by Wes Markin
‘Louis Mayers. Where has he gone?’
No response.
Yorke still sweated despite the air conditioning. ‘How could you stand by and let him harm innocent people. Neil? Susie? They tell me she’s barely coherent. What did he do to her?’
Severance wrote: abominable things.
‘Precisely. You can sit there and justify Werrell, Simmonds, Long and Salton all you want. In your own twisted way, you can share among them the responsibility for the tragedy of your life, Christian. But what did Susie and Neil ever do to you?’
Nothing. But this was not of my choosing. This was the Conduit’s choice. The Conduit’s research.
‘And now what? Has he done with you?’
Yes, he has learned all he can from me. Now, he must learn from others. We have helped each other. It was symbiotic.
‘Learned what? If this adapted version of HASD takes off won’t we all be hiding behind locked doors?’
The Conduit never wanted it to become a method of healing. He just wanted to prove its success. He has taken Adam’s research to a new level. Now it is up to someone else to find a way to bring it back, effectively, to a clinical setting.
‘Christian, I appreciate the trauma that you must have endured, but really? Mayer’s work is going with him to a jail cell for the rest of his life. For the rest of all your lives. A good person, one of the very best people, is lying critically ill in hospital. Another good person is broken, potentially beyond repair, because of your research. Research? You and Mayers are no different from that doctor in the Auschwitz concentration camp who performed abhorrent human experiments.’
Severance narrowed his eyes.
‘They called him the Angel of Death. What do you think they will call Mayers? What do you think they will call you, Christian? You brought silence to all your victims. The Angel of Silence? No, I don’t think so. I don’t think they’ll bother with a name. Hopefully, they will dehumanise you, like you’ve dehumanised all those people. Maybe you’ll be a chapter in a book we can all look back on. Sneer at. A quiet, irrelevant chapter because no one wants to read it, or fathom what you or that other monster were trying to do. You never had anything to say, Christian, not really, not since you lost your tongue, and then your humanity. You’ll be lost in silence. Yes ... that’s a good name for the chapter.’ Yorke nodded. ‘The Silence of Severance.’
Anthony Morris could hear movement outside. Someone was about to come into the unit. It was no good. He was yet to fulfil the bastard’s demands.
Judge Andrew Salton continued to sleep. When he finally woke, when awareness came, Anthony needed to act. He squeezed his eyes closed and snippets of Severance’s demands struck him like bullets.
… garden shears …
… super lightweight, easy to manoeuvre …
… he must be awake, he must sense everything, like I did …
… then, do it to yourself …
… she sleeps while I stroke her hair …
… you may even hear the snap of her neck, because I’m nearer than you think …
The shears clung to a huge portion of Salton’s tongue. Severance had been right in his claim that they were super lightweight and easy to manoeuvre, but he hadn’t factored in Anthony’s shaking hands. Blood dripped from Salton’s tongue.
The steel door rolled up. Anthony glanced over his shoulder as a large man wearing a suit, flanked by a smaller wiry man pointing a firearm at him. They approached.
Jake had not expected them to be alive in here. And, for that, he was thankful. He couldn’t be too thankful about other aspects of this situation though. Most notably, trigger-happy Friars lining up a shot on the man holding the garden shears.
‘POLICE! PUT THAT DOWN! NOW!’ Friars shouted.
Deciding that there was little point discussing the situation with the highly-trained walking weapon beside him, Jake took a step forward. ‘DS Pettman, step back, that is an order!’
Jake held up a hand to Friars, requesting a moment’s grace, knowing that this decision, disobeying an order, was probably going to cost him.
The man’s sweat-covered face glistened and trembled. Jake could see the tears in his eyes.
‘DS Pettman, I will ask you one last time. FALL BACK.’
Jake turned his head. ‘Can you not see he is acting against his will, sir?’
Friars’ nostrils flared. He paused to consider it. ‘His hands so much as twitch, I take the shot, understand?’
Jake nodded and turned back.
There must have been some humanity in Friars, Jake reasoned, because the man’s hands were already twitching. It was fortunate Judge Salton slept on, because his tongue was fully extended, and the grip of the shears looked tight. If he was awake, the panic might send him reeling backwards, and that would make a mess.
Jake addressed the man holding the shears. ‘We know who the sleeping man in the chair is, but please tell me who you are.’
‘I have no choice,’ the man said.
‘Your name, sir?’
‘He has my daughter.’
‘Name?’
‘Anthony … Anthony Morris.’
‘Who has your daughter?’
‘Christian Severance.’
‘No, he doesn’t. He is in custody.’
Anthony’s eyes widened; then, his face started to soften. Jake felt a sudden rush of optimism. He offered a nod and a smile. Anthony opened his mouth to reply, but then the chair-bound Andrew Salton started to groan.
Anthony looked down at his victim stirring in the chair and readied the sheers. ‘No! You’re lying. He left me a message and he’s watching. When he wakes, I must do this, and not a moment before.’
Jake took another step forward.
‘DS PETTMAN!’ Friars shouted.
Jake flinched. ‘Listen to me, Anthony, he came into the station a couple of hours ago, after he left you and Judge Salton here. How do you think we know you are here? He confessed.’
Salton moaned again.
Anthony shook his head. ‘She’s all I have, everything. He left me a photo on that phone over there. He’s got her, and he’s watching. That camera in the corner.’
Jake glanced back at the camera. ‘Let me see if it is connected.’
‘NO! He sees you messing with it, he’ll break her neck. He said he would.’
Jake realised that he couldn’t guarantee that she wasn’t in danger. Mayers could have her for all he knew, but he needed to continue this pretence, or it was going to end badly. ‘I guarantee you that he is in custody. Now, please, Anthony, you have to trust me, and you have to put that weapon down.’
Anthony looked at the shears in his hands. ‘This is the only guarantee I have.’
‘Anthony, you must listen. There is an armed officer behind me, not prepared to wait. If Salton wakes up, he will shoot you, and then you will never see your daughter again.’
‘At least, she will live.’
‘She will live, Anthony, because he doesn’t have her.’
Then an idea flashed through Jake’s mind, but he was low on time. Salton continued to groan. ‘Where is your daughter now? We can phone her.’
‘Her grandparents. They take care of her, since Maggie, my wife, passed away.’
‘Number?’
Jake pulled out his phone. He had no reception, but he banged in the number as Anthony said it and then sprinted outside.
‘Please, sir,’ Jake said, on the way past, ‘we can do this properly.’
‘Make the call,’ Friars said, keeping the gun trained on Anthony, ‘that man will be conscious in minutes.’
Severance wrote on a card and slid it over to Yorke.
I need the toilet.
‘That’s fine,’ Yorke said, ‘but after you leave this room, you are heading back to a cell. We’re finished. Next time I see you, you will be in court.’
I understand.
Yorke gestured down at the phone. ‘So, you’re not interested in the outcome?’
Yorke stood up and pointed at Severance. ‘Don’t you be so sure! We’ve stopped men before you. Men with intentions as cruel and vile as yours.’
I take all the responsibility for stopping myself now, Detective. It is over, and you can rest. Finality fast approaches.
Yorke looked up at the guard. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Take him to the toilet and then bring him straight back afterwards. I want him here when this phone call comes in. I need him to experience failure.’
Droplets of rain pounded Jake’s face, but that was the least of his problems. He’d been sent through to voicemail twice now. Not wanting to share his anger with the occupants of the unit, he moved away from the roll-up shutters to kick the wall between units.
Then he tried twice more. Please … please … for the love of God.
No answer.
Okay, one last time, Jake thought, or we really are fucked…
Someone answered. ‘Hello?’
‘Robson Morris?’ Jake said, his heart pounding.
‘Yes?’
‘My name is DS Jake Pettman. There is no time. Please answer me this question: is your granddaughter safe?’
‘Err … yes … of course.’
‘Thank God, thank God.’ Jake started to move back towards the open unit.
‘Why? What is going on?’
‘It’ll be fine. I just need to tell your son, Anthony, that you have her and she is safe.’
‘Have her? Well, I don’t actually have her. She’s at a friend’s at the moment, but she is quite safe, I can assure you.’
Jake’s blood froze.
He heard Friar’s shout. ‘If he opens his eyes again, I will have to shoot. Please put the weapon down!’
We’re fucked, Jake thought.
David Sturridge yanked down his trousers and sat on the toilet. Outside his cubicle, he could hear the guard pacing back and forth. Quickly, he rolled back the sleeve on his prison overalls to expose the plaster on his forearm. He brushed his fingers over the wound, feeling the small lump beneath his skin. Then, he peeled back the plaster, and dropped it between his legs into the toilet bowl.
He looked at the five stitches that held his skin closed, drew a deep breath through his nose, and started to unpick.
Once the blood started to flow out of the re-opened wound, and the pain became excruciating, he breathed out. He so desperately wanted to take rapid breaths as the hyperventilation would help with the pain, but the guard would be through the unlocked cubicle door in a second.
The blood was working his way down his arm, over his hands, and dripping onto the floor. He didn’t have much time. If the guard didn’t hear the steady drip, he would most certainly see the blood snaking out under the door.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed his thumb and forefinger as far into the wound as he could. He needed to get this right first time.
And he did.
His finger and thumb struck home.
Yorke fidgeted in his chair. Something wasn’t right.
Jake had still not updated him. Add to that, Severance’s sudden need to go to the toilet.
He looked through Severance’s cards again. One line jumped out at him.
Finality fast approaches.
Two realisations hit Yorke simultaneously, both with a significant physical impact.
The first realisation, which threw Yorke from his chair at the interview room door, was that all three of them, Sturridge, Chloe and Severance, had suffered a peculiar itch in his presence.
The second realisation, which sent Yorke sprinting down the corridor towards the toilet, was that when Severance offered his ‘finality,’ he was not referring to the outcome of the Salton situation in that storage unit. He was referring to the end of him.
And, of course, one and one made two. They shared everything. The itch was the doorway to their shared finality.
When the prison guard, Lucy Moss, opened the cubicle door, she almost threw up.
On the left side of Chloe Ward’s belly button, her stomach was open. Blood bubbled out of the wound, flowed over her pubis and down her legs. Her head was slumped forward, and her long hair formed a curtain that covered her exposed chest. Moss could hear her struggling to breathe.
Had she been stabbed?
But how?
Moss turned full circle. There was no one else in the toilets with them. But even if there had have been, how would they have got into the cubicle and stabbed Chloe? She had been standing right in front of the fucking cubicle door!
Herself? Had Chloe stabbed herself? But, again how? There wouldn’t have been a knife in those pocketless trousers? And why the fuck had she taken off her shirt?
‘HELP! EMERGENCY! PRISONER DOWN!’
She turned and approached Chloe, knowing she had breached the growing puddle of blood, and lifted her prisoner’s head. Chloe immediately vomited over Moss’ chest.
Moss backed away as Chloe slipped from the toilet bowl into the pool of her own blood and sick, and began to convulse violently.
Lightning forked across the sky and several more monstrous drops of rain thumped his forehead, but Jake didn’t seek shelter; instead, he stared with horror into the storage facility, waiting for the tragedy to unfold.
Salton was starting to move his body around in the chair, and although his eyes were still closed, he was fast regaining consciousness.
He’d run out of ideas. Yes, he could chance everything. Sprint in, knock a superior officer aside, throw himself at Anthony Morris, hoping he could disarm him before the shears snapped shut.
But what kind of chance was that really?
Salton’s eyes snapped open. Cue carnage.
Jake’s phone rang. ‘NO!’ he shouted into the unit. He answered the phone. ‘Hello?’
It was a girl’s voice. ‘Sir?’
‘Briony?’
‘Yes.’
He dropped the phone to his side. ‘ANTHONY. IT’S YOUR DAUGHTER, SAFE AT HER FRIENDS!’
Chair-bound Salton was murmuring, and his eyes were widening.
‘ANDREW DO NOT PULL YOUR HEAD BACK!’ Jake shouted.
He couldn’t go in with the phone as he’d lose reception, so he hit the speakerphone button. ‘Tell your father you’re safe, Briony, as loud as you can.’
‘DAD, I’M OKAY!’
Thunder rumbled. It sounded like the sky was being split in too. The garden shears hit the floor.
‘What’s happening?’ Salton said, slurring.
Friars lowered the weapon and Salton burst into tears. ‘Briony?’ He came running out with his hand outstretched for the phone.
Jake handed it over, knelt against the wall between the units, and took some deep breaths. Then, the skies opened. The rain poured.
During his sprint from the interview room, Yorke had made a great deal of commotion, so he wasn’t alone when he reached the toilets; although, he was first to fly through the door.
The guard, who stood outside the central cubicle, reeled back in shock when Yorke almost collided with him.
Yorke yanked the cubicle door open.
Severance sat on the toilet with his trousers and underwear around his ankles, and his fingers buried in his thigh. Without looking up at Yorke, he plucked something from the wound and brought it towards his mouth.
Yorke sprang, clutched Severance’s right wrist and slammed his hand into the cubicle wall. Something came loose from Severance’s fingers, hit the ground, and rolled off.
After releasing his hand, Yorke backed out of the cubicle. ‘Get hold of him and get him some medical attention.’
Obliging officers closed in on the cubicle.
Yorke swooped for the small plastic vile that Severance had dropped. His own clothes were stained with blood; he thought nothing of wiping it clean on his trouser leg. ‘White powder. Some kind of poison. Cyanide, potentially. Doesn’t look like much, but there could be over 100mg in here, and that would be enough to
kill someone.’
He came out the toilets and latched onto two officers in the corridor. ‘I need you to run and contact the prisons where Chloe Ward and David Sturridge are being held. Tell them to suspect a suicide attempt.’
They both started to run, but Yorke knew it would be too late. Severance had looked at the clock on the wall before requesting the toilet. The three of them would have synchronised this suicide attempt. If testing did show it to be cyanide, and the dose was high enough, it could kill in three to five minutes following ingestion.
Tyler ran over, holding out his mobile phone, which he must have grabbed from the interview room. ‘It’s DS Pettman, sir. He’s tried your phone, but you weren’t answering.’
He took the phone call, and listened to Jake’s good news, and sighed with relief.
As he ended the call, he watched Christian Severance being escorted out by two officers, each clutching an arm.
Severance’s trousers and underwear were still around his ankles, inhibiting his movements, so he was being dragged by the officers. Blood was running down his leg from his thigh, but the bleed didn’t look serious..
‘Cover him up!’ Yorke said, raising his voice. ‘That is not how we behave in this station.’
Red-faced, one of the officers hoisted up Severance’s underwear and trousers. Severance winced as it brushed against his open wound. The trouser leg started to glow red where the material met his thigh.
The officers grabbed his arms again. Yorke approached Severance until he stood in front of him.
‘I just took a phone call from my officer at your storage unit.’
Severance looked up at Yorke. His eyes narrowed.
‘They are both fine.’
Severance turned his head from side to side.
‘You failed, Christian.’
Severance bared his teeth.
‘Sir?’
Yorke turned. It was the officer he’d sent to make contact about Chloe and Sturridge. She gave him a sad expression and shook her head. He turned back. ‘Your friends succeeded where you have failed. There will be no easy exit for you, Christian, I’m afraid. You told me before that you didn’t believe that time was the greatest healer. I really, genuinely hope you are wrong about that because you will be spending a long, long time on suicide watch.’