The Game Changer (19 page)

‘That’s not my call.’ She needed to hold things together, because right now, everything seemed to be unravelling. Again sounding more confident than she felt, she said, ‘I strongly advise you to tell the police everything you know. After that, we’ll have to see where it all leads.’

‘I respect your wishes, Kate. You’re the one in the driving seat.’ He was calm, non-adversarial, and also, she thought, somewhat cold.

‘I’m not comfortable that you lied about Michael O’Neill.’

‘And I’m not comfortable that you doubt me.’

‘That part can’t be helped – at least, not until I get my head around all this. I realise you were trying to protect me and my father’s memory, but it was a wrong judgement call.’

‘And you’ve never made a mistake?’

‘I didn’t say that. I’ve made plenty, but even so …’

‘I care about you, Kate, a great deal.’

‘Then you won’t mind me asking you another question?’

‘Anything.’

‘Did you know O’Neill’s foster son?’

‘Vaguely – his death caused a reaction at the time.’

‘Was it connected to my father? Or any of the others from this elite grouping?’

‘Not that I know of,’ he replied, although his tone suggested otherwise.

‘My father told me it was an accident.’

‘As I said, it was a long time ago.’

‘One more question.’

‘Yes?’

‘Have you always known I was missing for longer than I originally believed? By that I mean over twenty-four hours.’

‘Yes, Kate, I did.’

‘And you chose not to tell me?’

‘Maybe I let my professional opinion get in the way of honesty.’

‘I’m not your patient. I don’t understand.’

‘I wanted you to work it out for yourself. I hoped your journal writing would fill in some of the gaps for you. Your own professional training will tell you it was the right thing for me to do. If the answer came from your mind, without my influence or interference, it would have greater validity.’

‘How long was I missing for?’

‘About twenty-four hours, no more than that.’

‘What explanation was given for my disappearance?’

‘You mean from your father?’

‘Yes.’

‘There had been talk of your parents splitting up. He put it down to childhood anxiety, attention-seeking.’

‘I never heard anything about that. There were arguments, sure, but nothing about them separating.’

‘For what it’s worth, I don’t believe it was an attention-seeking
stunt. I think your father wanted to put the whole thing behind him, wrap it up nice and neat and encourage it to go away. You know what he was like.’

‘Actually, Malcolm, I’m not sure I do.’

‘He didn’t like things that didn’t fit neatly into boxes, and anything personal like that, well, to be honest, it probably made him feel exposed, especially considering what we discussed earlier.’

‘You certainly seem to have got past the enigma phase of your relationship with my father.’

‘I looked up to him, Kate. I won’t deny that.’

‘That must have been nice for you.’ She sounded clipped.

‘And, as I’ve said, I’ve always had your best interests at heart.’ He stood up, walking over to her. ‘Look, I know this is hard, and you might think it strange me suggesting this, but if you ever need to get away, to take a break from your normal routine, I have a place I go to. It helps me to recharge my batteries.’

‘I’ll think about that, but thanks.’ She stood up to leave.

‘One last thing, Kate,’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘If I think of anything else connected to your past, would you prefer me to share it with you, or not?’

‘I want you to tell me everything.’

‘As always, Kate, I support your wishes.’

‘And don’t forget to contact DI O’Connor. You need to tell him everything you know, irrespective of whether you believe it to be relevant or not.’

‘I will, and … Kate?’

‘Yes?’

‘I want you to take care of yourself. You’ve always been very good at helping others, but you must remember, sometimes you need to concentrate on yourself, be more selfish.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

I DON’T LIKE AOIFE’S FRIEND, ADDY. I DON’T LIKE the way he talks so fast, or how he seems to think he’s funny. While I was with that woman and her stupid doll, I heard most of their conversation. It’s not that I don’t trust Aoife. I don’t trust him.

I looked back at one point and he had a stupid smile on his face. I thought about ripping it apart, attacking it with a knife. I thought about the size of the blade I would use – something small enough to stab him in the eye. I would go for the right eye first. I imagined him jerking back, blood spouting out all over the place.

I’d like it if he tried to attack me. It would fuel my rage. I would blind him in the first eye in seconds, and now I can see his head firing all around the place.

I saw the way Aoife looked at him when the bell rang out. It told me he had let her down. She knows he doesn’t belong here, the same way I do. If I attacked his eyes, I could use a screwdriver or a sharp nail. I could hide that in the palm of my hand. Take the bastard by surprise. ‘What the fuck?’ he might say. I’ll give him what the fuck. I’ll give him a hell of a lot more.

The woman, Sarah, wanted to know what part of the United States I came from. I told her from outside Salt Late City. ‘Like, where the Mormons live?’ she asked, the same way every other stupid non-American does.

‘Yes,’ I said, just to shut her up. She wanted to know if I was religious. I wanted to say, No, but then I started thinking about my mother screeching at me. The way she’d hit me with that Bible of hers, disgust spilling out all over me, all over my body, telling me I
was a stupid sinner, until the day I couldn’t take it no longer and I showed her once and for all.

She wasn’t preaching after I dragged her by the rope. I tied it to the rear of the pickup truck, zooming around at speed, creating dust clouds over her fat, wrinkled body, until she looked like a grey heap ready for dumping in the ground. I imagined the insects eating her, moment by moment, hour by hour, day by day. They’d have a feast, a fat feast. I visualised them getting fat on her, rolling on their backs, full-bellied. They always started with the orifices: the eyes are usually the first to be eaten, leaving two dark crevices. I imagined that too. Which was why, before I left for the island, I dug out her grave. I wanted to see what was left of her. She was nothing but a pile of bones, but then I saw the worms wriggling through the muck, looking slick and juicy, like they had her inside of them, bulging, slimy, crawling, and I knew she was everywhere, under the foundation of the house, in the barn, hiding in the underbelly of the pickup truck. I felt her fat filth all over me again, so I drove and drove, wanting the worms to fall away. I bought new clothes. I had a shower in a motel. I kept on going, until the worms couldn’t get me no more, until I reached the island, and safety.

‘No,’ I told the woman with the stupid doll. ‘I’m not religious.’

‘And you like it here on the island?’ she asked.

‘I love it.’

‘You’ve lovely teeth,’ she said.

I didn’t answer her, because the other two had caught up with us, and the guy was standing so close to me, I knew I could rip out his eyes with my fingers.

When we got to the commune house, the new visitors took it all in, the same way as I did when I first arrived – the whitewashed houses with their black slate roofs and tall chimney stacks. The first house is where the bell tower is, where we have most of our meetings in the main hall. The whole commune is now open, no locks on the doors, except for the rooms below ground, and the infirmary. Only the seniors and the medical staff can go there. The
houses used to belong to islanders, but they all emigrated. Then an entrepreneur renovated the place as holiday homes, with a café, like a mini-hotel. It didn’t work out, and now they belong to us.

At the meeting, I made myself forget about that fool, Addy. I couldn’t allow him to be a distraction, so I settled my breathing, realising everyone was waiting. The group gathered in close, side by side, holding each other by the hand, forming a circle of unity and commitment. I looked at Aoife. I saw that she’d forgotten about him too. He isn’t one of us. I’ve become close to Aoife so quickly. I’ve dreamed about the two of us being together, properly together. Dreams are the start of everything for me. If I dream it, then it will happen. I dream about killing before I do it. The first time was a girl called Rosie. She had auburn hair. She had rosy cheeks too. I like it when a name fits the face. I hadn’t planned on taking her or anything, but then I saw her mother leaving her in the car, going into that convenience store. Rosie was ten, and when I opened the door and said, ‘Hello, Princess,’ even though she didn’t smile, she didn’t create a fuss either. After I took her, I remembered the bad dream I’d had a couple of nights before. How a girl was annoying me with her crying, going on about stuff, repeating words that messed with my head. I had to shut her up, and in the dream, she was dead, and soon, too, so was Rosie.

Being on the island has taught me to love myself again. It has taught me that I’m not a monster. Saka, Jessica and the others have helped me so much. When I looked over at Aoife, I was glad it was my turn to speak today. I want Aoife to understand how I’ve suffered.

I saw her in the shower the other night. There’s a small peep-hole between two of the cubicles. I saw her get out of her clothes, shake out her hair, and stand in her white panties before pulling them down. I thought about touching her, and I got aroused. I’m getting aroused thinking about it now.

At the meeting, I say to everyone, ‘My mother told me I was a monster.’ Everybody waits, because no one ever rushes you here.
You’re not allowed to interrupt when the chosen member is talking. ‘But she was wrong,’ I say, my voice loud and clear. ‘I’m not a monster. I’m a good man.’

They repeat my words, every one of them, including Aoife, chanting, ‘You are not a monster. You are a good man.’ They say it over and over and over, and the more they say it, the more I believe it. I am not a monster. I am a good man. I am now on step fifteen of the twenty steps. I am close to reaching my destiny, fulfilling my path, and being completely free. It’s all I ever wanted in life, recognition of who I am, and I can feel the surge of strength growing inside of me, waiting to rise, like the phoenix from the blackened ashes.

EVER SINCE HER CONVERSATION WITH MALCOLM, Kate had felt unsettled. She sensed something changing inside her, but she wasn’t sure what it was. There was so much about her younger years that had brought her sorrow. It wasn’t only her father’s temper, or how, at times, she was such an introspective child. It was more than that. Somehow, she’d always felt that if she was going to survive in this world, she’d be doing it on her own. She felt the same way now – isolated, increasingly introspective, as if all the answers were inside her. She couldn’t get her father out of her mind. What if Malcolm had told her something truly awful today? Despite all his failings, deep down, until now, she had believed her father to be a complicated but basically good person. What if even her fragile notions of him were blown apart? Would she hate him? Would all the good bits, the parts that told her he cared for her, be shattered?

The note had complicated things too. Perhaps it was random. Perhaps it was a one-off, a sick joke, feeding into her paranoia, but the timing, with so many other things happening, couldn’t have been worse. One way or another, she would have to decide on what course of action to take in relation to Charlie, even though, with everything else, not having him close to her would break her heart. When she picked him up from Sophie’s, she did her best to hide her anxiety, but all of that changed when they reached the front steps of the apartment building.

Normally she would have dismissed a dead bird on the steps as nothing, a fluke, an accident, but when she saw the raven, something told her it was far from that. Charlie was full of curiosity about
it, but all she could think of was what the bird represented, the perceived magic of the Raven, supposedly giving courage to enter the darkness of the void, the place of all that is not yet in form. Was it another message? Was she losing it? Becoming completely paranoid?

By the time Adam arrived home, she felt more vulnerable than after their argument earlier on.

‘Okay, Kate, I’ll say it first,’ he said, entering the kitchen. ‘Say what?’ She didn’t look up, continuing to chop carrots, as if that was the most important thing in the world.

‘I’m sorry about being sharp earlier on.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Everybody seems to be asking me that today.’ She fired the carrots into a pot of water.

‘Can we start over?’ He took a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc out of the fridge, and two glasses from the cupboard, placing them on the kitchen counter.

She watched him open the bottle, but didn’t say anything. When he handed her a glass, she reluctantly took a sip, then asked, ‘Did you check up on the O’Neill lock-up?’