by Matt Shaw
“I have wine.”
“It’ll do.”
We walked through to the kitchen. True to her word she had a bottle of red sitting on the side. She pulled two glasses from the cupboard and poured us both a drink. I didn’t wait to be handed my glass. I picked it up and downed it in one. I put the glass back down on the side and helped myself to another pouring.
“Still not quit then.”
“Working on it,” I lied.
“At least I beat my addiction.”
I shot her a look. I pay for the company, not the lip.
She changed the subject, “You look stressed. Hard day at the office?” she was teasing me.
She loved the fact I wasn’t working anymore. She knew it ate me up on the inside. I was desperate to get off the Force but when I was made to leave - I was even more desperate to get back on it. I smiled at her and downed my second glass. The third glass I poured emptied the bottle.
“I don’t have anymore,” she pointed out.
“Best savour this one then.”
Our relationship was a funny one. Neither one of us really liked the other. She liked the fact I was suffering and I liked the fact she looked like my wife. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. She took them from my hand and threw them into one of the top drawers in the kitchen, out of the way. She only saw me for the money. To her it was easy cash.
“Shall we go through to the bedroom then?” she asked.
She didn’t wait for an answer as she led the way through. I followed her in and closed the door. We both put our drinks on the bedside cabinets. She climbed into the bed, under the duvet, and turned onto her side - facing away from me. She closed her eyes. I stripped off down to my boxers and climbed in next to her. I slid up behind her and put my arm around her. I gave her a kiss on the shoulder. She didn’t respond. She wasn't allowed to. I didn’t pay for that. I wanted to tell her I loved her but could never get the words out. Just like when Lucy was alive. Stupid. Not the end of the world though. Even if I had been able to speak the words, she wouldn’t have been able to answer.
When we were in the bedroom she wasn’t allowed to talk to me. She looked like Lucy but she sounded nothing like her. When she spoke, it broke my illusion. It ruined everything. Outside of the room she could say what she wanted but inside - not a peep.
I rested my head down on the pillow and tried to savour the moment. My weekly appointment was marred though by images and thoughts of Miller and Cole bouncing through my mind. I couldn’t help but wonder who was telling the truth. Had I been face to face with a murderer before I even left the coffee shop? Miller said he couldn’t go to the police because he thought he might have been in trouble too - is that because he killed his ex-girlfriend? Is Cole innocent in all of this? No. I don’t believe that. There is something there and I will get to the bottom of it. I’ll find out what his game is. And maybe I should phone my old colleagues up about Miller? Let them know I had seen him and where. Got his mobile number - could hand that over to them too, give them something to trace. Might even be a way back onto the Force for me.
Arthur laughed, “They won’t take you back. You’re damaged goods.”
I tried to ignore him as he took a seat on the edge of my side of the bed. I know he isn’t there, just a figment of my imagination. I wish they had fried the son of a bitch - brought back the death penalty especially for him. All the time he lives, sitting pretty in his comfortable little cell, he continues to haunt me.
“You do know she isn’t your wife, don’t you? Because I’m pretty sure I killed your wife.”
“Fuck you!” I sat up and reached for my glass of wine. I downed it in one before picking up her glass. Downed that too without a second thought.
She turned to me, “What’s wrong?”
Broke the rules but understandable; our appointments don’t usually go like this.
I stood up and started putting my clothes back on again.
“It hasn’t been an hour,” she said.
“I have to go.”
I was dressed and out of the door before she was even out of the bed. I didn’t even wait to say goodbye before I was out of the front door. I slammed it shut as I made my way back to my car. Arthur was sitting in the passenger seat, laughing as I approached. I closed my eyes and shook my head from side to side. When I re-opened my eyes, he was gone.
III
I slammed my apartment door shut with such force I thought the damned thing was going to come off the hinges. Managed to get home without killing myself or anyone else. Don’t understand how so many people crash when drink-driving. I manage it perfectly well. Although - had I crashed - it would have been a perfect end to a perfect day. I took my coat off and flung it to the floor - noticing for the first time that my wounds had seeped a little. Hardly surprising the amount they’re throbbing.
I stormed through to the living room and grabbed for a bottle of whiskey. Nothing else to do but drain the whole damned thing. Kill off more of my memories and put an end to this God forsaken day.
As I took the lid off and started to neck the bottle I couldn’t help but recall what I had said to Cole, back at the group; I wanted to die.
One of the only things I have said today that has been the truth.
CHAPTER TEN
NATHAN COLE
Detective
I
My heart was pounding as I watched Mr. Andrews leave her house. Not exactly sure how long he had been in there but it couldn’t have been long given that I was only ten minutes or so behind him when he left the hall. Certainly not long enough for an appointment so what the hell was he doing in there? He’d been gone for a while now - clearly not coming back…
I jumped up and hurried over to the front door. Without a second thought I started banging on it until she came and opened it. Going by her expression she was clearly shocked to see me. That didn’t bother me though as I pushed my way into her home. She closed the door behind me. I turned to look at her. She was wearing jogging bottoms and a tee-shirt. Not her usual appointment attire.
“What did he want?” I asked.
“What are you doing here? I didn’t think we had an appointment?”
“What did he want?” I asked again.
“Who?”
“Don’t play dumb. Mr. Andrews. Why was he here? What did he say?”
“What are you talking about?”
I rushed forward and grabbed her by her shoulders before slamming her back up against the wall. She let out a squeal of pain. I released her almost immediately. I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to let my temper get the better of me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Please - what was he doing here? Why did he come round?”
She looked scared. This woman recently showed that she cared for me and yet I may have just destroyed that. Certainly murdered the trust between us that’s for sure. I didn’t mean to do it. It’s just I knew there was something wrong with Mr. Andrews. I knew he wasn’t who he was pretending to be.
“Why do you think he was here? Why do any men come here?” she rubbed her left shoulder - clearly the one which had taken most of the impact. I turned away out of embarrassment for the harm I had caused to both her shoulder and our relationship.
“He wasn’t here because of me?” I asked.
“What? No! He wanted to see me but got spooked - ended up storming out before we could do anything.”
I felt like a fool. Of course he would see a prostitute. The man is lonely and desperate. Prostitutes are perfect for people such as him; people looking for a quick fix to ease their pain. I slumped to the floor, leaning my back against the wall.
“He probably worried some of his colleagues would come in and bust us mid-session,” she laughed.
“What did you say?”
“His colleagues. The ones from the station. What, didn’t you know? Old bill.”
“Police?”
She nodded. “Reckons he is off the Force now but I’m
not sure whether I believe him or not. People like him never truly leave the Force. Probably just fed me that line to stop me from outing him to the newspapers. High up detective sees prostitutes scandal…”
“Detective?”
She hadn’t heard me and continued, “Not as though he is a stranger to the press. Sure they’d love the story. Front page fodder for the local news team.”
“What are you talking about? Who the hell is he?”
“You don’t recognise him?”
“No. Today was the first time we met. Came to the group after being referred by the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
“He cut himself…”
“I had my back to him - didn’t realise.”
“Look stop fucking about - tell me who he is!” I shouted.
Another sudden outburst of aggression. Once again I had caught her off guard.
“His name is Detective Martin Andrews. He was on that case - the one in the papers a couple of years ago…May even have been last year…”
“What case?”
“Some guy was killing people and using their bodies as pieces of Art. Setting them up in various poses and such. Well…” her voice continued but I didn’t hear anything of what she said.
Only his name stuck in my mind. More specifically the title. Detective. He was a fucking detective. I felt panic set in. What had Tim done? Had he been caught by the police and given my name in an effort to get some kind of deal? Am I currently under investigation? I felt sick.
I snapped back to reality as she finished, “Anyway you haven’t said why you are here.”
“Did he say anything about me?” I asked. “Anything at all?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing. I told you, he wasn’t here as the Law. He was here as a punter, just like you..”
I stood up, “I have to go.”
I opened the door and stepped out of the house. For the first time since I had known her, she followed.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
No I wasn’t okay. I was far from okay. For some reason I have a detective on my case and it made me very nervous. I hurried down her driveway and back to my car. She stopped at the edge of her drive and simply watched as I got into my car and drove off down the road.
I had gone there for a chat - a coffee as offered the last time I saw her - because I thought she cared. Not entirely sure why I was so desperate for that conversation with her. I didn’t really have anything to talk to her about. Just wanted to see her; this woman who gave a damn about me. Her words tonight summed up our relationship though. One of the last things she said to me before I left, he was here as a punter, just like you. That’s all I am to her - a punter. One of her many customers. She doesn’t give a shit about me. No time to worry about that though - not yet. Need to know why he is on my case. Need to know what game he is playing. Need to prepare the house for Andrews and his colleagues.
II
I was feeling nervous as I turned into my driveway. I expected a squad of police cars to be lining both road and drive yet was surprised - pleasantly - to find there were none. Still not believing I was alone, I found myself getting out of the car and checking over my shoulder half expecting to find a group of armed men running towards me screaming for me to get down on the ground. Guess I’ve seen one too many police films in my time.
Satisfied I was alone, I let myself in via the front door. I slammed the door shut and ran up the stairs towards where I stored the box. I need to make sure it’s somewhere easily accessible should they show up as I knew they wouldn’t believe my story without it.
I kept the box under the bed. A quick reach and I pulled it out. I threw the lid onto the mattress and checked the contents. Seems they’re all there; at least one hundred white envelopes with the names of my victims. All in order of when they had come to my house with Jenna’s letter resting on the top. Jenna Cruz. Matty-Bob Cash under her letter. So many letters, so many memories. I flicked through the first of the envelopes, the ones underneath Jenna and Matty-Bob’s letters.
Johnnie Drewery. Like most of the people who visit me I don’t remember why he wanted the appointment. I try not to dwell on their issues. I have my own to worry about and don’t want to get bogged down by their stuff too. Won’t be able to cope with it. His last meal was one of steak and chips. He steak was medium-rare. I remember being surprised when he asked for tomato ketchup to accompany it. His evening, his rules. I obliged. Remember sitting there, opposite him, watching in horror as he ruined a perfectly good steak. That evening, I wasn’t really in the mood for fun. I did what was asked of me. I put him out of his misery. Cut him into pieces and kept none of them.
Valerie Beussink. A salad of all things. Took her life and her underwear. Not quite sure where it is now. Truth be told, not quite sure where she is either. So many pieces. I do remember the fun I had with her before cutting her into bits though. She was laying in the bath with her throat cut. Same as Jenna. Same as most of them. I ended up filling the bath with warm water until it was half-full. It was awkward but - yes - my first time making love in water. Felt quite nice. Not nice enough to keep her around though. Kept her for two nights. Fucked her in the water, fucked her out of the water. On the second night, I watched as she gave birth to a maggot. Kind of killed the moment.
Kevin Kennedy. I honestly thought he was going to ring the bell. Surprised we made it through the night. I turned him into a puppet for the night. Just wanted to know if it was possible. Cut through the back of his neck and pushed my hand round his spinal cord - not easy - until I was in his mouth; my thumb touching the underside of my fingers. Worked him like a puppet for a good hour. The top of my hand pushed the top of his mouth up and my thumb pressed the bottom of his mouth down. Can’t remember the conversation I made us engage in though. I guess I should have written it down. Pretty sure I did a Kermit the Frog impression though.
So many good memories. Estella Selby being another.
I carried the envelopes downstairs and into the dining room. I placed them on the table and sat there with them. I was still waiting for the door to be kicked in and the police to come charging in. It’s funny - I’m not proud of what I do or what I have become but I still don’t want it to end.
I sighed heavily as I pushed the box of envelopes away from me. What is he waiting for? Why hasn’t he come for me yet? Is he just toying with me? My mind started playing tricks on me - suggesting that she - the whore - had told him more than she was letting on. No. She wouldn’t. Besides which - she doesn’t know anything other than the fact I like spending time with her. But what if she gets in touch with Mr. Andrews and tells him of my erratic behaviour this evening? No. She wouldn’t. He’s a punter, she said. But if that was the case why was he in and out of her home so fast? I started to feel a sickness stirring in the pit of my stomach as my thoughts continued to betray me.
III
I woke up with a start - face down on the dining room table in a pool of my own drool. Not sure what was banging more; my head or my neck. I checked the time on my watch - 3:20am. I got up, clicking my back in the process, and walked over to the front window. I looked out into the darkness. Nothing out there but an owl hooting in one of the many trees close to the property.
He isn’t coming for me. He can’t be coming. If he was - he would have been here by now already. I started to get my hopes up that I was in the clear. But that just opens the door to more questions. Namely - why did he come and see me? Did he really want my help like so many people before him? Had Tim passed my details on because he recognised someone who was desperate to put an end to his life? A kindred spirit looking for a way out without the need to take his own life?
What I said to him at the group yesterday though - I told him I didn’t see people for private sessions. I told him I only saw people as part of the group. If he believed me - I won’t see him again. But then, maybe that’s for the best? Do I really want to try and figure out someone like that? It can only end in t
rouble. I suppose the best thing I can do is try and distance myself from him. Maybe I should even leave the group? Probably wise to even sell up and move away?
My head was spinning as though I’d had a heavy night on the alcohol, despite having not touched a drop. I knew the day would come that someone would find out what I do but - even so - I’m not sure this is it anymore. The fact he hasn’t come for me yet suggests he was at the group for the reasons he initially said. My spinning head asking me why I’m not comfortable helping him out if that is the case.
“Because he might need proof of what I do.”
So far he has the word of a wanted man and no evidence. Unless one of the bodies has been discovered? Well, one of the bits of bodies at least. I need to go to bed and get some proper sleep. I’m not going to figure anything out staring out of the window into the darkness beyond. Maybe some options as to what to do will come to light after a good sleep? Sleep? Funny. I’m not going to sleep tonight. Brain is too busy buzzing with all the different thoughts. Need to try though. Can’t remember the last time I slept properly. Need to try.
Need to try.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MARTIN ANDREWS
Can’t Let Go
I
Hadn’t slept properly all night. When I did doze off it was the usual nightmare. I was back at Arthur’s gallery. Confronted by the piece he made for me but this time it was different. Arthur wasn’t there like he usually was - standing there with that shit-eating grin on his face as though he had won. Cole was standing in his place. A sympathetic look on his face.
“I can stop the pain,” he had told me. It was at that point I woke up with a start.
Arthur was standing at the foot of the bed laughing at me as soon as I opened my eyes. Nothing new there. He was there every morning. A constant, unwanted reminder of what had happened in my life. A reminder I tried to drown from my mind with an early swig of whiskey. That’s how the drinking started. Can’t recall the exact day but that was definitely the reason. Tried drowning the fuck from my mind once and for all. Not just him - tried to drown all the bad shit I had seen. Failed. And now I have a new resident trying to move in in the shape of Cole and yet I’m not entirely sure of what to make of him.
