by SJI Holliday
It’s not happening. He’s still asleep. It’s one of those fucked-up dreams that you can’t seem to wake yourself out of, even though what’s happening clearly isn’t real. Panic. Don’t panic. It’s not real. Stay calm.
He rounds the corner onto Katie’s street and a sudden wave of nausea hits him. Not from the running. Or maybe that. But mostly it’s because he can see a police car down the road, right outside her house. He can see the blue-and-white crime scene tape stretched across from lamp post to tree, a couple of hundred metres down. He’s always thought crime scene tape was yellow and black. But that’s in America, isn’t it? Shows you what you notice.
He swallows great big gulps of air. It’s cold, so cold, yet it burns inside him. Inside his overworked lungs. He’s not going to be sick. He’s never sick. Not even after ten cans of Strongbow. Not like Katie. Katie’s a lightweight. Three-can Katie, he called her. Five cans and she’d be throwing up in your face. She’d actually done that, once.
He feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. No. Fucksake. Don’t cry. Don’t be sick. It’s not real, remember? It’s a dream. It’s a nightmare. He keeps walking. There’s a uniformed policeman standing next to the tape. Young. Dark-skinned. Indian or something.
‘Sorry, son. Can’t go through, I’m afraid. Police investigation.’
It’s not real, remember? He walks past. The policeman tries to grab him but he shrugs him off.
‘Oi!’
There’s a woman walking towards him. Slim, dark hair tied up in a pony-tail. In her thirties, maybe? He’s never seen her before. No idea who she is. No idea what she’s doing. Just some other character inside his fucked-up nightmare. He’ll wake up soon. He has to wake up soon. This is his punishment for last night. The stupid argument. What he did afterwards. His behaviour. Idiot. You’re a fucking idiot.
‘Are you Neil Price?’ the woman says. Up close, he realises that she’s quite nice looking for an old bird. That’s his phrase. Katie always tells him off. Doesn’t matter what age she is if she’s nice looking, does it? That’s not what he means, though. Just means she’s too old for him. He’s not even eighteen. He’s not ready for an older woman. Not yet. The idea scares the shit out of him. Still, she’s fit. Nice athletic body. Clean, shiny hair. He’d ask how she knew his name, but there’s no point. She’s in his dream, of course she knows his name. Anyway, the uniform hasn’t bothered to chase after him. Has to stay at his cordon. That’s his job. In my dream.
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ he says anyway. Just confirming.
Her face changes. She had a bit of a smile before, but it slides off her face like that last bit of ice lolly when the heat finally shoves it off the stick. Ice lollies. Katie loves ice lollies. Loved.
He feels his legs go from under him, but she’s there in a flash. The uniform too. He must’ve been watching all along.
‘No . . .’ he says, and it comes out as a bit of a wail. ‘This isn’t real.’
‘Help me get him inside, Rav,’ the woman says. They’re both holding him. He’s walking, but he can’t feel his legs. Can’t feel anything. Just letting them guide him. Katie’s front door is standing wide open. Her mum’ll be doing her nut. She’s always yelling at them for leaving the door open. Brooke does it on purpose. Katie only does it to wind her up.
Does it.
Did it.
There’s a man standing in the doorway. He’s not in uniform, but Neil recognises him. Davie Gray. Sergeant Davie Gray. His face is what does it. It’s Davie’s face that wakes him up.
‘This is real, isn’t it? It is, isn’t it? I’m not asleep, am I?’ Neil says, his words coming out in a jumbled gush.
Davie frowns. Takes a step outside. Nods at the guy in uniform and takes his place. Davie and the woman help him inside the house, and from the kitchen Neil can hear a sound, a horrible animal sound. A roaring. A cry. Like a bear caught in trap.
Neil’s voice cracks as he speaks. ‘I’m not asleep, am I, Sergeant Gray?’
Davie pushes the door shut behind them. ‘No, son. You’re not.’
THREEWISEMONKEYSBLOG
Telling It Like It Is
Posted: 1st Oct 2016 by SpeakNoEvil
Status: Draft
Comments: 0
Say, say, my playmate
Don’t come and play with me
Don’t bring your dollies three
Cut down my apple tree
Fall off my rainbow,
Into my cellar door
And we’ll be enemies
Forever evermore.
I’m not the type to bear grudges, you know? Life’s too short and all that. If someone doesn’t want to be around you any more, then that’s down to them, not you. If someone is truly a friend, then they will talk to you and tell you what their problem is with you. You’re meant to be friends. You’re meant to have arguments and fall out over stupid things – but then you’re meant to talk about it and sort them out – and then you’re meant to be friends again.
Of course there are lots of reason why friends fall out. Sometimes it’s something really bad and really shit and no matter how much you talked about it, you’d never be able to fix it. But sometimes it’s not that. Sometimes it’s about one person being stupid and petty and having the wrong fucking end of the stick. Right?
What are you supposed to do then? You tell me, Webfreaks. Cause I sure as hell don’t know.
Say, for example, you told a friend something really important. And then that friend laughed at you, and then made it into something else. And then told someone else. And then that someone else, who, by the way, was already a fucking bitch, decided to make your life even harder?
What do you do then? Can you talk it out? Can you be friends again? I’m guessing not. I’m guessing this is the time when you turn into enemies.
This is when you fall off the fucking rainbow.
Right?
16
Polly
‘I think we need to get Jon in here, don’t you?’
Lucas nods.
Polly goes out into the corridor. She wants to scream. This. On her first day? This is madness. Whatever’s gone on between Lucas and Katie has got him worried enough to come and talk to her before the police talk to him. Where are they, anyway? Probably still at the scene, she thinks. But wouldn’t they send some different ones here? They can’t do everything. Surely they can send some here to make some enquiries while the others are at the house. Or does it have to be the same officers, the same team as the one doing the murder investigation? If that’s what it is – a murder. No one has actually said that yet, not officially, but it’s coming. She’s sure of it. If the girl had just died of something weird, some natural cause – you hear about it, those weird undiagnosed medical conditions. But no, this is not that. This is something bad. And Lucas is involved. Somehow he is involved.
She knocks on Jon’s door, even though it’s not fully closed. Force of habit.
‘Polly,’ he says. He’s sitting behind his desk. Catherine, his secretary, is sitting in the chair opposite. She’s been crying.
‘Jon, I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m not sure what time the police are due, but something’s come up. Can you come through to my office?’
Catherine says, ‘Do you want me to come, too? I could take notes or something?’ She sniffs, takes a hanky from up her cardigan sleeve and blows her nose noisily.
Polly knows she’s only trying to be helpful, trying to keep herself busy, but she also detects a hint of nosiness and she’s not ready for that, not yet.
‘No, that’s fine, thanks Catherine. Just Jon for now. You should probably be at your desk, in case the police come. Or if they ring. I don’t know what the protocol is—’
‘No, you’re right. Thanks, Polly. Cath, do you mind? I’m sorry. I’ll fill you in once I know what’s going on.’
She walks back to her office in silence, Jon close behind. He has the grace not to ask her anything else. She hopes that he can sense from her ton
e that she wants him to wait. That whatever it is she wants him to hear will come from someone else, not her. This is not her story to tell.
Back in Polly’s office, Lucas is slumped forward, his head in his hands.
‘Lucas!’ Jon’s voice is filled with alarm. Clearly this is not who he was expecting to see in here.
Lucas sits up. His eyes are red and his face blotchy. Polly hopes he won’t clam up now. Hopes he’ll tell her the rest, with Jon here. If they need to provide him with support, he’s going to have to tell them all he knows. The police aren’t likely to be so sympathetic. Not if they think . . . Polly pushes the thought away. Don’t jump to conclusions. Although it’s hard not to.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lucas says. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Jon sits on the spare chair at the side of the desk. ‘What’s this about, Polly? Lucas? Is this something to do with Katie?’
Lucas looks like he’s going to be sick.
‘Jon, Lucas came to me to discuss what’s been going on with Katie. He thought it would be useful to put us in the picture before the police arrive. They’ll want to question everyone, including me, although I can’t think I’ll have much to contribute. You two knew Katie. They’ll be expecting your help.’
Jon sighs. ‘Is this about your tutoring, Lucas?’ Something in his voice gives him away. He knows, Polly thinks. He already knows about this.
‘Tutoring?’ Polly says. ‘From what I can gather, it’s a bit more than that.’
Lucas addresses Jon. ‘You know I was helping her out with stuff. Her uni applications. Extra work. You know she used to come round to my house sometimes. I told you this before. It was hard to find somewhere to chat properly. The school is closed in the evenings, except for Wednesday’s after-school club, and, well, I didn’t see the harm. I mean, maybe I spent too much time with her, I don’t know, it’s just . . .’ He lets the sentence trail off, blows his nose again. That hanky must be sodden, Polly thinks. She pushes a box of tissues at him from the other side of the desk.
‘Lucas was telling me how he met Katie in Edinburgh sometimes, at the museum. He was teaching her about fossils and things, is that right?’
‘Not just that. Insects. Entomology. She was interested in microbiology initially, but then it led to more. She was keen to study forensics. She loved Silence of the Lambs. The guys in the lab who analyse the moths. Stuff like that fascinates her.’
Polly notices that he is still talking about her in the present tense, but she knows that’s normal. She doesn’t correct him.
Jon moves his chair closer. ‘Lucas. I know about this. I know about you meeting her at your house. We discussed it, didn’t we? I told you it was OK as long as that’s all it was. Teaching. Tutoring. That’s all. You’re not telling me now that there was any more to it? She was barely seventeen, Lucas. You never forgot that, did you?’
‘No. No! Jesus. That’s why I’m here. Of course. Of course.’ He takes another tissue from the box and rubs at his face until the tissue breaks into pieces.
Jon and Polly exchange a glance.
‘What are you so worried about, Lucas? If that’s all it was? I see what you mean now about your friendship, but I’m not sure it was even that, was it? Not if it was all schoolwork—’
‘It wasn’t just schoolwork,’ Lucas says quietly.
Jon lets out a long, slow breath.
‘Spit it out, man. What’s been going on?’
Lucas sighs. ‘We were friends. She told me stuff. About her family. About her boyfriend, about—’
Fear slides through her veins. ‘Told you what? What kinds of things?’
‘She told me about things they did with each other. She wanted me to tell her it was OK. She wanted a male opinion, I suppose. I mean, her dad’s not around. Her mum doesn’t seem to have anyone regular in her life. And she told me about her sister and her brother and her mother, and everything. She told me everything. She told me about her friends, and the ones she’d fallen out with. She wanted . . .’ He pauses, unsure. ‘She wanted to know if I found her attractive.’
‘She what?’ Jon’s face has gone a deep red. He is trying, and failing, to keep his anger in check. ‘And you didn’t think to nip this in the bud? Didn’t think it was inappropriate?’
Lucas sighs. ‘I’m twenty-five, Jon. I’m not that much older than her. It’s perfectly feasible that she could have friends of my age. She’s very mature for her age, she wasn’t like the other girls in her year, she—’
‘That’s enough, Lucas. I think maybe we should leave this for the police to deal with, don’t you? Polly, what do you think?’
Polly wants to say she’s shocked, but she isn’t. She can relate to Katie, even though she never even met the girl. She’d always had older friends. When she started going to the pubs at eighteen, most of her friends were in their mid to late twenties. She’d looked up to them, admired them, wanted affirmation from them that she was doing OK.
But that’s not the issue here.
The issue is that Katie was seventeen, and that Lucas was her teacher. And if these things were being said – Katie flirting, sounding him out – then he should’ve put a stop to it. Discouraged her. Told her she needed to talk to someone else about her feelings – that their meetings should be about school and nothing else. But it wasn’t as simple as that. Nothing was cut and dried. It never was when teenagers and hormones were involved.
‘I think we should keep this to ourselves, just for a bit,’ Polly says. ‘I understand why Lucas is upset, and I understand why he’s worried – but flagging this up as an issue isn’t going to help right now. It might send the police off on the wrong track. It’s not as if Lucas knows anything about Katie’s death, is it?’
She looks at Lucas, who barely nods. He looks away.
‘Do you know something?’ Jon says.
‘Of course not. It’s not that. Of course I don’t. It’s just that, well, she died early this morning, didn’t she? The police will want to talk to whoever saw her last . . .’
An icy tingle runs down Polly’s spine. ‘When did you last see her, Lucas?’ She wants him to say Friday, leads him there. ‘Was it Friday? After school?’
Lucas lets out a strangled sob. ‘No,’ he says. ‘I saw her last night. I was in her bedroom.’
LucasCrispIsAPaedo
Secret Group
168 Members (100 new)
Luke Crust
12h
Good to see you’re all sharing this and getting the word out there. We cannae let him get away with this . . .
Likes(65) Comments(8)
Sally Stephens Do we know who set this page up? I don’t think it’s a very good idea when we don’t know all the facts yet, is it?
Big Jim Nailor Fuck off, Sally Stephens.
Al Samson Maybe somebody could tell us all the facts, eh? It’s only rumours so far.
Big Jim Nailor What facts do you need, you numpty? The girl’s deid. That dodgy teacher has been trying to get into her pants. Or he wiz in them . . .
Al Samson See what I mean? You dinnae even ken!
Luke Crust Fucksake. I’ll post details in a separate thread.
Joe Crow Ooh, this is a bit exciting!
Leanne Keddie Yous are all sick.
Luke Crust
10h
Here’s the facts as we know them:
1. On Monday morning, Katie Taylor was found dead at home, in her bed, by her mother
2. On Monday afternoon, Lucas Crisp had a private meeting with the new school counsellor and the headmaster
3. It has been reported that Katie was seen with Crisp outside school hours, not on school property
4. It has been reported that Crisp has sent inappropriate letters to female pupils at the school, pupils who are under 16
5. It has been reported that Crisp has commented on what some of the female pupils wear to school
6. It has been reported that several girls at the school have felt uneasy in Crisp’s presence
&nb
sp; 7. [edited to add] It is known that Crisp has in the past helped Katie with extra-curricular activities
Likes(110) Comments(18)
Sally Stephens According to whom? Is this from the police?
Big Jim Nailor Fuck off, Sally Stephens.
Al Samson Who’s goin round to see this prick, then?
Big Jim Nailor Now, now, Al Samson *wink* We’ve no got any ‘evidence’ apparently . . .
Joe Crow Can I come?
Leanne Keddie You’re all joking, right? No one is really going to do anything, are they? We don’t know anything yet. This is mad!
Al Samson Fuck off, Leanne Keddie.
Luke Crust Are there not enough facts in the list above? Jesus, what’s it going to take to get yous lot to do something?
Sally Stephens Please . . . I agree with Leanne Keddie . . . this isn’t right.
Leanne Keddie Thanks, Sally Stephens – maybe we should report the page?
Al Samson Are you two fucking radge? Want us to come round yours when we’re done?
Big Jim Nailor Ignore them Al Samson. Two stupid bints. We’ll get plenty more support from people who know what we need to do about this shite.
Lou Peters I’m up for a rumble.
Gary Niven Me tae.
Pete Reed Count me in, boys.
Joe Crow What time?
Sally Stephens Right, that’s it. I’m reporting this page.
Big Jim Nailor I ken where you live, Sally Stephens . . . You’d better make sure your doors are locked the night, ken what I mean?
17
Louise
Louise is struggling to breathe in the kitchen, with the amount of tobacco smoke hanging in the air. If it was summer, the back door might be open, letting it disperse. Some of it, at least. But it’s four degrees out there and there’s no way that Mandy Taylor is letting anyone leave the back door standing open. She’s already shouted at anyone who’s made the mistake of leaving the front door open, even for a couple of minutes. Louise coughs, she can’t help it.