by M. P. Wright
Staring back at me were the unblinking, petrified eyes of a child, a little girl no more than eight or nine years of age. She continued to glare back at me as I fell back on my ass in shock. The girl had drawn her legs up tight towards her chest, her delicate arms wrapped around them as if she was shielding herself from some kind of unspeakable evil. Her head was tucked on top of her scuffed knees, and her matted hair fell around her shoulders, partially covering her face. I ran the beam of my torch along the length of her motionless body and finally allowed the beam to settle at her feet. I moved slowly towards her, and as I did, the girl edged further back away from me, making the table above us judder noisily. I pulled back away from the scared little thing and held the flat of my hand against my chest, as if to offer up an assurance that I meant her no harm.
I was astonished by what I was looking at: a kid, filthy and alone, down here in the dark. Why the hell would Fowler want to stash a child away in these terrible conditions? None of it made any sense. I knew there was no way I was going to walk away and leave her to rot in what was nothing more than an over-heated prison cell, I just didn’t know how I was going to go about getting her to trust me. My mouth was dry, and when I tried to speak, the words I wanted to say caught in my throat. The two of us sat there in silence for a moment, and when I finally spoke my voice felt as if it belonged to another person.
“Hey there, how you doin’? I ain’t gonna hurt you none. I’m here to help you. Do you know a man, he got my skin colour, calls himself Dr Fowler?”
I shone the beam of the torch up towards the child’s face but not directly into it. I watched as she fearfully stared back at me. I smiled and gently repeated my question back at her.
“Do you know who I mean? Dr Theodore Fowler?”
The child continued to stare directly at me, and then she nodded her head ever so slightly, never taking her eyes off me for a moment.
“Well, that’s good, cos Dr Fowler, he asked me to come an’ get you. Take you to a place where you are gonna be safe . . .”
The girl continued to glare at me, unsure of my intentions, perhaps weighing up in her head if I was a bogeyman in the same way that Fowler might have been. I cleared my throat before speaking again.
“Look, I know you’re real scared of me, but I give you my word that I’m not here to frighten or do you any harm, child. I’m one of the good guys . . . I promise.” I put my hand out towards her by way of a friendly greeting. “My name’s Joseph . . . but my friends call me JT. Tell me, little ting, what’s your name?”
The girl remained silent. I lowered my head towards the floor and closed my eyes as I tried to think what to do next. I could hear the child’s heavy breathing ringing through my ears as a tangible sense of her distress filled the small room. A strong feeling of inexpressible and irrational shame came over me, and in my head I thought I could hear the voice of my own deceased daughter, Amelia, calling out to me. As I opened my eyes to face the girl again, the hushed whisper of five short, simple words sang back at me from out of the darkness.
“Truth . . . My name is Truth.”
7
The sweat was pouring from my scalp and ran in thick droplets down my face and neck, soaking into the collar of my shirt as I sat in the flickering candlelight with the girl called Truth in her sweltering and oppressive dungeon. As my eyes became more accustomed to the dark surroundings I began to see the telltale signs of just how the young child had been surviving down there in the dark. I ran the beam of my torch around the area behind me, picking out some of the things that Fowler had left the little girl with. Close to the top of the mattress a large Dewar’s whisky jug that was half filled with lukewarm water. A rusted-up Jacob’s cracker tin filled to the brim with arrowroot biscuits, some unopened tins of Heinz lentil soup and Fray Bentos corned beef were stacked against the back wall along with a half-dozen bags of Smith’s crisps and a brown bag filled with what looked like apples.
At the foot of her rough-and-ready bed were some old folded-up woollen blankets. A dirty light-green plastic plate and bowl sat on top of them and a solitary spoon poked out from the centre of the tired-looking dish. Beside the blankets was a box of matches and some fresh candles and a large metal blue-and-white Johnson’s first-aid kit. I opened it up and found it filled with plasters, bandages, ointments and a small Eveready torch. Tucked underneath the medical supplies was a folded brown envelope. I lifted it out and quickly leafed through the contents. Inside were a dozen or so death certificates and some passport-sized black-and-white photographs. I closed up the tin, stuffed the envelope into my inside jacket pocket then continued with my recce around the place.
On the left-hand side of the room I caught sight of a crude toilet that had been hastily set up for the youngster. The large galvanised bucket was sat in a murky corner of the basement cell and reeked of the putrid stench of piss and shit. A single roll of lavatory paper sat in the dust and dirt at the base of the bucket.
As I was nosing through the kid’s paltry belongings, Truth remained silent. I grabbed a couple of the candles and the box of matches and lit the two wicks then dripped five or six drops of wax onto the floor in front of me and sealed the candles to the floor, to give us a little more light. I turned back to face my reluctant young host and smiled at her.
“You got yo’self quite a collection o’ stuff back there. Did Dr Fowler bring all these tings here for you?”
Truth nodded slowly a couple of times.
“Well, it looks to me like you got yo’self a real cool den going on down here. Did Dr Fowler bring you here, sweetheart?”
Another slow nod.
“And does anybody else ever come down here to see you, other than Dr Fowler?”
This time I got a slow shake of her little head.
“Why’d Dr Fowler bring you down here, Truth?”
Nothing this time. No nod or shake of the head in reply. I tried a different tack.
“Can you tell me where you lived befo’ you came here with Dr Fowler? Where’s your mother and father, Truth?” I looked down at the dancing flame of the candle in front of my feet then glanced back quickly at the girl, who was watching the taper hypnotically quiver and curl. When Truth spoke again, it caught me by surprise.
“Theo . . . I called him Theo, not Dr Fowler . . . Where is Theo?”
“He’s real busy tonight, lookin’ after somebody who’s awful sick. He asked me to come down and check in on you, see if you were doing OK,” I lied. “Tell me, was Theo your family doctor?”
Another shake of her head, only this time more determined. “Theo was my new friend.”
“Your friend . . . Why would a friend want you to stay down here, all alone in the dark?”
“To stay safe.” Her retort was as quick as it was surprising.
“Safe? Safe from what?”
“From the bad men. The ones who come in the night to take us away.”
“Take you away from where, Truth?”
“From the home.”
“Your home? Why would bad men want to come to take you from your home, little one?”
“No, not from my home . . . I haven’t got a home. I’m from the Walter Wilkins.”
“The orphanage? You lived at the Walter Wilkins orphanage?”
“I did, but I don’t any more . . . I live here now.”
“And Theo brought you here to keep you safe from those bad men you been tellin’ me ’bout, did he?”
Silence again, just another slow nod of passive validation.
“Truth, Dr Fowler . . . I mean Theo, he’s asked me to tell you that he wants you to come with me, back to a nicer place, one that’s gonna be a lot better than it is down here right now.”
The little girl shot further back into her hideaway and began to get agitated.
“No! I ain’t going nowhere with you. He said there’s a special time I’m going to be leaving. I’m stopping here and waiting for him.”
“Honey, you can’t stay here no more. It ain’t
safe for you. Theo, he told me so, told me to tell you that now is the special time. He said you had to come with me so I could keep you safe from those bad men that have got you so scared. He didn’t want you hiding down here no more.”
“Go away . . . You’re a fibber! Theo never told me about you. He said it was our secret den. No one else was to know.”
“Maybe he just forgot to tell you ’bout me. Old people do that, they forget. Listen, if I ain’t telling you the truth ’bout Theo wantin’ you to come with me now, then how’d you think I knew where to come lookin’ for you, hey? It was because Theo told me exactly where to find you, that’s why.”
I held out my arm towards her, my hand palm up, reaching into the dark. I kept my huge mitt hanging in mid-air there for what seemed like an eternity, and when her tiny fingers finally clasped hold of the tips of my own, I could feel the rest of her little body shaking. I slowly drew her closer from underneath the table, and as I did she stopped in her tracks and spoke to me again, her voice broken and wavering in the soft light.
“Joseph . . . You’re not one of those bad men, are you?”
“No . . . No, Truth, I ain’t.”
I felt the child’s hand instinctively squeeze my own as she moved towards me. I’d never been more grateful for the darkness that surrounded us, my tears thankfully obscured by a welcome veil of shade and shadows.
8
I carried the frightened little girl out of her makeshift hideaway from underneath the swimming baths and back to my car. Inside, I found a small pool of Fowler’s blood that had run onto the upholstery. I quickly mopped it up with a rag then drove out of Speedwell back to St Pauls with Truth wrapped up in a blanket on the back seat. Unsurprisingly, she’d looked scared stiff as I’d navigated my way carefully back along the roads in an attempt to keep out of the suspicious sights of parked-up panda cars or patrolling bobbies on their late-night beats. By the time I’d reached what I considered to be the safety of my home turf, it was just after eleven thirty. I parked my car at the rear of a row of tenement houses next to a couple of secluded garages on Backfields Lane. I opened the rear door of the car and scooped up Truth in my arms from the back seat. I pulled the blanket up over her head and smiled down at her as she stared into my face.
“Where are we going, Joseph?” she asked quietly.
“To a place you’re gonna be safe at, that’s where. I’m gonna git you some fine food in that belly o’ yours, a hot bath and a warm, clean bed for you to sleep in. It’s a place you’re gonna be safe.”
I carried Truth the short distance into Brunswick Street and headed for the end red-brick basement flat that Carnell Harris’ widow, Loretta, rented. I looked at her curtained windows to see if she would still be up. There were no lights on; it didn’t look good. I took a deep breath, kicked open the waist-high crimson gate with the toe of my shoe then walked up to the front door and rapped on the glass panel in the centre of it. I gave it a while then knocked again but got no answer. By now the child was getting heavy in my arms, and I impatiently hammered at Loretta’s door again, only this time a lot louder than previously. A single unshaded bulb lit up the darkened hallway and I saw the pissed-off outline of my none-too-pleased friend approaching. I swallowed hard and waited for the verbal onslaught to begin as I listened to her aggressively unlock the door.
“Who’s that knockin’ at my fuckin’ gate do’ at this time o’ night? Muthafucka, you better have fuckin’ good reasons to be gittin’ me outta my bed . . .”
Loretta tore the door wide open, her tongue ready to erupt with a further assault of foul-mouthed obscenities.
“Joseph! What the hell you playin’ at, fool, disturbin’ me while I’m tryin’ to git some damn sleep? I swear, if you’ve gone an’ woke up Carnell Jr, I’m gonna rip your spine outta your ass, you hear me? Damn near took me the best part of t’ree hours to git that little bastard to go down earlier. The last ting I need tonight is that pickney’s mout’ hanging off one o’ my titties till the fuckin’ cock starts crowing.”
Loretta cut herself off mid rant and stared at the bundle I was holding in my arms.
“What in Christ’s name have you got stashed under that dirty old rag?”
I pulled the blanket away from Truth’s face for my friend to see what was underneath and began my apologies. “Loretta, I’m real sorry ’bout this—”
“Oh shit . . . Don’t you gimme any o’ your ‘sorry’ shit, Joseph, just git you ass in off the street. What the hell you got some honky kid with you for?”
“It’s a long story . . .”
“Ain’t it always with you, Joseph?”
“Look, I need a place to stay for the night.”
“What the hell’s wrong with your joint? Take her back there.” My friend took a step back, her hand on her hips, eyeing me up and slowly shaking her head disapprovingly.
“I would if I could . . . but it ain’t the best place fo’ me to be tonight. Trust me. I’ve gone got myself into some nasty trouble.”
“Again! You know, trouble, it follows you round like you is hitched to it, fool.”
Loretta stared me down, gave a deep sigh then cursed under her breath. She looked back at the child in my arms then laughed to herself and pointed at the blanket with her slender finger.
“That poor ting looks scared half to death, what the hell you bin doing to git her in that state? Shit . . . You best bring her on down into my sittin’ room.”
I followed Loretta into the front room. She switched on the light and I laid Truth onto the settee. I knelt down next to her and slipped a cushion under the little girl’s head and smiled. I glanced across the room over to the framed photograph of my late friend Carnell that was sat on the mantle above the fireplace, then turned back to his widow, who was waiting for some kind of explanation as to why I’d got her out of her bed at such an ungodly hour.
“Loretta, this here is Truth.”
“Trute? What damn kinda crazy-assed name is Trute?”
“Shhh! Will you go easy?”
I turned back to Truth and tucked the blanket tight around the back of her body. “Now, you just rest back there for a minute. Aunt Loretta and me, we’re just going into the kitchen. You want some hot cocoa?” The little one nodded back at me. “OK, cocoa it is. We’ll be back in just a minute.”
I got up, took hold of Loretta’s hand and led her out of her sitting room. When we got into the hallway, she snatched her hand out of mine and jabbed her crimson manicured digit into my face.
“Who the fuck you callin’ Aunt Loretta? Do I look like some coloured jazzed-up version o’ Beatrix Potter to you, hey? Aunt Loretta my ass. JT, you is full o’ shit, you know that, don’t you? Now, move your ugly butt outta my way if you wants me to make that fuckin’ cocoa for ya.”
I walked on ahead of her, flicked on the light switch next to the kitchen door then let Loretta seethe on by me as I stood with my back to the pantry door. I watched as she filled the kettle with fresh water at the sink then lit the front hob on the gas cooker and put the pot on the flaming blue ring. She leant over to the kitchen cupboard at the side of the sink and pulled out a small ceramic mug and two glasses then aggressively dropped them on the blue Formica-topped kitchen table. I pulled out a chair from under it and sat down as Loretta walked behind me back to the pantry. When she returned she had a jar of Bournvita in one hand and a bottle of Mount Gay rum in the other.
“You best pour each o’ us a shot of that hooch. Sure looks like you need it.”
She sat down next to me while I filled our glasses. I pushed the thimble of rum over to Loretta and raised my glass to her before knocking back the dark spirit in one gulp. I poured myself a refill then sank back in my chair, rubbing out a pain in my left temple with the tips of my fingers while my friend stared at me with a troubled look on her face.
“So come on, let’s hear it, what kinda trouble you gone an’ got yo’self into this time?”
“The worst kind, baby. The kinda trouble that has
me with my back against the wall. You know a doctor by the name o’ Theodore Fowler?”
Loretta tilted her head back and gave a wry grin. “You talkin’ ’bout Theo the flusher? Cos I do, any woman round here who’s got herself knocked up and don’t want what she’s got in her guts knows ’bout ole man Fowler. What you wantin’ that ole fucker for anyways? If you thinking o’ giving him a call to git rid o’ that pickney you got crashed out on my sofa back there, I’d say you gone and left it ’bout eight years too late.”
“Well, there ain’t no way he’s gonna be taking any phone calls after tonight.”
“Why, what’s wrong with the man?” Loretta was mildly intrigued.
“He’s dead, that’s what’s wrong with him. Fool, t’rew himself outta the back o’ the Cortina as I was racin’ on my way to Speedwell.”
“Dead! Oh that’s sweet, Joseph, just sweet. There, you just got yo’self another damn stiff that you can rack up for your collection.”
“Will you just git off your high horse and let me finish?”
“Let you finish?” Loretta snapped back at me. “What in the name o’ God were you doin’ with that scabby ole quack on the back seat o’ your motor?” I tried to speak but was quickly interrupted by my friend’s angry interrogation. “What the hell have you gone an’ got mixed up in now, Mr Detective? You bin pokin’ your nose round in other people’s shady bidness again? Come on, I’m all ears, tell me. Why’d Fowler decide to sling his greasy ass out into the road? Didn’t like the way you drive? What, the prick was struck dumb or someting? Couldn’t be bothered to ax you to slam on the fuckin’ breaks so he could just git outta the car?”