by S Williams
‘I don’t think so,’ said Joseph.
Jay looked at him. ‘What do you mean?’
She pointed at the screen.
‘It’s written right there! “Help”. She’s even signed her name!’
Joseph took a sip of his coffee, then pointed at another screen. ‘This is from one of The Fishermen houses. It was found on the files that were scraped by your friend’s device. It seems that Slane had an entire archive of material.’
‘Joseph…’
Jay didn’t think she would be able to watch any of the footage. Knowing what she did about what happened to Daisy; seeing the map of it in scars and tattoos on her body, she couldn’t face the horror of watching it being inflicted.
‘It’s all right,’ said Joseph. ‘I watched it all in the night.’ He rubbed a hand across his eyes, as if trying to erase the images. ‘I’ve just screen-grabbed a couple of images for explanation.’
Jay took a sip of her own coffee, waiting. On the screen was a young girl. She was sitting on a stool in a gingham dress, staring directly at the camera. On her lap was a cuddly toy. Jay saw with a sickening sadness that it was a mermaid, possibly from the Disney film.
‘Can you see what’s strange about this picture?’ said Joseph.
‘Are you fucking with me? The whole thing is a horror film.’
‘Look at her face.’
Jay glared at him hard for a moment then, shrugging, leaned in and studied the girl’s face.
‘There’s something wrong with her eyes,’ she said after a minute.
Joseph nodded. ‘Anisocoria. One of her pupils is larger than the other. It creates the effect of separateness in the gaze.’
‘Like Daisy’s heterochromia.’
‘The causes are varied, but include direct trauma to the eye, or a seizure.’
‘Okay. So we have two girls with weird eyes in The Fishermen. That means… what does that mean?’
‘It’s one of the things that Slane said that were niggling me. When I mentioned about the eye anomaly being venerated in some cultures she became very cool, like I’d hit a nerve.’
‘But I thought you said it was because you’d given yourself away.’
‘I think it was more than that. I think I’d come too close to the truth.’ He swiped and brought up another screen. ‘I went and checked the inventory of the meds Daisy had been scoring on the black market. Did you know what they were?’
Jay raised an eyebrow. ‘I knew they weren’t street drugs. I guessed they were tranquillisers or antidepressants. I’d swiped a few for Slane to analyse, in case they were life-threatening, but she assured me it was okay.’
‘I’m sure she’d know,’ said Joseph drily. ‘There were antidepressants. Sertraline and Venlafaxine. A couple of others.’
‘Would they have caused blackouts?’ Jay asked. ‘Because Daisy said she lost big chunks of time.’
‘Not by themselves. But she also had other meds. Ritalin and Temazepam and a whole selection. Taken without knowledge she could easily have killed herself.’
Jay hung her head. She’d let her friend down so badly in so many ways. The fact that after leaving her, it seemed Daisy had hidden in her flat, thinking it the safest place she knew, only twisted the knife further.
‘But there were also others,’ said Joseph, interrupting her dark thoughts.
‘Other what?’
‘Drugs. Aripiprazole; Risperidone. A few others from the same family.’
Jay shrugged her ignorance. ‘And?’
‘These are slightly more specific. Antipsychotic. Used to treat severe psychological conditions.’
Joseph pointed to the medical journals he had up on the screen.
‘So are you saying that Daisy was suffering from a mental condition? Surely that’s not surprising. Considering her childhood–’
‘Absolutely. What she and the other children suffered was unimaginable. Malnutrition. Extreme mental and physical abuse. Manipulation of their emotions until it may have been impossible for them to even understand the concept of love or empathy. There have been many studies in criminal psychology that indicate the abuse of children, just when they are meant to be identifying with an adult for moral guidance, robs them of the ability to ever form that social understanding of good and bad.’
‘So are you saying Daisy is a sociopath?’ said Jay, a flatness in her voice.
Joseph shook his head. ‘No, I’m merely pointing out what can happen. From what you’ve told me, Daisy showed an understanding and acceptance of other people’s perspectives and emotions. But Sociopathy is not the only thing that can happen to a person under extreme distress.’
He turned to face her, his eyes flecked with tiredness. ‘Jay, have you ever heard of Dissociative Identity Disorder? DID?’
‘Was it a band in the eighties?’ she said, slightly angrily. When she saw the look on his face she instantly regretted it. ‘Sorry. No, Joseph, that was crass. I’m just really worried and frustrated that I can’t do anything. It’s a psychological thing, isn’t it?’
‘I understand. DID is a condition that normally starts in childhood. Little is understood about it. Some psychiatrists even question if the condition is real. But the combination of drugs that Daisy had secured could be used to treat such a condition. Not cure it, but keep it in check.’
‘What is it?’
‘It is often thought to be caused by extreme childhood trauma. Sexual or physical abuse. Torture. Mental suffering.’
Jay shivered. ‘Jesus, that sounds like Daisy to a tee.’
‘And something else Slane said to me, when I asked her where Daisy was. She said that not even Daisy knew where Daisy was.’ He raised his eyebrows at Jay expectantly.
‘I’m not getting you.’
‘The old term for DID was split personality, Jay.’ Joseph’s voice was quiet and his eyes full of sorrow. ‘When the trauma becomes too great to bear the mind segments itself, dissociates itself, creating a distinct and completely separate identity. Another person to step in if the primary subject can’t stand the pressure anymore.’
Jay looked at him, horror in her eyes. ‘Are you saying that Daisy…’
The implications struck her dumb.
‘In some cases of extreme abuse the mind simply shuts down, unable to cope. Shell shock or catatonia. Regression. In other situations the moral impulse is unable to form, creating ASPD; sometimes called sociopathic or psychopathic behaviour.’
Jay felt like her heart was too heavy. Her broken ribs ached with its weight.
‘And sometimes, rarely, it can present as DID.’
‘And you think that’s what happened to Daisy?’
Joseph nodded. ‘Each of the personalities are distinct, different from one another. With their own skill sets and identity. Often they see their own body as different. Sex. Gender. Sexuality. Even colour. It could explain how Daisy could be proficient at technology. In the internet cafés looking up The Fishermen and using your phone to text the emergency services.’
‘Saving my life,’ said Jay.
‘Yes. It also explains Inspector Slane’s comment about Daisy not knowing Daisy. She would not necessarily even know she had DID. One of the other personalities could be the guide.’
‘The guide?’
‘The personality that monitors all the others. It is almost always not the primary personality, and is often the antithesis. The one that is hard so it can take the burden of all the pain inflicted.’
‘Carry the weight.’
‘Exactly.’
Jay sat back. ‘That’s… a bit of a head-fuck.’
Joseph nodded. ‘With bells on. Take a look again at what was written on the ceiling duct.’
Jay watched as Joseph swiped up the message again.
help
Daisy
‘Do you see?’ he said.
Jay looked, trying to work it out. ‘I don’t…’ Then she saw it. ‘It’s asking us to help Daisy. Not Daisy asking for help.’
‘Help Daisy. Oh you poor woman,’ whispered Jay.
‘I think Daisy has been unwittingly treating her DID; subconsciously guided by her other – or one of her other – personalities. Possibly for years. Moving from city to city, taking medication where she can. Keeping herself under the radar.’
‘But why? Why not go into a proper programme.’
‘Because she knew. Or one of her personalities suspected. And when she saw Cummings on the street…’
He swiped up another window, and the feed from Leeds centre came on-screen, with Daisy and the homeless Fisherman.
‘This was harvested by your friend’s data-scraping device. You see Daisy stumble, then fall. She’s not looking at Cummings, but he’s definitely in her eyeline.’
On the monitor, past-Daisy fell to the floor. The commuter traffic walked by her like she was wearing a forcefield. After a few moments she seemed to spasm, and then slowly get to her feet.
‘There!’ said Joseph, excitedly. ‘I think that’s when the shift happened, and the personalities swapped.’
‘And protector-Daisy came in,’ said Jay, awestruck.
‘Exactly. Now watch. You’d never get this if we didn’t know what we know.’
On screen, Daisy seemed to shake herself then, head down, walk on and out of shot.
‘She’s gone,’ said Jay.
‘Wait, I’m going to scroll forward forty minutes.’
Joseph swiped again, sending the image swirling. When it settled the timestamp had moved forward.
‘Watch Cummings,’ said Joseph.
Jay watched as, seemingly tired of his pitch, Cummings picked up his metal cup, tipped the coins into his pocket, and walked away, leaving the view of the static camera.
‘I’m not sure–’
From the other edge of the visual, Daisy re-emerged. Small, head down with her hands in her pockets, but it was clearly her. They watched as she slowly walked across the scape of the camera until she disappeared out of view.
Following Cummings.
‘Jesus Fucking Christ,’ said Jay.
‘I think she began following him, whoever “she” is.’
‘Protector-Daisy,’ said Jay. ‘Daisy-two.’
‘Fine. I think Daisy-two followed him. Began to come more to the fore. Started researching The Fishermen, using their real names. I think this is point-zero. The first chance in a million that set off the entire chain. And when the flares went up and Slane began investigating, she found this footage.’
‘It must have blown her mind,’ said Jay.
‘Not only did she find Daisy, but Cummings as well. Obviously Slane couldn’t let Cummings live. In his degraded state there would be too much chance that he could be a threat to them. He knew so much about the original operation.’
‘So why hadn’t they kept tabs on him?’
‘Unknown at present. If Slane was telling the truth and he was suffering from PTSD, he perhaps had a breakdown and fell off the cliff, ending up on the streets. The new task force will no doubt be able to find out. The point is she got rid of him, and then got rid of the witness to his murder. And then got you in to monitor Daisy. Report back to Slane.’
‘But why? Why not just bring her in?’
‘She wanted to find out what state she was in. Slane talked about Daisy being close to changing. Becoming the mermaid.’
‘But what does that mean?’
When Jay looked at him she felt her breath stick in her throat. Joseph looked so desolate she thought he might be having breathing difficulties.
‘What is it?’ she said. ‘What’s wrong.’
He sighed, rubbing his hair. ‘I could be wrong but it all seems to point that way.’
‘What way?’
‘The heterochromia. The abuse and extreme actions of The Fishermen.’
‘What?’
‘I think they were doing it deliberately. I think they were experimenting with creating DID on purpose. Splitting the children.’
Jay stared at him, appalled by his suggestion. ‘On purpose? But why?’
‘I don’t know. Something to do with the becoming. Creating distinct personalities in the children for distinct tasks, perhaps. I don’t have enough data.’
They sat in silence trying to fathom a mind or ideology that would conceive of such an idea. Conceive, then ruthlessly create through systematic and sustained abuse.
‘And we can’t even help her, because we don’t know where she is,’ said Jay, watching the fire die even as the day made its savage presence felt outside.
‘Actually, I’ve had a thought about that,’ said Joseph.
Jay carefully put her coffee cup down, fixing him with her full attention. ‘Really? What?’
‘The drugs.’
‘What about them?’
‘They’re not the type you get off the county lines, are they? They have to be stolen to order.’
‘Right. You ask the supplier and then they source them for you. That’s why Daisy always had such a mixture.’
‘So there will not be too many thefts of this type of drug around the country. It’s too specialised. Probably requires some sophistication. Bribery of secure units, perhaps.’
Jay looked excited, getting his point. ‘So if we find the theft points, there’s a good chance one of them might lead to Daisy?’
Joseph nodded, tapping the screen. Expanding the shot of Daisy on the CCTV. ‘I think so. Although there’s also a good chance that Slane will have worked that out too.’
‘Fuck, I hope so.’
Joseph looked at her, eyebrows raised.
‘She never paid me,’ said Jay.
Joseph saw the anger in her eyes, like little nuclear explosions on a constant loop. ‘But that’s all right, because I think I owe her. And if she’s looking for Daisy and we’re there first…’
‘We? Don’t you think we should leave it to the police?’
Jay looked at him, a smile splitting her face. Between that, the stubble hair and the bruising, Joseph thought she looked just about the scariest thing he’d seen.
‘Joseph, I am the police.’
December
Blackpool
I watch Daisy as she leaves the tram.
The wind is peppered with salt from the sea, and as the rusty vehicle leaves, sparks firework from the power line above, making her jump.
Poor Daisy.
New town, new sounds.
Nearly Christmas. All the lights are on, like the whole town is afraid of the dark.
But it’s nice being by the sea. We haven’t been by the sea for a while.
I watch as she picks up her rucksack and walks up the promenade, looking for the signs.
Because there are always signs.
Showing you where the strange part of town is. Where you can disappear and nobody pays any attention.
I see there are a couple of boys watching her, but that doesn’t matter. If they come close enough to her they’ll know.
They’ll smell the danger.
And anyway, I’ll look after her.
I always do.
Since we were young.
But for now, all I need to do is what she does.
Walk in her shadow.
Live in her skin.
Be her.
Until she needs me.
* * *
END OF BOOK ONE
Author’s note
I first started writing about Jay and Daisy when I was performing in The Grapes Of Wrath at The Leeds Playhouse. There were a few hours between the matinee and the evening show and so to pass the time I would stroll through the streets of the city.
Down by the canal, with its handheld lovers and toxic swans.
The Calls and Lower Briggate, with its rainbow painted pride freedom bridge.
The tiny ginnels and snickets that criss-cross the city centre like forgotten veins. Kirkgate Market and the Corn Exchange.
On one of these
walks I saw a young woman step counting. She would walk a few yards, stop, then walk a few more, counting them off with her fingers.
It was a hot day but the woman didn’t notice. She was wrapped in a black duster coat, had stay-away eye makeup, choppy DIY hair and was protected from the heat by her own personal cloud of dark. She was absolutely beautiful. Like a butterfly blown on a strange wind.
It took me a while to work out what she was doing. Parceling the world up one step at a time so she felt safe. Not letting her soul bleed out into the spaces of the world.
Once I had figured it out, it became amazing to me that we all don’t do that; break the world into bite size pieces so we don’t choke on it.
When I got back to the theatre I sat down and began to write the opening of the book.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to David who read the early draft.
Dominique for her insight.
Joseph and Leonie for their encouragement.
Lula for their forensic final read through.
Morgen, Betsy and the team at Bloodhound for, well, everything basically.
And stickgirl for loving the crowman.
A note from the publisher
Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it please do consider leaving a review on Amazon to help others find it too.
* * *
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