A Killer Among Us
Page 3
Okay.
You’ll be answering to me, and anyone I pair you with. You’ll have no responsibility until I deem you trustworthy. He inhaled, taped ash in the tray already piled high. You like food?
Huh?
Food. You like it? Think you could write about it?
Well, I’ve not done any food writing. The stories I wrote were about—
Psychology stuff. Flipping to the second page again. I see it. Don’t worry, we all start out where we’re comfy. But think of food writing like a patient. Take notes on it, write a report afterwards. But one tip, sex sells. Food is no different. People love that shit. Delectable Delicacies is our section. You’ll work with Roger, he’s on his way out. You’ll be his assistant for the time being.
Okay.
You ever say more than one word?
Charlie hadn’t expected any of this. Not even the last week, the last few years, he’d been shut down at every interview. People always accepting him on the curiosity to find out that he indeed was the Charlie Gardner they’d suspected him to be. He didn’t think there’d been any newspapers left for him to apply to after a while. I do, he said finally. No I’m just stunned. Sorry.
No need to apologise. Like I said before, must be hard.
Charlie nodded. Keeping that fire in his heart from jumping for joy, or nerves. Yeah, it’s not easy, he said.
I remember you had a young daughter at the time. She well?
At school. Good kid. Happy as can be. Didn’t say anything about her disability or learning troubles. The bullying.
Good, Carl replied. Good. The attention people receive because of the media can sometimes be hard. I know cause we’ve dealt that card out a few times. He smiled. But I have to say Charlie, I’ve been expecting you. Word spreads, as I’m sure you’ve experienced.
That was an understatement, Charlie thought. A whale of an understatement. Not only had word spread but the fire with it. It was as if he was walking into a burning house doused in petrol over and over. His own past not his anymore but the property of the people.
Bob over at the Gazette called, said to expect you. He liked you.
Nice guy, Charlie said.
Carl laughed. You’ll be a fine journalist. If you can pull that outta your arse so quick. Bob is a bastard as good as the rest of them. Probably deserves a spot in Westington just for his workplace practices. But I’ll tell him the good news here.
Bob, as Charlie had seen him, was a leering pig. One eye on Charlie and the other on the intern he had bring coffee in for the interview. Charlie noticed that a lot of the interns, and journalists surrounding him, were young women. Not a problem at all, except that Charlie had the distinct feeling that Bob’s hands did more than type or edit when he saw fit.
Well the job’s yours if you want it.
Charlie came back into the room. Ten years he’d practically been out of a job. What?
Whaddya think?
I think thank you.
Good move. Carl stood, adjusted his pants and put out the cigarette. Come back Monday morning. Eight o’clock the offices open. Most start at eight thirty, but you’ll have admin to do with Stacey. I’ll tell her to expect you.
Thank you, again, Charlie said. Really.
No problem. Just don’t make me regret it. We’ve all made mistakes or accidents in our life. Second chances are often wished and alluded to, but not many are granted. So consider this yours. Charlie stood and they faced each other. Carl extended his hand this time and they shook. Just one thing, Carl said.
Charlie froze. Yes?
Ten years ago. Carl paused. It was an accident, wasn’t it?
Yes, Charlie replied. A question he’d answered over and over, to the media, his superiors, himself. It was an accident, had been accident. Who would knowingly cause the death of three people? Yes, of course, he said. Worst accident of my life.
CHAPTER FIVE
Charlie woke gripping his sheets, shirt slicked with sweat. Breath haggard. He wiped his forehead and took his shirt off with difficulty, his shoulder hurting again. He sat there in the dark, checked the time. Barely five. The birds in the tree by his window making tentative chirps. He had to piss. He edged towards the side of the bed, his legs staying in the middle, swung each leg off one at a time. Dead as nails. He reached for his chair. He’d left it sideways last night. Tried to drag it closer. Just a bit to go. He stabilised himself on one handlebar and the bedside table bolted to the wall. He lifted—
The chair shot into the wall as he fell out of bed and into frame, then collapsed to the floor. Shoulder pressing awkwardly in pain. He swore constantly. Thought he’d put the brake on last night? Or the nurse had? Almost pissing himself now. His head ringing. He looked at the chair. Staring down at him. Disgusted in him. Fuck you, he murmured, in the dark. He didn’t need it anyway. Wouldn’t. He’d get healthy.
He turned and began crawling towards the bathroom, dragging his legs and crossing the room on his elbows. The carpet cheap and synthetic, biting into his flesh, and by the time he got to the cool tiles of the bathroom felt it burning. Rubbed raw. He slid across the tiles and muscled himself up against the toilet. Felt like he’d run a marathon. Dripping sweat again. He lifted himself onto the toilet with the help of the handrail. Shifted side to side to remove his underpants. He stared at his dead legs while he urinated. Doing it to remember them, to remind himself they weren’t working, yet. He forgot that they didn’t work sometimes while he was on the toilet. He would move to get off, or adjust, and then find himself sideways on the floor, covered in filth and burning red. Having to pull that bloody cord.
The first time it happened he freaked out, pulled the assistance cord and bit his tongue not to cry with shame. The nurse came quickly. Cooing like he was some child the whole time, caring for him with her empathy like he was a puppy. He hated himself. It was okay, she said. It was not okay.
He shook his penis and pulled his underwear back up, stopped, noticing the chair staring at him from beside the bed. Wished he’d brought it now. He lowered himself off the seat in the way he’d come up, began crawling back across the floor. Feeling the carpet on his elbows again. Like a sadist confessing in the booth. He came to the bed and chair, clicked the chair’s brake on, used it to get back in bed. The birds were chirping quietly by the time he lay there puffing. The day began.
He sat the morning in bed. Staring at the curtains, imagining the world on the other side, the gumtrees on the perimeter of the rehabilitation centre, the young the gardner that waved at him. He wanted to throw his ash tray at the window, try and create something that would alert someone. Broken glass always did that. Anything broken that could be used as a weapon, against someone or themselves. But he couldn’t even do that, they’d replaced his ash tray with a cup coaster. The windows were as solid as a wall. Charlie twisted away from the window and curtain, and his chair.
He lay staring at his clothes drawer, pinching his legs, hoping for some sort of feeling. The doctor’s said if he could feel the pinches then there would be a chance that he could feel his toes, make them move. Then, he’d get his legs back. He kept pinching. Cathartic in a way. Like a baby sucking its thumb. Something he could control. But they didn’t even want him doing that anymore, not now that he’d made it a flagellation. Nurse said he pinched too hard. His skin welting. Legs as raw as the elbows. He stopped, out of guilt, his family watching. He made himself stare at the picture. Remind himself of what he’d lost from his stupidity. Their smiling faces looking at him, mocking him. He wanted to turn back to the chair, but he stared back at them.
He’d been dreaming of the crash again. Always woke up at the same point. Whether it was raining or not, day or night, the crash happened in slow motion and out of his control. He was bound in his chair by barbed wire, his hands melded to the steering wheel, his skin splitting as he tried to pull free. The car would swerve in front, or he towards it? There was no braking. Eve screaming. The girls screaming. Him screaming. Then horrendous screeching
and rending of metal. Collision and explosion all the same. Or sometimes he was fighting with all his strength to control the car. The car fishtailing, sliding across the lanes and then careening off the shoulder. But they were always rolling, flipping, over and over, down the hill. Glass breaking. The world spinning like that until they crashed into the bottom of the ditch on their roof. The only movement was him. Him dying. Screaming. Burning alive, his skin melting away from him. The water rising and him drowning in the flood. He would watch his family burn with him as he tried to break free of the car. His legs bent at odd angles, or not there. All the while he had to get free. Find Rachel. To get them free. If he could just get out of his belt—Then he would wake up.
The real nightmare then. Because when he was awake he was broken in all the ways he could think of. His family. His body. His mind fuzzy from the head trauma. He would sit and look at his family, at the boxes of items that had been brought by friends and family. Some items he swore were missing. Worst of all though, sometimes he would be staring at them, and he would think he didn’t know them. Wondering who they were? Sometimes he didn’t know whose family he was looking at. The same with friends. He would be there unsure of who they were until they said their name. They turned from friendly people to demons in split seconds. He would panic and then the orderly would come, the nurse. The friend would be frightened. Him angry and panicking. That’s when he’d broken the ashtray. Then even they stopped coming. He didn’t care. He was just waiting to get better. When his legs were working, when not if, nothing else would matter. They would be working and he would be walking at the door. Out of this rehab clinic. Away from this shit. Then he could do what he properly needed to do. Could help himself. Help his mind, and then, then he would be able to save them and stop his dreams. The staring faces. He’d right his wrongs.
The orderly came in just before eight with his medication and breakfast. Watched him take the two pills, a precaution because of his head trauma. He was forgetful, and often reminded of it. Then he would leave him with the tray of food. He’d sit by the window eating. Watching the gardner readying his gear in his truck by the service driveway. The birds would come from the nest by his window. That was most days. Little beaks peeking. It already looked warm today. Looked dry as anything out there. He suddenly didn’t feel like the rest of his breakfast. Felt jealous of the gardner and his legs. The food doing nothing for him anyway. Just poison. Someone had poisoned it. Surely. He tipped it off the table.
He punched his leg silently. Angry. Move. Feel something. Then stopping, feeling childish. He rolled away from the window and mess, picked up the newspaper that had been left on his visitor’s chair. He had a familiar memory upon him. Like he’d read it before. Or read that paper normally? Maybe before it all. Everything was fuzzy. He held it out to read. The Adelaide Courier. This just made him angry. He balled it up and hurled it across the room at the family photo.
He rolled to the toilet and slammed the door. He wanted his shaver. But he wasn’t allowed a shaver.
Fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck it. Fuck ‘em all to shit. There was a better way to fix all this, to get out. Shit shit shit. He’d seen it done. Knew how it was done. Up the street and not across! But then even they’d thought of that. Not allowed a shaver, he swung his fists in the air. He stared at the empty bathroom drawer. Slammed it shut and began swinging his arms around wildly again. Wanting to scream. To release anger, violence, wanting something, someone, to feel his wrath. Because he certainly felt theirs. This world on him. Down on him. He knew society, what they thought of him. What people did. How they’d worked against him. People like him. They always did. What he’d done. Never forgiven. Fuck ‘em. He screamed. Veins bulging on his neck. He’d known other ways to release his anger. To feel validated and not as some poor thing.
He slumped forward in his chair, breathing hard. That was it, he felt powerless now. Everyday, the anger and the resentment. He was sick of feeling someone else’s pressure. Some other voice, pushing down on him like this. For as long as he could remember before the crash, that had been Eve. Always comparing. Always evaluating and judging. He grabbed the toilet seat, trying to rip it off. Why wasn’t he like—Why couldn’t he—He was such a… insert any comparison here… man. He grabbed the disability handle bar. He’d break that off.
The door opened with a knock, Charlie my man, you okay?
He stopped, turned back to the emergency cord, he’d caught it in his anger.
Hi Perce, he said. All good. Just an accident.
You in the bathroom?
Yeah, all good. Just—
Percy stood at the door. Leaning against it, hands in pockets.
I was just backing up, must’ve caught on the chair, Charlie said, avoiding his eyes.
You’re all good though? Want a hand with anything? Thought I heard a call. Percy was a big man, six foot four. Arms like trees. Big smiled. It’s alright my man.
I was just looking for my shaver too, Charlie said. I must’ve lost it. Misplaced it. Is it possible to get a shaver today?
Course you can, Percy said. I can give you a shave anytime you’re ready? I can get the kit right now if you want.
Oh, Charlie remembering. Yeah.
I’m sorry but you know patients can’t have blades.
Yeah. Yeah I remember, Charlie said.
No worries, Percy got off from the door. I’ll fetch the kit if you wanna get a sink of hot water going. I’ll be back. He left, leaving the door to Charlie’s room open.
Charlie sat there thinking. It was right, he wasn’t allowed a blade. He knew that. Which made the next part harder, not unbearable. He’d done worse. Another door opening, a distant memory, it too involving a blade. Back in the bathroom, running a sink of water. He liked Percy, gentle giant. Wished it hadn’t been him to come in now. Knowing how blame worked in places like this. Knowing how blame worked.
A few minutes later Percy returned with the shaving kit. Alright first customer of the day. I got Janine down the hall booked in for the arvo. He winked, little laugh. Are you wanting the full experience?
Sure, Charlie said. I pay top dollar.
You know I work for the love of the craft. Percy wheeled Charlie around and brought him facing the sink, testing the temperature with his elbow. But you know, if you wanna put me in your will, Terrence is a double R. He placed the washcloth in the water and rung it out, repeated and rung it more softly. Head back my man. Drape this over your face while I suds up the soap.
Charlie’s world became dark. A muffled sun glimpsed by impression through the cloth. He felt his pores opening up, breathing in the warmth and his skin pumping with blood. Charlie then wiped his cheeks and neck. Percy took the cloth back. Soap lathered in his fist, little brush circling quicker and quicker. His hands enormous against the tiny brush. He worked from one side of Charlie’s face to the other, then the neck, moving in circles.
Let’s get this shaver warm. Percy had his glasses on now, looking down at Charlie through the mirror. Then he moved to the front and the razor began sailing over Charlie’s skin. He watched Percy working, seeing the concentration and movement in his eyes. The care and tenderness. He had a dull feeling, waiting for Percy to poke his tongue out any moment. He was sure that was what he did, when he concentrated. The razor sliding across his cheeks and below his nose. Percy swivelled and the razor danced over the adam’s apple. Up and down his neck. Charlie closed his eyes and relaxed, allowed the sensation of the whispering razor to fulfil him. His body felt light. His mind unravelling and the knots disappearing. His headache lessened. Then it was all over.
Charlie felt the smooth touch of his skin, Percy washing the razor and sink as it emptied. Perfect, he said looking at himself. Ignoring the face looking at him. It was swollen and saggy. Aged in scars. He remembered the doctor saying that with time it would heal and his face would seem normal, they’d done the best they could. However they would never be able to erase the sign of the crash. Not everything could be fixed.
You got a visitor coming? Lucky you. Percy looked surprised and happy for him. Just the one shirt or you got a few? Do a bit of a catwalk thing? he asked as he left the bathroom.
You know what? Charlie leaning forward and reaching for the shaving kit. Heard his wardrobe open. Maybe bring a couple shirts. You can hold them up and I can see how they all look. You’ve always got the best eye Perce.
Percy made a noise that Charlie couldn’t understand but took for agreement. Maybe a laugh? There were only throwaway razors. They’d do. Charlie took one and placed it in his robe pocket, tucked it down deep. Another nibble in his mental memories.
Percy came back with three shirts. I’m afraid selection isn’t too big. A bit slim. This one in particular hasn’t even been in style for… I dunno how long. He smiled. But let’s see. He held the first top in front. White is always a classic. Dangerous to our special of the day though. Meatball spaghetti. So don’t say I didn’t warn you if your visitor comes in and you’re all spotty. He held up the second shirt. Now, I dunno about you, but this colourful number is a bit more daring. Wouldn’t you say?
I think we’ve got our winner then, Charlie said. It was a Hawaiian top Eve and the girls had gifted him when they holidayed up on the north eastern coast. They hadn’t actually gone to Hawaii, Harper’s disability had made it hard to fly, but they’d gifted this to him on his fortieth birthday. Just before he became a journalist. Yes, I think I’ll go with that one.
I agree, Percy said. White’s always gonna be around, but how long have you got to wear something like this. He hung it on the door knob. Need a hand putting it on, how’s your shoulder? Charlie rolled his shoulder to show everything was okay. It ground the whole time and he bared his teeth inwardly. Anything else I can help you with then? He picked up the shaving kit and zipped it shut. Not looking.