Jessica was institutionalised after trying to take her own life and I can’t blame her for trying. Whilst her boy was born out of hate and shame, he made her learn to appreciate the fire of love that was extinguished in seconds. Thankfully, she failed in her attempt but part of me would have accepted that it was a quick and easy way to end the anguish. I felt it as I walked in that room, whereas she felt it and witnessed it; taking the proverbial Top Trumps of the matter. It broke her and I strangely felt intrigue, purely for professional understanding so I could tap into the psyche of the person responsible. I HAD to catch that son of a bitch and I was adamant I would torture him myself. That was a year ago and he’s still out there. For a twisted bastard, he was certainly slippery.
He taunted me frequently, sending selfies of him outside the station with a smile, right on our doorstep. He even sent one outside my fucking house. Silent calls through the night, some with maniacal laughter. I was going crazy and it all contributed to my sudden lack of ability to sleep. The trail was cold by then too. Good old anxiety and fear became my potion for insomnia; bastard brothers in arms.
Knowing Arthur had the gall to take selfies outside my house and to take photos of Arianna in public or at work; I was the hunter being hunted. She knew something was off, a policeman’s wife can sense things. She knew she was being followed, only she knew because she recognised one of my colleagues in plain clothes outside her work, twice. Some of the lads at the station would check in for me and observe from afar when off-duty, all because the Chief couldn’t sanction resources for a protective detail twenty-four-seven. I understood the politics behind the decision but didn’t accept it. It’s the reason some of the lads banded together to have my back. Over time, they had to get back to their own lives and I let my guard down.
When she confronted me, I skirted around the truth and she didn’t buy it. For someone naturally able to detect a lie, I couldn’t tell a convincing one. She started to worry that I had people following her because I might have thought she was cheating. Far from it, I trusted her implicitly; it was that I couldn’t trust her reaction to what I witnessed and the beast I was chasing. Actually, that’s bullshit. Bullshit excuses. I couldn’t trust myself. I couldn’t trust that I could protect her if she knew the truth. She’d get reckless, she’d get frightened, and we’d lose ourselves to madness.
I was too blind at the time to realise we were stronger together and that she’d probably be the sane one between us if she knew.
When she asked if she was safe or at risk; I lied and said yes to keep her close for fear she’d leave. I felt I could protect her if she was close, I knew I could. If she knew Arthur had indirectly threatened me with the photos of her, knowing he could get close; I worried I’d never see her again, or we’d both leave, and I’d forever be looking over my shoulder. My own selfish reasons to protect her and keep her in the dark ultimately made her go. The irony in that I didn’t want her to go to her sister’s house, and she ended up there anyway.
I received a blatant admission and tip off to my home address in the form of a letter and knew there was something off. Arthur; he was getting cocky. He offered to meet me at a seedy location because he had sins he wanted to confess and if I didn’t come alone, my beloved would be desecrated. The thought of him touching her made me sick so I went with it. I had nothing to lose by facing this new evil and I was obviously getting closer to him in my investigation if he needed rid of me. Why else would he leave himself exposed?
Sheer fatigue coupled with my desire to get him overlooked the obvious fact it was clearly a trap. As much as I should have called it in straight away, I told my colleague who was on ‘Arianna watch’ for the night shift to keep an eye out as I was going to the office for some files; just to try not to arouse suspicion. In a moment of clarity, I called for backup before running into what I can only describe as a clichéd, abandoned warehouse. Powered with almost a year’s worth of emotion, anger, and the image of that bloodied boy, justice was on my side.
Despite that fact, Arthur got the jump on me. I took a hard hit on the head, my weapon fell from my grasp and as quick as it did, I fell to the ground. Adrenaline pumping, I groggily stumbled to my feet and swung a few punches in his direction. I got a few hits in and all he could do was laugh. I was concussed from the hit and couldn’t stand up straight. Swinging for his face, I suddenly collapsed.
I think the only reason I’m still alive is that backup call. Budget cuts had occasional lone man patrols and despite the fact I wasn’t normally reckless and there were fewer patrols, fate shined upon me. The call was heeded and a nearby patrol was about two minutes away at the time. My brief scuffle with the bastard bought my colleague enough time to get on scene. Any longer and I’d probably have left Arianna a widow; though with the distance I had created in the time since that unspeakable crime was committed, she practically was already. I was a shell of her former husband. Lost to madness.
It was in that moment where I collapsed, a sudden pain coming from my head, a persistent Arthur taunted me from above and lifted me by the collar of my shirt closer to him. I was incredibly weak, and obviously losing blood. I looked into the abyss in his eyes and with a serpent’s tongue, he told me he couldn’t confess as he still had one more sin to commit. He held what resembled a ceremonial dagger with a vine-like design on the hilt; it captured the smallest light and glistened.
Suddenly, a gunshot echoed, and I was dropped to the ground. As if in slow motion, Arthur was gone. Spurred into escaping because of the attending officer. Sadly, the fired bullet didn’t catch him between the eyes, but it had come close enough to hit the knife he’d been holding. I mused that it was mildly fortuitous because a bullet would have been too quick for that bastard. The knife is currently in evidence so it might miraculously disappear at some point, and I’ll drive it into his heart in my own bid to purify his sins.
I ultimately ended up becoming good friends with the officer that saved my life, Michael.
Michael was my rock in the months after Arianna left and we started to get to know each other. He became a different kind of emotional anchor for me, albeit more of a ‘locker room’ and lad-like relationship. He reminded me of an old friend from my childhood really. Michael was always trying to better himself and grow. He was a marksman in the army before he joined the force, which explained his deadeye shot to hit that knife. I did ask him why he shot the knife once and he said that as if driven by God, he knew not to shoot to kill. So now God turns up? I didn’t believe it.
Michael’s aim was to sit for the detective’s exam within the next year and put in a few favours to be partnered with me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it in all honesty but humoured him when he talked about it. I’d come to enjoy his company because he was there when I had no one and I suppose if I trusted anyone to have my back, if they were firing godly bullets, it was a solid alliance.
I thought about Arianna every single day. The Arthur Henderson case ate away at me and I didn’t open up to her at all, when usually, I would tell her how I was. I tried to save her from the harrowing sights I witnessed, and the mental strain that case put me under. That was the closest dance I’ve ever had with pure evil and I kept it all bottled up. My advice to anyone that finds their soul mate is to share the good and the bad because if I could turn back time, I would do it all differently.
I actually went to see Jessica once she was institutionalised to tell her, no… to promise her that I wouldn’t rest until I brought that beast of a man to justice or put him down. Of course, being expected to uphold the law, I didn’t utter those last words but between us, there was a unanimous agreement.
She knew how I felt. I’ll admit that just being in the same room with her was hard. I said I was an empath and that moment proved it to me. The unbearable pain I felt as I looked her in her newly-vacant eyes; the same eyes that were forced to witness the devil suck the life out of her beautiful boy. It was beyond intense. With Arianna gone, I may as well put all my efforts into t
his. I needed something to fight for.
I wish I could say that Jessica’s pain was the same pain I felt as Arianna walked out that door and, in some respects, could be compared. She lost the one person that mattered to her and I lost the one person that mattered to me. Though, I suspect I would be dishonouring little Sebastian’s memory if I even tried to say that out loud. It was bittersweet in a sense, to have us both sharing different pains but finding one another in the gloominess of the situation. Jessica very sweetly referred to me as her son’s bigger brother based on the obvious namesake and my passion for finding Arthur.
The last time I walked out of Jessica’s room, there was a slightly defeated smile on her face, knowing that someone was committed beyond the normal parameters of justice to bring pain to her son’s killer. If I could bring even a shred of hope to a woman that lost it all, I suppose anything was possible. Maybe I’d one day win Arianna back?
I felt my own vacant smile breaking across my face at the prospect. My phone buzzing suddenly brought me back to the room. It was obviously going to be work, and to be calling me at this hour multiple times probably indicated something quite important. Before all that song and dance, I needed a hit. I needed something to get my mind going again. Coffee was a reasonable substitute in place of hunting evil I suppose.
As the smell of the finest, yet cheapest roast from the store hit my nostrils, I knocked the mug back and gulped with desperation. Such caffeinated bliss hit my taste buds and I felt my already depleted batteries jolting slightly. That would probably keep me going until at least lunchtime.
A voicemail. It was my controller, Carolyn asking me to come in, as there was a new case. I suppose it would have been too good to be true to expect anything related to Arthur Henderson.
I fumbled to the bathroom and pulled on the tap to soak my face. The cold water seemed to wake me up just a little more, probably enough to take me until late afternoon. As the water dripped off my face and I exhaled through the shock, I looked in the mirror. I didn’t stop to look at myself much as I’m the furthest thing from vain.
Forty-seven years old, wrinkles beginning to appear across my face. Deep green eyes and soft lips with a contradictory battle-hardened face. I always looked angry, but I swear I wasn’t. Those weren’t even wrinkles between my eyes, but frown lines that made everyone think I was miserable. I swear that I am the furthest thing from miserable; I just have a look of permanent concentration and thought. Looking into my own eyes, there was a slight sadness in them; they say they are the window to the soul and mine was bruised and always had been really, ever since I grew up.
Today was a day of mixed emotions. As Hargreaves pointed out on the radio, it was October 7th. My birthday. Just another day in that respect, but also the 42nd anniversary since I lost both my parents. Rather antiquated, but I pulled out a pocket-watch and admired it. Inside was a photograph of my mother. Beautiful, long dark hair with a pulchritudinous smile, white teeth showing. I liked to admire the photo as it kept me connected to my past, and my real parents, though my father’s face was becoming mentally faceless. I had no photographs of him, and the passage of time was impairing my ability to see him.
The watch was my prized possession as it belonged to my father and was ornate in design. It was silver, with an ivy-branch etching going around the shell with the branches meeting at the button that opened the watch. I had to smile at the sudden likeness between my watch and Arthur’s knife. There was also a spiritual comparison with ivy being used to ward off evil spirits and protect. Maybe there was something in it, or maybe it was pure coincidence.
I pressed the button at the mouth of the ivy design, even though I knew the watch didn’t work anymore. I couldn’t bring myself to repair it, so I left it at the time it has been stuck on. I don’t know if it last worked when my father had it, or for all those years, it was stuck at the time since the incident. Twenty-one minutes past twelve. Fixing it would be like wiping out the past and their memory.
It felt almost poignant to leave it in what I felt was its final state.
Chapter Two
“Sebastian, are you getting up? I’m making our favourite. Raspberry and banana pancakes!”
I heard my mum’s voice echoing through our cottage. They were my favourite, though I’m sure she just said they were hers so she could keep making me them. It was the day before my birthday. I was four and about to turn five, or ‘nearly five’ as I told anyone who asked. It was October 6, 1977. I opened my eyes and bounced out of bed.
My room was immaculate and in a good state of repair. My favourite poster for ‘Jaws’ was on the wall looking at the foot of my bed. I positioned it half way down the wall so it looked like the shark was eating the bed. I loved sharks. They were my favourite animal, because of their acute senses. Fascinated by their ability to detect blood in water, and obviously because to a nearly-five-year-old, they are really cool. The apex of the predatory world of the sea. Only I had never watched the film. I wasn’t allowed to because it wasn’t for kids and despite numerous protests, came up short. I had one man to thank for that decision and in some respects, appreciate the fact he always stayed true to his word. I took slight victory in the fact I was even allowed the poster.
“Come on, son, you heard your mother!”
My dad was firm but fair and incredibly loving, for what I remember anyway. He was always busy but made time for me. We’d go to the park infrequently and he would do the usual dad-like things, like pushing me harder than my mother when I sat on the swing.
“Son!” His voice bellowed through the corridor and frightened me into action.
“Coming, Daddy!”
Daddy… how sweet and pure. I ran so fast it felt like an effortless glide; through the corridor to the kitchen to find the faint smell of pancakes filling the room. It was a sunny day and my mother looked gorgeous. She was wearing a vintage red and white polka dot dress. She had tights on that wrapped around her legs and made her look very stylish. The sun was shining in the window and reflected off her dark hair. She was impeccable and a true vision of beauty.
That image occasionally creeps into my dreams, like an anchor to a happier past.
“So, how is my handsome little man today?”
I could only respond with a smile, as I was shortly lulled into silence. She served a plate of pancakes and ran her soft fingers through my hair. The magic touch of a mother’s love stroking me as I ate still makes my heart thud to this day, and almost acts like an off switch for me. Any time my hair is played with, it’s like a time-machine and takes me back to that moment of sheer ecstasy and contentment.
“Eat up, champ, because your mother and I are taking you out shortly for some family time. I might even look for your birthday present when we are out,” my father shouted across the table.
Even his quiet ‘in the house’ voice was like a stage whisper. He went back to his morning newspaper and sat there like a stereotypical dad. He was well dressed but not overly fashionable. He wore a perfectly ironed shirt, with a sharp waistcoat expertly draped over him. His silver pocket-watch sat on a chain into the waistcoat breast pocket. Beyond that, his tan trousers and socks just completed the look of the nineteen seventies dad; all in all, very plain. His thick-rimmed, business-like glasses sat atop his nose as he looked down on the newspaper like an angry headmaster. I could see where I got my natural frown.
My mother went over and kissed him. They were a good couple; there was clearly a lot of love and respect between them, as I had never witnessed so much as an argument or disagreement between them.
They had been married for six years, but had been together since they were young adults, having met at a local university. My mother had studied numerous sciences, history, and law, and was a part of a debate team whereas my father had centred his studies solely on law and became a high-flying barrister, pegged to become one of the youngest judges in the county before the incident halted his progression.
Their mutual interest in psychology
and law drew them together like fire and wind, in one passionate flame. My father had been known as a bogeyman around the local lawlessness, as he could expertly construct a case and dismiss even the smartest defence attorneys. He practically played verbal chess with the defence, and embarrassed even the country’s best lawyers with his one hundred percent prosecution rate; only he was the grand master and they were the initiates.
I obviously didn’t know much of this at the time, and only found out most of the facts when reading back on them. I saved a number of newspaper clippings and kept them together in an old hatbox as a shrine to my past.
It turns out that my father was insanely popular amongst local lawmen, and equally hated by the villains. Though he was clearly respected by his peers, I suspect there was jealousy from other lawyers.
I remember one such newspaper clipping where the defence attorney’s closing statements after the verdict were a defeatist, “We knew to enter a plea deal from the offset as arguing a case against my learned friend James Blackwood is like thinking about arguing with my wife, or any woman for that matter; although you haven’t even started – you’ve already lost!”
Of course, newspapers from the seventies allowed such comments to be printed given the culture back then, and the comment intrigued me. I always wondered what it would be like to engage in debate with my father. I’m quite a wordsmith but I suspect I’d be bumbling around like my younger self. I didn’t get to know that side of him, so I almost glorified him based on that comment. He must have been invincible. I viewed it like pitting man against God himself: omnipotent and infallible in his stance, showing no weakness to his opposition, and struck down with power and righteousness.
Dancing With Devils Page 2