Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer

Part 13

13

"I have a few more questions." The police officer who came into Caitlin's room was familiar. Was he the one who'd started interrogating me the night we arrived in hospital, before giving me information? Or was he a hallucination, the unwanted child of sleep deprivation?

Caitlin hadn't slept well last night, either. Caitlin never slept well any night. She slept and screamed but didn't wake up. I was forgetting what it was like to sleep at all. My eyes itched from fatigue.

I responded cautiously, "Okay."

"Has she woken up yet?" He leaned over Caitlin's bed, looking closely at her face. He reached out, as if to shake her shoulder.

"Don't touch her," I blurted out, wincing.

His hand stopped, curved not far from her. "Why not?"

"She'll scream." I shuddered. I can't stand it when she screams. I clenched my hands into fists so he wouldn't see them shaking.

He looked at me for a moment, taking in my fists and the look on my face. He shrugged and seated himself in the visitor's chair by Caitlin's bed, angling his head toward me. "What do you know about the dead man you left on the beach?" His eyes were on me, his expression expectant.

My brain felt slow and tired. "He was hurting her. He was a big bastard with a gun. He and I got into a fight..."

"No," he interrupted. "You told me this already. What do you know about him, except for the few minutes before he died?"

I thought for a moment. "When I checked to see if he was dead, I took his shirt and put it on her. I figured she needed it more than he did and he owed her that much. That was after he died."

The grey shirt had been sticky with blood and it had wicked up the red like sweat, making the white Adidas logo stand out even more. There'd been half-healed welts on the man's back and chest that I'd wondered about, but the police officer probably knew more about them than I did. I only know what I saw. When I'd pulled the dead man's shirt over her head, it had left pink streaks on her face where his blood mingled with her tears. I remember feeling satisfied that I'd forced the lifeless bastard to help her when he was too dead to do anything about it, after all the pain he'd caused her…

"But did you know anything about him, before that night?" the officer pressed.

"No, I didn't know him." I paused, irritated. "I'm not sure I would have wanted to, either."

He stretched his legs out in front of him, his arms above and behind his head. He looked at the ceiling, sounding thoughtful. "He owned a holiday house not far from where he died. When his wife heard what had happened to him, she was very distraught. She thought he'd gone for a walk along the beach." He sighed. "She was little and pretty, with short, dark hair. Her name was Laura."

I snorted. "Some walk. I wonder if she knew what he was really doing."

"Who knows?" He smiled at me and stood up, looking at his watch. "And now, I have to go. Thank you for your assistance."

He strode out of the room, giving a brief nod to the guard outside before continuing down the corridor to the lifts.

I shook my head. The dead bastard had a wife and her name was Laura. Who would have thought?