–29–

The day I killed my father was a bright day, although the light was hazy, without shadows or contours. Or perhaps it was grey, that shade of grey which even tinges souls that are not usually inclined to melancholy… That would make a good start for a book, wouldn’t it? Except that books no longer exist for me.

It was with a blow to the back of his neck and another to the top of his head. But I wasn’t alone when I called the police. Through the guy who’d blackmailed my father’s driver, I’d spent a small fortune hiring three criminals to come into the house after I’d murdered him. I’d instructed them to immobilise me immediately after the phone-call, even if I changed my mind at the last minute — which I didn’t.

‘Come and arrest me. I’ve killed my father,’ I said, and hung up the phone. The criminals then did what had been arranged. Two of them held me by the arms and head. Immobilised on an armchair, I could still see my father’s body lying on the sofa, before the third crook poured acid into my eyes.

And then the light went out.

 

This silence … Are you still there?