THE LIFE LEFT: A GRIPPING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER

by L. W. WEDGWOOD

  Moving to the window, he slid his fingertips under the frame and pulled. With barely any effort, the window swung outward with only the softest of creaks.

  As minimal as the window creaking sounded, it may as well have been an air raid siren to his ears. He waited and listened for signs of alarm for a full minute before proceeding any further. As his nerves calmed, he pulled his phone from his pocket and used its glow to see inside of the open window. Just like he’d suspected, he found the window opened directly into a small bathroom. He paused again for a minute. He knew he was about to cross the point of no return. If he were caught, breaking and entering would be stuck on his record for life. Drunk driving was one thing. This was quite another.

  Drunk. The thought pulled at him for a second. He could really use another drink right now. Why hadn’t he bought something with him? But before he knew what had happened. He found himself scrambling through the window.

  Taking stock of his new situation, he listened again for any signs of alarm. None came. He soon felt sure that his entry had gone undetected.

  Using his phone as a light, he made his way out of the bathroom and through the house. He felt grateful that the floor had been constructed of concrete. Concrete meant no creaks. Concrete meant stealth. Concrete meant a greater chance of success and less chance of jail time.

  The sound of several buzzing refrigerators told him he’d arrived at the storefront well before he saw it. Countless wrappers of confectionary glinted in the light of his phone as he shone it around. And the blinking display of the till flashed amidst all of this as if it were a pendulum ticking off the precious seconds.

  The only other light in the area came from a small monitor below the counter, squeezed in amongst the clutter of Mr. Patel’s daily toil. In the dull light, he inspected the monitor and a keyboard seated beside it. It appeared just as he’d expected. The monitor was part of a low-tech security system, boasting only one camera. The trajectory of that camera lifted his spirits. It showed a view out through the front of the dairy. And even now, he could clearly see across the street.

  Attacking the keyboard, he felt his way around the system. No password had been added. All of the footage in the past month could easily be accessed. It took him no more than a few minutes to find what he was looking for.

  At first glance, it felt strange watching himself arrive at the dairy on the screen. He didn’t look like someone who’d been drinking in a bar most of the day.

  A minute later, the video showed him walking back out of the dairy. Then, there it was. Just what he’d been hoping for. Across the street, in plain view of the camera, Abn fumbled with the lock on his bicycle. His form couldn’t be mistaken. And if any doubt remained, it immediately evaporated as Abn looked up and exposed his face to the camera for a couple of precious seconds.

  Ed paused the video and examined the image. This boy wore glasses. But the hoody and hat surrounding his head couldn’t hide Abn’s unique bone structure.

  The very air in his lungs froze. He had caught Abn out. He had caught him on a lie. But what lie? What was he hiding?

  The flush of a toilet upstairs, shocked him back to full awareness of his surroundings. He knew his welcome had been outstayed. His nerves suddenly felt stretched to the limit. He listened intently to the movements of the toilet flusher. Creaks from footsteps on wood followed.

  Looking around, he tried to decide where he would hide if the flusher came downstairs. No immediate position of cover presented itself. Crouching behind the counter may be his only option. But soon enough, the creaking stopped. No thuds on the stairs followed.

  He breathed again as he realized his presence wouldn’t be discovered. But he didn’t push his luck any further. He loaded the video onto a flash-drive he’d brought with him.

  Minutes later, he stepped back onto the street. Suddenly feeling tired, he knew had to get home. Drinking would have to wait. He had to sleep. He needed to get to the post office first thing in the morning.

  CHAPTER 12

  For the first time since leaving Iraq, Abn felt tired. And not just the regular type of tired, but the bone weary tired that sucked at your soul. This feeling had been something he’d experienced in perpetuity throughout his youth. And here it was again. Just when he’d let his guard down, his old enemy had returned.

  Since his conversation with Michael, he hadn’t heard from him. Two sleepless nights had passed. And now, as the warming light of morning filtered through his bedroom window, he resolved that he would confront his friend that day. He had to. He couldn’t go on without sleep. He needed to know where Michael stood, no matter what.

  It took him three attempts before he managed to get his pants on the right way. Two attempts with his shirt. And as he made his way downstairs with one sock turned inside out, he wondered how he would deal with the tasks ahead. It wasn’t normal to feel like this. The brain needed sleep to function correctly. Without it, things tended to go wrong.

  “You look tired,” Jane said.

  He squinted at her as he took a seat at the kitchen table. She may as well have just told him that water was wet. “I am okay,” he said.

  Her expression showed that she wasn’t convinced as she replied, “You didn’t sleep well?”

  “I was thinking about dad,” he lied.

  Her eyes brimmed with seriousness. “I’m seeing him this afternoon. I know it’s not your visit day, but would you like to come with me?”

  He clawed through the fuzz of his mind for an answer. “I have to go and see Michael.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, the offer is there. It may put you at ease to see him again. It may help you sleep.”

  “I will be okay.”

  “What are you and Michael up to?”

  “Just the usual. Calculus is something he is having trouble with.”

  “Oh… Joy! Calculus.”

  He could tell by the look on her face that the thought of calculus gave her anything but joy. He still struggled with Western expressions of sarcasm. He didn’t always know how to react. “It is just math,” he said.

  “If you say so.”

  “What will you do this morning?”

  “I’m starting a new contract today. I have to figure out where seventeen million dollars disappeared to from a construction company that has a market cap of twenty-seven billion.”

  “And you do not like math?”

  She smiled. “I don’t like calculus.”

  “Same thing?”

  “I like numbers. I don’t use calculus with what I do.”

  “I could teach you sometime.”

  Jane chuckled. “No thank you.”

  As they ate breakfast and chatted, despite his exhaustion, he found enjoyment in the moment. He always liked his breakfasts with her. He savored each and every moment of them. She was more than just a mother to him. She was a mentor and a friend. And as they finished washing the dishes and went their separate ways, his resolve hardened further. He couldn’t afford to hurt her. One way or another, he would see Michael today and the outcome would be one that guaranteed Jane’s ignorance to the truth.

  * * * * *

  The moment Jane entered Ron’s room, she could see that something had changed since her last visit. She found him unconscious with the bedcovers tossed to one side, his body glistening with perspiration. Bordering on panic, she moved to his bedside and felt for a pulse, worrying that she had found him dead. But as she felt at his neck, his eyes fluttered open.

  “Hi…” he breathed.

  For his benefit, she made a mammoth effort to calm her response as she answered, “Hey you… How are you feeling?”

  His eyes dropped closed as he answered, “I’ve been better…”

  “Are you hurting?” she asked as his eyelids lifted again.

  “No, I’m just tired. So tired.”

  She noticed that Ron had the morphine trigger in hand. It was the first time she’d seen evidence that he’d used it. “You’re taking your medicat
ion?” she said.

  “The pain felt bad this morning.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad.”

  “You’re glad that I was hurting badly?” he said, some semblance of life now returning to his being.

  “No, you idiot. I’m glad you’re taking your medication. I’m glad you’re not suffering,” she said, now unable to stop tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Don’t cry. Don’t be sad.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Come here,” he said, stretching his arms toward her.

  Making sure she didn’t disturb any of his tubes, she leaned into his embrace. She pulled his body into hers and tried to ignore his bones, the dampness of his skin, the scent of human decay. She tried to focus and connect with what little life remained inside of him. That wasn’t much. But somewhere in the embrace, she felt the man she’d fallen in love with. She seized that tiny island of life. She imagined disappearing into it. She imagined she could make it last forever. If only she could.

  “Mrs. Morrison!” boomed a voice.

  She ignored the call. She clung harder to the island. Who could ever want her to leave this place? Who could be so cruel?

  “Mrs. Morrison!”

  “I think you’re being summoned,” Ron whispered.

  With tears still wet on her cheeks, she forced herself from his arms and turned to see who’d spoken. A wave of anger washed away her bliss as she found Detective Bell and his partner standing in the doorway. “Yes!” she said, unable to keep the anger from her tone.

  “I was wondering if we might have a word with you?” Bell said.

  “Have you no shame? Have you no compassion? Can’t you see I’m spending time with my husband? Can’t you see that his time is limited?” she seethed.

  “I’m sorry, but we need to talk. We need to talk now,” Bell said, his expression showing anything but shame, compassion or otherwise.

  “Jesus Christ! Why don’t you just fuck off and leave us the Hell alone?” she burst.

  “Jane, calm down,” Ron said.

  “No, I won’t calm down. These idiots have been harassing us for days. It has to stop,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,” Bell said.

  “What? What in Hell is it now?” she demanded.

  “It’s Abn. We just need to talk to you about Abn,” Bell said.

  “My God... That again. What has he done this time? Has he murdered our prime minister?” she said.

  “What are you talking about? What’s all this about?” Ron said.

  Guilt suddenly surged inside of her for losing control in front of Ron. She knew that this was the last thing he needed. Turning back to him, she cooled her tone. “You don’t need to worry about this. It has nothing to do with you,” she said.

  “If it has something to do with Abn, it has everything to do with me. He is my son,” Ron said.

  “It’s really not necessary for your husband to get involved,” Bell urged.

  “Maybe you should have thought about that before you came here today,” she said.

  “No, really, Mrs. Morrison, we just need to have a quick word with you. If your husband wants to be involved after that, then by all means, go ahead. Meantime, I don’t feel as if there’s any need to create unnecessary stress,” Bell said.

  She turned back to Ron again. She could see that even the visit from the detective had sapped further energy from him. Making a snap decision, she forced herself to further calm. “Give me a minute with them. I’ll tell you what this is all about when I get back,” she said.

  “Make sure you do,” Ron said, his frustration shining through his fatigue.

  She felt some relief that Ron didn’t argue as she turned back to the detectives and moved to the door. “Just a few minutes,” she said over her shoulder.

  In hallway, with Ron’s door closed behind her, she let the full force of her fury surface again. “You have five goddamn minutes! And if you ever come near my husband again, I swear I will spend the rest of my life making your life unlivable.”

  “Okay, agreed. And I am sorry,” Bell said.

  “Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what this is about and get it over with fast,” she demanded.

  “Do you remember our visit to your house the other day?” Bell asked.

  “Of course,” she said, as she watched him pull his phone from his pocket and turn it on.

  “Do you remember Abn telling us that he was at Michael’s house during the time of the murder we’re investigating?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I will ask you to take a look at this video,” Bell said.

  Forcing her patience to remain in place, but really feeling like punching Bell in the nose, she twisted to look at the phone’s screen as the video played. At first, the view appeared entirely uninteresting; just an empty footpath, a patch of road and a lamppost on the opposite side of the street with a bicycle locked to it.

  “You will notice the date and the time at the bottom of the screen?” Bell said.

  She glanced at them. She quickly calculated that the numbers corresponded roughly with the time in question that had been raised during their last meeting. Then her eyes flew back to the lamppost as someone entered into view. This person wore a hood with a baseball cap beneath it, which made seeing the face impossible. Even so, it was evident that the person was a boy around the same age as Abn. The boy looked somewhat hurried in his efforts as he unlocked the bike from the lamppost. To her eyes, his movements appeared to be bursting with anxiety. Then, just as he was about to mount the bike, he looked directly up into the camera. The face bore a pair of glasses, but the identity couldn’t be mistaken. The HD video image clearly showed Abn’s face staring from the screen.

  “Is that your son?” Bell said as he paused the video.

  “It appears to be him. But Abn doesn’t wear glasses,” she said, all the while feeling as if the very air had been sucked from her lungs.

  “Is that your son’s bicycle?” Bell asked.

  “I can’t be sure. Ron gave him his bike just before he got sick. I’ve barely ever seen it.”

  “That video was taken on Owen Street, around the corner from Mary Potter Hospice.”

  “So, Abn may have parked his bike around the corner from the hospice that day. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “What it means is that only a few minutes earlier, someone matching this exact description was seen leaving the hospice. And only minutes before that, another boy, about the same age as Abn was murdered.”

  “You know that’s purely circumstantial. You have no evidence that Abn was in that hospice,” she argued, but in the same moment, from some dark corner inside of her sprang the seedling of doubt.

  “We are not accusing Abn of anything. Right now, our enquiries are completely informal. All we would like to know is why your son lied to us about this.”

  “I think it’s time I got my lawyer.”

  Bell raised a hand in his defense. “That won’t be necessary just yet. It’s Michael we would like to talk to first. And we would appreciate it if you could give us his contact details.”

  “Michael?”

  “He is Abn’s alibi. If there has been a lie, then he’s part of it,” Bell said.

  She scrambled for the right answer. She felt as if she was chest deep in something spiraling way out of control. Every ounce of her wanted to call her lawyer right then and there. But something held her back. Once lawyers were involved, problems became more real, and in her experience, they escalated much further before things got better.

  She made a snap decision. She would give it one more go protecting Abn without the lawyers getting involved. “I can take you to Michael’s father. That’s the best I can do,” she said.

  CHAPTER 13

  By the time Abn reached Michael’s house, 4:00 pm had been and gone. The afternoon had been filled with delays. Firstly, with an untold number of obstacles at home and then he�
�d almost bumped Jeremy. But this time, he’d seen his arch-enemy first. This time he’d had a chance to avoid him, even though it had taken some circling around and another hour’s delay. Bumping into Jeremy, however, wasn’t an option. The bruise on his face remained fresh. He didn’t need another one.

  “Young, Mr. Morrison,” Jenkins said with a wry smile as the front door opened.

  “Jenkins, good day to you,” he said.

  “And a good day to you, young Sir. As usual, you will find Michael studying in his room,” Jenkins said.

  “Thank you,” he said, all the while wondering what Jenkins smile meant. He’d never once seen the man smile during the countless times they’d met.

  But as he stepped around Jenkins and made his way upstairs, his thoughts gravitated toward other matters. For the umpteenth time since their last meet, he wondered if Michael had come to a decision regarding what he’d learned. A strange feeling of dread came with these thoughts. He’d never really had a friend his own age. He knew now that their friendship had been put to the ultimate test. His hopes weren’t high for its longevity. In his experience, people’s friendship only ran as deep as their needs; your own needs were entirely irrelevant.

  The crucified Jesus seemed to look down upon him with an extra righteous glare this time as he passed beneath it. The sentiment of the cross further stirred his worry. Michael being a devout catholic may not bode well for the present situation. What was the catholic position on murder? He seemed to recall some kind of commandment that God had given, but he couldn’t remember it in detail. He took the same approach with all religions; they had no place in his life. He often wondered why Michael had taken so fondly to the misgivings of Christianity.

  “I’ll leave you gentlemen to it then,” Jenkins said as they reached Michael’s door.