Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 11 - Harry

Martha is shouting at him. Martha is always shouting at him. Harry has no idea what she is saying. He knows that it doesn't matter – he'll do what he always does. He'll apologise, he'll ask how he can make it up to her and he'll wait for her to forget the whole ordeal. That's how their marriage has held together for six years.

When she finally finishes her rant (and her second rant) Harry responds as he always does, pressing play on his autopilot.

"Just be here!" Martha implores, "You were late home from work four times last week and for the past two days as well! Am I really being that unreasonable, wanting to spend time with my husband?

"How are we supposed to raise a child together when we hardly spend any time together? Actually forget that, how are we supposed to even have a baby?" She regrets it as soon as she says it. It hits Harry like a full-frontal collision in a smart car with a juggernaut. They stare directly at one another and both their eyes begin to swell.

Harry says nothing. He simply picks up his fags and jacket from the foot of the stairs and takes off.

She is jolted by the slamming of the door vibrating through the living room. Martha is stunned for a few minutes. She doesn't move one inch, unsure of what to feel, of what to think. Then, her knees buckle, she falls down to the ground and she weeps. Her howls resonate through her throat and flood through the house and the street. Her eyes sting from the salt being rubbed into them by her fists and her stomach sinks so low it makes her want to throw up.

Harry makes his way through all eighteen cigarettes that he has on hand in under an hour. He knows this is killing Martha more than it is him, but he's angry. Angry at her maybe, or angry at himself. He blames himself. Secretly he thinks she blames him too.

Finding out a year ago is what sent him into a spiral. All he wanted was to bring some good into the world and being told he couldn't do that brought his whole world crashing down. Harry wanted to honour them, in some way. He wanted them to live on through something other than just him. He didn't want to be where they ended.

The doctors said that about twenty per cent of men are like him. Harry supposed that the doctor thought this would make him feel better since he was not alone. It didn't. Now, all Harry thinks about is why he couldn't be like the eighty per cent.

They were given some other options to discuss. He and Martha argued about every single one of those options a thousand times over. They didn't want an alternative.

As Harry sucks down the end of his last cigarette, he receives a text responding to the one he sent as soon as he left home.

I'll meet you in the usual place

Picking himself up off the crumbled brick wall he had stumbled across, he quickly deletes the message and begins to make his way to the warehouse.

Harry is not naturally a paranoid character, he is always sure of who and what is in his surroundings – that's why he makes a decent detective. But whenever he goes to meet her, it's as if all his skill and reason are washed from his body and are replaced by stupidity and suspicion. He checks behind him every ten seconds, he's shaken by every sound and he conceals himself as if he is on his way to seal a high-profile drug deal.

The warehouse isn't really a warehouse – it's too small to be one. Harry came across it about a year ago when he met her. It has been out of use since he and Martha moved to this neighbourhood four years ago and no one tends to it, yet the foundations are still strong and the water mains still run so it became the perfect hideout for them.

It is situated a few yards further back from the road than the other buildings and is well disguised by overgrown thorn and holly bushes which no one would ever attempt to fight their way through or be able to see through, so they are never spotted by evening dog walkers or London commuters coming back far too late from work.

Harry trudges down the pathway he had made to the back entrance, yelping silently every time a thorn jabs into the back of his legs.

He reaches the moulded, rotten door and cringes at the sound of its groaning that seems to echo through the entire building. He whispers her name and a few moments later she tiptoes out of the shadows and runs to him.

It is only a brief visit tonight. Harry knows he can only be away from Martha for so long and still make it seem convincing that he had only stormed out to 'cool off'.

He tells her that they have to be more careful. He tells her that Martha is getting suspicious and is noticing him being late from work so often. He tells her that they cannot see one another for a while until Martha loses the scent.

Processing this, she is reluctant and angry at first; eventually understanding that it is the only way if they want this to work.

Harry swiftly leaves her there and hastens back home to Martha. A wave of guilt flushes over him as he thinks of her and shame mocks him silently. He shrugs it off but its claws sink deep into his shoulders and hang off his back.

Clicking the door shut carefully, he slinks into the living room to find Martha slouched down on the floor, head hung low and hair slapped across her face – stuck to her cheeks by tears. Harry gazes at her for a long while and a tickle forms in his throat which he hastily swallows back down.

Lowering himself onto the floor behind her, he engulfs her entire body with his limbs and holds her tight.

At first, she offers nothing in response, she is as cold and still as the ornaments on the mantelpiece. But she soon gives in and melts into him, gripping on to his arms as her tears drop onto his skin.

Their two bodies fall together.

Harry fervently presses his quivering lips against her neck and squeezes her closer into him, never wanting to let go.

"We'll keep trying," he whispers into the hollow of her shoulder, "there's still a chance." His words are barely comprehensible, muffled by the sobs of them both.

Martha nods her head precariously and he rocks her gently in his arms.

For the time that they sit there, entwined in one another, Harry feels something that he has not felt in such a long time he had forgotten what it was. Happiness. There, with Martha, he feels as though he needs nothing more than her in his life, he feels safe. He feels peaceful.

It doesn't last. Harry's mind flashes to her face and he quickly realises that it is not so. He cannot be happy with just Martha. He needs more.