Zorie
I wasn’t quite crazy anymore, I think, but they kept me in the psych ward anyway.
For a day I was evaluated and kept on suicide watch – followed by staff wherever I went – before they dared to tell me Reuben, my husband, was dead. I guess that’s what happens when they think you’re off the deep end already. I tried hard not to break into a grin. I’d been right. My feeling had been right. Madoc and Dirke were dead too, though. I hadn’t expected that and wondered if that had been accidental. If on purpose it was disturbing, no matter how much I appreciated them being gone. I didn’t feel any remorse. What they’d done to me had been terrible on any scale. They’d wanted me dead. An eye for an eye.
The psych ward at the hospital varied from people wandering about saying mantras and rocking in corners, to quiet times, long quiet times, and loads of group sessions. So boring. They kept me in a strictly segregated bed until the police were done with their first interview. From the tone of voice and the questions asked, the police were a combination of puzzled, concerned, and suspicious.
Sandra was the only friend who came to visit me. Not Grimm, certainly not any of my other university friends. We talked, though she skirted anything that might be related to my ex-marriage or the sexcapade at the underground car park. The strain showed in her eyes. That she would even come to the ward touched me.
At last I took her hand. “Sandra. I’m fine. Really. I’m not as crazy as they think. Reuben was not a nice man and it was...fortuitous that he was killed, really.”
I prayed she didn’t have a police wire on her, or whatever they used nowadays, because that sounded a little incriminating.
“Okay. Look, Zorie.” She frowned at my bare feet for a moment as if there were answers down there. “People told me not to come see you, but I believe in you. Whatever happened, I know it wasn’t your fault. Okay?”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat while I fumbled for the right words. “I’m very lucky to have someone honest and loyal like you are. Really.” A few tears were shed but it was true and what she’d said had helped me.
Sandra only grimaced and held my hand tighter. I think I embarrassed her. I imagine that was a common reaction when visiting a psych unit.
She’d highlighted what I needed to remember. Not my fault. Not me. I clung to that when real depression sidled in and got me down. There were days like that. I guess that was to be expected. My life had been shredded, crushed, and flushed down the toilet. Gathering the pieces and sticking them back the way they had been was impossible.
On the very eve of my discharge, the police asked me some more pointed questions.
Days had passed by, maybe a week or two. Time had become a bit squidgy. I wasn’t normal even if I was normal-ler than most in there. How could I be?
Reuben’s last wife had suicided under unusual circumstances, the stern-faced cop told me, after only two months of marriage to him, and the police had had suspicions about my mental state when neighbors had complained of strange smashing noises coming from my terrace house.
“Oh.” I leaned forward. “Really?”
“Really. When a constable checked, you came to the door and said you were fine. He did look through a window prior to knocking on your door, and reported that your house was in a state that could only be described as wrecked.”
“Ah-huh.” I hadn’t the fucking tiniest memory of this. “And?”
“We couldn’t do more at the time. No one except you seemed at risk, and you denied it.”
I nodded. “I was upset at certain things.”
“Yes. The university informed us of those things. Your late husband was involved?”
I must’ve looked shocked.
“We believe he was ID’d from the video?” The man sat back. Perhaps thinking he was jeopardizing my mental health?
“I didn’t know that.”
“It triggered alerts due to previous suspected incidents. Never mind.” He shook his head. “Thank you for your statement and your time. I believe you’re being released today?”
They’d known about Reuben? He’d been on some sort of watch list?
They’d known.
“I am.”
That concluded the cop interview. It left me stunned. They’d known Reuben was dangerous and yet there I’d been in his grasp for weeks and no one had warned me. Perhaps I was jumping to conclusions but it seemed logical. I guess they couldn’t act without concrete proof and they certainly couldn’t go around accusing him.
My psychiatrist was the final hurdle after the other staff had completed their assessments. We sat on chairs in my room while she went through the procedure. I waited for her prompts and answered questions while trying to look cheerful and sane. She appeared unconvinced that a suicidal patient could recover so fast. The reasons for that I couldn’t divulge, so I acted as happy as a wife minus a new husband might be. During my stay, I’d sometimes broken out into tears and trembling, which would’ve reinforced my act. A pity that part was real.
Finally, she sat back, placed her biro on her neat white notepad, and looked at me.
I wasn’t sure of her name and the name badge was askew. Susan Slade? Sue Blade? Who knew? She had said. I gave up on trying to read it and smiled.
“Yes. I am feeling as if I could cope with life again. I’ve had no serious problems since I came in, you know this.”
She drummed her fingers slowly on the paper. “You’re going to be released today, Zorina.”
Always the proper name.
“Yes.”
“Make sure you keep up the prescription until it runs out.”
I nodded.
“You’ll be due for a checkup in one week.”
I nodded again, praying this would all go fast.
The government system meant those of low priority were discharged ASAP. Though in a private hospital, I was having the basic charges covered. I had become one of those of low priority, even if she had suspicions.
“I have suspicions that you’ve...”
Knew it.
“...been gaming the system somehow. You’ve never been truly ill, have you, Zorie?”
Wow. I was wrong.
“I –”
“I apologize. Disregard that.”
Mouth open, I nodded. No therapist ever should say what she just had, surely? Tsk. Someone was jaded by years of work. I didn’t blame her, though. I wasn’t the average person ready to slit her veins. I’d rather slit someone else’s, most days. Only my prime target was gone.
I was feeling cheated, I realized. I wished I could’ve been the one to knife him, to see him bleed. I shook myself out of my reverie. Act too strange and maybe this woman would decide to keep me in here longer.
“Hmmm. Normally we’d make sure you had support when you arrive home. Your sister is going to be there, but it says her flight is delayed and she’s not arriving for a few hours, and that she’s only here for three days?”
“Yes.” I shrugged. “She has kids. It’s not easy for her. She certainly can’t stay long.”
“Okay. I’ll get her to tell me when she arrives, though. After that, I’d like her to help you organize for another person to support you.”
“Sure.”
Going home and seeing Amelia again would’ve been a huge cause for celebration before this. That she’d only skyped with me while I was here...a little disappointing but I understood. My marriage had been out of the blue. That he’d then died and I’d ended up in a psych unit would’ve astounded her but that didn’t mean she could drop everything on the spot. Her husband worked on oil rigs overseas and, with three young kids to wrangle, coming to Sydney would be a huge undertaking.
Her unhappiness at not being able to come see me had been clear when we’d talked. That connection had been enough for me. I’d reassured her that I was on the mend anyway.
“Good luck, Zorie.” My Susan Blade, psychiatrist extraordinaire, shuffled some paperwork and blessed me with a neat smile.
“Thank you.” That was genuine. I rose and held out my hand to be shaken. Surprisingly, she took it.
“You too. I learned, watching you. You’re a perfect case of –” She halted, obviously caught by the realization that she’d nearly crossed that patient, doctor line again.
“Not a problem. I enjoyed my stay.”
I’d have set back advances in suicide prevention by decades, if she’d used me as a test case. Because I was cured wasn’t I?
Going home was as healthy as smashing my face into bricks.
Yeah, I wasn’t normal. I couldn’t face cleaning up my house. The mess in there... Stepping in the front door had panic climbing up through my throat in seconds, piling higher, higher, until I had to step outside and shut the door or scream.
Fuck. Even in death Reuben was doing a number on me.
I’d wait for Amelia, somewhere else. The park, of course. I think subconsciously I needed to see that park bench again and to look for clues. Had it been Grimm? Was that seriously possible? And if not him, who had done it?
My bench was no longer inviolable. Someone had decided the small graffiti needed embellishing and the entire bench had been destroyed, as if by a sledgehammer – warped and bent out of shape, with the slats sprung loose at one end. The council had built a temporary plastic safety fence around it to warn parents to keep children away.
“Damn,” I murmured, but I walked closer and hopped over the fence. Though the paintwork was completely gone in some places, next to where I’d written KILLeR there was another small word.
done
Well then. That seemed to point a big red arrow at Grimm Heller. Who’d have thought it? I had, and yet I hadn’t, quite, believed it. So Grimm was my hero? I wanted dearly to plant a medal on the guy. I shouldn’t go near him though, not until the murder investigation faded.
In a fog of internal reflection, I walked slowly back to my house, where I sat down to wait. Never judge a book by its cover, or a man by his tattoos, his history as a bouncer, and his somewhat dominant male aura? Or name. Grimm was a man of many talents. Murder was one.
What should I think of a man who could organize a multiple hit within a few days? That he hadn’t come to collect a pound of flesh; that he’d simply performed as I asked him to – that must be in his favor?
A word scratched into a bench wasn’t absolute evidence. Maybe it wasn’t him.
“Zorie?”
I’d been so immersed in sitting on the side steps, thinking, and hugging my knees that I hadn’t heard her taxi pull up.
I swung around. “Amelia?”
“Yes!” She dropped her small suitcase.
The girl was looking pretty, with her dark auburn hair in a shoulder-length cut that managed to show her curls off as neat yet wild. I wasn’t sure how she did that. I returned her hug, amazed at how narrow her waist was beneath the linen dress.
“Thank you so much for coming.”
“Not a problem. I’m getting you happy before I leave. Hope you know that?”
“Sure.” I hugged her again, smiling with my chin on her shoulder. “Absolutely.”
Amelia did her best.
We cleaned up the house, bought new stuff to replace the old. Cooked meals, reminisced over everything except my recent events because she figured it was best for me, and she was right. I’d had enough of people examining what had happened – not that my tongue would work when it came to the deeper truths. I smiled over her many pictures of her family though I ached inside to see how well her life had worked out. Even before Reuben, mine had been stagnant. Except for Grimm...I’d almost made something happen there.
My sister was a whirlwind of energy compared to me, but three days was a tiny amount of time when you’re busted up inside.
As predicted, three days from when she arrived, I waved goodbye to her at the airport and turned away to go find my car.
Who was I now? What had I become? I had a few more pills to take, but after that the structure was gone. My body was feeling the fatigue of not understanding where I would be resting my head in a year’s time.
I came to the conclusion that going to psych had been exactly where I should’ve gone, but now it was time to haul myself up by my bootstraps...whatever those were.
I’d told Susan Blade and Amelia that Sandra was going to come over regularly, but she wasn’t. I wasn’t someone she should associate with. Though my orgy hadn’t ended up on YouTube, some text messages I’d received had confirmed gossip was circulating. Being the good friend of a psycho slut, as I gathered I was being called, was the last thing Sandra needed.
So, my next helper wasn’t who I’d thought it would be. Which should have been no one.
On the same steps I’d sat on waiting for Amelia, was a big man with tattoos. Grimm Heller awaited me.
Facing him was...scary. He was the past, while I wanted to aim for the future and, I’d never been three feet away from a multiple murderer before.
If he’d done it?
He must have.
With my graffiti, I’d begged him to kill Reuben, but seeing him now, knowing he’d carried through? It was the weirdest feeling of dislocation.
The man was like living evidence of my guilt, my horrific past, my failure, and he was my savior too.
I still wished I’d done it. Would it have scarred me for life? Probably. Would I have died doing it? Very likely. It was a dream but a dream that left me wrestling with the concept that this was still unfinished business. I’d always regarded closure as a cool buzz word. Now I knew.
Closure for me was putting a bullet in Reuben’s head or a knife in his heart.
I was never going to get that, was I?