Locked Up

by GB Williams

  ‘Yeah.’ He put down an implement she didn’t want to think about, and took up a needle. Again, she looked down. It was a fairly neat entry hole he was sewing up.

  ‘How bad?’

  ‘Messy, but nothing vital hit. Chipped your scapula, but I removed the fragment and the bullet. Take good care of the wound, and you should get full use of your arm back, but you’ll need to take it easy for a few weeks.’ He snipped the last stitch, put the needle aside, and returned with dressings. ‘Do you want it?’

  She frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘The bullet?’ He pressed surgical tape in place.

  ‘No!’ She was disgusted. ‘Wait. Yes. Yes, I want it.’

  The doctor smiled down at her. ‘Sure now?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She nodded gently. ‘I might even get my name engraved on it.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  She wasn’t overly impressed he was staring down at her exposed nipple, which looked very erect in the chilly room. She reached across and pulled up her bra. The black lace didn’t leave her much better off.

  ‘Can’t blame a guy for looking.’ He smiled, as he reached for another thing off the tray behind her head.

  ‘Is that why “was”?’

  He took his time deciding his next words. ‘No. That’s because I like kids.’

  She could see he had a syringe now. ‘Isn’t that good in a doct― oh.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I don’t, I can’t do anything about it.’

  She didn’t understand, and she told him so, as the needle pricked her skin. He pulled down his trousers, showing her genitals. She blinked again. He didn’t have a penis. Or testicles. The sedative kicked in, and the world turned black.

  17

  The field was beautiful, lush and green, and the sky was blue – a perfect summer’s day. Only, it wasn’t. The sky darkened around the edges, thunder clouds rolling in. The air was turning wintery, blowing cold over her right shoulder. Her friends were a long way away, waving at her. She waved back. Was it? Could it be?

  She started walking towards the figure. Then there was another. Richmond. She hadn’t seen them in so long. She started walking faster; there were other people there, her grandparents, her uncle Sid, Great Aunt Louise. One by one, they were jumping into a hole. She saw them disappearing, as she drew nearer. All going now … Richmond. Sanchez. She saw her father. He was carrying something.

  She moved closer. A baby girl.

  Sasha.

  Her father was moving towards the hole, taking Sasha with him.

  Now, she was running.

  ‘Sash—’

  Teddington sat up and gasped for air. Someone was stabbing a red hot poker through her shoulder. Crying out, she fell back onto the bed, her left hand jerking up to grasp her shoulder, but it only came so far. She was jarred to a stop, cold metal biting into her wrist.

  Fully alert, she took in her surroundings. The room was dark, the window boarded, admitting only the merest hint of light. She was on a metal frame bed, with a thin mattress and thin pillow – a thinner blanket over her. Good God, is this what the bunks in prison are like? The door crashed open. More light came in than her eyes could cope with, so she turned her head and closed her eyes.

  Charlie put his hands deep into his trouser pockets, as he paced in the tiny front room of this tiny flat in an abandoned apartment block. The apartment was miniscule, consisting of the world’s smallest kitchen, a bedroom, and a shower room. All of which opened directly off a living room where a cat would struggle to stretch, let alone be swung.

  He scraped his hair back. Twice as many steps as in the cell. He felt like shit – all this was his fault. There were limited options, and the woman in the adjoining room was stuck with him, through no choice of her own. Then, he heard her cry out, and ran to the door, pushing it open but not entering.

  ‘Teddington?’

  ‘Charlie?’

  He could see her outline on the bed. He wanted to go in, didn’t dare. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Not really.’ The conversational nature of the words was darkened by her sarcastic tone. ‘Not only does everything hurt, it seems someone’s handcuffed me to the bloody bed!’

  He couldn’t blame her for being angry. The pain however, was one problem he could do something about, but not yet. He was already leaning on the door jamb; now, he rested his forehead on the wood, grateful for the cold, for the unexpectedly still sharp edge in this otherwise dulled interior, as it dug into his skin.

  ‘You said you were a mother,’ he broached the subject that had been gnawing at him. ‘Who will be looking after your son? Or daughter?’

  She didn’t answer immediately, probably didn’t trust him with the information.

  ‘Daughter.’

  A dead tone. She didn’t want to talk about it. He could respect that. But, he wasn’t going to. He knew now, more than ever, the importance of protecting your children. Shame he had learned that lesson too late. But, Teddington did know those things. She cared about people.

  ‘Who’s taking care of her?’

  Again, he had to wait for the answer. When he heard it, he couldn’t believe it. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said God!’ This time, her voice resonated sharply. ‘God is looking after her.’

  The last twisted off in a pained tone. Charlie knew there was more to it, but he didn’t understand. ‘Teddington?’

  ‘Sasha died, alright?’ she snapped out of the darkness. Charlie’s gut turned over. Then, more softly, Teddington went on. ‘Cot death. She was four months old. That’s why my husband threw me out, divorced me. Why I came back here.’

  He heard the bitter snort of a laugh.

  ‘That’s how I ended up a prison officer.’

  And that was why she had felt Oscar’s death so keenly. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head. God, what had he done?

  ‘I’m sorr—’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’

  He hunched. She didn’t want his sympathy. Why would she? Right now, she was his unwilling prisoner. All he could do was stand in silence, and fruitlessly wish things were different.

  ‘Was there a dickless doctor, or was that just part of the nightmare?’

  The smile was involuntary. Teddington sounded like Teddington again. She bounced back well. ‘That’s the Doc.’

  ‘Friend of yours?’

  ‘Difficult to say.’

  ‘What can you say?’

  He closed his eyes and tried not to think of it. ‘We found kiddy porn on his computer, but he’d already castrated himself, so he gave it up, and testified against five other paedophiles, those further up the distribution chain. He got himself struck off the medical register and never practiced again. He’s buried himself, doing God knows what, but he leaves the kids alone, and he’s not troubling anyone.’

  ‘He took care of me?’

  ‘He was a good surgeon. Low loss rates. You should be fine.’ He wasn’t entirely sure who he was trying to convince.

  ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘You needed a doctor.’

  There was a stunned silence. ‘Not that, you prize twat. Why did you arrange your escape from your own son’s funeral? Why did you arrange to kill my friends?’

  The air rushed out of his lungs. Am I really hearing this? Does she really think? Ask? Of course she asked. Why wouldn’t she think that?

  ‘I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘And why should I believe that?’

  The sob in her voice clawed at him. He struggled to find the right answer. ‘Because, it’s the truth,’ he told her. ‘I went to that cemetery for Oscar. Christ, Teddington, you never even told me what cemetery it was. How could I arrange anything, when I didn’t even know where I was going until I got there?’

  She was quiet.

  ‘Say something.’ He needed to hear her voice.

  ‘Why did you run?’

  ‘They were shooting at us.’

  ‘Were they?’

  ‘What?’ He heard a no
ise, and looking in, he saw her swing her legs over the edge of the bed, pain clear on her face, as she held her right arm awkwardly to her side. He moved to pick up the syringe, before going to stand beside her.

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘Painkiller. The Doc gave it to me. Do you need it?’

  She considered. ‘Maybe later.’

  He nodded and held it in his hand. Louse. Shut up. ‘I swear, the only thing I was thinking about at the funeral, was my son. I was as stunned as you when the shooting started.’

  Unable to look at her, he stared at the blank wall instead. Peripheral vision told him her head was bowed.

  ‘I can’t believe they’re gone,’ Teddington spoke into the silence. ‘Richmond was so pumped after his holiday. His missus was happy, he was happy, his world was all right. And Sanchez—’ Whatever she was going to say, it caught in her throat.

  ‘Sorry.’ God, that sounded so lame. ‘I know you were close.’ And every word sounded lamer.

  ‘Close?’ A bitter laugh stabbed him. ‘We’ve known each other since we were eleven,’ she said quietly. ‘Our parents moved into the same street within a few days of each other. We started secondary school together, and because the rest of the class had already made their friends, we ended up sitting together for most of our classes. It was hardly surprising we became friends. He even introduced me to Ward.’

  ‘Ward?’

  ‘Edward Teddington. My ex-husband. We were in uni then, different courses, but same uni. When Teddy and I moved away, Enzo helped us. He was best man at our wedding. When Teddy kicked me out, and I came back to live with Mum, we met up again. Enzo still lives – lived – in the house he bought off his parents when they moved to Italy. He was the one told me there was a job at the prison. He helped me prepare for the interview.’

  Charlie didn’t know why she was telling him all this, but he was grateful she was. He felt he should say something, despite the jealousy tightening his throat. ‘Little wonder the two of you were an item.’

  ‘We weren’t.’

  He reared, then, peered down at her head. Her eyes were directed forward now.

  ‘He just made out we were in the pub when we were celebrating Turner’s birthday. Enzo said it was safer for me.’

  Charlie sat down, beside her, uncertain how many more hits he could take. ‘Safer? Why?’

  She shook her head. ‘No idea.’ She frowned at him. ‘If you didn’t arrange it, why are we still alive?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, Richmond got a bullet through the brain, Sanchez in the chest. They were kill shots. But, I was hit in the shoulder. No lasting damage. And you weren’t hurt at all.’

  Charlie’s expression blackened. ‘You may never regain full use of your arm, and chances are it was a miss because you moved.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Think about it. Someone good enough to take out the others shouldn’t have had any problem killing me. Must have been a proper sniper. But, I’m not dead. In fact, the biggest worry I have is picking up something nasty from this mattress. You do realise how disgusting this place stinks, right?’

  He couldn’t help smiling. Typical woman. Been shot, dealt with the Doc, but complains the accommodation is filthy. Before he formulated a response, a noise outside caught his attention and he stood, moving to the other room.

  Teddington tensed. If anything happened, there was nothing she could do about it; after all, he’d left her handcuffed to the bloody bed! And he’d taken the painkiller with him; something she needed right now. She tested the bonds, but her wrist was going to break before either the cuff or the bed did. She looked back through the open doorway. Charlie’s shoulders were tensed. Then, she heard a door opening. Charlie visibly relaxed. He reached in and pulled the bedroom door towards him, though he stayed in the doorway.

  Left in darkness, Teddington held still and strained to hear. It wasn’t actually that difficult; a little muffled, but audible.

  They exchanged a few minor pleasantries, but quickly got to business.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘… an’t be sure.’

  Though she could only make out the odd word of what the other man was saying, there was something oddly familiar about the voice; she just couldn’t place it. Her heart hammering in her ears wasn’t helping.

  ‘… out of the way …’

  ‘Why? What have I got to do with any of it?’ Charlie was still by the door, so she could hear him much more clearly.

  ‘… or investigation … used Officer Teddington as intended … solitary … is she?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘I took her to the Doc. He patched her up. But, this is hardly an ideal environment to recuperate in.’

  ‘Then, you should have dumped me at a hospital!’ Teddington shouted through. This was all such a mess, and keeping her with him made it worse. She could see the twist of his head through the crack in the door.

  He didn’t move closer, but he spoke over his shoulder. ‘And how would I have got the cuffs off?’

  ‘Stamped on my hand to break it, then slip the cuff off the resulting mess.’

  ‘You’d never have use of that hand again.’

  ‘It was my right hand, I’m left-handed, I’d’ve coped.’

  ‘Now, you don’t have to.’ His voice was dark and warning. For once, Teddington decided to heed the cautioning tone and shut up. There was a pause. The other voice asked something before Charlie spoke again.

  ‘Withdraw a load of cash,’ he voiced what sounded like a half-baked plan, ‘and go,’ there was an odd pause, ‘somewhere.’

  Definitely half-arsed.

  ‘You can’t,’ Teddington told Charlie, then, to head off an argument, added, ‘you signed over power of attorney to me. You no longer have access to your bank account, only I do. Which is all going to make it look like I’m in collusion with you on this.’ That hadn’t occurred to her before. ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘The accounts are all locked now, anyway.’

  This voice she heard all too plainly, but it was a third man, someone she didn’t recognise. Not that she recognised the mumbler. Yet.

  ‘Who’s out there?’ she asked. ‘No, don’t answer that. I’m better off not knowing.’

  ‘They’re people I trust,’ Charlie told her. ‘Friends I can rely on.’

  ‘Really? What can you rely on them for? To take care of your son, so he doesn’t starve to death?’

  Good grief! How could she say such a thing? Still, there was no way to take the words back now, and a part of her didn’t want to.

  Their conversation lulled. There was an uncomfortable cough, then it picked up again. She couldn’t make much out, but she pricked up her ears when she heard Charlie asking, ‘Just what is his condition?’

  ‘Serious. He’s in ICU, but he’s stable.’

  ‘Who’s stable?’ And what did stable mean, anyway? Coma patients were stable; they could still be vegetative.

  Charlie opened the door a fraction more and looked at her, careful to ensure she couldn’t see past him into the room. ‘Sanchez. The bullet missed his heart, and because the ambulance got to him so quickly, they saved his life.’

  Teddington wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry – she did both. ‘Thank God. How come the ambulance was there so quick?’

  ‘Live stream from the news.’

  Ah, she hadn’t thought of that when she’d accepted the 10:15 slot the vicar had offered her, and for the first time, she was glad for the film crew. Charlie turned his attention back to the men in the other room, pulling the door closed behind him. Being left alone didn’t seem important – for the moment, she needed to take a second to be thankful her friend was still alive. But, there was so much more running around her mind. She had to think.

  By keeping her with him, Charlie had jeopardised her entire future. If he’d left her at a hospital, she could have claimed innocence, but now, she was so linked with him when she did get back to a normal life, the po
lice would question her, want to know every detail of everything that happened. That was why she didn’t want to know who those men out there were, who the Doc was. The less she knew, the less she had to hide.

  ‘Teddington’s theory, not mine.’

  At the mention of her name, Teddington looked up.

  ‘Without the bullet, we can’t prove that.’

  She didn’t know who said that.

  ‘Here.’ There was movement, she guessed Charlie was retrieving and handing over her bullet.

  ‘This is a .22,’ the third man reported. ‘Quite different from the .45s used on Richmond and Sanchez.’

  Teddington’s heart was hammering in her chest at the implications.

  ‘Two snipers or just two guns?’ she called through.

  There was a small pause. ‘Given the sequence of shots, could be either.’

  ‘I was there, and I’m not sure of the sequence, so how do you know?’

  Another pause. ‘Television footage. The region saw it live; the country has seen the reruns. You made national news.’

  ‘Shit.’ This wasn’t good. ‘In that case, we have a real problem.’

  ‘We didn’t before?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Don’t be self-indulgent. This is partly your fault, too.’ She was thinking; she liked to pace when she was thinking, but right now, that wasn’t possible. ‘Regardless of how many people were shooting, the fact is, they had distinct orders. Kill the guards, don’t kill Bell or Teddington, just a minor wound. My being shot must have been in there somewhere, or there would be no need of the second weapon. But, again, the orders must have been quite specific. Right shoulder, bad, but ultimately minimal damage. Whoever gave that order, knows me. Probably quite well.’

  Charlie looked in on her. ‘What makes you sure of that?’

  ‘Charlie, you’ve known me for three years. You’ve seen me sign various forms for you, but you’ve never registered I’m left-handed! I was shot on the right. Even if I lose some range of motion, I’ll not be crippled, because I do most things left-handed anyway.’

  ‘Implications?’ This was the second man, the one whose voice she couldn’t quite place.