Chapter 4 � Blood on his hands

 Chapter 4 – Blood on his hands

I didn’t tell Molly what I’d seen. She knew something had upset me but diplomatically let the subject drop, figuring it was just my usual after work blues. When I got home, Keira pestered me one again about her hair, knowing full well I was softer than her mother, and too tired to argue. Joseph, too, sidled up to me as I sat slumped in the armchair, feet propped on our rather battered coffee table, with the flickering light from the muted TV lulling me into light doze.

“Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Can I go out tomorrow night?”

“Mm.”

Joseph paused, waiting for me to listen properly. After a few moments I said, muzzily, “Where to?” Joseph shuffled his feet and nervously flicked his messy hair from his eyes.

“To a concert.”

“To see who? And where?”

“Red Hot Chilli Peppers. At the Apollo.” I sat up slightly, turning to face him.

“Okay.” I said slowly. “So, whom are you going with?”

Joseph blushed, the pink tinge as revealing as if he’d spoken it. “The girl you like from school?”

An embarrassed nod.

I laughed, and patted the arm of the chair. Joseph sat, slumping much as I had been two minutes earlier. “I found out that the likes the Peppers too, so, you know, I thought…”

“It’s a good plan. You know, I met your mother at a concert.”

“Really?” He moved, sliding onto my lap. He was getting far to heavy to sit like that any more, but still I wrapped my arms around him and allowed him to curl up into a ball (albeit with the odd gangly teenage elbow or knee sticking out) like he had when he was still a toddler. I nodded, smiling, memories rising unbidden. Like smoke in the air, curling, twisting towards the light, towards me…. The smile faded briefly and I forced the image away from me.

“What happened?” Joseph was watching me again, his blue eyes wide with curiosity.

“Well, at that time your Uncle Gary had only just started dating Evelyn, and both of them were still shy with each other. So, when they got tickets to a concert, Gary dragged me along, and Evelyn your mother, and made us sit with them while they giggled and went all gooey with each other. Your mum and I hit it off immediately but it was 2 years before I plucked up the courage to ask her to marry me. A few years later, you came along, and here we are.”

Joseph wrinkled his nose. “Nice story, Dad, but I don’t want to get married to Kelly.”

“I never said you had to!” I laughed. “We were a lot older than you when we met. Plus, taking her to a concert isn’t like giving her a ring. It’s just a first date!” Still he frowned, so I gently pushed him up. “Go, have a good time. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Just don’t be home too late, and ring if you get into any trouble.”

“Okay.” I ruffled his hair.

“Off to bed with you, then. It’s getting late.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight, Joseph.”

I sat for a while, just remembering what the special concert had been like until Molly wandered in and pulled me up to bed.

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I didn’t sleep very well that night. My dreams were filled with spinning helixes, echoing footsteps, and Mike’s cruel laugh, which somehow twisted itself into a little girl’s screams.

The morning came: grey winter light crept sluggishly into the room, slowly swallowing up the night’s shadows and with them any shred of sleep that might had offered me respite.  It slipped, like a cat, though the gap in the curtains, brushing over the furniture; the pine draws, the carved wooden bedstead, and across Molly, curled up as she was against me. Her hair smelled of cherries, and was soft beneath my fingers as I gently brushed it away from her face. She didn’t stir.

Feeling slightly envious of her, I extracted myself from her arms, and in only a loose pair of slacks, shuffled to the bathroom. In the mirror, I looked into the face of a tired stranger with sandy hair sticking up at odd angles, and bags beneath his eyes. “Get some more sleep.” I said, aloud, and then felt slightly foolish. I was talking to my reflection, for god’s sake.

I stood in the shower for a while and let the warm water wash over my tense body. It felt like heaven, even when I got soapsuds in my eyes. Even so, it didn’t soothe all my anxiety away, like I had hoped it would, and by the time I heard the rest of the house beginning to stir I was still feeling prickly and restless. About what, I wasn’t entirely certain.

It was getting on for seven o’clock when I finally got out. I’d set a towel out on the radiator beforehand so now it was toasty and warm as I wrapped it around me. There was a knock on the door. “Come in.” I said, and Molly shambled in, her dark hair messy from sleep and wrapped in her terrycloth dressing gown. When she saw me with only a towel wrapped around my waist, she grinned sleepily. “Good morning, honey.” She wrapped her arms around me, regardless of my still damp skin. “You smell nice.” She mumbled.

I smiled into her hair and squeezed tightly. “That’s because I just showered.”

“Mm.” She stood on her tiptoes (she was only 5”5) and planted a sweet, passionate, good morning kiss on my lips. I pulled her closer, and we may have stayed like that for a while had a disgusted cry not interrupted us.

“Eew! Get a room!” Keira stood in the doorway, her face a mask of horror.

“We’re in a room.” I pointed out mildly.

“I meant one no one else uses!” She covered her eyes and ran out, declaring that we had scarred her for life.

A few minutes later I was sat at the kitchen table, munching on slice of toast spread with strawberry jam. Joseph was fluttering around making some cereal, and Keira, having recovered from the horrendous sight of her parents kissing, was searching for her school shoes. Why she thought they could be in the kitchen I do not know.

Now the prospect of going back into work was taking the edge off my appetite, so I talked to Joseph instead.

“What are you wearing tonight?”

He shrugged. “Jeans and a t-shirt, probably.”

“Take a jacket.”

“Daaad! It’s inside!”

“You think there won’t be a queue to get in? And it’s the middle of winter. You’ll freeze without one.”

Joseph huffed, but saw reason and promised to take one with him.

By quarter to eight we were all ready to go – Molly to take Joseph and Keira to school before going onto her job as a college science teacher; and me off to the hell-hole I called work. I still had those last three reports to collate, and another execution scheduled for this morning.

Also, what if someone had seen me hanging about last night? I hadn’t done anything wrong, I had nothing to answer for, and yet I felt strangely guilty, as if I had stumbled onto something I was really not supposed to hear. And, I suppose, I wasn’t.

Still, like every other morning, I got into the car, switched on the radio and drove. As I pulled out, a song by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers, the band Joseph was going to see, came on. My mouth fell open/ hoping that the truth/ would not be true. I frowned slightly as some idiot in a red Toyota swerved in front of me. Refuse the news- I beeped my horn as he tried to turn from the wrong lance, momentarily drowning out the music –feeling sick now/what the f**k am I supposed to do? On either side, concrete buildings blurred past, morphed into high wire fences, a security post, guard, and then the car park. Just lose and lose…

I switched off the engine and the radio died, before sitting for a moment with my hands clasped tight on the steering wheel, staring unseeingly at the cold glass-faced building on the other side of the windscreen. I feverishly hoped a freak meteorite storm would smash it to bits so that I didn’t have to go back in there. I was wishing so hard that I must have jumped at least a foot as someone rapped on the window. “Sophie!” I cried, opening the door. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“I did stand there for a while, waiting for you to notice me.” Today she was dressed in a flattering pink t-shirt and long creamy skirt beneath her white doctors coat. It must have been getting down to 4 degrees Celsius, but she didn’t seem to notice the cold at all, even as I stood there shivering.

“Sorry.” I gave her a weak grin. “I was miles away.”

“What were you thinking about?” She asked as we hurried towards the warmth of the foyer.

“Nothing exciting. Why?”

“You looked worried. I was just wondering if everything was okay.”

My next smile was forced and probably wasn’t fooling anyone, let alone a qualified psychologist. “It’s all good, Sophie. I just have some files I have to get done this morning – I really should go do them now. I’ll see you later.” And with that I fled to the relative safety of my office to hide in the quiet while I finished my reports.

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Lunch came and went and no one had yet tried to get at me for last night’s little escapade. Maybe no one had actually noticed. Maybe.

Now, however, I had another death to deliver.

The execution room was stark and chilling; bright fluorescent lights illuminated the room with a harsh white glare, glinting off metal panels and wires and interfaces. In the centre of the room was a solid oaken chair. It was bolted to the floor and heavy duty leather straps hung loose from it when it was not in use.  It looked like the throne of some medieval prince of death, with its metal skullcap and robust restraints. Trailing from it where a number of electrodes, which were in turn connected to a large bank of computers a few meters away. On it, dials and leavers and buttons, coded in reds, blues, yellows and greens, looked out of place among the dominant white and chrome.

As I waited for the prison guards to bring me my next vic- the next criminal, I paced up and down, feeling slightly queasy. As it was every time I did this, I promised myself that I would quit after this last one. But, since I had done it five times in the last week alone, and I was still here, you could see how good the promise was.

An angry shout announced the criminal’s arrival. Three burly guards burst through the swinging door at the far end of the room, man-handling their kicking, screaming prisoner inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, but it was hard to tell, as his nose was broken, streaming bright, oxygenised blood onto the tiled flooring. His face was screwed up in fury. “You can’t do this to me!” He screamed. “This is an infringement on my human rights!”

Since when does the government care about human rights anymore? I thought. You’re just a statistic to them. The three guards, familiar to me as the often brought prisoners down, grimaced as the man bucked wildly, spraying them all with blood. “What happened to his nose?” I asked, still standing back.

“He head-butted Charlie.” Replied the guard whose khaki uniform was most spattered.

“Let me go, you sons-of-b*****s! I won’t be slaughtered, no f*****g way!” He lashed out and caught one guard across the face with his elbow, and was rewarded with a punch to the stomach that had him wheezing and coughing. More blood sprayed across the floor. It was starting to look like some sort of massacre had taken place.

“Please, get him strapped down.” A mishmash of emotions was tumbling around inside me; I pitied the man, for he obviously knew what was coming, but then I was also afraid of him. I’d seen desperate men gain remarkable strength in their bids to get away.

“YOU!” I jumped again as the bloody prisoner tried to lunge forward, glaring daggers at me. “You’re the sick f**k that’s going to murder me!”

“No, Mr-“ I consulted the paper I’d been given, “-Roberts. This is simply a medical check-up before-“

“Bullshit!”

I recoiled involuntarily as he roared. “Honestly, Mr. Roberts, it really is just-“

“Don’t lie!” A knee to one of the guard’s groins, another elbow to another face, and then he tore from their grip and flew at me like a demon possessed.

“You government scum you’re all the same you don’t give a damn about anyone but yourselves!”  He was heavier than his slim form suggested, and knocked me clean off my feet as he rugby tackled me to the ground. I think I might have yelled in pain as my head connected with the edge of the chair, but Roberts was still screaming and spitting and I could barely breathe or see or move as hands clawed at my throat and my face, bitten fingernails rising thin lines of blood across my cheek as stars exploded behind my eyes. I was going to die by this furious, deranged…terrified…

There was a sickening crack, and then stillness. For a moment I could do nothing but gulp in great, shuddering breaths and wonder why I was still alive.

“Are you okay, Dr. Kite?” A guard appeared in my field of vision, looking concerned even as he slipped his baton back into his belt.

“Get him off!” I gasped, and the other two helped the first roll the limp body off me. I touched a hand to my cheek where I was bleeding from a shallow scratch, and then sat up slowly, holding my pounding head. I looked at Roberts, lying inert at my side – he was still breathing, although it was a harsh, rattling sounds. His nose had stopped bleeding now but blood was oozing thickly from a deep gash on the back of his head. He still frowned slightly even though he was out cold.

I turned away and stood, motioning for the guards to haul him into the chair, and faced the controls. I heard the buckles snap into place, one by one, and tired to breathe normally. “Are you okay?” A guard asked again, and I nodded – a lie – and tried to force my hands to stop shaking. Blood, my own and Robert’s, left macabre prints on the shinny computer node as I held it to steady myself.

The guards stood respectfully to the side as I attached the electrodes to Robert’s head and wrists, and then twiddled the dials on the computer. Although the machine was already calibrated to give the right measure of shocks for each body type, I had to input all that information: height, weight, bone structure, etc., all of which was given to me on the printed sheet, with the man’s photo. I tried not to look at it, nor at the real version of him collapsed in the chair.

I didn’t give a warning – this time there was no need, and there was a beep and a snap of taught leather, then silence once more. There was a slight pause before the guards unstrapped the body, in which I stayed facing the computer, and then they dragged it off to who knew where- some incinerator, probably. I felt sick again. I stepped over a puddle of blood and leant against the cool wall, trying to stop my head from spinning.

The man (criminal, victim?) had upset me. Disturbed and scared and shaken me.

They weren’t slaughtered, were they?  It was a humane was of killing. It stopped them from committing more crimes, didn’t it? I was just doing my job, just following orders, even if they were stupid and sick. I wasn’t like Mike… was I?

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Some time later I lay curled up in my armchair once again. The pain in my head had dulled to a mild, but insistent, throbbing, and the cut on my cheek had scabbed over.

Molly came back in with a fresh ice pack for my head, and perched on the arm of my chair. “How are you feeling?” She twinned her fingers into my hair. It was a loving gesture, something she always did, and I took comfort from it.

I made a face. “Grotty.”

“I’ll call mama, cancel our visit.”

“No, no, don’t do that. You and Keira go. “ Mrs. Signel, Henrietta Singel, Molly’s mother, had invited us round for dinner that evening. However, Joseph had run off to his concert and now I really wanted nothing more than to snuggle up and fall asleep, rather than have to smile and laugh and be polite.

Still, I knew Molly loved being with her parents, and I didn’t want her to miss out because of me. “Honestly, Molly, I’ll be fine.” I smiled to reassure her.

She sighed unhappily, but conceded. “Okay then. I’ll leave some soup in the microwave for you. Keira and I will be back about half nine, Joseph probably a bit before that.” She leaned down and pecked my un-scratched cheek. “Take it easy tonight, honey.”

“I will, love. Have a nice time."

“Will do. Come on Keira, let’s go.”

They both waved at me, my two girls, through the living room window as they ran out to the car, trying not to get too wet in the process. Darkness had crept up without anybody noticing – one moment it had been grey and dreary, and now it was dark and dreary. Drizzle fell, pattering against the glass, each drop caught briefly by the warm, honeyed light from the window before tumbling once more into the cold shadows. There was no wind, just the soft sound of the rain against the world.

In the kitchen, the clock ticked onwards, ever onwards, echoing slightly through the still air. For a while I listened to the gentle music they made, the clock and the rain, a silence created by a hundred little noises.

I wasn’t like Mike, I decided. That man was a law unto himself. Sometimes he would come down to watch an execution, like he did with Edward Greened, seemingly for the hell of it. He would stand to the side, cigarette smoke wafting about him, mouth twitched into a cruel smile, and his eyes glinting hungrily as if this soon-to-be-corpse was a sacrifice all for him. Sometimes I have nightmares where he leaps upon his victims and sucks their life out himself.

I couldn’t see where his perverse pleasure came from. It was a morbid activity and made my skin crawl all the more. Alone now, in the quiet and the dim light, I fancied I could almost see him stalking the corridors where the prisoners destined for death were kept, sniffing the air, deciding which corrupted soul he would feast on next.

I got up and made my soup, more to distract me from that unsettling image than from hunger. It was cream of chicken– obviously Molly held the same cure-all image of it as my mother had.

I switched on the TV, idly flicking between documentaries, sports, cartoons, and back again. It was just noise – I couldn’t focus on it. Eventually it made my headache worse so I turned it off and sat in silence once again. If there was a god up there, I thought, and his counter-part the devil below, then Mike Beraht was one of the Satanic One’s most devout advocates.

I think I must have fallen asleep then, and I dreamt of Mike dressed in a white suit, with small horns protruding from his forehead, telling me that has was a demon, he was a f****n’ demon, as black ooze trickled from his mouth, turned into smoke and warped to form his words in the air.

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I woke.

Later, I could not say what exactly had woken me, just that one moment I was fast asleep and dreaming, and the next I was looking fuzzily at my watch and wondering why it was so damn cold in here. I got up and turned the heating on, and then stood for a moment in the centre of the living room and tried to put my finger on what was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

The rain was still falling. The clock was still ticking. Something felt out of place but for the life of me I could neither hear, see, smell, touch nor taste what it was.

It was a little after nine, and Joseph should be home any minute. I went upstairs to the bathroom to pee, and looked into the mirror above the sink as I did so. A stranger, blinking sleepily back at me, the cut on his cheek pink and puffy, frowned for a moment. I frowned too. When I did, deep creases appeared in my brow. That made me feel old, so I stopped. At least the swelling on my head had gone down.

Suddenly there was a thump downstairs. I froze, and then jumped as someone started hammering on the front door. Who on earth…?

I went down into the dark hall, my heart pounding hard against my ribs. Who would be banging so hard, at this time of night? I had an immensely bad feeling about this. I paused with my hand on the handle, and then took a deep breath before opening it a crack.

I yelped as the door burst open wider, and a small, wet shape sent me stumbling backwards into the wall. “Joseph!”

I slid down the wall to the floor and Joseph collapsed into my arms, sobbing and shaking. He curled against me and clung to my shirt like he was drowning and I was his last lifeline.

I gently pushed the front door closed with my foot and held him close, rocking him and cooing softly. His hair was plastered to his head and cold rainwater began to soak through my own cloths. Joseph’s bare arms were pale and goose-pimpled, slick with dark water, cold water, sticky…water?

“Joseph, baby, what happened? What’s wrong?” It felt as if someone was tightening an iron band around my chest. I couldn’t breath and my hands trembled as I smoothed down his hair, rubbed his back. A thousand and one horrors ran through my mind at high speed, and all of them made me feel faint.

He didn’t reply; just buried his head in my shirt, still gasping for air. He was quivering too, I realised, even as his thin body was wracked with harsh sobs.

Who, what, had happened to him? My poor little Jo-Jo. He was cold, his skin icy, so I slid my arms underneath him and took him upstairs, navigating my way in the dark to the bathroom. I pulled the light cord with my teeth, and as the room flooded with light I almost dropped him. As well as the rain there were darker patches, browny-red, sticky and ghastly, marring his pale, perfect skin. His hands, curled limply to his chest, were covered in it. So much blood on his hands, on his cloths, on his arms.

I must have gasped out loud as Joseph looked up then, his beautiful blue eyes vacant, and squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, Dad,” he said, his voice reduced to a harsh, sob-raw whisper, “It’s not my blood.”

And then he fainted.

Reviews

[Tina Kline]

Another very good chapter. Now I'm waiting and hoping to find out what is going
on with Mike and Dr. Finley and what happened to Joseph. And how does
Jim slolve his problems with his job.

Tina

[Frances O'Neill]

As the story evolves the involvement seems more compelling.