Escaping Life

by Michelle Muckley

  “Where are you going?” He ripped up the picture of the woman from the floor. Charging back over to the bed, he thrust the picture at Kate. Fumbling for the switch, he turned on the bedside table lamp and angled it like a spotlight onto the dead vacant face staring back at them. The light cast even more shadows onto his own face, accentuating the dark bags under his eyes.

  “Look at her closely, Kate.” He was charged now, charged with purpose; he couldn’t get this wrong. This was the best lead he had so far. He trusted Kate, but he had to be certain. He picked up his pace into a sort of run, sort of hop, as he reached for his jacket on the settee. Snatching out the small leather bound notepad, he raced back to the bed, his hopping transformed into a fully fledged effort.

  “Where is it? Where is it?” He rifled through the pages, frantically searching for a name. There, he had it. “Elizabeth Green. Is that her name?” He could see her thinking. It didn’t look positive. “No, hang on!” He flicked another couple of pages, past his notes about the small fishing village. “Rebecca Jackson.”

  “That was it. Rebecca Jackson!” Kate yelped excitedly. “Rebecca Jackson. I have no doubt.” He scrambled for the clothes tossed casually on the floor only a few hours before. Kate looked round at the clock and saw how early it still was. Immediately, he saw her expression change, her eyes dropped and mouth pursed. He knew before she did what she was thinking. Now wasn’t the time to leave her here.

  “When does your shift start?” he asked.

  “I have to be there for six. Can you take me home first?” He looked at the clock. He had almost three hours. He considered the journey across the city to her house. He judged that it might take him half an hour to get her home and then back across the city. They were only five minutes from the hospital. He could see the deflation in her face, and he could hear it in her voice as she told him that she would call a taxi. He knew that she now wished that she had waited a couple of more hours before she bothered to say anything. The regret was clear and that new feeling of belonging so early in its creation hung delicately in the balance.

  “No, I won’t.” She looked up, mobile already in her hand. He dropped his shirt back onto the floor, from where he had just picked it up and took the mobile from her hand as he climbed back onto the bed. “I can’t leave my top detective here alone.” He crawled back over her on all fours. His smile was soft, as he rested his body down on top of hers, his weight pushing her into the soft mattress. He held himself up on his elbows above her, resting his fingertips onto her temples, the other hand gently caressing her hair. “I’ll take you to the hospital in a couple of hours. Is that OK?” She didn’t say anything, but from the way she arched her body towards him, he knew that he had her approval. They rested their bodies together like spoons and he held her until he felt the rhythmical rock of her gentle slumber, as her chest rose and fell. His mind, however, was alert; he couldn’t sleep. He would lie here and be comforted by the security of her own contentment, wrapped up safely in his arms. He would wake her with a coffee, and they would share that same connection as if it were the first morning that they would wake up together. In many ways, for him it would be.

  Twelve

  She turned and waved to him as he drove away from the grand entrance of the hospital. He could see her in his rear view mirror still staring at the car as he drove up the one way street, buoyant from the excitement of him dropping her at work for the first time; like a real couple. He raised his hand up to acknowledge that he saw her, and she excitedly waved back. Had so much really changed when they woke up together this morning? When she woke to the smell of fresh coffee, just as he’d promised, her eyes were so puffy. She opened them as far as they would go, but her eye lid was so bulbous from either the lack of good sleep, alcohol, or the salty Chinese food that they’d eaten the night before, that there was no crease as she did so. She smiled at him; the kind of smile that in some way is almost a grimace as you wake up much earlier than your body is telling you to and the light streams in, assaulting your puffed up eyes even more. She sat propped upright listening to his plans as he moved about the area which loosely functioned as the bedroom. He even surprised himself when he apologised for his impending absence for the next day or so whilst he tried to piece together the case, yet promising to call when he could. He retrieved a small bag containing his essentials from underneath his bed; a couple of clean shirts, pants, socks, no need for extra shoes. He threw in his toothbrush and a few essential toiletries. He didn’t know if he might have to stay away. As he drove around the corner of the road, the entrance to the hospital disappearing from his view, he was sure that he saw her do a little skip and a jump as she made her way into the hospital. Maybe it was just his imagination; maybe it was just wishful thinking.

  As he pulled up outside the police station there was already a lot of activity - or rather, still a lot of activity from the night before. He could see two junior-looking officers trying to wrestle a man through the front doors of the station. There were several squad cars parked outside, and so he knew that the cells must be pretty full. He considered going over to help the two young officers; the accused looked pretty intoxicated, and was putting up a good fight. Everyone has to learn, he thought to himself, as he slipped in through the side entrance, deciding instead to let them battle it out.

  He walked through the dark corridors, unlit without the presence of the day staff. He knew his way around easily enough, the hours he spent here. He found his way to his office. In the background he could hear the commotion in the cells. In fact, he was certain he could still hear the drunk from outside protesting his charges, his accusers not paying him any attention. He pulled the small cord on his banker’s style desk light, bringing his cluttered desk into view under a green glow. He wanted a copy of everything he had about the case so far which, to be honest, wasn’t much. He pulled the crime scene photography, and his first notes from Lyme Beach. The overhead strip lighting in the main office blinked on as he hit the switch, searching around for anything that might be useful. On Gibb’s desk he could see the crime scene report from the Wellbeck guys.

  “Gibb came through,” he said to himself, nodding in appreciation of his efforts. He read the report for the first time.

  ‘April 4th, 2006. 9pm. The surface of the road is wet from the rain. The road bends to the right, and at the corner of the bend on the left-hand side of the road the barrier is broken. Assume broken in crash. No tyre tracks on road. Approaching the edge of the road, the cliff falls away to form a deep ravine, which looks to go maybe twenty metres down? There is a vehicle noted at the bottom. Vehicle is on fire, even with the rain. Vehicle is upturned; it is not possible to see the top of the car at all. Large amount of debris is noted, possible items from the car. Visible windows appear smashed, as expected. Driver’s door open. Ground search will be started immediately. Fire service en-route.’

  He continued reading down the page, scanning for anything that seemed relevant.

  ‘April 4th, 2006. 9:45 pm. Scene of accident secured for investigation. Initial approach to ravine reveals a potential passage. There is no debris from the car. No shards of glass noted on the ground at the entrance to the ravine. The embankment is heavily damaged from the impact of the car. The ground is not easy going but passable. This could lead to potential disruption of evidence. Making my way down to the site of the crash, there is a brown bag noted on the side of the ravine. Contains chewing gum, hairbrush, purse, and mobile telephone. Purse searched. Contains three credit cards, twenty pound note and loose change. ID noted as Rebecca Jackson. Car approached. Driver’s door open. Driver’s seat belt is not engaged. Nothing remains but a metal shell and a few metal objects from inside the car. No identifiable body or human parts. ID check completed. Family called.’

  He grabbed the files and along with the photographs, stowed them safely into a brown case file. Turning off the lamp, he walked swiftly towards the door, knowing exactly where he was going, but having absolutely no idea what it w
as that he was expecting to find. There was, it seemed, only one person who could at this moment help him. He had a dead woman in his mortuary who, by all accounts, survived an un-survivable car crash. There were details in this case that he needed to find, and the only place to start was in Haven.

  Thirteen

  I had already decided not to take anything of mine with me. I needed it to look like I intended to come back. I had already placed my handbag and a small plastic bag on the front seat. Inside it there was on old dress, a necklace, and a pair of sandals. The dress probably hadn’t been worn for a decade or so, and she had thrown the plastic bag in the under stairs cupboard, ready for disposal. I took it because somehow it still smelled like her. In the boot of my car, there are two litres of petrol, just as there are every day. I had broken down a few times: I was useless at filling the car up. People always told me that it was dangerous to keep the fuel in there and that it was like a loaded gun. Tonight I would prove them right.

  I told myself not to look back at the house in the rear view mirror as I drove away. Half an hour ago Elizabeth had walked out, slapping me across the face. It wasn’t hard, but as her hand connected with my cheek it struck me as if a bomb had just exploded inside of me. It was at that moment that I knew I couldn’t protect her if I stayed; I was scaring her by staying. I was no longer the sister that she adored. There was nothing left for me here. I had to leave, but not for me.

  It was the weather that had finally made me make the decision that day. I had been thinking about it ever since I left that house. Ever since I had left that house, carried half by Elizabeth and half by a police officer, not knowing if he was coming for me next, I had been trying to work out in my mind what I had to do. I had remained virtually motionless since, save the constant calls to Elizabeth, and I was almost too scared to turn on a light in case that was the very reminder he needed that I was still there. Still there and still alive; still sat there, waiting with my memories. At least away from here I will be able to breathe, and Elizabeth will be able to live her life.

  As I left the city and drove upwards on the winding roads, the sagging storm clouds above me grew blacker and the rain drops heavier as they pelted my windscreen. The crackle of rain grew louder as the wind battered it against my windows, large waves of water like static on a poorly tuned radio. It was true I could barely see to drive. This was good. Nobody in their right mind would be driving up here tonight. All journeys would be delayed. Telephone calls to expectant relatives waiting for weekend visits would be made. Reunions would have to wait. Storms like this one seem to last a lifetime when you have somewhere to be.

  Eventually the belly of the clouds broke out, the thunder ripping through the sky cleaving it clean in half. My window wipers skipped back and forth, sending waves of rain water shooting off into the air, only to be pushed back down onto my screen by the driving winds. But the rain was my friend tonight; it would hide me as I slipped out of my life. It will be my unwitting accomplice, as it shields them all from the truth.

  I had driven this road many times. This was the road that took everybody away from their busy lives. It leads only to the outside world, where real life for those who lived on the side of the city could be rested for a weekend, put on a shelf for a couple of days, to be picked up again on the Sunday evening. People sometimes drove on this road just to leave the city, never having a final destination in mind. They might stop at one of the picnic spots, with a small basket of goodies packed up that very same morning. The city kids would feel nauseous as they played their hand-held electronic games on the back seat, desperately irritated that they had been removed from their comfortable and convenient lives for a few hours without internet access. But they would love it once they got here. They would eventually run around in the forest clearing, kicking a ball about with their father who was normally too busy and too well dressed for such activities. This was a place for escapism; this was a place to leave your life behind for a couple of hours or, in my case, for good.

  It was on one of these trips that I had noticed the broken barriers. I had said at the time how dangerous it was, my city-based attitude alarmed at the dangers of the natural ravine. Now, as I drove towards it, it was that very barrier that was the catalyst to set me free. I pulled up in the road about six metres before the bend. I couldn’t be sure, because of the rain, but I thought that I had aligned it with the barriers perfectly. I had to push the door hard to open it. Zeus was raining a war of weather down upon the earth tonight. He understood my intentions. The door snapped shut as I left the car to walk towards the barriers. In seconds my hair was lank against my face, as the rain pooled in my eyes, blurring my vision and seeping straight through my clothes soaking my cold skin. By the time I got to the barrier I was as certain as I could be that I had walked straight. The car was in the right place. It was time.

  I ran back to the car, kicking up swells of rainwater with my feet and opened up the boot. I depressed the little button and it popped up. Grabbing the petrol can I sheltered back inside the car for a few minutes, my face staring back at me in the rear view mirror. My hair was slick to my face as my eyes looked back at me. This was the last time that Rebecca would exist. These were her last actions; her last moments. My rain-soaked face was distorted; my four day old make up running across my cheeks, my lips contorted. The water was evaporating in the heat of the car, and the windows and mirrors were steaming up. I was already disappearing from view.

  I emptied the petrol can, scattering its contents rapidly as if I were crazed. In this instance only, the rain was my enemy. I couldn’t let it dampen the fire. I considered waiting, but that too was a risk. I couldn’t be seen and I didn’t have time. I rummaged under the seats and found a couple of old magazines. After wiping my hands on the car seats so as not to get my precious tinder wet, I shredded the magazines up and packed them tightly into all available nooks and crannies. The car looked ready. I picked up the two bags. Sucking up the scent of my mother, it was the last bit of courage I needed as I stepped out into a world where I would no longer exist.

  I searched about on the side of the road for a small rock, not too big, but big enough to hold the car’s accelerator down long enough for it to drive itself over the edge of the road. I found a suitable one and propped it up against the rubber of the pedal. It was then that I noticed the lever to pop the bonnet. Grabbing the petrol can I shook it hard and I could just hear, above the sound of the rain, the rattle of the remaining contents. I yanked on the lever, and heard the clunk of the latch as it released the heavy bonnet outside. I headed back out into the rain, and by fiddling around underneath the bonnet I found the latch and flicked it open. I shook the petrol over the warm engine, sending out jets of steam. I didn’t have long. I grabbed the door handle, and pulled open the door as far as it would go. Work fast! My fingers rattled inside my coat pocket. I had forgotten the matches were there! Please don’t let them be soaked! I sheltered my head and shoulders inside the car, my wet hair dripping onto the driver’s seat. The first match didn’t light. It just brushed against the side of the box like a plain splinter of wood. The match was dry, but the box was wet. The box is wet, Goddamn it!! I could feel the immediate rise in my pulse rate, but this was no time to start panicking. There was no going back. I have to light this match. I jumped my body over the seats to the glove box; flicking my hands back and forth the contents went flying across the foot well. CDs scattered about the floor, screen wipes, lipsticks and hair brushes. It was then the thought came to me. Pushing myself in further, the smell of petrol almost overwhelming as it filtered up through my nose, my hand reached to the very back where the smallest of items were still hiding. I felt around a little, until the rough metal grazed at my skin. I snatched at the nail file and prayed. I wheedled out another match, my wet fingers spoiling some of the others, and struck it against the brushed metal surface. The match snapped in two and fell unlit to the floor. Taking another match, I composed myself. I struck the match carefully, but with en
ough speed and force and saw the first spark. It didn’t take. Once more. I rapped the match against the side of the nail file again and it caught. It was alight! As I threw it against the back seat the flames were born. Instantly, the back seats roared into life and I felt the intense heat of the raging fire. The bright orange glow lit up the sky and for the first time, the scene of my death was illuminated. I could see the bend in the road in front of me, and the broken pieces of barrier. I had lined the car up perfectly; this was going to work. I secured my feet to the ground as steadily as I could. As I leaned into the car I could feel the heat on the back of my head. I had to work fast. I placed the rock on top of the accelerator pedal, and the engine whirled into action. The car was ready. I grabbed the handbrake, bracing myself with my other hand on the handle of the open driver’s door. As I released the brake, the car roared into life, my grip on the door the only thing preventing me from being pulled inside as it drove itself forward. As it rolled forward, the flames began to envelop the front of the passenger seat. I could smell the acrid scent of burnt hair and plastic. I pulled myself as hard as I could on the driver’s door handle, willing my body out of the car. As I hit the gravel on the road I let go of the door handle. I rolled a couple of times, until I came to a standstill, lying on my front. The short break in the rain came just at the right moment as I lifted my head just in time to see the car, engulfed in a ball of angry flames, roll over the edge of the road and into the ravine. I heard the car rumble down the side of the ravine, loud thudding of metal intersected by periods of airborne silence. As it hit the bottom a flash of fire raced up into the sky, steam and blue petrol-fuelled smoke charging upwards giving me a clear view of the towering trees above me. I rested my face on the ground, streams of rainwater washing across me, concealing my tears as if already I was no longer real. I knew that I didn’t have long, and that I had to move. I had only a matter of hours to walk to the bus station. Lying here, face down on the ground, I had passed my final moments. I didn’t exist in this world anymore.