For a few moments, they lay there, side by side, Otto clothed with his cock drooping out of his zipper; Jenny in her T-shirt, hiked-up skirt and panties still around her ankles. Then, he slowly climbed out of bed as if it was Sunday morning, rather than 10.00 pm on Friday. Tipsy and Topsy hesitated in the reeds, perfect with strong dorsal fins and striking silver colours.

  Otto inhaled the silence through his burning cigarette and in a blast of smoke said, ‘They’ll be wondering where you are. Maybe your boyfriend has turned up and he’ll be suspicious. And if the dean or any other stick-in-the-mud finds out, then I’ll be out of a job – or worse.’ Otto realised that the drugs were making him paranoid. He also knew that the opposite of paranoia was not serenity. It was naivety. ‘Now if you excuse me, I have to feed the fish.’

  He liked spending time alone. If there was one thing he’d learned from his school days, it was how to be solitary. Then a wave of arctic pragmatism washed over his cosy self-satisfaction, and he reluctantly asked, ‘Hey, Jenny, you OK?’

  *

  Thirty minutes later, Otto was pacing the emergency waiting room, never looking directly at anyone should they see the disease of terror in his eyes.

  How could she OD in my apartment? What was I thinking bringing students home? If she dies, I’ll fly out to mainland Europe tonight.

  After being unable to wake Jenny, he had failed to detect a pulse. Grabbing a mirror, he had held it over her mouth and sure enough, it had misted. He called an ambulance, but they said they would be ten minutes. Instead, he had fixed her clothes, threw her over his shoulder and carried her to the lift like a rolled carpet. A taxi sped them to the hospital.

  On the other side of the waiting room was a distraught family dreading the news on their father’s condition after a heart attack. Otto wondered if he too was due a heart attack. The pounding in his chest was almost painful. There was a tap on his shoulder. He turned and was face to face with a uniformed police officer.

  ‘Otto Lubber?’ Without waiting for affirmation, the garda added, ‘You OK?’

  Otto wanted to be cool but instead he was so terrified, he was beyond contributing to his own survival. Instead, Otto swallowed air and felt a trapped nerve spasm in the corner of his lip. ‘Maybe water. No. Actually, I’m fine.’

  ‘Come with me, please.’

  Otto found himself alone with the garda in a small white room with two chairs and an X-ray machine. He felt utterly defeated, as if all the disappointments of his lifetime had just come together in one final foregone conclusion. Lost in the horror of his situation, he held the garda’s stare and tried to think of something to say but only came up with, ‘Sorry.’

  The garda smiled sympathetically and said, ‘Nothing to be sorry about. Looks like you saved her. Some guy at Krystal has spiked his bottle with a tranquiliser and is passing it around. There’s another few cases just called in. Jenny’s given us a name. Eamonn, from her year.’

  Otto knew Eamonn. He was just one of those slab-faced guys with no personality who seemed to take night classes in how to be as much like everyone else as possible. Those boys were always popular.

  ‘We’ve sent a car down to pick him up. I tell you this, she’s some girl you’ve got there. Head screwed on and real nice. A keeper. She’s next door and I’m sure she wants to see you.’

  Otto strode into Jenny’s room. Beneath the blankets, she was pale but otherwise healthy-looking. Picking up her chart, he scanned it. ‘You’re absolutely fine. Thank God.’ Sitting next to her, he removed a blonde strand stuck to her cheek. ‘How much blow did you do before coming to my place?’

  She brushed away his fingers. ‘None. I’ve… I’ve never done it before.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That was my first time. In your place.’

  ‘But… But… I would never have given you drugs if I didn’t think you took drugs. I thought you were really high. You were out of it.’

  ‘That prick Eamonn – he spiked my drink with… some fucking tranquiliser. Didn’t the police tell you?’

  ‘Yes. But I still thought you did drugs. Jesus. Fuck. Jesus. Why did you take them? All three lines?’ He thought of the extra bump he had given her while fucking, followed by the popper. All of that, on top of some rapey tranquilliser. ‘Jesus. Fuck. Jesus.’

  ‘Otto… I wasn’t in control. I was messed up. I still am. If you’d put petrol in front of me and told me to drink it, I would have. Oh, Jesus…’

  For a moment he covered his face with his hands. Through the cracks in his fingers he said, ‘You’re such a good girl. I was so close. This close.’ Otto held up his almost touching thumb and forefinger. ‘You could’ve taken revenge on, you know, any male – the way some girls do. But you didn’t. Thank you.’

  ‘I was… I had no control. I had no idea what I was doing, what you were doing. Anything. But we… Right? That actually happened? But I didn’t want it to. I would never have. You better realise that. This isn’t me changing my mind. I was drugged. I was poisoned.’

  ‘Yes. Of course. I mean… we’re both still trying to take it in. But we’ve taken way too many drugs, haven’t we? Before you say anything more, I want you to know that I owe you big and the Lubber clan is one of entrepreneurs, academics and war heroes. We keep our word. When the time comes Jenny – just ask. I owe you big. And I always pay my dues.’

  ‘Otto, I never want to see you again.’

  ‘You’re tired. You’ve just had a nightmare.’ Otto backed away to the door. ‘Go to sleep, Jenny. You’re safe now.’

  42

  Now

  8.23 pm: Ultan rubbed his beard. ‘I’m losing patience. Answer my question. Does Shane know about you and Jenny?’

  Otto said, ‘Of course Shane doesn’t know. Why would he? It was… what? …twenty-four years ago. Me and Jenny. That night. It was just something that happened, something we’ve never spoken of again. I hardly knew her. She was just my student. It was messy. It was nothing. Why would she ever tell Shane? I mean… how the fuck do you know? Nobody knew. Nobody knows. It’s not something either of us are proud of.’

  Across Ultan’s face, a new moon of anger revealed itself – cold, full and shining. ‘And what about what she did afterwards?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. What did she do?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I swear… I don’t know what you’re talking about. After that night, I didn’t talk to Jenny again for years. I was her teacher. She sat the exams and that’s it. She left college. Dropped out. Lots of kids that age do. And I moved to London and never taught again. The next time I saw her wasn’t until she wanted my help. Years later. And, yes, I started up her business. I gave her clients. I gave her advice. I had to help her. I wanted to help her. Jesus. I’m telling you the truth. That’s all I know. I’m not lying. Please… Please don’t hurt me.’

  ‘You haven’t been with her since?’

  ‘No. Jesus. Never.’

  ‘I believe you. I believe everything you’ve just told me.’

  ‘Thank God. Oh, thank you, God. You won’t hurt me? You won’t… do anything else?’

  ‘None of this is your fault. That’s clear.’ With a grunt, Ultan see-sawed Otto and his chair back up into a normal position. ‘You’re totally innocent. I want you to know that it’s been thought-provoking seeing who you are. It must never get boring to live in a world where a thousand euros is just a pair of shoes. It makes me… it makes me even more determined.’

  ‘Determined?’

  Ultan withdrew the cut-throat razor, opened it and ran his thumb across the blade. ‘To finish this. To see it through.’

  43

  8.50 pm: In a guest room, Shane was seated with his back to the door, next to a single bed. Duct tape not so much tied as pasted him to the chair.

  This must be about Dee, Ultan’s girlfriend. So why get Otto involved? Was it just so Ultan could text from Otto’s phone to get me to call around? Is that not too convoluted? It was hard not to be grimly paranoid. If this was about revenge, then what form might it take? Shane’s pulse began to spike. What if he’s torturing Otto; doing him first; rationing us out?

  Uselessly, he tried to call out from behind the duct tape sealing his mouth. Barely a muffled grunt emerged. Anyway, even if he was able to shout for the next twelve hours, no one would hear him. Otto’s house was about three hundred metres from a road that was an empty runway for the neighbourhood’s SUVs and Porsches.

  Behind him, the door opened. Shane turned his head as far as he could, but it wasn’t enough. A hand landed on the back of his skull and fingers ripped the tape from his lips. Ultan spoke, his voice coming from behind as he towered above.

  ‘I’m impressed, Shane. Not a sound. Total silence. Wish I could enjoy it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, the white noise in my ears.’

  ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ Shane muttered. He’s insane. And now I’m going to die.

  ‘Tinnitus. I’ve had it since I was thirteen. It gets worse in times of stress, anxiety, anger. Sounds like air seeping from a tyre with a slow puncture. It’s always there – the hiss of my life force gradually slipping away, second by second, day by day. If I ever experience silence again, it’ll be too late. There’ll be nothing of me left.’

  Shane pictured Ultan’s white earbuds. Make a connection. ‘Does music make it better?’

  ‘Henryk Górecki. Or trance. Usually trance.’

  ‘Good. Is Otto OK? What’ve you done to him?’

  ‘He turned out to be collateral damage. He’s not the man I thought he was. He’s… innocent. Though it wasn’t a wasted trip. I managed to get you here.’

  Shane wished he could see Ultan’s face. ‘I’m sorry about your girlfriend. But I had nothing to do with it. She rammed me. I didn’t have time to get out of her way.’

  ‘I was there. I know exactly what happened.’

  ‘I wasn’t intending to block her. That wasn’t my intention.’ He paused. That was exactly my intention. ‘I was just intending to follow her. That’s all. But she’s dead now. Dee. That’s her name, right? Is that not enough pain and suffering? I know you blame me but it’s not my fault.’

  ‘But I don’t blame you. It was Dee’s own fault.’

  He doesn’t blame me? ‘Then why are you doing this?’

  ‘And she wasn’t my girlfriend. Stop presuming you know anything about me.’

  ‘Who was she, then?’

  Ultan impatiently sighed, deciding on whether or not to grant Shane an insight into one of the many mysteries afflicting him. ‘Dee was a backpacker-dropout working in Bangkok bars for a few months, before popping over to Laos to top up her visa. That’s where I met her.’

  Shane pictured Ultan – another western weirdo hiding out in Thailand, spending his time wandering the feverish sweat of humanity that was downtown Bangkok; then bringing his obsessions to Ireland, choosing Clareville to ply his trade, it all going wrong and now here Shane was – tied to a chair, about to die.

  ‘Man, Dee was crazy. She was just… Dee; mid-twenties and already coming to regret all that sun damage. Hippy type but not peace and love. She’d never even pretended to be a multi-ethnic-admiring, environmental-defending vegetarian, distressed by the injustices of the third world, like most of them do. Did you know, she had a photographic memory and never told anyone? I’d watched her filling in one of those tourist forms in Suvarnabhumi Airport after barely glancing at my passport. And when I checked it, it was correct. All those numbers and letters. All those dates. So, she was going home, and I came here with her because she knew Dublin. She knew Clareville and she told me she had a car. But she didn’t have one. She stole it. I wasn’t happy about that.’

  Again, Shane tried to turn his head to face Ultan. Again, he failed. ‘She was a thief. And so were you. You came to rob us. You broke in.’

  ‘Not me. I just wanted to see where Jenny lived.’

  ‘Why?’

  Ignoring the question, he said: ‘After parking out front and taking in Jenny’s home, Dee drove me round the back to see if there were better views. And then she gets out this balaclava. There she was, putting it on. She must’ve been planning it all along. She gets out of the car, pulls up your garage and in she goes. She crossed your decking, not even creeping – like she was walking into a bar. Checking the back door, it just opened. I called her back, but she said she wanted a computer. Maybe a nice TV. She reckoned that if you left the door unlocked then there was probably cash all over the house. She said a certain type of rich don’t believe that bad things can happen to them… until they do.’

  ‘You didn’t go in?’

  ‘No. I was just watching. I was there to look inside from the outside. I had other plans.’

  Why was Ultan still behind him? Why wouldn’t he face him?

  ‘I was just back in the car when Dee jumped in, real panicky, out of breath, balaclava still on and she sped down the laneway to a dead end. Getting more freaked, she turned the car and stepped on it. The laneway was just a dark blur. I started to tell her to turn the lights on and then BAM. I had my belt on. I turned to Dee, and she wasn’t there. You know the rest.’

  Shane remembered the cars meeting, and the sound of metal ripping that was like screaming. ‘But if you don’t blame me for Dee’s death, then why send me crazy texts and—’

  ‘They weren’t crazy,’ Ultan snapped. ‘I tried to warn you about Otto. I did warn you. I wanted to help you. I’ve no beef with you, Shane.’

  ‘Warn me about what? What are you talking about? You sent me fucking flowers this morning with a threatening note. You weren’t trying to help me.’

  Ultan started laughing. ‘Oh man… really? The flowers weren’t for you. They were for Jenny. I didn’t even know you were home till you opened the door and took them inside.’

  ‘They were for Jenny? Why would you threaten Jenny? Jenny never hurt anyone.’

  ‘Really, Shane? Still? Even after the picture I sent you?’

  ‘What picture? And why won’t you fucking face me?’

  ‘I’m late, Shane. No time. But it’s all in the picture. It’ll be clear when you see it. It’s on your phone. I do feel bad for what I’ve done to you. All this hate, man. All this black energy from me – it burns you – when everything is aimed solely at your wife. Now hush, Shane.’

  Ultan reached around and placed a strip of duct tape over his lips. ‘You’re here for a reason. I need Jenny alone. Just me and her. Finally.’

  44

  9.05 pm: Jenny placed a hand on the drinks cabinet, otherwise she was sure that she would crumple to the ground like clothes falling off a hanger. The time spent lying on her bed before Vera called would have been the worst in her life – if it hadn’t been exceeded by the thirty minutes that had passed since her mother’s arrival.

  ‘Jennifer,’ Vera said, her wide eyes examining her daughter’s face as if it was a damaged artefact. ‘It’s going to be fine. I promise you. Don’t be so—’

  Jenny vomited. Red wine and buttered cracker. It spilled to the wooden floor and splashed over her shoes.

  Vera covered her mouth with shocked hands. ‘Oh my God.’

  Everything was worse than Jenny could have imagined. No – ‘worse’ didn’t do it. ‘Worse’ implied that there was still hope. This was in another stratosphere. Her life was simply over. Everything good in it was gone. Jenny never would have thought her mother was capable of doing such a thing. Fine, Vera was difficult. She was a liar and conniving. Self-centred and totally self-serving. But what she had done… it was beyond comprehension.

  Jenny asked, ‘How? How could you do such a thing?’

  Vera slammed a fist into her palm and held both against her chest. ‘Because I love you, Jennifer. It’s for the best. I know it. I know it in here, so help me God.’

  Despite the grandeur of her actions, she no longer looked so sure anymore. Vera’s eyes were wide. There seemed to be genuine regret in them. Or at least an absence of the certainty they’d contained when she had told Jenny what she’d done.

  ‘Go, Mum,’ Jenny muttered. ‘Please. Just go.’

  Vera left the room. She opened the front door, closed it and Jenny watched through dazed eyes as her mother hurried out to the road aligned by trees that were still as monuments. Collapsing onto her husband’s beanbag, she closed her eyes and listened to her heartbeat.

  ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ she moaned into the soft material.

  Her phone vibrated. Was it Shane? No. It couldn’t be. His mobile was upstairs under the mattress. She glanced at it.

  YOUR TIME IS UP.

  ‘I know,’ she muttered. But she typed nothing. When it was over, it was over.

  The phone dinged again:

  IT’S TIME FOR STRIKE THREE.

  Jenny sat up. No. I won’t be threatened. Not now. Not ever. Not by him.

  She typed:

  I’m phoning the police. I’m calling them now.

  She faced the window and waited for his reply.

  From behind, a voice said, ‘It’s too late. I’m already here.’

  45

  9.15 pm: Twenty minutes before, Shane, duct taped to the chair, had listened through the darkness to the car starting outside. The engine had revved. Wheels had spun. Gravel had been thrown. Then it had gone, speeding down the driveway. Destination Clareville.

  Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Shane now continued to struggle against the tape, but it would not loosen. Every part of his body that could move flexed itself – fingers, toes, eyelids, stomach, chest. Finally, there was traction. The chair shifted. He increased the intensity. The chair shifted again – millimetres. Then centimetres. Enough to build momentum, almost like perpetual motion. Soon the chair was rocking.