by Matt Shaw
He walked back into the hospital and looked at the boards stuck on the wall which pointed to the various wards. The doctor, who’d come to see him when he was waiting in the accident and emergency department, told him Mrs Stephens and the baby were in Intensive Care. The sign on the wall pointed him to the left.
As he walked down the corridor, Detective Andrews couldn’t help but feel thankful that the phone had lost connection when he was talking to his partner. He’d already made the decision to quit the force. Enough was enough. But deciding what to do with his future was just one step. He’d need to tell his Captain and - of course - his partner and he knew they’d both try their best to talk him out of it. He wasn’t worried about telling them. He was worried about them talking him out of it and making him stay.
His thoughts were interrupted as two security guards ran past him, along with two nurses. Never a moment’s peace in a hospital. Here he was, moaning about his job but these people, these workers, they were run ragged nearly every day and, just like working in the police force, there was very little thanks - even on the days when everything went well.
His heart skipped a beat when he overheard one of the security guards calling back to the second one, who was lagging behind slightly, “It’s in the intensive care unit...” Immediately, Andrews had a bad feeling it was something to do with Mrs Stephens. Or the baby.
He quickened his pace.
Chapter Seventeen
It had gone eleven and Mark still hadn’t come home. Becky was used to this, what with Mark working late a lot, and wouldn’t have normally waited up for him but today was different. She knew Mark wasn’t at work and hadn’t been for a while. A worried phone call from Chris had informed her of that much. He’d called the house phone to check in and see if everything was okay. He realised all too late that Becky didn’t know Mark had been made redundant a little over a month ago; another casualty of the sinking ship that was the office place. And that wasn’t the only phone call of the evening either. At around eight o’clock, Detective Andrews had called. He didn’t want anything in particular. He said he was just returning Mark’s phone call. He didn’t say anything else other than he’d give Mark a ring in the morning when he got back to the office. Becky had asked the detective if Mark had said anything in his message to suggest why he’d called but Andrews said it was simply a message asking to return his call and he knew just as little as she did. They chatted on the phone for a few minutes with Andrews asking how everything was at home and how she was getting on, but only out of politeness. She’d told him that she was well and - she thought - Mark was well too. Both were very much looking forward to the arrival of their son in a couple of months
Becky was sitting in the nursery, half painted blue now they were definite it was to be a boy, and was surrounded by paint from where she’d started to finish the job before giving up - both because she was tired and because she was worried about where Mark was and, more importantly, where he’d been going every day that he was supposed to have been going to work. She appreciated his reluctance in telling her about the job because of the stress on the baby but it wasn’t something that could remain hidden. Not forever. She’d need to know because it would have an impact on their lives financially. As his wife, she had a right to know. He didn’t like her keeping secrets from him, all those months ago, but now the shoe was on the other foot - she didn’t like it either. Besides, just as he’d supported her, she could have done the same for him; perhaps even helped him scour the Internet and newspapers looking for work. It wouldn’t have mattered what it was just so long as it brought the money in.
At around midnight she heard the familiar sound of a key sliding into the front door’s lock. She didn’t get up from the rickety old rocking chair they’d put in the nursery. She didn’t shout down to greet Mark. She simply waited for him to come up the stairs.
“What are you still doing up?” he asked when he spotted her, gently rocking, from the top of the stairs.
Becky didn’t want to go in all guns blazing. She didn’t want an argument with him. She knew it wouldn’t have been good for either of them and she knew he’d most likely react badly - what with presumably already being stressed from the lack of job and income. She didn’t want to react like that but the hormones flowing through her body didn’t seem to care.
“Where have you been?” she snapped.
“I’ve been at work. Had a big deal to close...”
“Chris called.” Mark fell silent. “You didn’t think I needed to know you were made redundant? You don’t think that’s the kind of important information we needed to share?” she continued. She could hear how cold her tone was but she couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t help herself, despite seeing the irritated look on her husband’s face. He was irritated? Well she had just as much of a right to be angry too. She was the one living in the dark for God knows how long. She was the one he’d been lying to. “We’re about to have a baby and....”
“Exactly,” Mark snapped. “We’re about to have a baby and I don’t need you stressing about anything. It’s my problem and I’m dealing with it. I’m looking to put things right!”
“We are in this together. You and I. We’re a team. You should have told me. We could have dealt with it together just as we dealt with…” She stopped herself from mentioning the incident specifically, “...just as we’ve dealt with other things together. That’s what husband and wives do.” She waited for him to say something (anything) but he didn’t utter a word. He was just standing there expressionless. “So where have you been going every day?” she asked. She felt it was a fair question. Every day he’d been leaving the house, pretending to go to the office, whilst she stayed behind and carried on with her nesting as though everything was fine.
Mark shifted on his feet - obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I’m tired,” he said. “I’m going to bed.” He turned away from her and started to walk towards his own bedroom.
“No!” Becky called out. Mark stopped in his tracks and turned back to her.
“No?”
“Where have you been going?” she asked again. It was clear she wasn’t going to let this one go without an answer.
Mark paused long enough for Becky to know “I’ve been out looking for work” was nothing more than a lie. He continued regardless, “Just driving around going to some of my clients...Seeing if they’d take me on knowing I’m good at sales and how I work but - you know - times are hard for most companies. Bad times indeed. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m tired and I want to go to bed. Are you coming or not?” Again, he turned his back to his wife and started towards his bedroom.
Becky folded her arms and continued to stand her ground. “The detective returned your call.” She didn’t need to say anything else. She just watched Mark for his reaction. He kept his back to her. Clearly he wasn’t expecting his wife to find out about his phone calls to the detective. His lack of response prompted Becky to continue, “Why is he calling you?”
Mark shrugged without turning around, “Maybe after all this time they’ve made some progress on your case?”
“He was returning your call. Why was he returning your call?”
“I’m going to bed,” he repeated. This time, despite Becky making a noise suggesting she was going to say something else, he didn’t wait around. He simply went into the bedroom and pushed the door shut.
Becky felt herself well up but refused herself the luxury of tears. She kept telling herself he’s just worried, everything is fine, he’s just stressed about money. She told herself she’d talk to him in the morning. She’d find out what he was doing but, by the time morning came, Mark’d already left.
* * * * *
Detective Andrews stepped into the waiting area, from out the back, where Becky was patiently waiting for him. He extended his hand towards her, ready to shake hands, but she didn’t take it. She simply stood up and came outright with her question, “He won’t tell me why he called
. Why did he call you?” she asked him.
“I told you yesterday evening, I was just returning his phone call. I had a message from him asking me to give him a call back.” Detective Andrews didn’t have to say anything to Rebecca. He didn’t even have to come out to see her. He could have just told his colleagues to say he was out, or tied up in a meeting. The only reason he came out in the first place was because he felt like he owed it to her. He couldn’t catch the guy who’d violated her. The least he could do was come out and face her when she came in to see him and it wasn’t as though she made a habit of it. “Go home,” he told her, “and talk to him.”
“I tried that yesterday. He shut down.” Becky felt herself well up again. Not just because of the previous evening’s interaction with her husband but also because she noticed the detective’s gaze dropped down to her protruding belly. She could see it in his eyes - he wondered whether it was Mark’s or the rapists. He didn’t say anything but he didn’t have to. His gaze reminded her of that evening. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here!” she said. She started towards the door but Andrews stopped her.
“Is everything okay?” he asked. “Everything at home okay?” His words fell on deaf ears as Becky left the building. He didn’t chase her. If she wanted to talk, if she really wanted to talk - she’d come back. It wasn’t his place to chase after her to offer counselling. Andrews just stood there, watching her through the window. He wished he could have found the rapist for them. He wished he could have done that much for them at least but the man was simply a ghost. No one stepped forward having witnessed the attack and no one stepped forward after the mug shot was released to say they knew the man. One night he was there, the next night he was gone. An out-of-towner.
Chapter Eighteen
Mark was sitting on the park bench, the day’s sunshine beating down upon him, warming him up despite the coldness he felt within his soul. Day and night he sat there for as long as he felt he could, waiting to see if anyone who fit the man’s description walked on by and God help them if they did. The first few days of sitting on that bench, wondering what his life had come to, he contemplated catching the man and hitting him a few times before dragging him to the police station but it wasn’t long before those thoughts turned darker - back to the thoughts he had had soon after the attack had initially taken place. If he caught the man - police wouldn’t be involved. If he caught the man it wouldn’t be to the station he dragged him. He’d drag him to their house by the cover of darkness. And there he’d exact his revenge upon him. If only the fuck hadn’t bottled from carrying out his threat to Becky: going around to her house to kill her family if she’d dare to step forward. If he had done - everything would’ve been so much easier.
Today’s thoughts were clouded by the conversation he’d had with Becky the night before. He knew they’d continue when he got home and staying out was just prolonging the forthcoming arguments and questioning. He knew the best course of action was to go home and face her, face the music, but he just couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on her face when he’d be forced into saying where he’d been spending his days. And the look in her eyes when she’d realise why he’d been trying to find the man responsible - to hurt him as opposed to hand him to the authorities. But it wasn’t just that. The more time he spent with her, with these dark thoughts roaming his fragile mind, the more he couldn’t help but notice her belly and what was growing within. No son of his.
The resentment he felt to what was growing within her grew along with the baby itself. When it was barely showing, there wasn’t much resentment. When it started to grow (a little at first) he started to get daily reminders as to what it actually was within her and that’s when the initial feelings of hatred slipped into his consciousness. And now she was even bigger, he could barely contain the hate he felt for the rapist and his seed.
The baby was supposed to be a little ray of sunshine from an otherwise terrible situation but it hadn’t worked like that. Instead, it was nothing more than fuel to an already raging fire which started in the pit of his stomach.
His thoughts were broken by a vibrating sensation within his pocket - his mobile phone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone before placing it against his ear and hitting the ‘accept call’ button which showed on screen just under an unknown number.
“Mr Stephens? It’s Detective Andrews,” came a voice from the other end of the line.
“I asked you to call me back. I left a number for you and yet you phoned my house?” Mark’s dark thoughts took away the ability of polite conversations (such as even saying ‘hello’). “So - of course - my wife got the message. Like she doesn’t have enough to contend with at the moment.”
“I’m terribly sorry about that,” Andrews said. He’d tried to return the call yesterday but the mobile had gone straight to voicemail so he’d phoned the house phone without thinking it was going to be an issue. He didn’t bother explaining that to Mark. “What can I do for you?” He suspected he already knew why Mark had (out of blue) got in touch. It had been a while since the police had spoken to the Stephens and vice versa.
“I’m not sure if you remember,” Mark’s voice was heavy with sarcasm, “but my wife was subjected to a horrific attack...I just wondered whether you, or any of your colleagues, had done anything about it yet?” All the time he was talking to the officer, his mind kept flashing up images of the rapist as he fucked his wife. The pain on her face. The pleasure in his. “It’s just I haven’t heard anything and I’m having these really vivid images of him happily walking around, living his life, whilst we’re still picking up the fucking pieces.” Detective Andrews patiently waited for Mark to stop ranting down the phone. He knew Mark would be more annoyed if he were interrupted. “Sorry? I can’t hear you...”
“We’re doing all we can but...”
“If you were, you’d have caught him. You’re doing nothing. Admit it. You’ve given up looking...He’s out there and you’re doing nothing.” He felt his voice rising.
“Look, I suggest you calm down. Go home. Talk to your wife. Comfort her. She was here earlier and she seemed upset...We’re doing all we can at our end...”
“My wife was there? Why did she come and see you?”
“Because she’s worried about you. She wanted to know why you’d got in touch. Now go home and talk to her. Let us do our job. If we have any news, we’ll call you and-”
Mark put the phone down on Andrews mid-conversation. Detective Andrews, the man who couldn’t keep his wife’s attacker off the street, giving him marital advice? Not a chance. The very idea pissed Mark off beyond words. Nearly as much as the thought of his wife going to the police station. He struggled with trying to understand why she’d go to the police. Was she curious as to whether they’d made progress with the case too? Or was she still trying to see what Mark had wanted with them when he made contact? Either way, he knew the conversation with his wife wasn’t going to wait much longer.
“Got a light?” a man asked from next to him on the bench.
“Sorry - don’t smoke.” Mark replied. His tone was short.
“Thanks for fucking nothing,” the man said.
Mark turned to him, “What do you want me to do? Go to the shops and buy you a...” he stopped talking when he saw the man’s face. “Actually I have one in my car. Parked up about five minutes away from here - if you want to come and get it?” The man looked at him as though he’d lost his marbles. He wanted a lighter, not a mission to find one. He shook his head and walked away mumbling under his rancid breath. Mark waited until the man was nearly out of sight before he stood up and started to walk after him. His mind was racing once again in a million different directions; phone the police, follow the man, don’t let him leave the park, ask him outright...Instant headache.
* * * * *
Nearly eleven o’clock and Mark had only just come home again. Unlike yesterday when he came in late, he seemed lighter in mood this time. More jolly even. Becky
hadn’t waited up for him this time, not that she’d managed to fall asleep in the time he was missing. She figured there was little point in waiting up for more atmosphere and lies to come walking through the door. She needn’t have worried. Not tonight. Tonight was different. And as soon as Mark crawled into bed next to her, she could smell why there’d been a change in mood.
“I love you,” Mark slurred into her ear. She kept her eyes closed. Pretend to be asleep and he’ll pass out. By morning he’ll wake with a headache and everything will be back to normal. At least as normal as it could be, all things considered. “I’m sorry I’ve been grumpy recently,” he continued to slur, his breath heavy with whiskey. “I’m going to make it up to you though. Starting from now. Maybe morning. Bit tired now...” He started to laugh. Becky heard a change in Mark’s breathing. He’d already passed out. Becky breathed a sigh of relief. For a horrible minute she worried he might have started to get amorous with her, something she realised they hadn’t done together since the attack.
When his breathing started, she rolled onto her other side (with a little effort thanks to bump!) and watched him sleep. Part of her felt guilty about the lack of physical contact they’d had since what had happened but even the mere thought of his touch in that certain way caused a shiver to run the length of her spine. She’d spoken to the therapist about it on a few occasions but still couldn’t get past the way she felt. In his defence, Mark hadn’t even tried to go near her. In the darkness of the room, her mind wondered as to whether he even still loved her anymore (in that way. Maybe he was giving her the room he felt she needed but then again, maybe, he just didn’t fancy her now that another man had violated her. She tried to put the thought from her mind as she replayed his drunken slur back to her...He did love her and tomorrow he’d start to make everything up to her again. She allowed herself the luxury of a little smile. Keep that thought. Leave the dark thoughts out.
