by A K Reynolds
‘Do you fancy getting together?’
‘I thought you’d gone off me the way you couldn’t wait to get me out of your house the other day.’
‘Sorry if I was a bit brusque. I had a lot on.’
‘No worries. When do you want to meet?’
That’s what I liked about Jake. He was easy-going, he enjoyed seeing me, and was good-looking to boot. What was not to like? ‘When are you available?’
He was silent for a moment, presumably considering his plans for the day. ‘Let me see, I’ve got a couple of lectures and an assignment to finish but I could get out to meet you at seven.’
Seven. I didn’t want to meet him after I’d been drinking and wondered if I could possibly stay dry until then. It was going to take a mighty effort.
‘Okay, how about Westow House?’
‘Yeah, I like the place. See you there at seven.’
I glanced at the clock. It was only 11am. There was a lot of day to get through before seven o’clock in the evening. I did a few chores, got some lunch, took a walk, read part of a novel, and somehow by sheer effort of will got myself to Westow House at 7pm stone-cold sober. Mind you, my heart was racing and I was in desperate need of alcoholic nourishment. As Jake wasn’t around I got myself a pale ale. It was strong enough, at nine per cent, to do the job I needed it to, and I figured it’d last longer than a small glass of red wine. It didn’t. But by the time I’d finished it my nerves were slightly less ragged. It was partly down to the alcohol but also something else. You can only spend so much time worrying. When you’re up against it, your body occasionally turns off the worry switch to give you a break. You should never get complacent when that happens – it gets turned back on again soon enough.
Jake showed up just as I was about to go to the bar to get another. He looked at my empty glass. ‘What are you drinking?’ he asked – so considerate.
I managed to give him a big grin. With the worry switch at ‘off’ for a change, I was, for once in my miserable life, feeling something approximating to happy and I wanted to make the most of it while it lasted. ‘I’ll have a glass of merlot please – a large one.’
Then I felt tight asking for it, because he was a student and presumably on a limited income.
‘I tell you what, Jake, I’ll go Dutch with you on this round,’ I said, getting my purse from my bag.
He shook his head. ‘No need, you get the next one.’
We were buying rounds then, which suited me. I just hoped he could afford the number of rounds I’d need to get properly relaxed. If he couldn’t, I’d sub him. I could think of no better use for my overdraft than applying it to getting dead drunk as I waited for death to catch up with me. Then as Jake headed for the bar I had a horrible thought: what if the poisoner knew I was here and was hanging around just waiting for an opportunity to slip something into my drink? I stood up and followed Jake so I could keep an eye on things.
‘I can manage to carry two drinks on my own,’ he said when he saw me standing next to him. ‘You sit down.’
‘I… er… just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any other red wine I would’ve liked more,’ I told him. Then, when the barman appeared, I was forced to ask: ‘What red wines do you do by the glass, please?’
‘We have a shiraz, a cabernet sauvignon and a merlot.’
I looked at Jake. ‘I’ll stick with my first choice,’ I told him. ‘Merlot.’
I linked Jake’s arm as we stood at the bar so as not to arouse suspicion I might be watching over him. He must’ve thought I’d become more affectionate than usual but he didn’t comment on it.
We returned to our table armed with drinks. Halfway through my red wine I had the urge to have a pee. I was about to go to the loo when I had another of my horrible thoughts: Jake doesn’t know to keep watch over my drink. Then I had an even worse one. Hang on a minute, Jaz. Maybe you’re missing something. Maybe you’ve been missing it all along. Jake has a tattoo on his arm – the letter ‘J’. It’s in an ornate script and it’s about four inches high. Charlotte has a brother called Joshua.
Is it possible Charlotte’s brother is the one doing the killings? And if so, is it possible that Jake is really Joshua? That he’s had to use a pseudonym beginning with the letter ‘J’ because of his tattoo? And he’s dating me in order to find an opportunity to kill me? He’s the right age to be Joshua, when I think about it.
When I visited Charlotte in hospital I wasn’t able to understand a word she said – but possibly the people who know her well can interpret those sounds she’s making. I’ve heard of disabled people communicating by blinking out Morse code with their eyelids – so it’s not too much of a stretch to suppose she’s told Joshua what happened to her and Tony.
The more I thought about it, the more worried I got about going to the loo and leaving my drink unattended. And the more I worried about that, the more I became convinced Jake was really Joshua. I decided I better not act suspicious. If he was Joshua, it was best to keep him in the dark about what I knew, or thought I knew. That way I might be able to outwit him. Anyway, I needed the loo so I necked the remainder of my wine so as to prevent anything from being slipped into it while my back was turned, then I stood up.
But I couldn’t go right away – Jake might be tempted to buy me a drink during my absence and I’d have to decline to drink it, which would tip him off I was on to him. A subtle change of plan was needed.
‘Drink up,’ I said. ‘I’m going to the bar.’
His eyebrows shot up into his unlined forehead giving it enough creases to rival my own for once.
‘You gulped that down,’ he said.
I ignored the remark. ‘What’re you having?’
‘A pint of pale ale, please.’
‘I have to pay a visit,’ I explained. ‘Back in a mo. I’ll get the drinks on my return.’
When I came out of the loo I went straight to the bar and bought another round.
‘This is going some, even for you,’ Jake said when I put them on our table. He’d noticed I drank a bit by the sounds of things.
‘I suppose you’re right. I ought to slow down. We have the whole night ahead of us.’
That wasn’t the only reason I was planning to slow down. I had to be alert to what was going on. There was no telling what might happen if I wasn’t – and if I was right about Jake being Josh, I’d have to really be on my toes. I kept my glass near me so he’d have to stretch to reach it if he wanted to put something in it.
‘Something wrong?’ he asked.
Damn – what was I doing to make it obvious? I shook my head but did so rather too quickly. ‘No, why do you ask?’
‘You just seemed to be looking at me in a funny way.’
I was in danger of giving away what I suspected – that Jake was really Joshua. Somehow I had to make a recovery. I gave him a semi-sideways and furtive sort of stare. ‘Oh, that. It’s been noticed before. It’s just the way I look at people when I like them.’
‘It’s spooky.’
‘Sorry, I’ll stop doing it.’
‘I need to go myself. It must be catching,’ he said, standing up and heading for the loo.
He left his jacket – a black leather number – hanging on the back of his chair. As soon as he’d disappeared through the door I jumped up, dashed to his side of the table, had a furtive look around to make sure no-one was watching me, and went through his pockets. He’d left his wallet in his jacket. It contained a student id card. I looked at the picture: it was him. The name on the card was Jake Thurman. I shoved the card back in the wallet and the wallet back in his jacket and sat down just before he emerged from the loo.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked as he resumed his seat.
‘Sure, why?’
‘You seem to be out of breath.’
I must’ve gotten myself worked up worrying about whether Jake was really Joshua while I was going through his pockets. At least I now knew he was who he said he was, which meant I could relax. I di
d my best to slow down my breathing and get a grip on my fears.
Then I thought, When I was younger people used to get fake student id cards so they could go drinking under-age – which means I haven’t proved that Jake isn’t Joshua. His ID could be fake.
I started worrying again but managed to keep it within reasonable bounds, so I didn’t end up hyperventilating.
After getting well-oiled we went back to my place. I reckoned I’d be safe as long as I didn’t let him near any of my food before I ate it or my drink before I imbibed it. After all, violence wasn’t Joshua’s style. He was a poisoner.
We went upstairs, I locked the bedroom door much to Jake’s – or Joshua’s – puzzlement, then we undressed and got drunkenly into bed. As we did so, I belatedly remembered my intention had been to lock the door to keep the danger out of my room, not to secure it in there with me.
Having sex with someone you think might be out to kill you is an odd experience. I’ll leave it at that.
When I woke up the next morning he was having a shower in my en suite. While he was occupied with his ablutions I jumped out of bed and went through his pockets, quickly finding his wallet and examining the contents. He had a full driving licence confirming he was Jake Thurman, which was a relief. I hadn’t slept with my would-be killer after all.
My relief was short-lived. The bathroom door opened and he came out wrapped in a white towel, steam swirling all around him, and saw me with his wallet in my hands, his cash and a few other items from it on the bed.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ he asked.
At that moment I wanted the earth to open beneath my feet and swallow me whole. What could I say? ‘I can explain,’ I said, but I couldn’t, not in a million years.
He strode over and snatched the wallet off me then started putting his money and everything else I’d taken out back into it. ‘What is this?’ he demanded. ‘Some kind of a weird shakedown or something?’
‘You know I wouldn’t do that to you, Jake.’
He glared at me. ‘So what are you doing?’
I couldn’t tell him about my past, couldn’t tell him I’d suspected he was a murderer out to kill me, so I had no explanation to offer.
‘It was just a bad mistake, Jake, honest,’ I said. ‘But I promise I wasn’t going to steal anything.’
By now he was putting on his clothes and giving me the distinct impression we were over. ‘You shouldn’t go through my things,’ he said. ‘They’re private.’
The truth was, there wasn’t much, if anything, private in his wallet. He had some cash, a debit card, a few receipts, a driving licence, his student ID, and that was about it. He was referring to the principle of privacy rather than the actuality of what I’d seen. He saw what I’d done as an intrusion. I can’t say I blame him – I’d have acted the same in his position. He was in such a rush to leave that he began walking out the bedroom while still pulling on his jacket.
‘I’m going,’ he said at the top of the stairs, delivering the words with a dramatic finality.
So I’d lost my boyfriend, if that’s what he was, and managed to deeply offend him in the process. Yet another weight on my conscience, but a relatively small one in the grand scheme of things. I wasn’t in love with him so our final parting didn’t come as a shattering blow, but I did feel I’d miss him. He’d been good for me when I needed cheering up. I didn’t doubt I’d need cheering up again in the near future. But who would be there for me?
‘Call me,’ I shouted as he descended the stairs.
‘I’ll let myself out!’ he shouted back.
Then the house was silent and I was on my own, waiting for the sword of Damocles to fall on my unprotected head.
It was going to be a long day.
But I had an idea which would help me pass time constructively.
I’d decided to track down Joshua Hawkins and see what he was getting up to.
It was just possible I’d be able to get the jump on him.
15
Way Back When
It soon became apparent that although I could make sounds – such sounds as were so quiet they could barely be heard – and move my fingers, I wasn’t able to communicate. I lacked the co-ordination to blink once for yes and twice for no, or do anything else with a consistency which might have allowed me to air my views to the world at large. I was trapped in the den of my own head. I made it bearable by transforming it, over time, into a place of peace.
One of my best days was the first day I was aware of Joshua visiting me. He was introduced as ‘your brother’ and no doubt the nursing staff had been told this was his relationship to me.
I was grateful for his company even though we couldn’t have a conversation together. He sat near me while my mother rabbited on, doing her best to lift our spirits. I don’t know how old he was at the time – two or three, I suppose.
A breakthrough came some years later. Joshua began, bit-by-tortuous-bit, to understand fragments of what I was saying. He was the only one of my visitors who did, perhaps because there is a special bond between mother and son. He never told anyone he was getting to grips with the odd language I’d begun to use. It became our secret, the biggest secret either of us had.
As he grew older I let him in on the other things I was keeping to myself. I explained that he wasn’t my brother, he was my son. I got him to swear he wouldn’t let anyone know before telling him. I didn’t want him causing distress to our mum and dad.
The news came as a shock to him but he kept it to himself so I felt confident I could trust him with another big secret. He’d often asked me what had happened to me but I’d never disclosed the truth. I’d just said I couldn’t remember exactly.
But the day came when I gave him a blow-by-blow account of what had gone on in the park when me and Tony were attacked. Once again, I made him swear to keep quiet before telling him who was responsible for my condition.
‘I have to go to the police about this,’ he said.
His words horrified me. ‘You can’t. You promised to keep it to yourself.’
‘But why? They ought to be brought to justice.’
He was young and naïve – just as I had been at his age. I couldn’t explain that I’d long ago given up my thirst for vengeance. However, there was another reason to keep the matter quiet – a far more pressing reason.
‘You don’t know what these people are like, Joshua. They’ll kill us both if they have to, and the police won’t be able to protect either of us. Don’t take that risk.’
‘You know who did this. They ought to face a trial and pay.’
‘Even if you tell the police and get them in court, it won’t get you what you want. You want the court to find them guilty, but what evidence is there apart from me? If I was somehow able to speak out in a court, would I be believed without corroborative evidence? No.’
‘But it’s so unjust. Why should they get off?’
A mother sometimes has the hard task of explaining to her child how the world really works. ‘Because life is an unfair lottery, Joshua, and they’ve stolen a winning ticket.’
His reply made my insides turn to ice.
‘Maybe I don’t need to go to the police. Maybe I can go it alone.’
Those words made me worry he’d get himself killed in spite of the warning I’d given him. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it, Josh. One way or another it’ll come back to bite you, and me as well. I’ll be killed here in my hospital bed with no chance of escape. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?’
‘No, of course not,’ he said.
I can only hope he meant it.
16
Here and Now
Why me? I wondered. Why has Joshua included me on his death list? I didn’t even do anything. I was just a bystander.
But then, I reflected, I’d given him compelling reasons for wanting me dead.
When Charlotte had needed help, I hadn’t stirred myself to call an ambulance. It was the
least I could’ve done, and it wouldn’t have cost me much to do it.
If he’d been minded to give me a break because I hadn’t taken an active part in the attack which disabled her and killed her boyfriend, he would’ve changed his mind the instant he found out what I did for a living.
I was the best friend to all the criminals in Crystal Palace. Any lesson I might have learnt the fateful day when Charlotte had been reduced to a quadriplegic had been wasted on me. And now Joshua was going to teach me what my own experiences should have drilled into me. It was to be a lethal lesson.
Only minutes before I’d been planning to get the drop on Joshua but now a sort of fatalistic depression hit me in the face like a sock full of wet gravel. I lay on my bed hardly able to move and listened to the clock ticking, wondering when the whetted blade of the axe was going to fall.
I’ve been anxious many times. Most of my life has been lived in a state of anxiety excepting those periods I’ve been drunk enough to forget my woes. That period lying on my bed helpless was my first and only taste of genuine depression. At least I think it was. I couldn’t stir myself but there was no physical reason I couldn’t move. I certainly hadn’t been poisoned, not by Jake or anyone else. There was this black cloud hanging about a foot above my head and I couldn’t shift it.
My situation felt like being in a Greek tragedy. All along, right from the very beginning, I’d known what the ending was going to be. It was pre-ordained and there was no escaping it. I couldn’t change it, so there was no point in doing anything other than wait for it to happen. I found myself actually wanting it to come and deliver me from my self-inflicted hell.
After about two hours I said to myself, Come on, Jaz, you can’t carry on like this. You have to fight it. You have to force yourself to be positive.
I pushed myself up into a sitting position and grabbed my mobile off the bedside table. If I was serious about tracking Joshua down and stopping him it would be good to have some help. I called Kylie but she didn’t answer. Her mobile went straight to voicemail.