Chained in Time

by David Waine

  *

  Marie Jeanette Kelly strove to come to terms with her own predicament as best she could. More than two months had elapsed since she had last seen the inside of the Wilberforce School. The Head, Mr. Wilkes, and the Head of Sixth Form, Miss Hawthorne, popped in at least once a week each, the remaining three days being catered for by one of her other teachers, usually Miss Earl. They would go through the work that she had done and take it away for marking while leaving a new supply in exchange. At least it helped to take her mind off the approaching crisis for an hour or two.

  Rutter helped her. It came as a pleasant surprise for Marie to learn that the quiet, stern faced trained killer was well educated and capable of intelligent conversation on any subject. Certainly the turgid pages of London Poverty became less obscure under her calm influence, her analytical brain cutting through the meandering, ill-written prose to reveal the facts beneath. All the same, Marie knew that she was falling behind. School work occupied perhaps three or four hours a day, instead of the usual seven or eight, if one counted in the amount traditionally done at home.

  It would take a herculean effort to catch up when she returned to school. That thought brought her up short. Would she ever return to school? Would there be a day when she was welcomed back into the fold with open arms to resume her quest for the golden future that she had once taken as read, or would she become merely a memory, a plaque on the entrance hall wall to inform future generations that Marie Jeanette Kelly (1971 – 1988) had once been a student at the Wilberforce School? How long would it be before she was just a name to them, something to be passed by without noticing as they progressed on their own wobbly tracks through life?

  It was when thoughts like those occurred that the black gloom returned and school work could no longer be faced. No matter how hard Rutter tried to coax her mind back to the texts she had been set, the information stubbornly refused to enter her head, blocked by the numbing terror that fogged her brain.

  When that happened, Rutter took her out, always in the company of another armed officer, a burly man called Dawson. She even took her to her weekly firearms practice at the shooting range. Marie sat behind her, ears protected by large muffs while she assassinated plywood cut-outs with her weapon held rock-steady in both hands. As the targets were racked forward for inspection after each round of shots, Marie noticed how many of the bullets would have penetrated the heart or the head.

  Otherwise they went walking anywhere, everywhere, but somehow always ended up in the coffee bar on Ballards Lane where she had first met Sally. She had been surprised at how quiet the place was during the day, but then she realised that much of the owner's trade would come at lunchtime and after school when it would fill with her own school mates and their chatter. She preferred not to be there at those times, so the two police officers kept one eye apiece on the clock and ensured that she was elsewhere.

  The man in the dark blue Vauxhall Nova GTE, parked across the road, congratulated himself yet again on choosing a car with the power to get away quickly, but which would blend into the background at other times. Neither of the plods had noticed him sitting there watching them as they had entered the coffee bar. He knew perfectly well that several families on Marie's street had moved out temporarily to avoid being caught up in whatever would happen. That meant that their houses were empty, happily including the one next door. An unexpected opportunity. He was fully aware that they would be keeping an eye on those houses, but this was a chance in a million that he could not afford to ignore. All that was required was a clear plan, good timing and the correct application of the housebreaking skills that he had spent all summer perfecting.

  Marie was grateful for the outings because at least they gave her some air and a change of scenery, but nothing could lift the dread weight on her soul. As November the 9th grew closer, the burden grew heavier. Each day it became harder and harder for her to put on a brave face and conjure up even a pale shadow of a smile for those who had dedicated themselves to saving her.

  Increasingly aware of the girl's deteriorating mental condition, Rutter suggested a midweek trip to the cinema one rainy afternoon. Marie liked films and had been used to going regularly with Joe in happier times. Sometimes they were looked at askance by the other teenage couples present as being the only pair in the entire auditorium who sat side by side and watched the film instead of being engrossed in each other's bodies. It only added to the slightly bizarre reputation that they shared among the school fellows, but neither of them cared. The idea had its appeal and her mood brightened visibly at the suggestion, so they scoured the local press to see what was on, only to discover a preponderance of teen 'slasher' movies, which were the very last thing that Marie needed to see. Finally they opted for the soppiest love story that either of them had ever heard of, made decades before and starring long dead household names, revived by dedicated wide-eyed fanatics at a local art house cinema.

  Dawson shouldered what he considered to be the man's job by paying for all three tickets — he intended to claim it back on expenses — while Rutter kept a weather eye out at their rear. She saw the dark blue Nova leave its parking place on the other side of the road and move out into traffic, but paid it little heed. The driver had not looked at them, nor did his driving betray any telltale erratic signs. With a final check round, she followed the other two into the small, makeshift cinema.

  There they sat, three solitary figures in the back row of a virtually empty auditorium, Marie flanked by armed police officers and a wall at her back. Rutter and Dawson perched on their seats like statues, heads constantly checking to and fro, watching everything except the screen while Marie sobbed her heart out at the film, simultaneously kicking herself for being so mawkish.

  In a public car park half a mile from Marie's home, the man with the dark blue Nova checked what he had brought with him for the twentieth time and waited for nightfall.

  At least the outing had done its job, Rutter told herself as they made their way back to her house afterwards. The sickly, sentimental movie had tapped a little of the emotion that the girl was bottling up inside her as she fought to cope with the knowledge of what was to come. There was a small, but definite improvement in her tone of voice. Instead of the flat, listless monotone into which she had descended for weeks past, some of her natural cadence had returned and remained with her until after tea, a little of which she even ate.

  Joe came round every evening, as he always did, and did a better job of assisting with her school work than he had previously been the case. This was because of her enforced absence, which meant that he had to do his own work and discovered, much to his and Miss Earl's surprise, that he was actually quite good at it. 'A' Level History was now just him and her. He was at once both disappointed and relieved to discover that she didn't fancy him after all, as she remained completely professional.

  Rutter smiled knowingly when he regaled Marie with reports of his solitary lessons. Teenagers! His allegedly encyclopaedic knowledge of all things sexual, culled largely from his imagination and some illicit salacious reading matter that occasionally passed his way, together with Marie's feigned disapproval when she was really glad of any news at all, brought back memories of her own teen years.

  Ultimately, though, her efforts to keep her charge on an even keel became increasingly difficult as the dreaded day approached. The lack of real news, the shortage of further breakthroughs and the pressure of her task was beginning to affect her. She was having difficulty sleeping, which, in a way, was a good thing, for she could be woken easily if something happened. For all that, though, she was constantly tired now, and that was bad because it might affect her reactions when she needed to be at her sharpest. Worse than that, it brought back her demons. As ever when she was low, the vision of her parents’ car engulfed in flames would return to haunt her and she had to consciously suppress it. She resolved to arrange a shift pattern with Dawson so that each of them could get at least some sleep. She had to re
main at her best. She had to. Marie's life depended on it.