Inchoate: (Short Stories Volume I)

  ***

  The indescribable horror of it all left us feeling numb, and over the next few weeks which stretched like forlorn eternities, we simply sat around the house staring into space, going through the most basic routines to get through the day. We never looked at each other. Edward, my son and youngest child, had been sent to stay with my mother in London but even the burden of this guilt added to our sorrows. Mourning was so difficult because neither of us understood what had happened. However, it was only at the end of those two heart-broken weeks that I discovered exactly what it was that Rose didn’t understand.

  The Gendarmes’ report, marked 20 August 1984 had made the case that Annie had been murdered by a perverted psychopath; although I had been helpful with my evidence, I’d had to avoid a description by saying I had not seen the killer’s face in order that they conduct any enquiry at all. We had even made the national newspapers and we often read them, not so much out of a wish to find any new evidence but because it seemed to keep Annie alive in some way. We hated each other for doing it though, and when we spoke it was usually hateful or at best polite.

  I was surprised then when Rose looked up from another article one evening and said, “You did the right thing.”

  “What?”

  “Keeping quiet about that wretched snake thing.”

  “Oh. Well they wouldn’t have believed me.”

  “No. But I need to know now, darling. I cannot wait any longer. What did happen?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have listened to your story for too long now. You are sick and we both know it. I have protected you but now I need to know. You have to give me that much. I will keep quiet. Trust me.”

  “No! I mean, no I am not sick. That is really what I saw. You know, about my special, talent! I have a special sense for evil and you have seen this happening.”

  “Oh you and your ‘special sight’! Just stop it! I don’t want to hear about it anymore. It’s just luck or coincidence or whatever… It doesn’t explain what happened to our little girl.”

  The way she spat the words ‘special gift’ sent my mind reeling. I had not kept what my grandfather had called my ‘gift’ from her and thought she understood. Now it seemed she had been patronising me all this time.

  “You didn’t see the body. You didn’t see Annie. She looked like she had been squeezed by something!”

  “It could have been anything. Who knows what a perverted psychopath might do to a body.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Whatever it is, I need the truth.” She screamed the word ‘truth’ with a vehemence I had never heard before in her, and with that she was weeping. I had nothing left I could add so I walked over to comfort her but she pushed me away.