Chapter Text
Perez lay still for a moment, where they’d kicked him, and listened as the van door slammed and the engine revved, taking the scrawny muscle-man and his driver off into the scrim of the worsening blizzard. The engine roared and the tires scudded aimlessly for a moment in the wet slush, throwing a freezing shower of grey wetness over Perez.
Insult to injury, quite literally, he found himself thinking…am I delirious already?
And then the rubber found its footing, and the van rocketed off into the white.
He was alone. Perez tried to blink the blood out of his eyes, to ignore the pain that throbbed from his chest, his leg, his head, and seemed to consume his very being. Where am I? He knew he could freeze to death very quickly out here; his coat was back in the warehouse where they’d worked him over. Surviving should be his only concern right now. He had to move.
I’m in a ditch, on a road…somewhere in Yell, he thought. That was about all his brain could handle at the moment. He sensed water off to the side – Whale Firth, maybe? He didn’t know, didn’t have a clue where they’d dropped him. It was getting hard to think. The wind was worsening, cold as a knife. His jumper was soaked wet with something – blood, he thought – and starting to freeze. He didn’t have much time.
He rolled onto his hands and knees, trying to ignore the pain in his leg, and almost fainted. Don’t…pass…out, he gritted to himself. That will be you, done for.
He waited a moment for the dizziness to pass, then tried it again, slowly, carefully. Cantilevered himself to his feet, swaying against the growing force of the gale. The snow slapping into his face felt almost like a blessing, cooling the burning pain of his contusions.
But he knew that was an illusion.
He’d gone on his own on the ferry to Yell, and had driven from the ferry port to a croft near Aylwick that morning to investigate a report of gunshots fired. Routine, he’d thought – just stop by and collect the witness report, talk to the man who’d called the Lerwick station four times in 12 hours in increasing agitation at the gunfire he kept hearing over the hill. Perez should have sent Sandy or Tosh to take the report, but Sandy had taken the morning to attend to a personal matter, with Perez’s permission, and Tosh was working on the Tulloch case, which Rhona wanted them to wrap as soon as possible.
Perez had rather fancied getting out of the station anyway. A large storm was moving in and a part of him loved that feeling – to be out on the water, with the falling air pressure and the growing surge of the seas as the ferry plowed over the waves. The storm would likely close all the ferry traffic for a while, so best to get the report taken, the thing over with, and return to Lerwick before the full force of the storm front hit.
But when he’d reached the croft…Perez now struggled to go over the sequence of events in his mind. I probably have a concussion, he thought…that would account for his jumbled thoughts and the ongoing terrible headache. The man’s body on the floor of the barn…and then pain and blackness.
Then he’d awakened in a different place, a dark place, lit only by a single lamp, and the bearded man…and some shadowy others. Some kind of large barn…warehouse, maybe...
Beardy had wanted to know who he was. Perez had told him, and Beardy didn’t believe it, had laughed. One of the others…longish blond hair, slight but muscly build…had fished Perez’s police ID out of his pocket. Showed it to Beardy.
Beardy wasn’t laughing any more.
“Shetland Police?” he'd asked incredulously. The accent was pure Glasgow. “Seriously?” He'd walked over to where Perez was tied to a chair. “Shetland Police? All alone? Or are you the whole force?” Chortling at his own joke. Sure of himself. Then he'd casually backhanded Perez across the face, and Perez had tasted blood. “This ain’t a matter for the police.”
“It is now,” Perez had said through the blood.
Who are these guys?
“’Perez’?” Beardy had read the name before tossing the ID to the floor. “You sure you ain’t the Mexican police? Now that would be something.”
The minions in the shadows had tittered.
“I think I’ll make you a statement,” said Beardy. “As in, I will make a statement out of you.”
He'd nodded to the shadow men. “Take care of him. The way we did in…” and then had come what to Perez sounded like “ka-johnny.”
Perez had forced himself to remember that name as they worked him over thoroughly, professionally. He hadn’t thought it was possible to be in that much pain. They were keeping him alive while wreaking the maximum agony they could manage. They hit him in the head, the chest, the stomach, the thighs, the shins. Maybe with leaded weights or brass knuckles. After a while it didn’t matter.
It was all just pain and blood.
Ka-johnny? Kajani? Cajanni? A place name? Middle Eastern? Russian? Norwegian? Strange how the brain keeps working through so much pain. It gave him a focus, though. It was a trick he’d learned long ago; to survive, you have to focus. You have to picture yourself getting out of it alive, and coming back to finish the job.
He’d passed out, finally, mercifully.
Awakened in the back of the swaying van, on the floor, with Blondie watching over him. His hands were untied. He was not a threat to them any more. Every jolt of the van caused a wave of agony that tore through him. At least one broken rib, maybe more, he thought, trying to assess the pain in his chest. His right leg throbbed and both shins blazed with agony, but he didn’t think they were broken. His head pounded and his brain reeled as the van hit a bump and slammed his temple into the floor.
Ka-johnny, ka-johnny…he kept his eyes closed and kept it on endless repeat.
Were they taking him somewhere to shoot him? More than likely. Something in him was weary, was almost done, didn’t care. But then he thought of Cassie.
Cassie. Ka-johnny.
Gotta live.
Can’t leave her with just Duncan. We love him…but he’s not exactly role model of the year.
Perez knew he was thinking in just the very broadest strokes right now.
Cassie. Ka-johnny. It was all he could do.
That and gather himself for one final fight. He’d feigned unconsciousness, hoped that with the element of surprise he could at least take Blondie out before they shot him.
But when the moment came, it had surprised him.
The van scudded to a halt. Feet stomped around the side, the back doors opened, a wall of cold wind blasted in. Blondie suddenly kicked Perez out of the van, and he landed hard on frozen ground, with the wet slush soaking through his clothes. Stomper landed one last good kick on Perez’s back as he lay there, stunned.
And then the van had roared off into the blizzard.
Now, through a haze of his own blood, he tried to see through the blowing snow and the midnight blue darkness. Drifts were piling up along the road, and he could see no lights in any direction.
Why had they left him alive? His brain hurt too much to puzzle it out.
He heard the sound of the sea again, off to his left. The open sea, or Whale Firth, maybe, he thought again, trying to relax into the intuitive inner mapping skill of the native Shetlander, of one who had sailed these waters and walked these islands all his life. He knew these islands, every mile of them, by feel and sound and smell as much as by sight.
And if it was Whale Firth, depending on how far north he was, he knew he was in grave danger. There were very few crofts up here, and almost nowhere he could go for shelter from this storm.
He could feel himself weakening with each step. He forced himself to trudge on against the wind.
It was so tempting, would be so easy, to just lie down for a while and gather his strength.
Just for a few moments.
Cassie.
What was the other part of the mantra? He’d lost it.
He focused on Cassie’s face. She seemed so close.
Hey, darlin’.
Hiya, Dad.
She was grinning at him, in that goofy little-girl way he knew so well, now the face of the young woman she’d somehow so quickly become. It was Midsummer and they were on the patio in the warm simmer dim. There were wine glasses on the little table. Out on Lerwick Harbor, the Dim Riv floated by, its dragon prow bobbing, packed with tourists, their chatter drifting across the water.
You know I love you, right? More than anything in this world.
I know, Dad, ya numpty. You don’t have to say it.
Oh, but I want to say it. Again and again. I so much want to say it, Cassie. Let me say it to you just once more.
He fell to his knees. The whiteness was everywhere, soft, soft.
He was sinking into it.
Let me say it to you, forever.
Cassie.
Don’t go.
She was fading away.
His eyes had almost closed. The snow bed beckoned, soft, warm.
A light blinked on.
He closed his eyes hard against the snow, opened them, focused, shook his head painfully.
A light.
The light was still there, a steady yellow glow, gleaming through the curtain of whirling snow.
Just off to his right. And up. A hill?
Cassie.
With a supreme effort, he forced himself to his feet again, stumbled forward, felt the ground under the snow drifts rising under his feet. Every step forward, upward was an exercise in agony.
He could see it now. The golden light, streaming out from a window. A croft house, perhaps...
Warmth, help.
He reached out. The light shimmered. He was almost there.
Cassie.
Fran. Help me get to Cassie.
Her name was on his freezing lips.
Don’t go.
And then suddenly all was whiteness.
He fell into it. So white and pure.
And cold as eternity.
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