Dark Secrets

I’m sitting here in my cell awaiting my court appearance. I am frightened that I might be convicted for several murders and what’s more frightening is that I don’t know whether I committed them. Sure, I knew all the people that died and yes, I did want them all dead and no, I don’t have an alibi, but I just don’t remember killing them. Surely I would remember something as brutal and horrifying as that. I’m only 38 and have twins to take care of.  I love them so much – why would I risk losing them?  I must be innocent.

            “Guard! Guard!” Why don’t they come when I shout?

            “Guard”

I start banging and shouting – they must hear me soon.  But no one comes. I’ve been shouting and banging on this door for an hour now and still nobody answers. Am I in hell? I sit back down on my bed. I must try to remember the days that those people died. What was I doing? I must be able to remember something – anything. Good or bad, I just need to remember. I lie on the bed and close my eyes, saying over and over, “I must remember. I must remember.”

“Daddy, is that you?”

I called again, “Daddy, is that you? I’m over here.”

 I heard footsteps and they were getting closer.

“Daddy, is that you?” Someone was just outside the door. “Daddy, I’m in here.”

I was crying. It was dark in there and all I wanted to do was get out.

“Daddy…” The door opened suddenly. “Daddy, it is you!”

“What are you doing in there, son? Are you alright?” He bent down and spoke softly to me, the way he always did.

“I was scared, Daddy. I ran in here and couldn’t get out again.”

“Ok, Ronny, it’s ok now. Everything will be all right now. There’s nothing to be frightened of.” He picked me up and carried me back to my room. I felt safe now. Daddy always made me feel safe. I lay on my bed thinking I must remember not to go back in that cupboard. It’s spooky and dirty and frightening in there. How did I end up in there? I must remember. I must remember.

I woke suddenly. For a minute I couldn’t remember where I was. Then it all came flooding back. I’m in prison. It’s not just a bad dream – this is real. I’m still here.

I had loved my father. He protected me. When I was bullied at school – which was often – he would go mad. He’d storm round to the school, find out who the bullies were and tan their backsides in full view of everyone. They would run home and tell their fathers and then they would come seeking revenge from my father. Quite often it would end up in a fight but they never won.  My father always came out on top. He was afraid of no one.

It was a sad day when my father died. I was fifteen years old and alone. There was no one to protect me anymore so I had to learn to look after myself. And I promised myself that if I had children I would protect them the way my father had protected me. Only now I can’t.

            The dream about my father was still vivid in my mind. It was the same dream over and over again, every night. Why that dreams?

Bang! What was that? Bang! Bang! There was a commotion right outside my door and the noise was almost deafening.

“What’s going on?” I shouted. “What’s all the noise?”

“Quiet. Quiet in there.” The voice came from outside my door. Suddenly a little window opened and I saw a face looking through. “On your bed,” the face said. “Sit on your bed now.”