Who: Hardy and Open (to whoever answers CB radio post) Where: His apartment What: Fog stuff induced heart-attack When: This morning Rating: Hardy swears and he’s having a heart-attack.. I’d say high. Open: Yep! Status: Ongoing
The worse copper in Britain. That’s what they had branded him. If only they knew the bloody truth.
Hardy had been quite content to ignore the whole fog thing and keep to himself. He was used to be plagued by his own guilt over Sandbrook and what people thought of him so the whispers had been ignored for the most part. But, of course, then the bastard thing had started to come under the door. His was one of the first places due to being on the ground floor.
Miller had stopped by to call him a prick and ask if he was happy that Danny’s killer hadn’t been caught because he was pissing about on ‘fantasy island’ and that more children were turning up dead because of him. But it wasn’t Miller or the Sandbrook case or every other accusing person that affected him.
It was Daisy. Since the newspapers had printed that article and Hardy had moved out, he hadn’t heard from his daughter. She didn’t answer his texts or his phone calls. He’d lost track of how many times he had left her messages pleading - in his way - for her to call him back. She never did. But when the fog had started seeping in from under the door and all his accusers came through with it, Daisy turned up this morning.
‘You’re not my Dad anymore. I have a new one, he’s actually good at his job and gives a shit.’
At least that’s what it had sounded like. It was what Hardy was feared most of all, that he had lost her too. By lying, by keeping what his ex-wife had done from her (and everyone) and taking the fall for her mistake. Who bloody knew what her mother had told her. But hearing those words from this phantom version of the fifteen year old, made his chest twist.
‘Daisy’ shouted at him that it was his fault they weren’t a family anymore, that it was his fault that the Sandbrook killer had gotten away and now he had let another family down and another child killer go. The world would be a better place if he just dropped dead.
The pain was unbearable, just like last time. He couldn’t breathe properly, one hand clutching at his chest. He fumbled for the phone, swearing, trying to ignore the shouting and visions and blood dripping from the walls to pool on the floor. He needed help now. Or he was dead.