by Chris Parker
Ethan picked up the scalpel. Marcus felt nothing. Either inside or out. Ethan moved to his right shoulder. He placed the point of the scalpel on the skin just above Marcus’s temple. Marcus kept looking straight ahead, at the gap between the curtains. At the sliver of darkness. Where he had last seen Anne-Marie.
‘No more words from me now,’ Ethan whispered. ‘It ends in silence.’
Only it didn’t.
The dining room door burst open and two armed police officers rushed in. They were both dressed in body armour and helmets. The lead officer traced the room in a fraction of a second. His pistol came to rest on Ethan.
‘Armed police! Get on the floor!’ The officer moved to his left as he shouted, allowing his colleague easy access. ‘Get on the floor!’
Marcus heard Ethan growl. He saw him raise the scalpel and begin to move towards the officer. He saw the policeman take a step back.
‘Get on the floor!’
Ethan kept moving forwards. The officer fired.
It ended noisily and abruptly.
It ends after it ends
A home changes when a killer visits and breathes his intention into it.
Anne-Marie and Marcus were both aware of the difference, of the sense that the very air in each room had been contaminated in a subtle but unmistakeable way, but they said nothing to each other. Instead they wondered if it was the result of the changes they were undergoing personally and of the things that still needed to be said.
Not surprisingly they came together to say those things in the kitchen, in view of the willow tree, almost exactly twenty-four hours after Peter Jones had stood there trying to persuade Marcus to move into a safe house.
When Marcus walked into the kitchen he had just finished a lengthy phone conversation in which his friend had updated him on events since the shooting of Ethan Hall.
‘He’s still in a coma,’ Peter had said. ‘To be honest, the doctor is surprised he’s still alive. Given that he is, they are giving him a 50-50 chance of recovery. It seems that he has an incredibly strong system. Unusually resilient to shock is how the doctor described him.’
‘Then he is well named,’ Marcus replied.
‘What?’
‘Ethan. It’s a biblical name symbolising ‘a gift of the island’. It’s derived from the Hebrew words for ‘permanence’ and ‘strength’.’
‘For an atheist you know an awful lot about religion.’
‘For a public servant I’ve heard that you’ve got a very dominant phone manner.’ They each heard the other chuckle briefly. ‘Anyway,’ Marcus continued, ‘You know I’m not interested in religion; I’m interested in the power of human beliefs. For the most part they operate behind the curtain of the conscious and determine just about everything we say and do. Apart from that, names are just another example of how human beings can’t resist creating meaning. You don’t just give your child a name because you happen to like it. It has to mean something as well. Talking about naming your child, how’s Samuel doing?
’He’s in a state of absolute shock. He’s always known that his boy could see colours when no one else could, that he had some special way of understanding and influencing others. He never thought for a moment that his son would turn into…into a madman. What parent would?’
‘It’s a good question. Parents have a blinkered way of thinking about and interacting with their children. They tend to mix a belief that they truly understand their offspring with a powerful love that produces hope and denial in equal measure. The result is the sort of relationship blindness that only operates when we are with the people we are closest to.’
‘Thanks for the assessment. I was actually just asking a rhetorical question.’
‘Even a rhetorical question has much more attached to it if you know how to listen.’
‘You sound like the same old Marcus already.’
A brief pause; a slight intake of breath.
‘I believe that the best way to overcome challenging times is to behave as if nothing has changed. To carry on as you always have, doing what you do best.’
‘Do you feel like nothing has changed?’
Another pause; just a half-beat.
‘I feel like everything has.’
‘I understand that. Near-death experiences inevitably change people’s perspective on life, even if only for a period of time. When the experience is caused by someone actually trying to kill you, well, its effect is even more pronounced.’
‘Hmm.’
‘So, tell me, how has your perspective changed?’
‘You’re not trying to turn into my counsellor, are you?’
‘No. Just trying to re-establish myself as your friend.’
‘There’s no re-establishing needed. I know how difficult I made things for you. Truthfully, I can’t imagine how stressful this whole situation must have been given the pressure on you.’
‘Yeah. Right. I tell you, with friends like you…’
‘What?’
‘I really don’t know. Anyway, we were talking about you.’
‘Yes.’
The film played again, unbidden, in Marcus’s mind. It was the film he had seen several times already of the moment he was saved and a young man was shot. He heard again the loud yet controlled voice of the armed policeman as he burst into the room followed by his colleague. He saw – he actually felt – the atmosphere shatter as a result of the sudden intrusion. It was as if they were all part of the same single sheet of glass that was fracturing from a central point, with lines running in different directions. Time slowed. Ethan turned towards the policemen. He took one step, then another. The first policeman shouted his command. His voice was like thunder. Marcus wondered if the sheet of glass would hold. Ethan raised his hands. The scalpel was a deadly weapon, but it seemed to Marcus that he had forgotten it temporarily, distracted by something that only he could see. He took another step, his mouth opening as if he was going to speak.
Marcus didn’t see the policeman pull the trigger. He heard the sound of the two gunshots after he saw the wounds erupt in Ethan’s chest. Then everything fell apart.
‘I’ve never seen anyone shot before.’ Marcus said finally. ‘Whatever else it does to you, it reminds you more than anything that there are some things you can’t take back.’
‘Is that all it did – show you the difference between words and bullets?’
‘Some words you can’t take back either.’ Marcus mused. ‘But no, that’s not all it did. It did something to me that I can’t explain. I can feel…it. I just don’t know what it is right now.’
‘How does it feel?’
‘Like a death. Like a part of me has died. I just don’t know which part. What I do know for sure is that he – Ethan – could read people better than me. His senses were so much more finely tuned than mine. He had a natural ability that could have been so, so useful.’
‘Only it turned him into a killer.’
‘It wasn’t his special ability that turned him into a killer. It was something else, something we will probably never understand.’
‘If he lives we will need to establish a very clear motive. As for you though, you didn’t really, secretly, think you were the very best did you?’
‘Of course. Someone has to be. I thought it was me. I never made a secret of the fact.’
‘I know you always said it. I just thought – maybe I always wanted to believe – that deep down you knew there had to be others out there who were at least as good as you and probably better. After all, the law of averages –‘
‘-Says that someone has to be the best.’
‘But not forever.’
‘No. You’re right. Nothing’s forever.’ Marcus thought of the decisions he had made. He thought of one in particular. ‘I was lucky,’ he said. ‘Lucky that Anne-Marie arrived home when she
did. Lucky that she wanted to come home. Funny, I never used to believe in luck.’
‘And do you now?’
Marcus considered briefly. ‘I think the word is useful shorthand for a variety of complex, usually unplanned, interactions that take place beyond our control.’
‘So luck is no more real than coincidence?’
‘Who knows?’
‘Obviously neither of us.’ Peter considered for a moment. ‘It’s funny, though, isn’t it? For everything the pair of us were trying to do, the whole thing was brought to a head by Anne-Marie looking in through a window.’
‘It’s a rare moment when fact and metaphor combine.’
‘Is that another example of you carrying on as if nothing has changed, just doing what you do best?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘I guess so. If I was a musician, I’d write a song about it.’
‘I’m sure you would. I’m just happy that you both survived.’
The two men fell silent. For the first time in what seemed like a long time the silence held a natural warmth.
‘Do you really think he could see the subconscious?’ Peter asked eventually.
‘I’m sure he believed it.’
‘Many of his beliefs were wrong.’
‘And many of the things he saw were real.’ Marcus thought of the way Ethan had described his arrogance. He had showered several times in the last twenty four hours. The water hadn’t helped.
‘I have to go,’ Marcus said. ‘There’s a conversation I need to have.’
‘I know. I’m sure you will manage it brilliantly.’
‘I can’t be sure. What are you going to do now?’
‘I’m going to spend the evening at home with Nic and the most excellent bottle or two of Rioja I can buy. We need to do some catching up.’
‘Have a lovely night.’
‘I intend to. Remember, just because you might not be the very best, you’re still the best we’ve got.’
‘I can live with that. I think.’ Marcus ended the call.
Anne-Marie watched Marcus enter the kitchen through eyes he didn’t quite recognise. He felt she was observing him rather than simply looking at him in the way she had for so many years. As Marcus returned her gaze it seemed that she was watching him through eyes that had found a new perspective.
‘Peter is OK,’ he said. ‘He’s got his result.’
‘And what about you?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know what result I was aiming for. Not all of it. I was just trying to…’ His voice trailed off. Anne-Marie waited for him to speak again. After a moment he said, ‘Are you pleased to be home?’
They both recognised that the question worked on different levels.
After Ethan Hall had been shot the standby ambulance crew had rushed into the house. Peter Jones had arrived at exactly the same time. After a quick verbal debrief with Marcus and then Anne-Marie (who had been brought in by the police officer assigned to look after her), Peter had insisted that they both provide the most basic of written statements. He had then arranged for them to spend the night in the local Hilton hotel. Their home, he told them, was now his crime scene. He expected to be able to return it to them within twenty-four hours.
A family liaison officer had accompanied them to the hotel and taken all of Marcus’s clothing back for forensic investigation. A uniformed officer had stayed outside their room throughout the night. Although they knew that the threat was over, they both found the police presence comforting. Anne-Marie knew better than to raise that fact in conversation.
Neither slept well. They both found it difficult to fall asleep and when they eventually did their sleep was so shallow that they woke repeatedly throughout the night, often at the same time. They made no attempt to talk to each other.
The next morning they tried unsuccessfully to eat breakfast. After that they provided their full and complete individual statements and Peter reassured them once again that their ordeal was over. As he had suggested they were back inside their own front door by late afternoon.
A home, they realised, changes once a killer has visited.
Which is why Marcus regretted his question as soon as he heard it. It had far more layers than he wanted his first question to have. It was, he noted, just one of many indicators that the so-called genius was currently not at his best.
‘I needed to come home,’ Anne-Marie said. ‘And if I hadn’t….’
‘I’d be dead,’ Marcus finished the sentence. ‘Actually your voice helped keep me alive even before then.’ He waved aside her question. ‘And if you had not arrived when you did, if you had not phoned Peter, if you had panicked and made any sort of mistake, Ethan would have killed me and possibly you too.’
‘Of course I panicked,’ Anne-Marie spoke quickly. ‘When I saw him with you, it wasn’t that I didn’t know what to think, I just couldn’t think. And then when I remembered Peter, my hands were shaking so much I could barely work my mobile. I think…I think we were just lucky.’
That word again.
Marcus tried to ignore it. ‘What do you mean when you say you needed to come home? Hadn’t the photo shoot finished?’
Anne-Marie shook her head. This was it. The moment she had been preparing for over the last two days. Although the shockingly unexpected events of the previous night had pushed this moment both to the back of her mind and back in time, it had finally arrived. She took a deep breath and said, ‘There wasn’t a photo shoot. I just told you that because I knew you would accept it unquestioningly. The truth is, I needed to get away, to spend some time on my own, to do some thinking.’
‘What about?’
‘Me. Us. Everything.’
Marcus felt his heart miss a beat. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry that I’m doing it now, like this, but it really can’t wait. You see, there’s something desperately important that I need to tell you. It’s about our future.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that, too.’
Really?’ Anne-Marie’s right hand fluttered over her stomach. ‘What have you been thinking?’
‘That you deserve someone better than me.’
Anne-Marie felt her breath tighten in her chest. ‘No…No. I came home because I need you, not because I need to be here. It isn’t the house I depend on.’
‘Perhaps you feel that you depend on me simply because you are used to being with me? Because you have got used to tolerating me?’
‘I don’t tolerate you, I love you!’
‘Really? Are you sure? To be honest with you, I don’t know how anyone could love someone who has been as selfish and egotistical as me.’
‘Don’t say that! You do more good things for people than anyone else I know!’
‘All on my own terms. Always for my own purpose.’ Marcus looked down at the floor, away from those eyes that were now starting to fill with tears. ‘I’ve realised something over the last few days. Actually, I’ve realised many things, but perhaps the most important is that for as many years as I can remember I’ve given the best of me to those who pay my wages – not to those who love me. I’m so good at disassociating from people so that I can see and hear them clearly that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be close. I’ve spent my working life influencing others and in doing so I’ve lost touch with the most important influences in my life. With you. With Peter. With myself. I don’t know who I am, Anne-Marie. Other than a cold-hearted bastard.’
‘No! Please!’ Anne-Marie fought to maintain her self-control. ‘What are you saying? Marcus, what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that…erm…that I’m truly sorry for how I’ve been and I think…I think the best thing we can do, that the best thing for you is –‘
‘- I have cancer.’
She said it loudly. Partly because she could only say it that way, because she d
idn’t yet know how to say those words in a controlled manner; and partly – mostly – because she had to stop him from finishing his sentence.
She succeeded. The three words shocked Marcus more than anything that had happened in the previous days. Suddenly he felt a different type of fear altogether. Despite himself, he was drawn back to her eyes.
‘What?’
‘I have ovarian cancer. It’s advanced. I need to have surgery, but there’s still a very real chance that I’m going to die.’ Anne-Marie trembled uncontrollably. ‘You’re the first person I’ve told. This is the first time I’ve said it out loud.’
‘Is that why you…?’
‘Why I went away? Yes. I needed to get my head around it. Now I’m home.’
Marcus felt Anne-Marie’s fear and desperation filling the room. He felt it reach out and squeeze him hard. He waited for her to say whatever it was that she needed to say next.
‘I need you to be with me. If I’m going to beat the cancer I need more than just great medical care. I need to believe. I need my mind – all of it – working together. Right now it isn’t. I’m too…too scared…I’m too…too much of…of so many things. I need a genius to help my mind to work in the way that I know it can. Marcus, I need you to help me. To work with me. To love me.’
Marcus Kline looked closely at the woman who loved him, who depended upon him. No matter what decision he might have made, or what his intention had been, there was now only one answer he could give. It was the answer the consultant always gave when those with whom he shared his life asked for his help.
‘Yes.’ He said. ‘Of course I will.’ He took a deliberate step towards her to emphasise the reality and power of his commitment. ‘I will keep you safe. I will make you well. I promise.’ And then he added, because the phrase was in his mind and because he knew what influence it would have, ‘My Angel.’
Anne-Marie cried.
He held her.
The willow tree grew silently in the shadows. Its branches brushed the earth.
**********
Chris Parker began his study of interpersonal and intrapersonal communication in the 1970s. He is a highly experienced presenter, management trainer and consultant. He wrote his first novel in 1986. He has since written several books on communication and influence. He has more lines on his face than most and is afraid to read them.