F: The last bit

The light was on in my bedroom upstairs. It hadn't been when I left,
I was sure of that. It had still been daylight when I left. I edged
closer to the house, staying in the shadows as much as possible. I
could see now that the front door was open - not in a
swinging-in-the-breeze haunted house way, more of a left-on-the-latch
job, but open nonetheless. Someone was in there. But who? Not teenagers
- subtle break-ins like this weren't their style and, besides, they
wouldn't have the nerve after the way I'd got rid of those two this
afternoon. I figured I was safe from teenagers for another two days at
the very least, so it wasn't them. Whoever it WAS was going to get a
shock though. Oh yes. No doubt about that. I crept up the path and
peered through the letterbox. The hallway beyond was dark but I could
sense there was no one in there. Gently, oh so gently, I eased the door
open enough to squeeze through before shutting it softly behind me.
Then I just stood there and listened.

For a while the house was silent. I edged towards the staircase. The
trick was not to walk on the third or seventh step. If you walked on
them then the game was up. I stepped carefully over those traitors and
reached the landing. The intruder was still in the bedroom - I could
see his shadow in the escaping light beneath the door. Good. I tip-toed
past the bedroom and to the closet at the end of the landing, where I
fetched out my old cane. It still felt comfortable in my hand, like it
had been waiting for me to return. A sense of peace came over me as I
crept back to the bedroom door and waited quietly.

The shadow beneath the door continued to bob and weave about for what
seemed like an eternity before I heard the soft creak of footfalls
approaching the exit. I tensed and held the cane ready, like a golfer
at the top of his swing. There was the gentle click of the lightswitch
and a moment later the door swung open. Steady. Steady. Wait for it.
NOW! The figure was three quarters of the way through the door and I
swung with all my might. The cane crackled through the air with all
it's old familiarity and struck the intruder between the eyes. He fell
like a stone and was still. The world seemed to pause on it's axis a
moment, re-adjusting, and then time began again and I heard the
reverberating thud as his sizeable frame hit the floor. I breathed
again. I was safe.

I stepped over the corpse to the light-switch on the other side of the
doorway. It looked like I would be going out again after all. The bath
would have to wait. But perhaps it was for the best. If I did it all
tonight then I would be free tomorrow to start that new jigsaw. Then
perhaps I could -

My thoughts guillotined off as I turned on the light and saw the body.
It was Marvin. Marvin of the ample belly and innocent aura. Marvin the
cartoon watcher. Marvin the stiff-legged-pampered-boy. Marvin the
burglar. But it couldn't be. How. Why. Who?. My mind jammed up solid
and I sat down with a thump. Marvin. Marvin. Marvin. The name just went
round and round in my head like a mantra. I felt like I'd been shot.
Marvin shouldn't have been here burglaring my house. It didn't make
sense. He wasn't a teenager with no respect and a drug habit to
support. He wasn't some overgrown schoolyard bully. He was Marvin. He
hung on to dinnerlady's skirts. He was fat. HE WAS FAT GODDAMMIT! My
mind rebelled and I found my self beating my fists upon his chest and
screaming incoherently at his placid face. "YOU WERE FAT! YOU WERE FAT!
YOU WERE FAT! YOU WERE F-"

And that's when the pain hit me. It felt like a truck had run over my
left arm. I fell backwards and struck my head on the doorpost. The bump
knocked some of the fog from my brain and I was suddenly acutely aware
of everything around me. I could've heard a pin drop. Then the second
wave of pain hit me, shooting up my arm and into my chest this time. I
doubled over. In my newfound clarity I knew I was having a
heart-attack, and I welcomed it. I'd killed Marvin. I didn't deserve to
live. I closed my eyes and leant back against the doorframe, waiting
for the pain to come again.

I woke up in hospital. The first thing I saw was a uniformed policeman
sitting by my bed, thumbing through some magazine. He looked up at me
resentfully.

"So you've decided to wake up then scumbag?" He said conversationally.
He leaned over me until I could read his pores and smell the
stale-sweat beneath his arms. "I tell you - you're lucky to be awake at
all. You don't know how tempted I was to switch off your machine. But I
figure it'll be more fun to watch you suffer." He grinned evilly.

"Suffer?" My voice was a croaky shadow of it's former self.

"Oh yes." He smiled again. "There's a lot of people want to hurt you
and I'm looking forward to it. The place where you're going?." He
paused reflectively, searching for the right phrase. He was still
leaning over me, and from my vantage point beneath him I could see a
clump of bristly hair on the side of his neck that he'd missed while
shaving. I stared at it, fascinated. He finally found the words and
continued. "The place where you're going is full of nasty people, nasty
violent people at that. But none of them play with kiddies. You're
going to be in a lot of pain old-man. A lot of pain." He sat back in
his chair again and picked up his magazine. Almost as an afterthought
he pressed the call button above my bed to summon the nurse. I sank
back in my pillow and began to cry.

They let me read read the papers here. I'm not allowed scissors but I
tear out any pieces that interest me. There are a lot of bits of
newspaper blu-tacked to my wall. There's one piece that isn't up there
though, not yet anyway. I may put it up eventually., but for now it
sits hidden in my drawer, folded up neatly. I said at the start of my
history that this was a tale without any tied-up threads or fancy
writing. I also said it would have no nice neat ending. Well I think I
must have been prophetic, because I just can't think of how to word
this last stretch. In a way I don't want to. I'm not allowed jigsaws in
here and this has helped to pass the time. But I know it does have to
end, and so I think I'll simply copy out that hidden bit of newspaper.
It finishes off the tale far better than I ever could. As I also said
before, I'm no Orwell or Steinbeck. The sad truth is that I'm not even
the Peterborough Herald.

(From the Peterborough Herald, March 24th 2003)

"Hermann Gunnarson, the notorious Peterborough Wolf, is today
beginning an indefinite stay at an unnamed secure-mental-hospital.
Whilst issuing this sentence yesterday afternoon, Judge Larkin stated
that Gunnarson's crimes were among the 'sickest and most perverted' he
had ever seen. He also said that he was convinced that Gunnarson was
deeply unwell and that this - along with the threat posed to
Gunnarson's life if he were to enter a normal prison - had persuaded
him to issue the sentence that he had. He concluded however that in a
'truly just world' Gunnarson would have been sent to the gallows for
his crimes. Gunnarson, who last month was convicted of the kidnap and
murder of 11 year old Graham Wallace and the murder of reporter Craig
Straub, did not speak during the session except to confirm his
identity.

In a prepared statement Susannah Wallace, the mother of Graham, said
that she was disgusted with the sentence and would be appealing against
it. Lambasting the justice system for failing to protect the innocent,
Mrs Wallace said that she was sure Gunnarson would be released in 'a
few years' and that he would then be 'free to torture other children'
in the same way as he had done to Graham.

Gunnarson was arrested at his home last year after police - responding
to a complaint from a neighbour regarding excessive late-night noise -
discovered him slumped beside the body of Graham Wallace, an 11 year
old schoolboy who had been missing for 9 days previously. Gunnarson had
suffered a heart-attack. On further exploration, the police also
discovered the bludgeoned corpse of 23 year old Craig Straub, a
journalist with our sister-paper the Peterborough Evening Times.

The inquest into Graham's death revealed that he had been the victim
of sexual torture, including biting, in the hours leading up to his
murder, and that his death had been caused by a single blow to the
forehead from the cane found lying beside his body - a cane that
Gunnarson freely admits to having owned since his days as a teacher in
a boarding school in the 1970s. Gunnarson - dubbed the Peterborough
Wolf because of his long grey hair - has always vehemently denied
torturing Graham, although he pleaded guilty to the murder of both the
boy and Craig Straub.

Carmen Morenzo, Editor of the Evening Times, yesterday also proclaimed
herself unhappy with the sentence. She paid tribute to the late Mr
Straub, calling his death a "tragic waste" and saying the he was a
"..caring and giving man, always ready to help anybody." With regard to
the sentence, Ms Morenzo stated that in her opinion Wallace had been
let off lightly, saying "In my view hanging's too good for him - he
should be put in a pen and beaten like a dog."

Speaking in defence of the sentence, Anthony Hamilton-Bruin -
solicitor for Mr Gunnarson - praised Judge Larkin for his common sense
and humanity: "This was the correct and just sentence for Mr Gunnarson.
Throughout the trial it was proved conclusively that Mr Gunnarson was
mentally ill, and although the jury convicted him nevertheless, I am
pleased that Judge Larkin saw fit to acknowledge this fact. Judge
Larkin must also be praised for his perceptive humanity in not
subjecting my client to the torture that would have awaited him in
prison. Justice and common sense have prevailed."

In a related story, police are refusing to be drawn into speculation
regarding the discovery of several skeletons in a disused well on the
outskirts of Peterborough. When asked yesterday if there could be any
connection between the skeletons and the crimes of Hermann Gunnarson,
Peterborough Police spokesman Derek Harriman would only reply that it
was far too early in the investigation to draw any conclusions. When
pressed on whether he personally thought there was a link however, Sgt
Harriman replied that he "?wouldn't be a bit surprised." "