Page 51 of Everything That Kills Me
“Why not?”
“I’ll give you an example. My dad and stepmother went away for the weekend and said I could have a sixteenth birthday party. I didn’t want one but my stepsisters invited lots of people from school and the house was a mess when I woke.” He sighed. “I cleaned it all up and my stepsisters claimed all the credit.”
“Cinderella.”
Zeph laughed. “I am, aren’t I?”
“You know, if you want to come and use the hut, you’re very welcome. The code for the padlock is 9503. I’m trusting you with that. I’m only here in the week usually.”
Zeph gave her a hug. “Thank you so much.”
“I know what it’s like to need a bit of peace.”
When Zeph neared his house, he could detect the distinct aroma of a barbeque. He went round into the garden and found everyone eating at the patio table. Georgia’s boyfriend, Toby, was there too.
“Where’ve you been?” his dad demanded.
“You could have let us know where you were.” Elisa pushed a plate with a sausage and a bun towards him.
“I don’t have a phone, remember?” Zeph mentally crossed his fingers.
“Don’t be cheeky,” his dad said.
Zeph didn’t respond. What had he been supposed to say? He didn’t want the sausage. He never ate sausages. But there was nothing else. He went inside, made himself a peanut butter sandwich and snuck it upstairs.
One last attempt to contact Jack, then he’d give up.
“Please call and tell me you’re okay. I have this vision of you and your uncle being held at gunpoint in your house. Or that you’rereallysick and you’re in hospital. I hope not. But if it’s because you don’t want to be bothered with me anymore, please tell me and I’ll stop pestering you.”
When there was no answer after an hour, he switched off the phone and hid it.
Thirteen
Jack and Thomas didn’t talk about Istanbul until they were back in the UK and heading home from the airport. Jack hadn’t spent much time thinking about what he’d done. Was that good or bad? Had he so easily come to terms with taking someone’s life?
Apart from the rush of adrenaline, he’d been totally focused when he’d pushed the needle into Kubat. Afterwards, he’d been calm. Clinging to Thomas had been an act. Falling apart once the guy was dead would have wrecked everything. Jack wasn’t riddled with guilt. He’d been given a job and he’d done it. Kubat was a bad man. He’d died quickly. Probably quicker than he’d deserved.
The one thing that kept nibbling at him was the knowledge that now Kubat was dead, another would seize the opportunity to step in and take his place. Did this type of violent reckoning never end? Like some whack-a-mole game?
“How do you think it went?” Thomas finally asked. “And how are you?”
“Fine and fine.”
Thomas waited, obviously expecting Jack to say more, butfinetwice was the best he could manage. He wasn’t completely fine but he wouldn’t admit that.
“Run through everything. Give me your analysis. What could have been done better?”
Facts were easier to handle.
Thomas didn’t speak until Jack had finished. “Which was more difficult? Pressing the needle into his neck or accepting you’d caused his death?”
Wasn’t it the same thing?
“It’s not the same thing,” said his mind-reading mentor.
“My chest knotted when I injected him but only because I was thinking—what if the succinylcholine doesn’t act quickly enough? What if it’s low grade? What if he realises what I’ve done, gets up and tries to kill me?”
“What would you have done?”
