Page 16 of Scars of Silk

The call disconnects and I keep on driving. How can I help? Can I even do anything? The community in Brighton is like trying to break into a Gestapo headquarters. People are tight, their pasts even tighter.

The car approaches a signboard. Left to home. Straight on to Brighton. There it is, down the A23.

I know someone who knows everything that happened.

I could go and find out now. Get started early. It’s only half ten. He’ll be up.

For Faith and Eli… I could tell myself that the whole way down there. It would be a lie.

I keep the car straight. I don’t turn left.

It takes an hour and fifteen, but thankfully I remember my way around the one-way streets to the house that looks nothing on the outside, but inside contains an empty family home.

I get out of the car breathing in deep, smoothing my dress across my hips. What the hell am I doing here?

Research?

Yeah, right.

With a harsh breath that fills my lungs to the absolute maximum, I step up the short path to the door. I knock, my stomach tying into painful knots.

Then I knock again. Then again. There are lights on all over the place. He has to be there. A loud thump lands from the other side of the door. My skin tingles with sweat despite the chill of the air. I knock again. “Dan, are you there?” What if he’s not there, and he’s being burgled? Do burglars turn on the lights?

What if it’s the friends of the piece of shit who hurt Faith? I know Elijah had a run in with them. What if they are in there now, hurting him?

My belly lurches, my pulse racing as I knock on the door harder.

The latch clicks and I breathe with relief. Okay, Sienna. Calm the hell down. I don’t even know why I’m getting uptight, anyway. This is just business; just a start on helping Faith anyway I can.

“Holy fuck.” My words shatter into the night sky as the door swing open. It’s Dan, I think. But it’s not Dan because the monster swaying in front of me is covered in blood and clutching at his middle, a sticky red trickle sliding down his face.

“Alright, darling? Once isn’t enough, eh?” He pitches forward directly into my arms.

My heart thumps and unexpected tears spring from my eyes. I clutch him tight and try to manoeuvre the giant of a man back over the doorway and into the safety of his house.

What the hell has he done? It’s the only thing I can think. There is nothing else in my head. What the hell has he done?

I drag him back and wrestle him onto the couch, my pulse banging in my ears.

He’s tried to kill himself. A voice in my head shouts so loud I can’t ignore it.

“Dan,” I whisper, smoothing my hand over his forehead, brushing at the hair matted into blood. “Dan?” The world screeches to a halt. The man of ink and moans tried to kill himself again.

I cry, unexpected and uninvited.

Desperation and emptiness hollow out my tummy until there is nothing there to feel.

My mind rewinds eight years to a dark and dismal day on a Scottish riverside. “Dan?” I call, moving his face, trying to get him to wake up. “Dan. Don’t you bloody dare. Don’t you bloody dare.”

Five

Dan

My head. Why is the pain so bad? It can only mean one thing; I’m not dead. Death wouldn’t hurt this much.

I don’t want to move, not ever. I never want to open my eyes and face the reality of the situation. A) I’m still here and b) my head hurts like a marching band at the end of a St Patrick's day parade.

Fuck.