The Cold Road (Book 1)

Chapter Thirty-Six.

Sunday, 16th November, 1986

Day Five.

The weight of the heavy sheets pressed down on his chest. The air smelled of flowers that had long been out of season. An air freshener, James supposed. Most of his body felt in some form numb or sore. He could barely feel his left arm, and in the drug heavy dream he had a moment of panic as to whether it was still attached to his body.

James opened his eyes and stared at the empty place by his side. His mind still rattled in his head the possibilities of what that meant. Then, with a sigh of relief, he was able to make out the white bandages covering his arm against the white sheets.

It hurt to lift, and he gave up when he realised he was not lifting it. He relaxed back into the pillow, gazing up at the ceiling and the light. It was on. But no one else was in the room. Didn't they usually keep it off so the patient could sleep? How did he even get there in the first place?

'I turned the machine off just as it passed your elbow. You blacked out, thankfully Heinrich was around and they took care of you till we got to the hospital.'

James blinked as the voice entered his ears. 'I spoke out loud before, didn't I?' he asked. He shuffled up, dragging his arm across the covers until he was seated and facing the other occupant of the room. Franks sat bedraggled on the metal seat by the window.

'Yup,' commented Franks with the same level of disinterest.

James tried to lift his arm again, his face paling as he realised it was useless. 'What's happened to my arm?'

'It got torn up. 'Your arm's fractured with severe nerve damage. The doctors did what they could to repair the skin but they said it's a mess. Macerated by the machine,' said Franks, pronouncing "Macerated" as if it was a foreign word he had only just heard and he was trying it out.

'Did the doctor say if I still had use of it?' asked James, his mouth drying as he tried not to imagine life without the use of both arms.

'Eventually,' replied Franks.

'Oh thank god,' sighed James, heaving with relief as he sank back into the pillows. He paused, staring out the window at the sunlight that filtered through the shades. How long had he been out? 'What's the time?' he asked, pulling himself up again and ignoring the weight on his side.

'It's just past 7 in the morning. You were out for most of the night. It's been a wild one.'

'Belberra's gone,' said James. He frowned at the sheets of his bed. He remembered that. He had known where they were both headed, and had helped push Belberra into the chipper. Did Franks need to know that?'

'He fell into the chipper and I tried to pull him out,' he lied. He was not sure how convincing he sounded. His voice sounded far away to him.

Franks did not reply. He just pursed his lips. Finally, he stood and poured himself a glass of water from the bottle on the nightstand. He poured another, stuck a straw in it and let James slurp from it.

Placing the cup on the nightstand, Franks pushed his hands inside his pockets. 'Yeah, we found Belberra. It's a fucking mess outside. You know that?' he said, returning to his seat. 'Everything has been blown out of the fucking sky. I got your messages on the radio. You wouldn't pick up when I called back. Figured you must have been in trouble. Good thing I got back when I did. Along the way, I stumbled across the bunch of them dragging Catherine White through the snow, just outside Rico's. Bastards,' Franks went to spit then thought better of it. 'I picked them all up. The fuckers attempted to persuade me that they had simply found the body and were going to call it in! Fucking Plant and Jeb! Police officers moving evidence and then think they can give a cock and bull story, dressed in fucking bloody robes and handling evidence, and get away with it!' Franks exploded. Giving it all out in one big torrent. 'We picked up Amsler, his fat wife too. The usual suspects.' He paused, breathing in deeply. 'How are you feeling?' he asked suddenly. 'I got a feeling you won't like to hear who else we picked up.'