It’s funny though, I’d hoped that if there was an afterlife, he would be proud of my career choice as even my family danced with the scales of justice; good and evil.
My mother on the other hand was incredibly smart and a genius in her own right. She had a fascination with cryptography and ciphers; even going so far as making us our own secret messages with letters, numbers, and cryptograms for fun. Every weekend she would write me an encrypted message and I would have to figure it out. They were basic given my age; but always made me smile. We kept a simple code and sent messages frequently; easy ones we could read almost instantly, like, “Mummy loves you,” and one of my favourites, “You are the brightest star in the sky.” I smile thinking back to it, as I was always her little star.
Albeit little messages designed to make me feel loved at a tender age, I’ve carried them with me through my life. Sometimes, if it was for a treat or surprise, she would throw in some curve balls and riddles, really confusing me but ultimately, she’d coach me on where I went wrong if I couldn’t complete them. I’ve always been thankful for that, because from a young age, she shaped my young mind to be sharper and see things differently.
Sadly, I didn’t know too much about her past because I never had a chance to ask her, but she always said that her father, my absolutely terrifying grandfather I might add, used to do the same with her.
He was allegedly a very secretive man; high ranking in the military and never talked about his work. General Harvey Axton was his name. I can only speculate but for him to know a lot about ciphers, codes, and being involved in the Second World War, even the dumbest rocks could put two and two together with that one. His entire presence exuded power and authority. I don’t ever remember seeing him smile other than in a photograph of my mother’s graduation. Her graduation was obviously such a happy event that when the camera clicked, it captured the fatherly pride and real man behind the armour.
Sadly, the only memory I have retained, aside from that photograph, was of him shouting at my father over the kitchen worktop. They had a disagreement and strangely, his voice made my father’s sound like an actual whisper. It happened about three months before my fifth birthday. My mother hurried me out of the kitchen, took me into my bedroom, covered my ears, and kissed me on the forehead when it transpired. She slowly removed her hands from my ears and said everything was okay, but she really needed me to help with a new code. She left me in my room with a challenge and a message to decipher. I tried to focus whilst I heard verbal thunder crashing through the thin walls.
“It’s not all about you, Harvey!” I heard in the distance.
“You don’t understand. What did you ever see in this man, Lillian?”
That cipher my mother gave me, I didn’t finish de-coding because I left to investigate when curiosity got the better of me. I stood at my bedroom door and counted to ten in my head before plucking up the courage to step out. Vocal discord echoing through the house, I couldn’t do it on the first count, so counted to ten again about three times. On my current attempt, I took a deep breath, counting out loud this time for the extra confidence, “Three, four, five,” and it wasn’t until I heard an ungodly screech coming from my mother that I stopped counting and just opened the door, without a second thought.
I think back to that exact moment whenever I need to psyche myself up, or if I need to prepare myself for something mentally exhausting. It takes me in to my ‘zone.’ My mother was screaming at my grandfather to let go of my dad. He said something about taking away the most important woman in his life and that moving away was him willingly breaking up the family. He barked about not being well and with a newfound confidence, I shouted at the giant of a man with his fist clenched, and that turned the room silent. My grandfather let go of my father and left without another word.
Ultimately, we didn’t move away so whatever the reason or argument; my grandfather won. I suspect that’s the only time my father lost, and I’m not sure what, or who, stopped the plans for us to move. My grandfather actually died a few months later from an illness unknown to me and it broke my mother. I could feel her pain from a young age and remember cuddling into her for weeks to try and make her feel better. She’d stroke my head every time, so I suspect it was as soothing for her as it was for me. I would say that as a child, I certainly felt loved and cared for; at least in earlier years.
After I had eaten my breakfast, we all hopped into my father’s car on our day out. The nostalgic sound of the old radio being tuned in as we set off and the break of a voice coming through was quite enjoyable, unlike my radio nowadays. I vaguely recall a news statement about a case my father was involved in, but my mother hurriedly switched it off and tutted about it not being appropriate. Laughably, when I think about it, I’ve taken on my mother’s ability to slam the radio off.
We were like a picture-perfect family, having a day out. We went for a walk by the lake, I had an ice-cream in the park, and I reached dizzying new heights as my father ejected me into the sky on the swing, to my mother’s over-protective protesting.
It was the last day I remember being happy as a child.
The next day, my birthday, was sadly the day that everything changed. I barely slept a wink out of excitement, hoping I would be spoilt rotten. After all, five was a big age. It was a half-way stop on the road to ten. Maybe I would get the Star Wars doll that our next-door neighbour had? Maybe I would finally get to see ‘Jaws’ now that I was about to practically enter adulthood?
When I woke up, my parents were already around the table, almost as if regimentally repeating the same process as the day before, and every other day for that matter. I was given breakfast, they gave me a card that had another cryptograph in it courtesy of my mother, which read the promise of a bigger surprise later in the day.
The phone rang and whatever was discussed on the other line left my mother in a state of reaction. I wish I knew what was said, whether it was that a birthday cake was ready at the bakers, whether it was genuinely bad news, I’ll never know – but I was left in the capable hands of Miss Battersby, our next-door neighbour. She was a younger woman who lived on her own. She seemed quite wealthy and had inherited the house she was in but had an air of immaturity to her.
My mother gave some instructions to her, then walked over and kissed me on the forehead, before running her fingers through my hair. Although brief, as I recall that moment, that seemed to last forever. My mother referred to me as her little star and wished me a happy birthday. My father on the other hand put his coat on, told me that he would give me the surprise later. Only he never did.
That was the last time I saw them.
The morning started to evade us and then the sky started to turn grey. Rain began to fall and before long, Miss Battersby was panicking, trying to gather her washing from the line. As anticipated, she sorted her own first and then helped with what was on our line, though it was already soaked.
I sat on the porch and watched the rain falling, leaving Miss Battersby looking like a drowned rat. I focussed on the raindrops bouncing on the ground as they formed the smallest puddles. Fascinated with the movement and flow of the water, as well as the soothing sound of the rain hitting the porch roof, I must have spent hours there. Though in my youthful innocence, I know part of it was for the surprise that awaited me, the rain just helped pass the time.
Miss Battersby was on the phone in the kitchen, muttering dejectedly to the person on the other end about how rude my parents were for lumbering her with me for hours longer than they said they’d be. There was a slight pause where the recipient was obviously offering their tuppence worth of gossip before the sound of laughter erupted from the room. She mumbled that my parents were off to pick up a few bits and pieces and in a forced whisper, mentioned that I was going to be the recipient of a new bicycle. I still think to this day that she deliberately ‘whispered’ to ruin the surprise and get back at my parents for inconveniencing her longer than originally intended, though I guess I’ll ne
ver know what my actual birthday present was.
As the rain continued to fall, a terrible sadness started to form over me as I watched a policeman pull up outside the property. He looked at the house, then at me before exhaling loudly. He was psyching himself up for something I could tell, despite my young naivety. He had an awkward look on his gaunt face, with droopy eyes and a long nose. He wore a thick waterproof jacket that was already dripping, as though he had been outside for some time already. His female partner stayed in the car, perhaps to avoid the rain.
“Hello, young man,” he said in a monotonous voice. “Is anyone in?”
“Miss Battersby is!” I exclaimed proudly, like I was the guardian of the castle.
He walked up the porch stairs, and as his hand reached out to the door, he knocked to signal her attention; she sorted her hair and made him welcome. Miss Battersby gestured for him to take a seat and he popped his jacket off and hung it on the back of my father’s chair. He sat down and started talking; gathering information as to what the relationship was between us.
I walked over to where the officer sat and out of the corner of my eye, I was suddenly drawn to the pocket of his waterproof jacket. In the pocket, was a silver watch. I expertly, and innocently pulled it out and recognised it was the same as my father’s.
The officer was distracted and engaged in conversation with my next-door neighbour so he hadn’t thought that his own pocket could be picked. Caught off guard, I inspected the watch and pressed the button at the collection of ivy-branches. As the case popped open, I could see my mother’s face on the photograph inside. Why did the officer have this?
In hindsight, with my current level of experience, I would have immediately suspected him as being a corrupt copper based on his stereotypical elongated face. He looked like a petty burglar, not an upstanding lawman. To this day, I don’t know what motivated him. He would have been paid a reasonable sum by the state, but it clearly was not enough to get by; evidently, he made a point of robbing others who couldn’t fight back or were gone and wouldn’t care.
Either way, as if by fate, the watch found its way back into my possession and I sneakily put it in my own pocket. It filled it out considerably given my young, petite frame and shallow pockets. Youthful innocence at the time suspected the officer found the watch and was returning it, so I decided to keep it safe for my father coming home.
That’s when I heard the real reason for the visit. The officer explained there had been a crash, and at present, there were two fatalities and foul play was suspected. He provided a description for my parents and advised he’d inspected my father’s wallet to find out the address for next of kin, as both individual’s next of kin was the other person.
That’s obviously where he found the watch that miraculously found its way into his pocket. I didn’t know what a fatality was at that age, so I didn’t know how to react or what was really being discussed. Miss Battersby explained I was on my own and didn’t know if I had anybody else but with a sudden change of heart, advised that she was charged with my care for now.
The officer gave me a sharp look as if studying me. I froze, thinking he knew about the watch. In my head, I was preparing every reason for why I decided to keep the watch safe; my father would want me to be the one to look after it until he got home. Little did I know at the time, he never would.
I slept at Miss Battersby’s house that night, which was strange. I’d never been in her house before, but it was dark. The room I was told I was sleeping in was stacked with china sets in ornate cabinets and sat atop were some old Russian dolls. It felt like they were looking at me and it made me uneasy. It was a very antiquated collection of items and certainly not what I would expect from someone as young as Miss Battersby.
It’s clear she didn’t or couldn’t afford the lifestyle the house provided, as it was stone cold with the radiators off, and everything seemed to be gathering dust. There was no love or care that went into the upkeep of the house or the trinkets within, as they had clearly been left for a long time; which led me to the assumption she did, in fact, inherit the property. I attempted to amuse myself by exploring the trinkets, rather than the number of colouring pens and paper thrown in front of me in a poor attempt to entertain me. What a Happy Birthday…
I looked out the window and the rain hadn’t stopped. As if competing with the sound of rain on the window, I heard the competitive chimes of an old grandfather clock from the hallway outside. I studied the room and focussed my eyes on one of the dolls. Tick, tick, tick, was the only sound resonating through the house. I was spellbound by the doll and felt like it was following me around the room. Suddenly a large chime crashed to break the silence. I let out a slight yelp as I foolishly anticipated it being the work of the doll. Miss Battersby came through to the room to check on me to find the source of the yelping. I asked where my parents were with youthful innocence and she broke.
She told me, in as gentle a way as possible, that my parents had gone. I asked where they had gone to and she said they had gone to heaven.
“When will they come back?” I asked.
I was met with tears. The poor woman agreed to watch me for a few hours and now had to tell me my parents were dead. What sick, twisted being mapped this experience out for Miss Battersby?
Fate is cruel sometimes. That said, my newfound sense of emotion made me run up to her and asked her not to cry. I told her that everything would be okay and said thank you for looking after me.
In a bid to start our friendship, I pulled out my father’s timepiece and pressed the button and showed her the picture of my mother inside it. Miss Battersby smiled and said my mother looked beautiful; then hugged me tight, saying that for as long as she could, she would look after me.
I stayed with her for three days and I’ve never seen her since.
Chapter Three
I found myself still staring in the mirror, snapped back into reality. I pressed on the mirror to reveal the contents of a medicine cabinet behind. Within, bottles of pills, vitamins, and anti-anxiety tablets stood in a neat row. I ran my fingers up the anti-anxiety container, popping the lid off like a true professional.
Benzodiazepine: a mildly effective drug I’d been taking since I was a younger man, with few side effects. Then again, whenever I crashed mentally; I don’t know if I would be able to tell if it was my mind playing tricks on me, or it was a side effect.
I stopped taking medication when I was with Arianna. She truly kept me grounded, and she was my safe place. I felt invincible with her around, capable of doing anything and strong enough to battle my mental demons.
Trust me when I say that it doesn’t matter who you are, or what you do; mental health issues can affect anyone. I did think it made me weak, especially in my line of work. I felt conflicted quite often but always managed to push on. Thankfully, none of my colleagues really knew how I felt, or the challenges I faced. I kept them hidden like a serial philanderer would an illicit affair.
It’s tough to explain because everyone experiences it differently. Sometimes the same crippling thoughts could cycle around my mind night after night; experiences from my past would knock on the door and remind me they were there. I’d mentally re-enact entire situations from my life as if I was right there, but with the freedom to explore and treat them like brand new, active scenarios. In doing so, I could almost question why I ended up where I did; I would question whether I made the correct decisions, or if I could have handled them better. Then I would be overwhelmed with worry and dread.
Sometimes, I couldn’t escape them, and I’d enter what I would call my own personal ‘black hole.’ Mental demons anchored to me like a physical ball and chain. Lately, the medication helped. I could suppress them but even when down, they aren’t out. I was strangely capable despite them, professionally speaking. When I was exploring a crime scene, or hunting a killer, I came alive. To come alive when surrounded by death... I was a high-functioning bag of contradictions really.
I kn
ocked some of the pills back, swallowing them with a sip of water directly from the tap. I took an extra one as a personal birthday present. Soaking my face again, it was like a reset button. I deeply exhaled and shut the tap off and closed the medicine cabinet. It came loose slightly as I closed it with force and seemed to hang from one hinge, balancing diagonally.
I smiled at the man in the mirror and thought I really had to do some work to get the place out of a state of disrepair. Now wasn’t the time, I suppose I had to get to work. I snapped back with a sudden jolt of life, heading to the door, power-walking through the room. I effortlessly picked up my jacket hanging on the back of the couch, flung it around my back and slid into one of the sleeves. It felt like my own montage as it all happened without so much of a hiccup, except for the fact I grabbed it upside down and had fumbled my arm into the wrong sleeve.
As I walked outside, I sorted my jacket and observed the weather. The rain was gentle, but still showed no signs of stopping. I smiled at my classic muscle car, a 1975 Chevrolet Camaro. I didn’t know if it was the same car my father drove, but it looked similar and gave me a sense of nostalgia, as though I was honouring his memory. It had its flaws though, it was completely impractical and frequently breaking down, but incredibly sexy. I unlocked the car and jumped in.
The crashing of the drops hitting the window and the metal above me sounded quite melancholic, given the anniversary of the incident as a child. Rain seemed to follow me on my birthday, or at least it felt that way. I turned the key and the engine struggled. I turned the key again, nothing. I punched the steering wheel in anger and had to laugh at the comedy of errors the day was turning in to already. First the cabinet, then my jacket, and now this… they say it all comes in threes, so I seemed to have achieved my quota for the day.
It was still dark outside and out of nowhere; a shadowed pedestrian heard my plight as the engine choked. I got out of the car to check under the hood and he waved his hand at my car signalling he had mechanical knowledge and asked if I needed help.
Dancing With Devils Page 3