Trust A Stranger

by Baxter, Cole

  “Could I please have some water?” he said.

  “Oh. Oh, yes, of course,” the nurse said.

  Her smile looked a little more genuine as she came back to Michael’s bedside. She poured some water into his glass—or more accurately, his plastic beaker—and then she pressed a button on the side of his bed, raising his upper body. She held the cup to his lips and he drank gratefully.

  “Thank you,” he said when he had drunk almost the full cup of water. “You know, I’m myself again now. You can undo the straps now.”

  “The doctor will be along later,” the nurse said. “He’ll discuss that with you. I’m going to send your visitors in now, okay?”

  Michael nodded. This hadn’t gone perfectly—he was still restrained—but it could have been worse. He had been given water, brought up into a more comfortable position, and told he would be untied soon. And Abel and his mother were here.

  The nurse left the room and Michael waited. He was excited at the thought of seeing Abel. He would know the right thing to say, and he would reassure Michael that there was no dark side to him, just like he always did. He wasn’t sure he would believe him this time, but Abel had a way with words, a way of helping Michael to see the world differently.

  The door opened and Michael smiled. The smile faded when two strangers walked into the room. The first was a woman. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cold expression. She was thin to the point of skinny, and the way she was looking at Michael with judgmental eyes put him in mind of a starving vulture who was flying overhead, waiting for him to show some signs of weakness so she could swoop down and peck out his eyes.

  The second person to come into the room was a man. He had black hair with a few softer brown streaks, and he was tall—really tall. Michael thought he looked Japanese, but of course, he was no expert, and the man could just as easily be Chinese or even Korean. He had brown eyes, and where the woman’s eyes were cold, the man’s eyes were warm, even sympathetic.

  Both of them wore black suits and flat sensible black shoes. Beneath the suit jacket, the man wore a pale blue shirt and the woman wore a white blouse that looked like it had been starched.

  “Um, I think you guys might have the wrong room,” Michael said.

  He knew he didn’t recognize these two people, and he hoped they agreed with his theory. Otherwise, they had to be people he had met during his blackout, and he wasn’t ready to face the reality of that. Not yet. Not before Abel was here.

  “We haven’t,” the woman barked primly.

  “You are Michael Lancaster, right?” the man said with a smile.

  Michael nodded, wary now.

  “I’m Detective Ito, and this is Detective Aylesbury,” the man went on. Michael resisted the urge to smile at the man’s name. He had been right about the Japanese thing, although his accent told Michael he was as American as he was. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right?”

  “Okay,” Michael said cautiously.

  Detective Ito smiled reassuringly at him and went and grabbed the plastic chair from the corner. He stood it beside Michael’s bed and nodded to Detective Aylesbury who sat down in it. Detective Ito perched on the side of Michael’s bed.

  “Can you tell me where you were on Tuesday morning?” Detective Ito said.

  Michael shook his head.

  “I . . . I don’t know. What day is it today?”

  “Thursday,” Detective Aylesbury said. “And this is going to go much better if you’re honest with us, Mr. Lancaster.”

  She said his name like it was a swear word. Michael frowned, trying hard to remember. Had it been Tuesday when he’d had breakfast with Abel? Maybe.

  “How long have I been here?” Michael asked.

  “We’ll be the ones asking the questions, Mr. Lancaster,” Detective Aylesbury said.

  Detective Ito gave her an exasperated look and shook his head.

  “You were brought in on Tuesday, lunchtime,” he said.

  “Right,” Michael said.

  The other detective had said it was Thursday. So that meant he had lost two days. It wasn’t his worst fugue state. Once, after the accident, he lost a full month. The thought of the accident made Michael’s heart beat a little faster, and he pushed the thoughts away before they could take over and make him act irrationally. The police had never shown up in the hospital to see him before, and he was confused and a little afraid. He had to keep his guard up.

  “The last thing I remember was having breakfast at home with my brother. That must have been Tuesday morning if I was brought in Tuesday at lunchtime,” Michael said. “I blacked out after that. I have PTSD, and my doctor says I have something called fugues, where my mind kind of shuts down for a while and I don’t remember those times afterward.”

  The detectives nodded, and Michael got the impression from their almost dismissive nods that they already knew that. They had likely already spoken to his doctor or seen his file. He wasn’t sure what that meant for him or how he felt about it, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  “For the record, that breakfast you remember happened on Monday morning. No one seems to know where you went or what you did after you left the house that day. Do you know a David Carter?” Detective Aylesbury asked.

  The quick change of direction threw Michael for a moment, and he started to shake his head, but then he realized who she meant and he nodded instead.

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “How do you know him?”

  “I’m an artist,” Michael said. “David has bought a few of my pieces, and he commissioned me to do a mural in his game room. That was like three years ago, though.”

  “Where you met his wife, right?” Detective Aylesbury said, ignoring his statement about the three years.

  Michael nodded, smiling as he thought of Ariel. She had become a good friend over the years, and even after the mural was finished, they had stayed in touch via email and the odd phone call here and there. Michael adored Ariel, and he had felt instantly protective of her when he first met her. She was innocent and naïve, and he got bad vibes from David. He thought Ariel could do a lot better. Those thoughts had been confirmed over the months after that when he saw bruises on Ariel and when she admitted to him that her marriage was far from happy.

  “How did you see the relationship between the couple, Mr. Lancaster?” Detective Aylesbury asked.

  “I didn’t see them together a lot. David would come in, comment on the mural, and leave, and then Ariel would come in. I got the impression he was unkind to her, maybe a little abusive. But she seemed to love him.”

  “Do you think he should treat her better?” Detective Aylesbury said. She was smiling, but it still wasn’t meeting her eyes.

  “I think everyone should treat everyone else with respect and kindness and make the world a better place,” Michael said.

  “Indeed,” Detective Aylesbury said. “There are so many injustices in our world today, right? If you saw someone being treated unjustly, would you step in?”

  It felt like a trick question to Michael, and he wasn’t sure how to answer it. It was clear the detectives weren’t going to go on without an answer, though, and in the end, he settled for a shrug of the shoulders and the truth.

  “I’d like to think I would, but it’s hard to know for sure until you’re in that situation, isn’t it?”

  “If someone does step in and help someone who, say, is being bullied by their partner, do you believe that person should be punished? Or do you think they should be rewarded?”

  “Neither,” Michael said quickly. “I don’t think they should be punished if they’ve acted to save someone who can’t save themselves. I also don’t think they should be rewarded just for being a decent human being. Shouldn’t we all be decent human beings?”

  “So you believe that vigilante justice is the trait of a decent human being?” Detective Aylesbury said with a raised eyebrow. Michael shrugged, no longer sure what she wanted him
to say. Her questions were confusing, and he couldn’t work out why she was even asking them. “Do you see yourself as a hero, Michael?”

  Michael shook his head quickly. That was a question he had no trouble answering. He was no one’s hero. He couldn’t even convince Ariel to leave David.

  “This fugue state. How long does it take to get your memories back?” Detective Aylesbury said.

  It was another quick U-turn that left Michael confused for a second, but at least this was something he could speak confidently about.

  “My doctor says my memories might come back. But let’s put it this way. I’m thirty-eight now, and my first fugue state happened when I was ten. It lasted a month. And I’m still waiting for the memories to come back,” he said.

  “That’s convenient,” Detective Aylesbury muttered.

  “Not really,” Michael said, although he was sure he hadn’t been meant to hear her comment. “It’s actually very frustrating.”

  “Frustrating enough to make you kill a man? Frustrating enough to make you want to play at being a hero?” she said.

  “No,” Michael said, shocked at the accusation.

  Everything was starting to make sense now. The fugue state. The detectives. The restraints. His dark side had come out to play and he had killed someone. Fuck, this was bad. Much worse than he had suspected when he awoke here to find himself restrained.

  “Yes,” Detective Aylesbury said almost gently. “You were found by a member of the public on Tuesday morning. They called us because they were worried for your safety. Detective Ito and I were the first officers to respond to the call. We found you a couple of miles from David Carter’s home where he had been violently stabbed to death. You were sitting on the ground, your eyes wide and staring. Vacant. And you confessed, Michael. You kept saying, ‘I killed him.’ You said it over and over again. That’s what happened, isn’t it? You snapped and killed David Carter.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve told you, I don’t remember,” Michael said.

  He could feel himself starting to spiral. He had never thought of himself as someone who was capable of killing, but he had no idea what his dark side was capable of. And if the police said he’d killed someone, then he must have. The police didn’t get stuff like this wrong. If they said he’d done it, then he must have done it.

  “It’s okay, Michael,” Detective Aylesbury said. Her tone was soft and gentle now. “You can tell us the truth. We understand why you did it. You were just trying to save your friend, weren’t you? If you confess to what you did, we can help you. But if you keep denying it, then unfortunately, this isn’t going to end well for you.”

  Michael’s head was spinning. One side of him was sure he should trust that the detectives knew better than him what had happened. But there was another side to him, one that wondered why Detective Aylesbury had shifted from cold to warm, why she had stopped calling him Mr. Lancaster and started calling him Michael.

  “Michael?” Detective Aylesbury said. “It’s okay.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her he didn’t remember, but she must be right. He would confess and she would help him and everything would be okay.

  “Michael?” a voice said from beside him.

  He turned his head and felt relief flood him. Abel stood beside his bed. Michael hadn’t even seen him come in. He had been too intent on the detectives and their probing. Michael smiled in relief at his brother, taking in his familiarity. The twins were the same and yet different, two halves of a whole. They both had dark hair and dark eyes. They were both tall and lean, although Abel looked muscular where Michael looked thin. And where Michael was pale and a little drawn, Abel was tanned and youthful looking, the picture of good health.

  “Don’t even think about confessing to something you didn’t do,” Abel said in a voice that left no room for an argument. His voice was the voice of reason, Michael’s anchor to reality. “If they had any real evidence on you, they wouldn’t be here trying to lure you into a confession. You didn’t do this and they know it. They just want an easy conviction. Don’t give it to them.”

  “Michael? Are you all right?” Detective Ito asked.

  Michael turned back to the detectives.

  “Actually, I’m a little bit tired and I’d like you to go now,” he said.

  “But—” Detective Aylesbury started.

  Michael shook his head. He had been around long enough to know how this worked. He wasn’t under arrest and he had every right to ask them to leave.

  “But nothing. I need to rest. Good day, Detectives,” Michael said.

  He closed his eyes, praying they would leave the room. He felt Detective Ito’s weight leave the mattress, and he heard the chair legs scraping on the ground as Detective Aylesbury stood up. He heard footsteps and then the door opening and closing. He opened his eyes.

  “Thank you . . .” he started saying to Abel, but Abel had gone.

  He must have followed them out, going to give them a piece of his mind, Michael thought to himself. He closed his eyes again, a small smile playing over his lips. Abel didn’t think he had done this, and Abel would make sure he didn’t do or say anything stupid.

  Click here to keep reading Did He Do It.

  About Cole Baxter

  Cole Baxter loves writing psychological suspense thrillers. It’s all about that last reveal that he loves shocking readers with.

  He grew up in New York, where there crime was all around. He decided to turn that into something positive with his fiction.

  His stories will have you reading through the night—they are very addictive!

  Sign up for Cole’s VIP Reader Club and find out about his latest releases, giveaways, and more. Click here!

  For more information, be sure to check out the links below!

  colebaxterauthor@gmail.com

  Also by Cole Baxter

  Trust A Stranger

  Did He Do It

  Follow You

  The Perfect Nanny

  What Happened Last Night

  Perfect Obsession

  She’s Missing

  What She Forgot

  Before She’s Gone

  Stolen Son