77. Clean
In dreams, Sally suffocated.
The dirt. The bodies. The water. She couldn't get free, until a hand reached down. A sun-weathered face watched over her, at once stern and amused.
Arthur Bledd.
She took his arm and pulled herself free.
"Nice move with the phone," he said. "Nothing's ever what it seems."
Then his body disintegrated into droplets of rain, which fell to the dark earth and became a river. Never-ending, never beginning, but always circling. This time it did not smother or drown her. It gathered her, buoyed her and carried her away.
She woke into the half-light cast by hospital equipment. Red, green and blue lights blinked, illuminating her left arm strapped and elevated. Her right knee was braced and swollen beneath a blanket. A cannula tugged at her wrist. Machines beeped intermittently beside the bed.
Immobile, but strangely not panicked.
Calm.
A window lay with the curtains open, looking out to a dark horizon. Clear, black skies peppered with stars. The storm had ended. Order had returned.
She heard breathing. Twisting her neck hurt. The devices on her arm and leg prevented her shifting too far, but still, it was enough.
There was a bed beside hers, the dividing screen pulled back, with a figure lying atop it, one arm elevated. He looked so frail with an oxygen mask over his face.
Liam O'Connell. Asleep. Breathing in, breathing out.
The sight steadied Sally's heart. Her partner. Maybe her friend. She wanted to reach out, but the gap was too large, and she couldn't budge. She wondered idly how many bones she'd fractured. How many ribs. How big this new scar on her scalp would be.
The cost of living.
She smiled, and settled, and sank back, this time into a dreamless sleep.
She woke to light, fresh air and all the myriad pains of the last few days coming home to roost in her body and head. There was a throb, and a burn, and an ache, but she no longer felt so loose.
Liam was still asleep on her right. Beyond him the window revealed blue skies over the Channel. The sun was rising, and events filtered back to her like a story told by Edwin Pike in his museum.
"Hey, you're awake?"
The voice was familiar. She twisted, barely a few degrees, but enough to make out his face. John Logan.
"John," she croaked. Her own voice sounded foreign. "You didn't have to."
He smiled and squeezed her hand. "It wasn't that hard. I'm kind of working here, right now. William Harvey Hospital."
"Where's that?"
"Ashford. The gateway to Europe."
She looked back at him blankly.
"About 20 miles north of Dungeness? It's on the Channel tunnel corridor?"
Now she laughed. None of that meant anything to her. "Got it. Well, you can stick around, if you like."
He nodded seriously. "Waiting on that second date."
"Wait. You think … Rye Castle counted as the first?"
"It all counts." He winked. "Anyway. It's a bit redundant to say, when I can see it all laid out," he gestured to her bandaged limbs, "but how do you feel?"
She took a moment. Taking stock of the breaks, fractures and bruises. Above all that, though, was the lightness. Like a burden had lifted. Maybe that was being back on the job. Maybe it was having Liam back by her side.
"Good, actually. Were you in the ambulance that brought me in?"
"No. I was late out there, helped with Gloria." His eyes narrowed. "Why, you thought you saw me?"
She snorted. "Don't let it … go to your head."
"Too late."
Warmth spread in her chest. She couldn't handle that right now.
"And Mayhew," she said quickly. "Is she OK?"
Logan's expression sobered. "She was in respiratory distress when we arrived. The tide had risen to her neck. But we got her out and warmed her up. She's in ICU here, but I think she'll be discharged today."
That was another relief, lightening her further. "And the reactor?"
"Secure, as far as anyone knows. DI Gemmell's downstairs right now, running half of Kent's police force through the canteen. It's actually one of the few places with reliable power, after the storm knocked out everything south of the M20."
She'd forgotten about that. The storm. "Casualties?"
"Only one, as I've heard it. A man at Scots Float."
His image came back to Sally. The man in the hi-vis vest who'd driven them out to the pumps. "Hoskins."
"Yeah. Jeremy Hoskins." He paused a moment. "The whole marsh is still underwater. The level's barely dropped, and they're saying weeks to fully drain."
"Weeks?"
"With Scots Float and the sea walls out. And some of it may never drain. I heard there's fields out past Brenzett that have been dry for 200 years, but they'll be something else from now on."
Sally tried to picture that. Romney Marsh, returned to a marsh. "How are the residents doing?"
"Lots of people unhoused. Lots of roads out, too, and many areas only navigable by boat. There's a massive rescue effort underway, led by the Coastguard." He smiled, and she saw the weariness in him too. "We're all on double shifts."
"But no one else died."
He squeezed her hand. "Seems not. Massive property damage, yes. Pumps, sea walls, lots to be rebuilt. A whole new system, maybe. But the worst averted."
Sally lay in silence for a time. Drifting. Settling. Coming back to herself. Logan did not try to interrupt. She started thinking back over every step of the investigation. Wondering where she'd missed something. How she might have caught Mercer sooner. How many of his victims she could have saved.
"I'll tell Gemmell you're up now," Logan said softly, and extricated his hand gently from hers. "I'm sure he'll want to talk to you."
"Thank you," she murmured. "I'm glad you came, John."
"I'm glad you're alive, Sally. I guess we're even."
There was silence for a time. Probably a doctor would come soon. She'd get some answers on how long she'd be stuck here.
"Thought he'd never leave," came a rasp from her side.
Sally laughed. It hurt again, and she turned slightly. Liam was similarly twisted, looking back at her.
"Liam."
"He's a real lingerer, don't you think? Can't read the room."
She chuckled again, restraining herself so it wouldn't hurt. "He's sweet. He was looking out for you, the other night."
He grinned. "Damsel in distress. Guess I forgot to let down my golden hair."
She chuckled again. He laughed too, then winced. "Shit. That hurts. Ribs, probably."
"Welcome to the club. How do you feel, Liam?"
"Like I was in a car crash." Neither laughed at that. They just looked at each other, weighing the balance. Then a shadow seemed to cross Liam's eyes and he looked away. "I'm sorry I wasn't out there with you, Sally. On the beach."
"But you were there," she countered swiftly. No room for argument. "When it mattered most, you were, Liam."
He looked at her. Maybe he understood. Maybe he didn't. It was still true. "Good, then."
The gaze held until Sally looked up. It was a lot. A long way to go, still. Nothing was fixed overnight.
"I'll stop drinking," Liam said abruptly.
"That sounds good."
"You're probably going to be seeing more of John Logan, right?"
"I think so."
"Yeah. He's got this AA group he can't stop talking about."
She turned to him. "You're going to join it?"
"I'll stop drinking so I don't have to."
She couldn't stop the laughter this time. It hurt but she embraced the pain.
"He never knows when to quit," Liam went on. "You'll be perfect for each other."
A doctor came in, accompanied by a harried-looking nurse. They both looked drawn and exhausted. Sally imagined they'd been working through the night.
"Both awake," the doctor said brightly, and came over to Sally.
They spoke briefly, but it was enough for Sally to get a clear sense of her injuries, as the doctor ran down the long list on her chart. Hairline fracture in the left clavicle, three bruised ribs and one broken, a badly sprained right knee. Numerous cuts and bruises.
"The real issue was the injury to your right temple." The doctor flipped a page. "That was a serious blunt-force strike, requiring seven stitches and a concussion watch." She looked up. "Do you feel alert now? Do you have any difficulty tracking my finger?"
Sally watched the doctor wave her hand back and forth. It was trance-like, almost nauseating to watch, but her vision wasn't blurred or doubled.
"It's OK."
"You're recovering well. That's good. Especially considering you clearly had skull trauma before."
"It was a bullet."
"We know." The doctor smiled, kind and gentle. "We know who you are, Ms. Rogers. Thank you for saving the marsh."
Sally looked over at Liam.
"Enjoy it," he mouthed.
"It was a team effort," Sally said. "I wish we'd done it sooner."
"By 30 years?" She smiled. "You wouldn't even have been born.
Now, we'll be keeping you for at least three days.
That's mostly for the concussion. For the rest, you're all plastered up and the bones will knit.
I'd recommend you lie easy for today, try to sleep.
Tomorrow we'll have you up shuffling around.
The day after, mobility should be easier.
Watch out for your coordination, though.
Skull injuries can have lasting effects. "
She closed the flipchart.
"You're exhausted, too," Sally said. "Thank you."
"We all pull together around here. Now take it easy, OK? Both of you."
She looked at Liam, then turned and left the ward.
"I guess that's my debrief," Liam said. "A nod."
Sally laughed. "You didn't get punched in the head by the sea, did you?"
"Only two car crashes in two days," he grumbled.
The day passed in a haze after that. Sally was in and out of consciousness.
The TV was on for a time, but Sally struggled to really follow it.
News about the attack, the murders, the victims, the emergency state of the marsh.
Lots of footage of the storm, and water blasting through the cratered sea wall at Dymchurch, and fields coated in mist and swallowed by black floods.
At one point, Tania Brown appeared as a talking head, sharing her 'unique perspective' on the case from the ground.
Very little had been stated, publicly, it seemed.
Nobody knew for sure how much danger they'd been in, and judging from the taciturn delivery DI Gemmell gave at a press conference, maybe nobody ever would.
Deputy Director McMaster appeared briefly. Sally gasped a laugh when she saw his big body wedged into the frame of the camera. He said even less than Gemmell, just that the investigation was ongoing, but they had the suspect in custody.
That was good. Final.
Sally slept.