THE LIFE LEFT: A GRIPPING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER

by L. W. WEDGWOOD

  “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins,” he said.

  He stepped into Michael’s bedroom and found his friend lying on his bed, eyes closed, headphones on, oblivious to reality. A bible lay next to him. The view of the good book further stirred his concerns.

  “Hello, Michael!” he said as he stood at the head of the bed and looked down on his friend.

  “Abn,” Michael said, as his eyes flew open.

  “Sorry if I scared you.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming,” Michael said as he pulled off his headphones and sat up.

  “I needed to talk to you. I did not like how we left our last conversation.”

  “You mean, the conversation where you admitted to me that you murdered people?”

  “It was not exactly murder. They were dying. They were close to death.”

  “Can I get you gentlemen anything?” Jenkins said from the door.

  Abn almost jumped out of his skin at Jenkins’s sudden appearance.

  “No, nothing right now, thank you,” Michael said.

  “Very good, Sir,” Jenkins said.

  “Do you think he heard what we were talking about?” Abn said as Jenkins left.

  “You needn’t worry about him,” Michael said.

  “I do worry. I do nothing but worry.”

  “Well, the guilty mind rarely rests.”

  Abn didn’t feel good about the course of their conversation at all. He’d come here to put his mind at ease. He’d come here to find a way forward; a way that didn’t lead to being arrested. Instead, he found Michael cliffing the heights of his private morality. He needed to twist that foundation. He had to make him see reason.

  “It is what they would have wanted. What life did they have anyway?” Abn said.

  “Do you think they would have just let you do away with them if they knew you were coming?” Michael said while moving around to the back of his desk.

  He glanced at the bible laying on the bed. “Did not Jesus know it was coming?” he asked.

  “Don’t be absurd. That’s different,” Michael said.

  “That was either murder or suicide.”

  “It was not murder. And it certainly wasn’t suicide. It was sacrifice. That’s what it was,” Michael said, his head now trembling in anger as he spoke.

  “He may have sacrificed himself, but technically, he still committed suicide.”

  “Shut up! I will hear no more of that.”

  “We have visitors, gentlemen,” Jenkins voice called again from somewhere down the hallway.

  Abn cursed the intrusion. But at the same time, he felt grateful that Jenkins hadn’t come within hearing range.

  “Send them up!” Michael called.

  “Your father and some others are here. You should come down. You should come down now,” Jenkins said.

  “Okay!” called Michael, his tone filled with no small measure of anger.

  Abn stood. “I’ll come back another time,” he said

  “No, you won’t. I’m not finished with you yet. Come down with me. We’ll pick this up when I’m done with dad. And I know he likes you. He’ll want to say hello,” Michael said with a fierce expression.

  “Okay,” he agreed, taking some comfort in the fact there may still be hope if he’d been given an audience with Mr. Easton.

  As they made their way downstairs, Abn couldn’t help but notice the head of Jesus twisted toward him. He felt sure that the head hadn’t been twisted that way when he’d come up earlier. What was Jesus looking at? His observation only added to his tension. And as they reached the first floor and made their way into the lounge, his tension quadrupled. Seated there, they found Mr. Easton, accompanied by Detective Bell and Boar, together with another man who he didn’t recognize. But the presence of Jane and Ed amongst this group rattled him most. All five of the adults sat on two couches with tea laid out before them. A bay window to the rear with a garden view framed the scene, which would have been tranquil under any other circumstances.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Thank you for coming down,” said Mr. Easton.

  “Father. Hello. What’s this all about?” Michael said.

  “I think I can explain best,” Bell said.

  “Who are you?” Michael asked.

  “We spoke on the phone the other day. I’m Detective Bell and this is my partner, Detective Boar. Mr. Easton has been kind enough to let us have a few words with you,” Bell said.

  “Word’s? What words? And why is your lawyer here, Father? Am I under arrest?” Michael asked.

  Mr. Easton chuckled as he replied. “No, you’re not under arrest. And Bryan is here… Well, you know what I do for a living… Bryan is here because he needs to be here,” he said.

  “…In case I get arrested,” Michael said.

  “No one is getting arrested,” Mr. Easton said.

  “Then what?” Michael asked.

  “It appears there’s been some confusion with the conversation you had with Detective Bell when you last spoke. Which I might add, I wish you had told me about,” Mr. Easton said.

  “Confusion, what confusion?” Michael asked.

  “About the whereabouts of your friend here,” Detective Bell said. “New evidence has come to light. You may have been confused about Abn studying with you on the afternoon when a murder took place at Mary Potter Hospice.”

  Abn felt himself holding his breath as he watched the exchange unfold. A large part of him wanted to run, wanted to get away. Surely this would be where Michael would give him up. The opportunity had been handed to him on a platter. But something kept him rooted to the spot. He guessed this was because he had nowhere to go. It was like that for a stranger in a strange land. If he were still in Iraq, he could just melt into the streets and fight for survival somewhere else. One place was much the same as the next. Here was different. Here the rules were more complex.

  “Murder! Good God. Are you accusing Abn of Murder?” Michael said.

  “We are not accusing anyone of anything. We’re just trying to get our facts straight,” Bell said.

  “I really don’t know how I can help with that. I’ve already told you, Abn was with me studying that afternoon,” Michael said.

  “Could you take a look at a video? Would you do that for us? That’s all we’re asking,” Bell said.

  “I can. I can do that,” Michael said.

  “Can we play this on your big screen?” Bell asked with a glance toward Michael’s father.

  “Of course,” Mr. Easton said.

  Abn could only wonder what video Bell was referring to as he watched him pick up the remote control for a large screen hanging above the bay windows. Were they going to replay the footage in the hospice hallway? He could see no reason for that. But if not that, then what? He looked to his mother, hoping for an answer there. He found none. Her face remained impassive, though somehow strained. Ed, on the other hand, projected an expression of raw malice. But this detail didn’t feel unusual to Abn. He knew Ed had never liked him.

  “Abn, I’m glad you’re here. Because, this may help to jog your memory,” Bell said as a video began playing.

  Abn watched in silent horror. The footage wasn’t from inside of the hospice like he’d suspected. Instead it showed a clear view of his bicycle locked against a lamppost on Owen Street. Seconds later, he watched as he entered the view and began unlocking his bike. And just as he finished, he looked up into the camera. Here, the video paused. He looked back at the image of himself, his horror now turned to terror. Rendered catatonic, he couldn’t react.

  “You will note the date and the time of the video,” Bell said, looking at Michael.

  “I do,” Michael said in a none too relaxed way.

  “You will note that the date and time correspond with the time that you and Abn were supposedly together, studying on the afternoon of the murder,” Bell said.

  “I do,” Michael calmly agreed.

  “Good God, Son. Do you understand what is happening here? You have been caug
ht out on a lie. You lied to the law and we need to know why,” Bell said, now making no effort to hide his frustration.

  “Please do not take the Lord’s name in vain. Do not accuse me of lying. And please do not ever call me Son,” Michael said.

  “Then please explain to me how Abn Morrison can be in two places at once?” Bell said, offering no apology.

  “I presume that you are referring to the boy in that video?” Michael said.

  “I am referring to the image of Abn in that video,” Bell said.

  “That’s not Abn in that video and that certainly isn’t his bicycle. Abn rides a red Gary Fisher. That’s a blue Giant,” Michael said.

  “That is Abn in that video,” Bell said. But in the same moment, a crack of concern opened in the angry veneer of his expression.

  “No, that is not Abn. That is Jeremy Thompson. He goes to school with us. That’s his bike. I see it every day. He was probably on his way to his dance class in Newtown,” Michael said.

  “Dance class?” Bell said.

  “Ballet. Now would you mind apologizing for this fiasco? And while you’re at it, apologize for interrupting our studies,” Michael said.

  “Do you have a class photo?” Bell said.

  “Really, Detective Bell. I think you’ve probed enough here. It’s about time you left the boys alone,” Mr. Easton said.

  “You can see last year’s class photo there,” Michael said, gesturing toward some framed photos on the mantelpiece.

  Abn could barely contain himself as he watched the detective move to the mantelpiece and study the class photo. He still remembered the detail of that day when the photo had been taken. Jeremy had been on form with his bullying. He had broken into Abn’s locker and changed out his Physical Education gear for a cheap Iraqi robe from a costume store. Abn had missed PE because of it. He had never gotten his gear back again and he’d been scolded by Jane for losing it.

  Bell copied the photograph with his phone. And after a lengthy examination, he turned back to face the room. His previous confidence had all but vanished as he offered his sincere apology. Abn relished in the sight, not only because of the apology, but also because Michael had shown his sincerity as a friend in the most incredible way. Abn’s mind burst with questions, but they would have to wait.

  “…And apologize to Abn,” Michael said once Bell had finished.

  Abn accepted the apology with as much grace as he could muster, all the while noticing that the malice in Ed’s glare had now tripled in intensity. He was obviously furious with the outcome.

  “For evidence’s sake, we will have to take a photograph of your bicycle,” Bell said.

  “You’ll have to contact my lawyer if you wish to have anything more at all concerning Abn. This is the last time you’ll be harassing him,” Jane said.

  “I really don’t think Abn would mind you taking a look at his bike,” Michael said.

  Abn looked at Michael. He knew he had to trust him. He turned back to face Bell. “If that will guarantee that you will leave me out of any further enquiries,” he said.

  “You really don’t have to,” Jane said.

  “It is okay, Mum,” he said.

  Bell turned to his partner, who gave the briefest of nods. Then, he turned back to Abn. “Agreed,” he said.

  CHAPTER 14

  It had been two days since the ambush with the law. Abn could wait no longer. He’d stayed away from Michael during that time by sheer force of will because he didn’t want to raise any further attention from the detectives. But now as Jenkins let him into Michael’s room, he could contain himself no longer.

  “Abn. Good to see you free,” Michael said as he stood up behind his desk.

  “How did you do it?” he burst.

  “What exactly?” Michael asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know, I thought you were about to give me up. You know very well that the bicycle was mine. You know that it was me in that video,” he said.

  “That wasn’t you in that video. And that wasn’t your bicycle,” Michael said.

  “So, what you mean is that you are not going to tell me?”

  “I think I have already said enough on the matter.”

  “At least tell me why you did what you did?”

  “Really. Need you ask?”

  “Yes, I need to ask.”

  “Abn, you’re my friend. And if you haven’t noticed, I don’t exactly have friends lining up at my front door. I don’t know for sure why you did what you did. I know it was bad, but I know you well enough to know that you’re not a bad person. I’m pretty sure that God will have his way with you; he will be your judge. In the meantime, I don’t think it’s a sin for our friendship to continue.”

  Abn stepped in closer to Michael. He wanted to hug him, but he knew that wasn’t Michael’s way. His British conservative heritage assured that. Instead, he shook his hand. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Nonsense. Who else would I talk to if you were locked up? Most of those idiots at school would have to study for a week in order to string a single intelligent sentence together.”

  “And the bicycle in my garage that the detectives found… the Gary Fisher? What happened to my Giant?”

  “I believe you have Jenkins to thank for that.”

  Abn felt no small degree of surprise at hearing this. “Jenkins. You had your butler break into my garage and swap my bicycle for yours?” he said.

  “One day you can pay me back the difference.”

  Abn burst into laughter, suddenly feeling the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders as he realized that Michael had never thought twice about giving him up. His initial display of displeasure had been nothing more than theatrics.

  “What are you laughing about?”

  “I am just trying to imagine Jenkins picking the garage lock and sneaking around our house in the dead of night.”

  “Don’t take the over refined veneer of Jenkins too seriously. He has a long and complex history dating back to the days when he and my father served together in the SAS,” Michael said.

  “No!”

  “Yes!”

  Abn wanted to press for further information. But at that moment, his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and found Jane’s name flashing on the screen. He immediately answered the call, “Hi Mum.”

  “Abn, where are you?” Jane said.

  “I am at Michael’s,” he said.

  “You need to come to the hospital right away. Your father has had a turn for the worse,” she said, her voice bursting with emotion.

  “I will be there soon.”

  * * * * *

  It had been a harrowing couple of hours. Jane had arrived at the hospice at the usual time. Ron’s bed had been empty. And in a panic, she’d gone straight to reception where she’d been told the news she dreaded most. Ron had been wheeled out on a crash cart an hour earlier.

  Now, as she sat in the waiting area outside surgery, she wondered if she would ever get the chance to speak to him again. There was so much she needed to say, so much she wished she’d said before. And now, here she was, possibly with no chance for those precious words to be said.

  “Where is he! Where the Hell is my brother?” a voice boomed from down the hallway.

  She looked up to see Ed pouring into view. Pouring seemed to be the only word capable of describing his entrance. He’d obviously been hitting the bottle hard the entire afternoon. Two nurses bordered him as he strode into the lounge. He looked angry to Jane—possessed even. She watched in horror as he flung his arms around, fending off the nurses as he moved.

  “What in Hell have you idiots done with him? Where is he?” Ed bellowed.

  “Sir, you need to calm down. This is a hospital,” said one of the nurses.

  “Fuck you! I won’t calm down. I want to know where my brother is?” Ed demanded as he flung the restraining hand of a nurse from his shoulder.

  “If you don’t calm down, we will have to call security
,” said the nurse.

  Jane watched Ed turn to the nurse and let a fist fly. The blow connected to the left side of her face with resounding force. She flew off her feet and hit the ground. Jane couldn’t move. Her horror flipped into outright terror. She’d seen Ed in the midst of his alcohol induced rages plenty of times, but she’d never seen him so violent.

  “Get security!” yelled the other nurse who remained standing, but now at a safe distance.

  Jane could see that Ed wasn’t waiting around. He began flinging doors open at random, yelling Ron’s name as he went, knocking over chairs, shoving past patients and visitors. From where she sat, she saw startled faces behind the doors—doctors seated in offices, surgeons hunched over patients, the naked form of an old man sitting on the side of a bed. Ron evaded Ed’s search at every turn.

  Two burly security guards showed up while Ed was in the process of opening door number eight.

  “Get the fuck away from me! You have no right!” Ed yelled.

  “You need to calm down and come with us,” said one of the guards.

  Ed ignored the request and moved to the next door only feet from where Jane sat. She looked on as the guards grabbed Ed by each arm and propelled him away from the door.

  “Get the fuck away from me!” Ed yelled again while flinging himself in all directions, fighting to break free.

  She could see that there was no overpowering the security guards. They both outweighed Ed by a good fifty kilos each, and that weight wasn’t fat. But this detail didn’t put Ed off. He wriggled and writhed in their grip as the guards steered him toward the exit. He looked fit to burst with rage as his eyes came in contact with hers.

  “What are you looking at, you bitch. At least I’m not a murderer?” Ed yelled just as the guards led him around the corner and down the hallway.

  More than a few of the others in the lounge now stared at Jane. She shrank beneath their accusing eyes, receding into a core already reduced by worry. She imagined that she would disappear entirely if her being contracted any further.

  But her worry quickly evaporated. A cascade of other emotions replaced it; a mixture of feelings even she could barely describe. Humiliation, terror, disgust… All of the favorite haunts were in the mix. Her only solace seemed to be that Ron hadn’t been conscious to witness the spectacle his brother had made. Or was he? She really didn’t know. This thought alone nudged her back to her previous state.