He hid behind the balaclava. She didn’t need to see his face. She knew exactly who it was and struggled to comprehend the reason behind his behaviour.
‘What have I ever done to you,’ Jade said. ‘I thought we were friends.’
‘Friends? Is that what you think.’
She rocked from side to side, until she managed to turn onto her side, and all the time he stared. His expression was impassive, and he showed neither sorrow nor joy.
‘Untie me Dylan,’ she said.
‘Not until you admit what you’ve done.’
‘I should be saying that to you. You’re just a boy pretending to be a man. This is not the way to get people to listen to you.’
He stared, his eyes unreadable.
‘And take off that mask.’
Dylan did just that; he pulled his glasses from his pocket and slipped them on to his face. But he didn’t look at her, and so she could not tell his emotions. She imagined he was scared. She hoped he was.
He spun around. This time, there was anger in his face. ‘You hurt Kath. Kath is my friend.’
‘I’ve not hurt Kath. Not intentionally.’
‘You’ve hurt Kath. You’re a bad person.’
‘No, no I’m not. You don’t know me.’
‘You think?’ He extracted newspaper cuttings from his bag and flung them towards her.
They referenced Kath’s role in their mother’s suicide, and her father’s role in the fire. It was a horrifying amount of information, and it must have taken ages to acquire.
‘Others take the blame for what you’ve done.’
‘I’ve not done anything!’
‘Kath says differently.’
‘Then Kath is wrong. Let me go Dylan, and we can talk about this properly.’
‘She says you forget things.’
‘Yes, I do. I have dissociative amnesia. I can’t remember everything about the fire, or our mother’s suicide. It’s not a choice, it’s a fact.’
‘You lie. It’s what you do best.’
Jade took a calming breath of air. ‘No, I don’t. I have a condition.’
‘Do you like killing people?’
‘I haven’t killed anyone.’
Dylan stared, unblinking.
‘So who have I killed?’
He stepped to the ipad that lay on the straw, and selected something from the screen. It was more graphical images, stills this time, and they were of Joe and a baby. A block rose to her throat.
‘You killed this baby,’ Dylan said.
Jade gawped, her heart pounded. ‘No . . . that’s you. My baby died.’
‘You have memory problems. How can you be sure?’
Her mind raced, her heart thumped. Of course, she was sure. She had given birth. Dawn had taken her baby away, and pronounced him dead. She didn’t kill him. She would have remembered. Joe would have said something.
‘You placed your hand over his mouth,’ Dylan continued. ‘He couldn’t breath. His death was instant.’
Inside she screamed. Outside, she gawped.
‘See,’ he said, ‘you don’t remember.’
‘I . . . I wouldn’t do that.’
He reached to his bag, extracted a small cloth object, and dangled it in her face. It was a blue babygro, a recognisable blue babygro with a patterned duck front. One she had purchased many years before.
‘Remember this?’ he said, ‘this was his. He wore it before you killed him.’
She scrunched her face and held her breath. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She would have remembered.
‘You wanted him dead! Everyday Dad goes through hell because of what you did. He thinks I don’t notice but I do. I’m smarter than him.’
‘No!’ Her voice weakened. ‘I didn’t. I wouldn’t.’
Anger darkened his face. ‘Take a better look. The colour’s faded and the fabric’s bubbled. See?’
Jade’s heart pounded. She squeezed together her lips.
‘It’s been worn . . . before you killed him. You didn’t want him, just like you didn’t want . . .’ He stopped abruptly, then thrust the item back into his bag.
‘Like I didn’t want what?’
‘Your family. You hurt everyone you love. You can’t help it. It’s in your DNA and it has to be stopped. Dad won’t do anything, but I will. I hate you enough to do that.’
‘My baby died, damn it. Why don’t you hear me? It wasn’t my choice.’
‘You lie! You didn’t love him . . . said he was inconvenient. Dad told me.’
‘No! That’s not true!’
Jade’s adrenalin surged, her body trembling. Wanting to run, she tried to pull apart her hands. The handcuffs trapped her skin. She tried the same with her legs. The tape restricted.
‘You’re a murderer! You killed an innocent child and you’re too pathetic to admit to it. Dad’s suffered. We all suffered. All because of you!’
He dragged his eyes across her body, looking at her with contempt and hatred, before stuffing his belongings into his bag and walking towards the exit.
She watched, mesmerised. The door banged shut.
Then she was alone.
His words echoed in her head. ‘You killed him. You didn’t love him.’
It wasn’t true. It wasn’t.
But how could she be so sure? She suffered from a mental disorder. She could have put any memory in place of the truth and she would be non the wiser. It would explain why she had run from Joe and Dawn, her two best friends, and it would explain why she was so terrified of learning what had happened, the constant hiding and the constant running.
Jade’s chest heaved and her eyes misted as images flashed inside her head. She imagined smothering her baby of his tiny breaths; she visualised Joe’s horror when he saw the result of her action. It repeated. It haunted. Her son’s life had ended in one horrendous act of malice, out of a purely selfish need. She had wanted him gone.
She started to sob, huge, heaving sobs, and her body quaked. Why had she done it? Why had she not loved her son? She cried until her energy was lost and her eyes were puffy and sore. Snot dripped into her mouth. She snivelled. She wriggled towards the straw and rubbed her face into the small fibrous strips. Her eyes stung. She did not care.
Every bit of what Dylan said was true. Her baby had not been born dead. He had cried. She remembered now. It happened after he was born, when Dawn and Joe hurried him into the next room. It was a tiny sound, somewhat muffled, but it had been real. So when had she killed him? Her memories were hidden behind an infuriating barricade. Helpless, she screamed out her anguish and desolation.