Recollection
Killing For Your Love
Chapter 18
I spend most of my days studying local newspapers, judging the murders, searching for the article describing Lizzie’s dead body.
I fear for her. I fear the day that I do find her; the day that I can in fact identify the body in the morgue.
I have made sure that nobody can find me. I am being searched for by the police. Whether that’s because they are delusional enough to think I’m guilty of killing my family, because I am searching for Lizzie and the kids myself or because they are actually worried that I could be missing or have committed suicide. It’s definitely not the latter; they are treating me as a suspect…
Just when I thought I had found Lizzie it wasn’t to be. I thought it was her, from behind it looked exactly like her but thankfully it wasn’t. She wouldn’t go into another man’s house; she wouldn’t do that to me.
The two people won’t go to the police to report me; I hope nobody else saw me.
My eyes open slowly. I lie in bed and look to the ceiling with the warm waking up feeling all over my body.
How did I get home? I remember collapsing outside on the lawn but only vaguely.
The images of the shed enter my mind. Flashbacks of the fox and its insides scattered across the floor.
I need to clean the shed and get rid of the fox.
As I stare at the ceiling planning what to do, my thoughts are interrupted:
BANG BANG at the door.
I sit up. The cold air seeps under the duvet counteracting the temperature of the mattress and swathing my back. The duvet flops off my chest. I look ahead of me, to the usually empty wall and I’m horrified. I stay in my bed, staring at the wall. Who did this?
I stare at the newspaper headline letters that have been cut out and stuck onto the wall to read ‘Beneath men sit’. It’s not just spelled out once; it’s repeated a number of times across my wall.
BANG BANG again. Deep voices drone through my walls from outside.
I stare at the letters. Who did this?
I swing my legs from under the duvet and off the mattress.
Looking down to my leg, I notice flecks of mud up my leg. The bottoms of my feet are covered in mud too. What happened last night?
BANG BANG rings out through the house followed by. “Mr Milligan, please open the door.”
I can’t stop looking at the wall. I walk up to the lettering and stare at the pile of newspapers on the floor.
BANG BANG.
I knock off the lettering. The letters drift and swirl down onto the floor.
I put some clothes on: jeans, that I never really wear anymore and a brown polo shirt.
I leave the room, shutting the door behind me.
I am not halfway down the stairs when I see the front door is open. I step off the last step and look around to the basement door which is also wide open. There is movement down in the basement. I lean in and look down the stairs. No one is in sight. I step down the creaky wooden steps. I see lights shining and moving around the basement. I step down off the bottom step and the lights shine into my eyes.
“Mr Milligan?” a deep voice speaks.
“Who are you? Why are you in my home?” I say angrily.
“We’re the police. I’m inspector Hughes and this is Detective Seymour. We need to search your property due to the investigation of a murder that took place last night. We are searching all the properties on Mulberry Lane. Do you have any objection to the search?”
The shed enters my mind; the fox, the blood, the segments of brain spattered across the walls, the guts all over the floor. “Do you have a search warrant? And does it specifically say you can come into a home uninvited?” I ask, anger making my voice harsh to my ears.
“The basement is clear.” Seymour says.
Hughes nods to his colleague. “I think you’ll find we can do what we like, Mr Milligan, especially if you don’t answer and the front door is open. Let’s go up stairs Mr Milligan.”
They follow me up the basement steps toward the front door. I turn to the two muscular men. Hughes’ crinkled face is leathery with beady eyes, one brown and one green. The deep scar on his neck is jagged and uneven as if someone used a blunt knife to attack him.
What am I going to do about the fox?
“Mr Milligan we have a search warrant to search the properties on Mulberry Lane and the surrounding homes around this area. There was a murder last night; another blonde victim who lived on Mulberry Lane.” Hughes says.
My mind is compacted with fear. The fear of the fox being discovered, how could I explain that it wasn’t me? The fear that murder victim is Sandra Cann. I need to stay calm; I have done nothing wrong at all. Someone is setting me up for some reason.
“What? Who?” I ask.
“We cannot reveal who the murder victim is at this time.”
“Oh please I need to know.”
“And why’s that sir?”
“Because I have friends who live on this road.”
“Lucy Brekken was murdered last night. She was raped then stabbed to death. Her husband, Graham was also murdered we believe. Her body was in the home and we found traces of his blood there but he is missing. We are searching all the properties on Mulberry Lane for any indications of his location.”
I am frozen to the spot. I feel dizzy. They are going to find the fox and they’ll pin this death and the other murders on me.
The two men walk off to search my home. They are going to find the newspapers also which will make them suspicious.
The leading officer comes up to me; his voice is distant, he has to repeat himself.
“Sir?” I hear him say. “Sir can you hear me?”
“Yes, sorry. I’m just hung-over from last night.”
“Do you remember what you did last night, Mr Milligan?”
“Of course I do, I went over the road to Sandra Cann’s house and we had a meal together. Her husband asked me to keep an eye on her because of these recent murders.”
“When did you leave her home?”
“God, well it was very late. I can’t remember a specific time.”
“Right. Did you hear any noises? If you were out late then you could be our only hope in finding the murderer.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t hear anything.”
“Okay Mr Milligan. We don’t need a statement from you at this time, but we will. We will need both yours and Mrs Cann’s statements. We are asking everyone on Mulberry Lane of their whereabouts last night.”
“I understand officer. I will answer any questions you have.” I say calmly.
“We will search the house now, however.”
“Yes that is fine, I’ll be outside.”
What about the newspaper cut outs? I need to get them to hide them. I begin to speak again, “Actually officer, can I get something from my room?”
“What could you possibly need at this moment in time Mr Milligan?” He asks looking me up and down.
“Well I haven’t tidied my room and…”
“It’s fine Mr Milligan I expect I’ve seen a lot worse. I’ll see you outside.” Hughes says.
I stand in the hallway by the front door and watch the thick set of Hughes make his way up my stairs.
Once he disappears upstairs, I look through the kitchen door and out of the kitchen window to see Seymour searching the garden. He looks around at the fences. He takes long strides toward the gate and looks around the area. I hope he doesn’t find the blood trail leading to the shed.
As he looks around, my head feels numb. The numbness drains my body and progresses down me. My hearing disappears as I wait for the shocked expression of Seymour. I continue to stare as Seymour pauses. He looks back to the house then at me but I don’t think he sees me. He walks toward the shed with less of a stride and swagger. Standing in front of the door, he reaches for the handle.
What should I do when he finds it? Should I run? Should I stay here and tell them the truth?
Everything slows down in my mind. His fingertips touch the shed handle. His palm touches the handle and his wrist tightens and turns. I stare at his face, waiting and waiting for the neutral expression to turn into disgust and shock.
“Ryan, are you okay?” Sam Cann says from behind me, breaking my concentration on Seymour.
“I… I’m…” I try to speak as I watch Seymour open the door.
“Ryan?” Sam says as he stands in front of me now. “Are you okay?”
Seymour has the shed door wide open. He takes a step back and looks the shed up and down. He glances towards the house and back to the shed. I hear Sam’s voice echoing in and out.
“Ryan you look awful.” I hear Sam say.
“I’m fine thank you.”
“I’ll get these men out of your house; I doubt you’re the killer around here.” Sam says whilst patting my back, making my shoulder jolt.
“Thank you.”
“Hughes.” Sam shouts. “This house is clear.”
I continue to look outside at Seymour who has disappeared inside the shed. Sam brushes past me on his way to the bottom of the stairs.
“Come on Hughes.” Sam pulls out the radio and repeats himself. “Come on Hughes.”
“What’s going on? We haven’t finished the search.” I hear a muffled shout from upstairs.
“Yes we have.” Sam shouts.
I look out to see Seymour striding toward the house. His shoulders sloping as he walks. The shed door is shut and Seymour looks unaffected.
What’s going on?
“Ryan we’re going to leave now. Sorry to have disturbed you.” Sam says.
Hughes is downstairs, standing next to Sam. Seymour walks into the hallway and nods to Sam and Hughes.
“I searched the garden and the shed.” Seymour says, turning his head to stare at me. He turns his head back to Sam and Hughes. “All clear.”
“Yes well it would be; Ryan isn’t the murderer.” Sam says.
“Oh, okay.” Seymour says.
“Speak soon, Ryan.” Sam says as he heads towards the front door.
“Have a good day Mr Milligan.” Hughes says out loud. “Let’s hope we don’t have to meet again.” He mutters under his breath.
I don’t reply, instead I escort him to the door and watch them leave.
They walk down the gravel path with Sam leading the way across the road where two police cars are parked alongside Sam’s Mercedes.
Sandra is speaking to two police officers. The house next to the Cann’s has more police cars parked outside it. That house is taped off with blue and white tape.
The press is gathered outside the Brekken’s house taking photos of any movement by the police officers entering and leaving the house.
I never met or even saw the Brekkens but it is getting too close to Sandra now. I need to protect her from the murderer.
I walk back into my room to look at the newspapers. I pick them up and go through them, looking at each page. The stories of the local community are left untouched. The reports of the murders are cut to pieces. The letters of the headlines are cut out to spell ‘Beneath men sit’ a number of times across my wall. The newspapers are different broadsheets and tabloids reporting on our local murders.
Is it the murderer doing this? Is it a warning to me and Sandra?
I look back to my bed; the duvet is clumped on it. The mattress sheet has smudges of mud on it. It must be from my legs and feet but where did the mud come from?
I look to the end of my bed. Surely not? How did that get here?
Staring at me is the bear from the basement, sitting on the end of my bed. Its ear and dusty fur are the same. The red pins for eyes are bent to face me, right here in this position. How did someone know I would stand here and see the bear? Someone is trying to fuck with me.
I grab the bear and take it back downstairs. As I turn to the basement door, I take one last look at the bear. It used to have a black beady eye and then it changed to two red pins for eyes. Without hesitation, I throw the bear down into the darkness of the basement and shut the door.
Wait a second.
I go back to the basement door and open it. I look down into the darkness and walk down the steps. As the creaking from the basement steps stops and I stand on concrete, I bend down, feeling around on the floor for the bear. The dusty floor is confusing, why would there be so much dust down here?
I walk back up to the steps and flick the switch for the lights.
As I stand waiting for the lights to stay on, I look at the bear which sits upright against the wall, staring at the basement steps. As I continue to stare at it, the light flickers on and off, on and off, on and then stays off. I’m in darkness. What happened there?
I reach to the switch. My finger hovers over it when all of a sudden the lights flicker on and stay on.
I look back down to the bear but it’s gone. What?
Where is it? I step off the steps and look at the rest of the basement. The bear is not there. The pink table under the steps has also disappeared.
I hear metal on metal knock behind me. I turn quickly. There’s no one there. The basement steps creak. I turn around again, facing the steps to see the bear half way up the steps, staring at me. The lights flicker off again, the bear has disappeared. The bear back on the ground, where it should have been.
As I look back to the steps, there is a silhouette of someone under the steps. My heart thumps hard but I have to stand my ground.
“Who are you?” I ask.
The lights flicker. The figure moves closer. They flicker again and the figure moves even closer. The lights go out again. I stay where I am. Waiting for the lights to come on, I stretch my arms out to feel around me. There’s no one here, what is going on?
The lights flicker. The figure has disappeared. The lights go out. I hear the basement steps creaking. I hear footsteps, creaking down the steps. Why won’t the lights come back on? The silence is eerie and unsettling. I stand still, listening to the creaking steps. The creaks move down the steps and as I hear the last step creak, the silence returns. The light flickers on and Sandra is standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Ryan? What are you doing?”
I stay still, staring at Sandra. She warily approaches me.
“Ryan, are you okay?” She says as she takes hold of my hand.
I don’t answer, instead I hug her. Fear leaves my body and I feel safe. I have no idea what happened. Was it all tricks of the mind? Did I imagine it? Well I must have, I keep imaging Tanya and the kids but why? It’s driving me insane.
“Ryan, look at me.” Sandra says, clutching my head. “Please look at me.”
I look up into Sandra’s eyes. I study her pale skin; her blonde curls, her thin neck and her tight blouse, then I place my hands on the sides of her face and kiss her. I pull away and continue to stare at her.
We stare for a moment not saying a word to each other. Sandra leans in and kisses me on the lips.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah I’m fine. Sorry to frighten you.”
“Well you didn’t frighten me, I was just worried about you and I’ve been thinking about you all night.”
“Me too.” I smirk. “How did you get in though?” Sandra lifts her arm up and the spare house keys dangle over her palm, held by one finger. “Spare keys. Do you really believe I could break in?”
“I suppose not. Let’s go upstairs.”
“Oh can we?” Sandra presses her body against mine.
“Well I actually meant let’s get out of here, but sure we can.” I say.
It feels morally wrong, but I can’t help my feelings and Sandra can’t help hers. I feel bad for Simon.
We leave the basement and stand in the hallway. I shut the basement door and pull Sandra towards me.
“We shouldn’t do this.”
“Why not?” Sandra asks, disappointed.
“Well the police are sniffing around here and there’s Simon.”
“Ryan, please don’t.” Sandra says as she kisses me and directs me towards the stairs.
I just can’t fight her off, I can’t stop it. Then the images of the shed enter my mind, the newspapers in my room. We can’t go up there.
“Sandy, why don’t we do this later?”
“Oh, what’s wrong?” Sandra stutters.
“Nothing, it’s just that my room’s a mess and I’m still unpacking things in the house. Why don’t I come over later?”
“Okay.” She drops her hands by her side and looks at me.
I kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay.” Sandra says with a smile. “Bye.” She kisses me and I walk her to the door.
I watch Sandra walk down the path but I can’t help staring at the neighbours and police.
I look to see Sam watching Sandra walk towards him. They chat for a while. I look at the Brekken’s murder scene. There are fewer photographers and police now. With only two police cars parked outside the Brekken house and Sam’s car in front of the Cann’s.
The grubby house on the end is quiet with no sign of the man at all.
The house closest to the grubby house is empty, they must be on holiday as are the ones to my left, which leaves my next door neighbours; the Brookes. Leanne stands on the pavement watching the Brekken household. I look across to see Paul emerge from his house, he looks at me and changes his direction and comes over. He nods to me. “Did you know the Brekkens?” Paul asks.
“No I didn’t.” I say.
“Ahh well they were nice. Leanne always spoke to them but I didn’t really.”
“Why was that then?”
“What? Why didn’t I talk to them?”
I nod to reply.
“I don’t know I just didn’t,” Paul says then laughs.
“I suppose that’s a legitimate excuse.”
“Oh yes. So are you worried about these murders at all?”
“Well, not for myself no but for others? Yes.”
“Yeah I suppose we’re safe.” He laughs again. “You’re dark and I’m bald.” Paul laughs hysterically.
I stare at him in disbelief. Making jokes out of these murders. He’s probably trying to hide his fear.
“Shouldn’t laugh really,” he says.
‘No you shouldn’t’ I felt like saying, but instead I don’t bother.
“Let’s hope he doesn’t fancy going for gingers instead.” Paul smirks again.
“So do you know the man who lives in the shed over there?” I ask Paul pointing to the grubby house.
“Err.” Paul stands in silence and stares. “No not really, I’ve heard that he’s lost it though, he’s a right nut.”
“How do you know?”
“That’s what I’ve heard. He’s an ex-vet or scientist or both, I dunno, I can’t remember. But he’s alone and I guess it’s driven him mad. Word is that he’s linked with these murders or he knows who the murderer is.”
“How do you know?”
“People talk, I know some people in the force and they talk too. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was ‘im. He’s a fucking nut.”
“Well we don’t know, so I wouldn’t go shouting it around.”
“Naa I won’t, because he might go for bald guys instead of the blondes.” Paul says without laughing at his own joke.
I’ve learnt a lot from talking to Paul. I’ve decided that he’s an odd guy and comes across as a bit of an arsehole. He’s the type of man who jokes about serious news stories and passes on offensive jokes that aren’t funny and he’s just plain rude and disrespectful.
“If you say so.” I say after a moment’s silence.
“Well I’m going. Good to speak to you Paul.”
“Yeah good to talk to you, mate.” Paul says, dragging his feet as he returns to Leanne.
I look towards the Cann’s and see Sandra and Sam still speaking, so I go back inside.
Inside, I look to the basement door. I walk towards it and open it. I listen. Silence.
I enter the basement and switch the lights on which flicker as usual. I see the bear still in the same position. However one of the red pins is on the floor.
I pick up both the pin and the bear. I look at the eyeless, musky bear and stick the pin back into its head so it has two pinned eyes again. As I do, something falls behind me. I jerk and turn around. One of the pink plastic chairs for the children’s play table has fallen on its back. How though? I stand still, holding the bear.
Keeping my eye on it, I walk over to the table and look around it. There is only dust and mould surrounding the table and chairs.
I look to the pink table closely. It’s old, has been used frequently and the paint is faded. But why would a man who doesn’t have any children have toys in his basement?
I pick the chair up and stand it back onto its four legs. I step back and look at the chairs surrounding the table. Scratch marks on the side of the table catch my attention. I rub my hand over the side of the table and feel the marks. Then I look closer at the scratches. Squinting to see what it says, I read the scratched plastic which sends a shiver through my body. I only have to read it once then I kick the table under the steps and back away.
‘Beaten hints me’, ‘Beaten hints me’, ‘Beaten hints me’. The same as what’s scratched on my kitchen table.
Who the fuck has done this? The anger overwhelms me; I’m uncomfortable in my own home. In my anger and stress, I pick up the table and throw it against the wall by the metal shelving, shouting and screaming obscenities.
“I’ll fucking find you and I’ll fucking kill you, you bastard!” I shout out loud, surprising myself because I rarely swear or lose my cool.
I leave the table on the floor and keeping a hold of the bear without realising, I take it upstairs with me.
Leaving the basement, I jerk the door shut behind me and walk outside to my bins. I throw the bear in the bin and slam the lid. I look behind me to see the police still on Mulberry Lane; Sam’s car has gone.
I walk back inside and go out to the back garden to look at the fox in the shed. Why didn’t Seymour react to it? Could he be the one doing all this?
I go to the shed; I stand outside, breathing heavily, still full of anger. I finally pluck up courage to swing open the shed door.
Looking into the shed but it’s empty. With no sign of anything ever being dead in there, I step in and look around inside. I study the corners of the floor boards, the roofing and the windows.
What is going on? Someone is playing a game with me but why?
I leave the shed and shut the door. I pause and open it again. There’s nothing there, except floating dust.
“Never seen a shed before?” I hear Paul shout from the other side of his fence.
I decide to ignore his sarcastic remark and stare into the shed.
“Giles?” he speaks again.
“It’s Ryan.” I reply.
“Oh yeah, sorry mate. So what’re you up to?”
“I’m looking in my shed.” I reply.
Paul laughs and says: “Have a good day.”
I do not reply. I wait for a few seconds and look round to make sure he’s left me alone.
I walk toward the gate and look around the grass to find the splatters of blood that led me to the shed. Nothing.
I did not imagine this, someone is trying to fuck me up here, I can tell.
I march back inside and run upstairs to my room.
Looking at the newspapers on the floor I know that this is all linked, the writing on the tables and the wall; the fox in the shed. This is all directed towards me. But what does the writing mean?
I leave my room and walk downstairs to think of what it could mean.
I pull out some A4 paper from my laptop bag and a chewed pen and sit down at the kitchen table. I lean forward and look at the scratch mark on the table. It’s written in the same style and the same size as the one on the pink plastic table in the basement.
I get up from the table and move into the sitting room, taking a wooden chopping board to lean on so I can write.
I sit down in my arm chair and rest the chopping board on my crossed leg. I write the two phrases that I have found on the tables and my wall.
Beaten hints me
Beneath men sit
These phrases make no sense whatsoever. Maybe they’ve been translated from a different language? That could explain the construction of the phrases. It’s definitely not Standard English, that’s for sure.
I sit there for a moment and study the two phrases. I have no idea what they could possibly mean! I change around the word order and cross examine them, nothing. This is infuriating. I put the paper and the wooden board on the arm of the chair.
I need a drink. I walk into the kitchen and pour some whiskey into a glass and knock it back.
I take the bottle into the sitting room and look at the phrases I wrote down. Absolutely nothing enters my mind; I have no idea what they could possibly mean. All I can think about is finding out who did this.
Beaten hints me
Beneath men sit
What could they possibly mean?
I have a few more swigs from the bottle and leave the house. I walk down the path and look straight ahead to the Cann’s. As I cross the road, I look down Mulberry Lane. The police are still parked outside the Brekken’s house and there’s no longer anyone else standing around, there are no police officers outside the house.
My attention is distracted by the grubby house as I see the strange man standing outside, staring at me.
I stand in the middle of the road and glare back at him. Fed up of this now. With no hesitation, I shout: “What are you looking at?”
He continues to stare at me and doesn’t say a word back.
I walk towards him, he stays still. As I get closer, he lowers his arms and turns away.
“Can I talk to you?” I shout.
He stands still, facing the door as I approach.
I get almost to the footpath in front of his house and as I step onto the pavement, he runs inside and shuts his door. I run to his front door.
I’m banging on the door with a clenched fist, bellowing: “Answer the door right now!”
With no answer and no curtain twitching, I take a step back to look up to the second floor, no signs of life there either. I walk around to the side of his house. He has wood and sticks stacked up to the side of his house with bits of rusted metal lying around on the mud and dead grass that passes for a lawn. I look around his back garden, it’s overgrown, there’s a neglected vegetable patch with bamboo sticks, wilted leaves and vines dangling onto the ground.
I look around and try to find his back door. Looking through the vines and leaves covering the back wall of the house, I identify it. However, the back door is infested with woodlice and covered in vegetation.
There’s no way I’m getting to his back door. I look up and down the door and notice something odd. I look down to the bottom of the door and spot a square hatch. I think it’s a dog-flap but I can’t tell. I don’t think he has a dog, but I suppose he could have had one before.
There’s the sound of movement to the side of the shack. I turn my head and there is nobody there. I then hear a twig snap on the other side. This time I do not look, I will let them think that I haven’t heard them. I pause for a moment, waiting to hear another sound of movement.
What should I do if it’s someone trying to attack me? Do I hit them? Do I run? Do I call for help?
I wait. I look back into the garden without looking towards the noise. I take a deep breath. My fists clench and my breathing is slow. I hear another twig crack which makes me look in time to see a fox. I look at the fox and it stares back at me whilst taking small steps towards me. It pauses and then runs into the woodland.
I turn to walk back to the front of the house when I see two men walking towards me. Police, both officers are tall and thick set. “Can we help you sir?” one of them says.
“No not at all.” I reply.
“We heard you shouting at the resident of this house. What are you doing around here and why were you shouting?” The other one says.
“Well he was staring at me and he’s been staring at me for the last few days so I thought I would confront him, is that against the law?” I reply or should I say the alcohol replies.
“I don’t like your tone