The Stranger – Episode 6

I remember the day vividly. It was a cool autumn day. The mist was starting to drop over the hills and the sea was obscured by a low haze of gauze. It was the kind of day when the bird calls seemed muffled and the general feel of life seemed to be slipping into stasis. I’d stepped outside the flat earlier when the rain broke and I’d got soaked, so I was only just dressed when the buzzer went. Thinking that is was probably the local free paper being delivered, and halfway through drying my hair, I ignored it. It buzzed again. I was obviously alone in the stair, so I answered.

"Hello?"

No answer, but I could hear the outside world and the traffic in the distance, like a late connection on a phone call.

"Hello?"

"Hello"

The voice wasn’t familiar and I went to hang up the door entryphone, but for some reason I held on and asked "Who is it?"

"I need to see you", came the reply. At this point I had a feeling of recognition, a sense that this voice I’d heard before. Split seconds stumbled by and suddenly a synapse joined.

"Come in. Second floor". I pressed the button and heard the entryphone squeal and the door buzzer echo around the stair, the door closed with a crash and was followed by steady, solid footsteps as they approached the stairs. I positioned myself half in and half out of the doorway, expecting to repel a salesman or a local nutter, but instead, a respectable chap appeared, dressed in a long overcoat, with casual shoes poking from under smart jeans.

"Hi, there" I muttered to him as he approached. He said nothing, but didn’t exactly ignore me. He stopped in front of me and his blank look slowly broke into a kind of smile.

"Hello Jake. How are you?" He popped his hands on to his hips as he looked me up and down. He seemed to like what he saw as he nodded to himself before holding out his hand.

"Ah, Jake, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?" His hand was still outstretched, so I took it in mine and exchanged a handshake, which he seemed to linger on slightly longer than I anticipated.

"Err, I, well I don’t , I mean I’m not sure if I …"

"Of course. I’m forgetting. Sorry mate, there’s been a lot happen over the last few years hasn’t there? Water under the bridge, time taking it’s toll. Don’t be alarmed, Jake. Cast your mind back…" he looked at me expectantly and jiggled his head side to side as if that would jolt a memory into my head. I have to say, it almost worked, because an overwhelming sense of embarrassment came over me. I felt compelled to acknowledge this person and break the awkward silence, as well as halt the odd conversation that was ringing round the stairwell.

"Can I…?" he said and motioned past me into the hallway.

"Erm, yes. Yes, come in. Err, I’ll take your coat. Come in." I stepped aside and watched him pass, closed the door behind him and stood looking at his back as remained, motionless, in the hall apparently staring straight ahead. Only the slight movement of his shoulders showed he was still breathing, and I glanced at a small bald spot on the back of his head. Something he was obviously conscious of, as he’d brushed a smear of hair over it as best he could. He turned and smiled again, only this time the smile felt more forced, as if he was trying to set me at ease.

"Jake. I really didn’t think I’d see you again, but here you are! You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to stand in front of you like this. You pop the kettle on and I’ll go and sit down. Don’t worry, I’m not here to rob you!! Is it through here?" He pointed ahead into the front room. I was plucking up courage to ask him who the hell he was again, but a combination of politeness and shock held me back. Besides, I thought, I’ll get a chance to collect my thoughts in the kitchen.

"Good idea" I said, "you go through and I’ll make a cup of tea"

I made myself busy with clattering cups and filling the kettle, desperately trying to place his face. Halfway through depositing teabags in the bin, the light went on in my head and a flood of emotions drowned me. I had the feeling of dread and relief, but the dread lingered. I knew him. No mistake. I held on to the side of the kitchen units and took deep breaths to calm down. I could hear him shuffling around along the hallway in the front room. It was definitely him.

But why was he here, now? Had he really been waiting all this time just to see me? Seemed a little odd, but then again, maybe not. It probably was just a catch up call. Let’s find out, I thought, picked up the two cups and headed down the hallway.

"I’ve got it! Look I’m really sorry, I just didn’t…."

As I arrived in the doorway I was met by a fist thrown in front of a screwed up, angry face, bright red with fury. The cups dropped, one fell with me spilling its red hot contents down my chest. I exhaled a scream, falling backwards on to the floor and cracked my head as the cup glanced my temple and clanged along the hall floor. I could see the ceiling swim around me and felt a dull spread of pain from my chin up the side of my face and through my hairline. Shaking, I started to sit up, but was greeted with the front of his shoe as it clattered into my face, connecting with my nose and sending a searing jolt upwards through my head.

I felt the blood begin to break out of my nostrils and instinctively tried to curl into a ball as kicks and fists and the weight of his body leant down on me. A split second of a pause in the rain of blows to my protected body and I somehow managed to break out of the hold he had me in with a flailing arm. I felt it connect with something solid, dense but yielding and heard an exhalation as he staggered backwards into the front room. No sooner had I stepped back on to my feet then I saw his full dive towards me, nostrils flared, muted scream pouring out of his saliva-drenched mouth and his eyes almost doll like in their intensity. I was sent backwards again with him on top of me and we fell to the ground in a heap. I had managed to grab hold of part of his clothing, and he was thrashing his head around near mine, teeth bared, trying to do as much damage with whatever part of his body was free.

I managed to throw a knee upwards which was absorbed by his body, but it allowed me a short respite in order to break free again and dart past him towards the front room. I was brought down again, he had hold of my leg, but I had a cup lying next to my face, which I grabbed, swivelled round and smashed over the nearest part of him, which happened to be his forehead. Blood oozed out as I stared in terror at his manic grin which wavered ever so slightly. I wrestled free and crawled away, looking round for a weapon. He didn’t move. I stood up, breathing heavily and was now aware of the various pains across my body. I kicked him, not hard, more testing a reaction, hence the clenched fist cocked at shoulder height. No movement apart from his heavy breathing. He rolled over and looked up at me, blood trickling down from the semi circle of gash on his forehead.

Silence.

The clock continued to tick away on the mantelpiece and as I made a move to sit on the sofa, he stood up, groggily, turned toward me and punched me full in the face as I fell backwards and slumped into a seated position. Resigned to my fate, I was shocked to see him, turn, take a step back and sit on the chair opposite me, wincing as he did so.

 

The clock took centre stage again. Out of the window I could see bleached figures in the flats opposite. Had they seen this? Surely someone must have called the police, an ambulance, something?? Looking across at him I realised he was spent. He was sat forward now trying to catch his breath, dabbing his face from the nicks, but missing the congealing scar on his forehead that glistened in the reflected light. I wiped my nose on the back of my hand, leaving a claret smear and felt, at that moment, that I was in control.

"Why are you here, then? Was that what you wanted? Is that you sated?"

"Sated? Sated? Jesus Jake, you just don’t get it do you? You think this is a revenge thing and now I’m going to walk out of the door? Christ, you’re more arrogant than I remember."

"So what then? What do you want? Can’t be a cup of tea, you obviously took offence to that"

He laughed. It hurt him, but he laughed and looked up at me and I recognised the old face I knew. It disarmed me. Good memories, intangible, but real, swarmed. I felt sick, but also elated as if I was watching an old film of my life in its infancy, but still with the knowledge of how it ends up.

"At least you remember me now. I thought I was going to spend most of the day on the doorstep trying to convince you who I was"

"I remember Mark. And I’m sorry"

"Sorry for this?" he waved indiscriminately round the room, "or sorry for what happened?"

"Both" I replied, "but more so for what happened. So this is about Christy then?"

"Well, what do you think Jake? Course it’s about Christy, but it’s also about a hell of a lot more. I went to prison Jake, or had you forgotten that?"

"No. I hadn’t forgotten. But I also remember that you were released"

"12 months rotting in prison whilst you shagged your way round London. Thanks for the visit by the way."

"It wasn’t like that. We were all devastated by what happened and we were all grieving as well. I’m really sorry for what happened, but at the time we were young and pretty clueless. What was I meant to think? You were convicted of killing my girlfriend. Was I supposed to forgive and forget so easily?"

"Forgive and forget? Good god. I can’t do either. I’ve tried, believe me, but when you’ve been through what I’ve been through there’s not much in the way of forgiveness lodged in your soul"

I could see him becoming quite distressed, but not in a dangerous way. He seemed deflated, resigned almost.

"Why did you come here, Mark?"

"I’ve thought about this day ever since I was sent down. I’ve rehearsed it over and over, planned my speech, acted out the roles. Truth is, it was different every time. Now I’m here, I’m not sure what I want at all"

"I am sorry Mark, you know that don’t you? That’s what I tried to say to you when you came back to college, but you wouldn’t listen to me."

"I came back to college to find that everyone had moved on. No friends, no supporters. That’s why I left. But you really think I did it? Still, after all these years, you think I did it?"

"No, I don’t, and the court thought the same in the end anyway."

"The court thought the same, because some dropout with a death wish confessed to the whole thing with uncanny accuracy. I still get the looks Jake. I still get questioned about my missing year. How do you explain in an interview that you were locked up for manslaughter, "but actually, it was all a mistake and everything’s alright now?""

"I never thought you were guilty. I knew you couldn’t do such a thing, but you have to remember I had my course to finish, I had my…"

"What? Life, career? You don’t change do you Jake? Think of number one, Jake’s the one that matters. How many girls have you got on the go at the moment? You even turned up to court with a new girlfriend"

"That was Lisa. She wasn’t my girlfriend. She was a good friend around that time. It was difficult for us all."

"Handy that eh?"

"Look, Mark, you can think what you like, but you’ve got me all wrong. I may find it easy with girls, but it’s not like I’ve killed anyone is it?"

 

Silence. The clock ticking still on the mantelpiece. The distant hum of traffic outside. And Mark looking straight at me, never flinching. I could see his jaw grinding under his cheeks. I steeled myself for another attack, clenched my fist, ready to strike first, but it never came. He sighed, turned away from me and looked out of the window. I could see his eyes moistening.

"I loved Christy. Or at least I thought I did. I really wanted a girlfriend more than anything. If I had a girlfriend like her I could have been happy. You’ll never know how angry I was with you that night. I never said it to the police, but if I was going to kill anyone that night, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Christy"

"She was a great girl."

"If she was that great Jake, why did you kill her?"

"What? Mark, what the hell are you talking about? That guy killed her. Why do you think I killed her? In any case I wasn’t anywhere near the park, I was in the pub."

"No Jake, you weren’t in the pub. You had your coat on as I was leaving with Christy. I remembered that later. When you asked me to take her home, you were putting your coat on whilst you were finishing your drink. I can even remember the coat, it was that battered brown leather jacket you hardly ever wore. Come to think of it Jake, what happened to that jacket? Burned it did you? Copied the murderers off the telly and burned your clothes?"

"Shut up mate, you’ve lost it. I think you’ve thought about that night a bit too much"

"No I haven’t. I’ve thought about it until everything came back into focus. I was going to take her home until I looked at her face. She knew what was coming. She knew that you were going to dump her. She was angry, and I knew that angry women do rash things. If I could be on the end of her revenge, I could win both ends up. Only, I didn’t have the balls for it. Or the charm. Christy only wanted me as a "friend". What a put down."

"Mark, I really think you should go now. This is getting stupid. If you don’t leave I’ll call the police."

"Call the police?!! Excellent! Call them. Tell them what you think happened and I’ll tell them what really happened."

My hands were sweating and I could feel myself overheating. The heat was sending prickly waves across my back. I couldn’t listen to this. Not from him.

"Mark, I think you need help. Have you seen…"

"Shut up Jake and listen. You know it and I know it and the sad old man who confessed knew it. You killed her"

"She fell"

"Right"

Ticking. A seagull gliding past the window. The distant call from its mate. The atmosphere in the room was overpowering, as if the air was being slowly compressed. We sat for what seemed like an eternity, not looking at each other, until Mark got up and walked to the window.

"So tell me properly what happened Jake. I need to know."

I hesitated, sighed and sank back, waves of what felt like relief washing over me.

"I never killed her Mark. I followed you, because I thought the two of you were carrying on behind my back. That’s what the argument in the pub was about. We were heading for a break up, but I didn’t want you to be picking up the pieces with her. We may have been mates, but like you said in court "just not that close enough for me to care that much.""

"Anyway, I caught up with the two of you when you were stood by the river and I was going to go and confront the two of you, but you left in a hurry, storming off across the field and wading through the marshy bit further down. I was a bit confused by then, but my mind was made up. I’d storm over and tell Christy what I thought of her and that would be it."

"I still don’t remember getting home. That’s the only blank bit that won’t come back. That’s why I was convicted. I couldn’t account for myself after I left."

"You were a man on a mission from where I was stood, but I didn’t see you after you crossed the river towards your house. Anyway, we argued. I’ve never felt such an amount of hate. I was convinced I was being betrayed. It’s a bit of a blur, but I know she tried to scratch me or slap me, but just succeeded in scraping my jacket. Yes, that jacket, and no I didn’t burn it. I think I lashed out and the next thing I know she had whirled round and dropped into the river, hitting the concrete bank on the way down. I’d seen her nose burst at the same time. I panicked and ran as fast as I could back past the playground"

"Did you notice the tramp?"

"No, I didn’t. Did you?"

"Yes, but not properly. I saw him when we went to the playground, but I didn’t take much notice of him. He must have been watching everything. He saw me and Christy, he saw you following us and then he saw only you come back, running."

"I wasn’t running by then. My beer brain had been overridden. I was remarkably calm. Shockingly calm. I still have nightmares about it. Less so now, but right after that night I felt like I was in some horrible dream."

"That’s called guilt, you bastard. Normal people tell someone what happened and don’t let their mate take the rap."

"We were never close, Mark, you know that. I did think about explaining what had happened to the police, but at first I thought she’d be OK. I never realised she was that badly injured, and then when they immediately arrested you, there was no way I was going to admit to it"

"What a hero. You beggar belief."

"Listen, Mark, if you were so convinced that I did it, why didn’t you tell your theory to the police, or the prison staff or someone?"

"You don’t think the prison staff have heard enough theories from inmates? Most of my former colleagues reckon they’re innocent and have worked out how someone else did it. They’re all nutters. Half of them can’t even see that they are guilty. Maybe not for the crime they were convicted of, but they are guilty"

"Of what?"

"You should know that. You’re walking around a free man and you’ve got more guilt than most. Don’t you think that some of those locked up have got the same guilt? Some of them are just resigned to the fact that they got caught for the wrong crime. "

"Do you count yourself in that?"

"Yes. I do count myself in that. Me and Al Capone!"

"I’m lost. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you going to call the police?

"No I’m not. This has helped actually. I feel it bit better about the whole thing. Punching you a few times helped, but just hearing you admit it has made me feel so much better."

"So that’s it then? You’re not after revenge? Not even hacked off about wrongful imprisonment or anything?

"I wasn’t wrongfully imprisoned. I look on my prison term as justice for something else I did."

"What was that?"

"What we both say here goes no further, OK?"

"Fine."

"The reason I chose a London university rather than one back home was to escape. I knew if I was away from home long enough I’d be forgotten and that suited me down to the ground. You see, I killed a man when I was younger. Not on purpose. I hit him when I was driving home one night, but when I got out of my car to see what it was I hit, I recognised him as a guy who had been in the papers round our way."

"You killed him?"

"Outright. He never moved when I tried to get him up. He just lay there with snow falling on top of him."

"So what did you do?"

"Like you, I was becalmed by the situation. That’s when I recognised him. He was implicated in a kind of criminal gang thing near us. He ran a builders firm, but his dodgy deals were well known. The police were after him and apparently a rival gang was also after him. Reading the reports later, he’d had death threats and was wanted for the disappearance of an associate. In the end I figured I’d done everyone a favour, but right at that moment I knew I had to get out quick and rely on the snow to cover my tracks. I was lucky. Very lucky. The snow got heavier and heavier and the police had nothing to go on. More likely they didn’t want to pursue it. I drove to a nearby loch and drove the car into it. It’s probably still there to this day. It’s still got my mix tape in the cassette deck. I reported it stolen that night, so even if they do find it, I should still be OK. Besides, the case is closed."

"Christ."

"Yup. We’re both killers Jake. We may not have planned them, but we covered our tracks. The only difference is, I paid and you didn’t."

"I pay every day. I feel the guilt every day."

"Oh, good grief! What nonsense! You’ve paid for nothing. You never have and you never will. But what do I care?! My conscience is clear. I’ve done the time."

"So what now? Where does that leave us?"

"There’s no us. That’s it. We’ve managed without each other for the last few years, we can manage again. I’m going to leave now and that’s the end of it. I can live with myself a bit more now. I hope you can"

"I’m trying"

He walked back from the window, past me and down the hall to the doorway, with me following through the smashed cups, albeit apprehensively. At the door, he stopped, thrust both hands deep into his pockets, sighed and turned to me.

"It’s been interesting to see you again Jake."

I opened the door for him and held it back as he stepped out into the corridor.

"Oh, one other thing" he said as he turned back towards me.

I saw the knife and felt a searing pain drag downwards across my face and then the warm damp blood pouring into my eyes and off my chin. I heard footsteps clattering down the stairs and the door open at the bottom. Through the pain I sensed a pause, before I heard his voice for the last time.

"You say you live with the guilt every day, Jake. Now you’ve got an outward sign of it. Wear it with pride."

The door closed behind him.