Ben Cheetham - Blood Guilt

Susan perched on the edge of an armchair, hardly breathing as she waited for Harlan to speak. He told her everything that’d happened since he last saw her. Unlike with Eve, he gave her the whole story, leaving out no detail. When he got to the part about Jones, her eyes widened with surprise then narrowed in fury. “I knew that animal was in on this,” she hissed. “I fuckin’ knew it.”

Harlan described torturing Jones. He spoke quickly, feeling lighter as the words poured out of him and into Susan. She took them from him gladly, her tongue flicking over her lips as if tasting something to be relished. “I don’t know how you resisted killing the bastard,” she said.

“Neither do I,” admitted Harlan.

Susan sat silent and rigid as Harlan told her about the caravan, the woods and the caves. She trembled with the effort of holding back her tears, but an agonised sob escaped her lips when he vividly recounted finding Jamie Sutton. “Oh Christ, it’s too much! I can’t bear it!” she groaned, rocking back and forth, her thin arms hugged around herself.

“I know it’s horrifying to think of Ethan possibly being kept like that, but that’s where our hope comes from,” Harlan said gently. “Do you understand?”

Susan nodded. “I don’t want to, but I do.”

Harlan’s wound twinged as he described the fight with Nash. Susan looked at him with what might’ve been concern, maybe even compassion. “They never told me your injury was so serious.”

“It’s nothing compared to what you’ve suffered.”

“No, it’s not nothing. It’s something.” There was gratitude in Susan’s voice.

Harlan suddenly found himself unable to look at her. Her hatred he knew how to handle, but not her gratitude. Lowering his eyes, he continued his story right up to leaving hospital. He didn’t mention Eve — that would’ve somehow felt like an admission of betrayal. A hiss of breath came from Susan as she mulled over what she’d heard. “So let me get this straight, Jones hasn’t been charged with anything yet.”

Harlan shook his head. “They need hard evidence.”

“Evidence.” The word grated through Susan’s teeth. “Give me five minutes alone with him and I’d give them all the fuckin’ evidence they need.”

Susan looked as if a breath of wind could blow her over, but there was such cold fury in her eyes that Harlan didn’t for a second doubt her ability to carry the threat through. “They’ll find a way to get at him and Nash. The old woman, Mary Webster, might be the key to-” Harlan fell silent as a feeling of faintness welled up inside him. His head and eyes rolled slowly back.

Susan rushed to his side and caught hold of his arm, stopping him from falling sideways. “This is crazy. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’ll be fine,” Harlan mumbled, his voice blurring. “I just need a moment.”

Susan propped him up between the sofa’s arm and a couple of cushions. “Can I get you anything?”

“Some water to take my tablets.”

Susan hurried through to the kitchen. Harlan focused on the room, fighting to keep unconsciousness at bay. The mantelpiece was cluttered with cheap ornaments, a silver carriage clock and photos. There were recent photos of Kane and Ethan in their school uniforms. Kane with his usual sullen, angry at the world face. Ethan smiling timidly, his shy eyes slightly averted from the camera. In the middle of the mantelpiece stood a photo that made Harlan’s heart squeeze. It showed Robert Reed and his sons on a beach with the sea shimmering in the background. Ethan was wearing a sunhat and t-shirt that came down almost to the knees of his chubby baby legs. Kane was wearing wet, sand-caked swimming trunks and a smile so broad his eyes were barely visible. Robert was squatted down behind them, one arm around each of their shoulders. He was smiling too. The scene exuded happiness — a happiness soon to be fractured into bloody pieces.

Harlan wanted to look away from the photo, but he was gripped in a vice of guilt. He suddenly had the feeling that he was trespassing on forbidden ground. “She’s right, you shouldn’t be here,” he said to himself. But he knew he couldn’t leave, either. Not with Susan as she was.

“What the fuck’s that wanker doing here?”

Harlan jerked around to face the voice’s owner, grimacing at the sudden movement. From the doorway, Kane glared at him, fists balled. “Don’t talk to him like that,” said Susan, pushing past her son and proffering a glass to Harlan, which he accepted with a smile of thanks.

“I’ll talk to him however I want.”

Susan shot Kane a reproachful look. “You’ll do as I say whilst you’re in my house.”

“No I won’t. Not when it comes to him. Why should I?”

“Because he risked his life to try and help your brother.”

Kane stabbed a finger at Harlan, the same curl on his lips that’d twisted Susan’s mouth out of shape as she spoke about Nash. “He fuckin’ killed my dad!” He turned on Susan, eyes bulging. “How could you do this, Mum? How could you let him in here?”

She blinked, but her own mounting anger kept her from wavering under the force of her son’s glare. “He’s trying to make up for what he did.”

“He can’t make up for it. Nothing he can do will bring dad back.”

“I know that, but-”

“I don’t care what you say!” broke in Kane. “And I don’t care what he does. Even if he finds Ethan, I’ll still hate him and want to kill him.”

“Kane!” For the first time since Harlan had been there, some colour came into Susan’s face. “I won’t have you talk like that. Do you hear me? I won’t have it!”

“Fuck you.” Kane whirled to head back upstairs. Susan caught hold of his arm, but he elbowed her away.

“Get back down here, you little shit,” she yelled, as he hammered up the stairs.

“I won’t. Not until he’s gone.” The walls quivered as Kane slammed his bedroom door.

Susan started after him, but thought better of it. Heaving a sigh, she dropped into the armchair. “I shouldn’t have sworn at him. I hate myself when I lose it like that.”

“Maybe I should go,” suggested Harlan.

Susan shook her head. “I want you here.” She glanced at the ceiling, through which loud rap music had begun to vibrate. “And boyo’s just going to have to get used to the idea. When he’s calmed down, I’ll go speak to him.”

“It won’t make any difference. He hates me, and he’s got every right to.”

“So have I.” Susan frowned as if struggling to make sense of something, some sudden realisation. “But I don’t hate you anymore.” She added quickly, “That’s not to say I’ve forgiven you. I just don’t hate you.” She let out a long breath, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d hear myself say that.”

Harlan had never thought he’d hear it either. He replayed her words in his mind several times, trying to get a handle on how they made him feel. They counted for something, he knew that. More than something, they counted for a lot, but not enough to stop him from hating himself. Nowhere near.

“If I can stop hating you, so can Kane,” continued Susan. “He’s carried too much anger for too long. It scares me. I’m scared that if he doesn’t start letting go of it he’s gonna hurt somebody. I mean, really hurt somebody.”

Harlan’s gaze strayed to the photo and Kane’s face, its smile as untarnished as the beach and the sea. An image rose into his mind of Kane wielding the baseball bat, eyes burning with hate. A monster of his making. The vice turned a twist tighter. “By somebody, you mean me.”

“You or anybody else he takes against.” Susan’s voice grew hesitant. “I’ve never told anyone this before. About a year ago I bought Kane a puppy, a little mongrel terrier. I thought it would, y’know, do him good to have some responsibility. And at first it seemed to, but he soon lost interest. Started kicking up a stink every time I told him to take it for a walk. One day we had this big blow up after I caught him hitting it. When things calmed down, he apologised and promised to start looking after Sandy — that was the dog’s name — properly. And for a few weeks, he kept his promise. But then this…this thing happened. One morning he came running home soaking wet, carrying Sandy. Sandy was dead. He said the dog had jumped in the river. He’d tried to save it, but it drowned. That’s what he said, and that’s what I wanted to believe, but…” Susan’s voice trailed off into uneasy silence. She sucked her upper lip a moment, before continuing, “But something in the back of my mind kept telling me he was lying. I wanted to confront him, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Truth is, I didn’t want to know if he’d killed Sandy.”