The sound of a door opening caused him to look up. He remained unmoving as a female nurse, dressed in bright blue scrubs, entered the room and circled the bed to check the monitor.
“Excuse me, but where am I?” he croaked, softly. She remained silent, only glancing at him for a split second, obviously choosing to ignore the question.
“Did you hear me?” he asked again, a little louder than before. Once again, the nurse remained silent and made her way to the end of the bed, diligently checking the notes before adding her own to the file. She dropped it back into the holder and made her way to the door.
Callum coughed to get her attention. She turned and glared at him, then turned on her heels and left the room, the door slowly closing behind her.
Alone once again, Callum sat back against his pillows. What the hell is going on? He returned to staring blankly out the window, his mind wandering to nothing in particular.
There was no clock in the room, so he had no way of knowing what time it was or how long he had been there. For all he knew the drip contained drugs that would put him to sleep, forcing him to think only hours had passed when really it had been days. It added to his already confused mental state.
Even from his elevated position he couldn’t tell which hospital he was in. Staring out of the window, he had hoped that he might recognise the geographical location. He sighed and once again tried to figure out what had happened. But the more he tried to force the memories to the foreground, the quicker they would fall out of his grasp.
And so it went on, a continuous emotional roundabout, his mind aching for answers to questions he had forgotten to ask Or had he? He thumped at the bed, his frustration threatening to overwhelm him. It was painfully obvious that he had been involved in some sort of accident, yet was unable to recall the specifics. In fact, his whole life before this room was nothing but a blur.
He rubbed at his temples, his confusion causing his head to throb even harder. Every now and then he would second guess the reason he was here, then immediately retract the theory in favour of another. In truth, he couldn’t be sure either way.
Like clutching at smoke, Callum could see only fragments for a split second, then nothing. Only a strange sense of déjà vu tinged with anger remaining. Try as he might, he just couldn’t remember anything prior to waking up in this hospital bed.
He grimaced, for that still didn’t explain the hostility he had received from the nurse. Once again, he sat back and stared out through the window, hoping that someone would eventually arrive to give him the answers he so desperately craved.
11:06 Hrs
Callum woke with a start as the door opened. He had fallen asleep but had no idea how long he had been out. He stared at the two new arrivals.
“Good morning, Callum. I trust you are feeling better?” asked the first of the two suited men.
Callum eyed them, trying to figure out if he knew them. Callum? Is Callum my name? He smiled warmly in response to their greeting.
“I’m feeling better, thank you. Can you tell me what I’m doing here and what happened to me? You said my name is Callum?” he asked, his questions bubbling out of him before his mind could catch up. The two men looked at each other then back at the him.
“You don’t remember anything? How you got here?” the first asked.
The second man retrieved a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket and began to take notes. Callum eyed him suspiciously "What are you writing down? Am I in some sort of trouble?”
The first of the two men scratched his head and smiled. “So, you know you’ve done something wrong, do ya?” There was a healthy hint of sarcasm evident in his somewhat accusative tone.
The second man stifled a smirk. “Come on, Callum, enough of the bloody runaround, eh? We have you bang to rights and you my friend”—he jabbed a finger towards Callum—“are so far up Shit Creek that a battleship couldn’t help you, let alone a fucking paddle.”
Callum stared at them. “So, I presume you two are the police then, are you?” For some reason, a distant voice was urging him to be cautious. Both men nodded. The first man grinned and tapped his chest.
“Detective Inspector Steve Brewer.” He pointed to his colleague. “This is Sergeant Rob Howe, Criminal Investigations Department, Avon and Somerset Constabulary.”
Callum stared at them in turn. Something vry bad had happened for these two to be here. Of course, just what the hell exactly that was, he had no idea. But it was starting to worry him even more with each passing minute.
“What am I supposed to have done, then, Detective Inspector?” Callum was trying to keep his simmering temper in check, but finding it increasingly difficult in the presence of these two. He had a funny feeling that they weren’t on his side. Brewer grinned.
“Normally, I wouldn’t be giving a suspect the specifics. But, in your case, Mr Benson, I am going to make an exception. It gives me great pleasure to inform you that we have got so much evidence on you that I am pretty damn certain you are going down and will never see daylight ever again. In fact, I’m pretty sure that by the time you get out, we will all be living on fucking Mars or driving around in flying space cars. Not only have we got motive, opportunity, and eyewitness statements, but we have also got you and your prints at the scene of the crime, not to mention lots of other good stuff.” hHe paused, perhaps waiting for Callum to rise to the bait. He didn’t. “No point in calling a solicitor, Callum. What with the amount of evidence we have on you, not to mention your long, illustrious criminal career, no brief in the land could get you off. And we have absolutely no intention in cutting a deal. I’ve been waiting a bloody long time to see you sent down.” He rested his hands on the bed and glared menacingly at Callum. “You are without doubt a selfish little shit, Scallywag, a social waster just like your father. And a drugged-up, sorry excuse for a human like your mother. I have watched you spend your entire life hurting and tormenting innocent people, and now I am glad to say you are going to pay the price. I personally hope you fucking rot. It’s your sister I feel sorry for.”
Callum shifted uncomfortably and maintained eye-contact with Brewer.
Sister?
What sister?
He found himself thinking but didn’t dare speak out loud. “Brewer, I can state with utmost honesty that I have no bloody idea what the hell you are talking about. I don’t know if you are aware but I can’t remember anything; I didn’t even know my name until you came in here, mouthing off at me. And how do I know you are telling the truth and not trying to stitch me up? I don’t know what you think I am guilty of, but I am telling you straight that I didn’t do it. All I ask is that you do your job and just investigate properly.” He paused, shifting his gaze from one policeman to the next. “According to you, I’ve been a little shit all my life. I can’t remember that so I’m just going to have to take your word for it. Let’s say, for argument’s sake, you are telling the truth, in which case I get it. You are justifiably pissed off at me, hence you want me to get sent down and banged up until I rot. But I am telling you, for the last time, that I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”
Brewer smirked, seemingly eager to put the boot in. He wasn’t buying this memory-loss bullshit for one second.
“I always knew you were a vicious little sod, Benson. Killer material in the making. But even I could never have imagined just how messed up you were. I have to say that you are one sick fucker for what you did to all those people.” He paused, glaring at Callum and beginning to nod. “Yeah, that’s right. We found your little dungeon and your little trophy board, not to mention those three poor bastards you had locked in those cages down there, drugged up on fuck knows what. I’m gutted we can’t pin all of them on you, but at least we can have you on three counts of kidnapping, false imprisonment, torture, GBH, assault, and attempted murder, you twisted bastard. And mark my words, we know you had help. And after we are finished with you we are going after them and every other one of your twisted play
mates. Hell, I’m going to throw everything I’ve got at you and make it my own personal mission to make you pay”
Callum felt a sudden wave of nausea wash over him. He felt sick, his insides churning. He gasped out loud and watched as the two officers made their way to the door.
“Please, Detective Inspector, I didn’t do what you think I did. You have to believe me! Just investigate properly, this is my life on the line. I may have been a lot of things you say, but I’m no killer or kidnapper.”
Brewer turned to face the pleading petty criminal. “Don’t tell me how to do my job, Callum. There’s more than enough evidence to get a prosecution. If I had my way they would bring back the death penalty for fuckers like you!” He exited the room, slamming the door behind him.
Callum sank back into his pillows and held his face in his hands, trying to comprehend the list of charges levied against him.
What the hell was happening? Why couldn’t he remember?
He lashed out, this time catching the water jug on his side-table, sending it crashing to the floor. Callum remained motionless, staring at the shattered jug and the liquid slowly spreading across the tiles. It was then he started to cry, but then quickly wiped his face as the door flew open once again to reveal a large, well-built police officer, dressed in tactical gear and gripping what looked like a sub-machine gun.
“What the hell happened?” he snapped, his demeanour aggressive.
Callum eased himself down under his covers and turned his body so that his back was to the officer. Callum heard him grunt something and leave the room, satisfied his prisoner was still present and secure. Whatever Callum had supposedly done, it seemed it was serious enough for an armed guard to be posted outside his room. Deep down he secretly hoped that it was to protect him. But, after what Brewer had spat at him, it would appear obvious that it was to stop Callum making an escape attempt.
If only he could recall what had happened, what he was alleged to have done.
It would appear he was in for one hell of a ride.
The door was opened yet again, but this time Callum didn’t even bother to turn to face the new arrival. He was done playing this game until someone gave him some answers, or at least showed him some compassion; he was a human being with rights and deserved to be treated as such. He was alone with no recollection of how he’d come to be in this hospital bed, and certainly didn’t understand why there should be a heavily-armed guard stationed outside his door. As far as Scallywag was concerned, he was innocent of any crime and just needed someone to listen to him, free from any preconceived ideas regarding his past.
“Hello, Callum. I am Doctor Haver. How are you feeling?” The voice was smooth and tuneful. Callum was surprised by the nature of the question and the pitch in which it was delivered, and slowly turned to see who it belonged too.
Dr Haver was a tall brunette, her pinched features different but not unattractive. Her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Like the nurse, she too was dressed in blue scrubs. Callum forced a weary smile.
“Physically I feel better, but mentally….” He let the sentence trail off, not knowing where to start regarding his memory loss. Haver gave a slight smile and moved towards the bed.
“That goes without saying. I have to say, Callum, that your toxicology report reads like some sort of medical journal on exotic plant species. Dimethyltryptamine and scopolamine being the main ones of greatest concern, two very hard to get hold of and incredibly dangerous narcotics, both of which are not native to this country and, as far as I am aware, are not readily available on the streets. In fact, you are the first patient I have ever treated who has taken them.” She paused, then continued. “Not to mention trace elements of methamphetamine, cannabis, and a little cocaine in your system. It would appear, Mr Benson, that you have a fondness for the very worst types of drug.”
Callum propped himself up.
“Dr Haver, I am getting a little tired of repeating myself, but can assure you that I have no recollection of taking any of those drugs you mentioned. Hell, I can’t even remember what my favourite food is or what kind of music I enjoy, let alone my top ten list of preferred recreational drugs. What I can tell you is this: since I woke up, I have received nothing but accusations and outright hostility from just about everybody. I have no fucking idea how I ended up here. Or, for that matter, where here is!” His voice began to rise in volume, his annoyance beginning to show at the first sign of someone actually listening to him.
Haver remained silent for a second, then slowly nodded, as if agreeing with his obvious and understandable grievances.
“Despite the police officers thinking you are lying about your memory-loss, I am of the opinion that you are indeed speaking the truth. In fact, I believe that the catalyst for your amnesia is the narcotics found in your system. That they, along with some sort of mental trauma, are the reason for your memory loss.” She smiled again. Callum couldn’t help but feel a little touched by her warmth. He sat himself up and motioned for her to take a seat on the edge of the bed.
Haver perched herself down. “What exactly do you remember? There must be something locked away in there, regardless of how small or seemingly insignificant?”
Callum huffed, his frustration obvious. “I honestly can’t say. It’s like a cloud of fine smoke, twisting and swirling. The more I try and reach for it the more it seems to slip through my fingers.” He rubbed his forehead in an attempt to focus his mind “Tell me what you know of me and my past. You must have some sort of records here; those coppers seem to think I am some sort of villainous scum, continually offending, spending his life making others’ lives a misery”
Haver turned slightly, as if embarrassed by the sudden outburst. “That’s not my concern, Mr Benson. My role is to make sure you regain your health, both physically and mentally, I am neither your judge nor am I your friend. I swore an oath to heal and that is all. Whether you are a criminal or not is of no consequence to me, nor will it have any bearing on the level of care I give you.”
It was Callum’s turn to smile.
“Thank you for your honesty, Dr Haver. It would appear that in the dark sea I find myself in, you are a shining light.”
Haver stood and headed for the door. She paused, then turned to face her patient. “That’s nice of you to say. But, like I said, I am merely here to oversee your recuperation. What happens then is out of my hands, but I must warn you that, from what I have heard, the charges against you are serious. So serious that it is splashed all across the papers and television. The police seem to think they have a solid case against you, and that your time here is limited. I have even overheard them saying that they are fast-tracking your trial, due to the amount of evidence and the severity of the crimes.”
Callum sighed
“In my current state, how is it I can still speak in English and have full use of my faculties, yet fail to remember what it is I am supposed to have done?”
Haver shrugged her shoulders
“It’s no secret that the mind is a complex machine, Mr Benson. We only know a fraction of what it can do. In truth, we know very little of how the brain compartmentalises trauma. Most doctors agree that it is a coping mechanism designed to limit the emotional and mental stress placed upon us when we engage in or witness something horrendous. That event can be so detrimental to us that we bury it in some sort of protective bubble. Hence the memory loss…”
“So, you are saying that my own mind is protecting me from the acts I have committed? And those coppers are telling the truth?”
Haver nodded. “It’s possible. But without further testing it’s impossible to say for sure. It could take weeks, possibly months, to access the parts of the brain responsible. However, that still doesn’t explain the drugs in your system. Both of those narcotics are extremely dangerous and, in small doses, can affect short term memory. But the levels I found in your system are so high that I am surprised that anything remains. The fact you are not in some sort of vegetative s
tate is a testament to your fighting spirit, Mr Benson, or good old-fashioned luck.”
Callum tried to smile but failed miserably. “So, you have no idea if my memory will return?”
Dr Haver shrugged. “In truth, no. Like I said, it could take months to access the trauma trigger, and even then there is no guarantee that you will remember everything. It’s a guessing game, Mr Benson. I would like to tell you it’s a science but I would be lying. I specialise in regressive therapies, but even I don’t have the answers you seek, yet”
Callum nodded. “Can you at least tell me what the police are charging me with? What do they think I have done? They dropped a lot of accusations but, to be honest, it was all a bit of a blur.”
Dr Haver looked away.
“Please, Dr Haver,” he asked again, sensing her reluctance to divulge what she knew.
“They say you are some sort of sexual predator, possibly a serial killer, Mr Benson, and a very prolific one at that. That’s all I can say. And I think I have already said too much.”
She turned and pulled open the door.
“Dr Haver?”
She paused then turned slowly to face Callum.
“Yes, Mr Benson?”
“Thank you.”
Once again, she smiled warmly. “You’re welcome. I’ll be back a little later. For now, try to get some rest. If you need anything, just press the buzzer for the nurse”
“Dr, I think I’ve had enough rest, what I need is answers.”
Haver remained silent and nodded softly, then left the room, letting the door close gently behind her.
Callum sank back into his pillows and stared at the ceiling.
“Fuck” he said.
15:12 Hrs
Detective Inspector Steve Brewer slumped back in his leather chair, loosened his tie, and took a hefty gulp from his coffee mug. He gagged as he tasted the cold liquid and exhaled gruffly. He reached out and placed the mug down on his desk, then turned his attention to his office wall and the photos and evidence now covering it.
Scallywag TYPESET Page 9
