Why I Want You Dead

by A K Shattock

  I begged him. “Please Greg! You know how important it is for me to have a child. Please can we talk about this. We could have a baby another way! IVF, surrogacy, adoption? I don’t care how, I just really need to have a family!”

  But for Greg, it was just easier to pretend the problem didn’t exist. To go for other options, for him would mean announcing to the world our fertility problems. “Oh, Mary and I aren’t fussed about having kids,” he used to say, whenever any of our friends or family asked. “We enjoy the simple life too much, don’t we dear?” I was forced to keep it a secret. Learned just to smile and nod whenever anyone commented on my childlessness. It was awful. I felt so alone at that point in my life. And it was only just the beginning.

  I used to try and fulfill my maternal instincts in other ways. I was delighted when my younger sister, Elizabeth had two boys of her own. I used to visit them almost everyday. I would offer to babysit when I could. I fussed over them, spoiled them and treated them as if they were my own. That was, until they moved away.

  Elizabeth’s husband, Keith got a job up in Newcastle. I begged them not to go. But in truth, they could barely afford to raise the boys in London anymore. I had resisted commenting on the state of their tiny flat, how it was way too small for their growing family, how the boy’s clothes were much too tight for them. “We can’t afford to live here,” Elizabeth had cried to me. “In Newcastle, we can live in a fourbedroom house for the same price of this flat. It’s a no-brainer, Mary. It’s the best thing to do for the boys.”

  And so they went.

  I had felt empty for months. It was like a grief I had never experienced before - even more than when our Mum had passed the year before. It felt so silly. They were still in the country. I could go and visit them. I could call them. But in truth, it was not the same at all.

  I had even tried to hint to Greg that we should relocate to Newcastle. “Are you joking?” Greg had actually laughed. “My art gallery and business is here! Do you want to lose our house? Everything I ever worked hard for? I thought you would be relieved to not have to babysit all the time. I always used to think that Elizabeth was taking the mick when it came to that. She relied on you way too much.”

  I didn’t tell him that I needed them. That I was the one who relied on them. That it used to get to the point where I could see that Elizabeth was frustrated that I wouldn’t leave her flat, so she could get on with whatever she had to do. But she never told me to go. She knew what the boys meant to me. She had never once complained.

  I was desperately unhappy for years after that. I tried my best to keep busy. To keep the house clean, the garden pruned and mowed. I started getting involved in the community. I had a weekly book club, there were coffee mornings, there were gym classes. They felt fake. The women there were like me; too much money with not enough to do. Complaining about menial things like the recycling bins, how their kids were glued to the television, how they never listened or tidied up their own mess. I used to listen with silent envy. How I wished I could have a child to complain about.

  A few years into living in the house that we still owned to this day; a beautiful, detached four bedroom property in Dulwich; something truly amazing happened. My prayers were answered. A family moved in across the road. They had a gorgeous little girl. Beautiful, bright eyes and golden ringlets. She looked like a little doll. I used to watch her playing with her toys on her front lawn as I weeded the front garden. Then one day, her father rang our doorbell in a flurry of panic. “I’m really sorry to bother you. My wife is unwell and needs to go to hospital. It’s not an appropriate place to take a child… I was wondering… you would be doing a massive favour if you could watch Nellie for a couple of hours?”

  I was absolutely delighted of course. I took her inside at once and we had the best time. Her visits became more regular as her mother’s visits to the hospital became more frequent. It turned out her mother was not well at all. Schizophrenia, it turned out to be called. Soon, she was admitted into a secure psychiatric unit for longer periods of time. Her poor father; Nathan was at his wits end.

  “Mary, I don’t know what I would do without you,” he would say tearfully, when he dropped little Nellie at my door before he went off to work.

  Unofficially, I became Nellie’s second mother. Even when her own mother came back to their house for a short time, Nathan would still drop Nellie off at mine. “She needs a bit of normality,” he would say. “Karen… she can barely look after herself, let alone a child.” I had been too happy to oblige and didn’t ask questions.

  I often wondered what it was like for Nellie, to have to grow up with a mother with schizophrenia, a mother, due to her severe mental health issues couldn’t care for her or nurture her properly. To my surprise, Nellie didn’t show a hint of any internal struggle whatsoever. She chatted normally and didn’t comment on anything that happened inside her own house. She was such a clever girl, always reading, always drawing and colouring. She was a pleasure to care for. At night, I dreamed of adopting her. I tried to keep the horrible, nasty thoughts at bay. The ones that wished that something would happen to her parents. Meaning, that her only option of having a family would be to stay with me. Forever.

  Even Greg had grown to love her. He used to watch her with the same adoration in his eyes as I did. He loved to read to her. He even sat her on his knee. Auntie Mary and Uncle Greg, she used to call us. And then Greg had to go and ruin that too.

  ELIZABETH

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Elizabeth eyed her older sister, silently. They were sitting in yet another room in the police station. They had been told to wait until the detective returned. It had been hours. They’d practically been there all day. Currently, he was discussing with that psychiatrist what was to be done with her. Was she truly mentally unwell? And would she be formally arrested for the murder of Greg?

  Elizabeth’s tummy roared with hunger. She hadn’t eaten a single thing all day. All she had were those cups of tea. Nobody had offered them any access to food, though in truth she knew she’d never be able to stomach anything.

  Neither of the sisters had said a word to each other since Mary had come out of the interview room with the psychiatrist. Elizabeth had felt relieved. She had no idea what to say to her. There was no point in comforting her anymore. How could she support her sister through her husband’s untimely death; especially if Mary was the one who had murdered him? The idea was almost laughable. If someone had told Elizabeth she would be in this situation exactly 48 hours ago, she would have chortled in disbelief. Her sister? A murderer? Was it possible?

  Elizabeth thought back to when herself and Mary were younger. Could she really believe that Mary was capable of taking another life? She remembered Mary’s strange blackout episodes. She remembered having to deal with the fallout of most of them when they were kids. And when she was a teenager.

  She could still picture Mary when she used to go into one of her tempers. How ferocious, how different she looked and sounded. The first time it happened, Elizabeth had thought it was a joke. But it was real. It was like Mary turned into a completely different person. Most of the time, it happened when she had been drinking. But there were times when they started when she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol. Those episodes were the scariest.

  Elizabeth regarding ‘blackout’ hadn’t been entirely the extent and the episodes. Mary had truthful to Mary frequency of her believed that she

  became more aggressive only after a few drinks. But in truth, it was much, much worse than that. Elizabeth had never been able to bring herself to describe fully what Mary turned into during those moments. In her mind, she could still see how Mary’s facial features slid from her warm, happy smile into a cold, devilish sneer. Her stance would go from being friendly and inviting to hunched and narrowed, with her hands screwed into tight fists. Her voice would go more high-pitched, and bitter. There was no other way to say it. She literally transformed into another person.

  The scariest thi
ng was that Mary had no memory at all of what happened. She didn’t remember how she had shrieked and ridiculed Elizabeth. How she fought with her friends and family. How sometimes, it would turn physical. Elizabeth had a hard job trying to cover up the scratches that ran up along her arm after a particularly nasty episode of one of Mary’s ‘blackouts’.

  The trigger was noticeably when Mary got upset; usually regarding something that was out of her control. That time when Mum had told Mary she couldn’t go out with her friends because she had to stay and mind Elizabeth; was the first time the claw marks had appeared on her arm. Later on, when teenage Elizabeth had come home crying one day after school because she had been ruthlessly dumped by a boy; suddenly Mary had transformed and her exboyfriend’s new car was found to have had its headlights and windows smashed in.

  It was completely bizarre how Mary couldn’t remember a single one of these episodes. At first, Elizabeth would wonder if she was lying; that she couldn’t claim responsibility for her crimes if she couldn’t remember doing them. But one day after showing her a new set of fresh scratches up her forearm; Mary broke down in genuine shock and tears. “This isn’t me,” she had cried. “I’d never want to hurt you, Liz. You have to believe me.”

  Since then Elizabeth had been careful to hide the extent of what used to go on. She was worried what kind of effect this scary phenomenon must have on her sister; it couldn’t be good on her mental health. Despite being younger, Elizabeth felt that she should protect her sister from the truth.

  And that was what she had done her entire life. Admittedly, since leaving home when they were teenagers, Elizabeth seldom had to deal with anymore episodes. As far as she knew, they had calmed down in intensity and frequency. They hadn’t talked about them since. It was like an unspoken sister code between them; to never speak about it. Elizabeth had no idea that they still went on… until now.

  Something inside Elizabeth made her feel sick. What if she had had one of her episodes when looking after her unsupervised boys when they were younger? Who could say what kind of unspeakable things Mary could’ve done whilst caring for her sons? But as far as she knew, there hadn’t been any issues. The boys had never told her about anything out of the ordinary. Elizabeth had never witnessed an episode herself during that time. And Mary was extremely happy whenever she was with the boys. Nothing to make her angry, nothing to set her off.

  Elizabeth knew Mary and Greg’s marriage had its ups and downs; but then so didn’t everybody’s at some point? So what had happened recently that had made her so angry? Was it… Oh Lord.

  Did she find out Elizabeth’s huge, awful, awful secret?

  No. She couldn’t have. But it could explain everything…

  But if she did know… why hadn’t she said anything? Elizabeth’s eyes feverishly scanned her sister now. For any hint of anger. For any hint of betrayal. Mary was slumped in one of the uncomfortable chairs, her grey eyes distant. Barely any sign of life. Or was she planning her next move?

  For the first time in her life, Elizabeth felt truly afraid of her sister. If it was true, if she had murdered Greg, then she might be next. If she was capable of killing the husband she had loved, then she could kill her own sister.

  Elizabeth tried to swallow down the lump of pain that was loitering in her throat. She resisted the urge to burst into tears, to wallow and cry over his death, to try and contain the overpowering grief that she felt for Greg. Intense grief that she shouldn’t be experiencing at all. And the entirety of it was mingled with the stench of guilt.

  For the past five years, Elizabeth and Greg had been meeting in secret. They had met in hotel rooms halfway between London and Newcastle. They had even flown away together for a weekend holiday abroad. Elizabeth and Greg had been having an affair. And if her sister had found out about it and had murdered Greg in a fit of rage, then there was one thing that Elizabeth knew for sure.

  She would be next.

  TOBIAS

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tobias was in a bit of a corundum. The million dollar question was…did he have enough ground to arrest this woman for the murder of her husband?

  He had a recording of her confession. No details of the murder. Just a confession.

  He also had proof that she had tampered with the crime scene - she had described that in full detail. This should ideally be enough to justify her arrest. It was just the niggling feeling that Tobias had. One that would just not go away. He was almost one hundred percent sure that they were missing something. Something huge. To the point where he would feel massively uncomfortable putting the cuffs around that woman’s wrists.

  In fairness, what did he have to lose? The worst thing that would happen to Mrs Fielding if she was innocent - whether completely innocent or innocent in the sense that she wasn’t aware of what she was doing - would be that she’d only spend a few nights in a prison cell whilst her case was built up. At least she would be safe. Admittedly, primarily from herself.

  Tobias had made his decision.

  However, Diane on the other hand, had other ideas. “Toby, I really want to see her in my clinic,” she had said after her short session with Mrs Fielding, back in the interview room, just the two of them. Tobias raised his eyebrows. Diane appeared to be tense; her arms were folded tightly across her slim frame above her neat, black skirt. Her head was still; the sharp edge of her short blond hair barely rippled over her perfectly ironed light blue, cotton shirt. “I think you’re right. There might be something a bit psychiatric going on there.”

  “This woman is a number one suspect for murder. Do you really think she can just take a casual trip to your fancy clinic?”

  “I’m serious Toby,” she said, her eyes blazing. Tobias wondered if her anger at him was more than how she felt about Mrs Fielding. “She was holding something back. Something major. And fair enough, she's not going to tell me her deepest darkest secrets in that disgusting room with that recorder and huge window on the back wall, with everyone in the Metropolitan Police eyeballing her. It’s going to take time for her to trust me. I think it’s only going to work if we’re in a proper setting.”

  “Diane. This woman is potentially a murderer. Any therapy that you’re going to do with her has to be in a police setting, I’m afraid. I know it goes against your Geneva convention or whatever it is, but this is police work. Crime. You can not treat her like a normal patient.”

  Diane frowned and stuck her bottom lip out. Tobias had to forcefully restrain himself not to kiss it. “I don’t get you Toby. You call me after six months. Six months! You ask me for help, I did what you asked, at really short notice. And I agree with you, your suspect may have had no awareness of the crime that she may have committed. And now you’re just going to lock her up anyway? What was the point of this, if you won’t even listen to my advice?” Here it was. This was what she was keeping in. In a way, Tobias was relieved. It had been exhausting, skirting around the massive elephant in the room. “Diane…” he said softly. “You broke up with me. You said we couldn’t be together because of my job. I wanted to respect that. I gave you space. And I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have called you… but in all honesty, you’re the finest psychiatrist that there is. I wanted to do what was best for my criminal investigation, and the best thing was to call you for help. And I’m really thankful that you came. I’m so glad you want to help, but you have to understand that we’re restricted a lot more here.”

  Diane exhaled quickly, her hunched shoulders now relaxing. She knew he was right. She turned away. Tobias caught a glimpse of her dewy eyes. She made her way towards the door, then stopped.

  “I understand… but you still could’ve called,” she said in a sad voice. Then she let herself out the room. When the door was safely shut, Tobias huffed in frustration, and swung his arms up behind his head. Women were so darn complicated. She had literally told him (or implied, whichever) to never contact her again. So, he didn’t. He’d thought that was what she wanted. And now she was angry about it. She
could be so dramatic sometimes.

  His mind flitted back to that fateful case, the one that had practically ended their relationship, the one that had endangered his life more so than usual. Had it really been six months ago?

  He almost regretted calling her. Almost.

  But now he had a job to do. He went to find his murder suspect. Mrs Fielding was motionless, slumped on a chair in one of the secure waiting rooms in the station. Her terrified sister was staring at her in fear, as if Mrs Fielding was going to get up and slit her throat too. Both of them fixed their eyes onto him as he strode into the room.

  “Mrs Mary Fielding,” Tobias began regrettably. “I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Mr Gregory Fielding.” He approached her and she stood. She turned her back to him, almost willingly. Tobias cuffed her wrists. “You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be used against you in court.”

  He led the disturbed, murder suspect towards their secure holding cells. He noticed as he passed by the petrified sister, that she suddenly didn’t look so petrified anymore. It was as if she was almost… relieved. Tobias made a mental note of it.

  “Excuse me, Miss… Mrs?” Tobias called behind him. “Jones,” the sister called back.

  “Please wait and sit back down. I will be along to see you in a moment. We would also like to question you.”

  His prime suspect still did not react as he marched her in front of him towards her new dwelling. He wondered if she was in shock. Had she now remembered what she had done? Or was she simply just accepting the situation?

  Tobias was used to seeing the reaction of suspects after they were arrested for murder, and most of them had something to say. Some cried. Some swore. Some had tried to punch him in the face to get away. One had even nodded amenably as if to say: “Well done chap, you guessed it right!” But this was a new one. Her absolute silence unnerved Tobias. Which only heightened Tobias’ suspicions more so. He was definitely missing something. Something huge. And he was going to find out what.