Unspoken Truths (a DI Gus McGuire case Book Book 5) by Liz Mistry

Author:Liz Mistry [Mistry, Liz]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books
Published: 2018-10-28T22:00:00+00:00

36

13:45 Premier Inn, Epsom Surrey

‘Storm Emma is wreaking havoc throughout the UK with Scotland and the north of the country being the worst hit. Here in Surrey, the met office has released a red alert. Clive Jones is on the ground with reports of road closures and freezing conditions. What can you tell us, Clive?’

Sean Kennedy pressed mute on the remote control and flung it onto the floor beside the bed where he lay sprawled in his boxers. ‘Fucking storm Emma.’ He parodied the over-excited tones of the BBC weather reporter. He’d been stuck in the room for hours – trapped in a stench of his own making with only the fucking BBC to keep him company. Or, at a push, one of the equally mundane TV channels, all of which spouted drivel about the weather at every opportunity. As if the UK population were incapable of looking out their damn windows and seeing the snow for themselves – idiots!

Limbs heavy, he lay in the overheated room, aware of the smell of sweat his body was producing. He was rotting from the inside out and, despite the free availability of hot water and toiletries, Sean couldn’t bring himself to move. Alternating between numbness, cramps and taser shots of pain, his body ached. His throat hurt when he swallowed – slivers of glass stuck at the back of his tongue. Immune system shot, there was nothing he could do but hope that it didn’t get any worse. Bet that fucking bitch had given him some germ or other – dirty bitch! Even at her lowest, the cunt was causing him grief. A hacking cough took him by surprise. It went on and on, slicing his throat – making his eyes water, forming droplets of sweat on his forehead.

Fuck, this was shite. Giving himself a minute to recover, he lay on his back, looking at the patchy paint on the ceiling through glazed eyes before he began to breathe slowly and shallowly from his chest. He could taste blood – sickly and thick which made him want to cough again – to get it out of his mouth. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing further – wishing he hadn’t knocked the water bottle off the bedside table onto the floor. In a moment he’d try to reach it, but not right now. Not till his chest loosened.

Taking care to move his hands only a little in case he provoked another coughing attack, he ran his fingers along the rumpled sheet. At last, just within his reach, he touched the familiar plastic of his inhaler. He wasn’t supposed to use it so often and it hurt like hell when it hit his windpipe, but he needed to ease his chest. Bracing himself, he stuck it in his mouth and took as deep a breath as he could whilst pressing the button releasing the dose into his shattered lungs. It stung like hell as it went down, and the blood taste increased, making his salivary glands fill his mouth with turgid spit.

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