Cupidity

by Lucinda Lamont

  He watched as David got out of the car and walked around to her side to let her out. He gave her his hand to help her stand and then he held her. It had begun to drizzle slightly and so David shielded her with his coat until she got into the house. Peter heard the door go, and watched as David got back into his car and drove off.

  ‘That little bitch,' he said quietly to himself. He could hear the women downstairs talking and rolled his eyes at the thought of what was being said between them.

  He made his way downstairs quietly and listened in to what they were saying.

  ‘Ooh, Martha, you naughty devil. I didn’t have you down to be putting out on the first date.’ Mae cackled.

  Peter felt his blood boil and clenched his fists. He had to calm down. Mae knew he wasn’t happy with her right now, but he couldn’t push his growing affection for Martha too far. He composed himself and walked into the room.

  ‘You didn’t put out, did you?’ he laughed nervously?

  ‘No, I did not.’ retorted Martha. ‘We just… kissed. You know, nothing serious, just a… kiss…’ and she began to blush brightly.

  ‘Well, good for you Martha. It’s about time you had some happiness. David seems like a nice chap, so what harm can it do?’

  He stared at Martha and a huge knot of confusion was being conjured up within her, she didn’t know if he meant it or not. Maybe he has realised that he was in the wrong. Perhaps by seeing me with someone else makes him want to improve things with him and Mae.

  Maybe everything will work out in the end? Martha thought, trying to unravel the ever-growing knot.

  ‘Well, let’s have a drink then.’ squealed Mae, ‘a celebratory toast.’

  Martha thought she looked nervous. She began to think that her being with David meant more to Mae than it did to her. Maybe she would have to keep seeing this David if only to keep the peace for a while.

  The three of them sat around the table drinking scotch and smoking. It was just like her first night there and everything seemed relaxed again, for now.

  The wireless was on in the kitchen and the news reporter told a story of how they believed that the madman that had escaped a mental institute, Simon Paterson, had murdered again. A woman’s remains were found close to the factory where she worked and he was the main suspect.

  ‘Jesus Christ, what is the god damn world coming to.’ Peter said angrily. ‘Haven’t we been through enough as a nation without mad men running loose. If anything happened to either of you two, well, it doesn’t bear thinking about, but the police would be better finding him before I did. His story wouldn’t end in a cell if I caught up with him.’

  Peter was visibly shaking. The news had rattled most folks in the town. It was a quiet town where nothing ever happened. The war was a big enough worry for everyone, but Martha thought she was safe living with Peter and Mae.

  ‘You both need to be extra careful, do you hear me?’ Peter said to the two women. ‘You need to stay in numbers. Don’t go out alone. You just don’t know where this freak might strike next.’

  They all sat quietly for a moment.

  ‘Does anyone know who the latest woman is?’ asked Mae quietly. ‘Maybe we know her or her family?’ she said, not looking at anyone.

  ‘They haven’t mentioned any names, but apparently they have brought the animal’s mother to town to help with the search for him. How she can help, I don’t know. Why would you even show your face if that was your son? Surely you would be ashamed and want nothing to do with the disgusting creature. Mind you, we don’t know anything about her. Maybe she made him that way,’ Peter said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,' Martha chipped in. ‘It’s a tough situation. Surely an animal is an animal? I don’t think I could abandon Willy whatever he did. I mean, I might not understand it, but I just don’t know if I could ever disown him. He’s all I have.’

  ‘I would feel the same, Martha. If Charlie ever did anything like that I think I could never forgive him, but I couldn’t stop loving him,’ Mae said, looking at Peter.

  ‘If our son were ever capable of anything like that, then he would be no son of mine, Mae.’ Peter had the last word.

  Mae didn’t answer him back on this occasion. He knocked back his scotch and poured them all another. Eventually, they decided to go up to bed. Martha cleared the table and took the glasses to the sink while Mae bid them all goodnight and went straight up.

  She began to rinse the dishes off when she felt Peter’s hands on her hips. He nuzzled into her neck and started kissing her softly. Her heart began to pound and she had goose bumps all over her body. She said nothing. He began kissing her neck harder and sucking and biting. Then he began kissing his way down her back until he was low enough to get his hands up her dress. He then began to rise again while running his hands up her legs, still kissing her the whole time. He was standing upright now and didn’t try to turn her. He just kept kissing her, getting rougher and pulling her hair to move her head from side to side.

  Now his hands were running over her bottom occasionally touching her around the front. She didn’t want to stop him. She couldn’t bear how awful this was, but the passion she was feeling right now was far more than what she had experienced with David only a few hours back. If he slipped inside her now, she didn’t think she could say no.

  He lifted her pants with his fingers and worked his way in. She flinched and let out a gasp. He put a hand over her mouth and whispered, ‘Sssshhh.’

  He continued to pleasure her with his fingers. He could feel her heavy breathing on his hand and it was making him harder with every breath. He could tell she wanted him. She was getting wetter and wetter. She felt good. She was tight and he knew how good it would feel to be inside her.

  He imagined he was inside her now, slapping against her perfectly pert bottom, his hands on her breasts, each thrust more euphoric than the last. Her heart was about to burst out of her chest. Her breathing was pushing hard against him as he continued to get her wetter. She was about to climax and he was in total control.

  ‘God, I want you,’ he whispered in her ear; with that, she came on his fingers and he came in his trousers. He collapsed on her back and the pair of them hunched over the sink.

  They were both panting heavily and he nuzzled into her neck again. He kissed her a few more times, little, soft, sweet kisses and then whispered into her ear, ‘Good night,’ and took himself upstairs.

  What the hell. she screamed to herself in her head. She picked up a glass tumbler from the sink, walked over to the scotch, poured herself another one with very shaky hands and sat at the table.

  She knocked it back in one and stared into the distance, heart still pounding.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Mrs. Paterson…Can I call you Evelyn?’ said the police officer.

  ‘Oh yes, Evelyn is fine,' she said, agreeably.

  ‘Mrs, sorry, Evelyn, I have asked you to speak with us in the hope that your knowledge of your son, Simon, might be able to help us locate him. I understand that this might be difficult for you, however, with your help you might be able to prevent… well, to prevent another murder.’

  The officer felt sorry for Evelyn. She looked like a sweet elderly woman. She was well turned out, but she looked frail and had that ‘lost’ look in her pale grey eyes. He wondered if those eyes once glistened and sparkled with life before now.

  ‘I’m more than happy to help, Officer. We all want the same outcome. We need Simon back at the hospital and no one wants to see another murder but let’s just be clear, we don’t know for sure he is guilty this time?’

  She smoothed down her skirt with both hands in a defiant way in the dimly lit, greyish room.

  The likelihood was that it was Simon but as his mother she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. Innocent until proven guilty. No one else would give him that so it was the least she could do. Or was it hope? She wasn’t sure.

  Officer Pembrooke didn’t mind her optimism, in fact he understood it to a degree. He
had done this job long enough to know when someone was saying something for their own benefit. The amount of times he had interviewed a family member of a horrendous criminal, the majority would all respond the same. It was like if they said what they wanted to hear, then maybe their own denial would become true and they wouldn’t feel so guilty about being related to that person. They wouldn’t hold themselves responsible for what the criminal had done.

  They wouldn’t feel like everyone thought they must be a criminal too if they were related to one.

  The truth is Officer Pembrooke would know when he was sat in front of a good person or not. It saddened him when he could see one of the good ones in a blind state of panic or desperation for peace again.

  He would also say some of the most helpful people he interviewed were guilty of some of the worst things he had dealt with because ultimately a lot of criminals were actors in his mind. They would put on an act to lure their victims into a false sense of security. They could be charming, enigmatic, light up the room sort of people, and in his mind, that was what made them so dangerous. He could look into someone’s eyes and know if they were guilty or not.

  He could see that Mrs. Paterson was one of the good ones and if anything, a victim herself. Her son Simon wasn’t an actor. He was down and out crazy. There were no false pretences with him. He was wired up wrong, or at least that was how Officer Pembrooke described him, and that was why he took pity on Evelyn.

  That son of hers was beyond help.

  There was nothing she could have ever done to prevent him from being the way he is, but he understood the heartache that must have caused for Evelyn.

  ‘Before we begin, would you like a drink, Evelyn?’ asked Officer Pembrooke.

  ‘Yes, please. A glass of water would be nice, my dear.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Officer Pembrooke went to fetch a glass of water for the old lady and as he exited the room, he released a big sigh and rubbed his forehead.

  The greatest satisfaction of his job was catching criminals, but the hardest was dealing with the innocent and broken. He would typically wait to be offered a drink in someone else’s house, but she was alone, elderly and frail, and he didn’t mind. He poured them both a glass of water and returned to her living room.

  It was a quaint little room. She had matching crocheted doilies dotted around and the ornaments placed evenly around the room. Her tiled fireplace looked like it had never been used, it was so clean, but it must have been because she had a poker and a small metal dustpan and a little brush on the hearth. She must spend a lot of time cleaning, thought the officer.

  Another one of Pembrooke's theories was that the state of someone’s home was a reasonable interpretation of the state of their mind. If it was a mess, they were a mess. If it was immaculately clean, they were controlling and obsessive. If it appeared tidy but inside the cupboards were messy, they were putting on an act. He had always stood by that and hadn’t often been wrong.

  ‘So, Evelyn, where should we begin? What I want is to get to know Simon the best I can. I want to get inside his mind. I want to know his mood patterns; I want to know the things he likes, the things that make him mad. I know you don’t see much of him but the better picture we can get of him the better hope we have of getting him back and…’ he paused.

  He had to be delicate with her.

  ‘Getting him back and getting him the help he needs.’

  ‘Well. I don’t know really. He’s my boy and, oh, I don’t know what’s useful and what’s not.’

  She looked helpless and took a sip of her water.

  ‘Ok well let’s just try and break it down, bit by bit. What sort of things made him happy? What made him mad? All of this is to try and help me and the other police officers figure out where he might be hiding, and who he might be looking for next.’

  Officer Pembrooke was leaning forward in his chair so that he could be closer to her. So that he could analyse what she was saying. She might come out with something useful and not even know it’s helpful.

  ‘He liked to be alone. That was always the thing that was different from him and his siblings. He was happiest alone whereas the other two were always together or with us in the kitchen or playing with friends as children. But not Simon. He always wanted to be alone. If he were happy, he would be outside and if he were mad he would be in his room alone. He wasn’t the same every time mind you. I couldn’t say for a matter of fact what he would be doing each day, but, if he was happy – outside, if he was unhappy – inside. But then, Oh. I don’t know. I don’t know what he was up to when he was outside. Maybe he was mad and doing dreadful things.’

  Officer Pembrooke was scribbling down notes.

  ‘Take your time Evelyn, try not to get upset. There’s no rush. I’ve got all evening if you have. I’m just trying to figure out where he could be.’

  Officer Pembrooke was one of the nicer policemen. He knew how to be understanding, and how to make people feel comfortable. Evelyn patted down her skirt and looked around the room.

  ‘He was a jealous boy. The first time he got in serious trouble was for pouring acid down a boy’s back at school. He must’ve been, crikey, I can’t remember now. He must have been twelve, maybe thirteen? That was a terrible day. I was good friends with the boy’s mother up until that day.’

  ‘And why do you think he did what he did that day, Evelyn? Had anything happened that you know about to spur that on?’

  Evelyn racked her brain for something worthy, but what was worthy of that sort of behaviour.

  ‘I wish something had spurred it on, Officer, but I think it was just pure jealousy. The boy he attacked, James, he was a well-rounded achiever. His mother used to come around and we would talk about our children and James was always doing so well in everything and everyone liked him. He was a good-looking, popular boy. I think Simon was jealous because people didn’t talk about him in a good way. He was always the child everyone had to stay away from. People would cross the street and look the other way if they saw us coming. People said he had the devil in him.’

  ‘Ok, can you think of any more instances where he lashed out, but for a reason? I know he was a difficult boy, but is there anything you can remember when he did something, but for a reason?’

  Evelyn slowly looked around the room again, racking her brains for the right thing to say. She wanted to help the officer as much as she could, but she couldn’t think of anything in particular.

  ‘Well, I don’t know if this is useful or not but he always had an eye for the girls.’

  Officer Pembrooke began to look a bit awkward. We know that. He’s murdered and assaulted, maybe raped three, he thought but he didn’t want to say it out loud. He didn’t want to upset her when he knew she was trying.

  ‘One year he went after the prettiest girl in the town. She was seeing one of the prettiest boys in the town, so she was off limits, but it didn’t stop Simon. He followed her around. He would pick her flowers from down by the river, and try and give them to her, but she would run away screaming. Her boyfriend spoke to him about it a few times and asked Simon to leave her alone. He wasn’t nasty to Simon, he knew he wasn’t a threat and actually, he was a nice boy. I think he felt sorry for Simon.

  ‘Well anyway, Simon wouldn’t leave her alone and one day he had handpicked some wild flowers from near the riverbank, and he waited for her where he would normally see her with her friends. The story goes that he saw her approaching, and so he pretended he had hurt himself while she was walking past. He pretended he had hurt his leg and couldn’t get up. Well, the girl went over to help him… after an initial hesitation, but she went to help him and she got him up from the ground. He gave her the flowers he had picked which were on the ground where he had been lying, and she threw them down. Then he grabbed her and dragged her down the grass verge and under the bridge. Apparently…’

  ‘Go on Evelyn…’

  ‘Apparently, he assaulted her. You know, in a sexual way.’ She look
ed down at her lap and was examining her hands and nails.

  ‘You say ‘apparently’ Evelyn. Why do you say apparently?’ Pembrooke was still making notes.

  ‘Well, I say apparently because nothing was ever proven. No one caught him red-handed. She screamed for help and he scarpered off. He admitted to everything apart from the assault.’

  Pembrooke put down his notepad.

  ‘And what do you think Evelyn? Do you think he was guilty of that crime?’

  He picked up his pad and had his pen poised ready to go.

  ‘Well, yes, Officer. I’m afraid I do.’ She looked down at her lap again.

  Pembrooke made a note: Mother thinks he’s GUILTY.

  ‘You know, Evelyn, one of the things that fascinates me with this job is the psychology behind the crime. Yes, I want to catch the criminals, but there is so much more to crime than the crime if you know what I mean. I think in years to come medical science will have vastly improved and I hope it does because that means that people like Simon may get the help they need earlier on and can be prevented from committing such awful acts.

  ‘You know, I’ve been reading up on something recently. The Americans think there is an emotional and social disorder affecting children called ‘Autism.' It refers to children who don’t interact with other children and they are isolated. The things you have told me about your Simon, about him being insular as a boy, well maybe in time, in the future like, maybe there will be help for people like him.’

  ‘He doesn’t have that. We know what he has. He has schizophrenia.’ Evelyn snapped.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Officer Pembrooke, and he genuinely was. She knew that.

  ‘It’s ok, officer. Sorry for snapping. I’m just tired and all of this talking upsets me. There is no help for my boy. Do you think someone could do what he has done and be fixed with treatment? No, that boy is beyond help. There’s something not right with him, but he’s my boy and he always will be. You can’t go around saying that all children who are different, will end up as murderers. That’s not right.’ Evelyn looked at the clock.