Re-shaping the Universe (Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency)

Chapter 2

Three months earlier

Osmund Priest sat up sharply, yelling as his face split open again. He'd pulled a band-aid in his sleep, the final one holding his nose together.

"Fuck!"

He flicked on the lamp beside his bed, sighing when he saw the pillow and sheets covered in blood. Again. The cut simply wouldn't heal, but he'd ignored every bit of pushing to go to the medical bay and be professionally put back together.

Priest moved to the bathroom to inspect his face again. It was infected, but the pain was no longer a bother for him. Red, angrily so, and throbbing. He pulled out his box of band-aids and cursed when he found it was empty. Medical bay it was, then. He checked the time; 4.30am. He'd normally be up in two hours... but the sense of ennui that settled over him when he realised there was nothing for him to really do here... it was depressing. Blackwing was stagnant again, idle, waiting... and Priest didn't like cleaning up.

Dressed for the day in casual kit, Priest made his way along the silent corridors to the medical bay. Dr Pritchard was setting up for the day, and he turned when Priest knocked.

"Ah! Mr Priest. Finally conceded defeat with that cut of yours?" Priest could only nod. His lips made him feel sick to his stomach when he moved them. "Take a seat." Dr Pritchard scrubbed up and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Priest sat down, lying back in the chair. He wanted to yawn so badly. "Infection in this will kill you. You know that, right?" Another nod. "So you are just a reckless individual, then." Pritchard took a good look at the cut, pulling here and prodding there. "I'll have to put you under for this. I need your muscles completely relaxed."

"Fine. Do what you need to." Priest closed his eyes, annoyed.

It took two and a half hours for Dr Pritchard to clean out and stitch together Priest's face. By the end of it, the line running directly down the middle of Priest's face was no thicker than a pencil line, and covered in a line of gauze. Priest himself was lay flat out, given a shot of adrenaline to wake him up. Half an hour later, Priest woke properly. He looked at the nurse checking his vitals, and glowered.

"Hello, Mr Priest," she said brightly. Priest ignored her. Dr Pritchard appeared, his face blurry. Priest hated general anaesthetic.

"Good to have you back. Now, I need you to rest, and look after that cut. If it gets infected again, you come straight back here. I've given you some pain relief and some iodine. Go home, off-base, and rest up."

"I'm needed here," Priest muttered. The gauze covering his lips made it hard to understand him fully.

"Actually, you're not." Ken stepped into the room, smiling. "You've been bored senseless waiting for something to happen here, Priest. Go home for a couple weeks. I'll call you when we're ready for you to come back."

"And how do I know you will?"

"Because we're going to need an expert to corral the escaped projects." Ken smiled. "You're the best there is. And this time, I'll make sure you're on the payroll."

If Priest's face hadn't been held together, his smile would have been much wider. He sat up shakily.

"Home, Mr Priest. Rest up." Dr Pritchard handed him two bottles.

"A field agent will take you home." Ken slapped Priest's shoulder.

The countryside whizzed past in a colourful blur as Priest stared out of the window. He was lost in his own thoughts, his mind turning. He'd fucked up, letting Svlad escape in that house. If he'd been a few seconds quicker, if he hadn't fucked around with the door, he'd have had the little shitbag in his hands... but the game of big cat and dormouse was too delicious. The art of the chase, preferably with the victim's legs buckling beneath them in pure fear, was what gave Priest a reason to get up in the morning. Recapturing Svlad Cjelli would be simply delectable. He smirked to himself, ignoring the pinch protest from his lips.