If by Chance
All Characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
If by Chance
Published by Stephen Rowledge at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Stephen Rowledge
The Dangers Of Falling in Love & Knowing the Truth
I would just like to say a quick thank you to Annie Marrs, of Merkinch enterprise for her feed back and Elizabeth Sutherland for her help with some of the editing. Also I would like to Thank Shelagh Murry for her encouragement and support.
Summer of 1970
The young man laughed at the stranger’s joke, unaware that he was a killer with intentions so dark they could eclipse the sun. The stranger, he was attracted to the kind of, childlike innocence, he saw in the young mans eyes and craved to take it. However, he was a patient man and wanted more from his victims. The pair drank and talked over the hours like they had known each other for a life time. With such a conversation the night passed quickly and as they filtered out into the streets the pair disappeared into the darkness.
Early, the next morning, Detective Jacob Middleton, a fifty three-year old man, stood over the young mans corpse. It was the twentieth he had seen like this in the five years he had been on the hunt for the stranger.
The Roulette Killer had struck again.
He turned and yelled at a young PC, “hey you! what the fuck are you doing over there?”
The officer in question was Jeff Feldman. He was fresh out of the Academy and had only recently been assigned to work alongside the detective. He was smart, ambitious, tenacious and top of his class and had the highest test score of any officer in a century in his chosen precinct. This was everything Middleton despised about the PC. “I was just collecting some debris for analysis, sir,” Feldman replied.
“This spot here is where the body is. There is a door in front of it and one to the right of it. That's the area you should be collecting debris for analysis from,” Jacob replied grimly.
“But sir, would it not be wise to check the whole of this room? In case the killer took any photos -” Feldman stopped in his tracks after the unappreciative look he received from the detective. “Sorry sir I just thought -”
Middleton interrupted the PC. “Well don’t think too much Feldman that is my job. All you need to do is collect evidence where I tell you to,” he turned his look to the door to the right of him. “Is that clear?”
“Yes sir,” Feldman replied bruised and walked away muttering to himself.
Middleton’s way of thinking may have seemed narrow minded to the young PC, but he did not care. It had served him well over the years and he was not about to change for some unconventional way of thinking because of some snot nosed recruit.
“You got off lightly there, mate,” a voice said. Another officer stood a few feet away dusting an old table for prints.
“What did you say?” Feldman asked.
“You were lucky. The last PC that questioned him got century duty out in the cold for a week.”
Feldman looked over to him wishing he could say more.
Middleton stood looking down at the corpse. “So… what is your name? What did you do to attract him?” Suddenly, he stood transfixed on something. “You left something.”
“Did you say something, sir?” Feldman asked.
“Yes… come over here quickly. And bring an evidence bag.”
Feldman grabbed an evidence bag and made his way to the detective. “What is it?”
“Look to his left eye socket.”
Feldman bent down shining his bright pen torch in the empty socket. There was a small piece of material in it. Carefully, using a pair of tweezers, he pulled it out.
“What is it?” asked the detective.
“It looks like a small piece of a rubber glove, sir,” replied Feldman.
“He’s getting sloppy.”
“Sloppy sir?”
“Yes sloppy, that’s what I said. Wash out your ears... I have seen twenty of his victims over the last five years. He has never left anything for us to find.”
“Have they all been like this one?”
“Some have been worse.”
“Worse? How can it get any worse than this?”
“Tell me, what do you see?”
“Well, he is missing his eyes. His mouth has been sewn shut, his throat was slashed with what looks like a claw, he is missing his left hand and his… penis?”
“He sometimes skins them… hacks off their skin in chunks, no sedative, nothing at all for the pain. He seems to feed off the pain he causes.”
“But that doesn’t make sense, sir. Every serial killer has a particular pattern. It wouldn’t make sense to change patterns like that.”
“That’s what makes this fucker so dangerous and difficult to catch. He does things randomly. Never having much of a reason why he does the things he does, to kill in the way he kills.”
The two men turned to the corpse and stood in silence.
***
Detective Middleton and PC Feldman returned to the station and began to process the evidence collected at the crime scene. Feldman turned to the detective. “Can I ask you something sir?”
“Yes sure.”
“How do you know that this is definitely the same killer?”
The detective looked at him strangely. “Five years ago when the murders began, I thought like you Feldman that serial killers all had certain patterns they followed. It did not make sense that each one of these victims was being killed in different ways. But there was one thing which linked the murders in some way.” He paused, leaving Feldman in suspense.
“You’re not going to tell me are you?”
“No I’m not. You will find out soon enough.” With that said the detective left him to finish processing the evidence and made his way back to his office. He entered his office to find the Chief of police standing at the window. He was a tall man, a few years older than Middleton, his face drawn and his posture was that of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He turned with a look of impatience, not giving any time for greetings.
“Is it another one of his?”
“Yes Jim it is.”
“You know I’ve got the top brass permanently up my arse, wanting this piece of shit hung, drawn and quartered by yesterday. He is making us look like we couldn’t catch a cold, let alone him.”
“I know Jim, but -”
Jim interrupter, raising his voice. “I don’t want excuses, Jacob. I want this fucker caught and behind bars being beaten and raped in the showers of her Majesties prison.”
Middleton sighed. “I want to tell you that we are close to catching this guy. But we’re not. Although he did leave a small piece of his glove at the scene, which means he is starting to get sloppy.”
Jim huffed. “So, we just have to wait and hope that with the next twenty victims he kills he leaves us enough evidence to find him? That’s bullshit, there has to be something; someone had to have seen him with the victims.”
“This one is the Jack the Ripper of the twentieth century, Jim. He is twice as smart and twice as deadly. I want him as bad as you do, if not more so. But unless he slips up in some big way, he is going to get to kill twenty more and then twenty more after that.” Middleton’s words left an explosive silence in the room. The chief turned back to the window, looking out to the city in the distance, thinking about the possible victims going about their daily lives unaware of the monster that roamed the streets like a ghost with them.
***
PC Feldman finished processing the evidence he had collected and headed for the locker room. His shift was finished and he had no intention of staying longer than necessary. He was tired and drained with only one thing on his mind. To get home to his wife and his four month old daughter. However, as he walked through the dull grey corridors of the station, thoughts played in his mind about the case. He knew that Middleton wasn’t telling him everything, and it wasn’t just the detective wanting to test him. There was more to it. On the way to his car he spotted the detective. He hadn’t wanted to go over, but before he had realised it he was walking towards him.
Middleton saw him approaching and quickly started the engine. He was in no mood to be talking to anyone. He wanted nothing more than to get back to his home and crack open a bottle of whisky. It had been a hard day, and drowning his sorrows was going to be the only way to get through the night. He drove away, leaving Feldman disappearing in his rear-view mirror.
***
Forty minutes later Middleton arrived home. Pulling into the driveway he noticed a bottle of whisky sitting on his doorstep. His house was out in the countryside and his closest neighbour was a few hundred yards away, so he was dubious about getting out of his car, sitting there for almost an hour.
“Come on, you old fool, don’t let this bastard scare you.” He muttered to himself.
On that note he got out of his car and hurried to his door. He scanned the nearby fields for a moment or two before he picked up the bottle.
“This is no cheap bottle,” he thought.
A small piece of paper had been left with it.
“I know you like to drink after a hard day”
He turned quickly and unlocked his front door. Once inside he slammed it closed and locked it fast. He then ran into the kitchen and frantically searched his drawers until he found his old fingerprint dusting kit. He knew full well that the only fingerprints he would find were his own, but he had to give it try.
***
Feldman arrived home that evening to find his wife and daughter tucked up on the sofa, sound asleep. He smiled with joy, staring at his family, still high on the honeymoon period of having a loving wife and a baby. He sat down and sighed with relief, closing his eyes as the softness of the chair began to relax his taut body. The squirming of his daughter drew his attention to her. He watched in amusement as her little face screwed up, showing her many cute little dimples. A few moments later she let out a little whimper before bringing down the house with a full scale crying session.
Melanie woke with a start. “Shhh shh shhh.” She noticed her husband. “Hello sweetheart… you been home long?” She asked as she managed to calm the baby down.
“Is she ok?”
“Yeah she is… aren’t you little one? Probably just getting hungry.”
“I’ve been home about ten minutes.”
“You should have woken me,” she said as she began to feed the baby.
“No, you need the sleep. Besides you both looked so peaceful. I’m going to put something to eat on. You want something?”
“Yeah, whatever you’re having.”
He entered the kitchen.
Melanie watched the doorway for a few minutes, sensing something was wrong.
The sizzling of oil and the smell of ingredients filled the room and soon Feldman emerged with two plates with omelettes and some salad.
“That smells lovely,” Melanie said. He placed the food down on the table in front of her. “Looks lovely too…” she added.
He smiled and sat down and began tucking into his meal as if it had been his first in weeks.
“You ok?” I’ve not seen you eat like that for a while.” He looked up trying to fake a reassuring smile. “You can’t fob me off with that weak effort... tell me.”
“I’m working on a case with that detective I was telling you about… Middleton. I can’t talk about the case and believe me you wouldn’t want to know. But there is something bothering me about him, a gut feeling, like he’s hiding something from me.”
“Something about the case?”
“I’m not sure. He said I would find out soon enough, but there is something else,” he paused taking some more of his food. “I don’t know what. Perhaps I’m just being paranoid. It’s my first month with the station and I’ve got to build up a degree of trust before I can expect the other officers to trust me.”
She looked to her husband strongly. “You’re a good man Jeff Feldman. Dedicated to what you do and you will win their trust and respect in no time.”
He looked at his wife unconvinced.
***
Middleton sat in is barely lit, living room, drinking his eighth glass of whisky. Sitting next to his chair was a wooden bat. He watched the window that faced the road and jumped at every little noise that came from outside. However, it was the sudden ringing of the phone that caused his heart attack.
Ten minutes later the detective came to and found himself in the back of an ambulance. The street lights flashed through the small windows as it whizzed through the city. He tried once to speak but was too weak and slipped back into unconsciousness.
“Hang in there sir, we are only a few minutes away,” shouted the paramedic.
The stranger stood outside Middleton’s house with a sadistic smile.
***
It was five in the morning when the alarm rang through the bedroom. To his surprise Jeff woke in an empty bed. He looked over to the cot. It too was empty. “Mel? Are you downstairs? Can you put the kettle on?” he said as he got out of bed. He stood, wiping his eyes, before walking through to the en-suite bathroom. He stopped in his tracks as he felt cold liquid on his soles. He looked down and shock filled him. The horror of the blood soaked floor was only the first scene. The next was Melanie’s body lying slumped on the floor, against the bath with her throat slashed.
A scream of rage tore through the walls of the house and into the bedroom of his neighbours, who woke with a start.
“What the hell was that?” Helen Aldus asked her husband.
“It sounded like it came from next door,” Derrick Aldus replied.
The two put their ears to the wall.
Jeff resisted all urges to grab her body, somewhere deep inside his agony he knew not to because it could ruin any evidence. He stood suddenly at the sound of his daughters cry and then ran into the hall. She cried again and did not stop. He followed the sound until it led him into the kitchen.
Jeff’s anger turned to relief when he saw her lying on the table unharmed. Next to her sat a note. He picked his daughter up and then briefly looked at the note. He was stunned by the words and moments passed before he ran to the phone.
A few minutes later sirens filled the quiet street.
Derrick and Helen were the first to arrive on the Feldman’s doorstep. They were joined by half the neighbourhood while others watched the commotion from their windows. When the officers and the paramedics got to the door Jeff’s daughter was still crying so they followed the sound and found Jeff sitting bewildered at the en-suite door.
“Jeff? It’s Mike. Can you hear me?”
Jeff turned his head and Mike could see his lifeless expression.
The paramedics slowly made their way toward him. “We need to take a look at your daughter ok, Jeff?” asked one of the paramedics.
He held her tighter.
“Please mate, they need to make sure she’s ok, they won’t hurt her,” begged Mike.
The paramedic moved in closer and held her arms out.
Jeff turned and looked at the paramedic, puzzled. She motioned to him to give her his daughter. Finally he handed his daughter to her and she walked to the bed where she checked her over.
Mike knelt down to talk to Jeff. “Jeff? I need you to come with me downstairs.”
Jeff looked over to his wife and then back to Mike pleadingly. However, Mike encouraged him to take his hand. They made their way slowly out of the bedroom and to the stairs. Jeff looked to the bottom and suddenly it was as if there were a hundred steps.
“It’s ok Jeff I’ve got you mate,” Mike said reassuringly.
They continued down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mike then sat Jeff down at the table. He spotted the note, so he reached over and grabbed it, opening it.
“Hello, PC Feldman, welcome to my world”
“What the? Jeff do you know who wrote this?” Mike asked urgently.
Jeff did not answer he just looked at the table as if transfixed on an invisible object.
A few moments of silence past, but then a paramedic arrived to check on him. He shone his penlight in Jeff’s eyes but he did not flinch. He then tried to talk Jeff out of his state of awakened unconsciousness.
“There’s nothing… we need to get him out of here,” the paramedic said urgently.
Mike agreed and the two men helped Jeff to his feet and took him out to the ambulance. On the way to the hospital something clicked inside of him and Jeff came too.
“What’s going on? Where is my daughter?” He asked, panicked.
“It’s ok Jeff your daughter is safe… we are taking you to the hospital.”
Jeff looked over to Mike. His eyes were uncertain of the truth he saw in them. “I need to see my daughter, Mike,” he said anxiously.
“She is safe, you can see her soon. You were out of it for a while back there. You had us worried. We need to get you checked out.”
For the purpose of this story, as this book holds a true account of my secret life, my name will be Tom Kingston. I am 34 years old, born in 1977. I have done some things, which, for some of you may seem sick and twisted. But for others, like me, you will find them exhilarating. I would be a psychologist’s dream patient. Anyway, let us begin with my childhood, as my chapter title suggests.
***
I was a quiet, reserved, child and lived mostly inside my head. A vastly different person to how I am now, although I still talk to those voices. I had blonde hair with stark blue eyes and I was handsome. As for the rest of me, let’s just say you could have stood me sideways and used me as a golf club. The town I am from is not important. This you may ask why. The simple answer is, the less you, the readers, including the police detectives reading this know about my real background. The safer it is for me.
Compared to most of the children who lived in my street my start in life was not very good. My parents were constant arguers who always screamed and shouted profanities across the room at each other. Then there was the violence. Although, the violence was more in my mother’s nature than my father’s. This never helped the situation because she would make him so angry that she would push him to the edge no matter how close he had got to her with his raised hand. Out of twelve years though, she had only succeeded once with her attempts to make him hit back. But once was more than my father had ever wanted. That day he lashed out and hit her back. He struck her across the face, which shocked him as much as it had her. This happened on my fifth birthday, another one I will never forget for the wrong reasons. For a while that incident kept things quiet. However, my mother, she had never been able to keep it that way. She was not happy unless she was torturing my father in some heartless way. This had gone on since I was a baby and I have no doubts it had done so for years before, but still they stayed together trying to make it work.
Finally, when I was six years old and after 12 years of marriage my mother and father decided to split up. I say they decided. It was actually my mother’s decision and I have no reservations that she had made it with lack of sympathy for my father. The day it happened we had gone to my grandparents for a long weekend in the summer of 84 - which also happened to be the first and last time I would see them. On the way there, we had gotten lost several times, and true to form, my parents shouted the blame at each other. I would watch them as if watching an intense game of tennis.
“Forty love each and down to deuce. Who will take the points needed to win the final?” The announcer in my head would say excitedly.
The fun did not stop there. To make things worse, there had been a bad car accident on the highway and the traffic had built into a two-mile long queue. In addition, it had been a scorching hot summer’s day and that was not good, even for the most relaxed of Sunday drivers. The heat intensified as the afternoon approached and the steam coming from my parent’s ears matched the rising heat of the cement.
Finally, after four hours, we cleared the queue and were off again. Seven hours later than planned we arrived at my grandparents. We pulled into the drive at nine thirty pm and the inside of the car was filled with a black mushroom cloud left by a nuclear explosion, which had inevitably exploded over the last few miles. The car doors swung open and a river of nuclear waste and poisonous gas spilled out into the night air and I was finally able to breathe again. My parent’s unpacked the car while I sat inside with my grandparents. My grandmother, she hugged and kissed me excitedly, while my grandfather looked at me with disgust. That night I lay in bed listening to my father snoring on the bedroom floor. Even at my grandparents my mother was not ashamed to be the bitch she was.
The next day my grandparents took me to the local park while my mother and father went to one of the local malls on a making-up trip. I played in the park for a while and then we went to an ice cream shop. My grandmother spoiled me with ice cream and sweets and spent the day talking to me, wanting to know everything about me. My grandfather continued with his looks of disgust. While my grandmother wasn’t looking of course. That evening my mother once again gave into her addiction and began an argument with my father. It had not taken long for my grandfather to join in, showing us where my mother had got her aggressive streak from.
“You’ve always thought your precious daughter married beneath her,” my father had shouted as he walked out the door.
My mother watched and smiled with delight as her father continued to shout put downs at mine as he walked down the street. I however, sat in the arms of my grandmother emotionless. It hadn’t been the first time he had left to get away. And that night, as on many other occasions, I cried myself to sleep wishing for my father to come into my room to tell me it was going to be ok like he usually did. However, that night he didn’t.
The next morning I woke early and rushed down the stairs to the living room expecting my father to be fast asleep on the couch. But when I got there he was nowhere to be seen. So I went to the window to see if his car had still been parked in the driveway. It wasn’t.
“He came here to collect it early hours of this morning,” my grandmother said, standing in the doorway. Next she walked over to the sofa and motioned for me to join her.
I had liked my grandmother so I did as she asked and we sat cuddling for twenty or so minutes.
“What are you doing woman!” My grandfather barked as he walked into the room.
But she ignored him and he soon went off in a huff.
An hour or so later I watched as my mother packed our stuff into my grandfather’s car. As we left I gave my grandmother a big long hug and she whispered in my ear. “I am sorry,” she said. I felt her tears as they rolled down her cheek. Moments later we got into the car and left. I watched her until she was out of sight.
When we arrived home my grandfather helped us to get our stuff into the house. We entered and all the evidence of my father’s existence there was gone. Leaving only the screams of abuse lingering like an unwanted ghost trapped in this world.
“Never mind dear,” my grandfather began, “you will be ok. You’re a fighter like ya old man.”
She smiled, gave him a kiss, hugged him goodbye and told me to stay inside. I went to the window as they walked to his car. He then turned and watched my mother make her way to the house and noticed me at the window. The look of hatred for my father now screamed at me. I turned to see my mother standing in the living room doorway, looking at me with her father’s eyes.
Every weekend and on some weekday afternoons I would sit at the living room window, watching, waiting for my father to walk down the street and come back home. My mother of course had soon grown tired of it and told me he had met someone else and he had gone away with them. Telling me to forget about him. Saying it with such a poisonous tone it would make an adder jealous. However, I did not believe her. I couldn’t believe her. He was my father and he would come for me some day. The hatred for my father soon grew bigger inside of her, and her venomous tongue lavished her every bad word to me. Why she had hated me so much was unclear. But a good guess to why she hated my father so much was because he had left her for good and left her to rot in her own self pity. And since she was unable to abuse him anymore, she decided to start on me. The whole thing started off with simple looks of disgust, but had very quickly grown into mental abuse. She would call me every horrible name ever written in the English language and I think she herself had invented more. She would tell me I was a mistake, wishing she had drowned me at birth. She would scream at me I was no good and I would be a no good son of a bastard for the rest of my days. There is more, but I would fill this book with just those if I carried on.
The next four years passed slowly, painfully and I was nearly ten years old when my father finally came to see me. I was playing out in the street with the rest of the kids from the neighbourhood, when he walked up to me. At first I was worried about this strange man staring at me, but then I could see the hurt in his eyes as he took mental pictures. Even though he looked grey, weary and twice his age I had a feeling deep in my heart that it was him.
“Hey son… you - you recognised me?” he asked in a feeble voice. I smiled and my eyes filled with happy tears. Without a further wasted moment I threw my arms around him and hugged him as tight as I was able. Love and affection warmed me like a thick winter jumper. However, the joy hadn’t been allowed to last.
“Hey! Get away from him!” She screamed as she came towards us, ruining the moment like winter sleet ruining a sunny winters day.
“It’s ok, it’s my daddy,” I said in a teary voice, trying to soften the blow.
“Get in the house, Tom,” she shouted, with that hard look in her eyes
“But-”
“Get in the house… now!”
All the other kids and their parents watched the scene like hyenas waiting to get the remains of a lions kill. They watched me head back to the house with as much eagerness as they had my arguing parents.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she shouted at him.
The memories of arguments passed echoed in my mind.
“I wanted to see my kid!” he screamed back. “Let me spend the day with him for God sake... I’m dying, at least let me spend some time -”
“I told you never to show your face around here again.”
I sat down on the bottom step and along with the whole neighbourhood, I continued to listen to every word that was being shouted between them. He was dying and I sat there too afraid to make a sound. I had wanted to see him so badly and had missed him so much over those last five years. I dreamed of the day he would come to see me. And yet there I sat too afraid to make a sound. Too afraid to insist on spending time with my dad.
“I only have a few days left… please let me spend a day with him,” he continued calmly. “You have stopped me for nearly five years, you could at least give me this one day,” he finished, almost in tears.
“Go away and never come here again,” she said firmly as she walked away.
“You bitch!” He looked to me and shouted, “I love you Tom, I tried to get to see you… please remember that… please remember!”
She grabbed my arm and pulled me up. “Get into the house now Tom.”
“Please remember that, boy… please remember I tried!” he continued.
When she had locked the front door and let go of my arm I ran to my spot at the living room window. I had felt the same in that moment as I did so five years earlier at my grandparent’s house. I watched him walking down the street with his head hung low and that was the last time I saw him.
I later found out that he had managed to hold out until a few days after my tenth birthday, before he passed away. I hadn’t even been allowed to go to his funeral or know where they had spread his ashes. So I was never given the chance to say a proper goodbye.
“I hate you - you little shit. You look like him. Sound like him. You are everything I hated in your father and after today. Like him... you will be dead to me,” she screamed at me as the people from social services took me away.
“For a long time after that incident, in the fall of 89, it was the only time I could remember my mother. Those poisonous words ingrained on that memory’s door. Every time I thought of that moment. Dreamt of it. The scene would play out slower. It was as if I had wanted to punish myself.”
I was taken away to a children’s home where I spent many weeks being bullied and treated like some castaway, although, in there we were all as equals. However, what had been worse was that while I was there I had to visit a child psychologist and answer questions I did not want to. All I had wanted was for him to go away and leave me alone. I wanted deal with the whole thing in my own way. In my own head. Yet in each session he would continue, trying to probe into my mind. I tried to tell him I was getting angry. I tried to warn him the best I could. Telling him that he should leave me alone. I couldn’t be any clearer with my words. But he wouldn’t listen and persisted in his questioning.
“What are you feeling? How do you feel about your mother? What about your father? And how do you feel his death as affected you? Why won’t you open up to me?” He would ask over and over and –
“Leave me alone you fucking bastard!!” I finally screamed. I had had enough and exploded, lunging at him like a wild bear. But he was easily able to subdue me long enough for a colleague to inject me with a sedative. Which I think pleased him. Power over the weak is an addictive drug. His voice was slow and deep and trailed off as I slipped in to unconsciousness. But I heard him say, “I want to take him to the institute up in the hills. I can treat him better there.”
“The homes manager and my social worker were of course quick enough to agree to the move. And why not? Like everybody else in my life, they too had just wanted to get rid of me. Palm me off to the next willing person who thought they were able to help me.”
It took nearly three quarters of a day to get to the institute. We drove up the woodland drive, soon passing a sign which said Woodland Hills Psychiatric Institute for the young.
I hadn’t understood why I needed to go there. I was just an angry child craving for some love and affection. Surely any one of them could see that.
Waiting outside the institute like two correctional officers were two nurses - Nurse Bertha and Nurse Carson. It was hard to tell which one of them was the male. However, both of them were scary looking people. Carson was twenty eight, with light brown hair, brown eyes and a nose as crooked as he was. Bertha was a hefty woman, with long dark hair, which she kept, tied up. She had dark eyes to match. As soon as we stopped they moved in for the kill, like wolves pouncing on weakened prey. The car door flung open and they manhandled me out of the vehicle, rushing me inside and down a long, cold, white painted corridor, until we came to a room. The room number was 1101. The silver paint was chipping off the door, the numbers had begun to rust and the door opened with a thundering echo. They threw me inside and then slammed the door closed hard and fast. Acting as if I was a dangerous convict who might somehow get out and hurt them before they could close it. Once the door was shut and locked they both smiled at me slyly through the glass window and then left. A few minutes passed before the doctor appeared at the window and he had a slightly smug look to him.
“Hello Tom, welcome to the institute,” he began, pleased with himself. “I trust that you have been treated well so far.” He waited for me to answer but I had no answer for him. I was too afraid. But, I did not show him my fear as I was determined to be brave. “So it’s going to be like that then, is it?” he said with some pleasure. “Very well, we will see how long you can keep that kind of attitude up,” he continued.
He whistled happily as he walked away.
Not long after the doctor had left, Carson reappeared at the glass and opened a prison like hatch. “The doc thinks you should spend a couple of days locked in your room… to see if that will improve your behaviour.” He smiled confidently with a cliché type gleam in his eyes before he walked away, whistling an equally cheerful tune.
I walked over to the window and peered out into the woodland. It seemed as if life had suddenly been switched onto pause mode and I was stuck in time, waiting for somebody to rescue me. But the steel bars protecting the dirty windows seemed impenetrable and showed me there was no escaping that place.
That night I couldn’t get more than an hour’s sleep. The pillow felt like it was made of rock, the mattress was as thin as a play mat from the school gym and the bed slats underneath it were uneven. When I got up and lifted the mattress I could see a few of the slats had been removed. I sighed heavily and tears began to form. But I soon stopped them, sucked it up, put the mattress back down and tried once more to get to sleep. I finally began to drift off when I heard a strange noise coming from outside. I shot up, almost falling through the gap in the slats. I steadied myself and sat up with my back against the wall, curling up, clutching my legs in close to my chest. I did not take my eyes off that window.
“Hey kid!” Carson shouted through the glass, rising up, with his flashlight eliminating his gorilla like face.
I screamed so loud I think the whole of the institute must have heard me. Next I scrambled off the end of the bed and fell awkwardly, cracking my elbow on the wooden frame as I fell to the cold as steel floor. I looked up, cradling my arm to see him smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Got ya kiddo, you should have seen your face… I wish –” he began to laugh. “I wish I’d had a camera,” he continued.
That was it, I couldn’t hold it in any longer and I burst out crying. I spent the rest of that night thinking of a way to get revenge on that piece of shit.
At first going back to sleep was out of the question because of the pain in my arm. However, after a few more long hours, my tiredness got to me so I decided to get up and pull the mattress to the floor, and then, being careful of my elbow, I lay down. The floor had been just as uncomfortable as the bed but at least there were no large gaps to fall through.
When I finally managed to get through the pain and fall asleep, daylight began to peer above the tree tops and through my window. But I had been so tired it did not matter. However, it had been the loud clanking on the door I couldn’t ignore.
“Breakfast time, kiddo,” Carson said with some amusement. “I have been told to give you yours in your room.” He opened the door and slid in a metal tray and I soon found out why he sounded so amused about it. The tray housed a steel plate with a piece of dried toast and a bowl of thick, clumpy porridge. There was no spoon either. After he left I sat for a couple of hours just staring at the food and even though my stomach was rumbling I was not ready to give into them.
The morning slowly turned into afternoon and Carson finally returned to collect what he was expecting to be an empty plate and bowl.
“I see we have a bit of will power. A little fight still inside you kiddo…” I had hated him calling me that but not as much as I had hated him. “That’s good,” he continued. “Because that means there is something left in you to take.” He turned and looked about the hall before he stepped into my cell. “That also means I have a reason to beat the living shit out of you if you get to be too much trouble.” His eyes looked resonant, like that of a snake waiting to strike. His cold stare sent a shiver slithering down my spine. But again I hid the fear as best as I could, even though showing him my fear would have probably been the wisest thing to do. “I will break you kiddo… you can be sure of that!” He left the room and pulled the door closed, as he did so he said, “since you didn’t eat your breakfast. You don’t get any lunch.” Once again he whistled his infamous tune as he walked away.
The next three hours had gone slower than the whole of the twenty four hours before. I had been so hungry and scared that I had my back pressed against the wall like I was glued to it, with my eyes set on the door.
I thought about anything I could to try and get my mind off food and fear. Then suddenly a kinder voice spoke to me. “Hey kid, are you hungry?” A female voice asked. Nurse Bertha appeared at the window. I did not answer her. “It’s ok, Tom. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Here,” she opened the door and left me a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches. “Take these… eat them if you get hungry.” She smiled at me, closed the door and left.
At first I thought it was a good cop - bad cop routine and was determined not to eat the sandwiches. I stared at them for a good few hours, willing myself not to fall for it. However, the hunger worsened and began wearing down my determination. After another hour passed I was been able to take it any longer and rushed over to the sandwiches. I had not cared that my arm hurt like hell as I wolfed them down. I was so hungry I could hardly wait until one mouthful was sliding down my throat before biting out the next. Within a few minutes I had devoured the sandwiches and no sooner had I finished did Nurse Bertha and Carson appear at the window. They opened the door and Bertha stood there with a large grin on her fat face, while Carson was unhappy. “See Michael… I told you it would only be a matter of time. If you lead them into a false sense of security… like any animal they will take what food you give them. Just takes a little patience.”
“Yeah whatever,” Carson said as he handed her some money.
“I hope you enjoyed the sandwiches kiddo,” he said angrily as he walked off.
Nurse Bertha smiled at me as she bent down and picked up the plate. “Enjoy those, did ya? I hope so because that is the last time you get decent food in here.” She walked to the door and then turned to me. “Oh and I can tell you that you won’t enjoy the next few hours.” She smiled, which then turned into laughter as she left the room slamming the door behind her.
When she was out of sight I curled up in the corner and cried, trying to think about what she had in store for me. When, suddenly, my stomach began to make some strange noises. Not long after that I was so desperate for the toilet I couldn’t make it the three feet to the metal basin before crapping myself. I had gone so many times that night I spent most of it sitting on the toilet. However, I pulled myself together through anger and started thinking of the best way to get revenge on her too.
“Hey wake up, kiddo,” he said quietly down my ear. Then he continued, raising his voice. “Uppity up – up!”
At first I thought it had been a dream, but then I woke to find Carson’s face only an inch from my own. I shot up, catching my bad elbow against the leg of the bed. I cradled it and rocked back and forth with teary eyes as he said. “You should watch that elbow, kiddo. Last thing you want is to have to have your arm amputated,” he smiled as he stood and walked to the door. “You have a visit from the doc today, remember not to mention about what has happened over the last couple of days. If you are starting to have any trouble with the guilt from lying… just remember how easy it is for me to get into your room without you knowing.” With that said he closed the door and gave me one last evil stare through the window.
That afternoon I sat in the doctor’s office as quite as a mouse hiding from a prowling cat. “Hello again, Tom, I hope we are not going to have a recurrence of your behaviour the last time we met at the children’s home. Because that sort of behaviour is not tolerated here.”
Remembering what Carson had told me I shook my head like a shy little schoolboy.
“Are you ok?” He looked at me with precarious eyes.
I nodded.
“You know, you will have to talk to me at some point? And I am not falling for the shy boy act.” He opened his note book and began to write something down, looking up at me every now and then to ask me a question. But I sat quietly for the whole of the session, ignoring even the basic questions. Much to his dislike. After a while the doctor’s voice faded out. Soon overpowered by the thoughts of how anyone could be so cruel to a child? I had known I could be difficult at times, but I was no different from any other kid. Suddenly I looked up to see a less then happy face watching me. He let out a big sigh and then said. “I am going to arrange a longer session for our next appointment, ok?” I gave him no reply to the question and he shook his head in disappointment. “I will see you next week.”
He then called Carson in to take me away.
Carson remained quiet as we made our way back to my room. When we got there, my door was already open and when we reached the opening he shoved me inside.
“That’s good kiddo, you listened to me… you are a clever kid. Now be good and eat your food,” he said sternly. He motioned to the plate of potatoes, and an excuse for a chicken pie which sat on my bed. Next to it sat a small pot of jelly. I looked at the meal and felt like I was about to throw up as my elbow had ached so much. I turned and asked for some painkillers with the fear of him saying no. But to my surprise he agreed to get some and then left. I waited for three hours for him to return before giving up on the idea. It had just been about tormenting me again. But then a few minutes later nurse Bertha appeared. “Carson told me you were in some pain, so I have brought you something for it. They are strong pills and will probably knock you out. But… they will take away the pain,” she said with a sympathetic smile.
Even though I was a young child I thought about the consequences of taking those kinds of pills and those thoughts almost ruled my head. The pain in my elbow however, was so severe I did not care what they could do to me. I just wanted to be out of pain. So I agreed with some caution, showing her I was wary about them in the hope it would deter her from doing anything to me. She held them out to me and as I went to take them she pulled her hand away.
Once again she held them out. But the second time I did not reach for them. Her little game had not worked, which annoyed her tremendously. She huffed and then threw the pills at me and watched as I took them. “Sleep tight!” she said with an evil grin and then walked to the door.
“Nurse?” I called out.
“What is it?” she barked, not looking back.
“When will I get to go to the rec room and meet the other kids?”
“If you are lucky… never,” she replied. She said as she left the room, slamming closed the door.
I curled up on the bed like a frightened hedgehog and waited, clutching my elbow, soon falling asleep.
When I woke I found myself in my bed at home. Lying next to me were all the photos of my father and me. I sat up and felt my elbow and it had no longer hurt. “Thank God. It was all just a nightmare,” I thought as I started looking at the pictures.
My mother shouted up the stairs, “Tom, you have some friends at the door wanting to know if you are going out and play.”
“I will be down in a minute,” I replied slightly confused. I tidied away the pictures, putting them under my pillow and headed downstairs. I stopped at the hall window and could have sworn I saw my mother handing three of the other kids some money. She turned her head slowly and looked up at the window as if knowing I had been watching. I quickly ducked out of view and made my way down the rest of the stairs. I reached the front door as she came up the porch steps. She smiled at me as I walked past, rubbing my head caringly. “Have fun kiddo and make sure you keep those clothes clean.”
“Ok,” I replied nervously.
I ran down the steps and out into the street. The other kids had already made their way down to the green close to our home, which was also next to a river. When I arrived I was not surprised to find them ignoring me. They did not really like me that much and I did not like them either. But it was sometimes fun just to annoy them and it was easy enough, most of the time. All I had to do was to sit there and watch them. In return they would often come over and each of them would kick me. This time however, they just looked over every now and then. Then Sammy, the leader of their little gang, called over to me. “Hey Tom… you want to come and join in?” he said, urging me to go over. I sat there for a few moments, shocked and wondering what his agenda was. But then I thought, if they had wanted to beat on me they would have just walked over and started on me, without saying a word. “Sometime today would be good!” Sammy shouted impatiently.
When I looked up again, all the other kids were motioning for me to join them. So I got up, ran over and joined in with the game. For a whole forty odd minutes things went well and they genuinely seemed to want me there. And to my surprise it actually felt good. However, a small lack of concentration on my part led me into the path of a player on my side which ruined our chances of scoring a touchdown.
“You idiot!” Jimmy screamed at me, knocking me down.
“What the hell were you doing?” yelled another.
Soon they were all standing over me, looking down at me like I was a piece of shit, screaming at me. A few moments passed and then they began the kicks. When they were finished, Sammy bent down and smiled at me wickedly. He then told me something which hurt me more than anything else they had ever done. When he was finished they all ran off, laughing as they went. I lay curled up crying for a while after that, thinking about what he had said and wishing it not to be true. Then finally I managed to pull myself together and picked myself up. I stopped crying as anger started to burn up inside me and I made my way home. When I came to the end of the street I could see them all playing stick ball and they stopped to look at me. I walked towards my house, ignoring them, when I was suddenly struck by the ball and I fell down. I sat there for a moment or two listening to them laughing before I made it back to my feet.
“I will get you for that Sammy boy,” I thought.
I stood up, carried on into my yard not giving them anymore satisfaction and made my way to the steps. As I did so I noticed the trash cans were filled with my clothes and sitting on the top were my photos. What Sammy had said to me earlier played so loudly in my head it felt like I had a set of speakers inside there.
“Do you know the best part about kicking you while you are down?” he asked spitefully. “The best part is that your mother pays us to do it,” and then he laughed. His laughter resonated the pain I had felt in my heart.
I ran into the house hell bent on a confrontation with her - but she was ready for me.
“Why did you do it? What did I ever do?” I screamed.
All of a sudden, everything after that sped up. The doctor I assaulted in the home, Nurse Carson and Bertha, all of the social workers and all the people I had ever known suddenly appeared around me, laughing at me. I closed my eyes and began to cry. But no sooner had I started I felt the anger growing in me again and I opened my eyes, wiped away the tears. And then, just like that, their heads began popping like bubbles.
Moments passed and I suddenly began to get very cold. My dream was ending and I started to wake. The closer I came to consciousness, the colder I became, and the louder I could hear the rustling of leaves, followed by the howling of the wind. I woke and found myself lying on a pile of leaves with nothing on but my hospital gown. I sat up hastily and with a fright when I heard the noise of something moving in the woodland not far from me. I squirmed up against a tree with my eyes fixed on the darkness, watching as a leaf lifted with the momentary calm breeze. Then the wind howled again and I stiffened. The cold bite of that fall wind felt like a hundred red ants nipping at my skin and in that moment I had just wanted to die. Wanting to get it over and done with quickly. They had beaten me. But then my father’s voice played in the back of my mind. “Get up. Don’t let them beat you. Get up and teach them a lesson they will never forget,” his voice was strong.
His voice continued playing over and over giving me the strength to stand. And over the course of that night I made my way through the woodland.
By morning I had made it to the main road. The home was closer than civilization but I had decided I was never going back there again and I would tide over my vengeance for a time, letting Carson and Bertha think they had got away with it. I turned and walked away with a grin on my face.
In the early hours of that morning, as I wandered down the highway, I turned around several times in the hope I would see a car coming. But I did not. It was a very quiet road and at that time of the morning I was more likely to see a deer. However, after a while luck favoured me and a car finally appeared. I stuck out my thumb like I had seen them do in the movies, hoping I had not just tried to flag down some insane serial killer. The car drove past me and then the tyres screeched and skidded as it stopped. A young man and woman got out and at first they just stood there looking at me. It seemed, to me, like they were looking at me like they were trying to decide if I was real. Then they came running over.
“Look, Paul. He must have come from that hospital place in the hills,” the woman said in a soft, caring, but panicky voice.
“We better take him back,” replied Paul.
“No – no please don’t take me back there,” I replied desperately, grabbing my arm.
“What’s that?” she said pointing to my elbow.
“What?” Paul replied.
Suddenly sirens could be heard whaling in the distance.
“Quick, get in the car,” she said urgently.
“Wait Claire we can’t.”
“Look at him Paul… they have been abusing him up there,” she said almost in tears.