Cuffed

by Marc Horn

  ‘As for you, doctor, we’re leaving this place. All you will do is follow the direction of your head. Try anything and they’ll be mopping up your blood.’ A couple of muffled whimpers from behind my hand.

  ‘Get out the way of the door, piss flaps!’

  They do so, backing out of the room, never taking their eyes off me. I stand up. The doctor copies me. I step outside the door and retrieve the keys. The nurses back away too. ‘Stop there!’ I shout and they do so. As I move past the one I’d pleaded with about Hilda, he’s within striking distance and I feel obliged to roll the syringe inside my fingers, then using the edge of my wrist as a fleshy blade, I chop him hard in the windpipe. He bends over, keeping on his feet for a couple of seconds, and then drops to the floor, emitting satisfying choking sounds while his colleague tries to treat him. I unlock the door and pull the doctor through it. Another good reason for sealing her mouth shut is that I don’t have to listen to her shit. I lock the door, imprisoning the two nurses. I don’t delay – I am brazen and obvious. I need to get out of here urgently. I don’t need to say anything to the other nurses – a picture paints a thousand words. They know who I am, what I can do and what I want to do – escape. As I pass the visitor room, I see it’s sealed off with police cordon tape. Two uniformed coppers stand guard, waiting for forensics to arrive and take prints, DNA and photos, no doubt.

  ‘Hello, Clare,’ I chirp as we shuffle past. Her face turns white and her pink lips part.

  ‘Oh my God!’ she shrieks.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s just for escape purposes. I’ll phone you sometime – I’m up for another fuck. Haven’t had any for a few weeks.’

  Her colleague, John − been in for about three years − is dumbstruck. Another fan of mine.

  ‘How you doing, John?’ I ask. He mumbles something. ‘Listen, without wasting any time thinking about it, give me your car keys right fucking now!’

  He fumbles around in his pocket and then throws the keys towards me. I catch them. When we make it to the reception area, I hear one of the officers press their emergency button. That gives them ten seconds of personal airtime on the radio. I hear Control trying to clarify what’s happening as we move to the entrance. And then we’re outside. The police car’s parked a few feet away.

  ‘Right, doctor, when I let you go, you’re gonna get in the passenger seat of this vehicle. You won’t draw attention to yourself. Once I’m out of the borough I’m gonna let you go.’

  I let her go, press the car key and the doors unlock. She gets into the passenger seat. I climb into the driver’s seat, and within seconds I’ve left the hospital grounds, my sirens blazing and my blues flashing.

  ‘I suggest you put your seat belt on, love.’

  I fly past the traffic stopped at a light. I look at the time on the dashboard − it’s approaching midday. On Fulham Palace Road the traffic’s pretty heavy, but the cars all veer out of my way, and then I’m coming up to Hammersmith Bridge. Flying through traffic on blues and twos once more, makes me nostalgic. I swallow hard and shut out the memories.

  ‘Once we get over this bridge, we’re on another borough,’ I tell her. ‘That’s a good thing.’ Her breathing is fast and shallow. ‘Control your breathing. You don’t want to go into shock.’

  ‘Some things are shocking,’ she whimpers.

  Over the bridge, I stop the car by the kerb. ‘Get out quick,’ I demand. She fumbles about with the seatbelt then throws herself out the car, gets to her feet and runs off. I reach over, shut her door and accelerate fast, wanting to create as much distance as possible before India 99 flies over. They normally take ten minutes or so to fly to this ground. I’m a sitting target in this car, because a GPS tracking device is installed in it. Passing Barnes at eighty MPH, I enter Roehampton and then turn right on the A3. Pleased with my progress, I switch my lights off and turn left towards an Asda superstore. I park in the underground car park between a couple of cars and then run up to the clothes bank, where people donate their unwanted clothes. Minging, I know, but right now, in this green zoomer’s outfit, I stand out. I reach into the slot and pull out a heap of clothes. I carry them behind the bank where there’s a small amount of cover, then take off my green. I slip into a pair of black jeans, a gay, gold, studded t-shirt and a knackered pair of Nikes. Luckily, there’s also a cream cap with brown stains on it. I wear this too. I look like a total pikey, but it’ll do.

  I stride out of the car park and look for a group of slags. Slags always loiter near supermarkets; they nick tons of stuff. As the bus stop comes into view, I see a couple of lads, about fifteen years old, sitting on a wall. They’re the sort I want, the sort I would’ve turned over not so many weeks ago. One’s Asian and one’s white.

  ‘Hey, lads,’ I say as I get close, ‘come here.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ the Asian kid says.

  ‘I’ve got something you want.’

  They look at each other and then amble up to me. ‘What’s your fucking problem, blood?’ The Asian kid’s the spokesman. These days slaggy kids all like to act black, wherever they’re from. They wear jewellery, say words like “innit” and “blood”, and walk with an exaggerated swagger.

  ‘I ain’t got no problem,’ I explain, trying to emulate the Asian kid’s vocals a little. ‘I’m on your side. I done some thefts in my time, but now I’m in the music business.’

  All slags like music. Well, rap anyway.

  ‘Okay.’ Shrugs. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You don’t recognise me?’

  ‘Nah, blood.’

  ‘Fuck me! Stan East? Producer?’ Blank, sulky faces. ‘You know Jay-Z?’

  ‘Yeah, course we do.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I work with ’im, but that don’t matter. What I wanna tell you both is most rappers start off with crime. Crime breeds respect, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, course.’

  ‘Well I’m giving you boys the chance to earn instant and eternal respect.’ I hold up the keys. ‘There’s a police car parked in the middle of Asda car park. Here’s the keys for it. You take that for a spin and you’ll become legends.’

  Their eyes expand. ‘No way, bro, no way!’ They both laugh.

  ‘Can you drive?’

  ‘Yeah, course.’

  ‘You wanna be famous? Take that down the A3. The chase of a lifetime. On the news, in the papers. Forget these small time thefts; this is your one opportunity.’

  The Asian kid reaches for the keys, then says, ‘Why have you got ’em?’

  I smirk. ‘I told you I used to be like you. Well, I saw the feds had left the keys in the motor and I couldn’t resist swiping them. I can’t risk losing my business, but I knew someone would make good use of them. But listen, they’ve been gone for a couple of minutes, so you need to be quick.’

  ‘Did the feds go in the shop?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Wicked!’

  We all knock fists, and just before they run off I ask them if they’ve got two-fifty for the bus. The Asian kid slaps some coins in my hand, then spins around and sprints off. Within a minute, a bus rolls in and I get on it. As it travels back round the roundabout and onto the A3, I watch through the rear windscreen and see the police car being driven out of the car park. Nice piece of work that. Throws them off my trail and stitches up two slags.

  So now I’m more than an escaped mental patient. I’m wanted for threats to kill the doctor, assault, kidnapping and theft of a police car. Oh, and aiding and abetting the two kids.

  The hospital took everything off me when I was returned. I must have had over eight hundred quid left. They said they were looking after it, and that all my property would be returned to me when I left. I had no use for it in there, they’d said. That was true, but the main reason they kept it was so I’d have no funds to help me should I escape again. All I have is what I’m wearing and one change of clothes.

  A couple of minutes later, I smile as the stolen police car overtakes us, its sirens and flashing lights
on, two euphoric kids in the front seats, and a determined police chopper just above them.

  An hour later, I’m waiting by the fence; waiting for the golfer to clear the rough I need to cross. Golf is an agonisingly slow game. Fuck me, I couldn’t be a golfer. I need adrenalin, risk, action. Sparring – that’s what I like. After five minutes, the coast is clear. I scale the fence, keep low and fast across the rough, and then I’m in the lake, relishing the cool water. I climb the great oak, but then my hand pats only bark where the money should be. ‘Fuck!’ Someone’s stolen it.

  Furious, I retrace my steps and hoist myself back over the fence. Some linked bastard has done this. Probably that Burton piece of shit. He read my mind and found out where I kept it!

  I pull the popular scam of passing through the turnstiles right behind a paying customer in order to travel free on the tube. Eventually I’m in Vauxhall. I’m heeding my father’s advice. I’m gonna find Burton by exploiting his weaknesses. A couple of hours later I find one of them.

  The superintendent boards a tube on the Victoria line. So do I.

  41

  Frustrating really. I create all this shit, I have all the power, and yet people – links – know what I’m doing. I’m aware that the super might get a call telling him I’m following him, but I’ve tried hard to switch off, to blank my mind, to keep my intentions and location secret. That’s a hard thing to do when you’re trying not to do it. Hilda had said that she couldn’t see everything happen, it’s just the mind that gives it away. Perhaps Burton’s mind reading won’t be so easy without Hilda’s presence. All these links must be able to feed off each other. One link could take advantage of another link’s hard work. Hilda might have unwittingly been hindering me. Perhaps she was the strongest of them all; perhaps she could read me better than them and dig deeper. That would mean that all the others had to do was read her.

  The super lives in a detached house in Seven Sisters. His back garden’s large, with a mown lawn, a pond surrounded by rockery, and trees and bushes at the far end. From here, hidden, I shape a piece of plastic that I broke off one of his plant pots. A Merc was parked in the front drive, and I’m favouring the idea that he lives alone − it must be after five now and there are no kids or other sign of life.

  After twenty minutes or so, the bathroom lights up and I see the super’s blurry frame in the shower. I climb out the bushes and creep up to his back door. I slide the plastic back and forth against the lock until it clicks.

  I reckon it must be another twenty minutes before the super strolls into the lounge and nestles into his sofa. He turns on the TV and plays some porn.

  ‘Mum, will you touch it?’

  ‘Damn it, Gary, I’m your mother! It’s not right! Can’t you get a girlfriend?’

  ‘None of the girls at school are interested. I’m desperate, Mum.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, well... just this once. If it will stop you paying for it, then it’s worth it.’ A sigh. From the TV, not the super. ‘I don’t want you getting an STD from some whore.’

  I can hear the super wanking. His tugs are gradually speeding up.

  ‘That feels good, Mum.’

  ‘Course it does, Gary. I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘Incest, sir?’ I ask as I spring to my feet.

  He jumps off his seat, but, from behind the sofa, I pull him back and press my wrist hard against his windpipe. He clutches at my arm. ‘Relax your grip or you’ve got thirty seconds to live.’

  The super cooperates, exhaling wearily as his arms slump by his sides.

  ‘Nothing worse when you’re in full swing; I know what that feels like.’ I move around the couch and face him. ‘But when I was interrupted, I was actually fucking an unrelated woman.’ I smirk and his guilty face soon turns angry. A pile of folded clothes is next to him.

  ‘You have broken into my house. Get out now!’

  ‘Well, at least it’s not paedophilic. But a superintendent in the Met should be above this, don’t you think?’

  ‘This is none of your business.’ He looks pathetically at his dick, which is descending like a heavy see-saw. ‘I’m going to dress myself.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea. You look ridiculous. Don’t make any sudden moves though.’ Behind me, I can hear that the action’s hotting up. ‘I’ll turn this off. It’s a little distracting.’

  I switch the TV off and turn back to the super. After putting on boxer shorts, jeans and a t-shirt, he sits back down, able now to look me in the eye. ‘What is the purpose of this, Razors? Do you honestly think this is productive?’

  ‘Oh, it’s gonna be productive.’ I grab a chair from the dining table and sit down in front of him. ‘Listen, lad, you know I’ve got nothing to lose now. Killing you is easy for me. You’re gonna answer my questions.’

  The super shakes his head. ‘You don’t listen to the answers. No one can get through to you. You only trust yourself.’

  ‘Nah, that’s wrong. I trusted Hilda. She knew the score. She confirmed what I already knew.’

  ‘That you made all this up?’ The super waves his arms in the air, emits a belly laugh. ‘Absurd! Stupid! And you are seriously telling me that you took the word of a crazy, old mental patient?’

  ‘She was in there because of what she knew.’

  ‘Rubbish! What did she know?’

  ‘She knew that I created all this—’

  ‘How? How d’you think she knew that?’

  I maintain the stare. ‘She’s linked to my mind.’

  The super shakes his head, his expression a mix of humour and pity. ‘Can you hear what you’re saying, Razors? To be frank, I’m appalled. You have received the highest commendations. You have worked so hard for the service. And yet you couldn’t even keep hold of your sanity.’

  ‘You’re in a vulnerable situation. Perhaps you should lose the balls.’

  ‘Oh, please, Razors. After thirty years in the job, I’m not going to tiptoe around some constable removed from service because he’s too dangerous to keep in. You need to know things? Well I’m going to tell you them. I need to get up and show you something.’

  When he stands up, I get up and kick him in the nuts. He wheezes and keels over onto the sofa. ‘Let’s remember who’s in charge here, sir.’

  ‘Jesus Christ! You are going to regret that, Razors. Where is your goddamn discipline? Jesus...’

  ‘What did you want to show me?’

  ‘Be… behind you. Open the cabinet.’ He cups his bollocks in both hands and winces as he looks up at me. ‘You’ll know what it is I want to show you.’

  I open the cabinet and see what he’s on about. I take out the book.

  ‘That... that’s how she knew all those things. She learned about them after you were sectioned. She stole that book from your room in the secure wing.’

  I flick through the pages of my journal. The bit about the misper has been ripped out − I disposed of it. Why did Hilda take this? She didn’t need it. She knew everything already. She knew it long before I met her. She waited for me, waited till I’d seen evidence that it was my world.

  ‘Don’t convince yourself otherwise. She has no special powers. All she did was read your own writing!’

  ‘Bullshit!’ I shout, but uncertainty is emerging, dampening my conviction a little.

  ‘She’s crazy! She stabbed to death a teenager in Camden. She stabbed a nurse. How could you even talk to her? She’s a criminal! Where have your morals gone?’

  ‘Morals?’ I shout. ‘You’re talking to me about morals?’ But I can’t elaborate right now. I’m concentrating on this latest revelation. Why did she need my book?

  The super can see the doubt on my face. ‘Let me tell you what this is all about. You’ll be embarrassed, but you need to know.’ He cries with pain as he hoists himself back up to a sitting position. ‘This is all just some grandiose vision of yours, developed by you to satisfy your desire to be better than the rest.’

  I raise my eyebrows mockingly.
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  ‘You forced yourself to believe that you are the architect of this life. It is the ultimate achievement. You’re so good that you made all this up. Everyone else is your puppet. Everyone else is beneath you. This is all about arrogance.’

  I snort. ‘That the best you can come up with?’

  ‘Razors, we all see things differently in life. We all interpret things our own unique way. Our eyes deceive us, our minds play tricks on us. There is no such thing as a correct interpretation − it’s all down to the individual. That man you saw wearing the stripy tie wasn’t the same man who then crossed the road in front of you in a short space of time. Your mind tricked you into believing it was the same person. It tricked you about the blowing curtains, too. And all those other unexplainable experiences you’ve written in there – all just your mind fooling you into believing you’re the creator.’

  I stare at him.

  ‘It is the truth. We all want to achieve. We all want to push ourselves to the limit of our capabilities. Some will be nothing more than efficient murderers like Kilbride. Some will create cures for illnesses, and some will seek an explanation for existence. Our minds will do everything they can to take us there. Your mind took you all the way to the top.’ He looks sternly at me. ‘But to do so, it lied to you time and time again and took your sanity in the process.’

  ‘All just bollocks then?’ I say.

  He nods. ‘It’s all your own fantasy, Razors. No one really knows how we all came to be here. You couldn’t accept that mystery in your life; you had to find the answer. And the answer had to be you. It is a remarkable idea, though.’

  I’m incredulous.

  ‘You’re very perceptive,’ he continues. ‘You realised that a considerable amount of what we know is passed onto us from someone else. You accepted that no one knows the actual truth. There’s millions and millions of versions. That challenged you. You sought to explain it all.’

  ‘Well, you know what? That’s your interpretation of my journal.’

  The super sighs. ‘Just inside the back cover is a letter that was sent to you at the hospital. Open it. There’s a photo inside.’