Host of the Unforgiven

by G D Sheehen

  Philip was woken by the metal door of the cell creaking open.

  “There’s someone here to see you, Quinlan,” said a different duty officer from earlier, and Philip wondered how long he’d been out for.

  He sat up too quickly and got an intense head rush that sent him tumbling to the floor when he attempted to stand up.

  The garda called for assistance and by the time Philip came around he was being helped onto the bunk by two gardaí and Paul Walsh.

  “Easy there, Philip,” said Walsh, clearly concerned.

  “What are you doing here?” Philip managed to ask through a fog of disorientation, struggling to regain his balance and sit on the bunk.

  “I came to see if you were okay, and to give you your medication.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have bothered. I don’t need that shit.”

  “I respectfully disagree,” said Walsh and turned to the two gardaí. “Can we have some privacy please?”

  They hesitated, but after some calming reassurance, Walsh seemed so credulously to express, they left them alone in the cell with the door half open.

  He stood over Philip, the softening sunlight poured in the window casting a halo effect around his head. Philip took some deep breaths, regained composure but felt worse than he had in a few days.

  “They showed me this letter they found in your packet,” he said taking the zip lock bag out of his inside jacket pocket.

  “What is it?” asked Philip squinting his eyes as if that would help him remember what the gardaí had confiscated from him earlier.

  “It’s two suicide notes. One to your sister, Julie, and another for your friend, Rodge.”

  Philip hung his head. He could barely remember writing them but a vague memory of sitting in the pub on Baggot Street came to him. He had asked the barman for a pen and some paper and wrote them, then bought zip lock bags to keep them in so they wouldn’t get soaked and illegible after he jumped into the Liffey.

  “When were you planning to do this?”

  “I already tried. I couldn’t do it though. I had to see them one last time, to say I was sorry for everything I put them through. And to get some answers.”

  “That’s good to hear Philip, but why did you leave Dublin so abruptly? You never called about missing your appointment and Declan, at the halfway house, said he hadn’t seen you since Saturday.”

  Philip didn’t reply.

  “Did something go wrong with the girl, Sharon?”

  “No”

  “When was the last time you took your medication?”

  “I don’t need that muck. It fucks with my head and makes me see and hear things that aren’t there. I’m goin’ out of my fucking mind.”

  “It’s not taking it that’s making you see and hear things.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Your illness, Philip.”

  “What illness?” he said losing his patience. “I’m a junkie. I don’t have any illness. The pills help me stay off the gear, that’s all.”

  “You’re wrong. That’s not what they’re for. You have a mental illness, Philip. You have had for a very long time. But it makes you forgetful. You bury things that are difficult to handle.”

  “Mental illness. I don’t have any mental illness.”

  “You’re schizophrenic. I’ve been trying to determine for how long, in our sessions. That’s how I discovered many things are missing from your past. I didn’t want to press too hard and create more trauma. But now, I’m not sure if that was the right decision. And I think you should have gone from prison to a proper facility where you could get proper treatment.”

  Philip, feeling queasy heard the last words Walsh said fade into distant echoes. The shadows, the demons, the voices that plagued him now seemed more evil and present, even though he was being told they were manifestations of a mental illness he didn’t know he had.

  “Why did no one tell me this before?”

  “You’ve been told countless times. But I don’t think you were ready to hear it those times, so you locked the information in a vault.”

  Philip shook his head and repeated “This isn’t happening,” over and over.

  Walsh got down on his haunches and held his wrists which gave Philip a start. He stared at him wild-eyed.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want to help you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s my job, or, my duty, should I say? I’ve had this condition in my family. I lost my older brother to it. That’s why I took a special interest in your case.”

  “So, I’m a case study for your guilty conscience?”

  Walsh sneered, released him and stood, then took half a step back, but then settled back to his caring disposition. Philip stood up and stumbled a little before regaining his balance. He looked Walsh in the eye and could feel his compassion towards him but was at a loss as to how to express his gratitude. A scream built up inside him instead and he trembled in an effort to hold it down.

  Walsh took a bottle of pills from his pocket. “Please take these. Think of how well things were going the last few weeks when you were sticking with them. And now look at what’s happened in the last few days? That’s not a coincidence.”

  “But you don’t understand. Something else happened. Something I can’t take back.”

  “Whatever it is, we can sort it out. I’ll talk to your probation officer and sort things out. They won’t put you back inside.”

  Philip trusted Walsh as a man of his word but knew that if the gardaí found out about Dan or the girl, there would be nothing he could do. The last thing he wanted was to get Walsh mixed up in his mess.

  He took the pill bottle from him. “I’ll take these, but I can’t go with you. Not yet. I have to finish this first.”

  At that moment, he planned to not take them until he was done in Dunmahon. If that was, in fact, what let his demons come to the foreground, then that’s what he had to do in order to find out what they meant and what they wanted from him.

  “Is my lawyer here yet?”

  “You don’t need a lawyer, Philip. They’ve haven’t got much on you, despite the word of the manager who said you tried to steal.”

  “I never tried to steal anything. I wanted to buy some clothes, to look some bit respectable for seeing my sister.”

  “I believe you, and I think I convinced them of that too. I explained your situation and they said you were free to go any time.”

  “Then what am I still doing in this stinking shithole?”

  “I can take you to see your sister if you want. Maybe it’s safer if I drive you out there. It’s only twenty kilometres.”

  “Thanks, Mr Walsh. But you’ve really done enough. I’ll contact you when I’m done, I promise.”

  Philip unintentionally brushed off him on the way out the door. Walsh followed close behind and tried again to convince him to go to Dunmahon together but Philip wouldn’t hear of it. They reached the front desk, where Philip was brought face to face with the garda who processed him earlier.

  “Take it easy out there,” said the Garda. “We don’t want to see you in here again. We’re too busy with paedos and violent cunts.” He smiled, mistakenly letting through a bit of compassion.

  Philip’s belongings were returned to him and he headed out the door, into the glare of the afternoon sun. He shook Walsh’s hand and thanked him for driving down from Dublin and reiterated his intention to call him when he was done. They went in opposite directions, Walsh heading for the car park beside the station and Philip fading into the shadows cast by the grey brick buildings along the street.

  28

  Philip made his way through Waterford’s medieval streets, passing the fifteenth century Beech Tower along the way, before coming back out onto Merchant’s Quay and the bus station. He bought a ticket and the next bus to Dunmahon was at six-twenty. He went through the small bus station to go to the toilet. The cubicle was coin operated and would open after f
ifteen minutes once inside, to keep people like him from spending the night in there.

  He popped in a fifty-cent coin and the door swooshed closed behind him. As he was relieving himself he heard the main gent’s door open.

  “I’ve got you now, you little fucker,” came the unmistakable Dublin accent.

  Philip’s heart skipped a beat, he finished his business, zipped himself up and remained quiet. Overhead on his right was a small window that looked as if a child couldn’t get through. He had nowhere to go. Then the package came into his mind. He’d forgotten all about it. And now he had no bargaining power.

  “I know it’s you in there, Quinlan, so just come out and let’s get this over with. You know exactly what I’m looking for.”

  “Listen, Ray. I don’t have the gear. I was arrested this morning and-”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Junkie. You’re in enough shit as it is.”

  “I swear to you Ray. The fuzz were chasing me through a shopping centre and I had to stash it in the car park.”

  “You’re a liar. Now come out,” he said and tapped on the door with a hard object Philip assumed to be a knife.

  “Is Dan okay? It wasn’t me that stabbed him, you know. I came along and he was beating the shit out of a young-one on the street. I just tried to stop him and he went ape shit. He cut me with a knife, so I punched him. Then the bird picked up the knife and stabbed him. She took the package, then ODed.”

  “So, you had no problem taking it off a dead girl then, did you?”

  “It wasn’t like that. I wanted to return it to you. That’s why I held onto it. Let me go and get it and I’ll meet you back here later.”

  “What do you take me for? I chase you all over the country and I’m gonna let you go? I don’t think so. Now press that button and let’s go.”

  “Please Ray. There’s something important I have to do. Then I’ll do whatever you fucking want me to. Just let me go for now.”

  “No can do. You fucked with me family, stole my gear, then cracked my head open with a rock in the middle of a fucking forest. This can only go one way, Quinlan.”

  “You didn’t have to hurt those hippies at the commune.”

  “I didn’t hurt nobody. Just made myself a few new customers for life. After I get my stuff back off you, I might swing back there and make a few sales. Those knobheads were mad for it.”

  Philip eyed the window again and convinced himself he could make it through. That would put him at the back of the station building where he would have three choices. Go left or right along the back wall then head down the quay and try to disappear into the rush hour bustle. Each of these choices could risk bumping straight into Ray if he chose the same direction to round the building. The third choice was to jump into the Suir and swim downriver to safety. This could also attract unwanted attention and get him arrested for the second time in one day. He reconsidered the window.

  “I’m coming out, but tell me what you plan to do after I give you back your stuff?”

  “You don’t get to make requests in this scenario. Now come out, or your pretty little bird, Sharon, gets it.”

  The sound of her name sent shock waves down his spine, he nearly collapsed on the spot, his eyes teared up. He couldn’t believe they’d found out about Sharon.

  “Ah Jesus, Ray. She has nothing to do with this. I barely know the girl,” he said, then pressed the button, a static shock bringing some energy back to his knees as he touched it.

  The door slid open. Ray was much larger than he’d remembered. He grabbed Philip by the throat and thrust him back into the cubicle. Philip noticed the white dressing where Niamh struck him on the head.

  Ray knew exactly where the right pressure points were to render Philip near incapacitated within seconds. He lifted him clean off the ground and went eye to eye. His pointed face had several scars that could only be seen this close. He growled at him and Philip was annoyed with himself that he paid attention to how white and well taken care of his teeth were.

  “Now, you little scumbag. I’m gonna put my hands in your pockets to get me gear. Is there any AIDS infested pin pricks I should be worried about? I almost feel like a cop asking you.”

  Philip’s face was turning purple by now and he couldn’t muster a proper reply, only shook his head. Ray searched him, leaving no area to chance. On finding his heroin wasn’t on Philip he let rip with a crunching blow to his stomach and let him fall, bellowing to the ground, gasping for a breath that refused to enter his pressurised lungs.

  Philip curled up on the toilet floor, wheezing and coughing to get his breath, trying to speak, but nothing came out. Ray flicked open his straight razor that Philip now just became aware was in his hand all along. He knelt down and yanked Philip up by grasping a handful of hair. Philip instinctively slapped at his hand but Ray’s strength was like nothing he’d felt before.

  The only other person he’d known in his life who had comparable strength was Rodge. As he resigned to what was inevitably about to happen, he thought back to an incident when three youths from another village were kicking the crap out of him, on the ground outside a local community centre disco, for going off with a girl one of them liked. Rodge came out of nowhere, and as Philip’s vision slowly refocused, he saw the third of the boys crashing hard to the ground after taking a knockout punch from Rodge. I wish Rodge was here now.

  The door to the gent’s swung open and Ray quickly closed and put away the knife.

  “Lucky junkie bastard.”

  An old man unzipped at the urinal, at first, oblivious to their presence. Ray started to pull Philip up to his feet and the shuffling of Philip’s flailing limbs attracted the old man’s attention. The fright of realising he had company made him dribble onto his hand and pants.

  “Ah, for feck sake. Are ye aright there, lads? That fella pissed or what? Sure what else would you be doin'?” he said and broke down laughing, half stumbling around.

  Just a typical dole day,” said Ray, making the old man laugh more.

  He put Philip’s arm around him as if helping a drunk to their feet and rushed out of the bus station, drawing only a few surprised stares.

  A chilly wind had picked up and cut right through Philip. Ray escorted him to his Mercedes, parked in the car park next to the station building and bundled him into the passenger seat. He locked the central locking as he rounded the car to get in the driver’s seat, taking away Philip’s only chance at escape.

  “If you’re lying to me about the shopping centre car park, I swear to god, she gets it.”

  “I’m not lying, Ray. The cops took me in this morning.”

  “Why the fuck did they bust you and leave you out so soon?”

  “They thought I was shoplifting but I wasn’t. I was paying for the clothes. They had nothing on me.”

  Ray stared at him, hot daggers shooting from his murderous gaze.

  “Which way?”

  29

  Philip directed Ray down along the quay but went a little further than necessary to give himself some time to think. He had no doubt that Ray would go after Sharon if he crossed him, but he had to find a way to get away from him, if only for just a while, so he could see Julie and ask her about the schizophrenia. The news had caught him off guard, and for the life of him, he had no recollection of ever knowing about his illness. Could Walsh have been right? Did he block out deeply traumatic events in his life? It would certainly explain a lot.

  “Please let me go after I give you the stuff.”

  Ray looked at him with black eyes that reminded him of the demonic vampire king, lifeless and full of a thousand deaths.

  “Why should I?”

  “I need to see my sister. I haven’t seen her in years and I think she might be in trouble. I know you care about family.”

  “Ya, I care about my family, you dickhead. Not yours.”

  He kicked himself for his failed attempt to appeal to Ray’s humane side and for giving away that he wanted to visit his sister.
>
  “Dan was out of line. You know what he’s like.”

  Ray audibly breathed in his nose, clenched his fist and held it out, about to strike. Instead of a punch, he extended his index finger.

  “You had no right to interfere,” he said then put his eye back on the road.

  “He was stamping on the girl’s head. I just asked him to stop and he went for me. I threw one punch and he went down. She picked up his knife and stabbed him a couple of times-”

  “Four fucking times. Missed his heart by half an inch. Now shut up and tell me which turn to take.”

  “Swing a right up here, before the tower.”

  Ray took the turn and they were now just a couple of minutes from Red Square car park. Philip’s mind raced as a few raindrops splattered off the windshield. He stole a glimpse of Ray, his eyes steely and fixed hard to the road.

  He guided him to a right turn that took them to the entrance of the multi-story car park.

  “It’s hidden on the fourth floor.”

  He turned to look at him after taking the ticket and driving through the entrance. “If you’re lying to me, you know what happens.”

  “I’m not lying. It’s well hidden behind a fire hydrant. It’ll just take a few seconds to get it.”

  The Mercedes spiralled slowly up the levels until it reached the fourth floor. The rain was beating down now, lashing in the wall cavities of the car park.

  “Where?”

  Philip pointed straight ahead towards the door to the shopping centre. “Up there, to the left.”

  He pulled in just short of the door and grabbed Philip by the back of the neck, pulling his head down towards his knees. Ray reached down the seat beside him and Philip could make out the shape of the gun in the corner of his eye. Jammed hard against the side of his head, he felt the heavy coldness of the barrel and at once part of him willed it over right there and then. The thought soon left him as he remembered what he’d come to do. After that, Ray could do with him what he wanted.