Splintered

by Laura J Harris

  ‘Kelly?’ Christine said, again, touching her arm, gently.

  The raven-haired artist jumped, instinctively raising her arms to protect herself. She seemed to see Christine and then lose her again, her eyes focusing and then glazing over. Again and again.

  ‘Kelly, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s only me. It’s Christine.’

  Kelly’s eyes finally seemed to find her, to anchor onto her. She stifled a sob as Christine tried to take hold of her hands, rubbing the backs of them in a slow soothing motion.

  ‘He . . . he tried to . . . with me. I went . . . and, then . . . and I did it . . . and . . . I . . .’ Kelly continued to stutter, making little sense at all, but nodded determinedly as she spoke. ‘Oh god, I . . . Christine . . . I did . . . I did it . . . He said he’d let me go. He lied. I had no choice.’

  ‘It’s ok.’ Christine said, as Kelly shook even more violently, ‘It’s ok. Whatever you’ve done, it doesn’t matter. We’ll fix it — ’

  ‘You can’t fix it!’ Kelly shouted, pulling free from Christine and shaking her head, ‘Even you can’t fix this.’

  ‘Is it Simmons? Is it Isaac Leigh Simmons? Is that who hurt you?’

  For a moment Kelly appeared as helpless, as wounded and as confused as a child who has just shut their fingers in a closing car door. It was that same look of absolute wide-eyed terror; of cold, clammy realisation and the sudden understanding of exactly what that crunching sound just meant. That split second before the brain takes over and responds to the pain receptors as they scream out, hollering to inform you that something is really very wrong.

  Suddenly, Kelly sprang to her feet, clawing at her eyes and her face, thrashing this way and that as though she were trying to escape some unseen demon.

  Christine watched in silent horror. Dumbstruck and unable to react.

  Not knowing — despite all her training and years of experience — what to do for the best.

  She called Kelly’s name over and over, but the tormented artist seemed unable to hear her.

  She was lost once more to another world that Christine could neither see, nor taste, nor smell, nor hear. She was fast becoming hysterical, stumbling towards the dresser; struggling, searching and trying desperately to find her face in the mirror, only to laugh and sneer at it before howling in pain and falling to her knees, crying. It was the loneliest sound Christine had ever heard. And she recognised it instantly.

  She had made such a sound in her sister’s garage on that god-forsaken night.

  Hobbling over to Kelly, she took her by the shoulders, struggling to pull her to her feet.

  After a moment Kelly seemed to see her once more and instantly pressed herself into an embrace, burying her face in Christine’s shoulder. Sobbing as Christine wrapped her arms around her, stroking her shining, blue-black hair.

  ‘I’m sorry Kelly, I’m so sorry.’ she said, ‘I don’t know what you’ve been through. I can’t imagine what you’ve suffered. And I promise I’ll help you to get through it . . . I’ll help you through all of it. I swear. But, right now I need you here. I need your help. Okay? Shona needs your help. Do you know where she is?’ she asked, her voice soft, but direct, ‘Is she alive?’

  Kelly nodded sadly.

  ‘For now.’ she said, sniffing as she looked up at Christine with her glassy, salt-water, cerulean eyes.

  Christine relaxed her grip on Kelly, half expecting her to slump back to the floor like a sack of potatoes. But she did not.

  ‘What do you mean ‘for now’? Is that what he said? Does he really plan on killing her?’

  ‘What would you do?’ she asked, cocking her head to once side. ‘I didn’t want any of this. What if he comes back? I didn’t want this, Christine. I don’t want this!’

  Without warning, Kelly pulled Christine’s face towards her, kissing her hungrily, passionately; her hands instantly beginning to explore the shape of her body, to tug at Christine’s clothes; searching for the tie of her chocolate linen trousers.

  ‘Kelly, stop!’ Christine shouted, pushing her away.

  Her face was ashen.

  In the very next moment she flushed red with anger, then embarrassment.

  And then it seemed that all the energy had been sucked out of her as she sank to the bed, picking up the sketchbook beside her. ‘I’m sorry.’ she said, ‘I’m really sorry about that.’

  After that she didn’t look at Christine again, but simply flicked to a clean page in the book and, slipping the 2B graphite pencil from the attached holder on the side, began working furiously.

  Apparently now completely unaware that Christine even existed.

  Christine rolled her lips and licked them without thinking, tasting Kelly’s forceful kiss once more. Tasting Kelly.

  It was a strangely familiar flavour; a strong, comforting tang that she couldn’t quite place. Not that she spent too much time thinking about it. There were — after all — more important matters at hand.

  She had just opened her mouth to address Kelly, to try and capture her attention once more — if only for a moment or two — when her phone burst into life again, startling her with its trilled melody as before.

  Again, she jumped, though Kelly appeared not to notice. Instead, she seemed intrinsically focused on the shapes that were coming together thick and fast on the page before her; the shades of light and dark; the eyes. Lips.

  A face.

  Christine answered the call, stepping out onto the balcony as she did and closing the door behind her. It was Prior.

  ‘Jon. You scared the crap out of me!’ she panted, suddenly breathless, ‘Kelly has — ’

  ‘Are you still with Kelly?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, she’s — ’

  ‘Has she said anything?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you, man. Jesus, would you let me speak.’ Christine didn’t wait and give him the opportunity to interrupt her again, ‘She’s just suffered some kind of massive break down. Right in front of me! She’s really not well, Jon. And I think she might have done something terrible.’

  ‘I think you’re definitely right with that one.’

  ‘I mentioned the name Isaac Leigh Simmons and she totally flipped. I mean clawing at her eyes and everything. I’m really quite, quite worried.’

  ‘I’m worried too.’ he said, sounding suddenly more breathless than she did.

  ‘Jon, are you running?’ she asked, concerned.

  ‘Yes. Are you still in the room with Kelly?’

  ‘No, I’m out on the balcony. Why?’ Christine asked, suddenly very aware of her heart beating in her chest. Thumping in her throat.

  ‘It’s her Christine.’ Prior said, his voice shaking, but certain, ‘She’s the killer.’

  Shocked at this bizarre revelation, Christine shook her head and spun around to peer through the glass door.

  Her heart seemed to leap into her mouth as she found herself suddenly face to face with a horribly cold and staring creature; something that resembled Kelly, but that was not quite her. It leered at her from the other side of the thin glass pane; a mocking parody of the woman she had left in the suite only moments earlier.

  She swallowed hard, trying not to shake; feeling the absolute terror palpitate inside her as she found herself staring into a pair of blue eyes that no longer seemed to belong to Kelly.

  She proceeded to watch, in horror, as the thing that was no longer Kelly — the creature with the twisted predatory grin — reached for the door handle and began to pull it down. Slowly. Steadily. Teasing the terror from her.

  Christine could hear Prior calling her name from the Motorola handset and screamed back, even as she dropped the phone, scrambling to hold onto the handle. To keep it pulled up. ‘She’s at the door!’

  She used all her strength to keep the thing that wasn’t Kelly from turning the handle, until the thought suddenly dawned on her that — should it really want to get to her — it could simply break the glass. She looked back into the eyes of the Kelly
creature and realised that it was simply toying with her.

  It too seemed to notice the change in the psychologist and cocked Kelly’s head in the same way it had before she had kissed Christine so forcefully.

  Absently, Christine touched the tip of her forefinger to her lips.

  Alcohol.

  That was the taste she couldn’t place. Because, she knew that Kelly didn’t drink.

  But, she was willing to bet that Isaac Leigh Simmons did. That he had been the one to empty the mini-bar so successfully, littering the room with his discarded bottles.

  But that would mean that Isaac Leigh was Kelly.

  Kelly Livingstone was Isaac Leigh Simmons.

  She shook her head, unable to wrap her thoughts around the idea that this could — somehow — be the truth.

  Seemingly bored of Christine for the moment the Kelly creature rotated, removed and then pocketed a medium-sized brass key; locking the glass doors.

  Christine bent awkwardly to pick up the phone; her knee crying out painfully as she did.

  Then, she put as much distance as she could between her and the room beyond; pressing back against the railings and judging the distance between the balcony of this suite and the next.

  Mentally preparing herself for the jump.

  ‘Jon. She’s him. He’s a part of her. I don’t know how or why. I’ve seen people with multiple personalities before, but never like this. There was a real, physical change there, Jon.’ she said, trying to stay calm, ‘Jon?’

  There was no answer.

  Suddenly, the door handle begin shaking again. She heard it, though she daren’t look back into the room.

  She was terrified, without a doubt.

  Struck to the core and unable to move. Unable, even to open her eyes.

  She was right back there in Janet’s garage sorting through the old Christmas decorations; discussing which ones she really ought to get rid of and which she should keep, when there had been a knocking, then a shaking and then a great thundering pounding on the metal drop-down door.

  Christine slid down the wall, sinking into herself, dropping the phone once more.

  There was a terrible crash as shards of glass splintered across the wooden balcony floor.

  Christine screamed as a hand reached out and grabbed her arm.

  ‘Christine.’

  She opened her eyes.

  It was Prior.

  23:17

  Sunday 15th May, 2011

  Leigh spun around, laughing. Double-checking that Prior wasn’t yet on his tail.

  He had successfully terrified the shrink and locked her out on the balcony, before vaulting from the room, only narrowly missing the Ex-DI as he made his escape. He had been half-tempted to wait it out a little longer and confront the bastard there and then.

  To spark the bugger out!

  But, there were too many variables left unaccounted for when depending on such an emotionally-involved response. And besides, he had left a nice, big fat clue for the wonderfully dynamic duo to follow; if they had half a brain between them to figure it out.

  It was better this way.

  This way he was in control. They were playing his game by his rules.

  Besides, Prior was in pretty good condition for a washed-up, old Mersey-beat dick, and — though he was loath to admit it — he hadn’t exactly been on top form lately.

  He didn’t quite know what the cause was or why, but he had felt weaker recently than he had in a long time. It was a purely physical thing; but, it was annoying!

  Everything just seemed to require so much more energy these days!

  Like taking out Blakely.

  He should have had no problem in flooring a skinny little rat like that, but the guy seemed to have some sort of hidden powers. Bags of energy. He just wouldn’t give in!

  Even Stacey Atkins had been a tough little nut to crack. Literally.

  And — besides all this — was the slightly embarrassing problem that he seemed unable get it up at all recently!

  What was that all about?

  Maybe he was coming down with something.

  He hoped it wasn’t anything permanent.

  23:17

  Sunday 15th May, 2011

  Christine took Prior’s hand and followed him back into the abandoned suite, trying to make sense of what he was telling her, though most of it was still white noise.

  ‘. . . It was the first time Davies had met her,’ he said, ‘and when she introduced herself as ‘Leigh’ he thought nothing of it. He said he questioned himself and Dr Matthews when she later referred to her as Kelly, but then he just dismissed it. Thought that ‘Leigh’ might be a nick-name or something.’

  Christine was shaking. She felt cold.

  Ice cold.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Prior went into the bathroom. He ran some cold water into a plastic beaker and returned, handing it to her.

  She sipped at the water noticing — as he stood before her — the small fire arm now strapped to his side.

  ‘You have a gun.’ she said, annoyed at how obvious a statement it was. How dumb she sounded.

  ‘There are two on board. Locked up at all times; except in an absolute emergency. I have this one. Davies has the other.’

  ‘Do you intend to use it?’

  ‘I’m not wearing it for show.’ he said, without emotion.

  Christine nodded and took another sip of the water.

  ‘Did she say where she’d taken Shona?’

  Christine shook her head, ‘That thing isn’t Kelly. Kelly wouldn’t harm Shona. I don’t think she’s even aware that he’s around. But, it was definitely Isaac Leigh that locked me out there just now. And it was Isaac Leigh who killed those people. Not Kelly.’

  ‘Which one of them is responsible for what isn’t important right now,’ Prior said, his voice raising a decibel with his growing impatience, ‘What is important is the fact that Shona is in real danger of being hurt or killed. And I’m not about to just sit back and let that happen.’

  ‘I understand that, Jon. But what you need to understand is that Kelly is innocent in this, she’s not — ’

  ‘Kelly Livingstone killed Isaac Leigh Simmons.’

  ‘What?’

  Christine couldn’t believe what he was saying; what her brain was translating from the sounds her ears were now receiving. It just wasn’t possible.

  She let the empty beaker fall on the bed besides her and, glancing down, noticed that the sketchbook had been left behind. She picked it up, cradling it as she continued to listen to Prior in disbelief.

  ‘There’s some old footage of Isaac Leigh circling round the inside of this club in Chester. He’s like a shark; looking to pick up a girl or maybe two, but no one’s responding. Eventually, he latches on to this young-looking girl in a blue dress. She doesn’t even look old enough to be in the club.’

  ‘And what does this have to do with Kelly?’ Christine asked, leafing through the pages in an effort to discover the most recent edition to the sketchbook.

  ‘A camera outside the club picked up the pair leaving together. The girl in the video is Kelly Livingstone.’

  Christine laughed, ‘I know that Kelly can look younger than she is . . . but, still. I mean, come on, can you honestly see her wearing a dress? Willingly? Slinking off with some dodgy guy? Any guy for that matter?’

  As she turned to the next page Christine was struck with immediate horror by the image that waited to greet her. She gasped as she took in the perfect pencil drawing of Shona’s disembodied head resting on a silver platter.

  Her eyes were open and welcoming, greeting the onlooker in the same manner that Dr Cunningham had appeared to in the grotesque painting, Dr Death.

  In a similar style to Dr Death, the centre of Shona’s forehead had been split wide open, only, in this horrifically accurate illustration, the shredded strands of flesh and skull were being blasted outwards to reveal a perfectly bored hollow.

  This was t
he image of an exit wound.

  ‘The footage was recorded back in ninety-nine.’ Prior continued, as though he hadn’t seen — and still couldn’t see — the dreadful and foreboding picture that rested in Christine’s shaking hands, ‘Kelly was sixteen then. She left with Simmons, who took her to a remote spot in Delamere forest with the intention of raping and killing her.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Christine asked; her voice now small.

  ‘Because, I know the Simmons’ Brothers. I studied them for years, I knew their . . . habits, but I could never prove anything. Isaac Leigh picked up where his brother left off. He took his chain and used it in the same way that Jacob . . . that Matthew . . . had done. And, on that night he found a young and fragile Kelly Livingstone. And, he drove out to those woods with one thing in mind.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’

  ‘But it seems that she fought him off. Smashed him in the side of the head with a rock. And then she kept on smashing and smashing until she was sure he was dead.’

  ‘Stacey Atkins,’ Christine whispered, recalling the girl’s cleanly polished, shattered cheekbone, as things — slowly — began to fall into place. ‘and Doctor Matthews.’ She put her hand to her mouth suddenly, closing her eyes, ‘Not My Type.’

  Prior nodded. ‘She buried him. Out in the woods.’

  ‘No. No, Kelly couldn’t do this.’

  ‘She was young then. She was scared and in very real danger. We’re all capable of it, Christine.

  ‘How can you be so certain? How can you be sure that she . . .’

  Prior took the sketchbook from Christine’s still-shaking hands. Without looking at the image he closed it and threw it back onto the bed. ‘There was a skeleton uncovered in Delamere forest. The same place, I’m willing to bet, that Simmons took Kelly all those years ago.’ he paused for the shortest of moments, looking into Christine’s eyes. ‘It’s just been identified. It is Isaac Leigh. It’s been buried out there for a decade.’

  ‘That’s still not concrete — ’

  ‘Right now I don’t care, Christine.’ Prior said as he turned to pick up the psychologist’s white and gold walking stick. He offered it to her, catching her eyes once more with his own sparkling emeralds, begging her silently to help him. ‘Please. I just want to protect my sister.’