“Emergency!” “Christ! Who shot her?” “Don’t know.” “What a mess.” “Better call Dr Warburton.” *** Bright lights. A sharp, antiseptic smell. Pain. Nausea. Feel so weak. The cat, who’ll feed the cat? “Marlowe.” “She’s babbling.” “She’s lost a lot of blood.” Blackness. “Have we lost her?” I don’t want to die! *** A jumble of images, my mother, my father, but his face is so vague. “Daddy!” Nothing. *** A man scowling, with a needle. “I’m going to put you to sleep. You won’t feel a thing. Just count backwards from ten...” “Ten, nine, eight...” *** Nightmares, very vivid, all too real. So confused. So weak. *** Distant voices. Laughter. A nurse, smiling, reassuring. *** Alan, tears in his eyes. “Don’t cry, Alan, don’t cry...” *** Aching all over. Can’t move my shoulder or arm. Very tired. More nightmares, too black to dwell on; make them go away... *** Sweating. Drowning. I catch my breath, like breathing for the first time. Eyes blink awake. Gasping. Try to rise, but head hurts too much. Fall back on to the pillow. I ache all over, but I’m alive! *** I was alive. But with a snowstorm gripping the city and with an unknown assassin closing in, I faced the most dangerous moment of my life and the very real prospect of feeling the big chill.