Cuffed

by Marc Horn

  ‘No, you don’t. I told you that we want you to rejoin society as soon as possible. Proving to us that you can interact with other people is an important step in the right direction. But you will be monitored at all times.’

  ‘I take it I’m not permitted back into the meeting room?’

  ‘That’s correct. But we have a room in here where patients can socialise. This area is highly secure and the patients here are deemed by us to pose a higher risk.’

  ‘I get to talk to them?’

  ‘Yes. Under strict supervision.’

  ‘Can you advise who I should steer clear of? Frank didn’t take to me.’

  ‘Most of them keep themselves to themselves. Be careful with Hilda. She’s unpredictable.’

  ‘Hilda? The black lady?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She told me her name was Ilda.’

  ‘It’s just her accent.’

  ‘What’s she doing in this secure bit? Before I escaped she was in the main ward.’

  ‘Last night she stabbed a member of staff with a pen.’

  *****

  With two burly, black nurses present, my straps are removed. They tense up, expecting me to spring up, but I’m too weak for that. It takes some effort for me to sit up. I was returned here last night. They pumped me with so much juice that I slept through till this morning. Takes a lot of juice to control me for that many hours.

  When I get to my feet, my legs shake. I have to balance against the wall to steady myself. This is a terrible state to be in. I can’t even defend myself like this. I’d have stood no chance against The Poet like this. No chance against Frank, even. I can achieve nothing like this. All I can do is deteriorate. I shuffle into the craziest of all the meeting rooms.

  ‘Ello, me boy!’ Hilda chirps. ‘Come sit ’ere. Me been waiting for yer!’

  The nurses watch us from the one entrance and exit. Hilda sits in the far corner. Eventually I get to her and sit down.

  ‘How was yer time wasting?’

  ‘Pretty eventful,’ I reply.

  ‘She told yer tings, didn’t she? Told yer tings that made you go someplace.’

  I turn and look at her. ‘You some sort of clairvoyant?’

  She smiles − a small, narrow smile crafted by dry, cracked lips. ‘Nah, me ain’t no clairvoyant. Me’s an extension of yer own mind.’

  ‘You what?’

  She opens her arms and joins her hands to make a big circle. ‘This whole, big world is just yer whole, big mind.’

  I stare at her, intrigued. ‘Me? You’re talking about me specifically?’

  ‘Yeah, me talking about you, boy.’

  ‘How d’you know that?’

  ‘Cos me is attached to yer.’

  ‘Attached?’

  ‘To yer mind. Me is attached.’ She jabs a finger towards my head. I back off slightly lest she stab me with a pen. Sensing this wariness, she retracts her finger. ‘Yer don’t need to worry about no assault. Me only stabbed him to get to you.’ She points to my head again. ‘Me knows what goes on in there.’

  ‘That’s a relief. You can explain it to me then.’

  ‘Where’d she take yer?’

  I look at the nurses. They’re watching us intently. ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  She laughs, a dry, rasping cackle. ‘You can’t have no secrets from me, boy. But me can keep secrets from you if me pleases.’

  I close my eyes, growing disinterested. She’s just nuts. She’s talking pish. It’s just coincidental that her mindless ramblings fit in with my situation. I’m pretty confident she says the same thing to everyone she meets.

  ‘She ain’t dead, yer know.’

  I swallow. Turn back to her. ‘You what? What did you just say?’

  ‘Me said she ain’t dead. Cassandra. She ain’t dead. She still working for ’em.’

  37

  ‘What I wanna know, Hilda, is how the fuck you know all this.’

  She flashes an evil look at me. ‘Me told you before, me don’t wanna hear none of yer cussing.’

  She must be in her seventies. She’s a pile of bones with black skin on them. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just that you’ve said some things that need explaining.’

  She laughs. ‘Leave it to Ilda to explain it all. Leave it to me to work out what you’ve done.’

  I squeeze her arm lightly. The nurses misinterpret this gesture and step forward, so I quickly release it. ‘Hilda, listen to me. You’re talking about stuff that’s skullfu… that’s confusing me. I need to know how you know these things.’

  ‘Me told yer. Me is an extension of yer own mind.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Attached. Me is attached to you. Joined to yer mind, so me can explore it.’

  ‘So you can read my mind?’

  ‘Course me can. So me is connected to all minds.’

  Interesting. This is fucking interesting. ‘You can read everyone’s mind?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘And that’s how you know Cassandra’s alive?’

  ‘That be right.’

  ‘So how’d she get away?’

  ‘Me don’t see it all ’appen, but me knows that she ain’t dead. She’s a smart woman. She has to be to do what she does.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Keep you sweet, me boy.’

  I stare at her, dumbfounded. How many times have I said that? Cliff’s said it too. This woman’s legit. She’s the key. She’s got the answers in that head of hers. But they sent me here. Wouldn’t they know that she’d help me and therefore threaten them?

  ‘If… then you must know you’re in danger, Hilda.’

  ‘Me ain’t scared of them. Me ain’t gonna kiss their ass. They put me in ’ere to shut me up, but I ain’t gonna do what they want.’

  I lean in closer, barely remembering to breathe. ‘What do they want?’

  ‘They want to lie to yer. They want all of us to lie to yer.’

  ‘And... why won’t you do that?’

  ‘Cos it ain’t right. Cos it ain’t fair on you.’

  I bow my head, taking deep breaths. ‘How come you know things I don’t?’

  ‘Cos you got too much to do,’ she smiles. It’s a warming smile. ‘Me ain’t gotta turn the world. Me can just visit where me wants. Me can find the answers, cos me can access bits of yer mind that you can’t.’

  ‘Can everyone do that?’

  ‘No.’ She shakes her head firmly. ‘Only a few of us still connected. Yer didn’t separate us all when yer made it all up − that’s why me can help yer.’

  ‘You’re saying I left some people connected to me? To my mind? When I created everything?’

  She nods. ‘We is called “links”.’

  ‘Links? Cos you’re linked to my mind?’

  She nods again.

  My eyes widen. ‘How many “links” are there?’

  ‘Me can tell there is at least five.’

  ‘And what are the others doing?’

  ‘Some of ’em is giving information to her.’

  ‘Cassandra?’ I didn’t need to phrase it as a question. The bitch. I knew it was the case; I knew she was their agent, but having it confirmed still sends chills down my spine.

  ‘That’s why me told yer, yer wasting yer time with her. She just here to keep yer sweet.’

  I look at the nurses. They’re still watching us intently. They’re suspicious, but they’re too far to hear what we’re saying.

  ‘So they’ve got us where they want us,’ I clarify, more to myself than Hilda. ‘In here they can drug us, make us blunt and dozy.’

  ‘Keep things rolling nicely… That’s right, me boy.’

  ‘So...’ I meet her eyes. ‘So... you can help me, Hilda?’ I haven’t felt this desperate, this needy, since I was a boy. I’m not distraught, upset, or anything like that, but I’m anxious and intent on making sense of things. It’s an overwhelming relief to find someone who can assist me, but at the same time I’m al
so uncomfortably aware that she’s gonna confirm I’m fighting against a massive army that has massive resources.

  ‘Course me will ’elp yer. Me ’ere cos of you!’

  ‘How long have you been here, in the psychiatric ward?’

  ‘Five years or more. Me lose track of the time.’

  It doesn’t matter what she did. She would’ve ended up here regardless. She’s a threat. This is the best place for her. But they could have killed her, couldn’t they?

  ‘I’m surprised they haven’t killed you,’ I say.

  ‘Oh they try, a couple of times. But see, me is like you, me is one move ahead. Me knows what to expect. So when the boy try to pull a knife on me in Camden Town, me stab ’im first. Course, they hid his knife so me would end up in ’ere.’

  I shake my head in awe. Awe of her.

  ‘Close yer eyes, me boy,’ she says. ‘Me wanna help yer out with something.’

  I do so. I trust her. I need her.

  ‘What yer need to find in there is blocked out cos it too painful for yer. But me can get in there and me can tell yer what it is.’

  I don’t know where she’s going with this, but I keep my eyes shut and wait for her to speak.

  ‘... The police came to yer house two times. They were in yer house before the murder so they could see what you ’ad in the kitchen. And when the night came, they were back in the kitchen and they took one of the knives and—’

  ‘Discarded it!’ I cut in. Had I seen that and shut it out from my memory? That’s what Hilda’s saying happened. So that’s how they did it. That’s why the jury had all believed that Goater took the knife from the kitchen in self defence. I’ve believed in this set-up thing for a while, but now it’s all truly falling into place. So the officers at the scene are accountable too. I can remember what happened before my father was killed. That’s what had frustrated me so much, because my recollection was discounted. Goater hadn’t gone into the kitchen. The knife had come from his pocket, but I wasn’t believed. I can’t remember the aftermath. It was too traumatic for me. I shut it out. But that’s when the sons of bitches had gone into the kitchen, taken a knife and then concealed it. The knife was identical to the one Goater actually used. That’s why they broke in before the murder – so they could find the make and model of our kitchen knives and then give Goater a matching one. That’s why the jury had believed he ran into the kitchen and used the knife in self defence.

  ‘It’s a sorry tale, me boy. They got a lot to answer for.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I whisper sadly. ‘…So have I.’

  ‘It ain’t all down to you, me boy. Yer can’t control everything. Yer grip can’t be firm all the time. People slip through yer fingers and do what they wanna do; not what you want them to do.’

  I blink a few times. With this, I feel a weight lifted. I’m not responsible for everything, no I’m not. There’s been many sick, inexcusable things occur during my life, and it’s troubled me believing that I engineered all of them.

  ‘So... Hilda, where… what… where’s this gonna take me?’ I ask urgently. ‘Where does it lead?’.

  ‘Back to your room for now,’ one of the nurses drones as he approaches us.

  I watch her over my shoulder as I leave, worried that I’ll not see her again.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I hear, loud and accented. And when she winks at me, I smile back.

  38

  I push my body up, muscles trembling, until I collapse on the floor. I suck air into my lungs, wait a few seconds and then push my body up off the floor again, until my wobbly arms are straight. This body must be strong, must be able to perform beyond its limits. Drugs cannot impede me. I am going to war.

  Once my arms are worked to exhaustion, I work on my stomach – twist crunches, hundreds and hundreds of them, varying the speed. And then my back – dorsal raises. And then my legs – standing squats. And then, finally, my cardio – squat thrusts, bungees, shadow kickboxing.

  When the doctor knocks on my door, I’m sweaty and out of breath. I step away from the door. She opens it and steps inside.

  ‘Good to see your strength has returned,’ she says.

  ‘It hasn’t. I’m weaker. You’re giving me too much.’

  ‘Well, unfortunately, when you behave as you have, we have a responsibility to ensure that behaviour’s not repeated.’

  I rotate my shoulders in front of her. I catch her peeking at my chest. ‘The cabbage plan − that’s what you’ve put me on.’

  She sighs, but the uneasy glance at her shoes gives it away. ‘The medication has been carefully assessed. It will curb your excitable, unpredictable and threatening behaviour. That is our priority. You must not pose a risk to people.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything threatening when I left.’

  ‘That is yet to be determined.’

  I catch her seductive, brown eyes. ‘Why’d you say that?’

  ‘The officer who was here earlier said that you were in the company of a dangerous woman.’

  I laugh. ‘Yeah? He had to say that because...’ No, Hilda said she was still alive. They couldn’t have killed her. So what happened then? I heard two gunshots. Where the hell did the bullets end up?

  ‘They want to question you in here when you are fit.’ She looks at my quivering muscles. ‘I suppose I should tell them you are fit.’

  ‘I thought he asked his questions earlier. That wasn’t right, you know.’

  ‘No, you’re right, it wasn’t. But neither was it right for your friend to kill two officers.’

  *****

  ‘Where is she, Razors?’

  ‘No idea, mate.’

  The super sniffs. ‘Why did she kill Clifford Walken?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask her. I know nothing about it.’

  The chief’s in here too − the one from the interview. He’s brought his best beady, grey eyes with him. But it’s the super who does all the talking. He’s made sure that the biggest nurses available are outside the door.

  ‘All we’re waiting for are forensics. But we know what they’re going to prove.’

  ‘No, you don’t. That’s why you’re here. It’s a fishing expedition. You’re stupid enough to think I’ll let something slip.’

  The super and chief exchange indifferent looks as they sit on their plastic chairs. I’m on my bed.

  ‘Your reputation is worsening every second. Once you were revered, now you’re reviled. We can reverse that damage, Razors. And we can improve things for you in here.’

  ‘Suck my plums.’

  Coughs. ‘Your girlfriend killed two officers in Cheltenham.’

  ‘She’s not my girlfriend and I don’t know where she is. She’s a clingy bitch. I was always trying to get away from her. You know what it’s like when you try to scrape shit off your sole?’

  ‘Why was she so desperate to escape, Razors?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never showed any interest in her life.’

  ‘So why were you with her?’

  ‘For the minge.’

  ‘The what?’

  The chief taps the super’s arm. ‘He’s just being crude again.’

  ‘Oh, I see...’ The super presses his fingertips together. ‘So where did you meet her?’

  ‘Guildford.’

  ‘She lives there?’

  ‘No, I met her in a hotel.’

  ‘So why did you leave there then? If all you wanted was sex, then you needn’t have left there.’

  He’s got something here. Probably CCTV. But I’ll not compromise myself, until I know exactly what it is. ‘What evidence are you leading me to?’

  ‘I’m asking for your account, Razors. This is a murder investigation. You wouldn’t want to add “Assisting an Offender” to your many indiscretions, would you?’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to hide, lads.’

  ‘You were seen in Swindon. Together.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Swindon is twenty-three miles from Bibury.’

  ‘Exactly.’ />
  His face creases. ‘Very close − that’s the point. All we need is reasonable grounds to suspect—’

  ‘Murder; not to suspect I was in Bibury, fuckwit.’

  The chief clenches his fists. This pleases me.

  ‘We’re giving you the opportunity to come clean, Razors.’

  I sigh, loud and exaggerated. ‘Retiring soon, are you boys? Looking for a bigger lump sum?’

  ‘Well, your attitude is clear. You choose to be uncooperative. If that’s how you want our relationship to be then you’re in for a tough ride!’ The super’s face is red.

  ‘Scary,’ I smirk. ‘What’s going on with The Poet?’

  ‘That’s still under investigation.’

  ‘You’ve finished questioning me about it then?’

  ‘Do you have something to add?’

  ‘Yeah, I do. I’ve found out recently that I didn’t get enough credit for it. He killed kids in the eighties, too. Why hasn’t that connection been made public?’

  The super catches the chief’s eye for a fleeting second. ‘We… have only just verified that the two cases involve the same suspect.’

  ‘He used poetry the last time. It’s not hard to work out.’

  ‘It’s not that simple. As a former PC you wouldn’t appreciate the painstaking investigation involved. We can’t make assumptions public. It could cause the service considerable embarrassment. We need to present hard facts.’

  ‘So when you gonna enthral the public with those hard facts?’ I smile ironically at them. ‘And immortalise me in the process? That will undo some of the damage, won’t it?’

  ‘Very soon,’ he replies sharply.

  ‘So I take it all that shit you had on me is getting shoved under the carpet? I’m sure the public wouldn’t give two craps.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ the super hisses. ‘No one condones an out-of-control police officer.’

  ‘Yeah they do. Look at Dirty Harry, Lethal weapon, The French Connection. All those coppers get results using unconventional methods.’