Living with Shadows (12 page)

Well not much happened over the next few days not until that night I took someones life I think I was in the local shopping town just to kill some time as there was not much to do and nobody to talk to well anyway I spent a few hours in the town and started to make my way back to were I was dosing about 3 or 4 miles away I did like walking a lot well I got to were I was hanging about I stopped at this bus shelter for a rest and a smoke it was still cold it was that cold I had 2 pairs of jeans just as well I know I went around to the hospital for a hot drink I dont know how long that was for but I stayed until I was warmed up I know I went around to the bus shelter again to keep out of the cold there were some people getting the bus but anyway there was this one bloke sitting in there well about 5 minutes went by and a couple of women came waiting for the bus not long after I heard this thud on the ground one of the women was having a fit so I ran to get an ambulance for her and it came and took her away I did feel sorry for her I wished I could have done more to help her but never mind anyway this vagerant and me are by ourselfs and he stank badly I just could not stand it any more and told him to fuck off something like that anyway he said something well I just saw red and started hitting him I just could not control my anger I dont know what come over me Ive never acted like this before it was frightening then this knife of mine fell out of my pocket and I just started hitting him with it what I did next shocked me compleatly I dont believe it I stuck the knife in him I just stood their looking at this bloke with the knife in him he then fell to the ground I went forward to try and pull the blade out he just started kicking at me I think he thought I might do it again I looked up and saw people coming around the corner of the bus shelter I panicked and ran the other way around the hospital I now felt sick I went into the hospital for a drink not really just to get out of the way anyway I waited at the waiting room with some other people then a couple of police came in and asked everyone if they saw something going on at the hospital I had my back to them I was a nervous wreck by now and I saw spots of blood on me and nobody else noticed I went to the toilet and threw my jeans in the bin I sat on the toilet seat with my head in my hands this was when I decided to give myself up what made me do this was when I was waiting in the hospital I heard someone coming in screaming it was him when I left the hospital I saw all these police I didnt know what to do so I got out of the way I went in the chip shop until the police went further up the street I didnt go in the chip shop for anything Im not that cold harted or may be I am after this horrible crime Im nothing but evil

I left the chip shop and decided to give myself up it was the right thing to do I could not live with this if I did’nt

The police station must have been 3 or 4 miles I was like a zombie just walking and walking then I got to this police station even then I knew it was the beginning of the end for me but I had to do this you know I always wished he killed me after all Im the one who wanted to die it should never have been him he would have been better of in here.

Well Kate I hope this is what you want Im not that good at putting feelings into things so I hope this will be alright

This second letter from Michael left Kate feeling troubled. He had reiterated much of what he’d already told her but in more detail and at times at odds with the first. She seemed to remember he’d left his relatives because it was too crowded living there with eight people. Now he says they didn’t want him there in the first place. From the tone of his letter, it seemed going back and looking more closely at his life prior to the stabbing had awakened in him bitterness, anger and resentment towards everyone involved. He says he’s
not
that
good
at
putting
feelings
into
things
but the emotion is there: in the notable change in his childlike handwriting, now smaller and shaky; in his use of short sentences, lack of punctuation and aggressive language. What if it really wasn’t a good thing for him to go back, to return to what must have been the darkest day in his whole life? Kate believed that writing was therapeutic, that it could act as a catharsis to release pent up emotions, but what if it turned out to do the opposite? What if instead of cleansing his soul he’d opened up a can of worms?

Regardless of what Jim might think, she didn’t believe he was looking for sympathy. He truly believed he deserved to be locked up, even wished he could swap places with his victim. She didn’t see a heartless, evil person; she saw someone who had led a tragic life which culminated in the most tragic of circumstances. He could have walked away from the scene but his conscience wouldn’t let him. At that stage he didn’t know how badly injured this man was. What were his chances of being discovered? No one saw anything. And this person—a tramp—what of his life; who would have missed him? Kate found herself wondering what she would have done in the same situation. All those lives irrevocably changed by a chance meeting with a stranger one cold winter’s night. If he’d had no conscience, it might just have been the one.

Then again, Mac had so much anger in him, so much intolerance towards others it was probably just a matter of time before something like this happened. He hadn’t had much luck in life. School, friends, family, girls,—all had let him down in one way or another.

She wondered if there was anything that could have changed events. From what he had told her so far, there was probably little he could have done about the bullying. Being the product of a Catholic/Protestant relationship in Belfast must have been hell and a child would have no chance of defending himself against those who chose to vent their anger on someone from such a union. His decision to move to England didn’t work out because he was unable to find somewhere suitable to live. Meeting his father after fifteen years with the notion he might have changed was soon shattered on discovering he was still a drunkard and a brute. The girls he met all seemed too worldly wise for this boy from Belfast who’d led a sheltered life. Like a Greek Tragedy, once the chain of events was set in motion, it was unstoppable.

It was difficult to make sense of someone else’s life. It was often difficult to make sense of one’s own. But it made her think. The grievances she had about her own childhood now seemed insignificant by comparison. Despite her mother’s sharp temper and her parents’ quarrels, there had been a sense of security about their home life. The excessive restrictions really amounted to over protectiveness but it’s impossible to see that as a child with a whole world to explore.

Most of the people Mac associated with appeared to have little or no stability in their lives. No, there was probably nothing he could have done to change things. His anger and intolerance, along with all the other negative emotions that had been brooding inside of him for years, were finally released in a bus shelter on a freezing night when he plunged a knife through the chest of an unsuspecting tramp.

Kate folded the letter, went upstairs to the bedroom and slid back the wardrobe door. Reaching up to the top shelf, she pulled out a tin where she kept her private papers and placed Michael’s letter at the bottom with the other. This act of secrecy made her feel uneasy. She wondered if she had made a mistake by asking Michael to write about his life. He had murdered someone, been sentenced and was now paying the price. The whole idea of this exercise was meant to help
him
 . . . but help him what? How was it supposed to help him? Come to terms with what he’d done? Get things off his chest? She thought about the reason she’d asked him to write in the first place; wasn’t it to enable him to become more articulate. Yet, if he didn’t want anyone to know about the things he’d written, how would that help him? She wondered who this exercise was affecting most, Michael or herself. She wondered how difficult it was for him to revisit his miserable existence again and how much it might affect him emotionally. If he’d been in prison for seven years and had never spoken to anyone about his past or his crime, then this could not have been an easy thing for him to do. She wondered how he felt about himself. In his letter he said he was ‘nothing but evil’. Harsh words, and if he
really
meant them, he must be full of self-loathing. In a way she felt responsible because she had asked him to look back on his past. She couldn’t just leave it like this; she had to try and make him realise that he wasn’t evil, that all this happened because of everything that had gone wrong in his life, because of his landlady, his father, the lack of sleep, cold and hunger. All these things contributed to what happened that night, she felt sure. He was already being punished for what he’d done and he had to learn to forgive himself. All right, he could never forget what happened that night but he couldn’t go on punishing himself for the rest of his life.

She found some paper. Writing to him didn’t feel right but knew it was the only way to let him know he wasn’t the monster he believed himself to be.

Again,
I
found
your
letter
very
sad.
It’s
hard
to
imagine
how
desperate
you
must
have
been
feeling
when
you
were
living
on
the
street.
It’s
terrible
that
you
felt
you
had
no
one
to
turn
to
after
leaving
your
landlady’s
place.
If
only
you
could
have
returned
to
your
relatives
for
a
couple
of
weeks
before
going
back
to
Belfast.
But
I
expect
you’ve
already
thought
about
that,
—
thought
about
everything
that
might
have
changed
things.

I
can
understand
you
not
wanting
to
live
on
your
own.
I
tried
it
once
for
a
few
weeks
and
hated
it.
I
don’t
like
being
on
my
own
either.

No,
I
don’t
hate
you
for
stealing
from
the
supermarket.
I
don’t
suppose
you
had
much
choice
at
the
time.
It’s
difficult
to
know
what
anyone
would
do
in
that
situation.
It
would
have
been
better
if
you
had
been
caught
coming
out
of
the
supermarket;
it
might
have
changed
everything.