THE LIFE LEFT: A GRIPPING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER

by L. W. WEDGWOOD

  “Ron, is he okay?” he asked.

  “You’re remembering?” Barlow said.

  “Is he okay?”

  “The last I heard, Ron is stable and resting.”

  “He’s alive…”

  “Yes. But back to what I asked earlier. When you said ‘at least I’m not a murderer,’ what did you mean?”

  The ache in Ed’s head now returned with full force. He scrambled for further clarity, scrambled for an answer. Could he answer Barlow? Should he? Clearly, he’d pissed off Jane with his actions. But he feared that to tell the truth now would only piss her off more. Not only that, he knew if he did as Jane’s lawyer asked, he would be indebted to Jane for getting him out. He didn’t like the idea of that one bit.

  “Ed! Are you still with me?” Barlow said.

  Elements of superiority and distain in Barlow’s tone, twisted Ed’s thought process further. Up until now, Barlow had managed to keep his judgments obscured. But here it was. The arrogance in the voice now betrayed his otherwise flawless facade. There could no longer be any doubt. Barlow had exposed himself as the enemy. Ed wanted nothing more than to reveal Abn for the murderer he was, but not like this, not to over-authoritative trash. This final piece of the puzzle slid into place, completing his resolve. His allegiance tipped. “I don’t remember,” he said.

  “It sounded like you were accusing someone of murder. It sounded like you knew the murderer.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I have to tell you that anything that you say to me will stay between you, me and Jane. Think! What did you mean?”

  “I told you, I don’t remember.”

  Barlow’s expression remained an emotionless wall as he answered. “Then I’m afraid, I’ll have to leave you here,” he said.

  “You’re going to leave me here while every passing minute may be my brother’s last? You’re going to deny me the right to see him?”

  “I think you know more than what you’re letting on. I think you do remember.”

  His still aching brain scrambled for the correct course forward. He knew he had to get out of jail, but he couldn’t use Barlow’s key. What did that mean? Barlow had said that the nurse wasn’t going to press charges. How did that affect his imprisonment? Did it mean he would be let out once he’d sobered up? He should be able to leave now if that were the case.

  As all of this worked its way through Ed’s mind, he could see that Barlow’s expression remained as impassive as ever. Something in that face infuriated him. He came to a snap decision. “I think you can go fuck yourself,” he said.

  “As you wish,” Barlow said.

  Ed watched Barlow stand. He could see a tiny glimmer of defeat shine through the lawyer’s stone-like calm. It didn’t suit him. He could tell that this was one of those rare occasions when Barlow hadn’t gotten his way.

  “I want my phone call now,” he said as the officer led him back to his cell.

  Without so much as a word, the officer steered him around a corner, along a hallway and into an office area where he pointed to a desk.

  “You can use that phone. You have five minutes,” said the officer.

  * * * * *

  Abn didn’t recognize the number on his caller ID when his phone rang. As a rule, he normally avoided calls he didn’t recognize. However, things had changed. It could be the hospital calling with news of Ron. They may not have been able to reach Jane. She’d been sleeping all morning, exhausted from the previous day’s events. Even now, at 10:00 a.m., she hadn’t made an appearance.

  Feeling no small degree of trepidation, he answered the call on the fifth ring, “Hello.”

  “Abn,” said a voice.

  Abn cursed himself for having answered the call. “Hello Uncle Ed,” he said.

  “I’m guessing you know where I am right now.”

  “Um… in jail?”

  “That’s right and I need you to get me out.”

  “Why would I do that? You punched a nurse in the face. You are where you belong.”

  “I’m here because of you. I was upset because of you.”

  “I do not know what that means. And nevertheless, you punched a nurse. The best place for you is in jail.”

  “Now let me tell you what’s going to happen here, Abn. You’re going to call that friend of yours, the one with the fancy father…”

  “Michael?”

  “Yes, that’s him. That shithead, Michael. You’re going to call him and get his family lawyer to get me out of here. And I do mean today.”

  He could barely believe what he was hearing. “Why would I do that? How can I do that?” he said.

  “If you don’t do it, when I do get out of here, I’ll spend every waking hour exposing you and your friend for who you really are.”

  “I do not see what you mean.”

  “I think you do. And I think you will do anything you can to protect your little friend.”

  “Protect him from what?” he said as he began to fear the worst.

  “Do I have to spell it out for you? I know Michael lied to the police to protect you and I know he will do anything necessary to stay out of trouble. A scandal would bring Hell down on Michael as well as his farther. Michael would never let that happen. So, get me out of here!” Ed demanded.

  “You are bluffing.”

  “I have the original copy of the video… the one the detectives showed you.”

  “What video?”

  “You know, the video of you with your bike outside the dairy.”

  “You have that video? It was you who gave it to the detectives?” he said, only now fully realizing the extent of Ed’s malice.

  “Of course.”

  “I have an alibi proving that it wasn’t me in that video,” he said, desperately scrambling for recourse.

  “I can prove that it was you in that video.”

  He could feel the hatred flowing through the phone from Ed. He had experienced that emotion up close throughout his life. The sheer energy in the voice insisted that Ed was capable of anything. He had to assume the worst. He had to deal with him. At very least he had to buy some time.

  “Let us assume that I do as you ask and get you out of jail. What is stopping you from doing what you say you will do anyway?” Abn said.

  “You’ll have to take my word for it. But you have to let me know now. My five-minute phone call is up.”

  Fighting his inner turmoil, Abn quickly decided he had no choice in the matter. Complying with Ed’s demands, at least for the moment, was the only way forward. “Okay,” he agreed.

  The only answer Abn got from Ed was the sound of the phone call ending.

  * * * * *

  Ed sat on the wooden bench, opposite Adrian. He divided his time between glancing through the bars down the hallway and fending off Adrian’s fifty-yard glare with one of his own.

  Only five others now remained in the cell. It didn’t take much for him to figure out that this was where local drunks were housed when they made trouble. The clothing on the five men that remained said they were homeless. The others had either been released onto the street or had been freed by their lawyers. He guessed the others had either money or good fortune. The men remaining had run out of both. Although Adrian seemed to be the exception to that rule. The Testonis he periodically wiped down with his handkerchief insisted so.

  Another twenty minutes passed before the door swung open down the hallway. Hope surged within him. Had Abn done what he’d asked? Had the lawyer arrived? But his spirits immediately sagged as Detectives Bell and Boar filed in until they stood before him looking through the bars.

  “Mr. Morrison. You’ve had a time of it, I see,” Bell said.

  Ed ignored the slur and instead turned his attention to the uniformed officer as he opened the cell door again.

  “Morrison, come this way, please,” said the officer.

  He stood and slid out of the cell, trying to stay well clear of Adrian as he did so. He followed the three men until t
hey were back in the interview room. After being seated at the table again, the officer left him alone with the detectives. He really wasn’t sure what was worse, being left alone with a lawyer or a cop. He’d feel much more comfortable if he were left here alone with Adrian. At least he knew what he’d get with a man like that. A cop, on the other hand, was completely unpredictable.

  “Someone punched you?” Bell asked.

  He smiled back, unashamed of the missing tooth he displayed. “Just some friendly cell time is all.”

  “A cell mate did that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “You don’t care what happens to you?”

  “I care about getting out of here.”

  “And we’re here to help you with that.”

  “Good, so I’m free to go, am I?”

  “Not just yet. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “About what?”

  “About the incident at the hospital yesterday.”

  “What about it? I hit a nurse. I don’t remember doing it. What else is there to say?”

  “We don’t want to know about the nurse. We want to know about the incident with Abn Morrison in the lobby. And we want to know about what you said to Jane Morrison that day. We saw the video footage. We’ve heard the reports from witnesses,” Bell said.

  “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t remember a thing about what happened at that hospital.”

  “You screamed at Jane that at least you’re not a murderer. We’ve also had reports that you accused Abn of killing someone while you were being escorted out through the lobby.”

  “I told you, I don’t remember anything,” he said, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

  “We think you do,” Boar chipped in.

  “I was drunk.”

  “Sometimes drinking brings out the truth in a man,” Boar said.

  “In my experience, it usually brings out the bullshit,” Ed said.

  “We don’t think so. We think you know exactly what you were saying when you said what you said,” Bell argued.

  “I don’t care what you think. I know what I know and that’s that.”

  “Mr. Morrison. We know that Abn has been involved in some way with what’s going on at the hospice. We know that he’s not telling us the truth,” Bell said.

  “We know you know something,” Boar said.

  “I don’t know anything. But it sounds like you already know everything you need to know. Why are you asking me questions?”

  “You don’t like Abn, do you?” Boar asked.

  Ed felt somewhat taken aback by this question. He hadn’t been expecting it at all. “What makes you say that?” he said.

  “Call it a gut feeling,” Boar said.

  Ed stared through Boar as if he weren’t there at all. He didn’t like Bell much, but Boar was quite a different story. The man has a chip on his shoulder that was almost visible in nature. He was the kind of cop who looked upon everyone as a criminal and he made no effort at hiding it.

  A knock at the door interrupted the interrogation and the uniformed officer led in the man Ed hoped for.

  “Gentlemen… Gentlemen… …I’m Bryan Gilroy, Mr. Morrison’s lawyer. I’d like a moment with my client if you don’t mind,” said Bryan.

  Ed looked on as Bryan’s words took effect. The room emptied. The interview with the detectives was over.

  CHAPTER 16

  An odd mixture of clarity, anxiety and exhilaration comprised Ed’s mood as he stepped onto Harris Street from the police station. From the depths of his despair, he’d come out victorious. It had taken only four hours since the phone call with Abn before he’d been freed. Even if he’d employed his own lawyer, he knew he wouldn’t have been out that fast. And best of all, his liberation hadn’t cost him a penny.

  Pulling his tobacco out, he took his time to roll a cigarette. The first puff felt marvelous as it filled his lungs and ignited the pleasure centers of his brain. He ignored the looks of distaste from the officers as they pushed by him on their way into the station.

  As he puffed away, his thoughts scrambled for direction. Left or right? Taking a right and then another right onto Victoria Street would see him into the comforting arms of The Green Man pub, which he knew was only a block away. Taking a left and then a right would see him onto Jervois Quay and put him on the fastest walking route back to see Ron. Something about the crossroads and the devil touched his psyche. The moment passed. The devil won. He turned right.

  The waitress eyed him with distain as she placed two more rounds on his table. He could feel her unease at having him there. This wasn’t the kind of place where a man got drunk on a weekday mid-afternoon. This was the kind of place where corporate slaves lunched and daringly sampled a glass of wine.

  “Would you like to order anything from our menu?” the waitress asked.

  “Two more of these, thanks,” he said, tipping the rim of his whiskey glass toward her before downing the contents.

  As she retreated behind the bar, he picked up his beer and took a few swallows. The first rush of alcohol from the previous round hit him as he did so. The relief of this sensation relaxed his body with tranquilizing effect. For the first time that day, he felt the pounding in his head ease and his stomach settle. A degree of clarity returned to his thought process. For a moment, he considered eating something. But he dismissed this idea as two more drinks were placed before him. Food had a way of reducing the power of alcohol. And right now, he needed all of that power he could get.

  The waitress didn’t speak this time as she served the drinks. He felt a sense of relief at this. He didn’t want to talk. He needed time to think. He needed time to settle his nerves.

  He sipped his beer and starred blindly through the empty bar. A never-ending flow of traffic flashed by the windows outside; people going somewhere, people doing something. He had no idea what.

  All that mattered at this point was to keep the alcohol flowing. And as the sixth round passed over his lips, he determined the best course of action for the afternoon. Around this time, two women took seats at the table between him and the door. Through the fog of his returning awareness, he realized that they were intermittently looking at him as the minutes passed. He guessed they were taking note of the ruffled appearance the night in the cell had left him with. He didn’t like that. In his view, judgement was reserved for God alone.

  For situations like this, when people stared at him, he had developed a perfect antidote; stare back. Give them an unwavering soulless appraisal that bored into the core of their being. This usually did the trick. The offender would leave or divert their attention elsewhere. However, today seemed to be the exception to that rule. The more he stared, the more the two women stared back.

  Both in their thirties, they wore corporate power suits, with five-hundred-dollar hairstyles. And both of them dripped with high-end accessories. He guessed they’d taken off early from good jobs in fancy high-rise buildings to amuse themselves with people watching. He maintained eye contact. They wouldn’t beat him. He wouldn’t buckle under the eyes of these plastic excuses for human beings.

  “Would you like a go?” one of the women said with a nod toward her friend.

  It was the blonde who’d spoken. The brunette remained silent, seemingly content with looking. It took him several seconds to compute what she’d said. He wasn’t used to this. Women usually went out of their way to avoid him. “What?” he managed.

  “A go. Would you like a go?” said the blonde.

  The brunette’s face cracked with a smile. The smile reeked of depravity, reeked of pleasures Ed would prefer to remain ignorant of. He looked from the blonde to the brunette and then back to the blonde who had spoken again. “What are you talking about?” he said.

  “Do you want to come with us? Do you want to fuck?” said the blonde.

  “Jesus Christ!” he said, his powers of deflection evaporating in a puff stupefaction.

  “Come on
. What do you say?” said the brunette, breaking her silence.

  He stood and finished the reminder of his beer in one swallow. It was time to leave. As he moved toward the door, he took a moment to bend over the couple’s table and breathe into the space between them. He stared into the brunette’s still smiling eyes with unbridled malice. “I say you and your arm-candy-cunt here can go fuck yourselves,” he said.

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He straightened up and strode toward the door, satisfied that he’d removed their smiles and made a dent in their obscene confidence.

  As he stepped back onto Victoria Street, he decided it would be some time before he came downtown again. The place had deteriorated since he’d last visited. He didn’t need to be around people of such low character.

  A gust of wind pushed into his face as he headed south. And it didn’t let up. It felt to him as if nature was resisting his intended direction. He pushed on. At least it wasn’t raining.

  * * * * *

  Jane felt much better about Ron’s condition today. He’d been moved from the ICU and into a recovery room. Today, he’d been conscious. Today, he’d spoken. He’d even managed to eat some of the chocolate he loved so much.

  The doctors now seemed more confident. They’d told her that Ron’s operation had been a complete success. The bleeding had stopped and his condition would further improve. However, she had trouble convincing Ron of this. Despite being conscious and apparently on the mend, his mood did not reflect as much. He smiled, he talked, he showed a sense of positivity, but deep down she knew something had changed inside of him. It was as if he were simply going through the motions. Was this because of the painkillers? Or was this just a different psychological stage on the road to the inevitable finish line? She wasn’t sure. All she knew for sure was that for the moment he was alive. And for the moment, that much was enough.

  She saw Ed as she exited the hospital lobby after her visit. The sight halted her in her tracks. Leaning against a handrail, he puffed cigarette smoke into the air, his posture filled with superiority that betrayed his appearance. He still wore the clothes she’d seen him in yesterday. Only now they were dirtier.