Page 99 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

“I’m sorry, but if you’re not family, you can’t see Mr Miller. He’s very sick and it’s our job to make his final days as peaceful as we can, and trawling a couple of strangers through his room like he’s a circus attraction is not part of it.”

“Jane, is it?” Danny reads the name badge pinned to her cardigan as he shows her his police ID. “It really is imperative that we speak with him. I promise we will be respectful of his condition.”

Her eyes narrow as she stares at Danny’s badge. “I don’t care if you’re MI6, you are not going to disturb him.”

“Tell her to tell Jack you have a message from me,” Bruce’s frail voice speaks up from behind us, and I turn to glance at him being practically held upright by Dusty.

“Um, excuse me.” I turn back and draw Jane’s hardened glare. “We’re not here to cause him any trouble, I promise. I completely understand you’re just doing your best for the patients who come to you for their final days, but we have information that I believe Mr Miller may want to hear, that may give him some peace. Could you please just give him a message and see if he wants to hear us out?”

She stares at me as she considers my request. Unable to find anything wrong with it, she stands and smooths down her pleated skirt.

“What is the message?” she asks.

“Tell him you have a message from Bruce,” Bruce says from behind me, so I dutifully repeat what he says.

“Wait here, please,” Jane says, and we watch as she uses her security card to let herself through a set of double doors to the right of the reception desk and then disappears.

“That’s a big card to play,” Danny mutters.

“Bruce told me to.” I blow out a breath. “It’s a gamble, but I’m guessing that, with not much time left, he might want to get some of his own unfinished business off his chest.”

“Or he was involved in Bruce’s death, and he clams up and refuses to see us,” Danny grumbles.

“Well, your magicI’m a cop, let me incard isn’t working, so what other choice do we have?” I snap, feeling the stress of everything right down to my bones.

“Tristan.” Danny turns to me.

“Sorry,” I say quickly, regretting my tone. “It’s not you, I’m just–”

“Worried sick about what’s going to happen tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” I mutter with a slightly nauseous feeling.

“Me too,” he says in a subdued tone.

I feel him link a couple of his fingers around mine as he balances precariously on his crutches, and something in me settles a little.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“It’s okay,” he says, giving my fingers a little squeeze.

A few moments later, we look over when the doors open again, and Jane beckons us forward. “He says he’ll see you.”

“Thank you,” I say. She steps to the side and allows Danny and me through the door.

We follow her silently along the corridor past closed doors, but as we turn a corner, something flickering in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I pause and look back, and when I do, I see a reaper, just like the one I saw at Sunrise when Mrs Abernathy died. It floats in the corridor for a moment before entering one of the rooms we passed by.

“Tristan?”

I turn to see Danny and Jane waiting for me so I hurry to catch up. She leads us to a closed door and turns to face us both. “Not too long, he tires easily,” she warns. “He doesn’t have any family or friends to visit with him, so we have a volunteer coming in to sit with him until the end. She’ll be by in the next hour.”

We both nod in understanding, feeling the gravity of the situation as she turns to tap on the door lightly before opening it. “Jack, these are the two visitors I was telling you about. Don’t forget you can press your buzzer if it becomes too much.”

I don’t hear him answer, but seemingly satisfied, Jane steps back, allowing us to enter and closing the door behind us with a quiet snick.

The man lying in the bed barely resembles the robust, handsome blonde man in the photograph. That man is long gone and in his place is a tiny, frail person with thin strands of hair, sunken eyes, and protruding bones. His papery looking skin is jaundiced, and the whites of his eyes are tinged yellow.

I risk a glance back at Bruce to find his eyes filled with tears as he clings to Dusty, his gaze fixed on the shadow of a man tucked under a blanket that looks too heavy for his fragile bones.