Dark of Mind

by Robin Roughley

  'But you can't do that, it's just not right,' Kelly blurted out.

  Faith seemed to draw into herself, her eyes suddenly fraught with doubt as if she had made a terrible mistake by coming here to this house of strangers. 'It's my body and it's up to me what decision I make,' she whispered defensively.

  'Of course it is,' Suzanne said as she threw her daughter a sharp look of disapproval.

  Kelly felt the heat flush her cheeks and then she drew in a deep breath and closed her mouth.

  'You're right, Faith, the decision is yours,' Suzanne paused and chose her next words carefully, 'but it's like any choice in life it's always best to have the facts at your disposal then you can choose the right path to take.'

  'But I've already told you the facts, the guy I slept with is a user and I fell for his rubbish, there's no way he'll be interested in me or the fact that I'm carrying his child, and my father will be exactly the same.'

  Suzanne nodded in understanding and gave the girl's hand another squeeze. 'The thing is, Faith, you seem to have a difficult relationship with your father and…'

  'He hates me at the best of times even when I get A grades, he never says ''well done'' he just says every grade is in the past and it's the next ones that count.'

  'But that's ridiculous,' Kelly protested. 'He should be proud of you no matter what grades you get.'

  Faith shook her head 'You don't know him; you don't know what he's like.'

  'What does your father do for a living?' Suzanne suddenly asked.

  Faith blinked the tears away and swallowed. 'He's an accountant.'

  'So, he's good with numbers, big deal,' Kelly fired out the words before she had time to think, drawing another sharp look from her mother.

  'He has his own accounting business, money and success rule his life,' Faith explained.

  'What about your mother, do you keep in contact with her?'

  Faith looked at Suzanne, more tears trickling from her shocked eyes. 'My mother died when I was eight, it was winter and my father was driving the car, I was at school, and he lost control and…' she started to sob, her shoulders shaking as she lowered her head.

  Kelly swallowed the sense of distress as Faith cried.

  'Does your father ever ask what you would like to do with your life?' Suzanne asked.

  Faith shook her head as she slid a strand of brown hair behind her ear. 'I'm doing business studies, but the truth is I hate it.'

  'So, what would you like to do?'

  'To be honest I have no idea.'

  'Is that because you've always done as he asked?'

  Faith nodded; her eyes fraught with distress. 'When I was at school, I loved art, but I knew he'd never let me carry on with it when I went to college.'

  'Because there's no money in it?' Suzanne asked although she already knew the answer.

  'Like I said, my father's ruled by money and success.'

  Kelly listened with mounting horror as she realised the depth of Faith's despair. 'I get that he wants you to do well, Faith, but this is your life not his.'

  'You're wrong, I've never had a life, never had a choice in anything.'

  Suzanne felt the rising anger suddenly turn to concern as she looked at the girl opposite, she looked drained, her eyes blank like some automaton who had been unplugged from the system. 'Well, this is one choice that he can't make for you, like we said you have the power to decide but whatever decision you reach has to be done in the right way. This is not like getting a B in a test, Faith, once you make your choice then it will change your life.'

  'Like I said, I can get a termination, and no one would ever know,' she repeated like a mantra learned by rote.

  'You would know,' Suzanne said in a quiet voice. 'You would have to live with that decision, and please believe me I'm not trying to sway you either way, but you need time to think before you decide.'

  'And how can I do that at home with my father walking into my room and giving me no privacy, and his girlfriend sneering at me every chance she gets?'

  'You can stay here,' Kelly blurted out the words without thinking things through.

  Suzanne felt the sigh build and then she managed to smile as Faith looked at her wide eyed.

  'You'd do that for me?' she asked in amazement.

  'You can tell them you're revising with me and it will give you the peace you need to think things through properly without any pressure or bullying,' Kelly jumped in.

  Suzanne kept the smile on her face as she nodded. 'You're welcome to stay, that isn't a problem at all.'

  'I'd like that,' Faith whispered, a wan smile flickered across her face, her eyes suddenly full of relief instead of tears.

  'OK then, but you'll have to let your father know where you are and while you're doing that I'll make up the spare bed,' Suzanne said, rising to her feet, the smile slipping replaced by a look of concern as she turned away and headed for the door.

  31

  Lasser sat in the car, one arm resting on the open window as he listened to Bannister on the phone.

  'The knife's littered with prints, they've been run through the system but no sodding match.'

  Lasser's mouth twisted in disappointment. 'So, whoever it is doesn't have a record?'

  'Of course he doesn't have a record, do you think I would be sat here gassing to you if we had a match?'

  'Point taken.'

  'And to make matters even worse, Carl said that there were two blood types on the blade.'

  'Jesus, so it means the knife had been used before?'

  'That's about the size of it,' Bannister growled.

  Lasser glanced towards the mental health unit entrance but there was no sign of Odette.

  'According to forensics we have blood belonging to Banks on the knife but another trace as well and in places it is degraded to varying degrees.'

  'Meaning what?' Lasser asked flicking the visor down as the sun streamed in through the windscreen.

  'Meaning that the knife had been used on the same body more than once, more tests are being done but Carl said that there could be months or even years between the bloodstains.'

  Lasser felt the frown form on his face. 'I don't get it, how the hell can that be the case?'

  'Well, the way I see it there are two possible options, either the bastard has been keeping someone hostage for God knows how long and…'

  'Torturing them,' Lasser broke in as he felt the shiver of disgust run through his body.

  'Grim, I know,' Bannister sighed.

  'What's the other alternative?'

  'A self-harmer.'

  Lasser's eyes widened as the penny dropped. 'Thank God for that.'

  'That's hardly a charitable response, Sergeant.'

  'Yeah I know, but it's a better thought than someone being held for years and sliced to ribbons.'

  'Agreed. Anyway, how are you two getting on, have you had any luck identifying the prick?'

  A car drove by and parked up opposite and Lasser watched as a familiar figure climbed out, a plastic carrier bag in his right hand.

  'You still there?' Bannister demanded

  'Yeah, I'm here, and we've had no luck so far, Odette is just checking out the unit in Leigh.'

  'And what are you doing?'

  'I'm sat in the car talking to you.'

  'Very droll, Sergeant. No doubt smoking your head off in the process?'

  Lasser tracked the man before he vanished through the double doors and into the building. 'Well, I'm not smoking at the moment, but I will be in a few seconds,' he replied before pulling out the pack.

  'Right, well, when you've finished up there you might as well head home, there's not much else we can do at the moment,' Bannister sounded despondent.

  'OK, will do.'

  'And I don't need to tell you to keep your phone on.'

  'Of course not.'

  'Good bloody job,' Bannister snapped before ending the call.

  Lasser sighed as he lit the cigarette and closed his eyes, an image of a blood
y knife slicing through pale flesh making him grimace as he blew out the stream of smoke.

  32

  The fleeting joy of shopping for new clothes had vanished the moment Benny Foster realised that he had lost the knife. Nevertheless, he had headed over to the row of charity shops in town and found shoes, trousers, a couple of T-shirts and most importantly a new jacket with a hood. Now, as he tramped home his thoughts once more turning to how his master would respond when he told him he had lost the knife.

  For a few seconds, he contemplated keeping his mouth closed, after all how would his saviour ever know the truth, how would he know that he had lost the knife?

  Dare he do that, could he risk deceiving his master?

  As he walked, the big bag of clothes grasped in his right hand, he nodded to himself, with luck he might not even ask about the knife, and if he did then he could use a different knife to kill with.

  Gradually, he felt some of the tension seep from his worried mind, but when an image of his mother floated into his brain the grimace sprang onto his face and he shuddered at the prospect of having to explain why he had dashed out of the house without seeing to her.

  No doubt she would screech and make his life hell, but he would have to have a viable reason for leaving her all day in her own wet bed, unable to get to her medication.

  Reaching the end of the street he turned left, his mind desperately trying to think of an excuse. He was still panicking over what to say when he slipped the key into the lock and opened the door, already wincing as he waited for the inevitable tirade from the living room.

  Silence.

  Foster closed the door with a click, his sweating face frowning as he placed the bag of clothing at the bottom of the stairs and waited again for the familiar screech. The seconds ticked by, the confusion growing deeper and then he moved forward along the short hallway, his heart thudding hard, his hands rubbing together anxiously. Reaching the doorway, he stopped, his eyes widening in shock at the sight before him. His mother lay face down by the side of the bed, the remains of the small wooden cabinet demolished beneath her, her tent-sized nightgown had ridden up revealing her gargantuan thighs.

  His eyes flicked to the bed, the duvet was scrunched up, he could see the huge wet stain on the sheet, clumps of damp tissues were spread across the mattress. Swallowing the sudden sense of horror, he staggered forward, his arms outstretched, his hand grasping at the fetid air.

  'Mother,' he gasped as he came to a halt by her side.

  Her head was on one side, her straw-like hair plastered to her skull with sweat, her bulk seemed to cover the floor, a mountainous blubber of white flesh, mottled red in places, the varicose veins standing out like obscene red worms on her tree trunk legs.

  Easing to his knees he studied her face, her eyes were screwed shut, her mouth hung open, her tongue lolling out to the left, coated white from years of taking vast amounts of medication to keep her alive.

  Reaching out a trembling hand he gave her shoulder a shake, grimacing at the weight of cold flab beneath his sweating palm.

  'Mother, wake up!' he hissed.

  Tricia Foster remained immobile, her left hand clutching the box of pills that she took for her heart condition, a heart that was no longer beating.

  Suddenly, a series of memories rushed through his mind, he recalled the day his father had walked out of the home, Benny had been thirteen and, even then, his mother had spent most of her time in bed. Granted she had always been a large woman and her son had been embarrassed to be seen out on the street with her, people would point and laugh, and Benny would lower his head in shame. He could remember his father trying to talk to his wife, warning her that she was living a life of gluttony, a life that entailed feeding her face with no exercise.

  His mother had simply ignored him, and in the end, he had given up on her and walked away leaving his young son behind. The years had passed, and his mother had become so huge that eventually she had become bedridden and reliant upon her son to look after her.

  He had lost count of the times a doctor had been called and yet nothing had ever changed, health visitors became involved and his mother would look shamefaced as they lectured her on her eating habits. Though as soon as they left the house, she would reach for the cakes and chocolates, ignoring Benny as he tried to get her to see sense.

  For the past five years he had been her registered carer, he'd had to give up his job at the local library to take care of her, though the truth was the money he got from the state went on food for his fat mother, leaving him with next to nothing for himself.

  'Dead,' he whispered the word, a small smile creeping onto his face as the feeling of liberation started to bloom inside.

  He thought of the voice on the phone and felt the thrill of relief run through him, the next time his master rang with orders he wouldn't have to concern himself with sneaking out of the house with his mother's voice ringing in his ears.

  'Yes!' he yelped in joy as he punched the air.

  Then his face turned sour as his overblown mother farted, the gas escaping her dead body and filling the air with its noxious stink.

  'Gross,' he grimaced as he rose to his feet and left the room, grabbing his bag of clothes Benny Foster skipped up the stairs, his dead mother already forgotten about.

  33

  Lasser peered through half-closed eyes and yawned as the car door opened and Odette got behind the wheel.

  'Any luck?' he asked, rubbing at his eyes.

  Turning the key, she shook her head. 'Nothing. Do you feel better after your forty winks?' she asked with a smile.

  'I was talking to Bannister.'

  'About what?'

  Lasser told her about the knife smothered with fingerprints and two separate blood types.

  'So, he thinks the killer could be a self-harmer?'

  Lasser gave a slight shrug as he sat up straight. 'We know the killer is cracked – and I'm not for one minute suggesting that those who self-harm are the same – but it shows a level of desperation within their lives, so it kind of fits the profile of whoever is responsible for this.'

  Odette clicked her seat belt into place before driving around the car park. 'Makes sense I guess.'

  'Did you see Frank in there?'

  Odette glanced at him. 'Frank?'

  'From the chippy, I saw him park up and head into the building with a plastic bag in his hand, I think he was taking some fish and chips for Pamela Fitzsimmons.'

  'He still does that?' Odette asked in surprise.

  'I assume he must do; I mean, you know what Frank's like, he felt responsible for what happened to Pamela.'

  Reaching the exit, she glanced left and right before pulling out onto the tree-lined road. 'It's nice to think she has a friend,' she said as she thought of the woman who had spent years in the mental health unit only to be released into a world for which she was woefully ill-equipped to cope with, ending in an arson attack in which a man had died.

  'Did Bannister say what he wants us to do next?' she asked as she went through the gears.

  'He said to call it a day but keep our phones on.'

  'I hate the thought of sitting in the flat twiddling my thumbs while the killer could be out there searching for another random victim.'

  'I know what you mean, but I can't think of anything else we can do at the moment,' Lasser said as he folded his arms.

  Odette flipped the visor down as she went around the roundabout and got her foot down.

  Closing his eyes again, Lasser rested his head back, the sun flickering behind his closed eyelids, the warmth of the car making him yawn again.

  Odette glanced at him before shaking her head and concentrating on the driving.

  34

  'Are you sure this is wise?' Bannister asked as he looked out into the garden, Kelly was sitting on the grass with Faith Hinton by her side.

  Suzanne shrugged. 'To be honest I have no idea.'

  They were in the conservatory; Bannister had a brew in his hand
, his face thoughtful.

  'And you say she's refusing to tell her parents about the pregnancy?'

  'Her mother died when she was eight, her father has a girlfriend that she doesn't seem to get along with and it's the same story with her father.'

  Bannister took a sip from his cup and thought back to when his relationship with Kelly had been fractious to say the least, the ice-cold looks his daughter would throw at him as he tried to make up for the lost years, the years when he hadn't been involved in her life.

  'At some point she's going to have to tell them,' he said as he sat down in one of the comfy chairs and loosened his tie.

  'I realise that, but right now she needs time to think things through properly, then she can reach the right decision without any pressure.'

  'And if she doesn't, what are we expected to do then?'

  She looked at her husband, she could see the concern in his eyes as he raised an eyebrow.

  'All we can do for now is support her,' she replied with a sigh.

  'Fair enough, but what if she decides she wants to keep the pregnancy a secret and then have a termination?'

  For a couple of seconds Suzanne looked pained at the prospect.

  'I understand it's her decision to make, but we're involved now, Sue, and if she can't go through with the pregnancy then what are we meant to do?'

  'It's not up to us to sway her either way, Alan,' she replied with a frown.

  'Of course not but imagine the implications if we keep our mouths shut. Say she does have an abortion and then her father finds out that we knew and did nothing, that's not to mention the father of the child, I mean, surely he should be told about all this.'

  Suzanne chewed her bottom lip anxiously as she thought about what he was saying.

  'Imagine if it was Kelly or Belle,' he said in hushed tones.

  Suzanne shuddered at the notion. 'We're going to have to try and help her see the bigger picture, aren't we?'

  'It looks that way.'

  'Perhaps it would help if we explained that we could be there with her when she told her father,' she suggested.