Much Needed Rain

by R. G. Oram

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Frank’s last words, before – buried in emptiness.

  Chapter 49

  He woke up, feeling a hand over his throat. Yet no hand clutched his throat. Nobody by the bedside. But standing in the corner of the room with a knee length coat, legs spread out, no arms in sight, a greater height than Lewelyn, he mouthed a wordless whisper.

  ‘I ask only one thing – leave her out of this,’ Lewelyn planned to say until, noticing the legs below the coat had no feet. He swiftly grabbed and turned on his phone to illuminate that area.

  The intimidating coat hanger had transfigured its form in the night. It wore Lewelyn’s pale-grey, tweed coat giving itself a lifelike appearance. With a sigh of relief he dismissed the intruder, before turning his attention to another. She slept on her side facing him. Initially he was a little shocked to find that side of the bed occupied. Her arms spread across an imaginary dividing line to steal some of his side. David wanted to touch them, he didn’t. Not wanting to wake her while jetlagged from her travels.

  She was away for most of the year; managing the farm all day and every day – even Christmas. The animals and time difference made it difficult for them to keep regular contact. And Lewelyn hadn’t wanted her to worry about him. She had the whole farm to take care of.

  The long distance between them was hard, but they both understood and accepted the other’s desire to follow their passion. Some would call their marriage untraditional and pointless, then again, they weren’t the type to care how people perceived them.

  Lewelyn rolled himself to the side of the bed, placed his feet quietly on to the bedroom floor. He stole a brief backward glance at her. The half-moon mark enhanced her real beauty. She had been raised on a farm, used to long days and a strong sun. The kind of woman who wasn’t troubled by dirt under her fingernails, or worried about how people saw her. If you stared at the mark long enough she’d get up and ask you: ‘Is there something about me you find interesting?’

  His head turned again, a little longer. A sudden impulse drove him to stroke the dark, shoulder-length hair veiling her eyes and shoulders. He kept his hand on the bed end and then somewhat reluctantly, tore his eyes away.

  Looking around him, the house, a wedding present from his grandfather. Surprising them after their long break from everything, finding out the time of their arrival at the airport, the couple had expected to take a cab to their apartment, finding an old man at ‘Arrivals’ with a sign which read, ‘Hey Daf’ (Short for Dafydd), the welsh pronunciation for David. The bewildered couple frequently advising the old man he was going the wrong way. Finally stopping, outside the home Lewelyn currently lived in, Reg Lewelyn laughing at Sara and David’s incredulous, stuck-in-disbelief faces. Lewelyn remembered asking the man if he was crazy, maybe not using the exact word, but certainly implying it. Grandfather Lewelyn had said, ‘Wherever you live you want to have a good view, peace, and freedom to do whatever you want with the place.’

  Sara had recovered much quicker than David from that bewildering surprise and joked that she’d offer Reg some coffee, but of course it was at the apartment, miles away. Reg had put a hand behind his head, donned a full smile and replied, ‘I think you should look inside.’

  The beguiling surprise had returned.

  Lewelyn loving that memory, it was probably the longest time he had ever kept his mouth open, yet not one fly had entered. He wished he could invite Grandpa Reg over, but not possible now.

  He saw the journal placed on the bedside table, returning him once more to the present, dissipating the joy.

  What would he write about? Everything? What happened to today? The reason why his mouth tasted more like ash than champagne?

  The journey home from the hospital had been refreshing; no deafening sirens or long nosed reporters asking for a comment. He checked his phone when getting inside, it notified him of a missed call from Tom Forsythe. Calling back, Tom answered after the second ring. He wanted to know if Lewelyn wanted to speak to Jerome. Forsythe telling him this was his only chance to talk to the guy as the detective was going on vacation and Jerome would be off-limits after that. Lewelyn first thought it to be pointless – what would he gain from speaking to him?

  Looking for an answer when trying to make a quick decision, but only getting confused when even thinking yes or no.

  ‘How long can I have?’ He finally asked.

  Chapter 50

  Lewelyn had forgotten to bring his visitor’s ID badge and had to ask one of the officers inside the entrance atrium to make a call, then take him upstairs. Tom was at his desk waiting. He was perched on the desk, instead of the swivel chair and faced in the direction of the door when Lewelyn came in. He said Jerome had confessed to everything. Indeed, what he had said matched perfectly with the recording on Lewelyn’s phone.

  When CST was at the actor’s home they found a book full of newspaper articles of unusual killings and a few features on incarcerated killers. When questioning the neighbours, they all said Jerome was rarely seen outside. A housemaid who worked in the house stated that Jerome Harris: ‘was always in his room, only came out when he was hungry.’ LAPD tried to contact Joan Harris, but like Forsythe got fed the line: ‘Speak to my attorney.’

  Officer Clayton’s patrol car was found torched in the city’s outskirts. A powerful accelerant had been used. One of the investigating officers who went to its last known GPS location said: ‘You would have walked right past it.’ All the outside paintwork had been consumed in the all-engulfing flames.

  Forsythe used some words to describe his opinion of Jerome Harris with a few profanities delivered in the line. He showed Lewelyn into the monitoring compartment alongside the interview room. Jerome Harris, back rigid against his chair, tried to peer through the two way mirror. Lewelyn wondered if it was only his reflection that really interested him – he didn’t look to any corner or other direction, only to the area that copied his physical self.

  Tom said Lewelyn could go in any time, as long as he emptied all his pockets and followed procedure. Lewelyn relinquished what items he had and laid them on the table.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were married?’ out of the blue, Forsythe asked.

  If his mouth wasn’t gaping open it should have been. Lewelyn gave his best chuckle.

  ‘Well, technically I’m not.’

  Forsythe pointed at Lewelyn’s open collar where his wedding ring hung. Lewelyn looked down at it.

  ‘Technically we’re not. We got ourselves tied in Africa. We just haven’t quite gotten it registered yet.’

  Forsythe shook his head while chuckling.

  ‘You’re something, you know that?’

  Lewelyn replied, ‘Not the first time I’ve heard that.’

  ‘What made you decide to tie, in this case, the imaginary knot?’ Forsythe said with a composed face.

  Lewelyn gave his own head shake.

  ‘If I found the best words to describe it, they still wouldn’t be enough,’ he never let his eye contract break from Forsythe.

  ‘Congratulations. And If I don’t see you later, I just wanted to say I appreciated your help. You put a lot of effort into this and you weren’t getting paid for it. You could have just done what you were told and sat in a chair chewing your gums all-day. Not many people like being told what to do, but you understood the reason behind it. You’re one of the good ones,’ Forsythe put out his hand.

  What did Lewelyn do? He took the proffered sign of respect with a return grasp.

  Lewelyn was somewhat lost for appropriate words to reply. Sometimes silence was the most powerful speech, he mused, smiling inwardly at the oxymoron. He angled his head respectfully down a touch. Words were sometimes not needed – you let the silence around speak for you.

  Chapter 51

  For the first time he made himself a coffee in the RHD kitchen. He took one to Fors
ythe, who was too absorbed in his computer to process Lewelyn’s presence. The detective’s arms shook up and down when his fingers dived onto the keyboard.

  Jerome Harris grinned. Lewelyn couldn’t remember if it was the same grin Jerome had on when looking at his reflected self. He placed his coffee cup on the table in Interview Room 2. Not bothering to get Jerome anything, because he already had a can of soda in the room. His hands were cuffed in front, Lewelyn still kept the fuming coffee cup by the edge on his side of the table, just in case Jerome fancied doing some scolding.

  His head was down but it didn’t stare at the floor. Chin being a few inches away from the chest, Jerome could still make eye contact with Lewelyn. With his body close to the table’s edge, Lewelyn could see the guy wanted you to devote your entire attention to him. As if being wrapped snugly in a shell, with the head down, it made Jerome Harris look like a beggar on a winter’s night, but not wanting money, wanting an audience.

  Lewelyn had forgotten about the cold feeling he had had coming to RHD, his warm hands went face down to his thighs, pressing heavily down.

  Only observations made so far, both scanned the other’s attire. The silence becoming a problem, the inside of Lewelyn’s face felt like an unstable liquid – a few correctly chosen words might stabilise it and a wrong word could obliterate Jerome Harris.

  ‘Evening,’ Lewelyn said conveniently.

  No reply and Jerome kept the refuge within his shell. Lewelyn wasn’t giving any more than that, not letting Jerome make him beg for the scumbag’s attention.

  ‘Evening to you too.’

  Lewelyn stopped consuming his cup, not inclining forward to show interest, he simply put the cup casually back on the table.

  ‘Feel like talking?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Jerome mumbled.

  ‘Nice place?’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Made any friends?’ Jerome caught the sarcasm in Lewelyn’s voice, he answered with a straight no.

  ‘You know what? Maybe we should cut the civil talk, we’re not exactly friends. Let’s just act the way we should,’ more sarcasm in David’s tone.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘What made you want to kill her?’ One question that had remained unanswered.

  A wider grin on Harris’s face, ‘Because she was a fucking whore.’ Jerome hissed with a bit of bubbling saliva seeping through his teeth.

  Lewelyn’s hands now in pockets, the nails in his fingers dug into the thighs. He imagined a creature with sharp nails clawing a wooden surface.

  ‘What did you say?’ Lewelyn stating rather than asking.

  ‘I said she was a fucking whore! Just like the rest of them.’

  Lewelyn turned to the two way mirror to see if anybody was there. Digging still he put a cheap ‘everything’s okay’ smile on and kept the boiling point of his blood to a minimum.

  ‘She wasn’t a whore,’ David Lewelyn replied.

  The grin coming back, ‘She cried like one. You should have seen how wet she was. I remember reading somewhere that the eyes are the windows to the soul. I wonder what tears are? You think the tears are the fragments of the soul? Pieces of it falling from the damage it receives?’

  Ignoring the first thought that came, ‘Don’t talk smart it doesn’t suit you.’

  Clearly not fond of insults, Jerome gave Lewelyn a look of disgust from his shell posture.

  ‘You sound different on the phone. But you still have that uncooperative attitude.’

  Ignoring the remark about that late phone call, Lewelyn said, ‘Why did you pick her?’

  ‘Because she had that fucking smile on her face. The one they all give you. Making them look so innocent, like they’re fucking angels. They’re just whores in disguise.’

  ‘And what does a “whore” mean to you?’

  ‘Someone who’s so selfish that they can’t keep the promises they make,’ Jerome showed Lewelyn his front teeth and raised upper lip. It looked like he was going to spit. ‘Oh you’re a smart one,’ Jerome adopting sarcasm.

  ‘Not really. You told every camera in sight how much you ‘love’ your mother.’

  ‘It was the truth. Not my problem if it hurts. The only thing I forgot to say was how she was the biggest of them all.’

  ‘So she cheated on your dad,’ Lewelyn said.

  ‘Shouldn’t you have said, “so she cheated on your dad, does that give you the right to kill?”’

  ‘I didn’t want to waste my breath on something pointless.’

  Expecting another disgusted expression, Lewelyn became surprised when Jerome giggled, ‘Hehe. Hehe. Hehe.’

  ‘Would you like to know how I knew she cheated on him?’

  ‘Not interested.’

  The question could have been rhetoric or Jerome Harris hadn’t listened.

  Chapter 52

  It was when I was younger, over two years ago – when my parents were still sharing the house together. I was in their bedroom – in the closet to be specific. Looking for Christmas presents. I could never fight that urge to know what I was having. My dad was out and so was my mom – I thought so anyway.

  ‘When I found a few things I had asked for I heard the front door open. There’s laughing and footsteps. I knew there were two people. I recognised my mom’s heels and another pair of shoes. I thought my parents were home. I tried to get out of the closet. Then I heard them coming up the stairs. I didn’t want to get caught so I stayed in the closet and hoped nobody would need anything from it.

  ‘There were dresses and coats inside so I had good cover unless somebody grabbed one of them. When they came into the room I instantly heard my mom’s voice but not my dad’s. I hear some kind of chuckle. The snobbish kind that asks for a stab in the throat. Then it goes quiet, the snobby chuckles stop. Then I hear scratching on the bed sheets.

  ‘I crawl under the hanging clothes and look at the bed. My mom was lying on her back, still with her clothes on and with HIM. The guy had his back to me. Kissing her. I wanted to say something like “get off my mom you freak”. But I just watched, had a good view too.

  ‘Then came the undressing. Then the giggling – from my mom that time. They threw their clothes on the floor and started necking. The sheets were over them but I saw what was going on. It went on for quite some time.

  ‘The sheets stopped moving. The guy turns over to the free side of the bed. I see his face. Had to be at least ten years younger than my dad; mom likes the young ones. I didn’t know who he was at the time. Later on I found out he was an extra on some TV show my dad was doing.

  ‘They talked for a bit. He tells her what he plans on doing with his life. She listens, tells him to keep chasing his goal, plan or something like that. Pampering him up. Making the lowlife feel good about himself.

  ‘He gets dressed. Kisses her on the lips and she blows him one when he’s about to leave. The front door closed. When I look back I could have killed her – if I wanted to. All I could have done was sneak up behind her with the bedside lamp and clack. Blunt force trauma.

  ‘Don’t ask me why, but I stayed there – in the closet. She stayed in bed a little longer. I remember my eyes were getting dry. I don’t think I blinked much during all of it. Then she starts to dress. She goes into the bathroom. I don’t know what she did in there, not that it matters. Then I hear the front door downstairs open and close. It scared me. Some of the stuff in the bedroom shook.

  ‘I hear a set of footsteps coming up the stairs – thought they were going to break the entire staircase. It was obvious where they were heading. I saw who it was straight away.

  ‘My dad stormed in. Mom freaked with his surprise entrance. My dad says: “YOU GODDAMN WHORE!”

  ‘He grabs her neck. Pushes her over the sink. She squirms. Her legs kicking out and her hands trying to grab onto something. He had her at his mercy. You could se
e his grip was tight by looking at my mother’s full open mouth and red face. Then he throws her face down to the floor. He stomps forward to her.

  ‘“Please.” I hear my mother say. Dad goes over to her. Both hands this time on her throat. He loosens his grip. I thought she was gone at first. Then I saw her choking. She struggled to breath. Thought she was dead.

  ‘She wasn’t dead. And all she had on her were a couple red marks on her neck. It was like a shit movie. I was about to scream when I saw what happened next.

  ‘As my mom was moving away, my dad saw it. I could see he was thinking something. He grabs her ankles. Pulls her back to him. Gets her up and throws her onto the bed. You should have seen how scared she was. I thought he was going to strangle her again, one last time to finish the job. My dad’s hand then goes to his pants. He unbuckles his belt. Bends the leather straps, brings both ends together. Has the folded leather in one hand, over his head and my mother in front of him. Her bare back exposed.

  ‘I don’t think I need to give you the details on what happened next.’

  Chapter 53

  The room lights had become brighter, or Lewelyn hadn’t been paying much attention to them. When someone talked in front of you it was impossible to ignore them. The account of Jerome Harris’s origins answered a lot of questions that had previously been unanswered. To his misfortune though there were a few more answers needed.

  ‘Where did you first see her?’

  Jerome had not shown sign of hearing what Lewelyn had said. The shallow posture re-materialised, Harris now sat on one side of the chair, facing the side wall, his shoulder in line with Lewelyn’s chest. He looked to be seeing something beyond anyone else’s perception; what only he could see.