by Matt Shaw
Chapter Nineteen
Mark woke Becky up with a gentle touch of her shoulders. She jumped when she saw him. The previous night’s drinking had clearly taken its toll on him. He looked pale with black bags under his red eyes and he still stank of the booze.
“Wake up,” he urged her, “I’ve done it. I’ve done it...”
“Done what?”
“I’d rather show you. Great dressed!” Before Becky could argue with him, Mark had already hurried from the room, towards the bathroom. Becky slowly sat up. She was confused as to what he was talking about - even thought he might have still been drunk - but, at the same time, she was a little curious too. Mark came back into the room. He was just as excited as he was when he first left it. “Come on,” he said, “we need to get going...”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.” He was like a man possessed. His speech was fast and erratic. This wasn’t the man she knew. It was as though something inside had snapped. A change in his personality. Becky wondered whether he even knew he was behaving strangely. “Come on, I promise you’ll like it.” He took Becky’s hand and helped to pull her from the bed before jumping into the clothes he’d thrown on the floor the previous night when he’d first stumbled into the room pissed as a fart.
Becky looked over to the clock on the bedside cabinet. It wasn’t even seven o’clock. She begrudgingly took her clothes, one of the last set which actually fit her, from where she’d hung them on the radiator before going to bed. “This’d better be good,” she said.
Mark smiled. He desperately wanted to tell her but didn’t want to get her hopes up. What if he was wrong? What if he was taking her out for nothing? What if the person he saw yesterday, the person he followed to their home...What if it wasn’t him? What if it was just someone who looked like him? And maybe, even then, the stranger didn’t actually look like the person who was responsible for what’d happened? There was a small part of Mark that couldn’t help worry that the stranger was nothing like the man he was looking for. Someone who Mark had convinced himself was the guy he was seeking. Before he did anything, before he acted upon his desire for revenge, he needed to be sure. He needed to be positive. Especially for what he’d in mind. He urged Becky to hurry up again as the images of what he wanted to do to the man flooded his mind once more.
* * * * *
The pair of them had managed to get dressed and out of the house in about ten minutes and were both soon on the road. Mark was driving, despite clearly being over the limit. The fact the car was outside of the house made it clear to Becky that he’d driven home the previous night - despite the drink. She wondered how he’d managed to get home without getting stopped by the police (or having an accident at least).
As Mark concentrated on the road, Becky turned to him and asked about the previous night, “Where did you go last night? Who’d you drink with?” She didn’t expect him to tell the truth but at least the potential lies would help break the silence between them.
“I was in the park,” he said. The level of excitement in his tone was obvious. “Just sitting on the bench,” he said, “wondering what I could do to make ends meet. Not many jobs out there...Someone sat next to me and asked for a light...” He glanced over to Becky. She was just looking at him. He could tell by her expression, even at a quick look, she didn’t know where he was going to with what he was saying. He continued, “I think I’ve found him, Becky.”
“What?” She knew exactly what he was talking about. “Pull over...” Mark shot her another look, confused by her instruction. He did as he was told and pulled the car against the side of the road - much to the annoyance of the car behind who sounded their horn as they drove by. Mark killed the ignition and turned to Becky. “What have you been doing every day you haven’t been at work? No lies. Tell me. Have you been going to the park?” Mark’s quietness told her everything she needed to know. “Looking for him?” Again, Mark’s quietness told her everything. “I thought he was in the past? I thought we’d moved on...” Mark still didn’t say anything. “What were you thinking?”
“I did it for you,” he said eventually. “I did it so you can put it to bed once and for all. I did it for us. So we could move on...”
“We had moved on.”
“Properly. So we could move on properly.”
“We’re having a baby...”
“His baby...” Mark regretted the words as soon as they came from his mouth. He didn’t mean to say it. Not to Becky anyway. He didn’t want her thinking he had a problem with the baby as it’d be just another crack in their already frayed relationship. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. But I did do it for us. I followed him back to his house. I was going to go in there last night but I couldn’t. I couldn’t be sure it was him. That’s why I’m taking you there. If you think it is...”
“Just take me home.”
“What?”
“Please - can you just take me home?”
“You want to go home? You want to let him get away with what he did to you? And, possibly, what he’s done with other people too? We can finish this today. We can...”
“What? Phone the police? You heard them - no evidence. It’s been so long now that I’m not even sure I’d recognise him.” Becky knew she’d recognise him if she did meet him again. If she crossed his path in the street - she’d never forget that face. Even now she could picture it - looking down on her own face whilst he was fucking her. She suddenly shouted, “Can you please just take me home!”
Mark turned away from her. She couldn’t see his face but she knew he was angry with her. She didn’t apologise. She didn’t feel as though she had anything to apologise for. If anything, it should have been him who’d be apologising to her. He was the one in the wrong. He had no right to try and find the man. He had no right to follow him. Especially as she believed that chapter of her life was over. All these months of trying to move on and, just like that, she felt as though everything had gone back to how it was when it first happened. And not just that - she kept hearing the words play through her head again and again that it was his baby. She looked at Mark, who was just staring dead ahead at the road, and couldn’t help wondering whether that was what he was really feeling despite the whole thing of keeping the baby, and raising it as their own, being his idea. She had grown used to the idea of it being their baby with the help of therapy. She had managed to think of the baby as a blessing as opposed to a further violation of her body and yet here he was, her partner, thinking of it as his baby.
For the rest of the journey neither Mark nor Becky spoke.
Chapter Twenty
Andrews stopped dead when he ran into the intensive care ward as did the security guards and nurses who’d been running slightly in front of him. None of them were ready for what they were running into.
Becky was out of bed. The hospital gown she was wearing was stained red with fresh blood from where she’d obviously popped a stitch or two when she’d stood up. A nurse was cowering against the wall on the other side of the room. She too was bleeding, her hand pressed against a fresh wound in her own neck which was trying to spew blood onto the blood already splattered on the white tiled floor - a panicked look in both patient and nurse’s eyes.
Becky was clutching hold of her crying baby. Not in a way that a mother would. She held it as though it were nothing but trash and she was getting ready to toss it out. The baby was tiny from where it’d been plucked from the womb before it was ready to leave. In Becky’s other hand was a scalpel knife, presumingly what she used to stab at the nurse.
Andrews heard one of the nurses ask how Becky had even got out of bed, another was asking where the doctor was, a security guard was yelling for Becky to put the knife down, another security guard was slowly edging towards her with his hand outstretched and Becky herself was simply screaming for them all to leave her alone and get the fuck out.
Andrews took charge of the situation and pulled the advancing security guard back. Experience told
him that if you backed a distressed person into a corner, they’d react badly. And seeing the blade against the newborn - Andrews needed to avoid that under all circumstances.
“Mrs Stephens...You’re hurt...Put the knife down, pass the baby to one of the nurses and let us look after you...”
“It’s his fault!” Becky screamed. She pushed the knife against the baby. “It’s his fault!” she screamed again. She was shaking. Adrenaline and blood loss. If she passed out now, Andrews knew there was a good chance both mother and baby would be hurt.
“Look, put the knife down and let us talk...Tell us what’s happened...” From the state of the house, Andrews knew Mrs Stephens’ life had taken a dramatic turn to get to this stage. One he didn’t understand but it didn’t stop him feeling as though it were his fault. Had he caught the rapist, would she still be in this position? Doubtful. In the blink of his eye it was his wife standing in front of him with their own baby. He shook the image from his mind with ease. “Please talk to me,” he said, “tell me what’s happened...Help me understand. Help me help you...” The words were just coming from his mouth. He didn’t even know what he was saying now. Just anything to distract Becky from what she was threatening to do. Anything to buy some time. Anything. Anything to help him avoid another tragedy. “Come on - what happened to you?”
Chapter Twenty-One
By the time Mark and Becky had got back to the house, the silence had cracked. Mark turned to Becky as soon as they walked through the door and started asking why she was protecting the man who fucked her, a question Becky ignored when she pushed past Mark and walked towards the kitchen to get herself something to eat. In the haste to leave the house, she hadn’t eaten anything and - at this stage of the pregnancy - skipping meals was no longer an option.
“Did he even rape you?” Mark asked as he continued to fume.
“What? If he didn’t - what’s this?” she pointed towards her belly.
“I mean maybe you fucked him because you were drunk and horny. Maybe you didn’t say no...” Mark interrupted her.
“Oh now you think I cheated on you? I asked for this?”
Mark shrugged. “Maybe.”
“You’re a piece of shit,” Becky shook her head and turned away from Mark. She reached for the large knife and started to carve up a crusty loaf, something she continually seemed to crave.
“Me? Tell me - honestly - did you fuck him? Did you want him fucking you?”
“I’m not even going to answer that. Just fuck off. Leave me alone.” Becky shouted as she continued to cut the bread. Mark pulled the knife away from her so she’d pay him attention and finish this conversation. She turned to him, “Give me the knife.”
“Is that what happened? You met him, slept with him? Woke up in the morning, feeling guilty, and decided to cry rape?”
“Fuck you.”
“Explains why you wouldn’t want to go to the police. Explains why you were angry when I went to them...And speaks volumes that you didn’t want me finding him. What’s the matter, afraid I’d hurt him?”
“Have you heard yourself? What’s happened to you? Just...Fuck off...Seriously...” She pushed past him and stormed down the hallway. Mark followed close behind.
“Just tell me - is that what happened? Is that how it happened? Because if it is - he’s fucking welcome to you. You can play happy families with him. Boyfriend, girlfriend and baby. If that’s what you want...I’ll give you a divorce. Anything to be away from...”
“Is that what you think?! You know what...You’re right...” Becky spun around, fuming at the words that were coming from her supposed husband’s mouth. If he wanted to know why she was reluctant to go to the police then she’d give him the whole story whether he’d like it or not.
* * * * *
Her friends had tried to talk Becky into going home with them but she didn’t want to. Her mind was made up. Her friends didn’t necessarily approve of the situation but she was a grown woman and the choice was hers. She’d be the one who’d have to live with her actions, if she remembered them when she was sober, and it wasn’t as though her friends weren’t aware of her doubts towards her marriage.
The stranger held the club’s toilet door open, as though he were the last breed of gentleman in the world, and Becky stumbled in first. She laughed as she took a seat on the toilet and pulled the man close to her after he locked them in. The club’s music drowned out the unofficial couple’s laughter. He didn’t put up a fight as Becky started to drunkenly fumble at the buttons to his jeans. Seconds later and the man’s erection was in her mouth as she slurped up and down the shaft, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. She stopped long enough to lift her arse off the seat so she could pull her knickers off from underneath her skimpy dress. She kicked them off as she resumed sucking on the stranger’s cock. He sighed with pleasure as he held her head firmly in place - all the time whispering how much he wanted to fuck her.
By the time they’d finished, and the man had left, Becky already sobered up enough to regret her actions. There were problems at home but this wasn’t the way to solve them and now she feared she’d ruined everything. If Mark ever found out - the marriage would be over. At the start of the evening, if you’d spoken to Becky, she didn’t care but now...Now she cared. Now she realised what she had at home.
* * * * *
Becky went to speak. She went to tell Mark what’d happened. She’d met a stranger in the club and fucked him. She’d blame the alcohol, of course, and she’d beg forgiveness. She wasn’t sure whether this would kill the marriage completely but, the way she saw it now, the marriage was already over with Mark unable to let go of what he thought happened to her. The story to the police, the story to the therapists - nothing but fiction in an effort to keep a hold of her damaged relationship. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t want you to find out...You weren’t supposed to find out...It was just a fling. A stupid drunken fling...It didn’t mean anything. I can’t even remember how it happened. It just did...I thought you’d leave me, if you found out, so...Yes...I lied about the rape. Even the description I gave the police...I made it up. I just...I didn’t know what else to...” She stopped the sentence short and her eyes went wide. She looked down at the knife sticking in her stomach. She looked up to Mark with panic in her eyes. He was holding the knife, anger on his face. She stumbled backwards, away from the blade, into the lounge. She fell back against the wall and slid down it, clutching at her belly to stop the blood from spilling out.
“You let me go on believing you were raped. You let me believe someone...” he shook his head, “...how could you do that to me? Those weeks of you being quiet...It wasn’t because you were in shock, or raped, you just felt guilty. You piece of shit...” Tears were streaming down both of their faces. Becky was gasping, begging, for him to phone an ambulance. “All this because you cheated on me. Why? Drink? Don’t love me? And now look at you,” he continued, “look at us...And you’re having his fucking baby! All this time I’ve been watching you get bigger - thinking about what happened to you and how I failed you and all the time, none of it was real. You’re just a dirty little whore.” He wept.
“Please. Mark. Get help. Phone an ambulance.”
He suddenly came ‘to’, as though he’d been in a trance. He looked down and noticed all of the blood leaking over Becky’s hand as she held the wound on her belly. He stood there a moment, unsure of what to do.
“Oh Jesus,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. What have I done? I’m sorry...” he hurried over to the coffee table between the television and settee and reached for the phone which rested in its cradle. He went to dial a number but stopped suddenly with his eyes transfixed on Becky’s stomach. “Did you love him?” he suddenly asked. Becky didn’t answer. Suddenly Mark dropped the telephone and, without further words, pierced the side of his neck with the already-bloody knife. Becky screamed as she watched in horror as Mark slit his throat wide across. He gargled as he dropped to his knees with blood gushing fro
m his neck and - seconds later - his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped forward onto the lounge’s floor, blood continuing to pool around his body.
Becky, screaming from the shock of seeing Mark and the wound in her gut, reached forward painfully for the phone...