Cuffed

by Marc Horn

  She doesn’t respond. We climb a winding hill, shielded by overhanging trees, and after a couple of minutes we’re outside the village. I won’t flag someone down, or steal a car; not yet at least. Either action would undoubtedly link us to the scene.

  After fifteen minutes, I find a minicab at the side of the road, its driver reading a newspaper that’s resting on the wheel. His window’s wound down halfway.

  ‘Swindon, mate.’

  ‘Cost yer thirty-five pounds, that.’ He has a Bristol accent.

  ‘Yeah, that’s fine.’

  At Swindon, I buy tickets to Newcastle. We wait ten minutes for a train and then head off. It’s seven p.m now and the train’s busy. Opposite us is a skinny white kid with spiky ginger hair. He wears a well-worn denim jacket. He’s grinning at Cassandra and me as we sit together hand in hand. I catch his eye and he holds the stare for a second and then looks away, still grinning.

  I turn to her. ‘Not far to go, love.’

  She sighs, her eyes dark, dry and lifeless.

  ‘How much money you got on you?’ I ask.

  She closes her eyes tight, her head bowed. ‘I have cards–’

  ‘What about cash?’

  ‘Fifty, maybe.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She lifts her head. ‘What are you hoping to achieve?’

  The ginger’s still grinning, but now he’s shaking his head too. His eyes are stoned. He takes a mobile out of his pocket and holds it in front of him.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ I reply.

  ‘Tell who?’ Ginger interrupts, sticking the phone back in his jacket.

  I glare at him. ‘What’s your problem, lad?’

  He raises his hands in surrender. ‘I ain’t got no problem, pal.’ He’s Scottish. ‘I was just asking who you’re gonna tell later, that’s all.’

  ‘Who the fuck d’you think?’ I snarl, lacking patience.

  ‘Well that’s just it, my friend. I don’t know. You’re looking to your right, as if there’s someone there–’

  ‘You’ve smoked too much pot, kid. You blind?’

  ‘Nah, I ain’t blind, pal. But you’re a few cards short of a full deck.’

  I lean in, annoyingly intrigued. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because, pal, your hand’s a few inches right of your leg, opened slightly as if it’s holding someone else’s. But there’s no one beside you and it looks kinda ridiculous...’

  I let myself down by glancing right. She’s there. ‘I was wrong. It must be something stronger than weed.’

  He laughs. ‘Mate, you’re off your head yourself! You’re chatting away to an empty seat!’

  I turn to Cassandra. ‘You hearing this?’

  She nods. ‘Why are you encouraging him? He’s obviously a lunatic.’

  This comment stirs my curiosity. ‘You’re telling me you can’t see her?’ I ask Ginger.

  ‘Oh, it’s supposed to be a chick, is it?’ He chuckles. ‘Perhaps I should be the one asking what the fuck you’ve taken, pal!’

  ‘I don’t do drugs.’

  ‘If that’s true, you’re lost to us–’

  ‘Leave us alone,’ Cassandra cuts in. ‘We don’t need this right now.’

  I watch him. He ignores her, maintains eye contact with me. ‘Did you hear that?’ I ask.

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘What she just said.’

  ‘There ain’t no one to hear, pal. I can hear and see you and no one else.’

  I frown, study Cassandra. Her head’s low again. Ginger gets up. ‘Nice meeting you, pal.’ Still grinning, he offers his hand. I ignore it. He walks off and leaves the carriage to join another.

  Could it be true? Is he right? I could buy that. That would be consistent with my deteriorating universe. Things, people that I interact with, are no longer real and tangible to third parties. This flaw must have just begun, as earlier, in the churchyard, all four of us were certainly aware of each other. If this is true, it’s an alarming loss of control. It means I’ve been considerably weakened. It means I’ve lost the ability to influence people’s senses. Now they don’t see or hear what they should... This is worrying. What next? Lose the ability to create other people? Just me? Just me here? Alone? And what about when everything disappears? What will be left? And what the fuck am I gonna do then?

  At Cheltenham we get off. I book us into a hotel under fake names. I watch the receptionist. She doesn’t seem to acknowledge Cassandra, and doesn’t converse with her. I can’t question her about that, as it would identify me. The police are looking for me. They would have described my symptoms to the media. So I have to keep my mouth shut. When we step into our double room and I lock the door behind us, I take a deep breath. Cassandra dejectedly shuffles over to the bed and sits down.

  I lean my hands against the door frame. Goater’s dead. He’s dead. That nagging need in my head has been fulfilled. I’ve avenged my father’s death. Well, I didn’t personally, but it’s been done and I was there to see it. But why am I not ecstatic? I always felt that a huge weight would be lifted from my shoulders once he was dead. But I don’t feel lighter. I just feel like there’s one thing less to do. I suppose, the point is that it won’t bring my father back. It’s simply revenge, justice, but it doesn’t solve the issue. I didn’t have a father when I needed one and I don’t have one now. And I can’t devote all my thoughts to this anyway. I have too many questions. If the answers are what I believe them to be, then her grief-stricken behaviour is just an act.

  I spin around, my back against the door. ‘So the minute I leave you, you’re gonna top yourself?’

  Her chin is in her hands. Her face is flushed and I can see the stains of her tears. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You certainly appeared to want to earlier.’

  ‘I was overcome.’

  ‘And you’re not now?’

  ‘Your father’s death has affected you all of your life,’ she mutters. ‘My father’s just died.’

  I slip my hands into my pockets. ‘I know this is hard, but I have to ask you some questions. I don’t know how long I have before they catch me.’

  ‘Just turn on the TV.’

  ‘Forget that for now. What I want to know first, is why you didn’t shoot me.’

  She looks up. ‘What?’

  ‘You shot Cliff because he killed your dad. I was about to kill him first.’

  ‘I-I didn’t-I didn’t think you’d go through with it.’

  I laugh. ‘Even after everything I’d said? I think you knew all too well.’

  ‘We thought we could fool you into believing my father was actually yours–’

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s another thing. You think I’m that fucked up in the head?’

  ‘You’re mad, Razors. I told you, to cope you deluded yourself into believing something that’s untrue. Your belief was so strong that it was logical for my father and I to take advantage of it. If it was your world, then you would believe that you could bring your father back to life, that you could change the past. It’s simple self-preservation. One does what one can to survive.’

  ‘Yeah, well, didn’t work, did it?’ It’s not a low dig, because all of this, her attitude, is bullshit. Yeah, her father died, but saving him was never her priority. Not by a long shot. She looks at me feebly. ‘And another thing – when did you become a marksman?’

  ‘A while ago. Cliff taught me.’

  ‘Really? So the apprentice kills the master. Sounds very Sith-like.’ She doesn’t respond. ‘And where d’you get the weapon from?’

  ‘Cliff.’

  ‘Got an arsenal, has he?’

  ‘He keeps weapons. He’s-he was a member of a shooting club.’

  ‘Yeah, he never once mentioned that to me. But that doesn’t explain why he’s carrying a prohibited weapon.’

  ‘I don’t know any more.’

  I fill my lungs with air. And then something very odd happens. Hilda, the crazy black bitch from the ward, speaks to me, inside my head. ‘The
y coming for you, boy,’ she croaks. I rub my temples and move to the telly with a scowl on my face. I switch it on and flick through to the news channel.

  The newsreader is on. ‘And now we move over to Bibury in The Cotswolds, Oz Mitchigan reporting…’

  And then the picture switches to outside the church in Bibury. It’s taped off, and several officers are hurrying about. A small crowd has gathered. ‘Here we have a shocking, double, fatal shooting that has terrified this tiny community. Bibury is a peaceful village, partly owned by The National Trust, that’s located in The Cotswolds. All we know is that two males have been shot dead, and that their bodies were found within the graveyard of the church you see behind me. A local resident found the bodies and called police.’

  And then one of the locals is on camera, a chubby man, with grey, wiry sideburns and a scrunched up face – ‘This is… this is absolutely shocking, absolutely shocking. We don’t have no crime around here, no drugs or nothing. These people must’ve been passing through, no one who lives here would be involved in something like this.’

  ‘I knew it wouldn’t go down well there,’ I muse.

  Cassandra isn’t watching. Her hands cover her face.

  ‘There appear to be no witnesses,’ the journalist continues, ‘but police are desperate for any information relating to this. If you saw something unusual or knew of someone visiting here, then they’d like to know.’

  ‘Seems like we’re off the hook for now,’ I say and then I turn the TV off.

  ‘Now do you believe me?’ she weeps. ‘About this “supercop”?’

  ‘Yeah, I believe it. But it’s just a part of my universe, that’s all. It’s just another thing I made up.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ she cries.

  ‘You were never going to do it,’ I tell her. ‘Kill yourself – it was never going to happen. You led me to believe you’d do it, but if I hadn’t got there in time, you wouldn’t have harmed yourself. You’ve got too big a role to play in all this and we both know it.’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Do it now then. Jump out the window. This is the third floor; that’ll do it.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’ she chokes.

  ‘You won’t do it,’ I say. “One does what one can to survive” – that’s what you said, isn’t it? That’s what you’re doing. You’re playing me; you’ve always been playing me to save them all. First it was ‘stop writing journal’, some bullshit about loving me and not wanting me to lose my job. And when that didn’t throw me off, you used this ‘Supercop’ thing to distract me. And now you’re trying to tell me it’s madness, that killing Kent triggered it. You’ll do anything to keep me from the answers, because if you fail, they’ll kill you.’ She studies me incredulously. ‘That’s why you can take someone out from ten metres with a handgun. You’re the best they have. And the reason you didn’t shoot me is because then you’d all die, too.’

  ‘Mr Charles,’ the receptionist calls from outside, knocking on the door at the same time. But there are more than just one set of footsteps.

  ‘It’s a set up,’ I whisper to Cassandra. I run to the window and open it. There’s a drainpipe, an iron one − it can take my weight. I pull myself through and scale it. Above me I hear the door being forced, and then two gunshots. After dropping to the ground, I spring to my feet and am about to run off. But it’s a trap; coppers everywhere are closing in, and all I can do is surrender.

  36

  This time I can’t bluff it − the coppers hold me down. No point in resisting anyway; they’ve deduced that I must’ve fooled them into believing I took the tablets during my last stint here. So now I get jabbed straight in the arse. If I fight and scream they’ll use a stronger dosage.

  What they do use knocks me out. When I wake up, I’m in bed, tied down with restraining straps. I feel exhausted and weak – in no fit state to deal with the superintendent from complaints.

  ‘How are you feeling, Razors?’

  It’s just him on his own − no nurses. I feel vulnerable. No one can see us and I can’t move a muscle. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  ‘What the fuck do you want, sir...’

  I smirk. ‘I don’t think that’s necessary anymore. I’ll address you how I want.’

  Dressed in a dark grey suit, he fingers a silver cufflink. ‘After you escaped from here, where did you go?’

  This is so wrong. He shouldn’t be allowed to question me like this, with no other witnesses present. And especially not when I’m under the influence of medication. He used his rank to get in here. ‘I’d like a friend present, thanks.’

  He smiles − a crooked, thin-lipped smile. ‘It’s like you said – “I don’t think that’s necessary anymore”.’

  Ah, so I’ve been dismissed from the service. No great surprise. That’s why I can’t utilise the police federation. ‘I went to see my girlfriend—’

  ‘Cassandra?’ He says this with urgency, as if she’s hugely important to him.

  ‘Think you’re smart, don’t you? You think I’ll save you time, giving you stuff cos I’m drugged up.’ I shake my head. ‘I know what I’m saying, you desperate piece of shit.’

  He takes a quick peek at the tiny window in my door. ‘Razors, you should listen to the people who are trying to help you. You’re your own worst enemy. These delusions are destroying you. You’ve already lost the support of the public.’

  I laugh. He’s so fucking bitter. ‘This another unofficial procedure? Like Lorna’s? Like the last one you did?’

  ‘Believe it or not, I’m trying to salvage your reputation.’

  I blow air out. ‘You must think I’m delirious.’

  He coughs. ‘Did you meet up with Cassandra?’

  ‘Oh, cut the bullshit, piss flap!’ I snarl. ‘Where the fuck was I found? Who the fuck had I been with?’

  He fidgets in his seat. That probably frightened him a bit. It was a passionate outburst complemented by involuntary spit. ‘You were found in Cheltenham. Why did you go to the Cotswolds?’

  ‘Ever been yourself?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a lovely place for a fuck.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s why,’ he says sarcastically. ‘And did you venture anywhere else?’

  ‘Didn’t get the chance. We were interrupted.’

  ‘On behalf of my colleagues, I do apologise about that—’

  ‘What? Killing her?’

  He locks onto my stare for a couple of seconds. ‘You’re saying that after leaving here, you met up with Cassandra and then you both travelled directly to Cheltenham?’

  ‘What are you investigating?’ I ask. Adrenalin is supplying me with strength. Adrenalin triggered by my hatred of this bloke.

  ‘This is a debrief. Much like the ones you used to complete after a missing person returned home.’

  ‘Oh right. They use superintendants for that now, do they?’

  ‘In your case, it’s necessary. You’re case is being scrutinised closely by the media.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. I’d like to be interviewed by them. I’d like to set the record straight.’

  He laughs. It’s a genuine one; the first time I’ve seen that stony face crack open. ‘Very unlikely, I’m afraid. But you can tell me instead and I’ll pass it on.’

  ‘Unedited?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I’m sure your account would need a little rewording.’

  I open and close my fingers and toes. They respond slowly. ‘I bet you’re gonna pin Cassandra’s death on me, aren’t you?’

  ‘It’s Clifford Walken’s death that I want to talk about.’

  I feign surprise. ‘Talk then. Then I’ll know something about it.’

  ‘I know you were there, Razors. Both of you were. It’s only a matter of time before forensics confirm it.’

  My clothes have been seized. Now I just wear the puke green jacket and trousers supplied by the ward. They’re looking to match fibres taken from the scene. I didn’t ha
ve time to change my clothes after the shootout. We had to get away. ‘I know nothing about it.’

  ‘You were in the area.’

  ‘Ah, so this is about the shootout in Bibury? I heard about it on the news. I think you’re mistaking Bibury with Cheltenham.’

  ‘CCTV will catch you out, Razors. You may as well tell me the truth.’

  ‘I have. But I’m interested to know what he was doing in Bibury. Some kind of assignment?’ His eyes shrink as his face tightens. ‘Why don’t you tell me what the fuck this is all about, sir?’

  He rubs his lips together. ‘This is about the murder of an officer.’

  ‘I think it’s bigger than that, piss flap.’

  Just before the doctor enters, I catch the super’s gaze wander to the pillow beneath my head. I know what he’s thinking. But it’s not the nurse that prevents him suffocating me.

  ‘Razors, you are awake.’ She shoots an angry glance at the super. He ignores it. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘What’ve you given me so far?’ I ask.

  ‘You’ve been sedated,’ the nurse says.

  ‘Yeah, I can tell. I feel weak.’

  ‘Your strength will return.’ She looks at the super. ‘Have you finished questioning him?’ Her tone is sharp. I imagine he was supposed to alert them when I awoke.

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ he replies sternly.

  ‘Well, it is not the right time for that. I told you that when you arrived. You may ask him a few more quick questions, but I need to be here to monitor his condition.’

  He stands up. ‘I can wait till he’s better,’ he snaps, and then leaves the room.

  ‘Police officers are so stubborn,’ she complains as she takes my pulse. She’s so fit. Can’t believe I stood her up. Twice too. What a mug.

  ‘I suppose you’ve moved me?’ I ask.

  ‘You are in our most secure section.’

  ‘I’ve reported so many mispers from here. Course I was gonna pull the same trick.’

  She avoids my eyes. ‘It was a foolish act. It interrupted your treatment. And I found it very insulting.’

  ‘I didn’t intend for that to happen.’ I try to meet her eyes, but she’s elsewhere. I really want to fuck her. I wonder if my dick will react faster than my fingers and toes? Normally I can achieve instant wood. Not the right time to ask for her help with that investigation. ‘So I have to stay in this room now?’