Falling Suns

by J. A. Corrigan

  Iciness spread through my body.

  ‘Joe liked me, despite you never letting me see him. But he remembered me, Rachel. He wanted to come back with me. We had a bit ... a bit of a play. I don’t think he liked it, but I told him it would be only this once and he wasn’t to say anything, and it wouldn’t happen again. He cried quite a lot, but I was going to let him come home to you, I was... ’

  Sorry, Joe ... I’m so sorry.

  ‘What about Liam?’ I asked.

  ‘Liam had a girlfriend, and you didn’t know, did you? He didn’t tell? He’s never told you. Joe walked in on them, in Liam’s den. Joe saw them fucking, Rachel. That’s why Joe found me on the field.’ He stopped, almost panting. ‘Shall I tell you who the girlfriend is? Joe was very upset. Very...’

  ‘Stop!’ The knife jolted and I felt warm blood trickle down my neck.

  ‘Your mate, Charlotte.’ He steadied the knife. ‘Fucking hell, Rachel, how bad is that?’

  What felt like a large imaginary fist punched into my stomach, winding me, I flailed around for breath. Liam was in the den with Charlotte, and Joe walked in on them. Then he ran. That was why my son was dead.

  He loosened his grip, lowered the knife; I was able to turn and see his face. ‘Why didn’t you let Joe come home?’ I asked, feeling as if I was drowning.

  ‘I told you. She was there. Mum came.’ He pulled me close again and repositioned the knife.

  ‘What do you mean? You mean Margaret came?’ The murderer of my child was holding a knife to my throat, yet I questioned him like a police officer. ‘What happened, Michael?’ My right hand was free and I was able to touch his arm that held the knife. ‘Tell me what happened with Margaret,’ I asked gently.

  ‘She came to my place. Joe was on the mattress – just the scarf around his neck and ankles, really loose. He didn’t like the scarf around his neck.’

  I felt his grip loosening on the weapon, his grip loosening on reality. I raised one hand towards his knife. Now I could kill him.

  Michael Hemmings seemed to struggle with his words. ‘She’d come to tell me to stop bothering her, to leave her alone.’ He caught my eye. ‘I miss her, Rachel. She was like my mother – more than she was yours. Much more. I love her, but she’d come to tell me she didn’t want to see me again, after so many years of telling me we’d be together.’

  ‘If she came, why didn’t she take Joe home?’ My voice was robotic, but I felt the sagging of his muscles and now it was me who had the firmer grip on Hemmings’ knife.

  ‘We argued. I told her, in front of Joe, about what I’d been doing for her, all those years...’

  ‘Joe wouldn’t understand what you were both talking about.’

  ‘Margaret flew into one of those rages ... She was worried that Joe now knew what she’d done to me, and would tell you – tell everyone. Joe was scared. He was on the mattress. Flailing around. Margaret tied the scarf tighter so he couldn’t move. He didn’t like it. I told her not to. Then she told me I had to take him home, and not to mention that she’d been. That she couldn’t take him. It would cause too many questions. She kept telling Joe, you haven’t seen me. No one was to know she’d been. I told her they had to know – that I would tell you. Joe said he would tell you...’

  I said nothing. Joe was not here.

  Hemmings seemed to have forgotten I was there. His grip on me had loosened completely. ‘Carry on, Michael.’

  ‘She seemed to change her mind and tried to untie Joe, but she couldn’t. I don’t know why. It was only a scarf. I think she was panicking. He was writhing around too much. He was scared of her, more than he was of me. I knew then that the fucking bitch didn’t love anyone. Me, Joe, you. Her sad bastard husband. I’d thought I was the strange one. Even my own dad thought I was weird. I’m not as fucked up as her, though, sweet Rachel.’

  I knew he was telling the truth. He’d told me he didn’t kill Joe. Everything was collapsing around me. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘She found a knife in the place that was an excuse of a kitchen in the stinking squat, and went to cut the scarf ... I hadn’t done it tight, Rachel, I hadn’t.’

  Relentlessly, Hemmings carried on with his story. ‘Joe was moving around so much – she cut his wrist by accident. Fuck, he looked terrified of her. I told her to stop, that I’d sort him out. Everything was getting out of control. Joe was shouting that he’d tell his mum about her. My mum doesn’t like you – I know that, he said. I told her to leave, but she was mad: mad at Joe for saying you didn’t like her. Then she calmed down and she told Joe he couldn’t say anything about what had happened. But then I was scared, I didn’t know what to do. I knew she was fucking mad at both of us, Joe and I. She left Joe lying on the mattress. Call Sam, she said. And, like I’d always done, I did as she asked. It seemed like a good idea.’

  ‘You called Sam? Sam came?’ The vortex of disbelief engulfed me. Sam.

  He nodded.

  ‘And Margaret was still there?’ I imagined Joe lying there, bleeding. People he thought he could trust betraying him.

  ‘She stayed, my dad came. He was angry with me. I tried to tell him I hadn’t messed with Joe, and I hadn’t, not properly. He told me the police had been in touch with him and Bridget.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Sam said to me. ‘Then he asked Margaret what she was doing there.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell Sam, or Bridget, what Margaret had done to you? Why didn’t you get help?’

  I don’t think he registered the question. He was still holding the knife, and I bided my time as to when I would finally make a grab for it.

  ‘Then everything went fucking mental. I was brown, all the fucking muddiest colours in the world, then the brightest ... White’s not a colour, though, is it?’ There were tears in Michael Hemmings’ eyes. ‘Margaret and Sam started arguing. She told Sam to take Joe back home. You make up the story, Sam, she said. I knew my dad wouldn’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘What about Joe, Michael?’

  I saw his anger rise and bubble to the surface; his grip on the knife tightened again, and again he pressed it onto my neck. I’d missed my chance.

  ‘I’m fucking getting to that.’

  I winced, ‘OK.’ I was going to die, but before I did I had to know what had happened.

  ‘Margaret left.’

  ‘She left ... She left Joe? So now it was just you and Sam. And Joe?’

  ‘Yep. That’s when everything went wrong. When I stopped remembering. I think I tried to tell Patterson. I think Cohen guessed at something. Then they sent me to the fucking Monastery, and everything’s fading.’ He looked at me. ‘They shouldn’t have let me out.’

  I took a breath as though it was my last, felt the blade cutting into my skin. Joe was still tied up. What had really happened? Hemmings was an unreliable storyteller.

  ‘I didn’t know what to do. I felt ill. I wanted to let Joe go. I was ready to come clean. I didn’t want to kill him. He wasn’t Ruby, Rachel. I knew he wasn’t an animal. I didn’t want to harm him.’ He swallowed and I saw his Adam’s apple bob jerkily in his neck. ‘The knife was on top of the cardboard box where Margaret had left it. I went into the kitchen where there was water. I was so thirsty. I stood for a long time in there, drinking the water. And then I went back into the room to release Joe. Tell my dad I’d work everything out and go to the police. And then ... that was it.’

  ‘What, Michael? What?’ I suddenly knew and ignored the acute pain as the blade pinched at more of my skin. It wouldn’t be long now.

  ‘He’d killed Joe. There on the mattress. Fucking blood everywhere. Stuffed the fucking scarf in the kid’s mouth so I heard nothing.’

  The world sucked inwards. My vision faltered, and I faltered. But I could not hesitate. Could not.

  ‘He told me to get rid of the body, and say nothing about anything. The shame was too much, the shame of the world knowing, he said. And he’d killed Joe.’

  ‘Afterwards, what happened then?’<
br />
  ‘Sam left. Left me with his shit. I lost it. They’d both abandoned me. My dad and Margaret, and I kept thinking of all the times Margaret had threatened to cut off my cock, stuff it in my mouth if I told anyone about her and me ... how terrified I’d always been. How often I’d thought about it; how it would feel...’

  ‘Stop!’ I shouted.

  He released his grip, pushing me harshly to the ground, but kept the knife and vaulted over the low perimeter fence. I got up quickly, adrenaline driving through my body. Jumping over the iron bars I followed him, ignoring the searing pain in my thighs, searing pain inside my head, not knowing what I would do. I bent forwards, picking up my knife from where it had landed and moved towards him.

  He stood still and watched me. And he smiled.

  A smile of perdition and acceptance.

  Michael Hemmings brought his knife up, above his chest. A brief shaft of sunlight found a hole in the thick clouds and glinted from the metal.

  ‘Don’t worry, sweet Rachel. I’ll do it.’

  —

  Michael Hemmings could not see Rachel; he couldn’t see her because the whole world had turned a brilliant white and he was enveloped in its safe promise of death. This was what he wanted: all that he wanted. He would exit this world leaving no peace for the woman who had destroyed his life, because just by being born Rachel had ruined everything.

  Michael didn’t know what had really happened the day he did the terrible thing to Joe’s body. Despite everything that was bad and sad inside his head a very small part of him made him hold out some hope to Joe’s mother. He didn’t know why – but he told her that Sam had killed Joe.

  —

  With the expertise of a slaughterhouse worker, I watched Michael Hemmings cut hard across his neck.

  I imagined his blood would be black, as I’d imagined his soul. He had spoken of white in connection with death, and I knew white to be death’s mystical colour. But all I saw surrounding Michael Hemmings was obsidian darkness.

  Dark, ebony and all encompassing.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  It took the three men exactly four minutes to reach the park.

  Tom sprinted towards the fallen body, and Jonathan watched Leatherby pull out his mobile and call for an ambulance.

  Jonathan couldn’t see Rachel, but as he peered towards the playground his eyes found the bright red treehouse that sat in the middle of the park. A woman was sitting in the entrance, at the top of the ladder. He did a double take: even at this distance he could see Marek’s achievement. He wouldn’t have recognised her if she’d been standing next to him.

  He walked towards her, and slowly climbed up the ladder that was made for small children. He perched on the rung below her.

  ‘Are you all right? Your neck’s bleeding. Come down, Rachel, please.’

  ‘It’s nothing. I’m OK,’ she said, putting up a hand to shield her face.

  He noticed the smooth skin. Marek had even taken care of the ugly scar. He reached upwards and gently moved her hand, and Rachel allowed him to.

  ‘I like your new look.’ He looked into different but somehow familiar features. ‘We’ve found out quite a few things recently ... apart from you having a bit of a makeover. I think I might know about most of them. I’m hoping there aren’t any more surprises.’

  Jonathan tried to gauge her emotional state, of which he could only imagine. ‘Did Hemmings spill everything before he killed himself?’

  She nodded. ‘He told me Sam killed my son; that it wasn’t him, and I believe him. I’m trying to still hate him, loathe him, but I can’t.’ She looked at Jonathan. ‘I need to tell you something ... about Margaret.’

  Softly, he interrupted her. ‘Later, Rachel, we’ll talk about this later.’

  ‘Why did Sam kill Joe?’ she said, almost to herself.

  ‘I don’t think we know the full story, but now’s not the time to talk about it,’ he said gently. He didn’t want to tell her more than was needed, not until he himself knew exactly what was happening.

  ‘Now is the perfect time to talk about it,’ she said.

  Jonathan looked towards the perimeter of the playground fence and heard the oncoming ambulances and police cars. He looked over towards Tom, who was sitting beside Hemmings’ body, wondering how the detective would explain this ‘off the record’ assignment away.

  Rachel sensed his thoughts. ‘Did Tom get involved without the force?’

  ‘Yes, but not now. Now it’s official.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘You’ve done nothing, Rachel. It’s fine.’

  ‘I would have killed him.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

  ‘I wanted to text you,’ she said.

  He smiled at her. ‘You did?’

  ‘I did. I couldn’t, no mobile. But I wanted to.’ She paused. ‘Do I look very different?’

  ‘Not very.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Only a little.’

  ‘I don’t want you to lie to me.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Jonathan rummaged in the depths of his inside jacket pocket, and pulled out a crushed packet of ten Marlboro. He took one out and offered it to her.

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Good decision, probably.’

  She smiled a shattered smile. He threw the cigarette and the packet onto the ground.

  ‘We need to get you to the hospital.’

  Rachel nodded and took his hand. ‘I’m so tired.’

  He held hers tight.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  The next day

  Jonathan had bumped into Liam in the entrance of the hospital talking to Tom. The three of them had discussed telling Rachel about Bridget, but all three decided against it. He’d found it difficult to even be civil with Liam Dune.

  After Liam left – without seeing Rachel – Tom told Jonathan about Liam. Liam had finally come clean to Tom about the affair.

  Jonathan wasn’t that surprised when the mysterious woman turned out to be Charlotte Gayle, but it would be hard for Rachel when she found out.

  Why the fuck had Liam come?

  Jonathan made his way up to the fourth floor and Rachel’s private room. He stopped to ask a nurse for room 410, made his way further down the corridor, tapped on her door and entered.

  She was sitting in the chair next to the bed, a handful of coloured ribbons clasped in her hand. The type of ribbons she’d taken to wearing after she left the force, but ones she’d stopped wearing after Joe’s death.

  ‘Hi you,’ she said, so quietly he could hardly hear.

  He nodded towards the ribbons. ‘Where did you get those?’

  He smiled as widely as he could.

  ‘Rosie, Tom’s wife, brought them for me. I asked her to. I want to find to Rachel again. Joe’s Rachel.’

  ‘She’s not far away,’ he said.

  Rachel put the ribbons on the bedside cabinet then touched her face; gesticulated towards her body.

  ‘Do you hate the way I look?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I know it’s early days but Marek says everything’s reversible.’

  ‘He’ll be kept out of this?’

  ‘He’s flying over to speak with Tom Gillespie.’

  ‘This isn’t good for Tom.’

  ‘Tom’s OK. I think he covered his bases. You don’t get to his position without covering your arse. And he has.’

  ‘Has Tom contacted Liam?’ Her face fell into a deeper seriousness.

  ‘Did you want him to?’

  ‘Hemmings told me things...’

  ‘And you need to talk them through, but not now.’

  ‘He told me why Joe was on the field.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me?’

  She nodded. He thought she would cry but her eyes, now their old clear grey – she’d taken out the contacts – remained dry.

  ‘I knew there was something with Liam.’

  ‘Go on
.’

  ‘Joe walked in on Liam ... and the woman. Joe did go to the den.’ She fingered a ribbon. ‘It was Charlotte, Jonathan, who was having an affair with Liam.’

  ‘I know.’ Jonathan moved closer. She shouldn’t have to deal with this. He paused. ‘Liam’s told Tom.’ He didn’t mention that Liam had come to see her and been sent away. ‘Tom’s told me not to talk with you too much.’

  ‘You mean not tell me everything? I think I know everything there is to know, and it’s not good stuff.’

  ‘Tell me what else Hemmings told you,’ he said, deciding to ignore Tom’s advice. And he listened as Rachel recounted everything that had happened at the park, and before.

  When she finished, she sat higher in bed. ‘Do you believe I saw Joe, that I’ve been seeing him from the beginning? Am I going mad?’

  ‘Some people would say it’s your imagination.’ He stopped for a second, thinking about his next words. ‘Your grief, and a heightened state of consciousness because of that grief. You want Joe to have peace, Rachel.’

  Jonathan took a deep breath. ‘Perhaps it was your subconscious that saw and smelt Joe.’

  She nodded, happy with his answer.

  ‘And Margaret?’ The fine contours of her new face collapsed. ‘She was at Michael’s squat. She saw Joe. She left him there, Jonathan. She said nothing.’

  ‘I’m not sure about Margaret yet. Tom has all the information. He’s investigating. But from what I’ve found out, it seems possible that she abused Michael during his childhood.’ He glanced at her. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I knew about it. Deep down, I knew. This is all my fault...’

  A nurse knocked on the door; she smiled at them both.

  ‘Scran’s up, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ she looked towards Jonathan. Her Liverpudlian accent was strong; he only just made out her meaning.

  ‘I have to go, but I’ll be back soon and we can talk,’ he said. ‘And try and eat some scran.’ He smiled.

  Jonathan had thought she would ask more about Sam and Margaret. It appeared she was handling it all well. Too well. He knew she was still in shock; and sitting in the safety of the hospital she’d bleached her mind of what had happened. He knew how this worked. He’d done the same thing when his parents had been killed.