The cloud seemed to be hovering directly above her, shadowing her every move. It was as if it had been created just for her. She tried to run away from it but now realized she was horizontal, her legs moving ineffectually back and forth in thick, heavy mud where she lay. The more it rained, the more the mud clung to her. Her legs felt so heavy. Soon she wouldn’t have the strength to move at all.
Then as suddenly as it had started, the rain stopped. And in the aftermath she drank in that smell – the bitter, dank aroma that storms leave before the ground dries off and the deluge is forgotten. But this rain smelt different. What was it that made it smell so odd? It smelt like petrol or…
Now Agnieszka knew she was dreaming. She had kind of known it all along, but it had been so vivid that for a while she had gone with it, indulging herself in the harmless craziness of it all. She didn’t want to remain in this space any more, but part of her didn’t want to wake either. She had had a hard day – there was precious little respite in this job – and she didn’t want to be back in the real world just yet. But something was tugging at her now, forcing her awake. It was that smell, so strong, so suffocating, so sharp…
And a noise too now. Like an overflowing water pipe dropping its load on concrete paving. Splatter, splatter, splatter. No, not that. It was liquid bouncing off leather. The leather she was lying on.
Through her grogginess, she remembered now that she had been watching Breaking Bad on the TV. She remembered the episode finishing but little after that – she must have fallen asleep on the old leather sofa. Sitting up, she shook her head, trying to dispel her curious dream. And, as she did so, she felt her wet hair swing round, sticking to her face. Opening her eyes, she realized that she was saturated. But not with water. With something much worse. The smell of paraffin was overpowering, filling the small room completely.
Blinking furiously, she tried to make sense of what was happening. The paraffin ran off her, off the sofa on to the floor below. Across the room there was a figure. In the gloom she couldn’t make out his face, his head shrouded in a dark hoodie. She tried to call to him but no words came out. And now she saw something in his hand. She blinked again and looked closer. And as he came towards her, she saw it. It was a match. He had a lit match in his hand.
She watched it leave his hand, somersaulting slowly through the air on its way towards the sofa. She could see it but was powerless to stop it. And as it made contact with the soft leather, the entire room seemed to burst into flames.
82
She couldn’t breathe now. The blows were raining down on her, faster and faster, depriving her of the time to recover and robbing her of oxygen.
‘Stop.’
It came out as no more than a whisper – that was all she could muster. Max Paine raised the paddle and brought it down again. Helen’s whole body swung forward with the impact, her chest crunching into the wall.
‘STOP!’ she repeated, finding the breath from somewhere to raise her volume.
‘You don’t want me to stop,’ Max called back, delivering another duo of heavy blows.
This had stopped being enjoyable some time ago. Helen had come here for relief but had found none and their encounter was now turning into a beating.
‘Stop right now,’ she gasped.
‘Beg me,’ he replied aggressively. ‘Beg me to stop.’
‘I want you to stop.’
‘BEG ME!’ he screamed, raising the paddle threateningly.
‘Release,’ Helen finally gasped. This was their code word for a full cessation of their session. In a pursuit where consent can be a grey area, where people sometimes protest in the hope of incurring more punishment, it was vital to have a code word that would bring proceedings to a sudden close. It was standard practice in any S &M scenario and Helen was glad to have uttered it.
The next blow caught her completely by surprise and she cannoned into the wall at speed.
‘Release,’ she cried as she rebounded, but another blow caught her between the shoulder blades. She looked up just as he brought the paddle down again and was horrified to see that Max had no intention of stopping. He looked like he was enjoying himself.
Helen lurched to the left, but she was still shackled to the wall and the blow connected as it glanced off her, jarring her rib cage. Helen tugged hard at the shackles, suddenly alive to the danger she was in.
‘Stop, God damn y-’
The next blow cut her off. She tugged harder – her body was slumping now under the weight of the blows and she wasn’t sure how long she could go on. She had already taken terrible punishment.
As the next blow descended, her right arm suddenly came free. A split second before the paddle landed, she flung her elbow backwards. It connected sharply with Max’s chin. Stunned, he rocked for a moment, then stumbled forward. With one hand still tethered, Helen’s options were limited, but she twisted quickly, ramming her knee into his groin. It struck home and he collapsed to the floor gasping. Helen tugged her other hand free now and before she knew it was holding his discarded paddle. Max was trying to rise now and Helen was quickly upon him, bringing her weapon down hard on the back of his neck. He slumped once more but Helen’s blood was up and she hit him once, twice, a third time. Still he wouldn’t lie down, so she hit him again and again.
Helen swung freely, driven by anger and fear, determined to break this man who’d tried to hurt her. But as she raised her hand to strike him again, a strange noise startled her. Something familiar, but strange. Something unexpected and oddly jaunty. It was a ring tone – her ring tone. She must have forgotten to turn her phone off.
The phone rang on, bringing her to her senses. Dropping the paddle like a hot coal, she ran to her clothes, tugging them on roughly as she answered the phone.
‘Yes?’ Her voice was cracked and weak.
‘It’s Sanderson, boss. We’ve got three more fires.’
Helen’s head spun. Could this be happening?
‘Text me the details,’ she replied and rang off. Seconds later, she was out of the door. Max Paine lay on the floor where she left him, silent and still.
83
Helen sprinted to her bike, berating herself every step of the way. Why, why, why was she such an enormous fuck-up? Was her loneliness so severe that she would willingly take her eye off the ball at such a crucial moment in the investigation? What the hell was she doing?
Her mind was already scrolling forward. If Paine reported her assault on him, then she would be off the investigation and probably out of the Force too. Given her good track record, she could possibly ride out the disciplinary proceedings if she was contrite, agreeing to a demotion, community service and a large helping of humble pie. But would it be worth it? Once her extracurricular activities became common knowledge, she would be a dead woman walking as far as top brass were concerned. They would correctly surmise that it would be impossible for her to maintain authority over her unit, when everyone would be cracking ribald jokes about what she got up to after hours. Some would be repelled by her activities, others still might be attracted to her because of them – either way it would be an impossible circle to square and she would be put under heavy pressure to step down.
It seemed as though Helen had been walking a tightrope for years. Keeping her private and professional lives totally separate, hoping in her own muddled way that she could find the strength to keep doing what she did. Suddenly a crushing wave of sadness swept over her. This was all she’d ever done, all she’d ever been good at. And she was good it – she had saved numerous lives, ended a number of brutal killing sprees. She loved her job and felt she made a difference to people’s lives. Was all that about to be taken away from her?