And the Rest Is History(3)

I set off again, anti-clockwise this time, rather enjoying myself and, just as I was at the very furthest point from St Mary’s, just where the reed beds hid me from sight, I came upon Clive Ronan, sitting on a fallen tree trunk, and apparently waiting for me.

Remembering the last occasion on which I’d seen him, the time when he’d kidnapped me and left me to give birth alone and lost in time, I screeched to a halt and began to grope for my thingy. Sadly, it was under my T-shirt to stop it bumping around so was not, therefore, immediately accessible.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I mean you no harm. I’m not armed. Look.’

His gun was on the ground some feet away. ‘Pick it up if it makes you feel safer.’

I did pick it up. As I’d suspected, it was empty but I could always use it to club him to death.

He stood up very slowly. ‘I’m not armed,’ he said again, arms in the air, rotating slowly. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans and I could see he had no gun.

‘No ankle holster,’ he said pulling up his jeans. ‘And no knives either. No hostile intentions of any kind.’ He sat back down again. ‘I can understand that after our last encounter you might have a few … issues … with me, but since you apparently made it back safe and sound, I hope you’ll be able to set those aside for a few minutes and talk. How is the young lad by the way? Does he look like his dad?’

I ignored the questions. He wasn’t going to get any information out of me.

He gestured to another log. ‘Please sit down.’

I ignored that too.

He seated himself again slowly and carefully. ‘I have something to say to you and…’

I finally located my thingy and pulled it out. Carefully, because I’d once set it off accidentally and birds had erupted from the trees, glass had shattered, every dog for miles around had begun to howl, and Dr Bairstow had blamed me for stopping his clock. You get the picture. It’s loud.

I’ve been dealing with Ronan for years now. He’s a killer without conscience. He’s ruthless. A complete bastard. He couldn’t possibly have anything to say to me. Activating my alarm would have the entire Security Section here in moments. And Leon, probably, dripping wet, baby in one hand, Glock 9mm in the other. And the History Department, of course, all wanting to see what was happening, and keen to make a bad situation worse.

‘I want to stop.’

There was a silence, while my brain struggled with what was actually quite a simple sentence.

‘What?’

‘I want to stop.’

I stared at him.

He sighed and leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. ‘I want to stop running. I want … I don’t want to…’

He stopped talking and stared at his feet.

I wasn’t altogether surprised. I think I’ve said before that living outside one’s own time is not easy. Today’s society is much more fragmented than in the past – people are no longer linked in the traditional groupings of family, tribe, guild, or village, but even today, without a NI number, a credit rating, or an ID card, there’s little chance of being accepted into society. Life on the outside is never easy. Everyone belongs somewhere. They may not like their life but it fits them exactly. It’s where they’re meant to be. Leave it for any length of time and History reacts by making things as difficult as it knows how.

Ronan had been running for years, damaging himself and everyone around him. His trail was littered with corpses and the wreckage of other people’s lives. I could understand that he would want to stop running. Especially now that the Time Police were on his case. The question was – would he be allowed to? Should he be allowed to?

I thought of Mary Schiller. Killed and left in a box for four hundred years. And Jamie Cameron. Killed to make a point. And Big Dave Murdoch who died saving me. I thought of what Ronan had done to Bashford and Grey. And to me.

I said nothing because silence is the best way to get people to talk.

Not looking at me, he said, ‘I want to stop running all the time. I’ve found somewhere … I want to settle down with … I want to stop all this. Sooner or later, Max, one or both of us is going to be dead. And that doesn’t have to happen. I now know the … the value of what you have, and I want it too. So I’m saying – you back off – I back off – and we both of us get on with the rest of our lives.’

I found a voice. ‘That’s it? That’s what you want? A decade and more of killing everyone in your path and now you just want to close the door and walk away?’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘A new beginning.’

‘What about all the people you ended?’

‘I can’t do anything about the past. But I can do something about the future. People who might die in the future now might not. If we can agree to stop this.’

‘I can’t agree. I mean, it’s not my decision. Dr Bairstow, Director Pinkerton, The Time Police, Leon – I can’t begin to count the number of people who want to take you down.’

He squinted up at me. ‘Have you ever heard of MAD?’

‘Mutually assured destruction? Yes, of course. Are you saying…?’

‘It hasn’t happened yet, but you don’t have to be a genius to work out where this is leading. We’re all caught up in this deadly, downward spiral of violence and revenge and it’s going to end badly, Max, for all of us. You have a son now. You have responsibilities. Surely you want to keep yourself and Farrell alive for him. You want to watch him grow up, don’t you?’