Inanimate (8 page)

“
Freddie Lynn right? Oates asked,
moving his head up to meet Freddie’s eyes.

“
You moved here a couple of years
ago. I saw you play against the Buffalo’s in last year’s
cup”

“
Yeah, that’s
right
. What
about it?”

“
Well Freddie
I just want to say that you were
phenomenal on the field, some of the hits you were dealing out were
unbelievable.”

Freddie smiled.
“That’s what I do
Sheriff, on and off the field, if someone gets in my way I take
them down.”

Oates swallowed
hard.

“
Well, that’s good to know
Freddie; I certainly
wouldn’t like to see anyone get in your way.”

Oates broke eye contact for a
moment, which prompted a smug smile from Freddie
. Lynch and Dylan watched
intently as the two men stood toe to toe. It appeared Freddie was
actually intimidating the Sheriff.

“
Here’s the problem though
Freddie! You and I never had any run in’s before and that’s the way
I like to keep it. This town here, it’s my field, and I don’t like
people to get in my way either. So why don’t you get back in your
little truck and head on home before I get the feeling you’re
in
my
way.”

Dylan and Lynch
recogn
ized
Oates’ theatrics. The swallowing, the break in eye contact, they
recognized it right away. Sheriff Oates was not intimidated by
Freddie. Sheriff Oates was not intimidated by anyone. The only
person present, who didn’t know that, was Freddie.

“
I ain’t leaving here
without my weed!”

“
Freddie let
’s go.” Dylan
protested.

H
aving lived in this town his whole life he
knew Oates always got his way.

“
Dylan, stop being a pussy! I’m
not leaving. That shit cost me $40. I ain’t leaving without
it.”

“
Ok Dylan”
said Oates “I’ll give you a
choice. You can leave here with your weed or you can leave with
here your teeth.
You’re
choice”

“
Freddie let’s go!” Dylan
protested

Freddie smiled.

“
I think I’ll take
both
.”

With that he swung
a strong punch at
Oates who simply ducked it. In one motion Oates grasped his baton
and swung it upwards into Freddie’s ribcage. As Freddie reeled in
pain Oates stepped in and grabbed him firmly by the throat stopping
him from falling over.

“
I’ll let you keep your
teeth this time but don’t ever forget today. The next time we meet
you better know your place or there will be trouble.”

Oates
pushed him to the ground and turned
to Dylan.

“
You two go on home
now.”

“
Yes Sheriff” Dylan said as he
jumped off the flatbed to help up his winded friend.

Oates walked back to the cruiser with
Lynch.

“
That was a strong hit Sheriff.
You put so much force into it I thought your hat was going to fall
off.”

With his back to the teens
Oates
smiled,
privately breaking his tough exterior.

“
Don’t exaggerate
Deputy
.”

CHAPTER 9

A dull click marked a teapot’s landing on
the bedside counter then a soft pouring sound aroused a man from
his slumber.

“
You know, if you weren’t so
pretty I might have to beat you for waking me up this early” the
man said, eyes still closed.

“
Come on doctor wake up, if you
don’t go to work who’ll be there to lobotomize innocent
patients?”

T
he woman’s retort was quiet and dry. Her
eastern European accent was prominent.

“
That’s it!
said Greg MacNamee, opening his
eyes.

“
Now I’m definitely going to beat
you
.”

MacNamee sat on the side of the bed beside
his freshly poured Earl Grey. Greta, his dark haired Polish wife
moved in beside him and kissed him on the cheek.

“
You couldn’t beat an
egg.”

“
I could…” said MacNamee while
running his hand through his thick brown hair,

“
I just prefer it when you do
it.”

Greta flaunted her firm
twenty-eight year old body
around the master bedroom, in between getting
breakfast ready as MacNamee sat, yawning by the bed. MacNamee was
six years older than his wife and still completely smitten by her.
The couple often joked with and jibed each other, getting away with
it because they knew how much they loved one another, even if they
didn’t say it often. Catching glare from the large window, the
morning news on the flat screen television opposite the bed talked
of a brutal murder.

“
Did you hear about
this?”

The slender Greta
asked while wisping
around in her black nightgown.

“
Hear about what?”
MacNamee asked
through a yawn.

“
The little boy who killed
his
step-mom,
it’s been all over the news.”

“
Of course I did. I
hear he’s soon to be
our next patient. And she wasn’t his step-mom; she was his dad’s
girlfriend.”

“
As if that makes a difference.
How could he do that to her?”

“
Maybe she kept waking him
up.”
MacNamee
said sipping his tea.

Greta frowned
at her husband who
was finally starting to wake up.

“
Well you had better get
ready
Greg,
you have to be at work soon and I’m pretty sure Crass will be
calling you any moment.”

“
Yeah, as if he
thought I don’t
watch the news.”

“
Look, your tea’s beside
you.
I’m
going to put the shower on.”

Greta glided off into the en
suite bathroom; t
heir large townhouse provided high ceilings and lots of
room to move. Heavily, Greg pulled his body up and stood up. He
pushed a hand through his hair a second time, hoping a quick head
rub would reset his memory of a long week at the hospital. No such
luck. He noticed Greta come out the bathroom so he decided to over
exaggerate his fatigue as he walked towards her.

“
Shower’s ready”
stated Greta,
ignoring his obscene yawn.

Putting his arms around his
wife’s waist he
looked into her beautiful brown eyes.

“
I don’t deserve you. How did I
get so lucky?”

Greta brushed
him off of
her.

“
I needed a green
card.”

Feigning shock Greg
ambled
into
the bathroom.

“
I’m
calling immigration when I get out of
the shower! Better start packing!”

After starting the car in the garage
MacNamee slowly pulled out. His blue two-seater sports car was his
pride and joy. He knew that soon he would have to give it up if he
wanted to start a family, but right now he had more urgent things
on his mind. He thought about his words to Greta.

“
I hear he’s going to be our next
patient
.”

While it was true he was one of
the top
Doctors at Hallcombes psychiatric hospital, and it was also
true they had a lot of very disturbed patients, they were never
usually this high profile (or young for that matter). The drive to
work took around twenty minutes; time Greg used to build up an
image of the boy the media had already dubbed “The Baby
Killer.”

The main corridor in the west
wing of Hallcombes was very long, with many numbered doors adorning
either side of it. The building had served many uses in the past
before it’s conversion into a mental facility including a palatial
home and a military hospital. Effectively, what it was now was a
hospital for those never expected to see normality again. Budget
constraints coupled with a laggard economy stretching back many
years meant the staff had to make do with aspects of the hospitals
infrastructure politely classed as “dated.” Head physician Doctor
Benjamin Crass was fond of using the adage
“If it isn’t broken, then don’t fix
it”
and so he
justified cuts to surveillance, plumbing repairs and lighting
as
“keeping
the old ways.”
This notion suited him just fine until something actually
broke, then he would be bullish in pushing to get it repaired. A
stubborn man with a penchant for clinical psychology; he found
himself a worthy ally in the young Greg MacNamee, a thirty
something up and comer who became Crass’s right hand man and
unofficial second in command. Other Doctors found this a great
balance and the nurses liked it too, because it meant they had more
opportunity to deal with the dashing young MacNamee.

The poor design of the building
meant doctors were constantly moving in order to get to their
destinations; they spent more time walking to and from rooms than
they did actually dealing with patients.
Standing at the nurse’s station
alongside the imposing figure of Doctor Crass, MacNamee reviewed
the information on their new patient. He could feel the nurse’s
adoring stare but was used to ignoring it. He read the
notes.

“
Is he in 101?” asked
MacNamee.

“
Of course” Crass
matter-of-factly retorts.

MacNamee
did not like the fact the boy was in
this room. Dr. Crass only looked after a very small amount of
patients directly. His job was mainly as an advisor and boss to the
Doctors below him. However every now and again he would take charge
of a particularly troubled individual and, being a creature of
habit, he always housed them in room 101. This made the occupant
somewhat of a celebrity within the building, drawing unnecessary
attention to them from staff, select outsiders and even patients
who were “with it” enough to be aware of such things. Frankly
speaking however, the latter number was so low it was almost
non-existent. That said; MacNamee still did not like the fact. The
boy was getting enough notoriety as it was; he didn’t feel there
was any need to add to it. Still, he said nothing to Crass, his
objections had been noted in the past and his boss was aware of
them already.

“
Have you tried speaking to
him yet?”

“
Give me a chance Greg. He
only
arrived
a couple of hours ago. Plus, I wanted to wait till you arrived, you
know I don’t handle children well.”

Crass was right,
h
e didn’t
handle children well. He had two of his own; both had grown up and
left for college already. The word in the doctors lounge was that
the successful parenting of the two Crass boys came not from Doctor
Benjamin Crass but from his wife, a lady completely different to
her husband in almost every aspect (except for her love for her
other half). Although it was universally understood by those who
knew them that they complemented each other well, Dr. Crass’s stern
personality was never praised too highly in parenting circles. The
two men said little as they approached room 101. Meeting a new
patient was always daunting, the doctors never knew what was going
to happen in their first meeting and this day was no exception.
Standing in front of the shiny brass plate marked “101” MacNamee
noticed just how clean it was. Henry the janitor had been
performing his job well. Crass’s deep voice brought him back from
his momentary loss of focus.

“
After you” he
said, unlocking the
door and gesturing towards it.

MacNamee
could have peered through the window
before opening, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to appear frightened.
Though deep down, he was. The fact that the person in this room was
a notorious killer was bad enough, the fact that he was only a
child was even worse. They had never housed such a person and to
the best of MacNamee’s knowledge he had never came across such a
person either. This was boy nicknamed “The Baby Killer” and Greg
MacNamee was about to meet him.

A scratchy meowing sound bounced off the
walls in the Williams house ten times in a row. The joke present
Andy bought for his wife all those years ago was still going
strong. Andy stared blankly from his armchair; his eyes were red
from a combination of a lack of sleep and excessive alcohol
consumption. Minutes after the last meow, Andy shakily got up and
took a stroll around the house; his eyes graced from room to room
searching for someone to be there. The ticking cat’s tail was
hypnotic, quietly keeping Andy’s pace like a morbid metronome. The
family home had no family now; all the rooms had one thing in
common: They were all empty. Andy didn’t want to sleep in his room
after the incident so the couch was where he ended up. Even if he
wanted to, all his bedding had been stripped by CSI’s and now the
bed frame lay there, naked, a mausoleum of the memory of what
happened. As if staring at it would reverse the past he stood there
solemn, trying to piece together what went wrong. He tried to
picture his family life before the incident; unable to think of any
good memories before Beth’s voice interrupted him; screaming inside
his head over some trivial situation. Connor’s face flashed in. It
was sad, miserable.