Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9)

by Michael Christopher Carter

  “Yay! Can we have pancakes?” they skipped.

  Mandy walked slowly behind. “You can have whatever you like.”

  As the girls trotted down the stairs, Mandy popped her head back into Debbie and Matthew’s bedroom. He still sat, staring out of the window. He didn’t look up as she waited in the doorway.

  “We have to get him help. We can’t do it by ourselves.”

  Debbie nodded. She knew Mandy was right. “Where’s that doctor’s phone number?”

  The necessary calls were made, and a short while after the pancake debris had been cleared there was a knock at the door.

  “Should we go and get him, or let them go up to him?”

  Debbie shrugged. “We’ll let them decide, I guess.”

  Mandy pulled open the door. “Mrs Morrissey?” a gangling figure held out an ID lanyard. “I’m Steve, one of the psychiatric nurses from Southmead. And this is my colleague, Gemma.”

  Steve’s long limbs gave him the appearance of an insect. His striped woollen jumper, too warm for the time of year, jarred with his shock of ginger hair, which fought with his freckles which in turn managed to offend next to the fabric of his jumper. Even the gold of his wedding ring made an unpleasant addition to the orangey hue.

  Gemma, in contrast to Steve’s pole body, was robust, round and solid. She almost looked as though she could roll away; like she might wobble, but not fall down. Her full blonde bob accentuated the circumference of her face. Between them, the pair stood with uncomfortable smiles looking like a modern take on Laurel and Hardy.

  “I’m Mrs Morrissey. Please come in. Thank you for coming so soon.”

  Steve grinned, a nasty yellowing of a tooth set back from the rest added one colour too many. “That’s quite alright. We were in your neighbourhood, so…”

  “Where’s Matthew, then?” Gemma asked, her Bristolian accent the strongest Debbie or Mandy had heard in a long time.

  “He’s upstairs. Should we get him, or do you want to go up?”

  “Is he expectin’ us?” Gemma asked, and in response to the ladies’ shaking heads, she tapped Steve’s arm and said, “We’ll go up to him then. Is that okay?”

  Debbie continued nodding. “Right at the top of the stairs. It’s the first door on the right.”

  “Hang on, do you want some background first?”

  Stepping back from the stairs, Steve took on his listening stance; head cocked and hands clasped in front of him.

  “Well, the thing is, he seems to think he’s killed someone.”

  Debbie gasped and clasped Mandy’s arm for support. “Who?” she whispered, and Gemma and Steve cocked their heads like dogs at the rustle of a biscuit packet.

  “Well, that’s the weirdest thing. He says he killed me. When I was a girl.”

  Steve nodded as though this was all part of a normal day. “Thanks. We’ll go up and have a chat with him now.” Extending yet more orange with his nicotine stained fingers, he brushed Debbie’s arm, “Try not to worry.”

  Tramping up two steps with each stride, Steve made rapid progress to the top, while Gemma took a one foot meets the other half-step at a time snail’s pace. He happily waited at the top sporting what he seemed to presume was a confident professional smile.

  Reaching the door, Steve gave a gentle rap before the inevitable louder knock when Matthew didn’t answer. Pushing the door open, the pair stepped inside to see Matthew sitting in a chair at a table in the bowed window.

  “Hello, Matthew. Do you mind if we have a quick word?”

  Matthew turned to face them. His eyes lit up in recognition. “I can’t believe they’ve called you, but I might actually be glad to see you.”

  “That’s great. My name’s Steve,” said Steve, arm outstretched. “And this is my colleague, Gemma.”

  “Aright, bod?” she greeted with a smiling nod.

  Matthew stared. “I know,” he glowered.

  “Do you mind if we take a seat? P’raps Gemma could sit on the bed. Would that be okay?”

  “Yes. Whatever. Do you think you could explain what’s going on, please?”

  They took their positions, Steve placing his hands flat on the table like blueprints of their plans. “What it is, Matthew, your family are worried about you. I understand you’ve been missing for a while. Is that right?”

  Matthew remained motionless and Steve continued. “Mandy, your sister, tells us you might have something troubling you. Why do you think she might have said that, Matthew?”

  Matthew sat forward. “She’s not my sister.”

  Steve nodded, but Gemma spoke. “Tell us what happened to your sister, Matthew.”

  “I’ve told them all before. At the hospital.”

  “Humour us?”

  Matthew sagged back in his seat. He didn’t want to talk about it, but then he wanted answers. He really did want those. “My sister is dead.”

  “And how did she die, Matthew?”

  Smoothing fingertip against the fabric of his trousers, Matthew looked up, moist eyes meeting Gemma’s. There was a short version and there was a long version. The short one was too abrupt. It placed the blame on Matthew far too quickly. If he was going to tell them what happened, he needed to ease up to it.

  “It was Christmas Day. I was seven. My sister, Amanda—Mandy—was two and a half.” He stopped. The pain evident in his face as his cheeks hung in dour demonstration. Pleading with his eyes to make it stop.

  “Carry on. I know it must be hard, but we need to hear it if we’re to help.”

  Matthew nodded. “We’d opened all our presents. She’d got more than me. Well it seemed like it. There was a shared present that should have been mine, but…”

  “What was that then?”

  Matthew hung his head and garbled. “A computer. Mandy had loads of doll stuff: a pram, a rocking crib, a cooker… all sorts. I had one action-man, and my share in the computer because it was ‘expensive’.”

  “Okay, Matthew. So what happened? Take your time.”

  “It was all my fault. Mandy was in her room so I snuck into the box room at the front which was now the new computer room. It was all set up. It took my dad most of the morning and a lot of swearing, and then of course he had to have a go, but he didn’t know what he was doing.

  “When it was finally free, I loaded up one of two games we had. Took forever with the little tape player. I had to get the volume just right or it wouldn’t load. I remember it like it was yesterday; ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame.’” Matthew sighed and blinked his grey eyes.

  “I’d barely started playing, when suddenly Mandy was tugging at my arm wanting to have a go. ‘In a minute, Mandy,’ I said. ‘It’s not your turn.’” The tears streamed into Matthew’s mouth. “I’m sorry,” he spluttered. Can I have a minute?”

  “Of course.” She turned to Steve. “Why don’t you get Matthew a glass of water?”

  Easing his gangling height from the confines of the bay window, Steve stepped to the door. He paused in the opening, hoping Matthew wouldn’t restart without him.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Gemma hopped off the bed and took his seat. Resting her forearms on the table, her smile was warm and encouraged Matthew to talk again.

  “I pushed her. I pushed my little sister because I cared more about a fucking game!”

  Gemma was sure she knew what happened next, but the details seemed important. “Then what happened. What happened to Mandy then, Matthew?”

  The words trembled between Matthew’s lips. Once released they could never go back. Blinking his eyes shut, he uttered the next line with them closed. “She fell,” he rasped. Shuddering. He couldn’t say another word. Burying his face in his hands, he clawed at his skin, guttural cries echoing from the walls as pain of the memories sliced into him like mortal spears.

  “Here’s your glass of water, Matthew,” Steve said as he closed the door. Looking up, he saw Matthew’s distraught face. “Oh. Is everything okay?”

  Gemma nodded. “It w
ill be.”

  Matthew brought his knees so his feet sat on the cushion, and he swayed back and forth and side to side.

  Steve placed the water in front of him but Matthew didn’t touch it. Muttering under his breath at his lost seat, he took Gemma’s place on the bed.

  “What happened when she fell, Matthew?”

  He stopped rocking and turned his gaze to her. Moving his feet back to the floor, he rested his hands on his knees. “I don’t know… I’m not certain. She screamed. I looked back…” Matthew screwed the knees of his trousers in his fists and began swaying again, his glazed eyes stared into space.

  “When I looked…” A sob creaked in his throat. “… she was gone. Then I heard Mum crying and Dad was yelling. The bannister posts had snapped. She must have fallen into them and broken them,” he sobbed, the swaying making the chair legs bump off the ground.

  “When I peered over the edge…” he stopped talking.

  “Oh my, Matthew. How awful.” Reaching across, Gemma placed her hand on his arm. “Poor Matthew.”

  “Mum took it worst. They both blamed me. And they should. It was my fault. I killed my sister. And my mother too.”

  Struggling to keep her hand in its comforting position, Gemma had to ask, “Your mother? How? What happened to her?”

  Matthew’s eyes still stared at nothing. He needed the detachment to continue. “They blamed me. I blamed me. We never got over it. School work suffered, but it was better than being at home. They called it an accident, but I knew they didn’t believe it. They never hugged me. They barely even spoke to me again.” Gemma squeezed his arm for him to continue, but she feared where this tale might finish.

  “The next year. Christmas. My dad had put a tree up, but Mum made him take it out. There were no presents. I don’t think I would have wanted any. It was hard. So, so hard. And like I say. Mum took it worst. Dad tried to make it a bit Christmassy when Mum went up to bed early. We pulled some old crackers from the year before and watched ‘Back to the future’ wearing silly hats. But then the screaming started again…”

  “She was dead, Mum. Taken loads of pills. Dad called an ambulance, but she’d been dead for ages by the time they got there. And I’d never spoken to him since until yesterday. It must be his revenge. He must think I haven’t suffered enough. But it’s weird.”

  “What’s weird?” Steve piped up.

  “Getting these people to pretend to be my family. The Mandy girl doesn’t even look how I imagined my sister turning out. She was much prettier. But the mum? Wow, he’s done a fucking good job finding her, I’ll give him that. And it’s worked. It’s brought it all back. And now I feel like this.” His eyes flashed. “Like I did before.”

  “And how’s that?” Gemma asked with a caramel soothing voice.

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  “What do you mean ‘here?’ Here in this house?”

  Matthew shot a look that indisputably clarified it was more than just this house he wanted to leave.

  “Don’t do anything silly, Matthew. Leave it with us and we’ll find out what’s going on, okay?”

  Matthew nodded. He knew what was going on, but having his cruel dad forced to admit it to the nurses oddly satisfied him.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  The family, minus Matthew, sat in the huge lounge on two of the sofas, leaving another free for Steve and Gemma to take centre stage. When they’d repeated Matthew’s versions of his unforgettable Christmas, there followed a stunned silence.

  Debbie, hands clasped tightly, stared at the floor, her in-laws exchanging incredulous glances. Eventually, Alan spoke. “That’s some story. Where has he come up with that?” Gnashing his teeth, he fumed, “It makes me feel sick!”

  “It’s difficult to say, but he is pretty convinced it’s true,” Gemma replied with a stern nod.

  “But how?” Debbie’s soft voice rose from the corner.

  Steve tilted his head. “I don’t know, I’m afraid.”

  But Gemma was more willing to have a stab at a diagnosis. “I think you guys have got it spot on.” With all eyes on her, she basked in the glory. With gregarious gestures, she explained. “The last couple of years have taken a lot out of him. His brain identified issues from his childhood and that’s where it took him.”

  “Issues? There are no issues in Matthew’s bloody childhood.”

  “No offense, but it’s obvious Mandy’s your favourite,” Debbie carried on despite the gasps from the other three. “You seemed to change a bit when he had success with the boat yard, but what did you do? Demand he set Mandy up in business!”

  “He was happy to do it.”

  “He was. Of course he was,” Debbie agreed with her father-in-law. “But I’m sure it bothered him that it was your first consideration. It bothered me.”

  Mandy uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way. “Sorry,” she said, but her face couldn’t disguise her true feelings. “But I’d have done the same for him…”

  “Listen,” Gemma commanded. “All families have their problems. When I mentioned issues in Matthew’s childhood, it wasn’t to apportion blame. Do try to understand his perspective though. He needs your support. He hasn’t invented all this on purpose.”

  Steve took up the mantle now, his uncertainty of moments before giving way to a new authority. “Do you have anything to convince Matthew he’s remembering wrong? Photos, childhood teddies or toys. You know, sentimental things.”

  Debbie left the room without speaking and returned with an armful of leather-bound albums. She passed them out, one each, leaving the remaining couple on the seat beside her.

  “Where did you get all these?” Mary mumbled.

  Debbie glanced up from the photos she was staring at. “Matthew’s childhood ones? There weren’t that many, admittedly, but they’re all from your loft. Don’t you remember? I got them out when we got married. For the wedding. That one of him holding two ice-cream cones was in the foyer of the hotel at the reception.” Mary nodded. “Next to one of me in a sandpit with my face covered in sand!”

  “It’s all round your mouth! Did you eat it?” Alan scorned with a smile

  A chuckle rippled around the room. Its relief welcome. “You said I could keep them because they were no use to anyone in the loft. So I did. There’s only about a dozen of Matthew and hundreds of Mandy. Half the ones of Matthew have got Mandy in them!”

  Mary quietened. The instant of laughter now tempered by the harsh critique of her parenting.

  “We’re really proud of him!” Exclaimed Alan. “He’s done really well.”

  “Until he had a breakdown with all the stress. I can see it written all over your faces! ‘When’s Matthew going to pull his finger out and get back to normal? Get back to earning?’”

  “That’s unfair, Debbie,” Mandy tried to be the voice of reason.

  “Is it?!” Debbie yelled, slouching back into her corner. She’d said enough for now.

  Rising up from their seats in unison, Gemma and Steve stood. “We’ll take a couple of these up to Matthew, okay?” No-one answered, so they backed quietly from the room, sharing a look when they were sure they were out of sight.

  Striding with new verve back to their patient, they were relieved though not surprised to find him exactly as they had left him.

  “What was the yelling? Have I done something wrong?” Matthew asked, staring still.

  Gemma was shaking her head as she sat opposite him, Steve clenching his teeth, silently cursing her for taking the lead role and the lead seat. “No, my lovely. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Seeing the relief in his eyes, she leaned towards him and placed a closed photograph album within reach. “I think you might like to look at that, Matthew.”

  He held his hands over it and drew them back close again. Performing the same movement half-a-dozen times, when he did allow himself to take it, he plucked it from the table and opened it in one brisk motion.

  Steve and Gemma stared, scrutinising his
expression as the meaning of the photos seeped into Matthew’s mind.

  Turning the pages, then turning them back, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I… I don’t understand. How have they done this? How did they make these?”

  Gemma smiled. “They are photos from your childhood, Matthew. There you are with Mandy. That is you and your sister, isn’t it?”

  Matthew nodded. “It looks like it, but this…” he pointed at a particular image of the pair of them in front of a grand Christmas tree. “This never happened!”

  “How old would you say you look in that photo, Matthew?”

  Matthew peered. “I don’t know. But Mandy’s there, so I can’t be older than seven.”

  “And what about Mandy? How old does she look?”

  A tear had formed in the corner of his eye as he stared at the picture. “She can’t be older than two and a half, can she!” he yelled.

  “Don’t be angry, Matthew. I’m on your side. I’m trying to help,” Gemma cooed. “Look again. How old does she look?”

  Matthew forced himself to peer again at the picture of him and his little sister in blissful anticipation of Christmas. “I suppose she looks about six.”

  Gemma stifled the smile crinkling her lips. “Turn the page, Matthew. What do you see?”

  “Me.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Riding a chopper bike, but I never had a chopper. I never had any bike. Dad put me into care after Mum… No-one ever took me into their home again, and who can blame them? All those kids in care because their parents are abusive, or they’ve been orphaned. Why would anyone take a selfish bastard who killed his sister for a go on the computer when there’s kids like them? No-one. And I never had a bike. This must have been done with editing software.”

  Ignoring his objections, Gemma pressed on. “In the background, there’s someone else. Also on a bike, a smaller bike, can you see?”