Free A Fistful of Knuckles by Tom Graham

to her feet, fixed her expression into one of openness, adopted unthreatening body language, and headed down the corridor towards Tracy. The girl flinched and glanced over her shoulder at the main doorway, as if she was ready to bolt back out. Not that she could
bolt
exactly, not in those blocky sandals. Perhaps teeter away at speed until she twisted her ankle.
    Sam couldn’t hear what Annie said to her – no doubt words of friendliness and concern in order to win the girl’s trust just that little bit more. Tracy raised her hands to her face to cover the injuries, but Annie took the girl’s hands in her own and held them, making physical contact, bridging the gulf between her and this terrified, wounded creature.
    And then, without warning, the Test Card Girl spoke, right behind Sam’s head. ‘They’re the same man, Sam.’
    Sam leapt up like he’d received an electric shock, and span round. There was nobody there – just the now empty bench, and above it the anti-smoking poster, with its image of a small girl breathing in the smoke issuing from her father’s cigarette. Sam peered closer at the poster. Did he know that girl? Was it
her,
the brat from the test card?
    Tentatively, Sam reached out his hand towards the poster. He hesitated, his fingers half an inch from its surface, suddenly unwilling … and then he forced himself to do it. His hand pressed against nothing more than a glossy sheet of printed paper.
    ‘What did you mean?’ he asked, speaking out loud, staring hard at the girl in the photograph. ‘
Who’s
the same man? The man I saw at the fair last night and the one in Annie’s nightmares? Is that what you meant? Tell me! Tell me what you meant!’
    The girl in the poster did not move. And now he looked harder at her, she was certainly not the Test Card Girl. Nothing like her.
    Nothing like her … at least, not now. But what about a moment ago? Did that poster change behind my back? Had she been there, smiling down at me, inches away …?
    The thought gave him the creeps.
    IF YOU LOVE HER, DON’T KILL HER the poster warned him,
    Sam shook his head to clear it, trying to rid himself of paranoia.
    ‘You know what I meant, Sam,’ said a small girl in a wheelchair as a porter trundled her along.
    Sam jumped and span round. The Test Card Girl was sitting in the wheelchair, pale-faced and gently smiling.
    ‘And when she said she got frightened, and wanted to look over her shoulder … when she said she felt she was the next one in line … she was right, Sam.’
    ‘No …’ Sam said. Or rather, he silently mouthed the word, because no sound would come.
    ‘She
is
the next one in line.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘And it’s going be worse than just a beating, Sam. Much worse. Believe me.’
    Sam flattened himself against the wall.
    The porter looked at him with slow, dull eyes. ‘You all right, mate?’
    ‘What did you mean by that?’ Sam hissed at her, his fists clenching. ‘Tell me what the hell you meant!’
    ‘Just tryin’ to ‘elp,’ shrugged the porter. ‘Bloody weirdo.’
    And with that, he went on his way, pushing the wheelchair off along the corridor. The Test Card Girl craned round in her seat to keep her smiling face fixed on Sam until she disappeared round a corner.
    ‘This is him,’ he heard Annie saying. ‘DI Tyler. He’s really kind. A really kind man.’
    He turned, and there she was, gently coaxing Tracy towards him.
    They didn’t see me jump out of my skin just then. Thank God!
    ‘Tracy!’ he said, trying to sound perfectly natural and unflustered. He summoned up as friendly a smile as he could manage. ‘Call me Sam. Pleasure to meet you. I was hoping that, before you have your check-up with the doctor, you could spare us the time for a quick chat?’
    Sam’s CID badge bought them access to a dreary little room decorated with nothing more than an eye chart and an empty cork board. Tracy shuffled in, nervous and uncertain, wobbling on her built-up sandals. She refused to