of a machine nearby; the sharp chemical odor of antiseptic and, beneath it, all that it was meant to hide; and the clawed fingers pulled at him, trying to keep him forever in the darkness. He lifted his arm and felt a tug as the intravenous drip caught on the sheet. He reached for it, and a hand closed gently but firmly upon his arm.
‘No, let me,’ said the voice, and he smelled that familiar scent of fire and nicotine, and he knew that his son had come to him; not the Collector but his son, for the Collector was never so gentle. His voice sounded slightly muffled: Eldritch’s hearing had been damaged in the blast.
‘I dreamed,’ said Eldritch. ‘I dreamed that she was gone, and then I dreamed that it was but a dream.’
His face hurt. He touched his fingers to it and explored the dressings on the worst of his wounds.
‘I’m sorry,’ said his son. ‘I know what she meant to you.’
Eldritch looked to his left. They had brought his possessions from the scene: his wallet, his keys, his watch. Little things.
But the woman was gone.
‘What do you remember?’ asked his son.
‘The power. We lost power: twice, I think. I went down to the basement, but I could see nothing wrong.’
‘And after that?’
‘A man. He passed me on the street, and I was concerned, but then he walked on, and I let him go. Seconds before it happened, I thought that he called to me. I think he was trying to warn me of something, but then there was an explosion, and I did not see him again.’
‘Do you recall anything about him?’
‘He was in his late forties or early fifties, I think. Unshaven, but not bearded. Perhaps six feet tall. Carrying some weight.’
‘In which direction did he walk?’
‘South.’
‘South. On the far side of the street?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you tell the police this?’
‘No. I don’t think I have spoken to anyone until now. I held her in my arms, but she was gone, and I don’t remember anything else.’
‘The police will want to talk with you. Don’t mention the man to them.’
‘No.’
The son took a cloth and wiped his father’s brow, cooling it while avoiding the wounds.
‘How badly am I hurt?’ asked Eldritch.
‘Cuts and bruises, for the most part. Some concussion. They want to keep you under observation for a few days, though. They’re concerned.’
‘I have trouble hearing. Your voice, my voice, they don’t sound right to me.’
‘I’ll tell the doctors.’
Eldritch twisted on the bed. There was a pain in his groin. He looked beneath the sheet, saw the catheter, and groaned.
‘I know,’ said his son.
‘It hurts.’
‘I’ll tell them about that as well.’
‘My mouth is dry.’
His son took a plastic beaker of water from the bedside locker and held his father’s head while he drank. The old man’s skull felt fragile in his hand, like an egg that could be broken with just a tensing of the fingers. It was a miracle that he had survived. Minutes earlier, and he would have been gone too.
‘I’ll come back later,’ said the son. ‘Do you need anything?’
Now it was his father’s hand that gripped his arm, and his upper body rose from the bed. So strong, this old man . . .
‘Parker came. Parker came, and she died. She was getting his file, and then she died.’ Eldritch was tiring now, and tears of grief squeezed themselves from the corners of his eyes. ‘He warned me, warned you, to back off. He was afraid of the list. He knew that his name was on it.’
‘I had doubts. So did you. The woman, Phipps, she told me something—’
But his father was no longer listening.
‘The list,’ he whispered. ‘The list.’
‘I still have it,’ said his son, and in the soft dawn light filtering through the drapes he was altering in spirit and form, and he was both son and other. ‘And I know where I can find the rest of it.’
‘Kill them,’ said Eldritch, as he fell back on the bed. ‘Kill them all.’
He closed his eyes as his son’s transformation was completed, and it was the Collector who left the room.
Jeff and Rachel came to pick up Sam shortly after nine a.m. She had been with Angel and Louis in the kitchen since before eight, buttering toast and scrambling eggs, and as a result I had to make her change her sweater before her mother saw her and blew a gasket.
Jeff was driving a Jaguar now. From my office window, Angel and Louis