Half The Lies You Tell Are True: An unsettling, dark psychological thriller.

by C. P. Wilson

  You can be free now.

  Dougie mentally slapped it contemptuously aside. The notion held no truth. He’d had his moments, but even when her illness had been at its worst, Dougie had never truly felt as though he’d have been better off without Mary, or even the stranger she had slowly become. In truth, Dougie would have given his soul to have had his wife, in whatever form, for another year, or a month, or even a day.

  Dougie sighed, wondering who he was supposed to be now without the woman he had loved for the entirety of his adult life.

  You still have Karen, the voice whispered.

  Unwilling to take any comfort in even thinking of Karen at his wife’s graveside, Dougie saw the voice off again.

  A biting wind gusted along the grass, down into Mary’s grave, rattling the straps against the open wound of the earth. Dougie’s spine stiffened. Suddenly he was intensely present. Grief engulfed him. The ugly hole before him threatened to swallow every ounce of joy he had ever possessed. Part of him wanted it to.

  Dougie staggered and fell to one knee, his right hand pressed to the grass. Staring into the hole, he fought against its pull.

  Mentally clutching at reasons why he could and should continue without her, Dougie found a firm grip on only one. Like a drowning man gasping for the surface, he stood abruptly, gulping in a deep lungful of air.

  The kids. Teaching them, helping them.

  School. School was where he was needed, and school was where he could function best. Perhaps the only place he could rediscover purpose at all anymore.

  Dougie Black just needed to remember the mask he wore as Mr Black, high school teacher. This empty, heartless, spent shell named Dougie, the widower, the liar; numb and spent, this wraith was no good to anyone.

  His consciousness searched as his eyes flickered. Dougie’s mind flitted between false justifications and motivations with which he might fortify himself, survive and press on into a life he didn’t want.

  Mask, find the right one; use it to move forward, to live.

  Masks. We all wear them.

  Co-worker, friend. Husband, father.

  Teacher.

  Facebook-me, real-me.

  None of them and all of them are real. The mask I wear every day in work slips off easily, replaced by the one I wear at home. 'Sir' steps aside for ‘husband’ and for ‘father’. Some traits are common to both: patience, love, support, reassurance and forgiveness. Oher qualities belong to each role alone.

  When the ‘father’ mask leaves my face, another takes its place.... for a while. Educator, brother, maybe friend from time to time. Occasionally, not often and only when I was alone or with my wife, they all fell away and only I remained. Nakedness is uncomfortable. I prefer the mask.

  The mask doesn’t just conceal, it empowers and enables. Mr Black has a strength and consistency that ‘father’ or ‘husband’ can never have. Mr Black is impervious to feeling what Dougie feels.

  ‘Father’ and ‘husband’ held the real me in their grasp and now both are gone from me forever. All that remains, the only mask I retain, is ‘teacher’. Is that enough?

  Dougie shook his head. The action did nothing to displace the fog around him. His eyes slipped across the box in the hole.

  Scanning dirt-covered wood and brass, he mentally re-ordered emotions, intentions, ambitions, desires, expectations and rediscovered resolve. Gradually Dougie Black forced an order into his thoughts, and onto the too-empty world he had suddenly found himself alone in. With great will, Dougie created a route for himself he might use to move from this place and through the unfamiliar landscape of it.

  A sad smile tugged at the corner of Dougie’s lips. At last the tears came. Ignoring them, Dougie reached to a nearby wreath. Removing a rose, he kissed the centre of the petals.

  “Goodbye, my darling. I’m sorry I didn’t do better for you.”

  Dougie dropped the rose into the grave and crunched a path through the stiff, frost-whitened grass towards whatever life he had left to him.

  ∞∞∞

  Still dressed all in black, Dougie traipsed along the sodden grass of the Meadows towards Nightingale Way. Mud and grass splattered in his wake and covered the toe tips of his highly polished black shoes. Funeral shoes. The bottoms of his trousers also soaked up moisture and mud.

  Reaching the asphalt pavement, Dougie didn’t bother stamping the mud from his soles. Upon reaching the staircase up to Karen’s building, Dougie abruptly realised the state of his feet and stamped them loose of mud as best as he could manage.

  Mind filled beyond capacity today, he hadn’t thought to call ahead and request that Karen come outside for a walk with him. A light spattering of icy-rain drew his attention, forcing the acceptance that perhaps it wasn’t the best day for a walk in the Meadows. Firming his resolve, Dougie held both hands to his temples and pushed his hair back, taming it into a wet slick-back and squeezing the rainwater from it. He wiped at his face with the forearms of his suit jacket and kicked the last of the mud from his shoes against the flat edge of the stairs. Now very aware of his appearance and the weather, he simultaneously decided that he looked a state and that he was past caring and ascended the stairs.

  Dougie buzzed the door, scrape-shuffling his feet impatiently as he waited for the receptionist to allow him in. The door mechanism clanked and Dougie strode through to find the same girl on reception he had encountered on his last visit. Cursing himself that he hadn’t yet learned her name, especially as he needed her good will, Dougie forced a smile that conveyed a warmth he felt none of inside.

  “Hi, I’m here for Karen,” he told her, matter of fact.

  Checking her screen, she asked him a question she already knew the answer to.

  “Do you have an appointment, Mr Black?”

  Unable to keep the emotion from his voice, Dougie kept his voice low for fear of it breaking.

  “No. I don’t. Today is… a special day.”

  Annoyance darkened her expression, and then she appeared to notice his clothing. Her eyes drifted up to his face. Noticing something there, they widened in sympathy.

  Reaching for her phone, she dialled as she spoke, nodding reassurance at him.

  “Please, have a seat, Mr Black. I’m sure we can arrange something.”

  Dougie stood where he was, staring at nothing whilst she began an exchange over the telephone.

  “That was Mrs Higgins,” she informed him, replacing the phone on its stand. “She’ll be right down to see you.”

  Dougie could feel the receptionist’s discomfort, but found he couldn’t care. He offered a nod in reply and remained standing, waiting for what he would swear was a hundred hours for Mrs Higgins to arrive. By the time her silhouette passed by the glass adjacent to a doorway, Dougie’s spine had stiffened with the cold and his every nerve bristled.

  Mrs Higgins pushed through a set of heavy double doors at the end of the hallway. Noting Dougie’s appearance, her face was the image of empathy.

  “Mr Black.” She hurried across the hallway towards him, heels tapping loudly in her wake. “What’s happened?” she asked as she reached him, placing a hand on his forearm.

  Dougie stared past her, his eyes drawn upstairs.

  “I need to talk to Karen. We need to take a walk together,” Dougie replied vacantly.

  Mrs Higgin’s eyes darted to the door, confirming the atrocious weather beyond.

  “Yes, well, we have been able to arrange that several times for you, Mr Black, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea today.” Higgins cocked her head minutely, assessing him. Her tone was kind, but her eyes were now alert.

  “Karen isn’t having the best of days, and well, it’s a little cold and wet, don’t you think?”

  The faux-kindness of her tone grated on Dougie’s nerves.

  A welcome touch of anger fortified him.

  “Fine,” he growled.

  Mrs Higgins’ eyes narrowed as she decided something.

  “I’d be glad to take you up to he
r room.” It wasn’t a question. She clearly didn’t trust Dougie to visit with Karen alone today.

  “Fine,” he repeated, imitating her kindly tone.

  Following her up the staircase, Dougie noted a silent exchange between Mrs Higgins and the receptionist. The girl picked up the phone. Shielding the mouthpiece, she spoke out of his hearing range. Realising that he didn’t care, Dougie fixed his eyes ahead, firmly on the door the Karen’s apartment.

  As they reached the door, Mrs Higgins turned to face him.

  “Mr Black, I can see that you’re very upset, but I cannot allow you to distress Karen. She has had a very rough day today, and as you know, her wellbeing is my responsibility.”

  Dougie spoke through gritted teeth. “Yes. You already said.”

  Dougie closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he centred himself, forcing a calmness he truly felt incapable of, but one which his need to see Karen allowed him to locate. His shoulders relaxed, his expression lost its fire. When he opened his eyes they no longer blazed with barely-contained passion.

  He stepped forward a pace, wincing inside at Mrs Higgins’ first reaction to retreat from him.

  He stood back, holding his hands at his sides.

  “Mrs Higgins, I’m sorry for turning up here like I have…. My wife died. I buried her today. I’m not here to upset Karen, I just need to be with her.”

  Mrs Higgins raised both hands to her mouth. Something shifted behind her eyes and she succeeded in marrying together the broken man in front of her with the kind, thoughtful gentleman who visited Karen faithfully every day. She stepped forward to place an arm around Dougie.

  “I’m so very sorry to hear that, Mr Black.”

  Dougie nodded his thanks.

  Stepping back from him, she opened the door. Holding a finger up to him, bidding him to wait, she slipped into Karen’s apartment. A few seconds later, she emerged, opening the door wide enough for him to pass through.

  Dougie gave her a flat smile as he passed. Mrs Higgins remained at the door, watching him with her peripheral vision, but gave them a modicum of privacy by closing the door, leaving the three of them in the room.

  Karen sat in her favourite high-backed chair. She was dressed comfortably for indoors, as she usually always was, aside from when they were able to take walks together.

  In her customary, neutral position, she had her head cocked to the right, pondering something only she was aware of. Her hands stroked at the air in front of her, a harp-player without an instrument she seemed. Little things about the room - an uneaten sandwich, the curtains still open despite the late hour - told Dougie that she had been sitting that way for a long time.

  Dougie approached her, fishing a handkerchief from his trouser pocket. Very slowly, as to not startle her from wherever she inhabited, he reached out to wipe clean the drool from her chin.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted her gently.

  Karen blinked once, and then again before her eyes shifted to meet his own. Dougie waited as she slowly drew her awareness to the room. Her eyes sharpened and then widened as she recognised him. That smile, her smile, came to her lips as readily as always and lifted all the sorrow and grief in the universe.

  Her uncoordinated hands sought his face. Landing on his shoulders, they tapped out an excited greeting.

  Her words, as always, were limited, but familiar to his ears.

  “Na’a’dday.” Her smile widened. A moment later, her eyes unfocused once again and looked through him. The hands began working at the air and she slipped back to wherever she’d come from.

  Dougie Black watched her hands dance to a music he would never hear, nor would anyone but her. He looked deep into her glistening eyes, watching them respond to forces unseen to anyone save for Karen. In her eyes, he saw summers spent picnicking, rides on boats and dances in the rain. In her eyes, he found the strength he desperately needed to bolster himself and endure without Mary.

  In her eyes, he saw the eyes of his wife in the face of their daughter.

  “Yes,” he told her. “Daddy’s here.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Stick a little scene in there where your main character is kicking a can around, alone in an empty street, late at night. It’s good foreshadowing for your final scene later on.” Harry spoke without pausing his own typing.

  The kid sitting next to him, Jason, screwed his face up.

  “How do you know this stuff, man?” Jason asked, his arms wide.

  Without looking up from his writing, Harry rolled a single shoulder. “Cos I read, moron.”

  “Dick,” Jason retorted. “But thanks.”

  Harry looked up at his friend who sat expectantly.

  “It’s no bother, mate. You do the same for me in Chemistry. We can both do with every extra mark going, you in here, and me in Chemistry.”

  Jason’s eyes narrowed as he decided whether Harry’s reply was genuine or not. Concluding that it was, he nodded again before returning to his essay. Several minutes passed, the only sounds the clacking of keys as twenty pupils rushed to finish up their creative writing pieces that would be submitted to the exam board.

  Harry, well ahead in this task, was simply fine-tuning the odd scene here and there. Just as he decided he was satisfied, Jason nudged him gently with an elbow. "That’s really worked, thanks again, dude."

  Harry jabbed a thumbs-up.

  “Wanna come over to mine tonight, work on that Maths revision?”

  Harry nodded enthusiastically.

  “Start on it, you mean,” he stated.

  Jason shook his head. “You haven’t even made a start?”

  Harry grimaced. “Am totally lost with it.”

  Jason gave a firm nod, then pointed his finger at Harry.

  “Well, get round tonight, and we’ll get battered into it, okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks, man.”

  Returning his attention to his task, Harry caught the motion of someone entering the room from the corner of his eye. Drawn to the movement, he lifted his eyes in time to discover Jenna Hopkins stood at Ms Parker’s desk.

  He and Jenna hadn’t spoken in more than three years; they likely hadn’t seen each other in more than a year. Without volition, almost in shock at having encountered each other, their eyes met and locked.

  Jenna was taller than he remembered her, but, at over six feet, so must he seem from her perspective. Her hair was cut stylishly, and she wore more make-up than he recalled her choosing to when she was younger, but still little enough that her face looked natural, her features clear and familiar. Her jaw had widened and her eyes had altered shape, giving her face a new facet previously absent. The girl he had been best friends with for most of his childhood was turning into a young woman.

  The stark contrast between current-Jenna and the Jenna he’d had stored in his mind’s eye struck him sharply, forcing a realisation and an acknowledgement of the years he had lost with her. That new awareness pressed down on him ruthlessly. Regret at the moments they should have shared and hadn’t flared brightly and painfully as Harry merged his childhood memories of Jenna with the unfamiliarly-familiar appearance and presence of the young woman standing before him once again after so many years.

  Unable to look away from each other, Jenna cocked her head, regarding her one-time friend. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips and grew into a wide smile that made her eyes shine. Suddenly, she was exactly the girl who lived in his memory.

  “Yes, Jenna?” Ms Parker interrupted. Her tone betrayed her amusement at the odd moment playing out in her class.

  Jenna turned to face the English teacher, breaking the contact with Harry who cast his eyes around, checking to see if his peers had noticed the exchange.

  Satisfied that each pupil in the class had been oblivious to the charged moment, Harry stole a glance up at Jenna. Leaving the room, she caught his eye, pausing just outside the door.

  “How you doing?” she mouthed.

  Harry smiled, nodding his repl
y.

  “Good,” he said at full volume.

  Every eye in the room swung to look at him. Ms Parker wafted a hand towards the door.

  “Back to class, Ms Hopkins,” she instructed Jenna. “Back to work everyone.”

  Harry turned back to his task, wondering at how much sunnier the day now seemed.

  ∞∞∞

  “Harry!” Jason dug an elbow into his friend’s side, eliciting a loud grunt.

  “What?” Harry yelled.

  Jason screwed his face up.

  “I’ve asked you three times to pass that calculator.” He nodded past Harry to the desk.

  Harry shook his head, as though dispelling fog.

  “Aye, sorry,” he offered, passing the calculator to Jason. Harry’s mind immediately drifted off once again. Another jab from Jason brought his awareness straight back.

  “What’s with you tonight?” he asked, looking genuinely aggrieved. “We need to help each other on this or it’ll never get done,” Jason pointed out. “Your head’s up your arse, Harry.”

  Sitting back into his chair, Harry nodded, rubbing at his eyes.

  “I know, I’m sorry. Just can’t seem to concentrate tonight.”

  Jason raised his chin. Looking down at his friend, humour danced in his eyes.

  “It’ll be that lassie you were drooling over in English today.”

  Harry reddened. “Na. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  “Bollocks,” Jason asserted. “We all seen how you were looking at her.”

  Harry began forming a protest, but was cut off by Jason.

  “I’m not taking the piss… well, not totally. She was staring at you as well, mate. Reckon you have a shot there,” Jason added.

  Harry sighed. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s not like that at all.”

  Jason’s brow knitted at the centre. He looked genuinely puzzled as he considered what else other than lust could exist between two sixteen-year-olds who’d been stood gawking at each other in the middle of an English class. Suspicion and disbelief crossed his expression.