Dark Angels (35 page)

Moses’ jaw moved up and down like a cow chewing the cud. To him it was as if he had time travelled. Moses was back outside that room waiting to go in. I cannot pretend that I didn’t know what I was doing, the possible consequences of where I was taking him, but in that instant I felt the outcome justified it. The result being that I would live. I have already admitted that I am imperfect. I’m selfish too.

‘Now, Moses, I want you to go and look through the keyhole and tell me what you see.’

He shook his head from side to side.

‘Moses.’ My voice was deep and harsh. ‘Nothing can hurt you–look through the keyhole. I’m with you holding your hand.’

‘I promised Laura I wouldn’t look.’ My eyes locked with Joe’s. The tension was high, we breathed in unison. Forgetting to blink, we stared at Moses.

‘To the keyhole,’ I urged, and squeezed his hand.

‘Lots of old people are seated round the walls. The lady who has brought me here is laughing and handing out drinks. It’s hard to see, because it’s such a small hole, but I can see the girl–it looks like a party–she’s handing out drinks–it’s like one of my granny’s dos ’cos they’re all old. I’m getting sore kneeling down–one of the old men is getting my friend to take off her clothes. She’s being really rude–they’re making her be really naughty–she’s touching her bottom in front of them.’

Moses looked distressed. His head was waving from side to side, as if he was possessed. Joe and Jack were scared for him. Moses’ breathing was laboured, he was literally panicking. The mind cannot tell the difference between the truth and a lie. To him it was very real but I could not allow myself to feel his pain; he had to be pushed through it.

‘My new friend with the tattoo is there, and another girl. They’re sitting on men’s knees and they’ve got no knickers on. I swear, their knickers are on the floor. The men are touching them and everyone is looking. This doesn’t look like my new family–there are too many grown-ups and they are doing bad things. My friend starts to touch the man’s bottom and she is still crying, but everyone ignores her. The door’s opening now and the lady’s coming for me. I hate her.’

‘Tell me what the room is like, Moses,’ I urged, trying to calm him down. His heart was racing at an alarming rate, and in an older person it would have led to an attack. Sweat had broken out on his top lip. I could see
that his shirt was sticking to his skin. I could have taken him slower, calmed him down, but I needed to know. My impatience was my undoing again.

‘I don’t like the room. It’s got a big picture of the devil in it and he’s looking at me. His eyes are following me. The lady is takin’ ma hand and we’re going out of the room now–maybe she’s takin’ me back to ma granny.’ A sense of comfort came into his body as he recalled his grandmother.

‘What are you doing, Moses?’ I had to ask because he was pulling his hand away from me.

‘I’m trying to get away from the lady.’

‘Can you get away from her?’

‘No–she’s too strong. She’s pulling me downstairs to…to a…a dungeon. It’s where the devil lives and he’s in there and he’s got a big fire going and it’s horrible–but it’s not cold outside so why has he got the fire going and what is he doing? I don’t like it. I don’t like it.’

Moses’ breathing was still laboured but it had slowed down as the child tried to make sense of the scene around him. I could see his eyes moving around slowly under his lids, as he carefully took in every corner of the room.

‘Tell me about the room, Moses,’ I urged again.

‘It’s not a room,’ he said petulantly, ‘I told you it’s a dungeon–a real one too ’cos it’s dark and they torture in here.’

‘What have they got there to hurt people, Moses? How do you know they torture people?’

‘Not people, not big people–just kids. Only big
girls get hurt here, that’s what my friend’s telling me. She’s shouting “don’t cry, Moses, the devil only hurts big girls, you’re safe honey, just pray to the angels.”’

‘What is the devil doing to her, Moses?’ I asked. When people are in a trance you have to get into their mind-set; I couldn’t argue with him that it was just a man hurting his friend.

‘He’s got her tied to a cross–not like the one Jesus died on though. This one’s like the one on a Scottish flag.’

‘What’s your friend’s name, Moses?’ I asked, keeping my eyes on Joe and Jack.

‘Laura. She’s called Laura.’

I closed my eyes, for I too had seen Laura Liddell tied to a St Andrew’s cross.

‘What’s happening now, Moses?’

He clenched his eyes twice, as if he could not quite believe what he was seeing.

‘Tell me, now!’ I tapped my finger on his forehead, bringing the same effect as hitting a dog on the nose with a newspaper–although it doesn’t hurt, obedience follows.

‘He’s got a stick in the fire–and he’s shooglin’ it about. The lady’s in the background with a camera–he’s taking the stick out of the flames and it’s got prongs on it, they’re hot, they’re burning hot, they’re glowing.’

Moses sighed deeply. He needed a rest; his nervous system was exhausted. I could have no pity–I needed to know more than he needed to tell.

‘Go on, Moses.’

I squeezed his hand harder. Glasgow Joe could see
the pain the boy was in and he hit me across the back as if to say, ‘give it a rest’. In spite of the tears freely flowing down Joe’s face, I continued. I tapped Moses yet again.

‘Laura’s crying, she’s begging him to leave her alone. She tells me to look away but the lady holds my head–so I have to see. She makes me see. I hate her. I hate her so much.’ This was all whispered. Silence followed, Moses was alone in his shock. Hot fat tears escaped from under his lips.

‘They’re hurting Laura so much–her skin is burned away and it smells like ma granny’s Sunday roast. I don’t want to see any more, Laura can’t speak to me, they’re pulling me beside her, they’re chopping her up like some deid cow, and the lady’s taking pictures,’ he continued, shaking his head.

‘I know it must hurt, Moses, but you must go on.’

‘It’s the wrong girl. What I can’t understand is–I think they hurt the wrong girl.’ He kept shaking his head. ‘They hurt the wrong girl. Laura could have lived. They got the wrong one.’

‘Moses?’ I steadied his head.

‘Moses?’ I said in a firmer tone.

‘Why do you think the devil hurt the wrong girl?’

He considered my question for a moment and then replied:

‘Because he kept calling her Kailash–and her name’s not Kailash, it’s Laura.’

I did not turn to see Joe or Jack’s reaction. I didn’t even have time to check my own. I continued to work with Moses. Rocking his head back and forth, I told him that he would wake on the count of five. I threw in a gamble by telling him that he would recall everything that had happened. In addition I gave Moses a post-hypnotic suggestion that any time I snapped my fingers and told him to sleep, he would immediately go into a trance deeper than the one he was in today. If he was agreeable to that he had to raise his forefinger on his right hand. Silent body acknowledgements are the most effective.

Tired and drained, Moses wearily opened his eyes.

‘What the fuck have you done to me?’

‘Where do you sleep, Moses?’

Staggering up, he led me to a large room with a double bed in it. Pushing him down, he fell softly like a baby. I snapped my fingers, and told him to sleep. As I left the room he was mercifully unconscious.

On the way home Jack and Joe bombarded me with
questions. Too tired to answer, I ignored them for the entire journey–that doesn’t mean that I didn’t hear Jack’s incredulous praise or Joe’s warnings.

‘Are you sure that laddie’s gonna be OK? Should you not have told him just to forget everything again? To bury it down deep and never, ever think of it again?’

I didn’t need their questions, I didn’t need their noise. I just needed to get home, rest and then try to make some sense of it when I woke.

When I finally got there, I fell into my bed and needed no hypnosis to make me sleep soundly. I intended to sleep like the dead. I must have done for a while, but then, as usual, the phone rang. Automatically, again as usual, my hand reached for the receiver.

‘Is that Brodie McLennan?’

I screwed my eyes tightly, trying to force some fluid into them, for my lids were stuck to my eyeballs. My life was like a psychotic Groundhog Day. Fumbling I found a pen, and muttered that it was Brodie McLennan speaking.

‘PC Fulton here. Ms McLennan, we’ve got a young man on the Forth Road Bridge threatening to jump unless you come out to see him.’

I needed no name from PC Fulton.

‘Tell Moses I’m coming.’

Orange and pink streaks cracked the sky over the Firth of Forth. It looked like a celestial tie-dye gone wrong. I didn’t need a shepherd’s warning to tell me this was going to be a difficult day.

It was dawn and the Forth Road Bridge was practically deserted. The motorists who did pass Moses were either too tired or too focused to notice him standing on the edge of the structure holding on to a thick steel suspension wire.

The Forth Road Bridge was built in 1964, and opened by the Queen. A smaller version of the Golden Gate Bridge, it spans the river Forth, providing a gateway to the north. It sits parallel to the beautiful maroon cantilever bridge, the Forth Rail Bridge, built by the Victorians in the heyday of railways. It’s the scourge of commuters but a favoured haunt of suicides.

In the distance, to the north, I could see the hills. It was such a clear morning I felt as if I could see forever. But as soon as I fixed my eyes on Moses, all thoughts of views and scenery quickly disappeared. He was
dressed as I had left him, standing in a slight breeze swaying with exhaustion and nerves. His knuckles were bloodless with tension; in spite of appearances he had a tight grip on that rope. He wanted to live.

PC Fulton was an older bobby, a couple of years shy of retirement; he knew how to handle the situation, although I doubted if he had ever been on any negotiation courses. Having made the decision to manage the state of affairs, he made a judgement call to keep it low key; this principally meant that there was no ambulance standing by. There were only the three of us, and thankfully the elements were being relatively kind. Far, far down below I could see the blue grey river swell and lap against the enormous posts that held up the bridge. To my mind it looked hungry for Moses, and if I couldn’t talk him down there was no one else to save him.

The roar from Awesome’s pipes made him turn to see me. I raised my hand in salute to him before I dismounted. I had come alone. I gave myself the excuse that I did not want to wake Joe–in truth I couldn’t bear the thought of him saying ‘I told you so’.

PC Fulton moved towards me, a stout comforting figure. Over his arm was a rough grey prison blanket.

‘Sorry to wake you–but I got the call. I know the lad and headquarters thought I could handle it. It’s not even my beat–I’m Muirhouse, this is South Queensferry.’

I put my hand out to shake his.

‘It’s OK–I know him. I don’t mind.’ Like rapid gunfire, my words came out–broken. I didn’t want to
say that I felt responsible or to offer any explanations. Moses had coped with this for years–even if it had been buried. I had screwed that up, messed whatever delicate balance he had, and now a boy who had dealt with his demons for years was trying to end it all.

‘Moses–get your arse down from there now,’ I barked at him, the wind carrying my words. I wasn’t sure what to expect but I could see that PC Fulton had been trying the softly, softly approach for the last five hours.

‘Fuck off, Brodie–I’m going nowhere till you promise.’ His voice was bitterly strong.

‘What do you want me to promise, Moses?’ I asked, anxious to agree to anything so that I could get him down quickly and without PC Fulton asking me any awkward questions.

‘I want you to swear you’ll make me forget again–and I want your word that you’ll get those bastards.’

PC Fulton looked at me quizzically but I was in no mood to offer chit-chat.

‘I’ll do everything I can.’ I shouted but under my breath I whispered, ‘But not today for I have to see Kailash.’

‘What was that?’ PC Fulton asked.

‘If you want to keep him safe–do us both a favour and lock him up. I’ll come down to St Leonard’s as soon as I can–but it might not be until tomorrow morning.’ The breeze muffled my words, and PC Fulton blinked, convinced that he had misheard me.

‘You want me to lock that laddie up?’ He looked at me doubtfully.

I nodded. ‘I want you to lock him up to keep him safe–if you take him to the Royal Ed he can walk straight out again and finish what he started.’

‘The boy needs help not prison. He’ll get more of that from a psychiatrist at the Andrew Duncan Clinic than down the nick. As I said, I knew his family. I want to do what’s right for him.’ PC Fulton was adamant.

‘If you want to keep him safe then the only place for him is St Leonard’s–then I’ll come and take him off your hands and get him the attention he needs.’

It may have been beginner’s luck, and the fact that he was ready to come down, but Moses allowed PC Fulton to get near him. His thin limbs were frozen stiff from holding one position for so long. We approached him cautiously, I was more wary than the constable because I suffer from vertigo. Like the pull from a magnet I felt myself being drawn to the edge. A cold trickle of sweat ran down the inside of my arm, dizziness threatened to overcome me, but I made myself keep moving. PC Fulton had climbed the barrier as elegantly as his chunky thighs would permit; I was in no position to criticise style. I was several feet behind the constable praying that, by the time I reached them, there would be no need for me to go over the side. My eyes kept being dragged to the water as it greedily lapped the posts.

With the expert cast of a fisherman the constable threw the blanket around Moses, swaddling him like an infant he effortlessly bundled him over to the safe side of the bridge.

Half carrying, half pushing him, Fulton got Moses
to the car. As Moses sipped the hot coffee that the constable’s wife had made for his break, PC Fulton charged him with breach of the peace, and read him his rights.