Detained

Andy’s voice was raised and tight. “No fucking way.”

“We met with Will to tell him what we found out in Tengtou. To tell him he was innocent.”

“What? You…what?”

“I was in that riot, Andy. I got sprayed with Will’s blood when they shot him.

“They shot him?”

“And they beat him. And I fainted and another prisoner carried me outside.”

“Fuck me.”

“So I don’t need your help, Andy.”

“But you’ll share your sources. Get me in with Peter Parker.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? I’ll get you a story consultant’s fee, a producer’s fee if you like. A bloody job interview. Does Dad know this? Hell, why don’t I interview you, a firsthand source? Why didn’t you call me in on this?”

Darcy leaned on the balcony railing and looked down at the street below. If she dropped the phone Andy would shut up. He hadn’t asked if she was okay. Her post- traumatic stress suffering brother, the only one in her life who knew what being in a war zone was like, hadn’t thought to ask if she was hurt, if she needed help.

And she was the one who was supposed to play nice.

If they’d ever been close she might’ve told him how she couldn’t shut her eyes without seeing flashbacks, how any sudden noise, like a silly vase getting knocked over, made her freeze with terror. She could’ve told him how Will used his body to protect

her and died trying, and how she didn’t understand how she could walk and talk with her heart stopped dead in her chest.

She held her hand out over the railing.

“Darce, Darce, are you there?”

She could get a new phone, but not a new brother. He wasn’t well. She was better than that. “I’m here.”

“I’m coming to you.”

“Good luck.”

“Jesus, where are you staying?”

“I mean good luck with the story.”

There was a silence at Andy’s end now while he worked out she wasn’t mucking around. Then he growled. “You’re going to be a silly little twit and keep me out?”

“I’m going to do my job as a freelancer and get the story before you do.”

“I never thought you’d be so cutthroat.”

“No. You just never thought I was any good at this.”

“So, if I see you in the press pack, we what, pretend we don’t know each other?”

She sighed. “Something like that.” This was one story where she’d never have to stand with the press pack to hear about a lead but Andy hadn’t worked that out. And her strongest lead just entered the room, looking dishevelled and haggard but smiling.

“I have to go.”

“Un-fucking-believable.”