You Had It Coming B.M. Carroll (best ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📖

Bridget stands behind the tree trunk and imagines herself in the killer’s shoes. Shrinking to make oneself invisible. Waiting. Waiting. Probably feeling nervous. Hands shaking? What did he or she think about? How did they pass the minutes? Fifteen of them. Not a long time. Unless you’re waiting to kill someone.

Bridget squints her eyes. What’s that on the tree? Words! Something etched into the bark.

She steps closer. The letters are jagged and superficial, quite easy to miss. It takes a moment to segue them together. Her breath catches.

‘Dave! Dave! Come over here!’

He arrives, breathing heavily. She points.

YOU HAD IT COMING.

22

MEGAN

‘So, how was your long weekend?’ Lucas is relaxed, chatty. ‘Didn’t even get the chance to ask yesterday.’

They’re on the way to help an obese patient who can’t get himself out of bed. It’s not a lights-and-sirens emergency so they can afford to catch up. Megan missed him during her time off. She always does. The pathetic thing is, he doesn’t miss her. Why should he? He has Daniella.

She smothers the flare of jealousy with a laugh. ‘Had a paintbrush glued to my hand for most of it!’

‘You should have called me. I’m pretty handy at cutting in edges.’

She glances at him; his eyes are full of a genuine desire to help. Her gaze falls to the lower half of his face; at some stage over the weekend he decided to ditch shaving. The bristle makes him even more attractive: that masculine, rough-and-ready look – the last thing she needs. She turns her attention back to the road, flicking the indicator for an upcoming left turn.

‘My brother is coming on the weekend to help out.’

‘How much older is your brother?’

‘Four years.’

Megan is fond of Seb, and he’s fond of her in return, despite having spent little time together as adults. She is looking forward to seeing him on Saturday. Giving him a hug, hearing all about his little family, and engineering some alone time so she can discuss her concerns about their mum.

Megan’s foot is pressed on the brake pedal; she is driving down a narrow steep hill, with cars parked bumper-to-bumper on both sides of the road. As a child, she used to have a recurring dream about a hill like this one. Her mum, dad and Seb striding effortlessly up the incline, Megan sliding backwards, unable to get a grip with her hands or feet. Calling after them with increased desperation.

They’ve reached the address on the mobile data terminal. Steps lead down into a thickly forested hollow; one can only assume there’s a house down there somewhere. Bad news if their bariatric patient needs a visit to hospital. She and Lucas won’t be able to manage without back-up.

‘Shit!’ Lucas sighs. ‘Well, this should be interesting.’

The sandstone steps are uneven and slippery. Thankfully, the handrail is solid and Megan holds on firmly, the medical kit in her other hand. She counts the steps as they go: fifty-seven.

There’s a slim middle-aged woman waiting at the bottom. ‘Oh, thank God you’re here. Be careful on that last step, it’s the deadliest one. I’m Cathy, Ray’s wife. This way. This way.’

The house has a surprising amount of light, and a stunning 180-degree view of the surrounding bush. It’s hard to believe they’re less than fifteen kilometres from the centre of Sydney. The master bedroom contains a large window (with another breathtaking view) and a large body lying flat on the king-size bed. Lucas starts chatting while Megan sets up equipment.

‘Hi there. I’m Lucas and this is Megan. What’s been happening here?’

Ray is about Cathy’s age, somewhere in his fifties, and weighs around 200 kilos, if Megan’s estimation skills are any good.

‘Can’t move my legs. Can’t get up.’

‘Are they numb?’

‘Yeah. My hip, too.’

‘Looks like you have some blood-flow issues. Has this happened before?’

‘Not this bad.’

Ray is wearing pyjama shorts and the skin on his right leg is red and inflamed.

‘Is that cellulitis causing you pain?’

‘Bloody oath. Especially the abscess.’

The abscess, on the inside of his thigh, is leaking pus. There are several blisters in other areas, and some red streaks, an indication that the infection is spreading.

‘Have you been given any medication for this, Ray?’ Megan asks, leaning over him so he can see her face.

‘Been taking antibiotics about a week now.’

Megan and Lucas exchange a look. If oral antibiotics aren’t working, then an IV is required in hospital.

‘You have a bit of a temperature, Ray, so we’re going to give you something for that, which will also help with the pain. We want to get you to hospital so they can treat the cellulitis infection and the circulation problems. Plan A is to try to get you on your feet and very, very slowly up those steps. If that doesn’t work, Plan B is a stair chair.’

Plan C is Fire and Rescue, but Megan leaves that possibility unsaid. She unclicks her radio and calls for back-up.

‘Car 482. Can we get a bariatric ambulance, please?’

‘Sorry.’ Ray covers his face with two oversized paws. ‘This is so bloody embarrassing.’

Lucas pats him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. This is our job.’

‘I’m just a fat bastard taking up too much space in the world.’

His wife chides him immediately. ‘Stop being so down on yourself, Ray.’

‘We’ve moved people much larger than you,’ Lucas says.

This is an outright lie but it immediately makes Ray feel better. He comes out from behind his hands, even manages a self- deprecating joke. ‘You mean I’m not the biggest fat bastard you’ve had to deal with?’

‘No. Sorry. You’re boringly average.’

They all laugh and the atmosphere in the room becomes positive.

‘Right. The drugs should be taking effect now, Ray. We’re going to try to get you into a sitting position. Slide your legs over this way. Take my hand and Megan’s. On the count of three. Everyone ready?’

It takes more than half an hour to manoeuvre Ray from the bed to the hallway, then outside to the front path, and up all fifty-seven steps. He leans heavily on the handrail