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Death. Pain. Suffering. Emilia had been surrounded by these dark forces for as long as she could remember, but never had she felt their presence so keenly as she did today.

For the first time in her life, Emilia genuinely felt that she might not be able to cope.

She had endured all manner of injuries and insults over the years, emerging victorious and defiant each time, but the avalanche of misfortune that had cascaded over her in the past three days beggared belief.

First had come Ernesto’s unexpected death, then the botched operation at the dockside culminating in Visser’s shocking escape.

And finally, worst of all, there’d been the brutal stabbing of Charlie Brooks, the fallen officer now fighting for her life in ICU.

Though Emilia had never been close to her, this last outrage cut deepest. This brave and resourceful officer had simply been doing her duty, yet Visser had seen fit to thrust a knife into her chest in his desperation to evade capture.

Emilia’s heart broke for Charlie, and she raged against Visser, her eyes filling with angry tears as memories of that awful, blood-soaked scene on the quayside pushed their way back into her thoughts.

Wiping her eyes, Emilia stalked along the hospital corridor, her trainers squeaking noisily.

She’d wanted to visit before now, but she’d barely had time to catch her breath since the disaster at the docks.

First, she’d had to endure lengthy questioning at Southampton Central, as Charlie’s colleagues tried to make sense of what had happened.

Though exhausted and upset, Emilia had not complained during the many hours of discussion and repetition, determined to do her duty.

For their part, Rebecca Holmes and her colleagues in CID had been unfailingly polite and responsive, Emilia detecting a marked change in their attitude towards her, their gratitude for her heroic efforts on the quayside plain to see.

Following her departure from Southampton Central, Emilia had had to run the gauntlet of the press, who swarmed around her, desperate for the inside story.

She’d been a journalist for many years, but only now realised what it truly felt like to be in the eye of the storm.

Thereafter, Emilia had been sucked back into family life, trying to make sense of recent events for her shocked siblings, whilst simultaneously trying to plan for her father’s funeral.

There was so much to do, so much to process, not least how to say goodbye to a man she had often hated.

Emilia’s head was already swimming with details of all the things she needed to organize, all the people she needed to contact, and was relieved to tear herself away from the preparations for a while in order to check on Charlie’s condition.

A noise ahead made Emilia look up and she now spotted Helen Grace walking away from the ICU, her expression set, her face solemn.

Immediately, Emilia felt another rush of emotion, fear, horror, grief wrestling for supremacy.

Was she too late? Had Charlie lost the fight?

Helen continued to march towards her, clocking the journalist but barely reacting, as if her mind was elsewhere.

Nevertheless, her former sparring partner slowed as the two women approached each other, Helen’s sad nod speaking volumes.

Emilia was almost too afraid to ask, but found herself muttering:

‘How is she?’

Helen’s expression was grave and her words, when they came, were measured.

‘She … she’s fighting.’

She was trying to be positive, but to Emilia it sounded like it was a fight Helen expected Charlie to lose.

‘The surgeon said the knife missed her heart by a millimetre, hence why she’s still alive. But she lost an awful lot of blood and is still in a coma.’

Helen’s voice shook, Emilia shocked to see her naked emotion. In all the years that they’d locked horns together, the former DI had never shown any vulnerability in front of her. But now there was no hiding it – Helen looked desperate, anguished, grief tinging her every word.

‘Honestly, Emilia, it’s not looking good, but every second she clings on is a plus. If she can hang in there, if she can stay strong, then …’

Emilia nodded vigorously, willing the fallen police officer to find the strength to survive.

‘Am I OK to …?’ Emilia asked, gesturing towards the ICU.

‘Sure. You can’t see much, but it would be good for someone to be there with her.’

For a minute, Emilia was tempted to ask Helen where she was going, baffled as to why she was leaving her old friend’s side, but instead she simply nodded again. For once, it was not her place to pry.

‘Of course,’ Emilia replied reassuringly. ‘I’ll obviously let you know straight away if anything …’

Her sentence petered out, neither woman wanting to contemplate a sudden change in Charlie’s condition.

Helen offered her thanks with a tight smile, patting Emilia briefly on the arm, before heading off.

This friendliness, this strange rapprochement, was just another bizarre detail in Emilia’s increasingly surreal existence, very little of which seemed to make sense anymore.

But shaking off her disorientation, Emilia walked on, heading swiftly towards the ICU.

She had come here to do a job and there was no point putting it off, however unnerved and un-settled she might be feeling.

Soon she was in the small viewing area opposite the ICU, exchanging brief, sympathetic nods with the other hospital visitors, who huddled in the small room, tense and fearful.

Turning away from them, Emilia peered through the glass, just able to make out Charlie Brooks in the far-left hand corner.

It was a sight that pierced Emilia’s heart, the officer’s lustrous hair now flat on her scalp, her huge, expressive eyes taped shut, her mouth straddled by a bulky breathing tube.

This vibrant woman, usually such a ball of energy and emotion, was perfectly still, the only sign of life now the dancing line on her heart monitor.

It was an image of quiet desolation that struck Emilia forcefully.

This was what this diligent, spirited officer had been reduced to by one vicious thrust of the knife.

This is what Visser had done to a healthy, happy mother of two.

And now amidst Emilia’s sorrow and grief, the embers of her anger started to flare.

The same man who’d tried to destroy her had tried to kill Charlie Brooks.

Once more Visser had shown himself to be a man without scruples, without conscience, without pity.

He was a monster, devoid of humanity or emotion.

A fiend who remained at large to inflict yet more damage and ruin more lives.

This was why Emilia knew it wasn’t over yet.

Whatever happened to Charlie, wherever Visser might have fled to, the journalist knew she could not let this lie.

This ghastly narrative could not end in his triumph.

Such an idea was outrageous, appalling, and Emilia would not sanction it.

This man, who had haunted her dreams for so long, must be made to pay for his crime.

Shockingly, unjustifiably, Visser had escaped justice twice now.

Emilia would make sure he did not do so a third time.