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Frantic, Chapter 3This story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Christian Wright | |
| Friday, 01 August 2008 | |
 Stolen.
On the sixteenth of March, the day before the parade my step-father marched us around Dublin as if on a military expedition. My son kissed the Molly Malone statue at the bottom of Grafton Street and then we fed the ducks in Stephens Green. We absorbed the smell of exotic fruits from Henry street and we laughed at the yells of the market sellers.When my son and my mother collapsed with exhaustion in our hotel-room my step-father brought me down to the bar at the Clarence Hotel.
We drank Guinness and laughed about Reece and his childish humour. Horns from the incoming Ferries swam down the river Liffey and police sirens sped over O’Connell Bridge racing towards Pierce Street. Jolly red faces laughed around us and I felt untouchable; that this was the beginning of my life with my step-father. He nodded with attention at my every word and I felt for once that I was his son, a son that he was proud of.
It would have seemed that on the seventeenth of March that god was feeling mischievous or maybe he wanted to see how far he pushed me until I became Frantic. That morning would be the last time I heard my son whining to “get up dad” and if I knew at the time what lay ahead, I would not have wished that I could have just one morning of peace.
We walked on Wellington Quay towards the sound of drums and an inaudible voice shouted down a microphone. My stuffy parents looked awkward as the crowds shoved into them. Their rich society kept them in committees and ballrooms, never bringing them to the streets filled with hotdog stands and dodgy memorabilia.
Reece brought the best out of all of us; our faces painted with shamrocks and cheap plastic hats that said “kiss me, I’m Irish” sat on our heads. Hoards of different cultures surrounded us, and my son’s contagious laugh turned smiling faces towards us.
We stood with the masses watching the parade pass. Reece’s heavy legs swung menacingly around my head as he sat on my shoulders, his fingers danced in my hair as a marching band thumped past. Reece struggled with my shoulders as he jumped off, and he ran to the barrier quickly glancing at me with his mother’s eyes and the sweet smile that I will never forget. Reece pointed as a huge evil-looking puppet strolled down the parade towards us. Its plastic arms and hands covered the front of the crowd for a while and I heard his laugh echo above the crowds.
My father pulled me back and he told me with seniority that he and my mother was going to get some food for Reece, he left me with a smile and a wink. They left and a soft voice grabbed my attention asking me for something, and when I turn, Reece is gone. I screamed for my son as a blanket of music muffled my voice; and as I pushed and shouted my way through the crowd, they looked at me with disgust, not knowing yet what my problem was. When they stopped to ask; they then understood why I looked so agitated, they tell me not to worry; that he was probably just lost, you will find him I hear them all say.
After two days we still hadn’t found him, there were no witnesses and no camera footage, he had just vanished. My parents kept repeating the same question over and over... “Why weren’t you watching him?” I did my best to hide the fury; but as night fell… I knew he was gone forever. The worn looking policeman that we called the “inspector” that was in charge of our case told us not to worry, but as the days passed; even he did not believe Reece would be found alive. I am amazed at my parent’s straight face when the police asked if I knew if any one would want to take Reece and my father gives me his stony face as if to say “SHUT UP”.
My step-father whispered to me that it is absurd that Reece’s disappearance has anything to do that my biological father is tipped to become the next prime minister of England in the upcoming elections, apart from my biological father there is only the three of us that knew, my parents and me. It was decided when we got married that my there was no reason to tell my wife, I supposed they worried what if we got divorced and she went to the press.
My mother worked for a conservative party office thirty-five years ago, my real father’s parents were both ministers and when she met David Green they soon started their affair, when she became pregnant David was ordered to dump her and that left my step-father with the task of raising another mans child. They told me when I was 14, and that is when my step-father and I drifted apart. I see my real father once a month. I knew from the start he never wanted a father-son relationship but David had been there when I needed him, unlike my step-father.
My mother looked frail as she comforted my wife. My wife Anna said nothing to me but her eyes overflowed with disgust towards me, my job was to watch Reece and I failed her. In my darkest thought I knew what she wanted to say.
“Reece’s real-father would not have lost him.”
The hours passed as if days and my wife’s desperate pleas on the television churn no new information until on the 4th day we had a phone call from the alleged kidnapper. We were told if two million euros is delivered to Blessington Lakes we shall have our son safely returned. My Step father contacts my biological father, the soon-to-be prime minister and he wires the money with a strict message.
His weary voice told me that no-one must know our secret but he would send some friends to help with the investigation. Before he hangs up his concerned voice tells me not to lose hope. David knew too well what happened the last time I lost hope. I parked the car near the lake and I ran with the rucksack heaved down with the money towards a bench that has a mobile phone sitting on it. My body jumped as it rings and the harshness of the man’s voice strikes me repeatedly.
“There was a problem. You’re son is dead. His body is at the lake, next to the boat house.”
My distraught mind forgot that I had the car and I ran through the boggy grass towards the boat house. I jumped in the water grabbing at the bloodied clothing that I recognise. I dived into the misty water searching for my son’s body but all I could see was blood floating around the clothes. I eventually fell onto the stony beach, my screams clutching at my chest. One hour later I am sat in a car shivering. I watched my Mother and Wife as they had collapsed to the grass; my wife’s hands dug into the grass and I briefly heard a helicopter over my head.
I heard two police divers talked about where the current could have taken my son’s body and then the Inspector stepped into the car beside me and I can tell that he didn’t want to be here. I fought my mind as it painted a picture of my dead son somewhere alone in the river. I began to cry again as I wonder if Reece knew that he was going to die and if he asked for me and I was pleased that the Inspector disturbed my tormenting thought.
“It will take them several hours to search the lake so I think I should take your family back to the hotel. This doesn’t mean they have harmed him. Reece could be alive.”
I nodded in numbness and I began to weep as I watched my step-father shamble around the lake searching the water; his hair ruffled and his shirt blew untidily in the wind. The Inspector drove us back to the hotel, I stared out of the car window watching families pass me by and I thought selfishly why it had to be us. We sat in the hotel; my step-father turned the television off when he saw the presenter in frenzy as he discussed my son was alleged to be dead.
The tanned man pointed at the lake and I ran at the television shouting abuse at the man. The inspector looked away embarrassed but runs towards the sound of smashing glass in the bathroom. We turned to the bathroom staring at the shadowy figure that lingered in the doorway. I walked nearer and my heart scattered as my wife’s bloodied hand clutches a shard of glass.
“Come here Anna,” I stuttered.
I saw the Inspector in the corner of my eye approaching my wife and as I got nearer I noticed the broken mirror on the bathroom floor. My wife stepped backwards, her voice mumbling out to me.
“Why couldn’t you have just watched him?”
“I took my eyes off him for a second. We cannot give up; we haven’t found him where they said he would be,” I said as my hands called out to her.
The Inspector waved his hands at Anna before talking.
“Your husband is right, he is alive. We will find him.”
“Did you see his clothes, they were covered with blood. REECE IS DEAD! I can feel it .I don’t want you to find him. I don’t want to know what the monsters did to my baby,” Anna screamed but eventually the words became sobs.
In one quick motion my wife slashed at her delicate wrist, Anna stumbled in the bathroom doorway; blood ran down her hand as if a tap was dripping, her face lost any sign of life. I ran to her collapsed body and dropped to my knees as the Inspector yelled “to get an ambulance”, his hands wrestled with her bloodied wrists and her faint voice shouted to my soul.
“Promise me they will suffer as we have.”
My body choked out the tears as my wife’s last breath skimmed at my face; I screamed as I am dragged away by my father. Paramedics burst thru the door and they tried to resuscitate her but she has gone to be with my son. For once in my life I hold my father in need, and an hour later my wife leaves the hotel in a coffin. How could she do this to me, be so selfish. I needed her, and now the animal she and my child had controlled is slowly breaking free from the crypt I had so long ago struggled to bury.
That evening my tear soaked eyes pushed me in the deepest sleep and for a moment I see them before the loud voices wake me, I am in a corridor and I see my boy; my wife’s hand rubs at his blonde hair and they both beckon me to come to them. I run towards them. I nearly tasted their happiness before hands pulled me back into the room of grief. I am awake. Even then after Anna’s death the good doctor inside me had hope that Reece was still alive. But something inside me didn’t care about hope; it wanted revenge and those responsible for my loss to pay. When it heard my father’s voice it came alive choking the goodness from me.
“What do you mean you know who killed my grandson,” my fathers pompous voice bellowed to the inspector.
I strode towards them, my hands rubbed at my eyes. My father and the Inspector watched me, their faces tried to dismiss their conservation, and my father is surprised as I hurtled towards the shocked Inspector. I shove at his arms that threw in the air for protection and he is thrown into a chair. My step-father pulled me back but I sharply turned and shoved him to the floor.
“I want answers…Who did this to us?” I hissed.
My father looked deflated as he leant against the wall, the Inspector rubbed his hands across his face and when he finished exhaling he speaks. I said nothing. My heart beat frantically and I clenched my fists trying to squeeze out the voices in my head that roars at me.
“Hurt him for the truth.”
I approached the inspector but he spoke as if he sensed what I wanted to do to him.
“From the start of your son’s disappearance, something just wasn’t right. Video footage went missing and witnesses that came forward suddenly had amnesia. A local gang, up until recently was into small time crime, suddenly comes into money. They’re running around the place buying **** loads of heroin, and a colleague of mine that bugged one of the gangs homes hears a conservation of theirs talking about a package. “The boy” was used once or twice in the conservation.”
The weary looking Inspector paused and stared out of the window. A gentle draft whispered from under the door and my mother was like a ghost as she sat motionless on the window sill.
“I arrest the two main guys, nasty bastards, and when I arrive at my police station there are two of the best solicitors in this country are waiting for them at the station. I get a phone call from the Department of Justice telling me to leave these guys alone, that they are involved in more important pressing matters. The Inspector stopped as my father interrupts him.
“You’re just desperate, as long as you get someone for it, you don’t care. It’s just a job to you.”
The Inspector stood up, and the light reflected the bags under his eyes and his bald sweating head shined, he stomped his hands against his legs. His hands rummaged through his pocket pulling out a photograph.
“I have not been home in three nights, every time I see my children I think of your son, and that I have not brought him home to you. I have this photo of your family just to remind me of what I am fighting for.”
I looked at the photo, it’s my sons Tenth birthday and I was brought back to two weeks ago. We looked so happy together, the three of us, my family. I stood up, my body moved closer to the Inspector and I whisper ignoring my father’s pleas.
“Where are they now?”
“I lost track of them yesterday, they have gone underground. But I know they have not left the country. The eldest brother, Mickey would not leave his girlfriend.” The Inspector said.
“Arrest her; you must be able to do something.” I yelled as I stood up to confront the Inspector.
“As of three hours ago I was officially suspended, (holiday leave.) They said this is too stressful for me,” the Inspector said as he shrugged his shoulders.
I snatched the photograph from his hand and I whispered to him.
“Give me her name and address, let me do what your badge cannot.”
The Inspector looked away. I knew the father in him wanted to give it to me but my father’s continuous barking stopped him.
“Don’t do it,” my father shouted and my mother hung to his side in disbelief.
“What if this was your kid? Please. I just want to see; maybe someone would speak to me,” I begged.
The inspector sighed and dipped his hand into his jacket pocket and gave a piece of paper with words scribbled on it. I snatched it and read the name and address. My father came to me but I walked towards the chair and grabbed my coat. I quickly walked to the door and my father’s bony hands pulled me towards him; I listened carefully trying to decipher the sobbing words.
“You have all I got son; I don’t want to lose you too.” And at that moment, I never felt closer to the man who raised me as his true child. I pulled him into my body and the bristles on his cheek cut at my face, I whispered into his ear and my mother tugged at my arms. I feel the anger relent slightly as his tears graze my face but Anna’s last words recited in my mind.
“Dad, they must feel our suffering, that is what she wanted,” I said not wanting to say her name.
I don’t know if my step-dad continues to cry because I have called him “Dad” for the first time in 15 years or if he is afraid of that he will never see me again. I pulled away from my parents, ignoring my mother’s cries and marched towards the door. I glanced over to the Inspector, his hands held at his head and regret hung in his eyes. I heard my step-father’s voice followed me down the corridor as he shouted at the Inspector, “My God what have you done?” Copyright 2008 Christian Wright |
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| Last Updated ( Friday, 01 August 2008 ) |
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