mrs. Brennan’s eyes. What she saw there made her nod and say, “If Joe doesn’t mind.”

So Joe found himself taking those same steps to the bus stop once more, sitting there with Liesel between Nell and him, seeing Charlie’s shoes, Nell refusing to go home, swinging out with her bag, taunting Charlie, falling back, falling down, falling.

“So stupid. So, so stupid,” Mrs. Brennan was murmuring.

Another policewoman came up and said, “Mrs. Brennan! I wondered where you’d got to.” Then she took in what was happening and stopped.

“Niamh, what are you going to do now? Do you have somebody to stay with you? Who’s going to look after you?” Mrs. Knightley couldn’t bear the idea of this woman being left alone.

“My mother’s there. She’s got Kieran. She’s looking after him. We’ll manage. Thanks, Susan.” Mrs. Brennan reached out for Joe, and he went to her and hugged her. “Thank you for telling me, Joe. Just so long as they get that monster. Just so long as they get him and lock him up once and for all.” The policewoman accompanied her as she walked down the corridor.

Another policeman appeared with a laptop. He asked if Joe was ready to give his statement. Joe nodded. They sat, and the policeman typed as Joe spoke, unprompted, retelling the story for the third, or was it the fourth time? He’d lost track, but it didn’t matter because the story was playing and replaying itself in his head over and over. There was no room for anything else in Joe’s mind. Then the man asked to take Liesel’s statement. She spoke slowly but definitely, and she named the boys who were with Charlie—Barry Hunter, Dean Dearborn—the two whose teeth and head had collided—Glen Carter, who’d run away and Steve Forest, whose nose Joe had yanked and who had been holding her when Charlie took his hunting knife out. She was clear about the length of the knife, and she was equally clear about how Charlie’s face had creased with hatred before he went for Nell.

The policeman thanked the children and turned off his laptop. They were free to go now, but they should stay at home for the next few days, and they needed to be aware that there was likely to be media interest in the story. The press might be at their house already. These things had a way of getting out.

They should also know that Charlie was claiming that it was Joe who had stabbed Nell, a story that had so far been corroborated only by Steve Forest, who was receiving treatment for his nose.

“He needed stitches. I’d have done the same if it had been my sister, I tell you. But you stay at home. I mean it. Don’t try to leave your house. Not for a few days. Once there’s been a charge and a trial date set, things will calm down,” said the family liaison officer.

“Will Charlie Meek get bail?” asked Mrs. Knightley, bristling at the thought.

“Absolutely not. He’s staying on remand. The statements I’ve got here, and the state he’s in are more than enough to ensure that he’s regarded as a danger to the community. He’d taken methamphetamine. I reckon he’s been a user for some time. Things are messed up in this world, but not so messed up that some story an addict has invented will stand up against statements that are as complete as these ones.”

The policewoman added, “I’ll probably be called as well. Joe’s told a completely consistent story every time he’s had to talk about this, and Liesel’s statement verifies every word he’s said. We all know what really happened, and that will come out in court. Believe me.”

Mrs. Knightley said wryly, “I’m a solicitor. I know what can happen in a courtroom if he gets the best counsel going.” Neither of the police knew what to say to that. They’d both seen enough cases where defense barristers had run rings around the prosecutor and got some lowlife off without any official stain on his character.

The Knightleys reached home around nine. Ben and Zahid were there. They’d cooked but no one felt like eating. Mrs. Knightley took Liesel to bed. Joe was slumped on the sofa. Zahid sat in an armchair, but Ben was restless and guilt-ridden.

“I shouldn’t have made him look such a fool in front of the school. I’m sorry, Joe. I didn’t think it would put you and Liesel at risk.”

Joe shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. He was out for me anyway. He thought I was tangled up with Smokey and trying to muscle in on his turf.” He fell silent. If somebody picked him up and tapped him against a solid surface, he’d crack like a blown egg or one of those hollow chocolate Santas.

Ben went to the kitchen to tidy up. Zahid asked, “How come you couldn’t dream your way out of this?”

Joe swallowed. He’d sat in the hospital asking himself the same thing. “I don’t know. I suppose everything happened so quickly, and they had Liesel as well. When I got you out of that fight, I was holding on to you, and I had time to get my brain working in the right way. This time, Nell was up and at them before I could think. All I wanted was for her to get away, but she wouldn’t run.”

“If you can make dreams come true, why don’t you just dream her alive again?”

That hadn’t occurred to Joe. He breathed out and tension seemed to melt from him. He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, he was smiling. “I am so dumb. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Zahid smiled. “Probably because having someone die in your arms isn’t exactly conducive to clear thinking. Look. Get to bed, and you can deal tomorrow.”

Joe could see that Zahid was trying to help. An unusual state of affairs. He’d always thought Zahid was a self-centered monster, but perhaps being saved from a beating had reformed him a little.

As he went upstairs, he met his mother coming out of Liesel’s room. “She’s asleep, thanks to these pills the doctor gave us.” She went over to Joe, her lips clamped together and held him there on the landing, as tightly as she had when he was four or five, had taken a tumble and she could still kiss things better. Her voice was dense with tears, but she did not cry.

“I’m so glad you’re safe, and I feel so bad because Nell isn’t. I just can’t believe it. I remember her and you and Silas, all on the first day of primary school, all so excited and so sweet in your little uniforms. It’s such a waste. Such a cruel, stupid waste.”

Her arms tightened around Joe as if that would keep him safe forever, then she loosened her grip and brushed at her damp eyes. “The doctor said you should take something to help you sleep tonight too.” She handed him two tablets. He gave her another hug and climbed up to his room.

Lying on his desk was the bag from Titan. He dumped his school bag. It was heavy with books and papers irrelevant to anything in his life. Exams and coursework were no longer of any importance to him. Sometime he’d have to overcome that feeling, but for now, he kicked the bag under his desk before sitting
in
his swivel chair and reaching for the book that he’d been given at the comic shop.

The cover had not changed, but there were new pictures—the dank, gray loading bay where he and Zahid had hidden, Karabashi’s study then a picture of him and Zahid in a tangle on this very same bedroom floor. He hoped Ben wouldn’t ever come across the book. For some reason, that frame looked incriminating. Then there were dark pages, dense with matte tints of gray, where the silhouette of a figure trying to haul himself out of dark places was faintly visible—a representation of those dreams he’d tried to avoid.

The rest of the book had empty boxes scattered across its pages. They were irregular in size and shape, some zagging diagonally halfway down a page, others dividing up the pages into several smaller boxes connected by arrows. Someone had already planned out the pace and structure of the future dreams Joe would have.