Bryant focussed through the pain in his head to stare into the face of Terry, the red-tee-shirted volunteer.

‘What the?…’

‘Stay still, or I’ll hit you again,’ he said in a voice that Bryant didn’t recognise.

They had talked amiably as Terry had shown him to the locker room. They’d chatted about the weather, about the hospital, and Bryant had never suspected a thing.

But his voice was different now; cold, hard, emotionless.

He tried to think through the fog that was bearing down on his mind from the bang to the head. What the hell did Terry have to do with anything? He was an invisible, someone who moved around the hospital unnoticed by staff, patients and public. Was he trying to help or protect Giovanni Mancini? Nothing was making sense to him.

A sudden cry sounded from the other side of the room.

Bryant squinted his eyes and saw Vanessa Wilson, tied and gagged against the opposite wall.

‘What the hell is?…’

‘I’m going to give this bitch a chance to apologise before I cut her throat,’ Terry said, reaching down and ripping the gag from her mouth.

Apologise for what? Bryant wondered, trying to understand this alternate reality in which he’d found himself. For a second he wondered if he had woken up, but the throbbing from the back of his head confirmed this was no dream.

‘You bastard, where’s my daughter?’ Vanessa spat.

‘She’s safe,’ he said. ‘For now.’

Bryant was desperately trying to play catch-up but realised he was running a completely different race. He knew this man had knocked him out but he had no clue why.

‘Come on, bitch, tell him what you did. Tell him how you ruined my fucking life.’

‘Richard, there was no way we could save…’

‘Fuck off,’ he cried, kicking her ribs, hard.

She cried out with pain as her body fell to the side.

Who the hell was Richard? Bryant wondered watching the exchange between the two of them and trying desperately to understand.

‘You didn’t even try. You gave me the choice: my wife or my child,’ he cried. ‘You quoted statistics, fucking numbers at me while my wife lay dying on the operating table. All three of you gave me percentages and mortality rates when I couldn’t even think. That’s all we were to you, just numbers. You wanted me to make the decision; you wanted me to make the choice. You told me my child would have the better chance.’

Terry glared at her as she held her side and coughed. ‘Who the hell can make that kind of choice?’

Bryant tried to keep up while appraising the room. It was clearly no longer used as a ward but would once have held four beds judging by the equipment on the wall. A metal bin sat beside a small hand basin next to which was a door.

And why was she calling him Richard? His name tag referred to him as Terry, which was doing nothing to help Bryant’s confusion; but he knew one thing for sure. If he was in the room and having trouble trying to work it out, his team didn’t stand a chance. He was on his own and no one was coming.

His boss knew he’d gone to check the lockers but he’d been knocked out and had no clue where he was now. The hospital was a warren of corridors and staircases, dead ends, and outdated wards not used any more. They’d never find him.

‘Okay, so there’s no point wasting any more time,’ Terry said, moving towards Vanessa.

‘But what about your baby?’ Bryant asked, trying to keep up. He’d said something about a choice between his wife and child.

‘Two weeks,’ he whispered. ‘And then my son died anyway.’

‘Wait,’ Bryant said. ‘Give her another chance.’

Terry shook his head.

‘No, she’s already made her choice.’