Page 86 of I Am the Messenger

They run off into the night.

As for me, I try to get up but fall.

I drag myself home and feel like I've come full circle from when I had the Ace of Clubs first delivered.

When I stagger through the front door, the Doorman looks shocked. Almost concerned. All I can do is shake my head and assure him I'm okay with a small, painful smile. I imagine that while all this is going on, a large tick is being scratched into the stone next to the name of Gavin Rose. It's over.

Later that night I look in the bathroom mirror.

Two black eyes.

Swollen jaw.

A blood stream flowing to my throat.

I look at myself and try my hardest to attempt a smile.

Well done, Ed, I tell myself, and I stare for a final few seconds at my broken and bloodied face.

I stare strangely into the face of clubs.

part three: Trying Times for Ed Kennedy

A mosquito sings in my ear, and I almost feel grateful for the company. I'm even tempted to sing along.

It's dark, there's blood on my face, and the mosquito could easily sit and drink without injecting. It could kneel down and sip the blood from my right cheek and my lips.

When I get out of bed and stand up, the floor is cool and my feet enjoy the relief. My sheets felt woven together with sweat, and now I lean on the wall in the hallway. Some sweat reaches my ankle and rolls under the arch of my foot.

I don't feel bad.

Laughter escapes my mouth as I check the clock, go to the bathroom, and have a cold shower. The icy water sets fire to my cuts and bruises, but everything feels good. It's close to four in the morning now, and I'm no longer afraid. After putting on a pair of old jeans and nothing else, I walk back to bed in search of the two aces. I open the drawer and lift the cards in my fingers. The yellow light of the room stands next to me as I happily look down at the stories of those cards. I'm gripped by feeling when I think of Milla and Edgar Street, and I hope for a brilliant life for Sophie. I laugh about Father O'Reilly, Henry Street, and Meet a Priest Day. Then Angie Carusso, whom I wish I could have done more for. And those bastard Rose boys.

What will the next card be? I wonder.

I expect it to be hearts.

I wait.

For daylight and the next ace.

This time I want it to be fast.

I want the card right now. No obscurity. No riddles. Just give me the addresses. Give me the names and send me there. That's what I want.

My only worry is that every time I've wanted something to go a certain way in all of this, it's gone the other, designed perfectly to challenge me with the unknown. I want Keith and Daryl to come walking through the door again. I want them to deliver the next card and criticize the Doorman for his smell and for having fleas. I've even left the door unlocked so they can enter my house in a civilized manner.

But I know they're not coming.

I find my book and head to the lounge room. I take the aces with me and hold them as I read.

When I wake up again, I'm on the floor with the two cards next to my left hand. It's about ten already and it's hot, and someone's banging at the door.

It's them, I think.

"Keith?" I call out, getting to my knees. "Daryl? That you?"

"Who the hell's Keith?"