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He leaned back on the wall, the strength in his legs drained. He’d used the house too often, someone had discovered him. Or she’d worked it out from his name. He’d told her too much, and now it was too late to walk away again. He folded his knees and let himself slide to the floor.
Foley turned her face away and sat on the stairs. “I can’t protect you anymore.”
“You shouldn’t. I’m sorry I let you get so close.”
“I trusted you. Last night we.” Her breath was ragged. “Last night … you. Why didn’t you…?”
“Because I’m foul and unclean. I wanted you.” God help him he still did. “You make me want so many things I thought I’d left behind. But I know I’m not good for you. I’d split myself in half before I’d hurt you.”
She stood up suddenly. “Too late. You did it anyway.” She brushed at her face, annoyed gestures, her eyes were glossy.
She was leaving. He’d be alone again. They way it should be. He wasn’t sure his legs would hold him, but he pushed against the wall to stand. “Why did you come?”
“I needed to see you.” She fixed on him. “See you acknowledge your guilt. I needed an end to this.”
“What do you want from me?” He asked, knowing he’d lost the right to want anything from her, the opportunity to give anything to her.
“What I always wanted. I want you to get help.” There were tears on her face, but she wasn’t crying, she was angry and that was better. “They’ll come for you.”
His father. New ghosts. He’d been so careless since he’d let himself want her.
She let herself out. He stood on the veranda and watched her get in her old car and drive away. He was numb. He gathered his warmer clothes and dressed. He’d go to the cave. He needed the cliff. He needed to curl his toes over the edge and remember.
They came for him too quickly. Two uniformed cops, buzzing the gate. Not what he expected. Not Alan. Not another negotiator sent to make him conform.
He let them in and met them in the doorway. He put his hand out to shake. “Can I help you?”
The only person who knew about the house was Foley.
The female took his hand and they shook. “I’m Constable Robins and this is Constable Gianapolis. Are you Patrick Drum?”
He tensed at the use of that name. The only person who knew it was Foley.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions. We think you might be able to help us. It’s important.”
She’d given him up. It shouldn’t have burned like betrayal because he’d given her no choice.
He eyed the cops. Already game playing; one soft and easy, one remote and hard. Both looking beyond him into the foyer. “Go ahead.”
“Look, it would be better if we went to the station.”
Drum folded his arms. “We can talk here.” He could clear this up. It wasn’t a police matter, but Foley couldn’t have known that.
“Is this your house, mate? You normally live in a cave, right?” The male cop had an aggressive tone.
“What is this about?”
“We’d like to talk down the station, Patrick.” Robin’s had more sense.
“Call me Drum. What’s this about?”
“We’ll talk at the station. We can get you a hot drink, that’d be good, right? Something to warm you up.” But not that much more sense.
“I’m homeless. I’m not a halfwit. What is this about?”
Robins almost laughed. She was young and picking up a homeless guy was a job given to baby cops. The other one spoke, made a gesture with his arm and jangled his car keys. “Come on, Mr Drum. We really do need your help down at the station.”
Now he was Mr Drum. He almost laughed too. “If you’re arresting me, I’d like to know what for?”
