Page 132 of The Mercy Chair

Unlike the Children of Job’s, Eve’s basement was a high-ceilinged room. It had four posts to support the floor above. They reminded Poe of the posts First World War deserters were staked to before being shot at dawn. The basement was warm, like a proving oven. It was being used the way families in modern homes use their lofts: as a place to store junk, unsightly but valuable furniture and Christmas decorations. Shelves with boxes, some labelled, some not. The camping equipment Thomas was checking the last time Poe had been there was neatly laid out on a foldout table.

‘Which part of the Lakes are you and Thomas heading to?’ Poe asked.

Eve walked over to the table and picked up the tent-peg mallet. It looked like a smaller, wooden version of Mjölnir, Thor’s war hammer. Sometimes Poe missed the pre-Bradshaw days, when he hadn’t known useless shit like that. Eve turned the mallet in her hands, as though she was examining it for woodworm.

‘Weekend in Buttermere,’ she replied. She leaned against the table and studied Poe carefully. ‘But that’s not important right now.’

‘It isn’t?’

She shook her head.

‘What’s going on, Eve?’ Poe said, rubbing the back of his neck. It felt clammy.

‘Nothing’s going on, Sergeant Poe.’

‘Then why are we really down here? Is there something you want to tell me, something you don’t want Thomas to hear?’

Eve said nothing.

‘I asked you a question, Eve.’

‘You really are the most bothersome man, Sergeant Poe,’ she said before taking three steps forward and smashing the mallet into the side of his head.

Chapter 115

Poe began sensing pain rather than regaining consciousness.

Years ago, when he’d taken more of an interest in popular culture, he had watchedCasino, a film about how the Chicago mob had moved into Las Vegas and changed Sin City for good. It was a violent film, even by Scorsese’s standards. And in one stomach-churning scene, made worse as it was based on real events, a mob enforcer put someone’s head in a vice and turned the handle until an eye popped out.

That’s how Poe felt now. Like his head was in a vice.

The pain was hot and hard, as if he’d been drinking cheap whisky in a bad mood. Everything felt heavy, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. His ears were ringing, his mouth tasted briny, and the rhythmic throb of blood pounded into his skull. His left temple felt swollen and numb. He went to touch it but couldn’t – his hands were fastened tight behind his back, the binding thin and vicious.

Poe tried opening his eyes, but even the dim light of the basement was too harsh. He ignored the searing pain and opened them anyway. He was almost blind in one eye and his vision in the other was blurred and narrow, as if he was looking through an unfocused telescope. He could see crazy zigzag colours. The basement began to spin wildly. Poe had seen enough head injuries to know he was badly concussed. He tried blinking his eyes into focus, the way he sometimes tried with an ill-fitting contact lens, but realised something was wrong with his eye socket. The bone moved under his skin and his eye felt loose. He hoped it wasn’t about to fall out.

Poe held the grogginess at bay long enough to take stock of his predicament. He was still in Eve’s basement. He had been secured in a sitting position to one of the supporting posts, his legs stretched out in front of him like shotgun barrels. He regretted the ‘shot at dawn’ internal narration earlier. Now it was all he could think about.

‘You really shouldn’t have asked for a photograph of Aaron, Sergeant Poe,’ Eve said from somewhere behind him.

Poe twisted his head to see where she was, but immediately regretted it as the pain in his skull flared. He slowly, gingerly faced forward again. He felt vulnerable with his back to Eve, but really, what did it matter? He was completely at her mercy. Being able to see her wasn’t going to make any difference.

‘Where’s Thomas?’ he asked, his voice thick and slurred.

‘Upstairs. He’ll join us soon.’

‘Why didn’t you want me seeing a photograph of Aaron, Eve?’

‘I’m not bothered if youseeone, Sergeant Poe,’ she said. ‘You’ve just watched him on a video. Iknowyou know what Aaron looked like.’

‘Then what?’

One moment Eve was behind him, the next she was at his side. She was still holding the mallet, but not aggressively, more like she’d forgotten to put it down.

‘Promise it’ll stay between us?’ she said, smiling.

‘I’d cross my heart if I could,’ Poe replied. The way she was smiling frightened him.

‘I couldn’t risk a photograph of Aaron being put through your colleague’s age-progression software, Sergeant Poe,’ she replied.

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