The man slammed his hand down hard on the table top. Shockwaves of pain radiated up his tender arm, but he ignored the burden, feeling that the punishment was insufficient for his carelessness.

The back wall was covered in photographs pinned up with care and precision. Jane Parkes was depicted in various poses from various distances and angles. He had blown one image up so that her eyes were huge and dominating. He stared deeply into the dark orbs and touched the glossy paper tenderly, his fingers tracing loving gentle circles.

He had been pushing her hard, testing the boundaries of her flaccid mind. His anger was ripe that she would cast aside such a gift from G.o.d and allow it to flounder. He had probed the corners of her second sight, introducing alien images to her in order to get her to push back. At first she had been easy prey, so much so that he was truly disappointed, but now she was starting to bite. Her mind was strong, stronger than even she knew, and the speed with which she had grown in strength had caught him badly off guard. He had been watching her and the policeman enter Marion Ramsey's apartment building. The taste of death had still been fresh in his mouth and he'd grown sloppy, he knew that now. He'd wanted to watch her work, to see her up close and feel her power unimpeded by distance. But by being so close she had somehow managed to tap into him, to reverse the process that he had been so carefully running, and she'd almost caught him.

He'd fled from the scene like a common criminal. He'd screamed down narrow streets with endless eyes watching him and potential witnesses around every turn. Only but for the grace of G.o.d had he gotten away, but his triumph had soon turned to ashes in his mouth. Now all he had was the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that his world could crumble around him at any minute. His ego had taken over and left his meticulously constructed plans at the whim of pedestrians' memories.

His work was far from completed and now that the ball had been set in motion, there was so little time left.

Randall Zerneck drove the rental car with some difficulty. His left hand was in a cast with a fractured wrist and two broken fingers, courtesy of Alfonso Ramsey's goon. The media magnate had made it crystal clear that Randall's investigation was over; the Crucifier case was dead and if Randall didn't want to join it, he would back off. As a result, he was currently driving up the motorway to tackle the investigation from another angle, one from the past.

Lana Genovese's mother had let it slip that her daughter had, for a while, been pursued by some creepy kid from bible camp ... Martin something. He had known almost as soon as he'd left the grieving home that his instincts had grown weak over time. It had been so long since he'd needed to use his brain that it was a flabby muscle. He hadn't probed the woman for anything of use to track down either the kid bothering her daughter or even the bible camp in question. He'd still been able to use The Globe's resources then and had only managed to uncover the fact that one such bible camp had been closed down under a cloud. When any religious organisation that dealt with young children had to suddenly shut its doors, one couldn't help but think of abuse. The problem was that the church behind the camp had significant reach, enough to seal off any avenue of questions. He hadn't been able to find a single person to talk to about the camp or about a certain kid named Martin. Now, with Mr Ramsey shutting him down and warning him off, it made sense to get out of Faircliff for a few days and look backwards.

Arthur Durage had been unmasked as the Crucifier killer some 8 years ago. The man had been caught in his bas.e.m.e.nt drowning in evidence. He had been shot and killed by Karl Meyers but not before fatally wounding the detective. There were two other people present: Jane Parkes, a supposed psychic, and Lana Genovese, who had yet to succ.u.mb to being the Crucifier's latest victim. Because of Jane Parkes' presence and occupation, the investigation had been closed with eye-watering speed and Durage had been labelled as the killer and buried.

Randall had always wondered why a man so seemingly able to kill without leaving a trace had decided to stock his own bas.e.m.e.nt to the brim with d.a.m.ning forensic facts, enough to hang him a thousand times over.

Arthur Durage's body had been returned to his home town of Brightford some 100 miles north of Faircliff for a discreet burial arranged by a local charity that had remained nameless. Randall had spent what resources he'd had left trying to uncover just where Durage's body had been taken, but the location had been tough to find. He figured that it was necessary to keep the grave away from the ghoulish tourists that would have flocked to the site, eager for a twisted peek at a monster. What the UK seemed to lack in sheer numbers of serial killers, they seemed to make up for with the perverse obsession of them.

He had the car's air conditioning cranked up to full, as no matter what he seemed to do, he still felt hot all of the time. When the nurse had been setting his hand at the hospital she had wanted him to stay overnight. Her face had watched him warily, her eyes running a gauntlet and gauging his feverish forehead and frail frame. But he'd slipped out when the plaster had been drying, keen to spend whatever time he had left finishing his work. His books were severely in the red and they had to be balanced before the end. He could not afford to be a doctor's pincushion.

He made good time to Brightford, as most people at this time of the year were heading away from the towns and cities towards the coast for the holidays. The roads were largely clear and he found himself driving past the town limit's sign by late afternoon.

Brightford was a gritty and dark industrial town that had lost most of its industry many years ago. Randall drove through a downtown area that was mainly closed for business; windows were boarded and doors were locked. Hungry eyes peered out of dark shadows as the faceless moved, disturbed by the intrusion of the rental car.

Randall checked his map and pulled out the first of three graveyard addresses; apparently, the dead still needed burying.

The first site was soon upon him and he was glad for the summer sun that still shone down warmly. As he parked and then exited the car, the hot air hit him hard outside of the car's blissful air conditioning. His legs felt weak as he walked forwards but he pressed on regardless. His mind was still sharp even if his body was failing and he still had a job to do.

Danny paced nervously up and down the hospital corridor. His left eye was blackened and his right knee was strapped, but other than that he had gotten off lightly. Jane was still under observation as she'd taken a heavy blow to the head and had been unconscious for some time.

Danny looked down with distaste at the brown sludge in the paper cup from the vending machine. It had been labelled "coffee", but he was quite sure that he could successfully sue them under the Trade Descriptions Act.

The phone in his pocket buzzed again. He partially obeyed he hospital's policy by at least making the phone look like it was switched off. He had no intention of waiting outside of the front door when Jane was lying in a hospital bed all thanks to him; he would have done the same for any of his team.

The phone vibrated again and he checked it, although he had no need to see the name on the screen. Nathan had been ringing for the past couple of hours ever since the news about the high speed pursuit and subsequent accident had broken. Danny was finding that after a lifetime of only having to care about himself and the job, having a loved one at home could as much a hindrance as a pleasure.

DS Landing was sitting in an uncomfortable chair across the hallway from him as he paced. She was working on a large baguette and seemed to be spilling more than she was consuming. The sergeant had insisted on staying even after he had been released and he'd only agreed when the rest of his team had agreed to leave. He knew that he was in the mother of all dressing-downs when he headed back to the station. Chalmers, and no doubt Barrett, would be eager for the tale of how he'd lost the Crucifier in broad daylight, not to mention the fact that the chase had been the lead story on the TV news all afternoon. He had to give the bureaucrats credit though, as there hadn't been any mention of the case specifically and, as yet, there was only speculation as to the reason for the pursuit.

"Inspector Meyers?" a nurse called over to him, dragging him out of his thoughts.

"Yes," he answered.

"Your wife is asking for you."

Danny didn't bother correcting the nurse; it only expedited his agenda and his access to Jane if the hospital thought that he was family.

He followed the nurse into the room and immediately winced as he spotted the large purple swelling on Jane's head. "d.a.m.n, that looks painful," he said.

To her credit, she offered a small smile in return. "Where the h.e.l.l did you learn to drive? I thought that all cops were Hollywood action heroes?"

"I guess I forgot my stunt double," he grinned. His phone buzzed again in his pocket and a nurse attending to a bed opposite shot him a filthy glare.

"Nicolas? Neil?" she asked, squinting as though concentrating hard.

"Nathan," Danny answered in a low voice.

"Serious?"

"He certainly likes to think so."

"And you prefer to play the field? I guess that a man of any orientation is still a man," she chided.

"Not exactly. More like married to the job," he shrugged, sitting in a chair beside the bed.

"Ah ... that old chestnut! A man scared of commitment ... another true stereotype" she laughed.

"How's the head?"

"Well, it only hurts when I'm awake."

"Has it messed up..., you know, your transmissions?" he whispered, leaning in close.

"It'll take more than a b.u.mp on the noggin for that," she replied a little distantly. "You know once, when I was away at college, I was so sick and tired of getting flashes all day long, always knowing what the guy I was dating was thinking about."

"I'm guessing that was pretty simple to figure out?" she smiled sadly and Danny knew when to be quiet.

"Sometimes it's tough you know. Have you ever been in a relationship with another person and you start to sync up? Start to finish each other's sentences?"

Danny thought about Nathan and how close they currently were to having such a bond, and also how much it scared him.

"Imagine being inside their head," she continued. "Imagine never having a moment's surprise, always knowing what they were thinking about you, what annoys them, what they want for breakfast. It got to the point that I couldn't tell where I ended and he began; every thought in my head was mingling with his and I felt like I was drowning. I couldn't touch anybody's hand at that point without losing myself. Can you imagine what 1000 confused and over-excited student minds all going off at once is like?"

Danny could see that she was talking aloud now, but not really paying attention to who was listening.

"I took too many painkillers one night." she continued. "I was having headaches all the time and the doctor thought that it was just stress related, you know? Overzealous student. I told everyone that it was an accident, that I'd taken too many without realising it, but it wasn't an accident. I was just so sick of never being alone, of never being me; so many voices in my head it was too much, too overwhelming."

Danny took her hand and held it gently.

"s.h.i.t, Doctor Phil! I didn't mean to share that much!" she joked as she wiped a tear away. "I guess these drugs have got me a little messed up."

Danny felt eyes on him from behind and turned around to see DS Landing hovering near the end of the bed; her face blushed a little as she spotted Danny holding Jane's hand.

"Sorry, Boss," Landing spluttered. "It's just that we've got to go. Chalmers is on the warpath at the station looking for you."

"I'll be right there," Danny said, letting go of Jane's hand quickly.

"Don't any of them know?" Jane asked quizzically as soon as Landing disappeared back into the corridor.

Danny only shook his head.

"Would it really be so bad?"

"It's difficult." He shrugged. "There was a time when I started in the job that it would have been held against me. However, it kind of gets to a point where it's too late to bring it up in casual conversation. And besides, I don't remember anybody having a coming-out-as-a-straight party. My personal business is my business; whether I'm gay or straight, I would still be a private man."

"Fair enough, but how does Nathan feel about that?"

Those words echoed in his ears as he left the hospital and he let Landing drive back to the station so that he could send a text. It wasn't the biggest gesture in the world, but at least it was a start.

CHAPTER TEN.

THE PAST RISES.

"Can I help you, Sir?"

Randall turned towards the voice, equally surprised at the man's presence and being addressed as 'Sir'. "I was just visiting," he answered.

"No you ain't. I reckon that I know every face in this place, both above and below ground, and yours don't fit."

Randall viewed the old guy, who looked almost worse than he did. The man was practically wearing rags - torn and worn faded dungarees that hung badly on his frame, so much so that it was difficult to gauge the man's physique, but Randall a.s.sumed that it was skinny and frail. The man's accent was thick and seemed Eastern European of some denomination, but his English was excellent.

"My aunt died recently...," Randall began, but trailed off at the man's smug mocking expression.

"You wanna try again?" The man grinned.

"How about if I put a little sugar on it?" Randall said, taking out his wallet.

"How about you p.i.s.s off?" the man replied, still smiling, but without much warmth.

"Hey man, I'm just trying to do a job here," Randall pleaded.

"Ain't we all, and mine is to keep folks like you out. Don't think that I don't why you're here. Every now and then some b.l.o.o.d.y vulture comes sniffing around, poking their nose in where it doesn't belong."

"You know why I'm here?"

"It's been more than 8 years now, but we still get the occasional visitor, those determined enough to track down such evil men."

"So he's here then?"

"Now I didn't say that, now did I?" the man said with a twinkle in his eye.

"I work for a paper - a paper with deep pockets ... deep and generous pockets," Randall said, trying a little white lie. While he no longer worked for The Globe, he was sure that he could sell the story to any one of a number of papers as well as the book rights for a fortune.

"What would I want with money? Can't you see that I have everything that I could possibly want here?" the man said, stretching his arms out wide. "I get free room and board to keep the place, not to mention a retirement property," he added, pointing to the nearest gravestone.

"Everyone wants something."

"What I want you sure as h.e.l.l can't give me," the man said, turning and walking away.

"I wouldn't be so sure on that," Randall said, hurrying after him. "You ever hear of Alfonso Ramsey?"

The man stopped in his tracks. "Maybe."

"Well, I'm working for Mr Ramsey and if you've heard of him then you know that he's a powerful enough man to make anything happen," Randall said, deciding to swap the little white lies for very large black ones. "I'm very close to Alfonso and I have his ear; you help me and I'll bet that we can help you."

The man stopped walking and turned back to face him. His eyes bore down furiously as though trying to decide if Randall was telling the truth or not. "My name is Alexandru and I have a sister, Kazia. She lives in Baja in Hungary. She is married to a very bad man and she should be here with me where I can take care of her."

"You want Mr Ramsey to bring her over?"

The man shook his head. "I want Mr Ramsey to get her a British pa.s.sport."

Randall pretended to consider the offer. He only had to pretend, as he certainly did not work for Ramsey or have his ear. In fact, if Ramsey found him still working on this, the man would most likely take Randall's ears clean off. "And what exactly would you be putting up?"

"I can give you what you seek. I can give you the truth about Arthur Durage and what really happened to him."

Jane propped herself up on her pillows as she shook the sleep from her eyes. The ward's visiting hours were over and the corridors were now the exclusive domain of the overworked staff as they hurried and scurried with purpose and dedication.

She had been told that they were going to keep her in for a 24 hour observation period. Her head still ached monstrously from the blow that she'd taken in the crash but her mind at least was clearing fast.

Despite how their pursuit had ended - in crushed metal and broken gla.s.s - she still saw the event as a victory. The killer had been playing around with her mind like he had a remote control tuned exclusively to her frequency. He had been able to project himself into her at will despite her attempted barricade. He had shown her his warped desires and bloodl.u.s.t, taking her along on his murderous expedition. On the beach and at the rest stop, he had twisted her reality even when she'd been awake. But at Marion Ramsey's apartment building, she had seen him waiting and watching outside. She had felt his shock and anger at her intrusion as the tables had turned with mind-blowing speed and then he'd run from her. That small victory had given her hope that this battle wasn't going to be a one-way street; she'd found him once and she could do it again. She was stronger now, stronger than before when she'd worked with Karl Meyers and caught the original Crucifier. She owed it to Danny's father and she owed it to Danny to finish this thing.

The rattle of the tea trolley making its way down the corridor pulled her from her thoughts. Jane had found that there were many untrue stereotypes about the British, but one that was true was their adherence in the power of a cup of tea, so much so that it was practically prescribed on the NHS.

The tea trolley came around every few hours, rattling its way through the hallways, waking the dozing and breaking up the day's long dull hours. Heads stirred from bedbound positions and welcomed the distraction.

Jane found herself on an empty ward as she looked around. The other three beds in the small ward at the end of the hallway were empty and she wondered how long she had been sleeping. The wheels on the trolley squeaked louder and louder the closer that they got, accompanied by the bone-shaking rattle of china crockery. She couldn't help but question where the vast amounts of money disappeared to within the health system. Despite popular belief around the rest of the world, the UK service might be free at the point of contact but it was funded by large taxpayer contributions. While the staff on the front lines were superb, the facilities were often spa.r.s.e and insufficient; apparently, they couldn't afford a tea trolley that wasn't 100 years old.

She leaned out of bed as the trolley rounded the corner and saw an elderly man, presumably a volunteer, pushing it. He was stooped over as he pushed the cart; his face was kind and open, wrinkled and creased.

He shuffled in, smiling as he spotted her and raising a hand in greeting. She was sure that she had never seen the man before, but he did seem oddly familiar; there was something about his demeanour that touched her somewhere deep inside.

She sat up fully as he approached the bed, still without speaking. The wheels emitted a high-pitched groan with each rotation and the man's slight tremble in his hands only shook the trolley further.

As he reached the foot of the bed, he opened his mouth to speak, only the hole in his face started to gape wider and wider until it was a screaming black pit of darkness. His eyes blacked and his hands became talons as he reached for her. The flesh started to melt from his face exposing pure white bone beneath as globules of skin landed on the linoleum floor with loud wet splats.