Every Second Counts

Chapter Twenty Two

'WHAT'S HAPPENING?' the girl in the dark room asks.

'Nothing,' I say.

'Before we deal with your 'nothing,' I have gone over many things you have rambled on about. You need to talk to the Heslops. I believe they know something about the trauma you faced when you were young. You tell me you are getting flashes. Sheets of brightness, illuminated objects. But then you realise they are not objects...its' an orange shirt, dark hair. And you wonder whether the images are of a woman or a man.'

'That's all I can remember. It may have nothing to do with when I was a kid. You know that.'

'Quite! But, what if it is. The people who will know are the Heslops. You need them to tell you.'

My mind whirls for a moment wondering if I should tell her about their weird claim they are part of a security group overseeing my entire life. Probably not! Well at least not until I know what the hell they are all protecting me from.

'How will I get them to tell me about something I'm not sure is real?'

'Tell them about your dream...memories. Watch their faces. If it's obvious they know something about it, you'll see in their faces. Then push them. Push them for the truth.'

OK,' I say because if they do know something, it will be a damned sight better than 'going back' in these sessions with the girl in the dark room.

'Good. Then it's settled. So, lets sort 'tonight,' out. I heard you say, "Well, that's really going to help." What did you mean?' she asks. I say nothing. 'It's to do with your drinking, isn't it? And what's more, something terrible has happened during the week. What happened?'

'Nothing,' I yell. 'Nothing at all.' Then I burst into tears at the thought of telling anyone that my family lies has probably caused the death of Damien to which I am now claiming that it was nothing at all.

She seizes on it. 'Has someone else been murdered? As well as Damien?

'No,' I answer.

'You better sort your life out. You could be next. And, it could even be down to you,' she tells me. I chill to the bone. What she is suggesting could be so right. I could have knifed Damien.

'You know what you have to do,' she tells me. 'This is important. Do it now, I can wait,' and I know exactly what she is talking about. I lift up my half-filled glass of whiskey, get up from the table and walk across to my bench. I put the glass of mouth-watering whisky down on the bench top. I stare at it. I want it so badly. I need it.

Several minutes pass while I stare at the bottle of whisky and glass with a mighty struggle going on, all of it in my head:

Drink it.

Chuck it all out.

Drink it, you'll feel a lot better.

Chuck it all out and you may just have a chance of staying alive.

Drink it. Do you really want to carry on with this shithole life of yours?

Then the girl in the dark room's voice is louder than I had ever heard before, 'Get rid of it. If you don't care about your own life, think about protecting the people you care about.'

And there it is!

'Lila.'

My voice echoes around the apartment and Floppy is alert, her head pivoting and she races through the apartment. But she stops searching and returns to the kitchen when she hears the clinking of full bottles of whisky being flung into my rubbish bin. Next, three bottles of wine from the fridge is added to the bin. What was only a few minutes ago a glass of tantalising whisky, I now see as the devils way to help me cope with all the heinous events in my life. I think of all the hours and days wasted succumbing to the numbness alcohol has given me. I know without doubt, I could have been a hell of a lot further on tracking down the murderers, than where I am right now.