Page 42 of No Safe Place
Callum tried to breathe, but the oxygen wasn’t reaching his brain.
‘No – there’s someone else here. A guy.’ The man didn’t turn to look at him.
Callum wiped his hands on his jeans. The blood didn’t come off, just smeared. When he clenched and unclenched his fists the creases of his palm stood out white against the red-black blood.
A siren in the distance.
He lay backwards on the pavement. The mirror of Sam next to him.
From above Callum imagined that, with the bloodstains, he’d look like he’d been stabbed too.
Minutes ago, he’d been sure the night was oppressively hot, but he was cooling quickly. The rough concrete of the ground pressed against his phone.
His eyes flicked back to Sam. The man was kneeling over her. Attempting CPR.
Callum closed his eyes.
The ringing in his ears.
Sirens.
The rhythmic counting of the man, as he performed the chest compressions.
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Chapter 22
P:Breakdown.
Pause
P:The rules don’t work. There aren’t enough rules.
Pause
P:There are too many rules to cope with.
Chapter 23
Thursday | Early hours
Callum
He sat on the sofa, his sofa.
‘We need to take some photos of you,’ a gentle voice said, from the doorway, and he turned.
He’d forgotten the detective’s name. She must be in her early fifties, her face the only thing visible in her full protective forensic gear. Kind face, but stern. Flecks of grey visible at her temples under the hood of her paper suit. She’d been asking him questions about himself, his writing, who he lived with.
