It’s almost as long as he is.
“Tomasz, look out!” Seth yells –
Because behind Tomasz, the black van sails around the corner of the building, roaring into the square –
Bearing down on Tomasz as he runs –
“No!” both Seth and Regine shout –
“Run!” Tomasz cries to them –
The van cuts between them, its wheels screeching to a halt on the concrete, and before it’s even fully stopped, the door is opening –
The Driver is getting out –
And hurtling toward Tomasz with unthinkable speed –
“Tommy!” Seth hears Regine scream –
And she’s trying to run for him –
But there’s no way she’ll get there in time –
The Driver holds out its baton, sparks crackling from it, ready to strike –
Tomasz awkwardly points the shotgun –
“NO!” Regine shouts –
And Tomasz pulls the trigger.
51
The bang is much bigger than Seth expects and indeed, there are two flashes, one from the end of the gun fired into the chest of the Driver –
And another as the gun explodes in Tomasz’s hands.
Through white smoke, Seth sees the two bodies flying away in opposite directions, the spinning shadow of the Driver crashing into the van, nearly tearing off the open door in the impact, before slumping violently to the ground –
But also Tomasz, crying out as he sails back, bits of the gun splintering into the air, smoke trailing from him as he tumbles down onto the hard concrete of the square.
“TOMMY!” Regine yells, bolting toward him. Seth tries to keep up, but he’s still unsteady on his feet. He follows her around the front of the van, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure on the ground, also unmoving. Ahead of him, Regine slides down to the ground next to Tomasz –
No, Seth thinks. Please, no –
But then he hears a small coughing.
“Thank God,” Regine says as he kneels down roughly next to her. “Thank God.”
“Moje ręce,” Tomasz says, sitting up, his voice pitifully small. “Moje ręce są całe zakrwawione.”
He holds out his hands. Even in the shadows from the doorway light, they can see how burnt they are, strips of torn flesh and blood dripping down his wrists.
“Oh, Tommy,” Regine says furiously, gripping him in an embrace so tight Tomasz actually calls out. She lets go of him and starts shouting. “YOU IDIOT! I TOLD YOU IT WAS TOO DANGEROUS!”
“It was for last chance only,” Tomasz moans. “And we were on last chance.”
Seth looks behind them. The barrels of the shotgun are lying in two separate places among the weeds, the wooden stock now just smoldering embers across a wide area –
– And the officer has come into their sitting room and he’s saying, “They’ve found Valentine –”
With a grunt, Seth forces it away, turning back to Regine and Tomasz. She’s taken off her coat and is ripping a sleeve, tying it around one of Tomasz’s hands.
“Where did you get a shotgun?” Seth asks, garbling the words a little. Now that things have slowed down, his head has started to spin again.
“In an attic in a neighboring house,” Regine says, tying Tomasz’s other hand, ignoring his tuts of pain. “But it was clearly broken and dangerous and not something we could ever use.”
“I tell you this again,” Tomasz grunts. “A last chance. When there is no hope.”
“You could have died, you little . . .” But Regine can’t finish, and her eyes are wet with furious tears. She glares back at Seth, daring him to say something. Then her face changes. “Are you okay?”
Seth winces, still feeling the memories crowding in, still feeling them whirling through his head.
“It was ready to kill me,” Tomasz says, looking at the van. “To kill little Tomasz. But I kill him first, no?”
They all look back at the Driver. They can see a deep hole in the chest of the uniform where it took the full blast of the gun.
“Valentine,” Seth whispers, holding on to the name again.
“Why do you keep saying that?” Regine says.
He looks at her, his face pained.
“Seriously,” she says, “are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” Seth says, struggling to stand again.
“You said it was the name of a man,” Tomasz says, standing awkwardly too, not using his injured hands. “He took someone called Owen?”
“Owen is my brother,” Seth says.
Tomasz makes an ahhhh sound of understanding.
Seth can feel all the memories there in his mind, spinning around him like he’s in the eye of a hurricane that’s pressing in, surging toward him, wanting something from him. “Valentine,” he whispers again.
“Yeah, okay,” Regine says gently. “Valentine. Gotcha.” She turns back to Tomasz. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“My chest, little bit,” he answers, gesturing with his bandaged hands where the gun hit him, “but not so bad.”
“He won’t be able to ride,” Regine says to Seth. “You’ll have to help him. Are you up to that?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Seth says, still distracted. That name, Valentine, it most definitely is the name of the prisoner who took Owen, the name that for the life of him he’d been unable to remember back at the house, no matter how hard he tried.
Until whatever happened down there with the coffins.
But there’s more to it. . . .
The memories grow louder in his head again, surrounding him on all sides.
“Valentine,” he whispers again.
“We can lie you down in the house,” Regine says. “Both of you.” She turns toward the van. “But first . . .”
She starts walking toward where the Driver still lies.
“What are you doing?” Tomasz calls out in alarm.
“Making sure it’s dead,” Regine says, moving slowly, carefully, ready to run again.
Seth watches her go but hardly sees her, his mind filling again with the beach, the sea, the coldness –
With the police and Owen and Valentine –
With Monica and Gudmund and H –
The tidal wave is coming again, breaking over him, drowning him once more –
“I do not think this is a good idea,” Tomasz calls to Regine, shifting nervously from foot to foot –
Something’s there, right there, as the memories keep flooding in –