With that, he walked away from the man he’d been chasing for fifteen years. Soon his hobbling form merged with the shadows of the night. His men followed. Then they were gone.
Annie was stumbling upright. She nearly fell again. Max grabbed her, stared at her face.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he said. ‘Are you drunk?’
‘That does appear to be the case,’ she said, and started weaving her way unsteadily back towards the building.
‘Whoa!’ Max caught her arm as she tottered sideways and almost went down again.
‘Redmond’s in there,’ she said, pushing him away.
‘What?’
‘Redmond.’ Annie stumbled to the door. ‘He’s a priest.’
‘Redmond Delaney?’ Max followed her. Drunk? She was pissed as a rat.
‘He’s in here, he was talking to me…’ Annie all but fell through the door.
The lantern was still burning, its flame flickering, on the table. The whisky bottle, nearly empty, was there, and the two tin mugs.
‘He’s…’ she started, then she stopped dead.
Redmond wasn’t there.
He’d never been there at all.
She turned unsteadily. Grabbed the wall and held on.
‘Honey, you’re drunk. Come on,’ said Max, going back to the door.
Annie stood there, alone and swaying, staring around at the room where Redmond had talked to her, absolved her of her sins.
Max is right, it didn’t happen, it was just the drink…
And then her eyes fastened on something on the table just beside the lantern. There was a faint golden glint there. Annie lurched over and groped along the table, supporting herself. She reached out and picked the object up, held it in the palm of her hand and stared at the gold crucifix. It was Redmond’s pectoral cross. The mark of the priesthood. She felt gooseflesh break out on her arms. Felt the hairs on the nape of her neck stand up.
Oh my God. I didn’t dream it, she thought. He was here.
A faint breath of air wafted over her face, and she looked up.
The door at the back was hanging wide open, admitting the salty sea breeze. Not a dream then. Not the drink. Her hand folded over the cross, and she slipped it into her pocket.
‘Come on,’ said Max, reappearing in the front doorway. This time she went with no argument.
‘Where’s Alberto?’ Layla was outside, fretfully sweeping the torch around the area. She couldn’t see him. She couldn’t see Sandor either.
‘Dunno,’ said Max, none too bothered about it. He took a firmer hold on Annie, who was staggering about like someone caught out in a high wind.
‘But… we have to find them. We can’t leave without them.’
‘Yeah,’ said Max. ‘We can.’
And then Layla looked at her father’s face and she understood. Alberto had vanished into the night and he wasn’t coming back. He was