It didn’t take too long before she exhausted herself though. She settled down, panting, recovering her strength, but her eyes remained on mine throughout.
“Why did you write me the note?”
When she smiled up at me I went cold again.
“I’m on a mission,” she whispered. “I need to be free of you lot; all the men that have fucked me over all my life.”
“What?”
“I’m a mess, Eddie. I am a mess because of you. And them others like you. It’s not my fault.”
“I’ve never met anyone as strong as you. You could achieve anything you wanted to achieve. You can manipulate people better than a politician can! So how can you say it’s not your fault? How can you take no responsibility for what you’ve become? Why is it always someone else’s fault? That’s the ultimate fucking cop-out.” I didn’t want to be so harsh, but it was true; it’s easier to blame someone else than deal with your own failures. “If you’d channelled that strength—”
“What do you know? You don’t know me; you don’t know what I’ve been—”
“I mean, that tells me you know you’re… you’re aware you have mental problems—”
She screamed, “I know that! Don’t you fucking think I know that! That’s what they told me, that I got problems, that I got to take this drug and that drug…” She stared at me still, eyes on fire. “But it’s not a cure.”
“So what is?”
Now it was her turn to look away as though she dare not share the secret. But she didn’t need to speak the words – she’d already written them down, once on paper, and now again right across her face.
“Killing me won’t set you free, Alex. Just like killing John Tyler when he tried to fight back by involving the police didn’t set you free.”
She froze.
“I’m not stupid.”
It seemed to hit her like it was a revelation, like it had never even occurred to her. The tears that came now were genuine, her whole body racked against them but they won and she gave in and collapsed against her arms, pulling her legs up, curling into a ball.
“I just don’t understand it.” I dabbed a bit more, speaking now more to myself than her. “Why not just kill me? Why go through all that shit? Fist fighting, biting a fucking hole in my cheek!” I sighed, “You had the gun on me. Pop,” I said, pointing a pistol finger. “Easy as that.”
She didn’t answer me, just cried. Why face your failures when you can cry over them instead?
It was too late for sympathy though; nothing I could do to help her. She’d never be free, and even if she killed me and all the other men who’d shunned her, she’d forever walk among them, chained to them, and no amount of crying would redeem her. I think she knew that too.
I looked at my watch again. Three-forty. What was taking them so bloody long?
“But if you were intent on killing me,” I continued, as though casually chatting over a pint in the local, “why send me a note telling me?”
Between sobs, her eyes turned to slits and she snarled, “To make you suffer.” A long string of spittle glided to the tiled floor. “You haven’t got no idea what it’s like to get rejected by everyone you hook up with.”
“Biting them probably didn’t help.”
“Shut up.”
“Just a thought.”
“Shut up!”
So far as I could tell there were three main men she felt angry towards. Her dad, who’d kicked her out and left her to fend for herself because she was an embarrassment to him; John Tyler who dared to call the police and enter the domestic violence playground, and me. I was the first boyfriend she’d had who had thrown her away. I didn’t feel regret over it; everyone ‘hooks’ up with people and then parts from them as they find out they don’t quite fit together anymore.
It’s just one of those life-learning things, and you have to get used to that. If you don’t… well if you don’t, you end up tied to some bloke’s plumbing crying into the crook of your arm because the world has been too cruel for you to bear.
I don’t mean to make it all sound so flippant, but really. I sighed, and mouthed, “Get a grip, Alex.”
Trouble was, she heard me, and her sorrowful crying stopped dead. She became still, glaring at me as though I was the enemy, the destroyer of her magnificent dream. Her days of domination were gone. I hated myself a little bit then as she spat up at me again.
Alex put her shoulder against the wall and pulled against the electrical cable. The pipes flexed further and the cable dug into her wrists so much I thought it’d cut right through to the bone. It made me wince, and I knew she was furious with me for not understanding. She screamed in a rage that sent a prickle up my throbbing spine.
I often wonder what would have happened next if I’d kept my mouth shut, or if I’d sympathised with her a bit more. I wonder if there had been a chance I could have pulled her around from this emotional turmoil she rode through. Was there ever a chance I could have convinced her that life wasn’t out to get her? It’s just there to be lived, and then it ends.
But I hadn’t been sympathetic enough; she pulled and she pulled and then, as I stood up, there was an urgent knocking at the door. Alex didn’t hear it, she was too busy growling and screaming again to notice. I slid out of the room and closed the door quietly behind me.
— The End —
It was almost four o’clock, and nowhere near dawn, but in the dimming light of the Discovery headlights, I could see the dayglow stripes of a police car through the patterned glass in the front door, and I sighed my relief. When I opened the door though, my sigh dried up and a groan stamped it dead.
“Where is she?”
“Dibble. What the fuck are you doing here?” He and Bashed-Crab stood only a foot or two away, keeping dry under the porch, and behind them were two armed officers whom I knew from the nick. I half nodded at them; they folded their arms and leaned against their ARV oblivious to the incessant rain. Behind it was Dibble’s plain car.
“What happened to your face?” he asked.
“Rough sex with an Alsatian.” I pulled the door against me so he couldn’t squeeze past. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t owe Alex anything, except a bill for a new door, but I didn’t want to hand her over to this twat.
He would see she got a rough ride just because that’s what made him the big man he was inside his own mind. He liked to score off others’ misery and for a man with no soul, being a cop was the perfect job – lots of misery within easy reach.
“Is she here or not? If you’re wasting my time, I’ll—”
“Shut up, you fuckwit. I’m off the clock so show me some respect or get this slammed in your face.”
The two armed officers smiled at each other.
I looked over Dibble’s shoulder at them and said, “You wanna come in and prove the weapon?”
They stepped forward, gently slid past Dibble, and I opened the door for them.
“Over there,” I said, “on the little table.” They disappeared from my view. I faced Dibble as more shite fell out of his mouth.
“You reported a murder suspect in your house.”
“I did. Let the two armed officers take her into custody, and you can stay with me and write some lies in your pocket notebook.”
“She’s mine,” he said between clenched teeth.
Well of course she was his; he wanted the collar, he wanted to make Inspector before the year was out and this was a good rung on the promotional ladder. “You shouldn’t be here,” I said. “You’ll compromise the case – you’ve been to the murder scene. It’s called contamination.”
“You’ve been to the scene!” He looked at Bashed-Crab for support. Oh how victorious he sounded.
“I didn’t have a choice her turning up at my house, did I? Think about it for a second and when the penny drops, you can piss off back to the nick and ridicule a shoplifter.”
“I am duty Sergeant for this Div
ision, so please step aside, Mr Collins, and let me do my job before I pull you for obstruction.”
As I thought about it, I could hear Alex kicking and screaming in the bathroom behind me. She hadn’t calmed down by the sounds of it, and I wondered if she knew they were here for her. I stepped aside and let him in.
He smiled at me and I wanted to pull his face off and stuff it up his arse.
He licked his lips and I could see how eager he was to get her in cuffs and bundle her into the back of his car. I could imagine him singing We are the Champions on his way to the nick.
“What makes you think she’s the dropout’s killer?”
“He has bite marks on him. She bites,” I said, pointing to my cheek. “She’s also his partner in a domestic violence case. His name’s John Tyler. I photographed his injuries a few days ago and she admitted to hiding there while I did it.”
“That it?”
“She’s also covered in blood that I think will come back as his.”
His eyes widened and he looked again at the bathroom door. The noise coming from in there was horrendous, but it didn’t put Dibble off, he looked more enthusiastic than ever, and you could see him struggling to control that sickly smile again. Perhaps he was hoping for a bit of a struggle, maybe he could acquire a bruise or two, maybe a fat lip that could turn him into an instant hero and grant him a commendation.
He made me sick.
“She’s tied to the pipes with an electrical cable, so there’s no need to be rough with her.” I stood before him, blocking his way to the bathroom door. “Why don’t I go in first and see if I can calm her down a bit?”
“You tied her up?”
“You’ve seen my cheek!”
“So move out of the fucking way and let me do my job?”
“She’s distressed, cut her a break.”
“Move.”
“Don’t take your anger at me out on her.”
“Last time, Collins. Move.”
There really was nothing more I could say or do. Alex was in his hands now, at his mercy. I pitied her.
He paused at the door for a moment, listening to the riot in there, and then his hand was on the doorknob. That’s when I noticed the water trickling out from under the bathroom door, spreading into the carpet by our feet, and I could hear it spraying like a fountain inside, like someone had turned on the shower.
It dawned on me what had happened and I tried to reach for him as he burst into the bathroom. I was right behind him. I had wanted to say ‘stop’, but that word was kind of redundant now.
I saw the broken pipes spewing a fan of water against the wall beneath the sink, and right out across the floor. Over the sink was a window, now wide open. The venetian blind was a tattered mess across the sink, draping over its edge like metal fingers. My toothbrush and toothpaste, my aftershave and razor crushed and scattered.
The first fronds of daylight leached through the naked glass. A little part of me – the part that hadn’t received the death threat – cheered her escape. I hoped she got away from here. And most importantly for me and my burning cheek, I hoped she stayed the hell away.
Dibble spun on his heels, and glared at me; I’m sure out of the corner of his eye he saw his commendation floating out of the bathroom like a paper boat. “You fucking idiot, Collins.” He looked past me and yelled to his sidekick, “Get after her, Chris! Make sure you get her!” Bashed-Crab and one of the armed cops ran out of the front door; one went left the other right. To me he said, “I’m gonna have you for obstruction.”
“What the hell did I do?”
He turned and went back into the bathroom. “Stood in my way while she escaped—”
She appeared from behind the open door and plunged a knife into Dibble’s chest right up to the handle.
Her ragged hair was wet through. Her hands were still bound together, and now I knew why she’d tried to get her legs up to the pipes where her hands were tied so she could slide the knife out of her boot.
She pulled the knife out and screamed into his face until all the strength left his legs and he just folded, collapsing to his knees on the wet floor like a man made of paper.
There he stayed for a second or two as though unsure of which way to fall. I was mesmerised – not in a good way. My mouth was open, and I stared at Alex as she screamed her fury into the world, her face taut, yet anguished eyes closed behind a thousand folds of agony. Dibble’s blood soaked her chest, and her own blood dripped from her wrist wound to disperse in the shallow torrent at her feet.
Dibble finally made up his mind and toppled backwards, splashing to the lounge floor, almost colliding with me. And then he was still, staring up at the ceiling, never quite having made Inspector.
She screamed and water gushed.
And then there was just gushing water. She stood there in silence, her face a twist of consternation, a mess of black make-up smeared into contortions. Her eyes were afraid; they were terrified because she was almost free.
Almost.
Water dripped from her clothes and from her face. Red water danced over white tiles, and more joined it, swirling from the dead man. She stared at him, “Dad,” she whispered, “this is what it feels like to be disowned.” And then she looked back at me.
“Get down!”
I heard the officer behind me and didn’t turn to ask questions. I just folded my legs and hit the deck as he discharged his Taser.
A pair of sparking wires, hair-thin, appeared over my head and Alex screamed afresh as the barbs pierced her skin. In a spasm of convulsions she too hit the floor. The knife skittered away. I lay motionless on the wet carpet, rigid with fear and disorientated, panting, not daring to move. I know how un-heroic that sounds, but I was on the edge, and had been there all fucking night, so cut me some slack. I’m allowed to be scared!
I turned my head, feeling the cold water against my ear, and I looked at Dibble. I saw the bloom of blood on his shirt, how it had run across his chest and down to be carried away in the water, swirling. But mostly I saw the utter disbelief on his face: How could this happen to me? I’m invincible. I’ve been alive all my life. And soon I’ll know what it’s like… not to be. This wasn’t in the script.
The copper was at my side, “Okay, Eddie?”
I croaked, “Fucking wonderful.” I snapped away from Dibble’s shocked face and slowly got to my wet feet. I saw the copper grab the knife, and throw it from the bathroom out here into the lounge. He checked she was okay, made sure she was breathing, and pulled her away from the wall. “She played me,” I said.
“You were next.”
I pictured her panting, relieved one of us was dead, but still craving the final retribution. Only I could give her that, and it’s what she’d wanted all along. I had stood there, immobile, hypnotised – traumatised – by her black eyes and the black, streaked makeup on her cheeks, a look on my face similar to the one Dibble’s now wore; of disbelief and incomprehension as she sank the blade into my throat and twisted—
“Did she say what I thought she said?”
I blinked, and dabbed fingertips at my neck. “She planned it all.” I became aware that my cheek was on fire again.
“Crazy bitch.”
Crazy maybe, but clever, and devious. This was why she didn’t just kill me outright. She knew I’d bring her father to her. “This carpet is ruined,” I said, dazed, trying to fish a cigarette from my jacket pocket. When I did it was wet through, and just disintegrated in my trembling fingers. I threw the packet away and looked up hopefully at him, nerves wrecked.
He shook his head, “I don’t smoke.”
“Fuck, what’s up with you?” I shouted.
The other armed officer and Bashed-Crab ran back inside, and when they saw the scene, they gawped at one another, radios blaring all kinds of crap about an escaped prisoner, and about getting the helicopter up and getting the dogs out, and then… then it all got too much and I screamed at th
em to shut the fuck up!
* * *
I found myself in the kitchen ready to make a strong coffee only to discover that the kettle had no cable.
I closed my eyes at the injustice of it all.
“Two out of three ain’t bad, Alex.” I felt again at my neck, unable to shake the image of her sticking that blade in me, and my fingers came away clean. Trembling, but clean. And, you’ll probably laugh, but I felt emotional; I felt like crying because I’d wriggled out of death one more time. It wasn’t like this in the movies where the hero picks himself up, refuses medical treatment, and goes on to chase down the last of the baddies to some upbeat musical score.
Well it wasn’t like that for me. I couldn’t believe how fucking lucky I’d been as I shuffled back into the lounge.
He was still there, dead on my floor like a fat draft-excluder, legs bent beneath him in the last and best limbo dance he’d ever do.
Like a handkerchief, it protruded from his breast pocket.
I stared at it.
Around the room, commotion ruled. Bashed-Crab was asking if he should perform CPR, his voice unnaturally squeaky, and I could tell that one of the armed officers was considering whether to slap him from his reverie. The other armed officer scratched his groin as he spoke into his radio. Voices everywhere, radio comms everywhere, a siren growing louder. But it was silence to me.
I licked my dry lips, and told my stupid legs to get me over to Dibble without buckling beneath me. I don’t know how, but they did. And I stared at him as those around me blurred into various degrees of shade, like ghosts drinking ectoplasm.
The handkerchief wasn’t a handkerchief, of course. I bent, took it from his pocket. I carefully unfolded the note. It was almost identical to the one she’d sent to me, complete with stab marks.
The Note: A CSI Eddie Collins short story Page 4