It's All In The Mind

They said it was a solution to prison overcrowding. They said it would be a good thing. They said. First came the prison ships, then, when they were full, whole islands were turned in to vast open prisons. That was nine years ago.
I once read somewhere that it targeted the episodic memory, attaching itself to the hippocampus. Blah, blah, blah. Basically, if you look past all the science jargon it means that it destroys short-term memory before it can be stored permanently. You could call it a memory wipe. The most violent criminals “volunteered” and were injected. After testing they showed no sign of having any memory of, or compulsion to re-commit, the crime. They were then integrated back in to the general population. It sounded great, a miracle cure.
So why should he get away with not remembering what he did to Amanda when I have to live with it every waking moment for the rest of my life. It just doesn’t seem right. It’s not fair.
I found out where he worked by sheer chance. Call it fate, call it destiny, call it what you like, but it doesn’t change anything. The first time I saw him I froze. I was standing in line for coffee on my way to work. Everything was as it should be. I woke up as normal, ate breakfast as normal and showered off the stale smell of the night before as normal. So it came as a bit of a shock when the woman in front of me stepped away and there he was, smiling and asking me what he could get me.
If I had been the least bit prepared I’m sure I would have had the same reaction. I did what any normal person would do when face with the person who had destroyed everything they had known. I stood there with my mouth flapping like an idiot. Suddenly it felt like the heating had been turned right up and I couldn’t breathe. I turned and bolted out of there, knocking people out of my way and ignoring the rush of swear words thrown at my back. I sucked in the fresh air by the lung full and tried to get my heart rate close to somewhere normal.
The rest of the day was a daze. I just couldn’t concentrate. I sat and stared blankly at the computer screen and the computer screen stared equally blankly right back. I got some strange looks as I just sat there. They tried to make it subtle but I could tell. I’d gotten used to that over the last two years. People gave me a fairly wide berth these days, and I know it made them feel awkward not knowing what to say or how to behave. I’m not sure if they realized that I wasn’t sure what I should say or how to behave.
I saw his face everywhere. Brushing my teeth that night I saw his face in the mirror looking back at me. I looked at it for the longest time. All the hate, anger and fear I felt seemed to ooze from me like cold wet mud.
As much as I wanted to forget him, I could never forget the consequences of what he’d done. There was an empty space next to me every night to remind me of that. A few days later found me standing in line for coffee. Mothers were trying to feed broken bits of shortbread to toddlers, fashion-conscious young women gossiped together over obscenely large mugs of foam and serious looking men with serious looking laptops were being swallowed by sofas that were found nowhere else but coffee shops.
“Yes sir, can I take your order?” An unnaturally perky teenager smiled at me across the counter.
Even though I knew what I wanted, I still found myself looking up at the menu spread above him.
“Black coffee. No sugar.”
“Will that be small, medium or large?”
The cups for the take-away drinks were arranged on the back counter and even the small one looked enormous.
“Small.”
The teen shouted the order to the person behind him. I paid and waited. As I stood there I could feel panic start to set in. What if it was his day off? What if he recognised me the last time I was here and he simply took off? Worst of all was what if I had imagined the whole thing?
The door to the kitchen swung open and a box of milk preceded a uniform. When the bearer put the box on the back counter I felt my stomach knot up as I saw the face of the man who had taken everything that was good in my life, destroyed it, and handed it back.
I swore I saw it then, just a flicker. One blink and it was gone. For a split second he looked right at me, seemed to look right in to me, knowing that I knew.
I found myself calling work and telling them I wouldn’t be in. They were very understanding, had been since Amanda died. They’d overlooked that I was drinking far too much. It wouldn’t last though. I knew they felt sorry for me, but I didn’t care anymore. They only thing I’d cared about was Amanda.
I sat in a booth at the back of my local sipping at my pint, the liquid comforting me. I had my routine. I’d start with the pints, nursing those for the first hour or so before moving on to spirits. Usually I left before closing so I could get to the corner shop on the way home before they closed. If I had the money I’d pick up a bottle of Famous Grouse or Southern Comfort but more often than not I’d be in the wine section picking up two bottles for a fiver. So far I’d managed to get in to work on time every morning. Well, nearly every morning. Amanda and I used to cook together a lot and would spend ages in the supermarket picking ingredients for some wonderful dish, but I could barely bring myself to pick up enough ready meals to last the week.
As I swallowed the dregs of my fifth pint and started on my first house double of the night two questions occurred to me. What if the wonder drug they’d given him didn’t work as well as they claimed? What if all the psychopaths, rapists and murderers apparently “cured” were walking the streets more than capable of doing the same again? If it didn’t work then he’d be able to relive what he’d done to Amanda. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to find a way to finally put her to rest. I began piecing together the beginnings of a plan from the bottom of every drink. Every glass and every bottle gave up a little more of the puzzle. The first step on my new found path lead me straight to the men’s room where the all too familiar name of Armatage Shanks looked back at me and mocked me with every heave.
I woke the next morning with the plan still fresh in my mind. My head, oh, jeez, it felt like someone had been kicking it around the park. Probably had, the way I get sometimes. As usual I didn’t make it to the bedroom, instead finding the sofa far more convenient. And, as was the custom, I’d picked up a bottle of something strong from the shop on the corner and practically drained it. Not having a clue what time it was I lifted my arm and tried to focus on the watch attached to it. Well, I’m late for work anyway. My boss was very lenient but even he had his limits and would have sent me home looking and smelling like this.
Fumbling for the phone on the table, and knocking it to the floor in the process I called in sick. Maybe they should have a new category just for me; they should call it ‘Calling In Drunk After Reminiscing About Your Murdered Wife And Plotting Revenge On The Man Responsible.’ I wasn’t sure if it would catch on though.
First things first, I knew where he worked. To find where he lived I would have to follow him home. That part was easier said than done. I had no idea what days he worked or what shifts, so, pulling on my coat, I had little option but to watch the coffee shop and wait. I could hardly go walking in there and ask for the guy’s home address. They would think I was crazy and I would be locked in one of those nice padded rooms. No, I would just have to watch and wait.
It was three days before I saw him. I almost missed him as he slipped through the crowded street. In the beginning I thought I would draw a lot of attention just sitting there out in the open, but it turned out people gave me a fairly wide berth. I caught my reflection in shop fronts several times and I could see why. I looked a wreck and I smelled bad. Three days beard growth and sore red eyes finished it off nicely. I’d accidentally stumbled on the best way to hide yourself; be out in the open. No-one ever thinks to check there. People never take much notice of the homeless either, myself included. I’d gotten pretty good at memorising the employee shift patterns and as it was around eleven I made an educated guess that he would be there until closing at eight.
The last customer left at five past eight, being ushered gently to the door by the teen that served me the first time I’d been there. They all wanted to go home and couldn’t until the guy left. At eight fifteen the staff filtered out and the lights were switched off. My guy left on his own, pulling his jacket tight around him. The government had an obligation to tell employers when they hired someone that had been “treated” and it was the employer’s responsibility to inform their staff. I’m guessing the other employees weren’t too keen to be alone in the dark with him.
I waited until he’d gone about a hundred yards or so then got up from the bench I had practically been living on for the last few days and followed him. It was easy enough in the town with people still milling around, some on their way home from work and others out for the evening. Nobody looked me in the eye as they moved aside to let me through.
He’d gone maybe a mile or so when he turned off the street and up a wide driveway leading to a hidden block of flats. I waited on the street for a moment before I followed. I had visions of turning the corner and coming face to face with him. It was almost totally dark away from the street. I could hardly see a thing and would have walked right in to a large metal bin if the reflection hadn’t caught my eye. Out of sight of the road the driveway opened in to a courtyard with parking spaces around the edges. Three identical buildings made up three sides of the courtyard and I was just in time to see him go in to the third one.
As the door began to close behind him I raced to catch up, afraid that it was one of those doors that had its own key scanner or buzzer or something. Thankfully there was no key and no buzzer and I pushed it open.
I could hear him on the landing above me. A door opened and closed and he moved in to a corridor. I had no idea what I was doing. My heart was beating so hard I thought he must be able to hear it and was lying in wait for me. I climbed the stairs and looked through the glass of the door to see him fumble in his pocket for his keys. Now I knew where he lived. Brigadier Court, flat 2C.
I was there waiting when he left for work the next day. I’d showered, shaved and eaten what my alcohol-soaked stomach could manage, which wasn’t a whole lot. I followed him to work just to be sure and then headed back to his flat.
Getting in was surprisingly easy. It’s funny the faith people put in their home security. A little tip though, just because a lock looks sturdy and secure doesn’t mean it is. I had hours until he would be back so I thought I would have a little nose around. When you’re in someone else’s home whether invited or, in this case not, you take the opportunity to have a look around. Everyone does it.
The whole place was ridiculously neat and organised. Everything had a second-hand look to it; mismatched, scuffed and worn out, but still neat. The newest piece of furniture looked at least twenty years old.
I opened the bathroom door and pulled the light cord. There was a satisfying clunk and the light flickered on. Toilet seat down, bath mat neatly folded over the side of the bath, toothpaste and toothbrush (just the one I was glad to see, the same as me) arranged in a clean glass on the shelf above the sink next to a half used bottle of mouthwash. The inside of the cabinet was as neatly arranged as the rest of the room; disposable razors, box of plasters, Paracetamol (one side effect of being “treated” was fairly regular headaches), cotton buds, everything in place. Even the towels on the towel rail were folded just-so.
After a quick look through the rest of the cupboards around the flat turned up nothing of interest I settled down to wait. I could have sworn I only closed my eyes for a minute, but when I opened them the flat was dark and I could hear the beeping of a key card being scanned. All at once I forgot where I was. I nearly bolted for the door, not really having a plan except barge him out of the way and run for it. A few deep breaths slowed my pounding heart, which threatened to burst from my chest and make a run for it on its own. I felt for the handle of the knife that I had taken from the kitchen on my lap and gripped it tight. I had visions of what he’d done to Amanda with another knife in another life and I squeezed it tighter.
He was well inside the room before he finally noticed me. His reaction wasn’t what I was expecting. Instead of running he just stood there looking at me before calmly walking to the kitchen and putting the kettle on. Somehow I’d lost the advantage, if I’d ever had one. Either he was used to people breaking in to his flat and sitting at his table or he just wasn’t bothered by it.
He came back sipping from a hot mug of tea and sat himself in a chair across the room from me. For someone who lived on his own he had far too many places to sit. He definitely wasn’t scared, I could tell by his eyes, but he was cautious. He just sat there, sipping periodically from the mug of tea, watching me for the next fifteen minutes. It was pretty uncomfortable with neither of us willing to break the silence and be the first to back down.
As I was beginning to wonder how much longer it would go on for he swallowed the last of the tea, set down the empty mug and leaned back in his chair.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing in my home?” He said it so matter-of-factly that it seemed almost like he was interviewing me for a job. I’d had a whole speech prepared; going over and over it in my head but at that very moment I could remember precisely none of it.
“You took my life from me,” I said finally. I hoped I would sound calm and collected but the shaky and uneven voice didn’t sound like it belonged to me. I hadn’t spoken at all for maybe eight hours.
“How can that be?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair and resting his arms on the arm rests. “You’re sitting at my table.”
“You know what you’ve done to me,” I could feel anger beginning to rise in me.
“I’ve never seen you before mate, sorry. No doubt you’ve been through my stuff. There’s nothing that belongs to you.”
I unclenched my jaw, pulling the knife from my lap and laying it on the table. His eyes darted to it before focussing once again on mine. He didn’t seem surprised. I took a deep breath as I tried to regain some self-control.
“May fifteenth, two years ago.”
“Your birthday?”
“That was the night you broke in to my house, raped my wife and stabbed her fifty six times with a knife from my kitchen.” I had a huge lump in my throat as I tried to keep my emotions in check. My vision started to blur as I welled up.
“Ah,” he said, tapping the tips of his fingers together. Ah, that was it, nothing else.
“She did nothing to you, didn’t even know you and you took her from me. She’d never hurt a soul.”
“And you’ve come here to kill me, is that it?”
I’ve read stories that describe rage boiling up from inside until it can’t be contained and bursts out, and I used to scoff at such a fluffy description. But at that moment, with that bastard looking back at me, casually leaning forward in his chair, I felt exactly that happening to me. It was almost as if the lights in the room dimmed until everything was in shadow but him. I grasped the knife, sc reamed out and went for him, my thighs hitting the table as I knocked it over.
He was up and running for the door as fast as a cat. He probably would have made it out the door and down the stairs if I hadn’t thrown the knife at him, striking his shoulder, blade first. It was little more than a glancing blow but still managed to cut deep. He screamed and fell sideways in to the kitchen and the knife skittered across the floor. He’d just about steadied himself on the door frame when I slammed in to him at a full run, sending us both sprawling.
We fell heavily and he tried his best to fight me off. I was still screaming as I beat his face with my fists. Bone and cartilage gave way and blood sprayed the floor.
I really have no idea how many times I hit him or how long I screamed but eventually the shadows cleared and I could hear the sound of him wheezing and gurgling through what used to be his mouth. I sat back and looked around the room, seeing the knife partially hidden under the freezer. I stood up slowly, my legs shaking and weak, and had to brace myself on the worktop to stop from falling.
As I reached for the knife I noticed my hands, swollen and bloody. I just stared at them. I felt detached from them, as if they weren’t mine. I looked from my hands to the body lying on the floor, tendrils of blood spraying from his mouth and I felt nothing. He struggled to a sitting position and managed to speak with a great deal of effort.
“I want to tell you a secret.” The words came out muffled, like he had a mouthful of cotton wool. Knife in hand I stood over him. “She cried so hard as she begged for her life.”
I couldn’t believe what I just heard. Something gave in my legs, as if the bones had suddenly turned to water, and I fell to my knees. He slid to the floor under my weight. I thought of Amanda, how she used to smile and laugh. Then I saw her begging and pleading. I felt hot tears rolling down my face. He started to make a strange noise and it took me a moment to realise he was laughing. I took the knife in both hands and brought it down hard. The strange noise stopped.
We stayed that way until the police arrived, probably called by a neighbour who’d heard my screams. I didn’t resist when they pulled me off him, put the cuffs on and lead me away.
I was told later in the interviews that I’d struck him so hard in the throat with the knife that the blade had gone nearly an inch in to the floor. I said nothing. There was nothing more I could say. I felt nothing.
I’m scheduled for the injection the day after tomorrow, a Thursday. At least then I’ll find out for myself if the stuff actually works. If I’m wrong, none of this will have mattered and I’ll remember nothing. If I’m right, well, I’ll have two deaths to live with.