The Killing Hour Read Online Free PDF Page A

towards the phone.
    I stand up. ‘Don’t, Jo. At least just let me walk out of here.’
    She turns around. Puts her hands on her hips. ‘Okay, Charlie, you win. Just don’t involve me any further.’
    ‘Come with me.’
    ‘Leave, Charlie.’
    ‘Coming here could have put you in danger. Cyris will find me, and if he finds you he’ll kill you. No matter what you think, he’s a monster, Jo.’
    ‘Then I’m no safer with you, am I?’
    ‘Are you going to call the police?’
    ‘You’re a mess. You’ve taken a beating, your hands are shaking, you keep shouting.’
    ‘I’m not shouting!’
    ‘You are. Look, why don’t you go home and we can discuss it tomorrow, okay?’
    ‘I’m not shouting.’
    ‘Okay, okay. Please, I want you to leave.’
    ‘I’ll leave, but you have to promise me you won’t call the police.’
    ‘I won’t.’
    ‘Won’t promise or won’t call them?’
    She tilts her head and stares at me, tightening her lips into a thin line.
    I hold my hands out in front of me, this time trying to ward off her anger. ‘Okay. Look, I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m going to leave.’
    ‘I think that’s best.’
    Not knowing what else to say, I end up thanking her for the coffee. She walks me to the door and looks at me as I stand on the doorstep. Maybe she’s right. Maybe the police would understand. But I’m picking they wouldn’t. I’m picking if I walk in there and tell them what I told Jo I’ll never walk back out. Only running away isn’t the solution either.
    ‘Charlie?’
    What I need to do is find Cyris. That’s the solution.
    ‘Charlie?’
    But how in the hell am I going to do that? Put an ad in the paper?
    ‘Charlie!’
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘If you’re not going to go to the police at least get checked out by a doctor, okay?’
    I rub the huge bump on my forehead and instantly regret it. I nod slowly, then walk down the driveway to my car.

6
    I’ve known Jo eight years. We were married for six. She’d never betray me. She’d never turn me in. But we’re in the Real World now and trust isn’t a quality I can hope for. Yet it’s one I cling to when I step back inside and find Jo hanging up the phone. She tells me she was talking to her friend. I want to believe her, I really do.
    ‘You promised you’d leave,’ she says.
    ‘How much did you tell the police?’ I ask.
    ‘I was calling a friend,’ she repeats. ‘First of all you come here and …’
    ‘How much, Jo? Are they on their way?’
    ‘Stop shouting, Charlie.’
    ‘I’m not shouting! How much did you tell them?’
    ‘I haven’t said a word. I told you nobody answered …’
    The phone rings and we both reach for it. If you call the emergency 111 number then hang up, you’ll be phoned back. It’s standard procedure. Just for this kind of problem. Jo grabs at the phone but before she can snatch it up I push her away. She stumbles into the kitchen bench and falls. When she looks up at me her eyes flash with tears and anger.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, moving towards her. The phone is still ringing. ‘I didn’t mean …’
    ‘Get out, you bastard. Get the hell out and don’t come back!’
    ‘I’m sorry, Jo. I was just trying …’
    ‘Get! Out!’
    No, no, this is wrong. All wrong. ‘I’m sorry, Jo, I’m stressed, that’s all, I’m stressed.’
    ‘Get the hell out, Charlie.’
    If nobody answers the phone a police car will show up within minutes. I can’t let that happen. ‘I’m going to answer the phone, okay? I don’t want you to say anything.’
    ‘Go to hell.’
    ‘Jo …’
    ‘You heard me.’
    The phone must have rung twenty times by now – the monotonous shrill seems more urgent each time. I pick it up and hear a woman saying she’s from the police. I want to tell her to go away, to tell her this is none of her concern, that I can take care of things. I want to tell her to leave me alone, I want to ask for her help, I want to confess to what I have done. I