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She reassures me the ambulance is on its way, asking me if the door is open and if the ambulance can park outside the building. I’m lost slightly in her voice and keeping my hands still upon his stomach when a strange sound comes from his mouth. I lower my head, trying to keep my hands on the wound as I shift my body toward his head. He’s staring straight up at the ceiling, and there’s an unnatural stillness about him I hadn’t noticed until now.
“Lewis? Lewis, can you hear me? I’m right here, Lewis. The ambulance won’t be long.” I hold my ear against his lips, my neck twisted so my head is as close to him as possible, and I hear it again, the slight gurgle of something from his mouth, like a slow hissing of a deflating paddling pool. I freeze, my body straining against an invisible force, my legs aching from the stillness of my pose.
“Lewis, can you hear me?” At these words, his head drops to the side, my heart beating rapidly, the speed and the noise hindering my ability to hear what Lewis is saying. I’m convinced he’s trying to speak.
I take my hands away from his wound and lean beside him, my face level with his eyes. They flutter open, and for a brief second, he sees me. The flicker of something across his face tells me he knows I’m here, and he isn’t alone. He opens his mouth, his lips so thin and pale, and if I hadn’t been facing him with my head so close and my eyes strained on his every move, I would’ve missed his last word.
“Chloe.” Like a delicate spider’s web, my name hangs, dangling with a glimmer of morning dew, the beauty of which only touches the person who has seen it before the light changes, and the web is seen for exactly what it is. Death. I wait, poised next to him as his face seems to settle, a tiny smile on the corner of his lips as they close, their last breath been and gone.
The back of my throat burns, and my eyes sting as I stare at him, waiting for him to move, to breathe, to speak to me, do anything to dispel my mounting fear. I can hear my name, someone calling me, but far away, as if they’re standing at the end of a tunnel. It’s the woman on the phone, but I can’t move. My face is frozen, my body incapable of functioning as I stare at Lewis’s face, watching his skin soften and his color disappear as calmness descends upon him.
“Lewis?” I whisper, the quiver in my voice betraying me. “Lewis?” I call again, this time placing my ear close to his lips, hoping to feel the warm tickle of his breath. I hold my own breath as I wait, but with every second that passes, the sadness grows darker within me. I watch his chest, the stillness of it squeezing at my heart.
“Can you hear me, Lewis? Please tell me you can hear me?” The shadow of dry tears runs down my cheeks. They are there, but the adrenaline is keeping them at bay.
I can’t hold my body any longer. I drop my head onto his chest, my arms draped over him as I hold my ear to him, wondering if I will hear anything inside him, a message from his heart. But the silence only tells me one thing.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I am so sorry.”
ChapterEighteen
The coffee shop door bursting open should have startled me. I should have sprung to my feet, ready to move away and let the professionals do their job, but my body has ceased functioning, and my brain has shut down.
I’m moved, guided by strong female hands on my shoulders, while other people bustle around me, their voices harsh. I want to tell them there’s no point. They are too late, it is too late, he’s gone, but I can’t. They do their job as I’m moved over to a chair on the other side of the shop, away from the hustle and Lewis. A large blanket is placed around me, like this will help to stop the cold that came from out of nowhere as if a freezing fog has settled in my bones. It’ll take more than a blanket to shift it.
I blink. It’s a lazy, half-hearted motion I hope might clear the fuzziness in my eyes. My body feels detached and foreign, but nothing seems to penetrate the thick, stifling atmosphere that has engulfed me.
I’m aware of everything and nothing. Blue lights illuminate the front window of the shop. A multitude of cars have joined the ambulance, and the peace that surrounded Lewis and me moments ago is now a buzz of people. The coffee shop is crammed with bodies dressed in strange white suits, their hoods making it hard to identify anyone. Orders are issued, and a man with a thick mustache keeps glancing at me as if he’s about to speak to me but then changes his mind as something more pressing presents itself.
People fuss around me, bringing things in, taking photographs, and rushing from one point to the next. I’m suspended among them, a dead weight to their helium-like bodies. I’m being pulled somewhere, a new place I’ve not been to before. I am not sure where it is or how I will get there, but it’s dark, cold, and barren. A place where I will not be myself.
“How are you doing, Miss Daniels?” I tear my gaze from the table, my neck stiff. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, and I know the last thing you want to do is talk about it, but DI Klein will want to ask you a few questions. Do you feel up to it?” Her hair is brown and shiny. Even scraped back in the tight ponytail, I can tell her hair is long and thick. She isn’t smiling, but her eyes are soft. I recognize her as the paramedic who moved me when they first arrived. Her bright green jacket is embroidered with symbols and decorated with luminous strips. She stands out against the sea of white-clad bodies. I don’t answer, not even in my head. It seems wrong like I’m not supposed to talk right now. She slowly moves away, getting the attention of the man with the mustache and mumbling something to him before he glances my way.
He doesn’t appear to move, yet he’s everywhere in the room.
“Chloe Daniels?” His voice is deep, resembling an actor. There’s a clipped pronunciation to his consonants that demand my attention, but a lazy undertone gives a false impression he is idle, slovenly even. His hooded eyes add to the effect, but the neat trim of his thick mustache leads me to believe he’s as sharp as they come. “I need to ask you some questions.”
“He’s dead. Isn’t he?” My eyes bore into his, unable to tear them away. The question has come from nowhere, and even though I know the answer, I need to hear it from someone like him. A no-nonsense man who deals only with facts.
“Yes, I’m afraid he is.” He dips his head in a move he must have performed many times in his career. “That’s why I must speak with you now. While everything is fresh in your mind.” Fresh isn’t a word I can relate to right now.
My head feels stale. It has been exposed to the air for too long and is hardening at the edges. He’s oblivious to my mental shutdown. Either that or he doesn’t care, so long as I answer his questions. He begins leafing through his notepad, licking the tip of his finger, and gearing himself up. A young officer arrives by Klein’s side.
“Sir, the owner of the shop is here.” I expect him to salute.
“Right.” Klein closes his notepad and glances in the direction of the office. “We need to review the CCTV footage from the back of the shop. We can come back to this.” By ‘this,’ I presume he is referring to me. He asks the young officer to take me outside to an ambulance.
I’m ushered out of the shop, and I marvel at the fact my legs appear to work. They feel heavy as if I’m moving them through freshly poured cement.
I am brought out to the front of the shop, where there are more people in white suits, police cars, and two ambulances. I wonder who the second ambulance is for. I hear Klein’s brusque voice outside. I’m puzzled at first about why Piero isn’t allowed in his own shop. But then I remember Lewis is dead. This is a crime scene, a murder. Klein is ahead of me. He approaches a dark figure I can’t quite make out as Klein is blocking my view. There’s no introduction, no pleasantries. He gets straight to the point, asking about the CCTV cameras and how to access the footage. I expected Piero, but of course, Gianni’s voice answers.
He’s the last person I want to see right now. I disgust him, and the fact I’ve brought this into his shop will only validate his opinion. I wish it’d been me. Why did it have to be Lewis? Why must I be the one left standing to answer questions and explain the impossible? Will Gianni think I should have stopped it, that I could have prevented the death of his general manager? It all feels so pointless. Lewis was standing in front of me an hour ago, cashing up the cash registers and getting ready to go home. And now? Have they contacted his wife? Does she know he will not be coming home tonight or ever, and her life will never be the same again? A jolt will appear in the timeline, before and after.
I’m taken to the ambulance and placed carefully in the back. It’s bright in here. There’s too much going on, too many pieces of equipment. Another blanket is placed over my shoulders. My head is awash as Gianni reels off instructions on how to access the CCTV monitor and where the keys for the unit are. Klein sends an officer to retrieve the information and then turns his attention back to Gianni, asking him about Lewis. Initially, Klein asks for the basic details before asking more probing questions, none of which Gianni can answer as he spends little time mingling with the staff. Klein asks whether anything has been stolen or if anything unusual has happened over the last few days. Gianni’s answers are direct and to the point. Klein goes off to watch the footage, which leaves Gianni staring in my direction.
Seconds tick by that feel like hours. None of this feels real, yet I know it has been coming. Why now? Why here? Why does it have to be Gianni staring at me? I imagine Klein watching the footage. What will he make of it? I will have to explain, but how much do I tell him?
I don’t have long to ponder this before Klein returns, notepad ready, pencil poised. He dips his head as he climbs into the back of the ambulance.
