Chapter Twenty Six
"Why did you have me mother? I know I was an accident, but why did you bother to continue with the pregnancy? I was such a hindrance to you. You could never show your emotion towards me could you. You were such a cold unfeeling person. I grew up in a world of confusion and pain. I did not understand at first, why other children at school spoke of happy times at home or what they got up to with their families over a weekend. I could not understand why we did none of those things.
I could not deal with it, I thought there was something wrong with me mother. I was a broken favorite toy, something of no use but you could not quite see a reason to throw it away.
Well you did throw it away mother, you threw away what could have been. Choices mother, it is all about choices. Only we decide our path in life, you were blind to your path. You chose to follow someone else's. His path was his alone and he resented you being on it mother, that is why he did what he did.
If you walk on someone else's path, you have to follow their rules. It is their decisions you have to take as your own. He had the right mother and you knew that, that is why you never left him. You would have been lost on his path with no way back to your own, a life in limbo.
There is always life's leeches’ mother, those who cannot function on their own and attach themselves to others, sucking the life out of them slowly.
Father was the one who taught me how to deal with those people, mother. He showed me how and why. You were his muse to those lessons mother. He was an effective teacher if he was anything.
Well you know better than I...do
I do not need to tell you about that do I mother.
However, I have grown up now. I see things differently. The remnants of those lessons have plagued my life. I once read you can hard wire something into someone's brain by repetitive actions. It is like addiction; the brain thinks it is normal and tells the rest of the body to react if it sees any deviance from its craving.
Two people who had no idea of that concept hard wired my brain. You were too busy dealing with your own addictions to worry about what my future cravings would be.
It might surprise you to know that I have changed. I have almost made it. I just need to put this one thing behind me and then I shall be at peace with myself.
It's the only thing left to conquer".
Mrs. Watson was still crying but had calmed down enough to keep talking. Jo had refreshed her cup of tea she was cradling it between two hands looking into the cup, almost as if searching for a message of hope in the tealeaves. Jo had turned the sound off on the monitor, the live images of a wretched young puppet bride that was Marion flickering quietly now in the background. Mrs. Watson had turned away from the screen; the sight was now only visible to Jo. Maybe its better she does not keep watching, Jo thought. If anything changes for the worse, she would be able to divert her attention before causing her too much alarm.
"You know Constable; I have some deep regrets about my earlier life and what I put my baby through because of that. What he must have seen in the years with me, what he must have thought of me. I will not give you any of that rubbish about how afraid I was of my husband, or what he would do to me if I left, that would be untrue. I was not afraid. It was only pain. I could handle the pain if it meant that my child would have roof over his head, food on the table. His job was what scared me the most; it made asking for help almost impossible. Looking back at the hypocrisy of it all, I cannot believe I put up with it.
I was weak you see. I did not think I would be able survive on my own. I certainly would not be able to do it with a child. My father had disowned me, he was a proud man and it was his way. I was his princess once, but I was sullied by a boy in his eyes and those of the friends and neighbors’’ he looked up to. With no support it was all I could do".
Jo was a few sentences behind Mrs. Watson in her note taking. She looked at her messy scrawl and re read the last few points. She almost missed it and at first, she thought she had made a mistake. She had recorded 'He' as the sex of the baby Mrs. Watson was talking about.
"Excuse me Mrs. Watson, did you say the baby was your son and not Marion".
"Yes Constable, she said. His name was Daniel, but he died a long time ago".
"I grew up in those years, faster than I would have liked. I missed my childhood. I had seen too much to have the innocent wonder of a child's belief. I do not know if you remember mother, but I stopped playing with toys at a young age, not that I ever had many.
I remember that day vividly, my toys would not react to anything I did to them. They had no feelings. They took their punishment and then lay there broken, mocking my attempts to hurt them.
I threw them away and never, ever, touched a silly child's toy again. It was my way of gaining control over them.
Control was what I found myself craving. You had no control mother, father could not control himself, but at least he could control you. In my eyes that gave him power, power to decide, power to feed his cravings at will.
At least he was living mother; it was more than what you were doing.
I bet it came as a relief the day he made the biggest choice of all for you.
It certainly changed my life".
After leaving Jo with Mrs. Watson, Bridger had made his way back to the office. He was damned if he was going to let Matthews dictate what he did today. He had too much invested in this to leave it now. Grant looked up from the computer screen as he walked in the door.
"Are you all right Mike?” he said, with a concerned look on his face. "Becky's just phoned from the custody suite; she told me what happened back at the warehouse with Jonas".
"The prick just pissed me off Grant; I was out of order whatever the reason though".
"Well I didn't see what happened there Mike so I'm not going to comment".
"Thanks Grant, are we any further ahead with finding her location?", he said, as he looked towards the three computer nerds who had now joined forces and were all huddled around one monitor in quiet discussion.
"Those three haven't said much since you was here last, I haven't seen or heard anything in the dialogue to give us any clues yet. I have had John checking on missing persons and friends of Marion to see if we can ID the male but no luck. It seems he is an unknown at this stage. From what I have heard so far, after she stopped dancing, is about his childhood with his mother. It sounds like he grew up in an abusive home. He blames his mother for it. I'm not sure what he has planned but I bet it’s not going to be pleasant".
"It seems everyone has a past they don't want to remember", Bridger said, "Mrs. Watson is upstairs telling Jo about when she fell pregnant with Marion. It sounds like her family wasn’t happy with that either".
"The worlds a messed up place", Grant said, as they both looked back at the image of Marion hanging limply next to the comatose male, all bathed in an unnatural light.
Becky walked into the office behind them and sat at her desk. Bridger looked over towards her but could not detect anything in her neutral expression.
"I've booked Jonas into the cells, he refused any medical attention, and before you ask, he hasn't made any complaint, yet".
The tone of Becky’s voice made Bridger feel like a twelve year old, reprimanded by the mistress for smoking behind the sheds.
"Thanks Becky", was all he managed to say.
Becky looked back at Bridger, but did not say anything. He saw the slight shake of her head as she looked down at her desk and began writing in her notebook. Bridger looked away slightly embarrassed just as Brian Johnson walked into the office.
"Change of plea at the 11th hour, guilty on all counts", he said cheerily. "Le Cruick has been remanded in custody for sentencing in a couple of weeks". The smile on his face faded as he looked around the room, "Where are you at with the missing girl", he said.
"Have a look", Bridger said, pointing at the computer.
His eyes focused on the computer screen nearest to him and widen
ed slightly as he took in the macabre drama playing out on the screen. "That doesn't look good. You had better fill me in on what's happening Mike".
"To be honest Brian we have been chasing our tails a bit, lets grab a quick coffee in the canteen", Bridger said, "I need the caffeine hit".
As they made their way out of the office, Bridger felt himself relaxing a little, Brian's calm confidence boosting his mood. A fresh pair of eyes was maybe what they needed to make sense of what had turned out to be a fast moving day.
"I don't want anything to happen to my daughter, Constable". Mrs. Watson said. "Don’t let that man hurt her, I don't think I could cope with that". She looked back at the screen, reached out and touched the surface, stroking Marion's face through the glass. She then quickly turned her head away and took a deep breath, stifling more tears before they overcame her.
"How did your son die, Mrs. Watson?” Jo asked, wanting to get back on track.
"I don't want you to judge me Constable; you must remember it was a different time in my life. I was a different person. I am stronger now, which is why I will tell you. I haven't spoken of that time to any one since it happened".
Mrs. Watson took Jo's hand in hers again and looked into her eyes.
"I let him kill my son", she said.
Jo was unsure of what to say next so just remained silent. She gave Mrs. Watson's hand a little squeeze in reassurance.
"I need to tell you why though; you have to hear what I have to say before you form an opinion on that".
"Okay", Jo said quietly
"He broke me; day after day he worked on me with his words. Then his words turned to fists and he hurt me. The first few years he was careful about where he hit me. He left only bruises in places no one saw. After a while, he realised that I would not say anything so he got careless. He hit me wherever he pleased. He left whatever mark on me he felt like and would smile while he did it. The only way I could cope was to close myself off from the world. My son suffered more from my neglect than from his father’s fists.
Daniel grew up a very unhappy child because of me. You know I do not think I have ever seen a child that did not know how to play. Daniel used to sit in his room with his toys spread around him. He would be quietly mumbling to himself but not really interacting with them. He could not play. I know it is because of what was happening inside the wooden box we lived in. Every day of his life, the box sealed itself that much tighter. Layer upon layer of tape added to the outside until it completely sealed. There was no escape for him. He was just a child. I was the one holding the scissors, the one who could cut the tape binding the lid. I was too afraid.
It is not right. I know that now. I have worked that out with the benefit of time. I have developed a maturity since those days, I will never really get over it but I have learned to live with it, in my own way. Daniel never got that chance. I let him down. He paid the price that was my debt. Sometimes I wish I had died that night as well.
I used to pray for death, Constable. It was the only end I could see to my pitiful existence".
"What happened", Jo asked gently.
"It got so bad one night that I actually called for help. After finishing with me, he had turned his attention to Daniel. He beat that boy black and blue. After he had had his fill, he left the house and went out drinking. Daniel was crying in the bathroom. When I went in to see him, he was naked from the waist down, his buttocks covered in faeces. He was desperately trying to scrub his underwear clean. You see, Daniel had lost control of his bowels while his father carried on hitting him. He looked so embarrassed; tears and snot were mixing with blood from his nose.
The poor boy was beside himself. Maybe it was that sight that finally got through to me, I realised we needed to reach out for help.
So I called the police".
Brian sat across the table from Bridger, his demeanor more of a father figure than a colleague. Bridger had found himself opening up to him over the cup of coffee, more than discussing the case; he unburdened himself completely in a rush of words. He did not feel embarrassed, he felt relieved. Two men, face to face, no secrets, completely shut off to the outside world. To anyone on the outside watching it would have been a weirdly intimate sight.
"Jesus Mike, you have got yourself in a tight situation. Are you holding up?” He asked the question without judgment.
"Just about..., well as much as always I think".
"You were in the army went you?”
Bridger did not understand the question.
"That was a long time ago Brian, I wasn't really suited to the overbearing authority, to hard headed according to my superiors".
"What I’m getting at is that you must have learnt to take orders without question, whatever you thought about them. This job can be like that sometimes. You just have to shut up and take it".
Bridger looked at Brian; he seemed so in control, level headed.
"Maybe it would have been better if you had put your hand up for this job Brian. You did an exceptional job relieving in the position".
"Well that's all academic now, putting your personal life aside, it’s your job and you either have to man up and do it, or do as Matthews says and go and hide in a corner waiting to be transferred to the dark side... Are you up to it, Mike"?
Bridger looked at Brian's face; he could not see a trace of judgment in his expression. A face you could trust, calm under pressure and he always listened.
"Let's get this done", Bridger said.
"Good man", Brian replied as he rose from his chair, an indication to Bridger that it was time to get to work.
"What are you going to do about Matthews?” Brian was saying as they walked along the corridor.
"I'm just going to ignore him for the moment, stay out of his way and finish this job. I may have a better bargaining position then if it comes to a disciplinary hearing".
"That's not going to be an easy thing to put behind you Mike. If Jonas makes a complaint you could lose your job".
"He would be well within his rights to throw me to the wolves Brian and I wouldn't blame him if he did". Better not to think about that now.
The bright light went out suddenly leaving the room in absolute darkness. It was a welcome relief to Marion, not having to see that poor pitiful man in front of her. She had tried to make a connection with him as she hung there, but his eyes betrayed nothing except hopelessness. That was not what she wanted. She wanted him to be strong. She wanted him to make her feel hope. She had begun to feel like he was letting her down. He was a male; he was supposed to be the hero. She wanted him to break free from his shackles and come to her rescue. All he showed her was despair and frailty. She hated this man.
Marion sensed some movement in the darkness, a sudden shifting of air. She could hear the sound of shallow breathing next to her ear, first one side then the other. She could feel hot breath on her cheek, the disgusting wet sucking sound of a tongue flicking in and out of dry lips. She knew it was the shadow, invisible in the darkness. Marion bucked against her bonds; she tried to force her hands to lash out against the darkness, hoping to connect with something, anything to dispel the inhuman nightmare he had become.
A strong hand gripped her wrist, stopping her movements. The pressure was excruciating, somebody thrust an object into her palm, something hard, cold, and cylindrical. She felt a hand close her fingers around the shaft and held them closed. The hand released the pressure on her wrist, the free hand now wrapping tape around her closed fingers.
She heard a whisper in her ear.
"A gift mother, the power to help yourself".
Then the shadow was gone.
"Something's happened to the feed", Grant said urgently. "We've lost the picture". He was now staring at a black screen, the last image of Marion still fresh in his mind.
"According to this, the feed is still live," Sam said, indicating a row of numbers flashing across the bottom of his computer. "The lights must have gone out. Can you hear anything?”
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Grant turned up the volume and lent his head closer to the computer monitor.
"You’re right I can still hear some movement, it doesn't sound like much is going on though", Grant said.
"How much noise does a murder actually make?” John said. "It's not like on the telly is it? One thrust of a knife in the right place. You wouldn't hear that would you".
"Bloody hell John, let’s hope that's not what is happening", Becky said; "Besides it doesn't fit with what's already happened. I don't think he's finished yet, this mad man has more in store for poor Marion".
The room went quiet, the two computer geeks either side of Sam had lost all colour in their faces. The more slovenly of the two, Jack Woolich, looked like he was about to vomit. They were all looking at the computer screens, waiting for the lights to come on, hoping it would make John a liar.
"What's going on?” Bridger said, as he and Brian came into the office.
"The lights have gone out on Marion", Grant said. "The feed is still running so it’s not a malfunction. I think he may be doing something that he doesn't want broadcast".
"Well we can only wait until it comes back on I guess", said Bridger.
"Right, let’s take this opportunity to quickly assess where we are at with our inquiries", Brian said, looking at Mike.
Bridger took the cue handed to him by Brian.
"Ok everybody listen up", he said.
Gillian was sitting with Beth in one of the interview rooms on the first floor. The Senior Sergeant in charge of the cellblock had refused to have her in the cells, saying it would tie up his only staff member with the constant monitoring Beth would require.
God forbid you would actually have to do some work, thought Gillian.
It did not help her mood much, but at least it was warm. She had given Steve the job of contacting the mental health crisis team to come and assess their detainee; she just hoped that he would convey the urgency of the situation. Having this girl tie up her time for any longer than was required was not something she relished.
Beth was sitting on the floor in the corner; she was hugging her legs, tucked up to her chest, slowly rocking back and forth. She had not said anything since her arrest. Gillian's dislike for this girl was growing.
"Look Beth, you have to tell us what's going on, it's the only way to help you. Why were you at that house breaking windows", Beth just stared at her with vacant eyes.
What is going on inside that head of yours, Gillian thought.
There was a knock at the door and Steve put his head inside the room. "The crisis team is on another job, they reckon they will be here in about two hours".
Gillian looked at her watch. "That's bloody great; we will be well past knocking off time by then".
"Sorry Gill, I tried to convince them to hurry up but they weren't having it. I'll see if I can convince the next shift to take over when they get here".
"Yeah, good luck with that", Gillian said sarcastically, looking back at the empty dark eyes of the girl sitting in the corner.
Steve closed the door leaving the two alone once more.
"Well Beth, looks like it’s just you and me for the foreseeable future", Gillian sighed. "We might as well get to know each other a little".
Beth just sat there quietly rocking.
The lights came back on, making Marion blink. Squinting she could see that the male in the suit was still in front of her. He had not even registered the lights coming back on, his pupils not reacting the way they should. With his large pupils and wide eyes, he looked almost comical. A small smile twitched involuntarily at the corner of her mouth. Looking to her left, she realised what the object was taped into her hand. The light was glinting off the edge of a large blade, attached to the rounded hilt she had clasped in her palm.
Marion gagged, wild thoughts fighting for attention inside her head, many different scenarios, each ending badly.
"What do you think of your gift, mother? Does it make you feel powerful? Brave enough to help yourself? Brave enough to protect me? Well to be honest mother I do not actually care how it makes you feel. It is only a tool; I am giving you this as a final resort. You spent years not protecting me; I do not have time to wait for you to reach any decisions about that and try to change things. It is too late for that, so now I am just speeding up the process.
This will end a lifetime of self-doubt and darkness.
I remember vividly the day things changed. It no longer became just about the violence, a wall went up between you and me. We have not breached that wall, ever since that day.
Do you remember when it happened, mother? It was when father beat me so badly that I shit my pants. I was in the bathroom trying to clean myself up and you came in. You just stared at me with disgust in your eyes. I was so ashamed, I felt humiliated.
I hated you for that, I did not want anyone to see me but you called the police.
I remember two police officers at the door, in the darkness. They looked so huge to me. I was only a child. They looked at me with the same eyes as you mother, not caring.
You were standing there in your ripped nightdress, showing your world to them.
One of them sat in the lounge with me while you took the other one to your bedroom. The one in the lounge just sat there staring at me, not saying a word, as the muffled rhythmic sound of your coupling came from down the hall.
That's right mother, I have grown up now, experienced it for myself. I know exactly what you were doing that night and on all the other nights after that when father was out.
Did you think I was stupid? I used to lie awake at night listening to it, the disgusting animal sounds that operate used to make.
Did you like the uniform mother, was that what got you? The uniform of the protector, the uniform called upon to sweep up life's detritus.
You showed me that I would never be safe, that even the protector would not protect me.
You corrupted the uniform; you drew in the man like a serpent temptress in twisted version of the Garden of Eden.
You made the uniform eat the apple; only god did not punish you as he did the serpent. He punished me.
Even father could not see what was before his eyes. He just carried on blindly.
What did you get from it mother?"
Marion listened to the ranting of the shadow not quite comprehending his tirade.
The arm that was holding the knife started to move, the blade flashing back and forth, light was glinting off the sharp edge. It came closer and closer to the waistband of her dress, her brain unable to control the mechanical movement. She felt a slight pressure on her stomach as the blade ran across it, no pain, but followed by a warm wet feeling. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw the rosy bloom spread across the white of her dress.
She looked back into the darkness and felt nothing.
"This is the bit that I'm most ashamed of Constable", Mrs. Watson said. "This is where it should have ended, but it didn't. I made a choice and it was the wrong one. It took a lot for me to call the police that night; you must understand that, he always told me to keep myself to myself. He told me that it was our business and no one else's. They would be too busy with their own matters to listen to me. He would know that better than most.
The police came that night, when they stood in the doorway I could have cried. Just the sight of them standing there was offering us a way out. I should have taken it. The older one introduced himself as Glenn, I do not remember the other ones name but he seemed to be the junior officer. Glenn asked me to speak with him in another room, the only one tidy enough was the bedroom. I could not have him see the mess we lived in so I took him in there. I was in such a state that I had not realised that my nightdress had ripped open.
Glenn obviously noticed. I saw he kept looking me up and down when he was speaking with me. I realised he could see more than he should. I tried to cover up a bit, he just told me not to bother. That it helped him to get a feel for what happened if he saw th
e state I was in at the time. At first, I was embarrassed, but he had a way of looking at me that I had not seen in my husband’s eyes ever.
I was still young, I could not think for myself. My husband had seen to that. I was very subservient, to my husband, to anyone of authority. When he leaned over and kissed me, I just sat there and let him. When he pushed himself inside of me, it was nice at first, having a man who wanted me, who lusted after me. It made me feel special. It made me forget my terrible existence, if only for a moment.
It was over so quickly, he had not even taken his jacket off. He got up and buckled his trousers; I did not know what to say. He just stood there and looked at me with a strange look on his face. It must have been an age but he finally said that we must not tell anyone about what happened. I just nodded.
He watched as I put on my underwear and pulled down my nightdress. Then he walked with me into the lounge where the other officer was waiting with Daniel. I do not know if he even spoke to Daniel that night, Daniel never told me what happened. Glenn said he would call in to see how I was getting on over the next few days, and then they both just left.
The door shut and there we were, Daniel and I, still in the same room as before".
"That's awful Mrs. Watson", Jo said, getting angry. "They should have helped you, not take advantage of the situation".
"That's only the beginning Constable, Glenn would visit me after that, each time it would be the same. He always got his fill, and each time I would let him. I kept thinking this time he will help; this is the time that he will take us out of the situation. This went on for months, and my husband was still beating me. Glenn never made any comments about my cuts and bruises. I began to believe that there really was no help out there. If the police weren't bothered then who would be".
The elderly woman sitting in front of her captivated Jo, she could not take her eyes off her. She could see so much torment radiating from her eyes, only now finding an outlet after all these years.
Mrs. Watson continued to talk.
"Glenn always came when my husband was out; he had a knack of knowing when that would be. I just put my brave face on and got on with it. I will not lie to you constable, I did enjoy the sex. You know how it feels to have someone desire you. It makes you feel special. Well it did not take much for me to feel special in those days; I had nothing else in my life. I guess Glenn took advantage of that, but I let him.
One night when Glenn was visiting, my husband came home unexpectedly. I heard the front door shutting and he called out as he always did when he had been drinking. I could tell he was drunk just by his voice, that would usually mean I was going to be beaten. He did not need a reason anymore; he would just get drunk and beat me.
Glenn got up and grabbed what he could, opened the window and climbed out. It was actually quite comical seeing his bare buttocks disappearing out the window. He had me conditioned to what was going to happen next so I just sat there and looked at the door, waiting for what came next. It was like a routine for me, it almost did not feel right if he did not hit me at least once a day. He would show me how much he cared by hurting me, and I would crave his attention.
I saw it just as my husband came into the room, he saw it to, and then our eyes moved off Glenn’s shirt and locked together. He knew that it was not his shirt and he was not stupid so I did not say anything. His face is something I will never forget. There was incredible rage in his features, but his eyes looked betrayed. Like a little boy, lost and hurt. I do not think he could comprehend how I would do that to him.
He delivered the first punch with more force than usual. I do not remember much after that, my eyes went blurry and my head started spinning. I do remember he climbed on top of me and then pushed himself inside. It was not sex... it was rape. It was not gentle, not that he ever was, but this time it felt like he was trying to hurt me on purpose. He did not say anything; I did not even hear him breathing.
When he was done, he stayed inside of me and began to hit my face, repeatedly.
The last thing I remember is feeling the bones in my face break, my cheeks and nose crushed under the weight of his fist. Before I fell unconscious, I prayed for an end that I would not wake into my life again. At that point, I felt that I was completely alone in the world. There was no one that would help me. I let myself slip into unconsciousness; I did not even fight it. I welcomed it with open arms. It would be my salvation.
I did not give my son Daniel any thought at all.
This all happened on the day of our wedding anniversary, we had both been so lost in our own wretched lives that we didn't even remember those dates anymore".
Mrs. Watson let out a pitiful sob, then closed her eyes tightly and started praying.
Jo looked at Mrs. Watson wondering if she would continue. She was completely enthralled with her story. The emotion was clear in her voice it created a vivid picture of what she was saying. She wondered who Glenn was, if he was still in the job. She hoped he was long gone; no police officer should act like that, taking advantage of vulnerable people. She would have to speak with Sergeant Bridger about it when she had the chance.
Jo looked back at the monitor behind her. She realised with a shock that Marion had a red stain spreading slowly across the middle of her dress, and she had a large knife in her hand.
Bloody hell, she thought, before switching off the monitor. Mrs. Watson did not need to see that.
The briefing was short and to the point. They were no further ahead with their enquiries. Every avenue they went down was a cul-de-sac leading them back to the beginning. Their meager attempts at brainstorming cut short by the resumption of transmission from the live feed. The office fell silent again; no one spoke as everyone listened to the voice talking to Marion. There was a collective intake of breath as the lights switched back and revealed the large knife taped to Marion's hand. Bridger could not hear anyone breathe now as they all watched the blade run across her stomach leaving a small red trail, like a stream on a map that was flooding, the red stain breaching its banks and expanding.
He felt helpless, as the only thing they could do was watch and wait for what ever happened next, or for the voice to slip up and revel a clue that they would be able to use. Bridger had listened to the voice talking about his mother and the unknown police officer who visited her. Something was nagging the back of his mind, he knew dam well that there was a culture among some police officers in the past to take advantage of any situation presented to them. It was a human condition, one that he knew was not as widespread as the media tried to portray but one that had existed nonetheless.
If only he could find out who the mother was, he might be able to find some record of domestic violence. It might go some way to finding out the identity of the abductor. It certainly had not occurred in the recent past as rumors like that would spread like wildfire in the police station these days, and he would have heard the story. The way this male was talking it sounded like he was a child when it occurred so that could mean anywhere from Fifteen to thirty years ago, even more.
Record keeping and intervention in domestic violence issues had come a long way and were very comprehensive now, but back then they had been erratic if anything. It would depend on the police officer who attended and how that felt on the day. He looked over at Brian who was deep in thought, eyes glued to the screen.
The voice began to speak again.
"Don't worry mother, it’s not serious. Just a little blood that is all, just enough to remind you that you are still alive, still able to do what I need you to do. It will not be long mother then you can go back to your eternal slumber. I on the other hand have had a very long time to live with what happened.
Do you know what it has been like growing up not being able to trust anyone, not even those charged with protecting us?
That policeman you degraded yourself for, he was the one who found me that night. I guess he did not run as far as you thought when father came home.
I watched fa
ther beat you, I watched you go. I guess in some way I was happy for you. You made it out. I was still there mother, I had not gone anywhere, and I was suddenly alone.
I was afraid of father, of what he would do to me now that he no longer had you. I had to do something mother, so I took care of it myself. It was easier than I thought to kill him. I beat him the way he did you. I kept going until my arms and shoulders were so tired I could hardly move them.
I felt powerful for the first time in my life; I left him lying next to you mother and walked away into the night.
I did not get far when that police officer came out of the darkness and grabbed me; he wanted to know what happened. I could not speak, I tried, but the words would not come. I was only a child.
He put me in a car and told me to wait there. It wasn't a police car; it smelt of whisky, the way father used to smell. It was dark, I was frightened, and so I hid underneath a woolen coat that was lying on the seat next to me.
I must have fallen asleep, as the next thing I remember it was morning; I was still in the car. I could not recall the events of the night before.
The policeman was not there in the car. Outside I could see grey clouds, through the skeleton branches of the winter trees. He had parked outside a great big stone building with many windows on its facade. In a few of the windows closest to me, I could see faces looking back at me. Children's faces, all of them lost, the anguish of loneliness that only a child could recognize. They were faces that reflected mine whenever I looked in the mirror.
I remember thinking that I was finally home, somewhere that these faces would understand me, of what I went through. I did not care that I was no longer under my parents’ roof.
That policeman came back with a grey haired old woman; she looked at me with pity in her eyes.
They talked and then he said that I was to go with her.
He did not speak about what happened back at the house, he just got back into his car and drove away.
The old woman put out her hand and I took it, then she led me through the big wooden doors, into the only life I was to know for the next ten years.
They called it a special school, a place to dump problems that did not fit into conventional life. Most of the kids in there had real issues with themselves or the world they inhabited.
Psychologists would come in and experiment with different techniques; they had an entire captive audience at their disposal. They tried with me but I was never one for sharing my experience. To, tell you the truth mother I could not actually remember clearly, what happened for me to be where I was. They call it psychogenic amnesia, it happens when you have a severe emotional trauma, it is the minds way of defending itself.
The life you subjected me to that was the catalyst for this condition. Over the years following I pieced it all together, I remembered what I had done, what you had made me do. It fascinated me and disgusted me in equal proportions.
I never told anyone why I was there. It was my secret to keep. It kept me strong.
I am not sure you deserve to hear about the next few years of my life mother, you gave up that right a long time ago. Suffice to say I eventually thrived in that environment, but it took a long time for me to accept my life for what it was. Day after day, I used to question myself, what had I done, why I was there. The loneliness was the worst thing. You might ask how you can be lonely in a place full of people. Well mother those people did not love me; they did not make me feel part of something. Everyone was there on their own journey, wrapped up in their own existence. The other children were fighting their own demons, all bullies and victims. The staff was just there as referees, employed to make sure we did not kill each other. After a while, I just accepted it and then I found a talent for helping the other kids, I felt useful, and I was doing something. It was not out of a great desire to help them with their pathetic lives. It made me feel better and that was what counted. It was like a drug; I could not get enough and believe me I had no shortage of them to help feed my habit.
I came out of that place complete again, I did that with no help from you, aren't you proud of your son mother.
I am growing tired off this; I thought it would be therapeutic to tell you about my life after you. However, it is all academic really; we are here now, so we might as well get on with it.
I have scheduled the final act for 9pm, which is the time you died all those years ago. Let us start the final dress rehearsal shall we. It's time we involved father in this little charade, he needs to be part of this as well".
The music started again. Marion’s arms began moving, a strange wooden movement. The knife flashed before her eyes as she moved closer to the comatose male staring vacantly at her as she swayed back and forth. At first, she circled him, swaying seductively. Like a courting ritual of an unknown species with a white flowing gown dyed a deep red around the middle. The arm holding the knife slashed viciously across his chest, opening his shirt and leaving a blood red trail underneath.
Marion sucked in a deep breath and tried not to cry out; it suddenly became clear to her. She was there to hurt this man. He wanted her to hurt this man, as he wanted his mother to hurt his father, to protect him from his life. His twisted mind had decided that she was going to make up for his mothers short falls, and he had found a stand in for his father.
Brian looked back at Bridger; the look in his eyes told him that he understood exactly what was going on now. The situation was now in a critical stage. He did not need too much imagination to realise what the final act would be. There was now a definite deadline. Nine o'clock tonight, come what may the final act would play out. He just hoped that had enough time to rewrite the script.
They needed to find Marion and the male right now. They also needed some serious luck. They needed ideas and Bridger was right out of them. He had a limited grasp of information technology but by the looks of the three computer geeks hunched over their keyboard, they were not going to be of any help in the near future. All the detectives in the world would struggle to come up with a fair plan of action. Bridger found himself starting to panic a little; Marion was relying on his skills as a police officer, to keep her safe. The rest of the team was looking at him to make critical decisions; ultimately, it would come down to him if it all went wrong. Matthews had made it clear what he thought of him, and what would happen when it all went wrong. Matthews was going to be nowhere near it.
"What do you think Mike?” Brian said.
"I'm all out of ideas Brian; we might not get her out in time. I just hope we don't end up having to discover her body somewhere after this idiot has finished his little vendetta against his pseudo family".
"Why don't we take a look at this from another angle", Brian said. "He has been talking about an abusive childhood, leading to his mother dying and then him killing his father. Something like that would surely have made the news; the police would have attended an incident like that. There must be records of this somewhere. Someone must have a memory of it".
"Where do you think it happened though Brian, surely you would know about it if it happened here"?
"I'm not sure, let’s just work on the assumption that it did happen here in Dunedin, the only issue is the timeline".
"We don't know how old this guy is so we don't have a reference point to work with", Bridger said.
"I've worked in Dunedin for my entire career Mike, like you said; I don't recall anything like this happening. Sure, we had plenty of domestics, but in the early days, it really depended on who attended as to what happened. There were a lot of big personalities working in the area with little or no real supervision, things got done, but not always the way they were supposed to".
"You can't cover up a murder though Brian, and anyway why would you".
"I agree," Brian said.
"From what has been said, two policemen came to the first call for help his mother made. One of those policeman sounds like he took a few liberties with a vulnerable woman". Bridger said.
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br /> "That's if we can believe what he says", Brian replied, "He's not exactly displaying the actions of a rational mind".
"Well it's all we've got at the moment so let’s run with it". Bridger looked over at John, "Can you get on to the records and see what you can dig up. You find the mother, we find the madman".
Becky cleared her throat, "Sorry to interrupt", she said, "But as you didn't look like you were going to include me in this I thought I better speak up".
Bridger looked at Becky; she was staring back at him, daring him to make something of it. He could not make out her expression.
"Sorry Becky, I didn't mean to exclude you from this. I'm just a little bit stressed at the moment".
"Aren't we all", Becky replied, looking at Marion and the male on screen, both were bleeding, one was oblivious, the other dancing like a demon, a bloodied blade in her hand.
Bridger could see the rest of the room had their eyes on him, he did not know what was bugging Becky but he did not have time for theatrics.
"What is on your mind Becky?” he said.
"Well in my opinion, the environment has changed in the police. We do not stand for, or tolerate that type of behavior anymore. Everyone has seen the fallout in the media in the last few years from that type of behavior. It is a fine line between consensual sex and rape if there is a power imbalance, and as a police officer, we hold a lot of that power. If someone has a propensity for that type of thing, we normally find out eventually. They would have arrogance about them, as if they were above the law. People are more likely to talk these days; you can’t keep anything secret on this job for long, the boys clubs have all but disbanded".
"So what are you saying?” Bridger asked.
"I'm saying that we should be looking at anyone who used to be in the job, and who worked here that might fit that profile. Brian you have been here the longest, do you remember anyone like that?”
"Most of the CIB were like that when I first joined the job Becky, even I found myself falling into the prevailing culture at the time. We were all dinosaurs, even back then. Attitudes were different, I cannot think of anyone that stood out as any different. I also cannot remember anything like what he was talking about happening here in Dunedin. Maybe the memory of this mad man is fictional, he may have embellished the truth a bit, or maybe the psychogenic amnesia he talks about has given him a rogue memory. Maybe he is just a psychopathic liar and enjoys hurting people".
"There's still a lot of the old school around, Becky", John said, from the corner of the room.
"I’m not saying that everyone who was in the police back then were arrogant rapists John, and Brian, I certainly don’t think you were. The ones who are still in the job are those that either adapted their behavior or those that are just decent hard working coppers".
Bridger had tuned out a little as the mechanics of his brain started slowly turning. An idea sparked inside his head, just a slight hunch but enough to grab onto and see where it would go. He knew one arrogant ex copper that had his hands all over this, and another, still serving that could help fill in a few holes.
Jo looked at the old woman crying and praying in front of her, so much pain was coursing through her, a lifetime of hurt and sorrow. How could someone endure so much and still have faith in a higher power? Where was her god when she went through all her torment? She wondered if Mrs. Watson had ever asked herself that question, and if she had what conclusions, she had come to.
Jo had seen a lot in her short time with the police, she had seen the good and the bad in people. Something that would always stay with her was the capacity for most people to endure anything thrown at them. She looked at the monitor displaying Marion in all her degraded glory, bloody and defeated yet she could still see her eyes moving around. It was a defiance that only a strong mind could show and strong minds could heal. She only hoped that Marion's mind would have the chance to heal. She spoke as gently as she could to Mrs. Watson.
"How did it finish?”
Mrs. Watson looked back at Jo with a sad smile on her face.
"I was unconscious for a while, I don't know how long. Maybe I slept as well, who knows, but when I finally woke, it was the next day. I was alone in the room; there was blood all over the bed linen. The sun was shining outside; it shone through my window, glinting off the dust in the air. I lay there in my bed, covered in blood. I could not feel anything on my face, as it was numb and swollen. I tried to call out to my son, but the words would not leave my mouth. I tried sitting up but the pain returned. The dry wounds on my lips opened up and I could feel the wetness on my mouth. I could not move. The pain trapped me in my bed. I wondered if my husband was still in the house. I could not hear any noise, so that told me he was not home.
My son did not make a lot of noise in the house; he would usually sit quietly in his room for hours, especially after an incident like that. I saw Glenn's shirt was still lying on the floor. I knew he would come back for it; he would come back for me. Everything would be all right.
Well he did come back, but when he did, it was not all right. He told me that my son was dead; that my husband had beat him to death and then committed suicide. I did not feel anything but relief, constable, how terrible a person I must be, but at the time, it was escape. I was free of him and my son was free of us. I did not question him any further; I did not even ask to see the bodies. I actually felt sorry for him, having to deal with my mess. He looked so out of his comfort zone, Glenn was so young back then as well, I doubt he had the maturity to deal with it all properly. He came to see me in the house during the next day or two, but by then my mental health had deteriorated rapidly, I was having a break down.
He booked me into the hospital and that was where I stayed for the next 6 months. Glenn did not come to see me in there; I went through that on my own. When I came out I was stronger, but I would never forget what had happened to my son because of me".
"What happened to Glenn", Jo asked.
"I did not see anything of him after that, he never tried to contact me and I thought it was not my place to contact him. I got on with my life, eventually met someone else, Marion was born and life went on".
Mrs. Watson looked back at the now blank screen
"When she went missing it was Glenn I thought of first. He had helped me all those years ago, I trust him. He was not hard to track down; I see his face on all those billboards around the town. I knew he would know what to do".
Jo realised who Mrs. Watson was talking about, and then remembered she had seen that person with inspector Matthews. Trust was not the words she would have used hearing Mrs. Watson's description of this man. She looked at Mrs. Watson's anguished features, then back at Marion on the screen. Glenn Gallagher may be a big shot now but he certainly did not start out that way.