‘No,’ says Lilah, shaking her head. ‘It was an accident.’
‘You turned off his incubator.’
‘He was already dead.’
‘No! He was still alive!’ He smashes his fist on the table. The camera topples. He curses and checks to make sure it isn’t damaged. He adjusts the tripod and frames the two women in the viewfinder ‘He didn’t suffer,’ says Lilah. ‘It was quick.’
‘Oh, that makes it OK,’ says Rennie, sarcastically.
He has moved back in front of the camera.
‘I didn’t get to hold my son before he died. I didn’t get to say goodbye. We didn’t just lose a new-born – we lost the one-year-old he would have become. We lost the toddler and the three-year-old. He would have gone to school. He would have woken us every Christmas morning and birthday. He would have dressed up at Hallowe’en and had Easter egg hunts and written notes to the tooth fairy.
‘Every year, on the anniversary of Oliver’s birthday, we would try to do something unusual to take our minds off what happened. One year we went skydiving in Spain. Another year it was indoor climbing. Then, three days later, we’d visit his grave. We would talk about him and imagine what he’d look like now. Eight years old. Everything ahead of him. When I picture him, I see his mother – caring, clever, funny, good at practical things, hot-headed sometimes, passionate.
‘We kept Oliver’s memory alive, but the pain never diminished. And with every failed round of IVF, every miscarriage, every scalding disappointment, it grew worse. Do you understand what that’s like?’
He looks again at Lilah and Daniela but doesn’t expect them to answer.
‘And yet we almost made it out of the vortex. Jolene had come to terms with never having a baby of our own. We were going to adopt. We were on the list. But then the cancer came. I have never seen such bravery. She fought to her last breath. She gave herself a chance, which is something you denied Oliver.’
He pauses and wipes his eyes before moving slowly and picking up the heavy-duty tape. It screeches as he peels it from the spool. Using his teeth, he tears the tape and places it across Lilah’s mouth. She is begging him and shaking her head.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask. ‘They confessed. You got it on film. Let them go.’
He moves to Daniela, who doesn’t complain as the tape is wrapped around her head. He pulls it under her nose to let her breathe.
He drags the same black sports bag from beneath the table and slides open the zip. Reaching inside, he takes out a clear plastic pouch. Inside are dozens of small glass vials with labels.
‘You gave my baby the wrong medication. A thousand times more than the recommended dose. His brain began to bleed, and his organs shut down.’
‘Lilah said he didn’t suffer,’ I say.
‘Neither will they.’
He raises one of the glass vials and pokes a needle through the top, drawing the liquid into the syringe. I suddenly see what’s coming.
I look at Lilah and Daniela, wanting some wordless explanation, but their faces are staring at the needle as he pierces another vial. A noise echoes up the stairwell from somewhere below. Rennie’s head snaps around.
I start yelling. ‘Help! We’re in here!’
This time I manage to duck his swinging fist. The blow deflects from my forehead, but he comes again, gripping me across the mouth. I try to bite at his fingers, as he reaches for the tape and wraps it twice around my head, hissing at me to be quiet.
Getting to his feet, he reaches behind his back and pulls a knife from a scabbard that was tucked into his belt. He twirls the blade between his fingers like a juggler, before his palm closes around the handle.
‘Wait here,’ he says, as though I have a choice.
73
Cyrus
My phone is vibrating. I hook one arm over a rung and pull it out of my pocket, almost dropping the handset because I’ve lost the feeling in my fingers.
‘I told you to wait,’ says Lenny.
‘I just heard someone yelling for help.’
‘Male or female?’
‘Female. It might have been Evie.’
‘Where are you?’
‘In a lift shaft between the second and third floors. They’re somewhere above me. I think Rennie has Lilah and Evie.’
‘What about Elias?’
‘I haven’t seen him.’
‘Come back.’
‘I’m close now. I can be your eyes and ears.’
‘It’s too dangerous. I don’t want another hostage.’
‘You’re breaking up.’
‘Don’t do this, Cyrus.’
Lenny curses and begins issuing instructions. She wants a drone in the air and firearms officers on the surrounding buildings. I hang up and pocket the phone. It vibrates almost immediately as she tries to call me back. I’m climbing the final rungs towards an opening in the lift shaft.
Noise echoes from above. More muffled shouting. A male voice is yelling at someone to stay away. Elias answers, but I can’t tell what he’s saying. They’re on the fourth floor. I’m on the third. The ladder won’t take me any higher.
Shuffling sideways, hand over hand, I reach the opening and haul myself up and out of the shaft, lying on my back on the concrete floor, breathing hard.
On my feet, I examine my surroundings. This floor is even more cavernous than the basement, with metal pillars as thick as my waist spaced in rows, supporting a higher ceiling. There are old drums, broken tiles and mounds of scrap metal that throw shadows against the painted walls that are bubbling and peeling. An old sign says ‘Tea-Room’。 Another gives safety instructions.
I hear different sounds. Heavy items are being dragged across the floor. The noise bounces off the walls and I suddenly can’t tell if it’s coming from above or below me. Warily, I edge closer to an internal stairway, which is littered with cigarette butts, condoms and beer cans.
I peer up and down the stairs that twist back and forth. On the landing immediately below me there is an old washroom, with a broken toilet and a pipe sticking out of the wall. One cubicle door has been ripped off, while another hangs from a bent hinge.
I hear shouting coming from above. Suddenly, a forty-four-gallon drum bounces down the stairs end-on-end. I flatten myself against the wall as it misses my nose and continues tumbling. Moments later, a plank of broken wood drops silently past me and clatters when it reaches the basement.
I call Lenny. ‘They’re on the fourth floor.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘An internal stairwell.’
‘A thermal drone has picked up five heat signatures.’
Heat means they’re alive. Rennie, Lilah, Daniela, Evie and Elias.
‘I’m waiting for a police chopper. I want to put an armed response unit on the roof,’ says Lenny.
‘He’ll know you’re here.’
‘He knows already.’
‘I’m going up.’
‘You’re not wearing a vest.’
‘I’ll keep my phone on.’
74
Evie
Pulling at the ropes around my wrists and arms, I try to wriggle free. The chair rocks, but I can’t break loose. Rennie is somewhere nearby; I can hear him shouting.