Absolution(70)

“What the hell is going on?”

“Damned if I know, but I don’t like the sound of this.”

“I’m going over there.”

“Good idea. I’ll meet you there, and I’ll bring the spare key. Maybe between us we can get the truth out of her.”

Callum shoved his cell phone in his jacket pocket, snatched his car keys from the counter top and headed for the door.

Ally dreaded the appointments with her neurologist, that’s why he went with her, for moral support. She said it was like sitting an exam she had never studied for. Her behaviour over the past few weeks made more sense now. She had been withdrawn, almost introverted, recently. When he saw her on the weekend, her emotions seemed to see-saw from one extreme to the other. One minute it was like she was going to burst into tears, the next she was smiling and fobbing him off. He slammed his palm against the steering wheel. He should have known something was wrong.

The drive to Ally’s house took a lot less than the ten minutes it should have. He pulled into her driveway and parked behind her car, jumping out as soon as he cut the engine. He gave her car a cursory glance as he jogged up to the front door, taking the steps in two long strides. Pounding on her door, he called out her name, but there was no response.

“Ally!” he tried again, pounding harder. “Ally, if you’re in there, open the door!”

He stopped to listen, his ears straining for any kind of sound within. He thought he could hear music, but he wasn’t sure. He pounded again, more desperately.

“Ally! You open this damn door, you hear me? I’m not kidding!”

Nothing.

“If you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down, I swear to God!”

Silence.

Anxiety grabbed him by the throat and he pounded on the door even harder. Frustrated at the lack of response, he started to think outside the square. He peered in the window into the living room but could see nothing. He tried to budge it but it was locked tight. Tom was taking far too long.

He struggled out of his jacket, wrapping it tightly around his fist. Angling his body away, he punched through the living room window, stepping back to avoid the falling glass.

“Ally!” he called through the window, clearing a space to climb through.

There was no response. He climbed in and the first thing that hit him was the smell – paint. Pearl Jam was playing on her iPod, which was docked in the living room, but she was nowhere to be seen. He strode through the house, calling out to her as he headed for the studio. The room was a mess, and in the middle of it all, a canvas lay on the floor, surrounded by tubes of paint – some open, which accounted for the smell – along with brushes and rags. He wrinkled his nose and closed the door behind him, his concern mounting.

“Ally!”

He headed to her bedroom next, pushing the door open, anxiety forcing every other emotion aside. The curtains were still drawn and the room was dark, but he saw her lying on her bed. Her wheelchair was beside the bed and everything looked normal. Despite appearances, his heart was racing. Why did she have music playing in the living room if she was in bed? And why hadn’t she woken up when he had pounded on the door? Or smashed the window? Or called her name?

“Ally?”

He squinted into the gloom, walking over to take a closer look. Panic choked him. The bed was littered with photographs. A bottle of pills, cap off, lay on the bed beside her.

His heart stopped. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He reached for the bottle. It was empty. He scrambled over the bed on his knees towards her.

“Ally! Wake up!”

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her but she didn’t respond. His hands trembled uncontrollably, adrenaline coursing through his body as he checked her neck. Her pulse throbbed lethargically beneath his fingers.

“Oh Jesus… what have you done?” he breathed.

“Callum?”

“Tom! In here!” he shouted, his voice breaking as he fought the rising panic. “Call 911!”

He pulled Ally into his arms, rocking backwards and forwards.

“What the hell?”

Still cradling Ally, he looked up to see Tom in the doorway. “Help me!”

The look of horror on Tom’s face as he spied the empty bottle of pills on the bed mirrored his own.

“Oh my God.”



Jack woke up slowly, stretching. He squinted, hauling himself upright as he tried to get his bearings. Apparently he had slept on Ally’s couch.