Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (2 page)

The rest of that night played out in
his head, the feelings returned, feelings that he knew intimately
now, but could not understand at the time. Feelings that had gone
from sorrow, to rage, to elation, then finally to disappointment.
Disappointment that this life as he knew it was over, he would
never again watch as his father
’
s performance showed mother how much he
cared. Disappointment that he would not feel the intense feelings
of disgust, revulsion, fear and excitement caused by each act of
the play, and then just fear, as mother was no longer there to take
the beatings for him.

It was then he had seen that father had not
roused from his drunken slumber….

When he had walked out of that house that
night into what passed for early morning he remembered feeling more
alive than he had ever been, his senses had been tingling like
never before.

Mother, father, and that house were behind
him now. They were in his past. The house had contained an angry
wretched existence between its rotting four walls, but it had
looked very normal from the outside, as he had continued to
walk.

He marveled at how his young mind had been
able to make him do what he had done. Father had not woken that
night, and never again. He had finally felt safe.

Now he walked slowly, shuffling his feet
along the pavement, enjoying the feel of the rough surface on his
bare soles. Inconspicuous in the fact that he was just any other
man, down on his luck, with a lightly shabby appearance and a smell
of the unwashed.

The way I look right now, I will fit right
in, he thought to himself. There is no need to court any suspicious
looks. I need to do this with no distractions.

He had been watching her over the last few
weeks in preparation, that had been his primary purpose, but he had
also watched the local people with interest as well. He could not
help it, he liked to watch people, imagine a life for them. It
helped him, to imagine others suffering as he had.

A mix of the unemployable and students, he
had found, now populated the area. It was a social experiment if
ever he had seen one, but then maybe his purpose fitted that
description as well. It was an experiment but it would not be
social…

He still hated this place though, the sooner
he did what he had to, the sooner he would move away, physically
and emotionally. He was only back to purge himself of the dark and
primal thing that had been living inside him most of his life. It
was something he could not name, but it ruled his life. It was
darkness, a black cancer eating away at his soul.

Not for much longer, he thought. He took a
deep breath, sucking in the cold air, chilling his lungs. Penance
to his body.

The day was just beginning, heavy grey
clouds threatening to either break and reveal the morning sun, or
burst and cleanse the ground with cold rain. He loved this kind of
weather, he would watch the rain that would collect in the broken
concrete gutters then run into the drains. The drains took the
water and everything it collected along the way out into the stream
beside him, flushing the cities detritus out to sea. If only it was
that easy…

The stream was one of the reasons he chose
this area as his hunting ground, it was one of many that crossed
the Leith Valley, Woodhaugh area, providing a pleasant environment
in an otherwise unappealing suburb of the city.

The stream circled around a large wooded
area, plenty of green spaces, walking tracks, hidden glens, places
nobody went.

Except her, he thought, a small smile
forming on his lips.

He had only moved back here recently to be
closer to her. He knew this area as well as any other in the city;
his childhood home was just around the corner. He would never
forget that place. A typical house in a typical neighborhood,
prosperous, hard working…, hiding all sorts of secrets.

Looking around him now, he saw buildings
that were a mix of the old and the older. The rotting weatherboards
giving way to the crumbling red brick favored in this part of the
country. Buildings with all the charm of yesteryear but which had
fallen into unloved disrepair.

My life in one sentence, he thought, unloved
disrepair.

Up on the corner in front of him, sitting
idle on the corner, there was an old Hotel, long since closed. He
felt a slight tremor run up his spine as he walked past the front
doors as he had every other time in the past few weeks. He had
imagined the stories that passed through them and into other
people’s lives. He knew these were stories that always ended
differently after one more pint in the smoky confines of the public
bar inside. It was this place and many like it that was at the
heart of his angst.

Trying to shake the feelings, he looked
upwards not having to shade his eyes in the grey morning light. He
could see the houses on top of the high bush clad cliffs on either
side of the valley supporting the more affluent, looking down on
the peasants.

These people should have taken more notice
of what was going on below them, he thought bitterly, instead they
got on with their sheltered lives, safe in the knowledge that as
long as they didn’t look down they wouldn’t see.

The bitter thought, did not help the way he
felt and was twisting inside his head as he continued to walk. We
would not be here if they had just taken more notice.

He felt the familiar loneliness, there was
no one on the streets this morning; people around here did not get
out much at this time of year, the sun only made a late appearance,
if it bothered at all. They preferred to stay in the relative
warmth of their houses, eyes focused on the television and not the
windows showing snapshots of the cold changeable world outside. The
empty streets suited him; other people would just get in the
way.

Walking slowly he let his mind wander a
little, letting his thoughts and imagination take over. He thought
of the corner his life was about to turn, of what lay just out of
sight.

Checking his bag for its contents, he could
feel the reassuring weight that told him he had packed all the
items he would need. This was beginning to feel like his day.

It was then he saw her.

She looks just like mother, he thought. She
is perfect…

He stood still and watched her, blending
into the urban environment, just another man, out for an early
morning walk. She would take no notice of him, she never did.

She was walking the same leisurely pace she
always did, a slight smile on her face, not a care in the world,
oblivious to fear and pain. She had no idea that she was about to
take the lead role in the biggest part of her life.

The image of her was hauntingly familiar; as
soon as he had seen her, it had poured powerful emotions into his
body. It had instantly bought back the memories of that time in his
life. It had also sparked an idea in his head that had led him here
this morning.

The idea had formed into a plan, now his
plan had given him a purpose, made him feel in control again.

The psychologists of his childhood would
have a field day with this one…, he thought, slightly amused at the
notion of them trying to understand him.

He did not really care what they thought
though. He was not crazy, the psychologists where in the past, he
just hated the memory of them. He was not like that anymore. His
parents had been diseased, someone had written a ‘tragedy’ as the
script that chronicled their lives, and he had just been a bit
player, only written in to give the play an ending. The script
determined his character, but now he was going to rewrite it.

The girl continued to walk. The houses were
becoming scarcer, giving way to the trees that were winning the
battle to occupy the space. It was now or never.

He shook himself out of his self-loathing
revelry.

He had only fragmented memories of his early
life; he had patched together what he knew over the subsequent
years. Each memory building on the next until it had told the story
to him in vivid detail. The darkness was always whispering in his
ear. He did not actually remember killing his father; he could
scarcely believe he was capable. It was the darkness who showed him
how it happened, reminded him of those feelings. The darkness
controlled his dreams, and lately it seemed his waking thoughts as
well, but that was about to change.

Reaching into his bag he pulled out the
bottle, carefully unscrewed the cap, poured a measured amount of
the liquid it contained onto a cloth he retrieved from his pocket.
He stowed the bottle safely back in the bag and walked towards her.
There was a slight chemical smell on the cloth that was tingling at
his nose. He found himself whistling, the tune forgotten as she
turned towards him, eyes wide.

“Now mother, don’t struggle, it’s finally
going to be alright”

He saw the shock register in her eyes a
split second before she slipped into unconsciousness. A feeling of
warmth started to grow in his stomach.

“Sleep tight.”

The rear of the police patrol car slid
sideways slightly as it rounded the corner at a little over the
recommended speed. The tyres trying desperately to find traction on
the wet surface, the noise of rubber on tarmac competing with the
wail of the siren. The outside world lit up by the red and blue
flashing lights reflecting off the parked cars as the police patrol
car accelerated down the quiet suburban street.

"Did you see that lot up in the bar
earlier? It looks like it
’
s going to be a messy night", Steve Kirkland
said, looking over at his partner. "I saw half of the lawyers from
Jones Wilson in there as well".

Gillian Holler smiled a little as she
manipulated the steering wheel slightly to avoid a skateboarder,
skating on the roadside, almost invisible in the darkness. Her
young partner was a bit of a fitness freak and she didn't know if
he indulged or not, but if he thought that was going to be messy he
would be horrified with what used to go on in the old police
station bar when she first started in the job.

"Mike Bridger was promoted to Detective
Sergeant", she said, "Do you know him?"

"Yeah I know him, I worked with him
after I graduated from the police college", Steve said, holding on
the door handle a bit tighter as Gillian swung the car into yet
another fast turn, "It was before he became a Detective. His
promotion surprises me; he was a bit of a loose unit back when I
worked with him. You know I once saw him drink four pints of beer
out of his police helmet.
”
Steve paused looking out the window at the
passing darkness “I guess it will be a messy night for
them".

You have no idea, Gillian thought.

A small red car pulled tentatively out of a
side street up ahead, stopping in the middle of the road. Gillian
jumped on the brakes, dropping her speed sharply and sounding the
air horn.

"Bloody god damned Sunday drivers, all the
lights and sirens in the world and he still pulls out in front of
us".

Steve watched the shocked and pale elderly
face of the driver flash by as the patrol car swerved around him
and accelerated once more. The adrenalin in his system was just
managing to overcome his fear of when someone else was driving the
car. It was not that he did not trust Gillian driving, it is just
he much preferred to be in control of the one ton speeding lump of
metal that would seriously hurt him if it came off the road. He was
not a very good passenger at the best of times.

To take his mind off what he thought would
be certain death he picked up the radios microphone and asked for
an update to the emergency call. The tinny sounding voice of the
dispatcher came through the car speaker. He had to turn up the
volume to compete with the sound of the engine and constant wailing
of the siren.

"
The
informant reports that the house has gone quiet now, the last
sounds heard were a child crying. No one has entered or left from
the address. Occupants are unknown but informant states it is a
young family, mum dad and one child. We have no previous record for
this address. The informant also said the man of the house is a big
guy, so be careful
."

"Sounds like it
’
s all over", Steve said.
"Just another form filling exercise I expect. What do you bet that
the woman swears blind nothing happened while standing there with a
bloody nose"?

Gillian did not reply she just kept her foot
hard on the accelerator, eyes scanning ahead for any potential
hazards.

Steve had only been in the job for a few
years, but other people's arguments and problems made him jaded. He
hated domestic disputes He hated with a passion having to report on
an incident when one party had called police to solve what only
amounted to an argument. On the other hand, he had also been to
many disputes that had resulted in assault; some of them serious,
so he knew that reporting each occurrence helped police build a
picture of any escalating problems, which should in turn help them
put in place some positive intervention. Well that was the theory
the bosses always spouted at training days but it did not help him
with the paperwork.

As they neared the address, Gillian switched
off the siren and slowed the patrol car to a more sedate speed.
Turning into the street, she pulled the car to a stop and shut
everything down. Steve and Gillian got out of the warm car and into
the cold and very quiet street. Steve shivered slightly in his
shirtsleeves. Gillian pulled the zipper on her jacket up a bit
further and they both started walking up the street towards the
reported address.