Page 110 of The Man Made of Smoke

I drove at a deliberate and steady pace, keeping the speed just a flicker under the limit. The white lights that arced over the motorway swept the inside of the car at regular intervals.

You are detached, I told myself.

You are calm.

That mantra had been with me my entire adult life, ever since I first headed off to university. Being detached and calm had allowed me to put the trauma away and protect me from emotions that had threatened to drown me back then. It had also been a guide for my professional life. When things went wrong in a secure psychiatric facility, you needed to keep yourself under control, and the more dangerous the situation, the calmer you had to be.

But I wasn’t calm. I wasn’t detached. And while I kept a careful grip on the steering wheel, it was all I could do not to put my foot to the floor and begin to swerve between the other vehicles on the motorway.

You’ve got half an hour until the last ferry to the mainland. So you’ll need to run.

But you’re good at running, aren’t you?

The man had done his best to sound impassive on the phone, his voice evendetachedandcalmin its own way. But the anger just belowthe surface had been obvious; he was barely able to contain the hatred he felt, or control the violence that wanted to erupt out of him. And yet the instructions he gave me had clearly been thought through carefully. Half an hour until the last ferry off the island, and I needed my father’s car first. The man had left me with no time to think.

But the calculation was a simple one: there was somewhere I needed to get to, because if I didn’t then Sarah was going to die. Even as the man hung up, I was already sprinting up the hill that led toward my father’s house. I attempted to call Sarah as I ran, hoping against hope that I had somehow mistaken her voice on the phone. But her mobile was turned off. And of course it was. Whoever the man was, he was organized and efficient. Hehadtaken her. And if I didn’t get to where he had told me in time then all that violence inside him would be directed at her.

Despite myself, I accelerated a little.

You’re good at running, aren’t you?

I conjured up a figure in the seat behind me. And even though it would do nothing to change the actions of the man in the real world, I allowed my subconscious to give that figure a voice. To let all the guilt and self-hatred that I’d hidden away for so long spill out into the car now.

It’s what you did that day, isn’t it? Ran away and hid like the worthless coward you are. You could have saved him. But you were too weak. Too scared.

I concentrated on the road.

What was it you said about me when you were still so sure that I was James Palmer? Underneath my behavior, I was just a little boy protecting himself. Maybe you should analyze yourself, doctor. Because that’s all you’ve ever been. Detached and calm? What a fucking joke you are.

Yes, I thought. You’re right.

All to hide the fact that he’s dead because of you. Because of all of you.

Yes, I thought again.

But because of you too.

The figure fell silent at that. I could feel the rage beating off it, hot and feverish.

That’s true, isn’t it? I thought.

You might not be James Palmer, but you’re someone who cares thathe’s dead. And I think I wasalmostright before, wasn’t I? Whoever you are,youfailed James too. And because you can’t bear to face up to that, you take your self-hatred out on other people instead. All the people who might also have saved him, and didn’t. They’re just stand-ins for how much you despise yourself.

You’re so fucking clever, aren’t you?

I shook my head.

No, I thought. I’m not. Because like I said, you’re right. Ihavebeen running. I’ve closed myself off from so many things. If I really was clever, I’d have dealt with it all a long time ago.

The truck in front was going too slow, so I indicated and pulled out to overtake. After I’d passed it, I pulled back in and forced myself to slow down to something approaching the speed limit. If I got pulled over then I wouldn’t get where I needed to be. I wouldn’t be able to save Sarah, assuming I still could.

As the lights washed over me, I registered a noise in the car and glanced down to my side. My mobile phone was on the passenger seat, buzzing softly, the screen illuminated. From the corner of my eye, I registered the incoming details.

[island—police]

I reached down and accepted the call.

“Dan?”

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