Hannah’s senses, opening wide, tracked Esme’s movement coming closer. A pungent waft of musky perfume hit Hannah’s nostrils as Esme stepped through the door, and Hannah reared up, smashing the iron into Esme’s kneecap. She heard the bone crack and shatter. With a tortured shriek, Esme’s skull-like face contorted with pain. Her leg gave way and she crashed into the wall, the gun clattering to the floor and skidding away. Hannah collapsed, the iron gripped in her hands. The gun lay down the passage, a few metres looking like miles as Hannah’s leg pulled downwards, a lead weight. Esme was curled into a foetal position in the doorway. She sobbed such deep, wretched gasps, her body had become a shuddering wreck.
‘I can’t bear it any more.’ Esme’s body convulsed in shivers, her voice that of a child. ‘I can’t bear the pain anymore.’
Using the low bookcase, Hannah hauled herself onto the chair next to the phone. It rang before she could reach for it, Kathryn’s stricken voice on the other side.
‘Hannah, what’s happened?’
‘I need help, Kathryn. I’ve been shot.’
‘Stay on the line. Keep talking to me, Hannah. I’m calling for help on my cell.’
Hannah held the receiver to her ear. She could hear Kathryn on the other end giving directions to the shop. The sound of her voice drifted near and far, as if electric windows were moving up and down, blocking and revealing the sound. Pain began to throb. Boiling wax dropped on her thigh and stirred, driving and twisting into her flesh.
She glanced to the side, and realised with a thick slick of fear that Esme was gone from the doorway. Hannah didn’t know how long she had been sitting there, the gun still heavy in her hand.
‘Kathryn? I need to move. I’m putting the phone down.’
‘Hannah? Wait, stay where you—’
She shifted forwards in the chair and stood, all her weight on her left leg, the right now numb, pyjama pants slimy with blood. Leaning heavily on the wall, she pulled herself around the doorframe and raised the gun, pointing into the dimness of the kitchen.
At first, Hannah thought Esme had gone. Then she glimpsed a crumpled body lying on the far side of the table. Light reflected off a spreading pool of black on the floor. Hannah used the support of the counter and then the backs of the chairs to get around the table. Esme was motionless, the blood pooling under her head, a deep slice pumping blood from her throat. A black-stained shard of glass lay on her chest. Hannah dropped to one knee next to her and pressed her hand to the wound, applying as much pressure as she could.
Esme looked at Hannah, her eyes clear for the first time since Hannah had met her. Hannah tried to tighten her grip on Esme’s throat but her hand slid in the blood.
She had never prayed in her life, but from somewhere Rachel’s psalm rose in her throat. She looked into Esme’s lucid eyes and the Afrikaans words came: ‘Die Here is my herder; niks sal my ontbreek nie. Hy laat my neerlê in groen weivelde; na waters waar rus is, lei Hy my heen. Hy verkwik my siel.’
Esme sighed, and her face relaxed, beauty stealing over her.
Hannah continued, not understanding where the words were coming from. Not for a second letting go of Esme’s throat.
Rushing footsteps on the deck stairs brought Kathryn and two policemen into the kitchen. The room flooded with light, and Hannah realised she was soaked in blood.
‘Hannah? Hannah,’ Kathryn was kneeling next to her, ‘the ambulance is on its way.’
‘I’m not letting go, Kathryn. She’s lost so much blood already.’
As one policemen pulled rubber gloves onto his hands, Hannah could hear another man’s voice, commanding but growing more distant: ‘Escalate to advanced life support, we have two injuries. Yes. A gunshot and another with a stab wound to the neck.’
Kathryn appeared with towels and the policeman knelt next to Hannah. He quickly folded a towel into a pad and, as Hannah released Esme’s neck, he pressed the towel to the wound. Hannah slumped back against the cupboard, exhaustion washing over her now.
‘Where are you hurt, Hannah?’ Kathryn’s voice was urgent but so far away.
Hannah’s hand fluttered to her leg and then dropped back to the floor as she felt herself retreat. She felt the weight of a heavy quilt being tucked around her torso and a pressure on her leg, so painful she could only gasp before she passed out.
The ambulance had to come from Bethlehem, and another twenty minutes passed before Kathryn heard the roar of vehicles approaching. The paramedics stormed into the kitchen and took over the scene. One paramedic dropped to his knees next to Esme, telling the cop to keep pressing on the towel. He shook Esme’s shoulders firmly, and leant down to find a pulse in her groin. Sitting back up, he bent over her to place his ear just above her mouth. ‘How long have you been here?’ he asked the cop.
‘Thirty minutes.’
‘Was she conscious when you arrived?’
‘No.’
Placing his hands on either side of Esme’s head, he rolled her head from side to side and then he sat back on his heels. He looked across to Kathryn. ‘Are you related to this woman?’ When Kathryn shook her head, the paramedic said to the policeman, ‘She’s dead. She’s your case now.’
Kathryn drew in a shuddering breath. She was still pressing a towel to Hannah’s leg. Hannah was drifting in and out of consciousness. The second paramedic felt for a pulse in Hannah’s foot and then cut Hannah’s pyjama pants, peeling the blood-soaked fabric from her leg. He worked quickly, taking Kathryn’s place and applying a dressing to an ugly wound on the inside of Hannah’s thigh. He inserted intravenous lines in both arms and looked up to Kathryn with a small smile. ‘You’ve done well. Keeping her warm and putting pressure on this wound was the best possible thing.’
‘Will she be okay?’
‘She needs a surgeon as soon as possible. Looks like the bullet went in and out. It’s a miracle it missed the femoral artery, but we don’t know what it’s done to the bone or tissue. Will you ride with us?’
Kathryn nodded as they shifted Hannah onto a stretcher and wheeled her out to the ambulance. She got to her feet, her legs stinging with pins and needles. Grabbing her bag from her car, she climbed into the ambulance. As they pulled away, she fished her phone out of her jeans pocket and messaged Joseph and Alistair.
Within a minute, she had Alistair on the phone. She could hear he was running as he said, ‘Kathryn? What the hell happened?’
‘I don’t know… Alistair, Esme shot Hannah. I’m with her now in the ambulance. We’re on the way to Bethlehem.’ She could hear his breath catch in a sob. ‘Alistair, I think she’s okay. But you need to come.’
‘I’m coming.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Kathryn? I should have stayed with her.’
Kathryn’s eyes filled with tears at the sound of his voice, broken. ‘Alistair, this is not your fault. You hear me? She’s going to have a helluva story to tell us when she wakes up.’
‘I’m coming. I’ll catch up with you.’ She heard his car engine start up.
‘Don’t be a hero and kill yourself on the road, okay? Just get there.’
He cut the call and she sat for a bit, then messaged Douglas, who was at her house with the twins. A second later, he replied, Things fine here. Glad you’re safe. Love you, Kathryn. Her eyes filled again. She breathed deeply, sat up straight, and pulled herself together.
She could fall apart when she got home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Hannah woke through a thick fog. Her mouth was desperately dry, and she felt a throbbing in her leg that was hot and uncomfortable. Turning her head on the pillow, she saw Alistair. He had pulled a chair up to the bed, and his head was sunk in his hands. She reached out, an IV line in her hand pulling as she did. He looked up quickly and grabbed her hand, holding it between his two palms.