Chapter 15. Where am I?

Detective Clarke was already in John Kilroy’s ward when Rick entered. Rick stopped at the foot of the bed, looked at Clarke, and smirked. There was the hint of a smile; at least that was Clarke's perception of it. Anne Kilroy slowly followed, her steps unsteady, her shoulders rising and falling to the rhythm of gentle sobs. Paul Quinn, still in uniform, walked by her side, one arm around his sister for support.

Quinn was a heavy man known for a love of chocolate and fried food. Both addictions were clearly evident in the folds of flesh that stressed the stitching in his oversized, police issue shirt. In the early eighties, he had been injured in a horrific and now long forgotten, car bombing in Belfast. When he recovered, heleft Belfast and moved home to Portrush and a desk job with the local police. As his waistline grew and the mental wounds refused to heal, he had become a loner, an oddball of sorts. His history garnered understanding, but few invites to the pub after work.

John Kilroy was sleeping peacefully, both arms raised above his chest in shoulder-to-fingertip casts. One leg was in a cast from above the knee to the toes. The other stopped just below the knee, the stump wrapped in a thick, blood-stained bandage. Anne burst into tears as Paul lowered her to a seat.

John had said nothing since the incident. At the hospital, he immediately underwent four hours of surgery. The bones in his hands and left foot had been pieced back together. The weeks and months ahead would require extensive reconstructive surgery and lengthy physiotherapy. The pain and scars would be lifelong reminders of a day best forgotten.

Detective Clarke had spent most of the afternoon and evening at the hospital. He had talked to Clare O’Neil and her husband, neither could offer any insight into why John Kilroy attacked their son. He had managed to get hold of Cara and arranged to talk with her the following afternoon at the station. Now he was eager to speak with Kilroy's wife and son.

Anne Kilroy sat silently, occasionally wiping tears from her eyes. Rick stood at the end of the bed, looking at his watch more frequently than his father.

After some time, Paul bent down to his sister and said, "Anne, we should go now." She turned to look at him.

"Can't we stay a little longer?"

"We can come back soon. Detective Clarke needs to talk to you and Rick. It won't take long."

She looked over at Clarke and studied his face. He looked back at her and thought of his mother. "Okay," she said. "That's fine."

She rose and walked unaided to the door. When his mother and Paul were gone, Rick bent over his father, whispered a few words, and kissed his forehead. John Kilroy suddenly convulsed violently. His back lifted off the bed, and his arms swung wildly on the wires that supported them. Rick jumped back and fell over a chair. In seconds, John was still, his arms swinging back and forth above his chest. A bell went off, and a nurse raced through the door. She checked the monitors and started to attend to John. Anne rushed back in just as John opened his eyes. He looked straight at her and said, "Anne, my darling, where am I?"