The Broken II: Tainted Trail

by A. L. Frances

  As he regains control of his emotions, his blood pressure drops slowly and the adrenaline leaves his body. Matthew’s head is throbbing. Wiping the moisture from his face, and once again holding his ribcage, he lifts himself up off the ground in agony, reaching for the office chair that he threw at the wall. Surprisingly, this is still in one piece. He slumps into the seat and stares at the looping footage of his daughter. She’s so innocent and beautiful. So pure and sweet. She’s exactly how he wants to remember her. Matthew whispers, “Evelyn Jade Honey, please – where are you?” As the tears begin anew, he takes a moment to embrace happier memories. They flash like a home movie in his mind. “I miss you so much, kidda.”

  Reaching inside his jeans pocket, Matthew grasps an item tightly in his hand. He kisses it then opens his palm. It’s the heart-shaped locket, the hunter. Bringing it close to his chest, Matthew recalls the sweeter times this treasured piece of jewellery represents. When things were pure and untainted. But just as his heart begins to warm, he sees her! He sees the evil entity who has devoured his daughter’s soul: Jezebel.

  Instantly, the rage returns. Clenching his fists and grinding his teeth, he holds the tainted item by the chain. Bringing the dangling locket up to his face and looking the engraved angel straight in the eye, he says, “I don’t care where you are. I will find you. I will find you and I will get my daughter back and clear my name. I’m coming for you, you evil bitch. You will not win.”

  He bangs his fists on the table for emphasis and then places the chain around his neck, tucking the locket under his grubby t-shirt. He picks up the pistol from across the room, places it down the back of his jeans and makes his way out of the office.

  He storms into his dark unwelcoming bedroom. Kicking the debris and mess out of his path, he grabs his black leather jacket off the floor and slips it on carefully over his injuries, along with his black wool beanie hat. Looking into the free-standing cracked mirror, he pulls the hood up on his jacket, he won’t be recognised as the Matthew Honey people once knew.

  The image in the mirror is dark, gloomy and unnerving. Blood is splattered everywhere. He stares directly at his reflection. With his head low and his swollen features, Matthew looks intimidating – and that’s how he wishes to be seen: like a guy you wouldn’t want to bump into alone on a dark night. Content with his disguise, he makes his way downstairs.

  Entering the kitchen, he tops up his alcohol levels by drinking the dregs of whiskey straight from a bottle on the countertop. He then searches the kitchen, the empty glass bottles clinking together as he rummages for one containing alcohol. He finds a small bottle of vodka, which he places in the hidden pocket on the inside of his jacket. Snatching his wallet from the black marble kitchen countertop, Matthew checks that his picture of Eve is in pride of place. He kisses the image before he closes the wallet and puts it into his jeans pocket. Ready to get his act together, Matthew leaves the house to complete his first challenge of the day: adhering to his monthly bail condition and reporting to Lymington Police Station.

  Chapter Two

  The Truth Hurts

  Matthew parks just over half a mile away from the police station – after all, he wouldn’t want to risk being arrested for driving under the influence. He takes a swig of vodka straight from the bottle then throws it into the dirty cream leather glove compartment. Reaching under the driver’s seat, he grabs the pistol from where he has hidden it and throws this into the glove compartment, too. It clinks loudly against the glass of the bottle. As he looks into the compartment to check that the bottle hasn’t smashed, he notices a brown leather-coated book tucked away at the back. He reaches in and holds the weighted item in his hand.

  Matthew is hesitant but at the same time intrigued. This is the first time he has seen this book. Opening the cover, he begins flicking through the pages. He sees page after page of scrawled words. A moment or so passes before he realises the words have been written by his daughter. Breathing in deep, not feeling ready for the potential realities this may bring, Matthew slams the book of secrets closed and throws it onto the passenger seat. He sits with his head in his hands, unsure if he truly desires to read the full contents of the pages. After allowing his mind a brief moment to consider what could potentially be written there, he gives in. Before he knows it, Matthew has picked the book back up and is reading one of Evelyn Jade’s entries.

  I never thought in my entire life I would be this angry. Why doesn’t he listen, or not even listen, but, like, just at least try and understand what I’m going through? Josie suggested it’s time to tell dad, it’s time to speak up and tell him how suicidal I am. Tell him exactly how much I no longer want to be alive. Tell him how I’d rather be dead with you, Mum. But guess what? Surprise, surprise, I can’t – because he doesn’t want to hear it. Why can’t I just scream at him how I feel? Why do I end up feeling bad? Like I’d be setting him back somehow, because he’s clearly much better now. If he cared about me the way he says he does, then I should be able to tell him anything.

  You’re dead because of me, your own flesh and blood, and there’s no getting away from that. Every single day at school I get bullied. Everyone knows I killed my own mum, and yet he still sends me there. How does he think that’s going to make me feel...?

  That’s just it, though, isn’t it? He doesn’t care about how it makes me feel, so why do I care so much about how he feels? I’ll tell you why – it’s the guilt. I took you away from him.

  Mum, I’m so sorry I destroyed our family.

  I’m so sorry I was your daughter...

  The ink is smeared in places where Eve’s tears must have landed on the page. Feeling his daughter’s pain and riddled with guilt himself, Matthew is unable to read any more. He slams the journal shut and throws the book of secrets across the car. Angry, tearful and frustrated, he grabs the bottle of vodka and gulps from it once more. He’d give anything to be able to console his daughter, but not only this – he now knows the truth about his family’s fate, he knows who is to blame for destroying his family unit, for the death of his wife and the abduction of his daughter’s soul. And yet, here is his innocent baby girl, even long after the tragic event, truly believing she killed her own mum.

  Closing his eyes, Matthew sees his soulless wife lying with her eyes open in a pool of her own blood. The thick deep red substance gushes from the huge crack in her skull. His beautiful wife has already taken her last breath.

  Squeezing his eyes tighter to try and remove the image from his mind, Matthew experiences another flashback, this one even more heart-breaking than the last. He sees his daughter in her horrific demonic state. Her skin tone is grey and she has deep lacerations all over her body, from which oozes a thick disturbing black substance. Her jet-black hair hangs heavy and equally parted around her face, dripping with the same sinister-looking liquid as she levitates towards him. He hears a loud crack. His daughter is dislocating her bones. As she snaps her neck Matthew’s eyes shoot open, releasing him from this awful image before he throws up.

  Matthew is utterly devastated. He feels a huge sense of responsibility for his family’s unfortunate fate. If only he’d never purchased the heart-shaped locket. Just altering this one teeny-tiny decision could have, in his mind, changed their destiny in such a profound way.

  As the traumatising flashbacks continue to resurface unbidden, Matthew grows angry. He punches the roof of the car, hits the window and the steering wheel. But punishing himself with pain won’t change the fact that he never actually stood a chance. During the time when he had Evelyn Jade in his life, he didn’t manage to console her, or even recognise the thoughts circulating in her mind. If he had, perhaps he could have convinced her that she was never in any way responsible for the death of her mother. Unable to turn back time, Matthew once again lashes out in frustration, repeatedly smacking his own head and shouting, “You stupid, stupid, stupid man!”

  He technically has more blood on hi
s hands than his daughter does. Unfortunately for Matthew, he can’t change his reality. He realised this way too late, and now that he’s so far away from finding Evelyn Jade, he’s lost it all. Pulling out his wallet he looks at the school picture of Evelyn Jade. “I’m so sorry, kidda,” he says. “I never knew you were suffering so badly. I’m so sorry I let you down. I’m sorry you were stuck with me as your dad.”

  Wiping his face and holding back his remaining tears, Matthew clears his throat and regains his composure. Flicking down the sun visor and pushing back the small cover to reveal the mirror, Matthew’s horrified by the man he sees in the reflection. He’s unidentifiable. Looking himself straight in the eye he says, “What have you become?”

  Unable to answer his own question but certain he doesn’t like any part of the man he sees, his frustration turns into a surge of determination. Determination not to let his daughter down anymore. Looking himself dead in the eye, he says, “Matthew Honey, are you going to continue to sit back and do nothing? You’re being treated like a victim because you’re behaving like one. The only victim in your life is your daughter. Are you gonna be a man and go find her, or are you gonna carry on gettin’ mugged off…?!” He pauses, as though he’s waiting for an answer to his question. Once again staring himself deep in the eyes, he continues, “If you die, so what? At least you died trying to fight for your daughter and your freedom. It’s. Time.”

  With his pep talk over, Matthew slams the sun visor back, shoves a mint in his mouth and bangs the car door shut. He sets off to see the people he detests the most: the authorities.

  Chapter Three

  The Enemy

  Matthew’s thoughts whirl around his mind at a hundred miles per hour as he approaches the station. He has no clue how he’s even going to begin to find his daughter; all he’s clear on is that he will die trying. Entirely lost in the moment, before he knows it, he’s reached his destination. Standing at the doorway, Matthew sighs heavily as he focuses on the task in hand. He hesitantly takes one step forward. Gathering all his will power, with his head down low Matthew doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he slowly walks through the front entrance of Lymington Police Station. The corridors have a sterile chemical smell, along with a mixture of male and female perfume. It’s heaving with police force employees who impolitely and forcefully push past him as they rush around the building. The energy throughout seems urgent and fast paced. The walls are adorned with billboards advertising the local most-wanted list, and there are surveillance cameras in every corner. Shoved from one side of the corridor to the other, Matthew once again breathes in deeply, attempting to stay calm. He walks through the huge stiff double doors and makes his way to the reception desk. Matthew hears two cockney voices. Behind the navy-blue four-foot-tall counter there are two familiar faces. These two officers of the law, from Matthew’s experience, are the complete opposite of one another.

  “Collins, Collins, have you seen the logbook for the cells? Chief Inspector Lamont is going to ask for them and we need to make sure that they’re up to date,” says one of the officers, a short, gentle, middle-aged man. He looks at his colleague, who appears to be engrossed in his phone, then taps him on the arm. “Collins, seriously this is not a joke. Where’s the cells logbook?” he says with a frustrated tone as he faffs around with some paperwork on the desk.

  “Hahaha, ’ave a look at dis den, D’amo, check this picture some girl just sent me,” PC Collins says, laughing and waving his phone at his colleague. “How hot is she, right?”

  “You’re so immature. What is it with your technology generation? Why do you insist on sending constant raunchy images of yourselves to one another?”

  “Just fun, innit?” PC Collins replies, shrugging his shoulders.

  Both officers remain seated, peering over the counter. The reception area is immaculate. The blue lino floor is freshly buffed, shining to perfection. A white and red line denotes a one- and two-metre gap around the counter. Matthew, aware of the procedure, is standing the appropriate distance away, his feet firmly inside the two white footprints marked on the floor. He has absolutely no desire to give these officers any reason to place him back into another one of their basic, twenty-four-hour surveillance, freezing cold cells.

  Finally lifting his head from his phone, PC Collins says, “Aye, Honey, what a shame ya could make it. An’ ’ere’s me thinkin’ I’m gonna ’ave the absolute pleasure of nickin’ ya ta’day. Chief Inspecta Monty as even come in just in case. What. A. Shame. He will be gutted.”

  “Leave it out, Collins. Matthew, you’re bang on time,” PC D’amo says, smiling.

  “Ya know the rules by now, Honey,” PC Collins barks. “Get ya hoodie an’ hat off!”

  Closing his eyes and breathing deeply to try to conceal the pain he feels, Matthew lifts his arms to remove his hood and beanie hat. No sooner have they come off, PC Collins, without a professional or compassionate bone in his body, says tauntingly, “Oh, would ya look at dem beauties, ha! Dey’ve made a righ’ mug outta ya, ain’ dey den.”

  “Seriously, Collins, leave it out! Matthew, have you seen someone about your injuries?”

  “No. I’m fine. Can we just get this over with, lads?”

  “But…”

  “No buts, I just want to leave.”

  Just at that moment, D’Amo jumps at the sight of his superior walking behind the counter.

  “Oh, erm, Chief Inspector Lamont, sir, we’re just sorting Matthew Honey’s bail.”

  “I know who this one is, PC D’amo, there’s no need for introductions,” Chief Inspector Lamont replies in a strong, husky voice.

  “Of course, sir.”

  The inspector looks smart in a navy-blue suit with a crisp white shirt and pink tie, but the expensive material is entrenched with a stale stench of cigarette smoke. His husky voice is probably due to his forty-a-day habit, Matthew surmises. With a smarmy smirk plastered across his face and his head held high, the square-shouldered, tall figure making his way towards Matthew is the designated Senior Investigating Officer, or, in Matthew’s view, the enemy – Chief Inspector Lamont. He showcases a full head of blonde hair and the most piercing blue eyes. Even the stubble on his face has been perfectly trimmed, Matthew notes. And he clearly has only one desire at present: to put Matthew Honey behind bars for all eternity.

  “So, Matthew Honey, would you look at the state of your mug shot.” He begins sniggering under his breath. “Grantin’ you bail again, are we? What a shame. I was gonna offer you a bed and some housekeeping.” Looking to PC Collins he continues, “We could ’ave kept him away from the big bad bullies, couldn’t we, Collins?”

  PC Collins doesn’t seem so cocky anymore as he says with a nervous tone, “Ha, yes, sir.”

  “Never mind, Honey, it looks like you’re gettin’ exactly what you deserve on the streets.”

  Clearly enjoying the power, Chief Inspector Lamont takes the clipboard from off the desk and says, “I tell ya what, step into this room here, Honey. I’ll tick your bail sheet for you.”

  Lamont opens the door to one of the interview rooms, and Matthew sighs as he follows the enemy inside. Reaching to the switch on the wall next to the doorframe, Chief Inspector Lamont flicks on the light and closes the door behind him. Matthew is unimpressed by the position he has unexpectedly been forced into. The small dingy room has no windows or natural sunlight. The walls are the same depressing dark shade of blue as the reception area and have been plastered with crime advisory posters, along with the policing complaints procedure and “know your rights” information. Matthew can’t help but feel this reading material is irrelevant, given the way he continues to be treated. Standing in the middle of this freezing cold, sterile room is an old unfashionable dark wooden table with four matching dark oak wooden chairs around it. The enemy moves closer, and Matthew knows what’s coming next. He also knows he isn’t going to like one single bit of it.


  “Take a seat.”

  Rebelling against the instructions, Matthew replies, “Can we just get this over with? You and I both know I don’t have to go through this with you in here. I can walk out of here right now if I like. You’ve seen my face. I’m certain there will be CCTV evidence to prove I’ve attended, so why don’t you just stop right now and save us both the trouble?” There is a brief silence. Rolling his eyes, Matthew continues, “Come on, what do you want, Monty?”

  “I said – I want you to take a seat, Honey.”

  Pulling the chair in frustration, Matthew sits at the table, attempting to control the rage that’s building inside of him. Folding his arms to signal his lack of acceptance, Matthew scowls across the room at the enemy. Chief Inspector Lamont slams the clipboard on the table and puts his hands in his pockets; he remains standing. Staring down at Matthew he once again basks in his power.

  “So, when are you gonna cut the shit, Honey, and just fess up? Or are you still tryin’ to play the innocent card? Which you and I both know is total B.S.”

  Matthew choses to say nothing. There is absolutely no reason to respond. No good can come from speaking to this man, he’s trouble.

  “Oh, that’s interesting, the silent card is it today then, Honey? You do know it’s only those who have stuff to hide that say nothin’, don’t ya?” He pauses, waiting for Matthew to answer. With nothing but an awkward silence, he decides to continue, “Come on, Honey, we both know you killed your wife and then got rid of your kid, don’t we now?”

  At these words Matthew’s posture changes slightly. It doesn’t escape Lamont’s notice.

  “You know what I don’t get, though?” he goads. “Why? I mean, alright, that wife of yours might have been a nag—”