Dead Inside

by Noelle Holten

  Lucy raised herself up off the floor, using the bed as leverage. She felt so dizzy and was afraid she’d pass out again. She needed to see what he’d done this time. Her body ached. It took her forever to reach the bathroom. The dizzy spells were overwhelming, the whole building rocked under her feet, and she had to stop every few seconds.

  Pushing open the door, the mirror directly ahead, Lucy stifled a scream. This was too much. She hardly recognized herself. Enough was enough, she was going to call the police and press charges this time. Lucy was struggling to remember exactly what had happened, but the damage to her face told enough of a story. Turning to leave, Lucy noticed someone was in the bath. It was Patrick. A knife stuck out of his chest, his eyes wide open, and milky. Blood pooled around and sloshed all over the tub. He was dead.

  Lucy couldn’t remember what had happened. Someone had killed Patrick and her greatest fear was that she was that someone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

  DC Maggie Jamieson was getting ready to go home when the call came in. She threw her coat on and ran out of the door. She knew Lucy and, despite the discussions with Hooper and the team, she never really believed Lucy could murder anyone. Then again, although she had some suspicions, she’d not been sure of the domestic abuse in Lucy’s life. Lucy always appeared to be focused and together. She chaired the Domestic Abuse Forum meetings and was the probation Lead for Domestic Abuse. Maggie shook her head in dismay. You just never knew what people were capable of and what others might be hiding.

  Maggie headed down to the custody suite first to see how Lucy was, but also to try to figure out what the hell was going on. When the cell door opened, Maggie felt saddened. Huddled on the bed, rocking herself, sat Lucy. Her face battered, and she had dried blood in her hair.

  ‘How are you doing, Lucy? Do you need anything?’

  Lucy raised her head to see who had walked in and attempted to smile but looked completely bewildered and still in a lot of pain.

  ‘Oh, Maggie! What have I done? What have I done?’ The anguish and confusion in Lucy’s voice tugged at Maggie’s heart, but she knew she had to maintain her professionalism.

  ‘Look, Lucy, you’re still under caution. Anything you say to me won’t be kept between us, OK? I need you to know that. When I heard the news that you were here, I just had to see if you were OK.’

  ‘Does Mark know?’

  Maggie’s eyes dropped to the floor. ‘I don’t know, Lucy, I can find out for you.’

  Everyone in the team knew that Mark and Lucy’s friendship had grown since they’d been working so closely together. Maggie remembered Mark’s embarrassment in a recent briefing when Hooper had hinted at his fondness for Lucy. It was another question she’d have to ask though. A question she wasn’t looking forward to, because Mark may need to be questioned in relation to Patrick Quinn’s death.

  Lucy began rocking again. ‘I don’t know what happened.’ She moved back and forth, staring blankly at the wall. ‘I can’t remember anything. He was just there … in the tub … with the kni … and the blood, all the blood …’ Lucy was shaking, could barely finish the sentence. ‘Is he dead?’ She suddenly stared straight at Maggie. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he? Did I do this? No … no … no …’ She leaned her head back against the wall, and Maggie took hold of her hand.

  ‘Hey, breathe, Lucy. By the look of your face, it looks like you took quite a beating. Have you seen the doctor yet?’

  ‘Doctor? No, not yet. I don’t need a doctor. I think I fainted when I got here. Everything went blank. I feel like I’m losing my mind! Why is this happening? Am I going to go to prison?’

  ‘I can’t answer that right now. I’m concerned about you. I’m going to find out when the doctor will be in to see you, OK? Are you sure you don’t want some water?’

  ‘Water would be great.’ Lucy seemed to be calming down. ‘If it’s no bother, of course. I don’t want to cause any trouble.’

  Maggie squeezed Lucy’s hand. She looked at the battered woman before her. This wasn’t the Lucy Sherwood she knew. ‘It’s no bother at all. Hang tight and I’ll be back when I have some answers. PC Knightsbridge will bring you some water.’

  Maggie left the cell and headed to the custody desk. ‘Any idea when the doctor will be in to see Lucy Sherwood?’

  ‘Sherwood? We have her down as Quinn. Regardless, DC Jamieson, the doc is making his rounds now and believe it or not – there are others worse off than that poor lass. Do you want me to let you know when she’s been seen?’

  ‘That would be great. I’m really concerned about her mental well-being. Make sure that someone checks on her regularly until the doctor has been to see her. He may have some ideas of what else we can be doing.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Maggie needed to speak to DS Hooper and then Mark. She had never been faced with a colleague who was under arrest and knew that she’d need to tread carefully. Everyone was going to be on edge.

  In her gut, she still didn’t believe Lucy had killed her husband, or any of the other men for that matter. If asked right now, she couldn’t explain why, but something didn’t feel right. She also didn’t believe Mark was capable of hurting Patrick, but she knew his views on men that beat women and about his friendship with Lucy. You never know what people can be capable of when pushed.

  Although most solicitors these days don’t encourage a ‘no comment’ interview, Lucy’s solicitor had advised her to go ‘no comment’ throughout the police interview. Maggie guessed it had to do with the unanswered questions that still remained. Despite this, Lucy kept saying she must have killed her husband and deserved to be punished.

  With Lucy’s lack of recall in terms of the assault on herself and the murder of her husband, she was returned to the cells and would appear in magistrates’ court at the earliest opportunity.

  Maggie found it a very difficult interview. When she raised the deaths of the other men, Lucy looked blank, as if she had no idea what Maggie was asking or why. The team didn’t know what to think but Maggie was determined to find out the truth.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

  Lucy was remanded in custody, her case committed to Crown Court. She’d have to wait for more details from her solicitor, but accepted the decision without any fight. So many emotions clouded her thoughts. Patrick was really dead. Pain gripped her chest as she thought about Siobhan and Rory. Would they ever forgive her? Would she ever forgive herself?

  She was still in a daze. Followed the women in the line as they were inducted into the prison. Slamming doors and the echo of footsteps invaded her ears. A strange smell of bleach and mould hung in the air. She couldn’t believe she’d ended up here.

  When she was asked for a list of people who she wanted on her visiting order, her heart sank. She didn’t know who would still want to be associated with her. Rory’s name was one of the first she did include, because they had grown close. Rory might not want to see her, but their brief telephone conversation made her think otherwise. She also listed her parents and sister. At court she couldn’t bear to see the pain on her parents’ faces. When she had spoken to her father in the cells at the court, she told him she’d understand if they couldn’t visit. It was the first time she saw him cry.

  There was a TV blaring in the cell next to her. She looked at the empty bed across from her, dreading the time when another inmate would be joining her. For now, she was alone with her thoughts. Lucy had not pleaded guilty in court. She would have done, but her solicitor convinced her otherwise. Wrapping her hands around her knees, she rocked back and forth on the hard bed she would now be sleeping in. She didn’t want to keep everything bottled up inside anymore. Maggie and Mark, along with her solicitor, had encouraged Lucy to speak with Dr Moloney. After a little persuasion, Lucy had agreed.

  The doctor who had seen her, following her arrest, believed that the head injury sustained during the assault, as well as the systematic abuse she’d suffered over the years, could have caused selective memory loss. It wasn
’t uncommon for trauma of this nature to induce a psychological barrier, so the doctor suggested that Lucy speak with a psychologist while she underwent some further tests.

  Lucy was awaiting the results of the MRI. She had sporadic flashbacks of the evening. Wasn’t sure whether her fantasies of Patrick’s death had crossed over into reality and, somehow, she was remembering things she wished had happened rather than what actually happened.

  The guard came to collect her, unlocking the cell door and stepping inside, and Lucy followed behind with her head down. The coldness of the prison gave her permanent goose bumps, and she hated the green walls closing in on her each day she had to remain inside. Her solicitor was attempting to get her bail, but this would take time, if it was even possible, so she had to do what was asked until they had an answer from the judge. The female prison guard was one of the friendlier ones. She used to listen to her female offenders complain about their treatment in custody. The name-calling from guards, the shoving, abuse, and derogatory behaviour – Lucy was now experiencing all of this. What made it worse was the fact that the guards knew she was a probation officer. This placed Lucy in a vulnerable position with the guards themselves, but also with other prisoners. She had managed to keep it secret so far, but it was only a matter of time before one of the prison officers let it slip. Most prisons were privately owned now, with inexperienced staff for whom confidentiality was a word they failed to adhere to. Especially if it meant a few extra pounds to take home at the end of the month. Lucy used to have three prison officers on her caseload for this very thing.

  Lucy was led to one of the legal visit rooms. It was small but at least out of earshot of others. She sat quietly waiting for Dr Moloney to arrive. The room had two separate entrances, one where prisoners were brought through and the other where visitors entered. The large table in the middle of the room took up the majority of the space and two chairs were bolted to the floors on each side. Plastic windows surrounded the room like a fishbowl.

  Lucy was reminded that she was one of them. Not long ago, she would have been arriving through the other door. She watched as another prison officer escorted the young, goth-looking woman down the hall. She seemed familiar. On entering the room, the woman held out her hand. ‘Lucy Sherwood? Or would you prefer I use your married name? I understand you only used your maiden name for work?’

  ‘Sherwood is fine.’

  ‘OK, so – hello, Lucy. I’m Dr Kate Moloney. I’m not sure if you remember me? We’ve only met briefly on a few occasions.’

  Lucy stood up and shook her hand. She remembered the soft Irish accent and kind face.

  ‘Hello, Dr Moloney. I knew you looked familiar, but unfortunately my memory isn’t so great at the moment.’

  ‘That’s OK. Have a seat, Lucy. We don’t have much time today, I’m afraid. Have they told you why I’m here?’

  ‘Yes. My solicitor said you were going to assess me? Ask questions about the night I mur … I mean Patrick was murdered … to see what I can remember.’

  ‘Yes. You’re partially right. I will be assessing your state of mind at the time of the offence. I also want to walk you through exactly what happened. The police may have done this, when they first interviewed you, but given the trauma you suffered – I’ve seen the photos of your injuries – it’s unlikely that you’d have been able to give them any specific details of that night. How does that sound?’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine. That day … I mean, that afternoon, or whenever it was … it’s still not clear to me. I have these flashbacks sometimes. But I’m not sure if they’re things I wished would happen, or if they actually happened. Does that make sense?’

  ‘It does. You have to remember that you have been through a great trauma yourself, so your brain has gone into protective mode.’

  ‘I’ve heard of people who have blocked out whole events. What I’m worried about is when all that information surfaces. How will I be able to cope?’

  Lucy shifted in her seat and rubbed her forehead. Her breathing quickened, and her face had flushed slightly. A bead of sweat had formed where her hairline and forehead met.

  ‘Take your time, Lucy. We don’t have to finish everything today. I have a few visits prebooked with the prison. Look at me and take a few deep breaths. You can start wherever you feel comfortable, all right?’

  Lucy nodded. Taking a few deep breaths, she closed her eyes. Began to recount the details as they flickered through her mind. ‘I remember being upset, although I’m not exactly sure why. I felt betrayed about something. I remember Patrick’s face, he was in my face … shouting. Close up. He was always angry with me. I think he punched me. I hit my head on something hard. I don’t specifically remember waking up.’ Lucy wrung her hands together repeatedly. She felt as if she were somewhere else, in a different body looking down on the interview room from above.

  ‘You’re doing great, Lucy. Can you remember anything else?’

  Lucy rubbed her face in frustration. ‘I can’t … I just can’t … well, except … I thought I saw someone.’

  Dr Moloney sat up in her seat.

  ‘You think you saw someone? Or you did see someone?’

  ‘Arrrghhhhh … I don’t know!’ Lucy twisted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes wild. ‘Maybe it was Patrick. I just don’t know!’ Guilt tormented her.

  ‘OK, breathe, Lucy. It’s OK. Don’t push yourself. I want you to do something for me.’

  Lucy looked at the small notebook Dr Moloney placed in front of her. She swallowed and glanced nervously out of the window at the guard.

  ‘It’s OK. I cleared this with the Governor.’

  Lucy skimmed through the notebook. ‘What do I have to do?’

  ‘Well, sometimes this helps people in similar situations. Whenever you have one of your flashbacks, write down what you remember. No matter what it is. Whether you believe it to be real or not. Do you think you can do that?’

  ‘Yes. What about my nightmares?’ Lucy’s hand was shaking as she picked up the book.

  ‘Anything and everything. I’ve left my telephone details in the front. Add me to your list of calls and then if you need to speak before we next meet, you can call me. It doesn’t matter what time.’

  Lucy looked at Dr Moloney blankly. ‘Why? Why are you trying to help me?’ Her hands were shaking. ‘You work for the police. So how can I trust you?’

  ‘I’m not a police officer. I’m a consultant in a civilian capacity. If you feel uncomfortable or don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I just want to help you unscramble the flashbacks. However, it may also prove your innocence. OK?’

  Lucy got a sense that Dr Moloney wasn’t trying to trick her. ‘OK. I’m not saying I will do this. But I’ll think about it.’ Dr Moloney gave Lucy a reassuring smile. The sound of keys jangling and doors being unlocked made them both turn towards the doors. A prison officer shouted, ‘Time’s up!’ and stood out of the way so Lucy could get by.

  Lucy turned to look at Dr Moloney over her shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’re welcome, Lucy. I’ll see you next week.’

  As Lucy was escorted back to her cell, looking like a lost child in prison uniform, Dr Moloney busily scribbled notes. Something told Kate that Patrick’s murder wasn’t as straightforward as they all believed. What was Lucy Sherwood hiding? Or more importantly, who was she protecting?

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

  Later that night, Lucy picked up the journal for what felt like the hundredth time. There was something about writing down her feelings that made the remand in custody a bit more bearable. Dr Moloney was right. Lucy knew that she had to get the thoughts out of her head, but she had to be careful. Telling the truth would have consequences that she was not ready to deal with yet. Instead, she wrote about what it was like to live with Patrick on a daily basis. Maybe someone would understand why she did what she did. Lucy didn’t give any of the entries a date or title, she just wrote what came to mind, letting the words tell the story …<
br />
  Every day in that house with Patrick was becoming more and more of a struggle. I’m not sure people could or would ever understand how I felt … still feel … and how I could go about living a lie. Inside the bricks and mortar, which were no longer a home, I felt exactly the same way as I do now – imprisoned. It was like living with Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde at times. Never knowing which of the two I would be dealing with – yes, dealing – and negotiating my own feelings, to keep Patrick happy. Now that’s a joke! I’m not sure Patrick was ever, or could ever, be happy. A deep-rooted anger took hold of him some years ago, before he ever met me, and he never let it go.

  Work was my only escape. Somewhere I could be something else … someone else completely. I suppose that was also part of the reason I used my maiden name at work: I told people it was to protect my identity on social media – but that wasn’t the truth at all. Being Lucy Sherwood meant I could be assertive, in control of my life, confident. The ‘Lucy’ I used to know. I could laugh, tell totally inappropriate jokes, be fun.

  Even more ironic was the fact that I work with … specialized in … domestic abuse cases. The abusers, not the victims. I hate that word – victim – though at times it was exactly what I felt like. I’m a survivor, but that still doesn’t feel right as I stare out of the bars on the window in my cramped cell. The only thing that each of the men and women I worked with had in common: the absolute desire for complete power and control over another person or people.

  Why didn’t I just leave? Oh, if it was only that easy! Being made to feel like you’d be hunted down, never be able to live your life free of the threats, constantly looking over your shoulder – those are some of the reasons I didn’t leave. I was afraid if I left, Siobhan, and Rory would have no positive role models, no one to teach them what they should or shouldn’t accept, even if that wasn’t actually true. I thought that by giving up my own happiness, I could somehow secure theirs. I know, that really doesn’t make sense. But when you’re in a situation like the one I was in, crazy thoughts become normal, logical thoughts.