The Fire That Raged Beneath

Chapter 9: Christopher Anderson

I guess I would be kidding myself if I said I was trying to find Harry's killer for any other reason than I wanted to have the peace that had evaded me since he'd died. It was like I was chasing a shadow, something that, when I thought I had it, somehow fell out of my grasp. When Superintendent Miller had found his killer, Michael Charleigh, I finally thought that maybe there was a light at the end of the dark, deserted tunnel I'd been trying to escape for so many years.

Meeting Harry's killer was just another way for me to try and escape the tunnel once and for all. I don't think that Mama was too happy about this, but I knew she would let me. How could she not? All she'd wanted since Harry's death was for me to move on, and now that she had a chance for that to happen, she wouldn't stop it for the world.

***

It was a week later that I met Michael Charleigh. I recognised his face from the newspapers, his brown eyes, double chin that had once burst from his tight suit jacket, and now from his orange prison jumpsuit. I stared at the grey stubble growing on his chin, at his hands clasped tightly on the plain table in front of him, at how he gazed emptily at his thumb moving backwards and forwards over his right hand. I walked tentatively towards him, and lowered myself into the chair placed for me on the opposite side of the rectangular table. I heard a prison guard quietly shut the dense metal door, and stand with his heavily tattooed hands behind his back, keeping a watchful eye on the two of us, to make sure that neither did anything rash. But I didn't feel safe, not even knowing that there were three security cameras operating and that the guard was armed. It didn't surprise me that I was still apprehensive. We were both silent for a while, me letting it sink in that this man had hired a hit man to kill my seven-year old brother, he probably thinking what to say to me. Harry is gone because of him, I thought silently.

Finally, I spoke. "Why did you do it?"

He took a deep breath.

"I... I needed an exclusive story in a week, or my job was gone. What could I do...? My brain went numb, I couldn't think. I don't know how on earth I could do it, but I did. I killed the boy." A stray tear trickled down his round face, and he quickly brushed it away angrily.

"You killed him...?" I rubbed my forehead and frowned. "You killed my brother, my brother... You killed an innocent seven-year old for a story?" I couldn't believe my ears. I was outraged. He'd killed a child and was acting like it was no big deal.

I put my hands on the table and pushed myself backwards. Standing up, I said in a raised voice, "You killed him!"

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry... I know that you probably don't want to hear it, but I really am sorry."

"You killed him! He's dead and you know why? Because of you. You're the reason he's dead. You're the reason a little boy is dead. How does that make you feel, huh?" I slammed my fist hard onto the table and kicked my chair over. Charleigh flinched, but only slightly. The door swung open and the guard marched in, and I could see Mama, her mouth open slightly, and her hands clutching her small purse, standing by the glass panel that separated the interrogation room from the waiting room. The prison guard's arms were tight around my chest as he forced me out of the room. I remember looking back and seeing Charleigh, his head in his hands, and I think I screamed something, but I'm not sure exactly what. I was crying but my cheeks were hot, so hot, and probably as red as the blood that flowed through my veins. Tears ran with a dogged determination down my face, and I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth in anger.

I think it was that moment when I first realised that Harry was never coming home. Of course I'd known he was dead since I was old enough to process something like that, but I guess a small, niggling part of me had always thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd return into my life once more. Still, that peace I'd always wanted, and thought I'd finally have after talking to Charleigh had, yet again, somehow evaded me. I didn't know what to do. I'd devoted the bulk of my childhood to trying to find who killed him, and now that I knew, I just felt empty, like I had since he'd died. It was like I'd spent the most part of my life so far trying desperately to find something, and realised that it didn't exist, that I'd never have it. You can't imagine what that was like. The tunnel had returned, and it was darker than ever.