Cry Baby

by David Jackson

  Wilson notices that a couple of uniforms have appeared, and are now leaning back against a noticeboard, watching the fun.

  Okay, he thinks. Stay calm. Show them how this is done.

  ‘Sir,’ says Wilson in his most appeasing tone. ‘Could you turn around, please?’

  The man does nothing for several seconds. Wilson opens his mouth to repeat his request, but then he notices a subtle movement: the man turning one of his feet slightly to his right. Then the man follows it with the other foot. Then the first foot again. Gradually and painstakingly, the man continues to move in this way until he has turned all the way around.

  This could take some time, thinks Wilson. Be nice to the guy. Show him how friendly we all are here. Just one big happy family. Welcome, brother, to our happy station house. The cherry pie is almost done, and in the meantime we can offer you a choice of delicious beverages. Now sit yourself down, brother, and tell us of your troubles.

  ‘Good,’ he says. ‘You don’t need to worry, okay? Sir? Could you look at me, please?’

  The man lifts his head a fraction of an inch, but his eyes stay locked on the floor.

  ‘That’s it,’ says Wilson. ‘Bring your head up… A little more… Good. Now look up at me.’

  The man’s eyelids blink furiously, as though he is having to make a supreme effort. After much apparent turmoil, he eventually manages to align his gaze with Wilson’s face.

  Now, thinks Wilson. Do it. Do the smile.

  He does it. The biggest, daftest grin imaginable. The one that would cause his kids to break out into fits of helpless laughter.

  ‘Waaah!’ the man yells, his face registering extreme terror. He turns and scurries away, back to the security of the wall.

  Wilson drops his smile. Darn it. This is getting ridiculous. Hearing snorts of laughter, he turns to his right, where the two uniforms are having a whale of a time. He turns his mean face on them, and instantly they become paragons of sobriety. One of them takes it as his cue to make himself useful, and starts to saunter over to the man.

  ‘Hey, buddy. You okay there? Come on, let’s get over here and sort this out.’

  The man’s response is to shuffle closer to the wall and press his forehead against it. He continues to mutter.

  ‘Hey,’ says the uni, more aggressively now. ‘You hear what I’m saying to you?’ He reaches out a hand and places it on the man’s shoulder.

  Big mistake.

  The man screams and then whirls away from the wall. He clutches his shoulder where the cop just touched it. Acts as though he’s just been shot there.

  Startled, the cop jumps backward and reaches for his sidearm. His partner starts to race over, his hand also on the butt of his gun.

  ‘He hit me,’ yells the man. ‘He hit me. 10-34. Assault in progress. 10-34.’

  He continues yelling and screaming while the two officers circle him warily. Wilson shows the palm of his hand to the patrolmen, warning them to stay calm. Then he makes a pushing motion, telling them to back off. Slowly, the cops retreat.

  ‘Hey,’ says Wilson. ‘Hey, mister. Come over here. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Do you want me to send those two cops away?’

  The man glances at Wilson, then back at the unis. ‘Yeah,’ he says, his hand still pressed to his imagined wound. ‘Away. In the slammer. Put ’em in the slammer. 10-34.’

  Wilson jerks his head, telling the cops to disappear. They look at him questioningly, but Wilson maintains his glare until they obey his command and move into the records office.

  ‘There,’ says Wilson. ‘See what I did for you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I got rid of them, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Just you and me now, all right?’

  ‘Yeah. You and me. Me and you. Me and the big sergeant.’

  Wilson can see that the man is growing calmer by the second, and he beckons him over.

  ‘Come a little closer, man. Come talk to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.’

  The man sidles gradually toward the desk, allowing his eyes to jump up much more frequently than before. Wilson decides not to attempt the smile again, but he’s got another trick up his sleeve.

  ‘You want some candy? I got candy here.’

  He picks up a plastic bowl that he keeps on his desk for whenever there are young children in the station house, although its contents are constantly being depleted by passing officers when he’s not looking. He tips it to show the man what it holds.

  ‘Go ahead. Take some.’

  The man cranes his neck and peers into the bowl. He seems mildly interested, but then he pulls his head back in and shakes it.

  ‘Five blues, seven reds, thirteen yellows. All prime. Primes are good, but you’re a stranger. Don’t take candy from strangers. Look before you leap. Never look a gift horse in the mouth. All that glitters is not gold.’

  Wilson looks with puzzlement into his bowl, then replaces it on his desk. Never had a reaction like that before.

  ‘So it’s because I’m a stranger? Okay, then, let’s fix that. My name is Sergeant Marcus Wilson. How’s that? We friends now?’

  The man scratches again. Then he brings a hand up and starts touching the thumb to each finger in turn, over and over.

  ‘One-three-seven-one,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘One-three-seven-one.’

  Wilson nods. ‘Yeah. That’s my shield number. What about it?’

  ‘Thirteen-seven-one. Thirteen is prime. Seventy-one is prime. Seven is also prime. Thirteen times seven is ninety-one. Put the one on the end gives nine-one-one. The emergency number is nine-one-one. The World Trade Center disaster was on nine-eleven. Nine hundred and eleven is also prime.’

  Wilson can’t remember what a prime number is, but he bobs his head more appreciatively now. ‘That’s pretty good. You like numbers, huh?’

  ‘I like numbers.’

  ‘Is that why you came here? Something to do with numbers?’

  ‘No. I don’t know.’

  He’s rocking now. Still touching his thumb to his fingers, but rocking back and forth on his heels.

  ‘Okay, so not numbers. You know what this place is, don’t you? You know where you’re at?’

  ‘Yeah. Police station. Nine-one-one. Emergency, which service do you require?’

  ‘That’s right. This is a police station. Do you have an emergency? Some kind of crime you need to report?’

  The rocking increases in tempo. Wilson believes the guy is getting more agitated. On the verge of losing it again.

  ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘It’s okay. We’re here to help you. Tell me what the problem is, and we’ll see if we can fix it for you, all right?’

  ‘Yeah. Aw, Jeez. Aw Jeez. It’s bad, it’s bad.’

  He’s getting more anxious. Another few seconds and he’ll be tearing off toward his wall again.

  ‘Did somebody hurt you? Is that it? Or maybe you saw something? Somebody do a bad thing, and you saw it happen?’

  The man starts scratching again. Both hands this time, flapping frantically behind his ears.

  Wilson isn’t sure what to do now. Say something or keep quiet? Which is the least likely to detonate this guy?

  But then the man stops beating his ears. Panting heavily, he brings a hand to the zipper of his hooded sweatshirt. Takes it away again, brings it back again.

  Wilson watches, a little concerned now. Years of training and experience have taught him to be wary of people who suddenly decide to reach under their clothing. Especially those who appear to be in a disturbed state of mind.

  ‘Aw Jeez,’ the man says again. He takes a deep breath, as if he has just made a momentous decision. Then he grabs the zipper, pulls it all the way down, and opens up his sweatshirt.

  Wilson’s eyes widen at what he sees. This changes things. Wilson had started to believe this situation would come to nothing. Another amusing but innocuous episode to add to tonight’s list. But this – this is different.
This situation has just shown him a serious edge he can’t ignore.

  The man’s shirt is soaked in blood.

  ‘Sir,’ says Wilson. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘N-n-no. Oh boy.’

  ‘Then whose blood is that?’

  The man’s jaw works up and down and his eyelids flutter as he tries to force out the words.

  ‘It’s my… It’s my m-m-mom’s.’

  ‘Your mom’s? It’s your mother’s blood?’

  ‘Yeah. My mom’s blood. She’s dead. I killed my mom.’

  10.36 PM

  ‘What? What did you say?’

  ‘I want you to kill someone, Erin.’

  She’d heard him correctly the first time, but saying it again doesn’t make it any more believable.

  ‘What are you talking about? That’s crazy.’

  The voice remains calm. ‘I don’t think it’s crazy. I think it’s a good deal. If you want to see your baby alive again, then that’s what you need to do.’

  She shakes her head. This has got to be a joke. A test. He’s pushing me. Trying to find out just how far I’d be prepared to go. He’s not really expecting me to agree to this.

  She pushes out a mirthless laugh. Lets him know she appreciates the morbid humor.

  ‘All right, can we get serious now, please? I want my Georgia back.’

  ‘Yes, I know you do. And that’s why I’m giving you this opportunity. I’m perfectly serious about it.’

  No. No. This is insane. He can’t mean this. Nobody in their right mind would suggest something like this.

  ‘You want me to kill someone? You’re seriously suggesting that I kill another human being?’

  ‘Only if you want Georgia as much as you say you do. If you love her, then prove it. Her life for somebody else’s. Is that such a hard bargain for an adoring mother to agree to?’

  ‘Yes. Yes it is. It would be hard for anyone to agree to. It would be hard if you had stolen ten children of mine. You’re asking me to take someone else’s life. Do you understand how repellent that idea is to me? Do you have any concept of how alien it is to me?’

  ‘Really? You surprise me. That’s not the impression I have of you.’

  This stops her. Impression? What impression? All he’s got is a few minutes of listening to me over a microphone.

  ‘That’s because you don’t know me. You know nothing about me.’

  ‘Actually, I know a lot more about you than you think. I didn’t just pick you out of a hat, Erin. You were chosen. Carefully selected.’

  A chill races through her body. The situation she’s in is devastating enough without the added suggestion that it could possibly go much deeper.

  ‘What do you mean, selected? I don’t understand. How was I selected?’

  ‘I can’t go into all the details. Suffice to say that you were chosen on the basis of your potential.’

  Wait. What? He’s talking as though I’m the subject of some kind of experiment here. Like I’ve been under a microscope all my life and didn’t even know it.

  ‘Chosen by whom? By you? Why? And how? You mean you’ve been watching me?’

  So many questions. Her mind is a whirlwind of questions. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is believable. This just doesn’t happen to people.

  ‘Like I say, Erin, I can’t go into details. But you’re definitely right for this. I know you have it in you.’

  ‘No. You’ve got me all wrong. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me. I don’t know what research you’ve done on me. But you picked the wrong person. Doesn’t matter what threats you make, to me or my baby. I can’t do what you ask. I’m sorry.’

  She hears a low laugh through her earpiece.

  ‘Oh, Erin. You’re priceless. You’re perfect for this. It’s precisely because you think you can’t do it that makes you so suitable. This will be good for you, believe me. It will bring out an inner strength in you that you don’t even know you possess. You will discover so many new things about yourself.’

  He’s insane. Has to be. He sounds calm and rational, but he’s got to be out of his skull. This is too twisted for words. Why is he doing this? What possible motive could he have if he’s not crazy?

  ‘I don’t want to discover new things. I’m happy as I am. I just want to get on with my life. Just me and my baby. Please, if you really have Georgia, you should give her back to me. I won’t say anything about this to anyone. Just hand her back, and we’ll forget all about it. Okay?’

  ‘Erin, Erin, Erin.’ The voice is so patronizing now. Making her feel like she’s a naughty child who needs to learn her lesson. ‘Stop all this. You can’t make it go away. It is what it is. Whining and pleading won’t change things. Besides, it’s beneath you. Start showing some of that fortitude I talked about.’

  A wave of fury suddenly engulfs Erin. ‘NO!’ she yells. She leaps to her feet. Grabs her lapel and brings the brooch right up to her mouth. ‘NOOOO! You give me my baby now, you fucking piece of shit! You hear me, you son of a bitch? Give me back my baby, or so help me God I will track you down and I will kill you. Do you hear what I’m saying, you cocksucker?’

  She stands there panting after her tirade, burning tears of anger running down her face.

  ‘My, my. What a potty mouth you have when you get riled. But you know what? I believe what you said. I believe you could kill me right now, if it meant getting your baby back. You see? You can do it. You can kill for your baby. You’ve already taken that first vital step.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ she says. ‘I’ve had enough of listening to your crap. I’m calling the cops. You can watch if you like. If you get so aroused by watching what I do, then observe this, you prick.’

  She walks over to the phone. Picks it up from its cradle. Holds it in front of the brooch.

  ‘You see this? Watch what I do.’

  ‘Erin, put the phone down.’ The voice has a hardened edge to it. A hard, sharp edge that threatens harm.

  ‘Watch. See? I’m pressing nine. See how I press the nine key?’

  ‘You’re being silly, Erin. Don’t be so childish.’

  ‘Now a one. Are you getting all this? Can you see what I’m doing here? Your game is over, mister. Give up now, or you are in so much trouble.’

  ‘Erin. I am not going to warn you again. This is your last chance.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? Last chance for what? What are you going to do about it? Scared now, aren’t you? Shoe’s on the other foot now. Are you watching? One more digit. Ready for this, you cowardly bastard?’

  ‘Erin, if you make that call, you will regret it for the rest of your life.’

  Erin stabs at the key. Does it with great emphasis to let him know she’s not afraid of him. She’s in control now.

  ‘Now all I have to do is press this call button. See? This one here?’

  She hovers her index finger over the button – the one with the little icon of a green phone above it.

  And then the man says something that makes her think again.

  He says, ‘Do you want me to hurt your baby? Is that really what you want?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Because I will hurt her. If you complete that call, I will damage your baby.’

  She stares at the phone. Her finger is still aimed at the call button, but now it’s quivering. And over the camera, the man will see that he has put doubt in her mind.

  ‘You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t hurt a baby. Nobody would hurt a little baby.’

  ‘Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong. This child might mean everything to you, but it means nothing to me. It’s a means to an end, that’s all. I don’t care if it lives happily or suffers a very painful death.’

  Erin wavers. What do I do? If I stop this call now, he’s won. He will know how weak I am. I can’t let him believe he’s stronger than me.

  ‘You know what? I think you’re lying. I’m not even sure you’ve got my baby. She could be dead already, for all I know. And even if you do have her, you won’t hurt her
. You know why? Because if you harm just a hair on her head, this conversation is over. I will take out the earpiece and I will smash the brooch and your little game will be over. The only reason I’m still talking to you now is because I’m giving you a chance to put things right. You’ve got three seconds. After that I’m calling the cops. What’s it going to be?’

  She hears a brief burst of what sounds like handclapping. ‘Bravo. Nice try. You’ve got guts, Erin. It’s why I chose you.’

  ‘Three,’ she says.

  ‘Won’t work, though. Not against me. There’s no point in trying to fight this.’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘But maybe it’s for the best. We need to get off on the right foot. Establish the ground rules. Maybe this is a lesson you need to learn the hard way, just so we work together better in the future.’

  ‘One.’

  ‘Okay, Erin. If that’s what you want. I’ll let you choose. What’s it to be? Georgia’s fingers? Her tiny button toes? Maybe those shiny blue eyes of hers? What do you think? Which bits of her are you going to sacrifice?’

  Tears are streaming down her face now. Her finger is shaking uncontrollably over the phone. I can’t do this, she thinks. I can’t endanger Georgia. But I have to do it. It’s the only way to save her. I have to do it. Please, please, please, let this be the right decision.

  She presses the call button. Brings the phone to her ear.

  ‘Oh, Erin.’

  His voice in one ear, speaking with quiet finality. The ringtone in the other. Please answer. Answer the damn phone.

  And then she hears it.

  The scream.

  The high pitched shriek of her child.

  She’s heard Georgia cry a thousand times, and she knows it’s her – knows that without doubt. But this cry pierces her. It shoots through her ear and into her brain and on down through her heart and her gut, ripping her insides to pieces as it fires through her body. And all she can think is, No, no, no, what have I done? And she drops the phone and yells something. Calls for him to stop as she fumbles for the phone. Pleads with him not to hurt her baby. Look, I’m ending the call, see? Can you see? Please tell me you can see this. Please stop hurting Georgia. She’s just a baby. Please stop. Please. Please.