Shattered Memories

by Susan Harris

  “What can I say, dude. We Americans always had a thing for the Irish,” Marshall said in a low voice.

  “Shush man, you know that word is contraband. The Islanders like to forget where they came from.” Jayson looked at me, and I shrugged, so he continued, “Hey, Alana, you spend most of your time with Connors, toing and froing to see Dr Costello. Put in a good word for our boy Marshall, will you?”

  “I’m pretty sure that Connors likes girls from the many times he has attempted to charm me, but I can sound him out if Marshall wants me to.”

  Marshall shook his head, but Jayson whooped and grinned. “Please do, Alana. Ignore Marshall… I bet he uses that charm to deflect his gayness… only a gay man would spend so much time on his hair to make it look like he barely touched it.”

  I sneaked a glance at his hair and laughed. Catching Marshall’s eye, he spotted what I was giggling about and started to laugh, as well. Soon we were both doubled over in fits of laughter with Jayson just staring at us before he ran a hand over his own head and sent us into more hysterics.

  Afsana seemed appalled at our behaviour, and I immediately saw the hero worship in her eyes for Jayson. He had taken her under his wing, protected her and helped her make friends because in another year she would be alone, and we would be dead. Or in Marshall’s case, he would be let out to find his place in the world. Afsana was thirteen or fourteen, and it would be a long wait for her to die if she had no one around her. Damn, that was a bleak thought.

  It sobered me up, drying up the tears of laughter that had slipped free of my defences. The boys continued with their banter, and I sat back in my chair. We had about ten minutes until those not on death row would head off for their daily dose of socially acceptable education.

  Without notice, amidst the noise of chatter and banter, I heard a loud clank as a metal tray hit the ground, and then the sound of a plate smashing on the concrete floor. I swivelled in my chair to get a better look and saw that some poor boy had dropped his tray at the feet of Veronika’s boyfriend. The kid was trembling from head to toe.

  “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it,” he shouted and a panicked feeling washed over me as he screamed out loud. “I didn’t mean it!”

  His words overcame me, cold and familiar as I listened. A different voice penetrated my senses. Lost in the grip of a flashback, I became powerless to stop the memory from grabbing hold of me and submerging me back to a place so dark and full of death that I felt suffocated by it.

  I immediately had portions of a flashback with voices and fear overtaking my thoughts, but I struggled to stay in the present.

  I heard the raised voices below, a frequent occurrence between my parents lately, but this time another voice was added to the fray. It was one I recognised but for some reason, I couldn’t put a name to the voice. Pulling the pillow over my head to block out the screams and shouts, I still heard the sound of plates smashing on the ground and my father yelling for the other person to get out of his house.

  Sheer terror overcame me and I was unable to move even to check and see if Sophia was okay. I had hoped my leaving to go to the training centre would ease some tension in the house, but I now knew those hopes were dashed. Tomorrow would be better, tomorrow I would…

  The sound of a gunshot ripped through the air, followed by two more and my mom’s sobbing. Sophia shrieked as another shot echoed through the air… and another. My heart pounded, and I scrambled into the crawl space, my secret passageway that I shared with Sophia, connecting her room with mine.

  Time zipped forward, and I listened to the sickening sound of another shot in the dark. The sound of sirens, loud and wailing in the distance, drew nearer and nearer and then the front door crashed as it closed. I was alone in the stagnate silence.

  Plucking what little courage I had left, I exited the crawl space and cautiously made my way across my room, opened my bedroom door and waited. I heard nothing but the ticking of the clock, so I ventured down the stairs, each step in sync with the hammering of my heart. The front door was closed, but the living room door was ajar.

  My hands shook uncontrollably as I eased the door gently and slowly, unsure of what to expect. Nothing could have prepared me for the horrors that met my eyes when I spotted the carnage before me.

  Dad lay slumped down on the ground beside his chair, his head resting on the seat of it, his arms cast down by his sides. Empty brown eyes stared back at me, so like my own, and I clasped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. A single gunshot had marred his forehead, the faintest dash of blood on his face. It was the blood that soaked his shirt that caused bile to rush up my throat. His blue shirt was drenched in the liquid and I let a muffled sob escape me.

  Dragging my gaze from my dad’s cold stare, I braved a look at my mom. She lay on the ground with her back to me, and I was grateful for not having to see the same expression on her face as my dad’s. I had to step over her feet to get a closer look. My stomach rolled as I caught sight of the tangled mess of hair and blood and whatever else oozed from the wound at the back of her head.

  I swallowed hard, panic gripping me as I focused on the last body in the room. A cold chill crept up my spine and my throat became constricted, suffocating me as my eyes fell on Sophia. I could not escape the pure and utter devastation.

  My baby sister was dressed in her princess sleepwear, her skin pale and her eyes wide open in shock. Her pink pyjamas were stained with blood, the disgusting colour almost covering the happy images of smiling princesses. She just lay there, looking up at me. I broke. My knees hit the ground, and I dragged myself closer to her, pulling her into my arms and letting her head sag against my chest. I placed my hands over her blood-soaked chest with a fleeting hope that maybe her heart still beat under all the gore.

  “Come on, Soph, please wake up… please don’t leave me.” I sobbed, knowing my pleas were useless. The sirens wailed, closer now, and I heard the sound of trucks screeching to a halt outside. “You hear that Sophia… help is here. Please open your eyes. Don’t leave me.”

  The front door burst open, and a tactical team flooded the room. They pointed their guns at me. Their mouths moved, but I heard nothing. Two of the team splintered off, and I assumed they went to check on my parents, but I could not leave Sophia. Letting go would mean that I was alone… it was not an option.

  I heard the mumble of voices and then felt an arm grab hold of me, Sophia’s body slipping from my hands and collapsing on the ground. The harder they pulled, the more I struggled to hang onto my sister.

  The team stepped aside, and a familiar face entered the room. She didn’t look at me but quickly surveyed the carnage. Her lips pursed as she turned back to me. I lifted my head to meet the eyes of Theresa Lane… the woman my parents had been fighting over. She shook her head, and as her gaze narrowed, she opened her mouth. “Alana McCarthy, you are charged with the murder of Warden Cormac McCarthy, Sorcha McCarthy, and Sophia McCarthy. You will be taken to the Underage unit of the Department of Corrections where you will await your eighteenth birthday to be punished for your crimes. Do you have anything to say?”

  “Yes. Wait… I didn’t do this… I heard it happen… what are you saying?” The words left me in a rush, my mind trying to process everything that had happened in such quick succession.

  “We found your father’s gun, Alana, right next to you when we arrived, and we will find all the evidence to retrace your actions. As a Grand Master of Justice, I am within my rights to charge you with the murders of your family even without the evidence.” Her lips curled up in a sneer.

  “Someone else was here… Please, I didn’t do it… I didn’t do this. There was someone else here. I. Did. Not. Do. It!” My shouts went on deaf ears because she just waved me away and motioned for the guard to take me into custody. I struggled in the guard’s grasp and begged him to let me go while my screams echoed through the death-filled room. My words were jumbled and incoherent, even to me, as I hysterically pled my i
nnocence.

  Theresa snapped at the guard, “Jesus, will you shut her up already… can’t you just knock her out?”

  I wiggled even more in his grasp and used my voice in a last ditch attempt to get my point across. “I swear I didn’t do this. Please, you have to list—”My words were cut off as something sharp hit the back of my head, and my world of blood plunged into darkness.

  Slamming back to the present, I let out a strangled scream, and my eyes darted around wildly. Jayson was kneeling down in front of me, and Marshall was holding my hand. I jerked it free of his hold and noticed the welt marks where I must have dug my nails into his palms. My face was clammy and damp, and I raised my fingers to it, frightened that it might be blood. Thankfully, only tears. I tried to ignore people as they watched and hung my head.

  “You okay, Alana? What happened?”

  I swallowed hard, searching for the right words to say. I knew it was a memory. It vibrated in my bones and in my heart. The joy of discovering that I did not kill my parents was snuffed out by the flashing image of Sophia’s dead eyes. I shook my head, unable to speak.

  “Did you remember something? Should I call the doc?” Jayson asked. I was frozen in silence, lost to the horrors in my mind.

  “McCarthy?” A familiar voice called, and I timidly glanced up at the sound of his voice. Connors’ face came into focus, and I blinked away tears. Struggling to my feet, I assumed he’d come to take me to see Daniel. Putting one foot in front of the other, I began walking away, not even caring if the earlier conflict that caused my flashback had been resolved.

  As if on automatic, I headed for the far end of the hall. A hand on my elbow stopped me in my tracks. Connors’ face was marred with pity as he opened his mouth and said, “I’m sorry to do this to you, Alana. Something obviously has you spooked, but your appointment with Dr Costello is cancelled today. The warden wants to see you.”

  The image of Theresa from my memory surfaced, and my chest constricted as if there was not enough oxygen to let them function. Staring at my hands, I half expected to see them covered in blood, but they were clean. I nodded as Connors steered me towards the stairs leading to the control room. Surprisingly, we didn’t go to her office, but then again, I couldn’t help but wonder why she wanted to see me at all.

  I barely had time to return to a functioning human again before we stopped outside the glass room. Connors knocked before swiping his card at the door and double doors swung open. Theresa Lane was sitting amongst an array of monitors, some displaying images of the prison, others filled with statistics and numbers that made no sense to me. After a quick, reassuring squeeze on my hand, Connors was gone. I stood face to face with Theresa.

  As always, she was neatly dressed, her navy blue suit oozed power and sophistication, her makeup applied to perfection and not an unruly stray hair in sight. Her eyes trailed over me, and I resisted the urge to shudder, feeling dirty under her scrutiny. She beckoned me forward, and I complied because what other choice did I have? She crossed one foot behind the other, and I watched a camera light blink red and knew we were being watched.

  “Alana, I just wanted to check in with you since our last encounter and see how you were doing.” Her words and tone conflicted, and I sensed she was no more concerned with how I was than I was with her. I had to be careful; my gut was warning me to be careful.

  “I’m fine, Warden. Thank you for asking.”

  She had acknowledged my politeness with a dip of her head before she went on. “I feel responsible for you in some ways, Alana. Your father was one of my closest friends, and he would turn in his grave if he could see you now.” I refrained from speaking, and she took my silence as her queue to continue. “As I said before, your father was a good man, an honest man. Honourable people like him are few and far between. Take Dr Costello, for example. He is one of the brightest, most intelligent people I have met, and he works into the small hours researching your condition.”

  The word condition came out of her mouth as if she were saying something horrid and dirty that might stain her in some way. I remained quiet. “Do tell me, Alana… do you think that Dr Costello is wasting his efforts on you since you will die regardless of your memory returning?”

  I bristled at her words and couldn’t stop myself or my response, regardless of her position. Thinking the words through before I spoke, I wished we could just get on with it. “I think Dr Costello has been a great help in recovering my memories. I have had glimpses of the past year. Nothing significant, but enough for me to hope that I can die with the knowledge that I did not kill my parents.”

  It was Theresa’s time to look uncomfortable.

  “I wish I could remember because there is no logic or reason behind my charges. I have always known that I couldn’t kill them, but with Dr Costello’s help, I’m sure I can unlock my memories. Even with the precious little time I have left.”

  She uncrossed and then re-crossed her legs before answering, “And I am sincerely sorry that I could not extend the period of time to allow you the time to… as you said… find peace. But it is not within the parameters of our laws to grant you a stay of execution when you have already been found guilty. Unfortunately, Alana, there is nothing else that can be done.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, defensively, protecting myself. “I will just have to hold onto the hope that I can remember in time. But you are right. Dr Costello is an intelligent man and should not be blamed for my inadequacy for not being able to remember. As you said, given more time who knows what I might have remembered.”

  We stared at each other, neither of us willing to look away first. Theresa pushed a button on the desk and said, “Send Connors in to collect the prisoner.” I waited in stony silence until he appeared at the door.

  “I really do hope you are successful, Alana, if only to give you peace of mind. I’m sure I will see you again before your execution.” She turned her back to me, shifting her seat around to fiddle with the keyboard in front of her, dismissing me.

  Rising and without another glance at her, I headed out the door. I followed Connors down the stairs and thanked him. His face appeared troubled, unusual for the ever smiling guard. I watched, my eyes following him as he exited the mess hall and disappeared into the corridor leading to Daniel’s office.

  Disappointment welled up in my chest as I would have to wait another twenty-four hours to see Daniel, but I had time to contemplate my memories and the meeting with the warden. Not wanting to be alone, I re-joined Jayson and Afsana. Having reassured them that I was fine, I sat back and closed my eyes, listening to their conversations but trying to rid myself of the blood-soaked images that haunted me whenever I closed my eyes.

  18

  Daniel

  “It’s been awhile but I still feel the same,

  Maybe I should let you go.”

  (Ed Sheeran: Give me Love)

  The anticipation was killing me as I waited for Alana to arrive. My thoughts never strayed far from the closeness and almost normality that our last few sessions had brought us. Despite the urgency that weighed heavy on me, I longed to be able to hold her again. The last time I had was the night before she had left me. Every day in prison was a painful reminder of a fate that should not have been ours.

  My office door opened, and I glanced up from my messy collection of papers. Connors entered. The door closed behind him, and I could tell by the look on his face that something was wrong.

  “Where is she? Is she okay?”

  He put his hands up, but I couldn’t calm down. Dread filled up my stomach, and it became painful. Connors sat in front of me at my desk and let out a long breath, as if he was deliberately trying to prolong my agony. I let my hand grip the edges of the desk, so much so that I saw the whites of my knuckles under the strain. My foot tapped impatiently as Connors chewed on the inside of his mouth before he broke the silence.

  “No Alana today, Danny-boy. The warden wanted to see her.”

  Alarm bells rang in
my head. “Do you think she suspects something? Are we in trouble?”

  Connors shook his head, and the vice grip on my insides loosened but did not vanish. “I don’t think she suspects anything about our little rebellion, Danny, but we may need to bring your grand scheme forward sooner than later. I’ve been hearing rumours that more guards are being brought in next week… but for what I have no clue.”

  A week, we had a week, not two months. Could I pull it off? Well, I either would… or I would die trying. Connors looked tired as if the stress of working as a double agent had finally taken its toll on my young friend. He was beginning to look older than his twenty-four years.

  “You can still back out, Connors. You have done enough for us. We still have time to work on it if you want to bow out.”

  A weak, forced, one-sided smile turned up his lips. “I promised you that I would help you and her in any way possible, and I will not go back on my word. Jayson knows what he is supposed to do, right… and his little pal… has he asked her yet?”

  I shook my head. “Jayson is working up to it. She will do it though—as will the others. Is there anything else I need to know?”

  Worry danced in my friend’s eyes, and he slumped lower in his chair. “I think she remembered something. There was an incident at breakfast and in all of the mess, I stole a look at Alana. She had this expression on her face, you know, like she had seen a ghost or something.

  While everyone else watched what was going on, her eyes glazed over, and she didn’t move even when she whimpered. Jayson tried to snap her out of it. The American flinched as she gripped hold of his hand, but I’ve never seen anyone in a trance like that. Her hand muffled her scream when she came back to us, and I don’t think I will ever erase that terrified look from my memory. Do you think she remembered that night?”