A few hundred yards are all that lie between life and death
"There's not a second that they are truly out of your mind, is there? Not just the thought of them, but what happened to them — the horrors they might have known. Nothing can truly distract you. You can't look at a sunset and think that's beautiful. You can't find a joke funny, or a song anything more than meaningless fluff. You'll never really get into a film or a book. If you've got a hobby, it's something to stop you screaming at the walls, rather than something you truly enjoy.
"Everything is a reminder, even though you need no reminding. The pain is always there, seared into your bones. And everywhere you go, you take it with you, ruining everything you touch."
His life hadn't flashed before his eyes when he tumbled down the stairs. That remembrance would take place now, at a slow crawl. Every horror, every mistake, played back before him like a film he had seen too often and hadn't even enjoyed the first time.
The old carriage clock, a gift to Decker's father on his retirement from the steelworks, ticked away remorselessly. Everything in the hallway was as it had been for decades: the splintery old chest used as a toolbox, the hat-stand with shoes heaped at the bottom, the bookcase crammed with vintage science fiction novels.
A still life picture with Decker at its centre, unable to move. The pain was overwhelming now, making him bite his lip so hard that he drew droplets of blood. Tears welled up his eyes and his bony fingers dug deep into the carpet.
Decker watched Dave from the window as he hurried outside to his panda car. The rain was even heavier now and squalls were slamming it almost horizontally across the road. Dark, unpleasant pools were forming on the moor, turning it into a treacherous quagmire.
He shivered. Instinct told him that this was no simple mishap or misunderstanding. Whatever had happened here, and perhaps whatever was still happening out there in the descending gloom, was drastic and life-changing. He sensed the presence of evil; the lingering coldness of its touch. It had intruded here into his home and taken away those he loved most.
Even then, at the beginning of the nightmare, the worst possible outcome seemed inevitable to him. He was never going to see his wife and daughter again.
The past suddenly seemed clear to Decker. It was no longer a matter of recalling specific incidents, those isolated fragments of joy and grief, but of seeing the whole landscape of his life, from its early peaks to the dark valleys beyond.
It was as if he suddenly distanced from it all, looking down on it from some great height, from where it was no prettier but it finally made sense. He saw points seemingly remote and unconnected were in truth linked by paths where others had trod. At last, he understood. He knew who had taken Laura and Zoe.
"It's this investigation — it's eating you away. You're meeting people who are seriously disturbed, or at least furtive, and you think that's the world. That's it a dark, vicious place full of dangerous animals. And that darkness is rubbing off on you, making you something you're not."
Decker fell.
One stumble and he was gone; an avalanche of old skin and bones all the way down to the hallway. He came to rest in an undignified sprawl, face down, his feet still on the bottom stairs, one slipper half hanging off and the other lost on the descent, along with his glasses.
Immediately, the pain shot through him. Gut-wrenching hurt, that made him scream and almost faint.
He knew straight away what had happened — he'd broken both his legs.Read more