Inanimate Page 5

  CHAPTER 7

  Water gushed from the faucet, gradually getting warmer the longer it stayed on. Small hands rinsed off in the flowing water, the blood splashed off creating long red veins down the white porcelain. Connor did not like to be dirty; he cleaned the blood off his hands like he was offended by it. Rubbing quickly, adding soap periodically he removed the last of it. Childishly he patted down his body creating dark patches on his pajama top. Relenting to the fact he would not be fully clean until he changed clothes he stepped back from the sink (water still flowing freely from the tap) and stared straight ahead out the window. His thoughts were heavy, submerged in his head. The full weight of what he had done was sinking in but Connor had no regrets. In his mind, he and his father were free now, free to move on with their lived without Beth, free to go fishing as they pleased and certainly free to relax in their own home. Connor was not stupid. When Beth spoke those insidious words to him his mind was forever altered; he did not believe he would be punished for his crime. In his mind he was right and anyone who knew Beth at her worst would confirm that. His eyes followed the leaves falling softly from the trees outside. Landing gently, they flew nowhere, instead sitting on the grass as if that was where they were meant to be.

  Beauty was the first word in Andy’s thoughts as he cruised round the corner on his quiet street. He was always optimistic on the drive home as his happiness from being at work had not yet faded. He loved the fall season in the south. It was not normally cold yet and thanks to an unusually warm year it had been forecast not to get cold at all that year. Yet the beauty remained, the leaves still changed color all along his neighborhood and he loved it. Connor was only a passing thought in Andy’s mind until he saw him sitting outside the house in his pajamas. Knowing right away something was wrong; Andy did his best to suppress his instincts to speed up, knowing that could be dangerous in a suburban neighborhood. Slowing down as he entered the driveway he parked carefully, giving himself a moment to process what he was seeing. With a snap of the key he stepped out the car.

  “Connor? What’s the matter?”

  “I did it for us” came a droning reply.

  “You did what for...what have you got over yourself? Huh? All over your clothes?”

  “I did it for us. We’re free now.”

  Andy was extremely worried. Connor’s speech was never this dreary.

  “You did what for us? Son, you’re scaring me, what are you talking about?”

  Connor just sat a moment before Andy senses something was very wrong inside the house.

  “Where’s Beth?”

  “I did it for us?”

  Andy leaned down and grabbed his son by the shoulders, forcing their eyes to meet.

  “Connor! You’re making no sense?” Andy’s voice cracked as he panicked. “You did what for us? Where’s Beth?”

  Connor’s eyes remained dark as a smile danced from the corner of his mouth. Andy had never seen this look in his son before and in an instant his brain summed up what had most likely happened.

  “No!” Andy uttered, doubting the truth ahead of him as he ran past the boy into the house. Connor listened as his father searched frantically around the house. Staring dead ahead he could hear all the sounds of his father’s vain rescue attempt. Doors burst open, footsteps thunder; all the while Connor sat still. The only stir in the boy’s emotions was the harrowing voice of his father upon finding Beth’s body. Andy’s anguish was felt by Connor but only very deep in his soul. Deep was the only place Connor still existed in the form he once was in. With great love for his father it pained him to hear him cry. Even though he did not regret his crime, he definitely regretted his father having to witness it. As Andy screamed loudly, the open front door carried his voice all the way to Connor. Dusk was approaching but still Connor sat amongst the scream. The scream that told him everything was going to be ok from now on.

  A shrill grinding noise repelled Andy; the steel legged chair from the police interrogation room dragged the floor like chalk on a blackboard.

  “What’s wrong with your son Mr. Williams? asked Sergeant Jacobs as he sat down in front of him.

  “This isn’t the sort of thing that just happens. There is always a back story.”

  The sergeant’s suit was ruffled from long hour days; he was above average height and doused in day-old stubble. A quick shave in the staff bathroom was all the grooming time his double shifts would allow him most of the time. None of his peers cared however, the sergeant was committed to the job and they all knew it.

  With a hand in his hair, tired, traumatized and worried to death about his son, Andy sat for a long moment before answering.

  “I don’t know. Beth and I had problems sure, but I never thought they extended to Connor. And in a million lifetimes I never would have thought that Connor would...

  Unable to finish; Andy broke down.

  “I mean what father would? What kind of father would suspect his own son, or even consider their child capable of...”

  Jacobs was sympathetic but duty forbade him to show it.

  “Look Mr. Williams, let me be straight with you. Connor is a minor, which in almost all cases exempts him from being tried as an adult. All except a case like this I guess.”

  Andy’s grief got the better of him and he lost his temper, yelling “I know sergeant; I know. I know what he did but he’s my son dammit, and he’s still a kid! My kid…”

  Jacobs allowed Andy his grief but did not flinch. Sitting calmly in his chair, he apologized with his hands before continuing.

  “The D.A will take into consideration the age of your son and the nature of the crime. It will affect where the place him but I’m afraid to say it will not affect the sentence. He will almost certainly advise indefinite care at Hallcombes psychiatric facility.”

  “Do you know that for sure?”

  “Call it an educated guess.”

  With a sniff and a long breath Andy asked.

  “What are the doctors like there?”

  “They’re very good Mr. Williams, they’ll take good care of your son.”

  Jacobs was impressed by how fatherly Andy was in spite of what happened. Andy took a minute before speaking, allowing the information he had just received to process fully.

  “I’d like to see him. I’d like to see my son.”

  It broke Andy’s heart to see his son like this. Unresponsive, cold, mindless were only a few adjectives he tried to push from his thoughts while looking at his only child. As Connor perched himself on a chair in a solitary cell, with bland walls and only a glass panel to peer through; Andy pushed other thoughts from his mind, selfish ones.

  “What kind of a father must I have been to allow this to happen?”

  “Why didn’t Connor feel he could talk to me?”

  “What do I do now?”

  Choking down the urge to break down, to melt into his surroundings he pulled his thoughts back to Connor.

  “Can I go in?”

  The rugged sergeant reluctantly nodded and motioned for a nearby nurse to open the door.

  The great padded door opened with only the slightest wisp as cloth brushed against the sterile linoleum floor.

  “Son?” Andy said quietly, trying not to startle the staring boy.

  Connor moved his head round to meet his fathers.

  “Hi dad.”

  Andy stepped through the door, suddenly aware of how cautious he was moving towards his own flesh and blood. Jacobs moved as Andy did. Crouching down Andy looked at Connor head on. The man was confused. On the one hand, he had in front of him a boy that murdered his girlfriend, while doing so killing any chance Andy had for a normal life. On the other hand this boy was his son. He had been through a lot in his short life and Andy loved him dearly. If he was being honest with himself, Andy had a third hand, one that understood why Connor did what he did even if he couldn’t condone it.

  “Son, how do you feel?”

  “Good. How do you feel?”

  Con
nor’s question was piercing in its apparent naivety.

  “I’ve been better. Connor? Do you know what happened today?”

  As Jacobs watched Andy interact with Connor from the doorway he could not help but admire the man’s strength. Dead conviction sat in Connors stare as he believed he had did what his father wanted him to.

  “I set us free.”

  “You killed Beth, Connor. I know she didn’t seem like a nice person. I know she said and did things that weren’t always right but she didn’t deserve that son, she didn’t deserve that.”

  Andy looked to the ground. On route to the floor a few tears slip down the bridge of his nose and swan dived silently. Surrounded by the holding cells’ opposing shades of eggshell and ivory Andy tried to find peace in the floor below him. Etchings on the walls made by other prisoners completed the padded wrap that surrounded them. With a wipe that was more for composure than anything, Andy looked back at his son, longing for a reason to justify what he had done. Connor stared back, unable to match the same emotional level as his father even if he tried. The truth was Connor had a reason for his actions, and he believed it was a very good one.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Come on man, pass it already!”

  With a big inhale, a hold, and then a slow release, a thick plume of marijuana smoke swirled its way into the night sky. The two teens sat in the flat of an old Dodge truck, relaxing under a clear starry canopy with the crickets for company.

  “I’ll pass it in a minute, just let me enjoy this.”

  The stars were clear and the horizon was dim, a contrast always underappreciated by locals used to the beauty.

  “You want to see me blow an o?” asked the cocky freshman.

  “No! I want to see you hand it over!”

  “So do I!”

  A voice from behind the two boys made the toker choke.

  Deputy Lynch moved in quickly, allowing the boys no time to react. They knew it would be pointless running. Besides the fact they were a little baked, they would have had to leave the truck behind, and the deputy would have found them through that anyway.

  “Come on boys, you know the score. Weed is against the law. Hand it over.”

  The two college boys never saw it coming. Hot to the tip, Lynch turned the lights off on the Sheriffs cruiser five minutes earlier, using his expert knowledge of the county roads to sneak up behind them in total darkness.

  “Come on Dylan, give it here” repeated the deputy.

  “Come on Lynch” protested the teen,

  It’s just a joint. Be reasonable!”

  As if called upon by the boy’s rebellion, a sturdy older man emerged from his wait in the cruiser. Approaching the van, his ominous footsteps encouraged the teens to remain silent. In his late fifties, the man was an imposing figure. At just over six feet, the natural physique of the man was framed with a strong jaw.

  “What’s that Dylan? I believe Deputy Lynch instructed you to hand it over.”

  Dylan dutifully stubbed out the joint, quickly handing it over to Deputy Lynch. The silence was cutting as the big man watched the resolve.

  “Well alright then” the big man said heading back to his cruiser, content that the situation was over.

  “It’s just a joint Sheriff! Why do you have to be such an ass?”

  Freddie Lynn yelled from the flatbed; Dylan had no time to tell him to be quiet. Stopping in his tracks, Sheriff Oates turned and headed back to the truck, prompting silence from both Lynch and Dylan. Oates’ footsteps crunched loudly on the dirt road as he approached the truck.

  ”Its Freddie right? Come down here son.”

  Six foot six Freddie was a whole five inches taller than Oates. All two hundred and thirty pounds of him showed off his college football physique. Dylan shook his head as his friend stepped off the flatbed, bouncing the axel as he did so. Oates paced up to the larger male, scoping the size of him as he neared.

  “Freddie Lynn right? Oates asked, moving his head up to meet Freddie’s eyes.

  “You moved here a couple of years ago. I saw you play against the Buffalo’s in last year’s cup”

  “Yeah, that’s right. What about it?”

  “Well Freddie I just want to say that you were phenomenal on the field, some of the hits you were dealing out were unbelievable.”

  Freddie smiled. “That’s what I do Sheriff, on and off the field, if someone gets in my way I take them down.”

  Oates swallowed hard.

  “Well, that’s good to know Freddie; I certainly wouldn’t like to see anyone get in your way.”

  Oates broke eye contact for a moment, which prompted a smug smile from Freddie. Lynch and Dylan watched intently as the two men stood toe to toe. It appeared Freddie was actually intimidating the Sheriff.

  “Here’s the problem though Freddie! You and I never had any run in’s before and that’s the way I like to keep it. This town here, it’s my field, and I don’t like people to get in my way either. So why don’t you get back in your little truck and head on home before I get the feeling you’re in my way.”

  Dylan and Lynch recognized Oates’ theatrics. The swallowing, the break in eye contact, they recognized it right away. Sheriff Oates was not intimidated by Freddie. Sheriff Oates was not intimidated by anyone. The only person present, who didn’t know that, was Freddie.

  “I ain’t leaving here without my weed!”

  “Freddie let’s go.” Dylan protested.

  Having lived in this town his whole life he knew Oates always got his way.

  “Dylan, stop being a pussy! I’m not leaving. That shit cost me $40. I ain’t leaving without it.”

  “Ok Dylan” said Oates “I’ll give you a choice. You can leave here with your weed or you can leave with here your teeth. You’re choice”

  “Freddie let’s go!” Dylan protested

  Freddie smiled.

  “I think I’ll take both.”

  With that he swung a strong punch at Oates who simply ducked it. In one motion Oates grasped his baton and swung it upwards into Freddie’s ribcage. As Freddie reeled in pain Oates stepped in and grabbed him firmly by the throat stopping him from falling over.

  “I’ll let you keep your teeth this time but don’t ever forget today. The next time we meet you better know your place or there will be trouble.”

  Oates pushed him to the ground and turned to Dylan.

  “You two go on home now.”

  “Yes Sheriff” Dylan said as he jumped off the flatbed to help up his winded friend.

  Oates walked back to the cruiser with Lynch.

  “That was a strong hit Sheriff. You put so much force into it I thought your hat was going to fall off.”

  With his back to the teens Oates smiled, privately breaking his tough exterior.

  “Don’t exaggerate Deputy.”

  CHAPTER 9

  A dull click marked a teapot’s landing on the bedside counter then a soft pouring sound aroused a man from his slumber.

  “You know, if you weren’t so pretty I might have to beat you for waking me up this early” the man said, eyes still closed.

  “Come on doctor wake up, if you don’t go to work who’ll be there to lobotomize innocent patients?”

  The woman’s retort was quiet and dry. Her eastern European accent was prominent.

  “That’s it! said Greg MacNamee, opening his eyes.

  “Now I’m definitely going to beat you.”

  MacNamee sat on the side of the bed beside his freshly poured Earl Grey. Greta, his dark haired Polish wife moved in beside him and kissed him on the cheek.

  “You couldn’t beat an egg.”

  “I could…” said MacNamee while running his hand through his thick brown hair,

  “I just prefer it when you do it.”

  Greta flaunted her firm twenty-eight year old body around the master bedroom, in between getting breakfast ready as MacNamee sat, yawning by the bed. MacNamee was six years older than his wife and still completely smitten by
her. The couple often joked with and jibed each other, getting away with it because they knew how much they loved one another, even if they didn’t say it often. Catching glare from the large window, the morning news on the flat screen television opposite the bed talked of a brutal murder.

  “Did you hear about this?”

  The slender Greta asked while wisping around in her black nightgown.

  “Hear about what?” MacNamee asked through a yawn.

  “The little boy who killed his step-mom, it’s been all over the news.”