by J. A. Baker
‘And this one?’ Dane is standing in front of her, waiting for her reply. His smile is broad; a young lad brimming with excitement at having his life returned to him. A new life. A better one than the one he had. Money isn’t always the answer. Quite often it is the problem.
She reads the words printed on the side of the cardboard box in black marker pen and nods at the staircase. ‘Up there. That’s some of your stuff, your diaries and folders from your computer table.’
He stops and frowns, his breathing suddenly heavy and irregular. ‘Right. Well I might have a sort through it all, get rid of a load of stuff. Most of it is stupid kid’s things from when I was younger. No point hanging on to any of it, is there?’
She nods and smiles, another wave of gratification warming her. This is her Dane, the one she suspected was always in there yet didn’t dare hope. The positive happy Dane who was too afraid to step forward into the light. He has arrived at long last and she couldn’t be happier to see him.
‘Do you fancy a meal at the local after we’ve finished up here? I’ve heard they do a cracking steak and ale pie.’
‘Sounds great. And, Mum?’
She inhales, braces herself for whatever is coming next, her body on edge after so many years of unpleasant surprises and turmoil. ‘Yes?’
‘Thanks,’ he says quietly, a cerise web spreading over his neck and creeping up his face. ‘For everything.’
46
Dominic wonders how long he will have to stay here, whether he will ever be allowed to leave. He thinks that maybe he will never be a free man ever again but then, what does he know? He has hidden depths, facets to his character that run deep. An unhinged man, a dangerous psychopath. That’s all he is now. This is who he has become.
Teams of lawyers and psychologists have been to see him, talking to him, assessing his mental well-being, trying to see inside his head and work out his thought processes. His solicitor has advised him to plead guilty. To everything. That way he will avoid a trial and the media scrum that goes with it. The psychologists are still trying to use the line that he suffered a massive breakdown, brought on by years of hiding his murderous deed. They are wrong. All of them. He has no time for these people who think that life is a series of simple events; one thing leading to another until everything comes toppling down, the weight of it all too much to bear. They think they know everything there is to know.
They don’t.
They are ignorant of his life, of the crooked path that led him to this dark and lonely place. Only he has the key to that particular corner of his head, the shadowy dusty place that contains all of his dirty little secrets. The ones he has hidden away for most of his life.
Dr Reynolds claims that Clara wasn’t even Dominic’s girlfriend, that she was an acquaintance, nothing more, nothing less. Just somebody Dominic had become attached to, that their relationship was purely platonic and that she thought of him as a friend, a friend who had feelings for her that weren’t reciprocated. It’s nonsense. Of course it is. They were lovers, he and Clara; joined at the hip until she left for Scotland and distance drove them apart. If Dr Reynolds can’t see that, then maybe he should consider changing his profession, doing something more worthwhile. Something he is good at. He is supposed to be able to work people out, to unpick their snarled and knotted thoughts, the subtleties of their behaviour, and come to a logical conclusion but as far as Dominic can see, he knows nothing about anything and certainly nothing about Dominic and who he really is. Nothing at all.
If he wants answers, then maybe Dr Reynolds needs to start looking closer to home, casting his net wider and taking a good look at Dominic’s childhood and how he developed as a young man, how his parents berated him at every opportunity, how cruel and thoughtless they were with their constant put-downs and aggressive words and actions. That’s where the problems always begin, isn’t it? Home is where the heart is. Or the hurt.
Dominic wants them to ask him how his father died. He has been told that losing a parent at a young age will have impacted upon his personal growth, stunting his emotions, steering him off course. It was tragic of course, him falling off that ladder while working on the roof of the house. Tragic for many – but not for Dominic, not for the young man who shook that ladder then watched his father’s body fly through the air, his spine curved into an arc, before it landed with a sickening crack on the rough ground beneath.
His tears were well rehearsed that day as he ran into the living room to tell his mother that an accident had taken place, that he had tried to stop it, done everything he could but it had proved hopeless and that in the end there was nothing he could have done to save his father.
They cried together – a fifteen-year-old Dominic, clinging to his mother, listening to her sobs as they merged with his own howls of relief. He thought it was over that day, the misery and abuse. He thought he had put it all behind him. It was just the beginning.
It was almost instantaneous, his mother’s decline into a permanent state of anger and wretchedness, as if being left on her own with her son was too much to bear. Her gripes and moans grew. She more than made up for her husband’s absence, berating her son with the voices of two people.
Dominic lowers his head, stares at his shoes, thinking how little they all know – Dr Reynolds and his team. How little they delve and forage when questioning him. They don’t know where to look, how to properly question him, to open and highlight that dusty unlit corner of his brain that stores his many secrets and lies. He would tell them in a heartbeat, unburden himself of his sins. It’s a heavy load to carry, all this weight. All this knowledge.
All those deaths and murders.
He wants rid of it, to shed it all and start again. They just need to start asking the right questions. Then he will tell all. He will tell them everything they want to know.
* * *
THE END
Acknowledgements
There are, as always, so many people to thank once a book has been written that I am in danger of spending as much time compiling this list as I did writing the actual book. With that in mind, I will try to keep it brief, so here goes.
First and foremost, a huge thank you to Fred Freeman and Betsy Reavley. Their unwavering faith in me always helps to bolster my flagging confidence. Not only are they great publishers, they are also good, kind people who have helped to get many authors like myself, who would otherwise struggle to get noticed by the larger publishing houses, into print.
My editor, Clare Law, is somebody I trust implicitly, her wise words and guidance helping to shape my book and make it the absolute best it can be. Thank you, Clare. You do a magnificent job!
Tara, thank you so much for everything you do. You are an integral part of the team and help me to remember those all-important dates for editing and proofreading. I am also honoured to have you as a friend.
Who was it once said that if you think writing a book is hard work, wait until you come to try and sell it? Never was a truer word said, so a huge thank you to Maria Slocombe who works relentlessly, promoting our books and making sure they get the best coverage possible. Well done, Maria. You’re a gem!
The team at Bloodhound are a brilliant bunch – approachable, hardworking and friendly. Thank you to each and every one of you.
I couldn’t possibly write this without saying a massive thank you to my family and friends. You never complain when I disappear for weeks at a time, sitting at my laptop typing until my fingers bleed and my brain begins to melt. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
A huge thank you to all the bloggers who help promote my books free of charge. You guys are quite literally, diamonds. Keep on shining bright.
And finally, thank you so much to you, dear reader, for choosing my book and taking time out of your day to read it. I hope you enjoyed it and if you feel so inclined, a review would be most welcome.
I love chatting to people so please feel free to drop in for a chinwag on any of my social media sites.
Facebook.com/thewriterjude
Twitter.com/thewriterjude
Instagram.com/jabakerauthor
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Best Wishes
Judith A. Baker
A note from the publisher
Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it please do consider leaving a review on Amazon to help others find it too.
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We hate typos. All of our books have been rigorously edited and proofread, but sometimes mistakes do slip through. If you have spotted a typo, please do let us know and we can get it amended within hours.
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