Beyond Evidence

by Emma L. Clapperton

  "I have to get out of here, I don't feel well at all," she said aloud, it helped to keep her calm, speaking to the empty room.

  As she looked around for a door, she found that it was boarded up, with ten inch nails and thick solid wood.

  "What the hell is going on?" she screamed out. Just as she did, she noticed what was covering the walls in the dull grey colour. She inched closer and looked on at what was now the answer to her question. Jodie was reading intricate details about Angela Noble, Michelle Levine and Rebecca Collins deaths, from newspaper cuttings and hand written notes! As she scanned over them, she came across a picture of herself, a photo with her name on it!

  "Oh my god," she backed away from the wall covered in photos and writing. "How the hell did they get a picture of me?"

  She turned around and as she did she screamed out, "Is that it, am I next you sick freak? Well come on then... I'm here now! Get it done if you really want to!"

  She was in the killer's bedroom and there was no way out! She began to feel sick at the thought of what was happening. The room began to spin and she found a bin just in time before she began to vomit. As she wretched the blood came in thick clumps and she felt weak not only at the sight of her own blood but at the realisation that she was not breathing.

  Then the fire came, it crept in through every crack in the wall, ceiling and floor. It came in through the holes punched in the wood boarding the door by the ten inch nails and under the door frame.

  Her skin began feeling like it was being cooked. She tried to scream for help, but nothing came from her throat. She tried to crawl to the window in the hope that it would open, but then remembered there was nothing out there, only blackness.

  She felt a hand on the back of her neck as she tried to crawl, and assumed the worst. She tried to speak but her lungs were filled with smoke. She began to shake, violently and fast. She looked up and was relieved to see Patrick's face, his face filled with terror, shouting at her.

  "Jodie, wake up, wake up!"

  She opened her eyes. She gasped for air and held onto Patrick for dear life. She sucked in the air deep and long and tried to see him through tear filled eyes.

  I'm awake, she thought. I'm alive.

  Twenty One

  Karma

  Karma, the consequence of one's actions. Good deeds or wrong doings, selfish acts of greed or selfless acts of kindness. It's that old idea that he who reaps the benefits in selfish acts or inflicts harm and cruelty for any kind of reason to benefit himself will experience that, ‘what goes around comes around,’ feeling, at some point in their lives.

  Of course it speaks the same words for those who do well in the world. Those who are helpful, kind to strangers, raise money for charity etc...

  Those are the people who will experience kind ‘rewards' if you like. Those are the people who will lead good, healthy and happy lives.

  Whatever way you look at it, karma had taken its place in Ross' flat today. Billy was dead and Ross didn't even have to touch him to make it happen.

  "A freak accident," the paramedic had quietly said to his colleague as they carried Billy out in the stretcher.

  Yes, an accident waiting to happen, Ross had thought to himself and a very convenient one at that. All Ross had ever wanted was justice for Maria and her premature death. Justice was something Ross had dreamed about for years. But karma was beginning to sound so much better. Justice was everyone's human right, but karma? Yes, karma was a much better way for Ross to deal with everything that had gone on in his life since Maria had died.

  As he thought about everything he noticed the lady standing in her doorway, the lady who had been mopping the floors in the close, the woman who had ultimately killed his father. He suddenly had an urge to thank her but knew he couldn't. How would that look to her? All he did was ask if she was ok.

  "No I'm not ok, that man has just died because of me," her frail voice quivered as she spoke.

  "It wasn't your fault, it was just an accident."

  She had tears in her eyes as she went into her own flat and closed the door. Ross felt sorry for her.

  Poor woman, he thought to himself as he closed his front door. He gazed at the picture of his Mum on the kitchen wall.

  Ross felt a mix of emotions as he saw her face staring back at him. He thought about what she would say to him if she were with him at this precise moment. Knowing Maria she would have been disappointed in Ross for being so smug about what had happened.

  "But you're not here are you mum and you can't say anything because you're not with me?"

  He felt the sides of his eyes sting and his temples began to ache as he tried to push the emotions back into the black box he had kept inside his head for all the years Maria had been dead and even before she had died. But the black box had loosened its lid over the last few months and dark memories had reared their ugly heads, memories that had darkened Ross' outlook on life, positive reasons to go on. The memories that had been locked away for so long that they were screaming to be let out. Ross knew that there were things in his head that even he couldn't say out loud. Things that would make him sick to say and think about, things that even Maria never knew about.

  Ross stared out the window as the ambulance pulled away and thought about Billy. He would be lying on a cold slab soon enough. Then he would be put into the ground and six feet of dirt would cover him, never to be seen or heard of again. Not in human form anyway.

  He would forever live in Ross' mind, taunting him, making him relive every moment of torment and mental torture he had ever caused him to live through.

  Ross watched until the ambulance was out of sight and he watched the people on the street go about their daily business as normal, all of them leading normal happy lives.

  Ross often wondered what life would have been like if Billy had been a normal, sober Dad like the rest of the Dads in the world.

  "Well Dad, what a great job you did! Well done," he said aloud. He walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. As he stared into his own eyes he felt the fear run through him, as if he were a child again hearing his drunken father walk through the front door. He almost heard the door slam and Billy call out drunkenly for Maria and Ross. He felt that same urge he had felt all those years ago to hide. He could hear Maria's voice echoing in his head, pleading with Billy to stop smashing things, throwing things and shouting. Ross was reliving his childhood nightmare, as he stood in his own bathroom.

  He lifted his shirt and could still see the scars, the burn marks from the cigarettes. He could feel them as though they had just been put there.

  Ross splashed his face with cold water. He tried to wash away the sounds in his head, the memories he had so desperately tried to keep locked away inside the box. But the lid was completely off now. As the nightmares and memories poured out he felt the anger build from his feet right to the top of his head as if he were about to explode. He closed his eyes as he remembered the cigarettes meeting his rib cage and chest, the slaps across the back of his head and neck.

  Ross pulled the mirror off the wall and smashed it into the bath. There was blood on his hands and in the bath. He tried to calm himself down, trying not to be like him. It was just so hard to stay composed when Billy was dead but still everywhere Ross looked. He saw his face everywhere, in bars as men like him ogled over meaningless women who didn't care about one nighters, he saw his face in men who passed by in business suits, men who flashed their wallets at any woman who would look. He was even in the faces of women who would put it about and not think twice about who they were getting involved with.

  Ross remembered that Billy had abused him too, along with Maria.

  The anger boiled over as he thought about the endless nights of beatings, burns and mental abuse he had to endure. There was no way that this feeling would ever go away even though he had just watched the man who had caused his anguish die right in front of him! No amount of satisfaction would block out the last twenty odd years. If he wasn't being a
bused by Billy he had to listen to and watch Maria take her beating.

  Ross was glad Billy was dead! But he did regret one thing, that it wasn't he who killed his Dad. He thought about that as he tried to clean his bleeding hands from the broken mirror in the bath.

  Yes, it was easier for Ross that Billy had died purely by accident, that he met his maker in the old lady washing down the stairs of the close where Ross lived. However, Ross didn't feel like he had any sort of closure. Billy died only a few minutes after proclaiming his guilt and sorrow for what he had done for all those years.

  That's not justice, that's a cop out, Ross thought as he washed his bloody hands under the tap. He wrapped his hands in some small hand towels and sat down on the toilet seat as he thought about everything.

  How can I move on now? He was in prison for a piss easy couple of years then he gets out, gives a measly apology and then falls down a flight of stairs. What a lot of shit.

  Ross squeezed the towels in his hands at the thought of Billy's easy way out. Made your peace with God then fucked off eh Dad?

  Ross stood up and walked back to the window in the living room, the towels seeping blood. He looked out and saw a world that he could never feel a part of. He had never and would never feel happy, normal or at ease with life.

  "You've just made this a whole lot fucking worse Dad."

  Ross made his way into the kitchen and put some plasters on the cuts which had seemed worse at first glance but as he cleaned the blood away he saw that they were small. As he reached to put the plaster wrappings in the bin he remembered the letter that he had picked up before letting Billy in to the flat.

  He walked out of the kitchen and in to the hallway and picked up the envelope. He knew exactly what it was from the stamp on the back of it, "Adoption Contact Scotland."

  He hesitated for a moment, unsure what to expect from the letter. Had they found his brother?

  He opened the envelope, pulled the letter out and began to read.

  He read it twice to be sure that he wasn't dreaming.

  Twenty Two

  Lilies- flower of death

  Patrick sat impatiently in the waiting room of the doctor surgery. His mind whizzed around all sorts of crazy ideas about what could be wrong with Jodie. He had never seen anything like it before. Jodie was asleep on the couch one minute and the next she was crawling along the floor, vomiting violently and screaming in terror.

  When Patrick had finally managed to wake her she looked like she had no idea where she was and she was shaking so hard that Patrick had thought that she was convulsing! In all honesty he had been so terrified and had no idea what was going on he just called his out of hours practice and was told to bring her in straight away. He had insisted that he sit in with Jodie when she saw the doctor but she refused, insisting that she was fine.

  The out of hours practice was deadly quiet, not like the A&E service in the Western Infirmary. The waiting room was warm and welcoming, although at that precise moment that did not compensate for the fear running through Patrick's veins. There was a radio playing quietly in the background and there was a vase filled with white lilies on the reception desk.

  "Don't you think those flowers give off the wrong impression of this place?" Patrick commented with gentle sarcasm.

  The receptionist glanced at the lilies then back to Patrick, "Sorry?"

  "The lilies, you do know they are the flowers of death?" he smiled.

  The receptionist looked away disinterested and Patrick just shrugged his shoulders and picked up the nearest magazine.

  As he flicked the pages the receptionist got up and walked in to the back of the office to put some papers away. Patrick heard her return to her desk and he continued to read.

  "They are quite appropriate for me," she said.

  Without looking up Patrick replied, "Why's that?"

  "Well, they're the flowers that were laid upon my coffin at my funeral."

  The tiny hairs on the back of Patrick's neck stood on end and he looked up immediately. There she was, standing behind the reception desk as clear as he was sat in his seat, Angela Noble.

  Patrick tried to stay as calm as possible and he cleared his throat and said, "They were?"

  "Yes. And if you and Jodie don't get your acts together then they will be on hers too," she sounded sad, but Patrick detected a hint of anger in her tone too.

  He stood up, almost defensively and walked over to the desk, "What did you say?"

  The receptionist put her head round the door of the office and looked at him strangely. "I didn't say anything."

  Angela was gone and the hairs were now flat on the back of his neck.

  "Oh sorry, I must be hearing things," he replied.

  "Although now that you mention it, you're probably right," the receptionist continued.

  "About what?" Patrick answered distantly.

  The receptionist looked at him a little confused. "The lilies? You said they were the flower of death."

  Patrick looked down the corridor at the office door which Jodie was behind, discussing her ‘episode' with her GP.

  "Oh yeah, people probably won't notice anyway," he said with disregard.

  The receptionist looked at Patrick, wondering what had changed in the last minute since he had mentioned the lilies. She put down a stack of papers that she had been holding and sat down on her seat.

  "Are you alright sir? You seem very anxious," she asked.

  "Yeah, I'm just worried about my fiancée that's all."

  Patrick was quiet for a further few moments. What had just happened? His mind was most definitely not his own. Girls were coming in and out of his thoughts by the hour and Patrick wasn't sure if he could carry on with the invasions in his mind.

  Just then the office door opened and Jodie walked down the short corridor to the waiting room. Patrick was up like a bullet from a gun and Jodie suddenly felt his grip on her waist and under arm.

  "What did he say? Is it serious?" Patrick asked worriedly, quickly forgetting his encounter with the recently deceased in the doctor's waiting room.

  "I'm fine, he said that it seems I have been suffering night terrors caused by stress," Jodie said expressionless.

  "Night terrors? Caused by stress? What stress?" the questions were coming thick and fast.

  "What do you think?" she snapped.

  Patrick stood back, shocked at the sudden reaction. Jodie had never had that kind of attitude towards anyone let alone Patrick.

  "Oh god I'm sorry, I don't mean to bite your head off, I'm just knackered and I wish I could relax. But I can't."

  "The case, that's what's caused all of this. Why won't you just speak to me if you're feeling stressed or worried?"

  "But I don't feel stressed that's the thing Patrick, I'm just tired. Exhausted actually, but I have never felt stressed to the point where I actually feel it in my gut," she sighed. "Until tonight."

  They walked out to the street to get a taxi back to the apartment and Patrick recalled seeing Angela Noble stood behind the reception desk in the doctor office. It wasn't the fact that he has seen her that had bothered him, he was used to that. It was what she had said to him that niggled at him.

  And if you and Jodie don't get your acts together then they will be on hers too.

  He did not like the obvious meaning behind the words. Patrick and Jodie got in to a taxi and sat huddled together in the back. Jodie shivered due to a combination of cold and exhaustion. The roads were eerily quiet, after all it was one o'clock in the morning.

  "Did the doctor prescribe anything for you?" Patrick realised he had forgotten to ask.

  "Yeah I've got a prescription for some tablets to help me sleep. He said that they should also help the night terrors become less intense," she replied sleepily.

  "Well, let's hope they work. Jodie, do you want me to stop working on the case? If it is causing you all this stress..."

  "No way, those girls need your help. The police need your help."

 
; "But..."

  "We've already been through this Patrick. It's totally out of the question. Honestly I'm fine. I want you to do it and if I can be of any help then I will. God, we've been doing this for so long, I'm not about to stop the biggest investigation that you've ever had to deal with."

  Patrick thought about it and she was right. But he couldn't help worrying about her. She was everything to him, the only person to ever understand every thought to go through his head, the only person to feel everything that he felt and sense every possible emotion that ran through him at any given time. They were soul mates and his love was unconditional.

  "I love you Jodie, on top of everything that's what's the most important."

  Jodie was fast asleep with her head on his shoulder as the taxi continued its journey back to Glasgow Harbour.

  Twenty Three

  Satisfaction

  Satisfaction can come in many different forms, like success, achievement and happiness. In Ross' case, satisfaction had replaced happiness. In fact it hadn't replaced it as Ross had never been truly happy. Nothing in the world could make him happy, only short spells of satisfaction could get him through his life day by day, thought after thought and nightmare after nightmare.

  Seeing Billy fall to his death down a flight of stairs had given Ross a short spell of satisfaction.

  Murdering Angela, Rebecca and Michelle had given him three short spells of satisfaction, not one spell longer than the other. Seeing other people hurting for their loved ones because of someone else's filthy and disgraceful antics, that gave him a short spell of satisfaction. Reading of his own ‘work' in the newspaper, that did it for Ross. Seeing what he had done created as a real story in a tabloid gave him that feeling too. You might also say that he relived his crime.