The Broken II: Tainted Trail

by A. L. Frances

  She sits up on the leather sofa she had passed out on, dripping from head to toe with sweat. Gasping for air, she frantically looks around. She sees that, thankfully, everything is the way she had left it, with the lamp still glowing in the corner of the room. Relieved that she’s free from the terrifying nightmare, she places her head in her hands, letting it sink in that it was just a bad dream.

  But the horrific vision she has just seen continues to taunt her. Unable to cope, she sobs and breathes deeply. Feeling her lungs stretch as they expand to their maximum capacity, Dorothy begins to panic. Her heartrate sets off pulsating faster and faster. Continuing to breathe deeply in through her nose and slowly out through her mouth, she closes her eyes, placing her hands on her chest. Embracing the inner sense of calm which she now feels, Dorothy lies back. But no sooner has her head hit the arm of the sofa than the horrifying image which woke her from her sleep suddenly flashes at the forefront of her mind once more.

  Dark and unrecognisable, the room in this vision is cold and unnerving. Thrown on the floor on its side is an old dark wooden chair. Hanging from the ceiling is a thick, coarse rope. Dorothy sees her only child, Alice, swinging from the rope which is tightly wrapped around her neck, her lifeless body hanging heavy. The pressure from the strangulation has taken its toll on her body and Alice’s lips have turned a deep shade of blue. Her eyes are wide open and bulging from their sockets.

  Shaking her head to remove the sickening vision and throwing herself off the sofa, Dorothy trips over the empty wine bottles surrounding it. They clink loudly, falling one after the other in a domino effect and rolling across the wooden floor. Dorothy rushes and grabs the phone. Tapping redial, she calls the direct line for the ward where Alice is currently recovering with baby Hope in Wythenshawe Hospital.

  “Hello, ward seven, Mavis speaking.”

  “Hello, hi…” says Dorothy, out of breath. “Erm, Mavis, can you check on my daughter for me, please?”

  “Sorry, who’s calling?”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. Erm, it’s me.” Still trying to catch her breath, she continues, “Dorothy Davies, I’m… Alice Parkinson’s mum.”

  “Just let me check that.” Dorothy can hear Mavis tapping on a keyboard. “Yes, I can see you called earlier. We have you down as next of kin. What is it you would like to know?”

  “Please, I’m desperate – can you just go and check on her for me? I know it’s late, but I’m really worried.”

  There is a slight pause.

  Choosing to seize the moment, Dorothy pleads, “Mavis, I’m not sure if you have children, but Alice is my only child. The baby she’s with, Hope, she’s my only granddaughter. I just want to know they’re okay, that’s all.” As the silence continues, Dorothy tries one final time, “I would come on the ward myself but it’s the early hours of the morning and you won’t allow me to do that. Or, actually, is it okay if I come and check?”

  “Okay, I’ll check for you. Just this once thou—”

  “Thank you so much!” Dorothy interrupts.

  “Well, don’t think about ringing every night, because next time the answer, I assure you, will be no.”

  “I promise, thank you, thank you, thank you, Mavis, I’m truly very grateful.”

  “Sure, just hold the line. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Dorothy waits anxiously. It feels as if Mavis is gone for an eternity, when in reality it’s only a short amount of time before she picks the phone back up and says, “Hi, Dorothy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Both mother and baby are doing fine. I’ve checked in and they’re sleeping. Machines are all good, observations seem okay. You can stop worrying now and get some sleep yourself. You’re no good to them exhausted.”

  Breathing once more at the relief she feels from Mavis’s words, Dorothy replies, “Wonderful news. Thank you so much, Mavis. I’m sorry for intruding at such an early hour.”

  “No problem. But as I said, it’s just a one-off.”

  “I know. I’m very grateful.”

  Ending the call, Dorothy goes to the kitchen. She places the phone on the side and walks across to the wine rack. Grabbing an unopened expensive bottle of her favourite red wine, she pours herself a large serving. Releasing a huge sigh, Dorothy looks to the glass and appears deep in thought. Then, without any further hesitation, she throws half of its contents to the back of her throat. Shaking her head, this strong woman is attempting to work out how her life has journeyed into such a temperamental and unnerving place. Having lived a life where everything goes her way, she suddenly feels as if, at any given moment, she’s about to lose it all! And, to top it off, she’s unable to stop it from happening. She’s almost ready to surrender and admit herself to the mental health unit for assessment over the sickening image that’s taunting her. The only thing stopping Dorothy is the mere fact that her daughter isn’t swinging from a rope – she’s very much alive and highly vulnerable herself.

  Dorothy has never experienced anything like this. The disturbing events currently taking place leave her baffled. However, Dorothy is aware of one thing, one definite fact: her life has only become difficult since the day Jesse and Eve arrived. But right now, locked by fear and the potential risk of losing her daughter and grandchildren, Dorothy feels she has no choice but to remain silent. How can she even begin to explain the supernatural events that have been taking place? With no one to turn to, Dorothy’s unsure how she’s going to break free and help her family. Alongside this worry, unannounced, and making an appearance whenever it so desires, a loud and very present inner voice has begun interrupting her thoughts daily. Like an alarm bell with a broken snooze button, this voice is persistently sounding off at her. A deep gut feeling has also developed. This inner instinct is sending strong warning signals to her brain. Combined, these two powerful spiritual senses are telling her that something just isn’t right, and the whole focus is on her daughter!

  With the events of the previous night playing through her mind, Dorothy throws the rest of the contents in the glass to the back of her throat. Another image flashes in her mind, this time of her granddaughter. In this disturbing vision, baby Hope is grey, her black eyes empty of a soul. This snapshot sends shivers down Dorothy’s spine. Her stomach turns and she rushes to the kitchen sink, where she throws up the alcohol which she has just guzzled.

  Acid burns the back of her throat and a bitter sick taste circulates around her mouth. Tired and deflated, she slumps to the floor. Catching her breath and holding back the further surge of vomit which is trying to escape from her body, Dorothy closes her eyes. She tries to remain in control but her mouth begins to water, the persistent burning ball of acid forcing its way up once more. Unable to hold it down any longer, Dorothy’s mouth fills with a thick lump of sick. Immobile on the ground, Dorothy has no choice other than to throw up on the floor. She wipes her mouth, and as the strong scent of vomit travels up her nose she gags. Tears form in Dorothy’s eyes and her head begins to spin.

  Desperate to get up and clean the sick from off the floor, Dorothy attempts to lift herself but almost instantly falls back down. Talking out loud she sternly says, “Right, get up, you silly woman.” Her mini pep talk over, again, she tries to lift herself, and again, she fails. Tilting her head back against the cupboard door, Dorothy pleads internally. Relaxing and controlling her mind using meditation techniques, Dorothy manages to slow down her heartrate. She knows the challenge ahead is going to be strenuous, and in order to get help, she’s aware that she needs facts, evidence and some form of trail. At present, Dorothy hasn’t got so much as a slight inclination as to where she should begin. From nowhere, her desperate pleas and prayers are answered. Dorothy sees a clear image. She has remembered something that might help. Something that could result in the first step being taken.

  Renewing her efforts, this time embodied with motivation she slowly drags herself up with the support of the kitch
en unit. Using the tiny amount of upper body strength that she has, Dorothy regains her footing. She cleans up the aftermath of the puke attack and, hobbling slightly, makes her way out of the kitchen and heads to the coatrack in the hallway. Flicking the light on, she frantically searches for the jacket she wore earlier. After pulling out every item and throwing them on the floor, Dorothy remembers it was actually a cardigan she was wearing.

  Making her way back to the lounge, she finds the garment hanging over the arm of the sofa. She reaches inside the pocket and pulls out a scrunched-up ball of paper. It’s the letter she retrieved from Alice’s kitchen drawer. The same letter Alice was attempting to conceal from her earlier. The piece of lined paper has lots of wear and tear upon it. It’s clear that it has been retained for some time. Opening it slowly so as not to rip the fragile paper, Dorothy almost instantly works out what this is. She immediately recognises the perfect cursive handwriting in blue ink. Her daughter has been keeping a huge secret. The biggest secret of all. On this piece of paper is her son-in-law Phil Parkinson’s suicide note. Dorothy had no idea. Her hand over her mouth in shock, she’s unsure whether to read the entire contents. She battles with the voices inside her head – one side of her brain is telling her to leave this well alone, whilst the other is persuading her that at least glancing over this personal message is the right thing to do. And so, before she talks herself out of it, Dorothy starts to read…

  Dearest Alice and children,

  I truly don’t know what to say. This is the hardest choice of my life to date. To live or to die… How can I make this decision? How does life get to a point where you’re worth more financially dead than alive? This cruel cycle of life, the game of cat and mouse, so to speak. And now I’ve been caught in the trap.

  You’re all my world, but that isn’t enough to get us out of the mess I have created. It’s time for me to be the man you need and rectify my life-long mistakes. One crooked path after another.

  You deserve the world, my queen, and that is what I’m going to give you. But it comes at a price, and unfortunately the price which has to be paid… is me!

  I apologise that I’m not going to be around to watch our children grow.

  I apologise that I’m not going to be around to support you as a wife and a mother.

  I apologise that I’m not going to be around to hold you at night, stroking your hair until you fall asleep, telling you everything will be okay. I truly apologise.

  As long as I am alive, my queen, it’s not going to be okay. I didn’t want it to come to this but here we are.

  I have to make this right. It’s time for me to look after my family, and if that means me not being around, then I will sacrifice myself and leave the family unit. Just please remember, no matter what, I’m doing this for love! Promise me you won’t forget I’m doing this with a full heart for you all. No longer will you, or our children, suffer.

  All I ask in exchange for my life is that you please allow me one wish… You don’t have to, but can you read between the lines and call our one and only daughter Hope Eva Lia Parkinson.

  You won’t understand right now, but one day you will see, it’s going to be okay.

  I apologise for the pain, my queen, to you, our princes, and our princess. Please know, I’m doing this for us. Our debts are too high, life will be too sad. The money from the insurers and the pay-outs you will receive should be around £1.2 million, so please invest this wisely and look after yourself and our babies.

  One more thing: I’m going to stage this as though I’ve been fishing. You need to pretend fishing was a hobby of mine or the insurance companies won’t pay out. It must look like an accidental death. Burn this letter so it’s never found. I promise no one will find my body, the rocks will conceal me. They’ll never be able to perform an autopsy. No one will know. I love you always. I’m sorry it has to be this way!

  Until we meet again, my queen.

  Forever Your King, Phil

  Dorothy sits in silence. She’s struggling to process what she has just read. Placing her hand to her head, she’s overwhelmed with a mass of sadness. Her daughter has been carrying this huge secret single-handedly. Not only does this make her heart break even more – Dorothy is now confused as to why Alice didn’t confide in her. After all, she is her mum. She truly believed that they were close enough to support one another through anything.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Getting Warmer

  “Excuse me, sir, have you seen this girl? She’s my daughter.”

  With the sun blaring and sweat dripping off his head, Matthew’s desperately attempting to hand out his leaflets. Much to his despair and frustration, he’s being completely ignored. Walking around the streets of Chester, he’s being judged and looked upon by passers-by as if he’s some sort of escaped mental patient due to his current desperate demeanour and scruffy attire. Matthew’s not having much luck encouraging the public to engage with him. Unfamiliar with his accent and too scared to make eye contact, most people are avoiding Matthew at all costs. Without wanting to be rude and trying to retain a slight air of politeness, each person looks at their phone or at the floor. With no idea where to start, and the only potential clue being a diary with the words “up north” written inside of it, Matthew is making his way up the United Kingdom. And, no matter the hour, be it day or night, he perseveres.

  Stopping at every town, village and city that he possibly can, he has been franticly searching street after street, wearing the same heavy-duty boots. This sturdy footwear wasn’t designed for long-distance walking, and so each footstep grows more painful as Matthew distributes leaflet after leaflet. Determined not to give up, he pushes through the pain barrier. He wishes he was made out of steel, but since this unfortunately is not the case, the wear and tear upon his body from the boots is now taking its toll. He is hobbling slightly, and huge blisters are growing on the backs of his feet as the boots rub relentlessly. He has remained sober in order to stay focused, but now Matthew finds himself yearning for an alcoholic beverage to numb his senses. But with Reverend Andrew’s words fresh in his mind, Matthew is fully aware that he must remain sober. Breathing deeply, Matthew refuses to allow the pain to stop him as he bravely pushes on.

  Without one phone call from or sighting of Eve, this ongoing hunt is at times deflating, but Matthew won’t give up. After all, his daughter is the only person he has left to live for in the world. And, not only this, she’s also the only person who can clear his tainted name. He continues with his desperate pleas as he attempts to hand out the next leaflet, “Excuse me, miss… Miss… Have you seen my…” Turning to the next person again he says, “Sir… Sir… Can you help m…”

  But again, the sad reality is he’s continually being ignored. He has been at this for the past six hours straight. Accepting defeat for the moment, Matthew makes his way across to the benches facing the river. Placing the leaflets on a wooden bench, he sits beside them and reaches inside his pocket and pulls out his cigarette box. This is yet another habit he has taken up of late. He lights a cigarette and inhales a draw that takes almost half of the cigarette away. Exhaling the smoke, he places his head in his hands and attempts to soothe his mind and release the frustration he feels.

  Matthew can’t understand why people are being so unhelpful. Even before his life was shattered into millions of pieces, at the height of his success, he still made time to help anyone he could. It didn’t matter what your position was in life, whether you were the CEO of a multimillion-pound company or homeless and sleeping and living in the same clothes every day – Matthew would always ensure that he gave every individual the same dedication of time and most certainly the same amount of respect. The way he saw it, we all have beating hearts and we enter the world the same way, we just chose different pathways. Although now, after the degrading way he’s being treated by the public, he is questioning this.

  Looking out to the river, he sees
the ducks, swans and boats bobbing up and down on the water and passing by with ease. Embracing the tranquillity of the calming water and nature’s true beauty, Matthew quietly takes in the view.

  “She’s pretty, who is she?”

  Snapped out of his daydream, Matthew looks to his left and sees a girl no older than five or six years of age. Her hair is in pigtails and she’s wearing a stripy t-shirt with denim dungarees. She is sitting next to him with one of his leaflets in her hand. Looking around for her parents, Matthew sees that her mum is standing not too far away from them on the phone. She’s having a rather heated conversation with whoever is on the other end.

  “That’s my daddy. They shout all the time.”

  Confused, Matthew says, “Huh?”

  “Mummy is talking to my daddy. They don’t like each other.”

  Saddened by her words, Matthew replies, “I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie.”

  “It’s okay, I don’t like daddy too, he’s mean and smells like boys. Yuck!” she says chirpily.

  Laughing at her innocence, but sad that she has that opinion of her father at such a young age, Matthew says, “So, what’s the one thing you do like about mummy and daddy?”

  “Well, my mummy makes me giggle a lot because she’s silly and she takes good care of me. And my daddy, erm, well, erm, when I stay in his house, he sings me a song. It’s special because my daddy puts my name in it. You want to hear it?”

  “Sure.”

  “So it goes… Darcey is my baby girl princess, she’s my one and only princess, she’s cuddly just like a teddy bear, I love my Darcey princess. Do you like it?”

  Laughing under his breath, Matthew replies, “That’s beautiful. Your name’s Darcey, what a pretty name.”

  “Thanks. My big sister Leah got my name for me.”

  “Oh, and how many sisters do you have, Darcey?”

  “I have two sisters my Leah and my Hana. I also have a brother, his name is Simon.”