As I stand here with the gun in my hand, I am scared to pull the trigger. It’s as if even in death he will somehow still control every aspect of my life. The gun is heavier than I imagined. I remember seeing R swinging it with such force when he was hitting Simon that night. I have remembered everything. Funnily enough, it was coming back here to the building site that finally pulled all the jigsaw pieces together. We were here that night, Simon and me.
We met at Simon’s place. R was conducting some kind of nefarious business deal in a pub somewhere and would then be going to his Friday night poker game. I sneaked out. I got a taxi into town and then a bus to Charmouth.
I remember a kiss. Kissing Simon was the first time I had ever kissed a man who wasn’t R. It was sweet and tender, it was special, and in that moment, I would have been happy for everything just to stop, to go no further, like hitting pause on a movie. But it didn’t. He found us and then he tried to kill us. To the end, Simon fought to get me away and look at what it cost him. Too much. I am not worth it.
My palms are sweaty. I have never held a gun before, but something about this feels predestined, as if we were always heading for this moment or some semblance of it. Maybe in an alternate universe it’s him with the gun, but in this one it’s me. Even with the weapon I know I don’t have the power, it’s always him. He can always say the right thing to shrink me to nothing.
But then I remember my mother, buried under the greenhouse, and I find my strength again.
As much as I hate this man, he is still the face of the man I grew up worshipping; it’s hard to separate the two in my head sometimes. I have never really known what love is, I suppose. He made me believe my mother left and so her love never felt real to me. I thought that if she left me there was no way she could love me. I often wondered where she had gone, if she was happy, if she went on to have more children who she loved more than me, children who weren’t a disappointment. I feel my finger tighten on the trigger.
I listen to R spinning his lies; although he doesn’t try as hard as he used to with me anymore. He knows that he could tell me anything and I would stay. I am trapped. This, of course, gives me nothing to lose. Is that what he is banking on? He would never have the courage to take his own life, seeing it as a sign of weakness and letting me off the hook. If he gets me to kill him then I go to prison and he is out of the game, he will still have won. We are playing a different game, though. For me, his death is a win. I will feel no guilt. I am sure of that.
I hear Adrian Miles before I see him enter the room. He is trying to talk me into giving the gun up, but I won’t; R doesn’t get to walk away this time. I see that strange look of satisfaction on R’s face when Adrian arrives; he says things that I know are secret codes. He gets that same look on his face when he says things to me in front of his men, things that only I understand, things that no one else would see as particularly upsetting or threatening. That’s because we share those secrets. I can see he has a secret like that with Adrian Miles and I wonder what it is. I am more resolute than ever to put an end to this vile man.
Patricide, that’s what they call it. When I go to prison, I will be the girl who killed her father and people will want to know why. I watch Adrian’s face as he speaks, another good man my father has hurt. It will never end unless I end it.
Adrian asks me who the body belongs to in the house and I can’t even bring myself to think it, let alone say it. My father speaks first and my finger presses down on the trigger. I see the red erupt from his arm as he falls to the ground. I don’t want it to be over too quickly. I will only get to kill him once.
DS Grey rushes into the room and immediately searches for her partner. I see she is worried that I have hurt him. She cares for him, I can see that. My mind starts racing and I try to remember my mother; I was angry and upset with her, so I put her out of my mind. I feel guilty for not knowing the truth, not realising what a psychopath he was. Would I have been able to get away sooner if I had? Probably not – just another layer of misery to add to my already miserable life. I am past caring about going to prison. My only goal now is to make sure he dies before I leave this room.
Both of the detectives talk to me, asking me questions I don’t have the answers to. I see the look of disgust and pity on their faces as the whisper of the idea forms in their mind. I suspect there are other police coming to this location. I don’t have much time if I want to make sure he is gone. They are going to try to stop me and I can’t let them. I have to focus and stop thinking about my mother, about Simon, about how I ended up in the river.
My head is all over the place. I can barely concentrate on anything but the weight of the gun in my hand and how much easier it would be if I just turned it on myself.