Free Secrets by Jane A. Adams Page B

the way he had been headed. Then, ‘My God! What happened to you? I thought I’d hit you when you went down like that.’
    Again, the man smiled, faintly, his lips cracking and bleeding with even such slight effort.
    â€˜Argument …’ he whispered. ‘Argument … with a friend …’
    â€˜Some friend!’
    Adam frowned. It was clear he wouldn’t get his answers now, and the main thing was to get this man some help.
    â€˜If I help you, can you stand?’ he asked.
    â€˜Got this far, didn’t I.’
    â€˜This far? Where …? No, never mind, let’s just get you into the car.’
    Kneeling close beside the stranger, Adam slid an arm beneath his shoulders, apologizing rapidly and nervously as the man winced.
    â€˜It’s all right,’ the man said. He leaned heavily against Adam, catching him a little off balance and causing him to stagger as, together, they pushed to their feet. The man groaned sharply at the sudden pressure on his right side. He clung convulsively to Adam’s arm, waiting for the worst of the pain to pass away.
    â€˜I’ll be all right now.’ It was more of a gasp than separate words.
    Bloodstained spittle clung to the stranger’s mouth. Adam eased him gently towards the car and hoped, fervently, that it came only from his cut and bleeding lips.
    He pulled the passenger door, sharply, and lowered the man gently into the seat. It wasn’t easy, posting him in sideways, then swinging him around to get his legs inside.
    He slammed the door, ran around to the driver’s side and slipped into the seat.
    â€˜Just do me a favour, huh?’
    The man turned his head, questioning.
    â€˜Don’t die on me on the way.’
    Joseph Bern smiled and whispered softly. ‘I’ll try hard to cause you no more … inconvenience,’ he said. Then closed his eyes and seemed to sleep.
September 24th, Present Day
    Evening. Only just past five and yet as dark as midnight. Thick cloud, most of it still raining, Adam drove as quickly and as safely as he could, but the journey had been a slow one.
    Worcester an hour ago, gone to bed early and strangely empty, the foul weather having driven all but the most determined back inside. The last fraction of the journey was the most tiresome. The network of side roads confusing both him and the satnav. Twice he took the wrong turn. Twice had to backtrack and by the time he turned the car into the broad, overgrown driveway of the converted house, he was both very tired and very irritable.
    He brought the car to a halt and stared up at the old house, it’s lighted windows, mostly semi-screened by heavy curtains or by broad, vertical blinds.
    The hospice doors stood atop of five stone steps. A ramp had been added at the left-hand side. In the half-light that fell upon it from the windows, it seemed to have a temporary aspect, somehow unfinished. The original, heavy wooden door stood open. An inner glass door partitioned the hallway. Adam could glimpse movement, figures passing across the broad hallway and the hard edge of what must be the reception desk off to one side.
    Adam sighed deeply and unfastened his seat belt and killed the engine.
    Now he was here, he felt a strange uncertainty, born, he thought, of the long journey and the driving rain and the tiredness that came with it.
    What did Joseph want with him after all this time?
    He thought of that first day, the journey back to Leopoldville, Joseph slumped in the car beside him, opening his eyes just as they entered the first sprawling outskirts of the city.
    â€˜What’s your name?’ Adam had asked him. ‘I thought I’d run you down and I don’t even know what to call you.’
    The man had turned his head and smiled that pained slow smile again. His face, half in shadow, turned to Adam, the other half, oddly white in the harsh sun. Slowly, he’d extended his left hand across his body, reaching towards