An Innocent Man
Page 34
from his face. He grabbed me by the shoulder, to stop himself shaking. Imagine! In any case… ha ha ha, sorry, sorry… in any case, I had a lovely chat to Miss Dunnsbury, and I’m pleased to let you know that she is, excuse me, was, a charming person, if maybe a little dulled by time. I must admit, though, her shine had gone and she seemed to walk through life in a little bit of a haze. I did, subtly, as I’m sure you appreciate, question her about her relationship with you, and I’m sorry to say, Sylvain, it’s just another of your fantasies. In fact – and, look buddy, I’m sorry to break this to you – but after your recent encounter, I think she actually managed to work out that it had been you that set her life on its downward path, and she still felt a little saddened and shocked that you had – and Sylvain, I use her words rather than mine, so please do forgive me – she felt a little saddened that you had tricked her, that you had abused her hospitality and her trust, and plunged her back into a darkness that she had spent years escaping from.
I have to admit, Sylvain, I was impressed, you did seem to have made quite an impression on her in a short space of time. But you know, Sylvain, with all things said and done, poor Anna just wasn’t happy. And here I side with you – let’s be very clear about that – yes, you may have been a little bit of a shit to her, nothing I wouldn’t expect – but she had time to sort her life out didn’t she. She can’t go on hiding behind a few things that happened a few years ago, even if you did stalk her, and frankly, I find that hard to believe. No, she had to take responsibility for her own life and her actions and, to be honest, I got a little sick of her whingeing. Well, we talked about it and you know how these things go, we got into a little bit of an argument, and one thing led to another, and hey, the next thing you know she was bleeding a little and then she was bleeding a lot and then, well, I’m confident that you can guess the rest. So you see, Sylvain, you really were responsible. But please don’t feel too bad – she really wasn’t happy despite everything, so I consider it more of a release than anything else. Maybe when you talk to those policemen, you can tell them that, maybe they’ll take pity on you. You could even try and label it a mercy killing. There you go! Free advice from your lawyer friend Mark. And Mark winked at me and let me go. He pushed himself back on his bar stool and gave a deep, satisfied smile. Now, my friend, it’s probably time for me to go. Mark pushed himself off the stool and stood next to me, looking at me with wide and friendly eyes. Now, Sylvain, remember, please, this time – have a chat to your little Rottweiler and tell her that really, really, she needs to stop bugging me. I’m serious this time, Sylvain. We had a few little laughs with Anna, but this is a serious matter now. You understand me? I wouldn’t want to have to pay a less than friendly visit to your lovely ex-wife now, would I?
I could feel my whisky glass begin to crack in my hand as Mark kept his friendly smile. Sylvia? I croaked.
I know you still have feelings for her. It would be such a shame if she… and he trailed off. You leave her alone! I shouted, and I could feel several heads turn and stare, I could feel the glass begin to crack in my hand as the shards of glass pierced my skin and drew pain and blood. I’m telling you, Mark, you… But Mark was gone and I was left alone.
You going to let go of that, mister? the barman asked into the silence. Better get a towel or something to wrap around his hand, someone else said, but I wasn’t listening, I was trying to pull my phone out of my jacket, I was trying to dial a number, I was trying to speak to Beryl, I was shouting at her on the phone, she was telling me to calm down, calm down, Sylvain, tell me what’s the matter.
It’s Sylvia!
Hold still! (someone said and I could feel something being done to my right hand).
Sylvia, your wife? What about her?
We need to protect her! He’s been here, Mark’s been here and he threatened Sylvia! Beryl, I need your help!
Sylvain, listen to me, I’ve found….
Not now, we haven’t got time, Beryl, I need your help here! She’s in real danger and I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to her! Beryl, do you understand? Listen, I’ll listen to you when we get there, all right, how about that, right now – ouch! (I cried as something else was happening to my hand. (I pulled it away and jumped out and started running out of the pub, leaving the noise and the shouts behind me). Beryl! I’ll meet you over there, all right?
And I shut the phone and ran into the street and flagged down a taxi.
Sylvia? Her house was eerily quiet. Sylvia had kept our house after our separation, and I knew it instinctively as I stepped through the open front door into the wide hall. The emptiness and the whiteness made my head turn, as it always did. Sylvia had stripped everything out of the massive hallway and redecorated with white tiles on the floor, brilliant white on the walls and a large central staircase, painted white, leading up. Sylvia? My voice echoed in the emptiness. The noise of my shoes as I stepped uncertainly over the floor was the only thing to fill the void, the clack-clack-clack as I struggled to regain my breath and stop my heart from pounding. And there was this feeling I had – it is hard to explain, but I knew with certainty that he was here, somewhere in this place, I could feel his cold eyes on me and the chill of his breath sending wisps of ice through the house. Sylvia? uncertain, afraid as I reached the foot of the stairs. Sylvia? I whispered as I took a step up, letting my left-hand rest lightly on the bannister and watching as my still bleeding right hand dripped a trail across the whiteness. Sylvia? my hand trembling, my vision blurring, as I walked slowly up the stairs. A step to the right towards the master bedroom and still the silence enveloped me, the cold smothered me. Sylvia? I tentatively moved towards the closed bedroom door. Sylvia. The door handle moved and I froze, tears welling in my eyes. The door opened slowly and Sylvia stood, silhouetted in the darkness. Sylvain? What… but she could say no more as a hand snaked across her mouth, stifling the scream that rose in her eyes, as another hand held her across the stomach, and I saw Mark’s evil, grinning face behind hers as her eyes wailed in terror even before the knife plunged deep into her body, even before she sank to her knees, even before I rushed forward and held her, pulling the knife out and trying with my hand to stem the flow of blood even as I knew it was much too late, as life trickled from her, as I pulled her head to my chest and cradled her in her dying moments, oblivious to everything else, oblivious to Mark as he walked slowly from the room and from the house, oblivious to the ice and the rain, to life and death and the hazy line in between and in those moments I joined her there and felt her warmth come over me, as we joined and became one. We walked together across the shining fields, hand in hand, warmed by the light of the millennial sun, between the mountains, valleys and craters. We were flanked by beasts on either side, guiding us, protecting us, herding us. Sylvia squeezed my hand and we stopped, she turned to me as the beasts closed around us, and I wanted to see truth and enlightenment in her eyes, for at least we were here, at least we had survived, but instead there was only confusion and hurt, and she let go of my hand and put it over her wound yet still the blood flowed, onto the ground, where the beasts stepped forward and lapped it up, and they grew taller and became majestic as even here they wouldn’t let her alone, as I felt her leave me one more time.
Oh God oh God oh God. Sylvain, get up, get up, oh no, Sylvain, what have you done? I didn’t know, I couldn’t see who it was, why she was saying this to me, what was going on. Sylvia wasn’t there and there was just whiteness, but also noises, shouts and cries but I couldn’t really see anything, the whiteness was too great, too overwhelming
Stop now. Drop the knife, Sylvain. Please. Drop the knife. Come on. Beryl took my hand in hers and slowly, gently released my grip on the knife that I had pulled out of Sylvia’s dying body. I looked up at Beryl, in hope more than expectation, that she may say that this had been a dream, that Mark hadn’t killed Sylvia and in fact her inert body was just sleeping, the sticky mess of blood all over her and over me just a slight crack of imagination gone awry, but Beryl’
s face was hard and cold as she pulled me to my feet and led me down the stairs. I kept looking back to see Sylvia, but her body remained still, her face hidden by her hair, and I started to panic that I would never see her face again, never be able to pull her close to me and hold her, and though I knew, I understood that she was dead, still, even holding her lifeless body was better than the thought of nothing, of the emptiness that stood behind us. Beryl kept pulling me down the stairs to the hallway and sat me down on a white leather sofa. i seemed to be covered in blood – on my clothes, on my hands – and it made gruesome stains on the sofa, as if I had been involved somehow, as if I was the guilty party instead of my former friend Mark Forth. That’s right, if you ever hear this, I’m talking to you, Mark, I don’t believe that you are dead, no matter what I have seen, no matter what I am told. I do believe in universal justice, in the laws of nature that tell us someone must decide whether Schrodinger’s cat lives or dies, that allows us to exist within the essential paradox of all being hopelessly narcissistic (for how else could we cope with the