DANIEL FINNIE, MARCH 2022, 13.42

John's mam and dad stood outside his door. 'I don't have a clue what to do Dan, it's been two months since he found out. He won't entertain anyone, he eats next to nothing. The only people he wants in the room are the cleaners, who I suspect are smuggling in booze for him. And he only allows the doctors in to top up his morphine.' She rubbed her face with her hands. When she dropped them her husband saw she was crying again. 'I just don't know what to do Dan.' She buried her head in his shoulder. 'I just don't know what to do.'

Dan stroked her hair. 'We must let him grieve in his own way Di. We did it seven years ago; it still hurts now. Remember the first few months? Remember the pain? Well, our son is going through that now, along with the fact he can't walk and has been in a coma for seventeen years. Can you imagine how messed up he's feeling right now?'

She shook her head even though it was still buried in his shoulder. Dan hugged her closer and she let loose, soaking his shirt with tears.

'Okay,' he said, 'so we let him grieve, we keep him comfortable, and we are still here when he needs us. He'll talk to us in his own time.'

Di looked up into his eyes. 'You've seen the CC television, yes?'

Dan nodded.

'What is he dreaming about?' she asked. 'How can he scream for so long?'

Dan shook his head. 'I don't know Di, I don't. It must have been god-awful being trapped in a coma like he was. Could he have known? I haven't a clue, but I tell you what, he'll have the best damn head doctors I can find. I promise.'

Di sniffed and rubbed her eyes. 'He keeps screaming 'remember me'. Why that? Why 'remember me'?'

'We'll get to the bottom of it. I promise Di. We'll make him better again.' Dan hugged her again, hoping his words were more convincing than his face was letting on.

SAMANTHA GRIMES, APRIL 2022, 16.45

Sam sat at the café table. She sat in the corner, not wanting anyone to see her, but wanting to view everyone else. A couple sat opposite each other to her left, obviously lovers. They flirted and laughed with each other, sharing the food they ordered and touching each other's hands often. She sighed, thinking of what could have been, thinking of what she had lost. Her eyes filled up and before she knew it a tear rolled down her cheek. She jumped when she heard the voice to her right.

'Been eating onions Sam?' said the voice.

She smiled at the rugged but handsome man standing above her. 'Hi Marty, thanks for coming.'

He kissed her on the cheek, passed her a napkin, and sat down. 'Anything for you Sam, you know that.'

Sam wiped her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara. 'How's Jess?' she asked.

Marty raised his eyebrows. 'You know how it is Sam, the police get me working long hours at the moment, leaving Jess to look after the two boys.' He picked up the menu. 'She's pissed off. And I can't blame her one bit.'

'I must pop over,' said Sam. 'Maybe we could have a girly night out eh?'

Marty smiled. 'Yeah, I think she'd like that, I think she'd like that a lot. So what is it Sam, what do you want to see me about?'

Samantha took a deep breath. 'Well,' she said, but then the waitress stood by the table.

'Are you ready to order?' she asked in a bored tone and holding a small notebook.

Marty looked up. 'Yeah, two cappuccinos please.' He put the menu down. 'You want something to eat?' he asked. Samantha shook her head. 'And a B.L.T for me please,' he said.

The waitress smiled and walked off. Marty grabbed Sam's hands. 'Okay Sam, what is it?'

'There are three things I want to ask,' she said, 'and there's really no easy way to do this, so I'll be straight with you. Number one, was my niece taken by The Collector?'

Marty gripped her hands tighter. 'Sam, you have to understand I can't talk about that case. Since Jack committed suicide I'm head of it all. She may have gone anywhere, fallen in a hole, anything. The thing is, it's all speculation, and the bastard leaves no clues, no nothing. Over thirty years, two inspectors have committed suicide from the case. And even with the advanced DNA profiles we have, there is still no match. Nothing, not a fucking speck of evidence to lead us anywhere. Over forty girls going missing, it makes no frigging sense.'

Marty put his head down on the table and butted it twice. 'He sends a recording after every murder, that's how we know it's him.'

Sam took a deep breath. 'So did he send a tape Marty? You have to tell me; you owe me that.'

Marty looked down at the table to avoid eye contact and nodded.

Sam pulled her hands from his, to cover her face. 'Oh God no. No... No.'

Marty sat feeling useless as she cried behind her hands. The waitress dropped the cappuccinos off and gave Marty an evil look. He was about to protest but couldn't be bothered. Instead he drank his drink and waited.

When Samantha put her hands down, Marty passed her another napkin. 'I'm sorry,' she said in a hoarse voice.

'There is nothing to apologise for Sam,' he said, took another sip, and pushed Sam's cup towards her. She took a small sip and placed it back down. Rain pelted the windows, and both of them sat and watched it. The rain wet the ground, and as they watched the wet became puddles as it came down harder. As they were looking out of the window a B.L.T appeared and Marty tucked in with as much grace as one could expect from a cop, which is none.

'Number two,' said Sam, 'What happened to Miss Leang?'

Marty half laughed, the sandwich in his mouth, but he chewed it finished before he spoke. 'Well Sam, that's another mystery. It seems her body went missing from the morgue. Can you believe that?' He took another bite, and mumbled past the food in his mouth. 'I mean what the hell. It was monitored, but,' he swallowed and snapped one finger in the air. 'Just disappeared, like a magic trick. It's in the hands of other people in the department.' He shrugged. 'I can look into it more if you would like.' He took a bite of the sandwich.

Sam nodded. 'Yes please, she was nice. A little eccentric but nice, I liked her a lot.'

Marty dropped what was left of the sandwich, cleaned off his hands, and reached for his drink. 'Sure Sam, I'll check it out for you alright? And the third is John I suppose?'

Sam nodded. 'He screams. Did you know he screams at night?'

Marty shook his head.

'Well,' she said, 'He does. He cries out, begs and pleads for it to stop.' She paused. 'He pleads for death to take him. Remember me, he screams. It is scary Marty, when you first hear it, it's so scary. But when you listen to him, there are odd little things he says. There are words between the screams.'

Marty put his drink down and leant forward. 'What does he say?'

'He says Semila's name, he whimpers and calls her an angel.' She shook as she went for another sip. Marty closed his hand around hers.

'He must have remembered her name from us talking,' he said letting go of her hands. 'He was awake when we found her.'

Sam shook her head. 'There are other things. He gibbers about demons. Demons in the box, whatever the hell that means. It's so scary to listen to. He screams the word 'blink'. I mean what the f? What does 'blink' mean? He screams it every time. Do you have an idea what 'save one save them all' means?' Marty shook his head.

Sam continued. 'Anyway, I gave in and let the doctors knock him out; it's the only way he stops.'

Marty raised his eyebrows. 'Blink was something from school, something only us two knew about. 'Bloody hell,' he said, leaning back in his chair. 'I had forgotten about all that.'

She looked out of the window again, the grey clouds had closed in, darkening the sky, and more rain poured onto the street. 'He won't speak to anyone Marty. Would you talk to him?' She paused for a second. 'Please.'

He sighed. 'Last time we talked I told him his sister was dead. I'm sure he doesn't want to see my ugly mug ever again.'

Samantha nodded. 'Yeah, I guess so. But would you at least come and sit with Di and Dan, they have a psychiatrist coming in tomorrow. I'm sure they would be comforted if you came up, you're like their adopted son.'

'Yeah,' he said, 'of course. I'll be up first thing.'

He looked at his watch. 'I gotta go Sam, I'll be at the house tomorrow, okay?'

Sam nodded. 'Yeah, okay Marty. Until tomorrow.'

He took a quick bite of his sandwich again, got up, paid the cashier, and made for the door. He was about to walk out when Samantha got up. She walked over to him as he got to the door and pushed it shut, hard enough to make the bell on the door ring again.

'Did you know Leang is an anagram of Angel?' she said. Marty raised his eyebrows. She pushed harder against the door. 'Don't you think that's weird?' she asked.

Marty kissed her on the forehead. 'Sam, I've been his friend since before school. Everything about him is weird.'

She moved her hand from the door and he walked out into the rain. He pulled his jacket collar up around his face, looked both ways before he crossed, and soon disappeared in the gloom.

JOHN FINNIE (34y), JUNE 2022, 10.31

John looked out of the window as the psychiatrist walked in. 'Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you want?' He did not look at whoever it was, just kept staring out the window.

'I'm Callum,' he said in a smooth neutral tone. 'I'm a psychiatrist, I'm here to help.'

John humph-ed. 'A fucking shrink, so I'm a nutter now eh?' He looked up at the camera in the room. 'Cheers Mam, cheers dad. Thanks a fucking bunch.'

John and Callum sat in silence for a while. John wanted to play a game of 'waiting how long the shrink would go without talking', but it wasn't long.

'I watched the recordings of your sleep John, why do you scream?'

John shrugged. 'You fucking tell me, oh great and powerful one. You must charge top dollar, so why haven't you worked it all out yet? I aint that fucking complicated.'

Callum sat back in the chair. 'You lash out at people to stop them seeing you are fragile John, it's a common practise. Why don't you talk? You'll find I'm a great listener.'

John lifted his left arm and gave the shrink the finger. 'See that Doc? That's real progress. I couldn't do it three weeks ago.'

Callum smiled and stood up. 'Have you seen one of these before John?'

John looked over towards the psychiatrist, in his hand he held a small silver ball. 'Yep,' said John. 'It's a robot's bollock. Nice toy.'

Callum laughed. 'Almost John. No, it's not a bollock, it's a Thrawlball. It allows me to put you in a rested state and look deep into your subconscious mind. It can help with anxiety, phobias, and recurring nightmares.'

'And you want to try it on me?'

'Only if you want me to,' said Callum.

'Will it help me?' John asked in a hushed voice. 'I'm so tired, one night of sleep. That's all I'm asking.'

'Yes John, it will help,' Callum said, 'But you must relax and let me in. Can you do that for me?'

'How does it work?' asked John.

'You relax, that's all you must to do.'

John shrugged. 'Fucking crack on then, I don't have all day. Oh, wait a minute, yeah I do. 'Cause I'm a cripple, a mad cripple. A mad cripple that screams at night, so yeah I have all day. It seems my dance card is full on at night.'

Callum smiled and rubbed the ball on his shirt. 'It gets dull when I keep it in my pocket,' he said. He threw the silver ball up in the air. 'Look John, it floats.'

In an instant John became transfixed, his body relaxed, but his eyes focused on the ball, and nothing else.

#

John floated in darkness. He looked all around but saw nothing, and then a voice came to him.

'Hello John, can you tell me where you are?' said the voice.

'Floating,' he answered.

'And is it nice where you float?' asked the voice.

'No, it's dark. I can't see anything.'

'How old are you John?' asked the voice.

'Seventeen,' John said, 'well seventeen and a bit. Why?'

'What's the last thing you remember John?' asked the voice.

'I was going to see Marty, something important happened, but I can't remember what.'

'Why do you scream John' asked the voice again. 'What scares you in your dreams?'

'I don't have a clue, am I supposed to float? It seems strange.'

'We all go to different places when we dream John, this is your place. Why do you scream?' Pressed the voice.

John looked around, he could only see blackness. 'I don't know. Why am I here? Am I dead?'

'No John,' said the voice. 'You are in your bedroom; I am a doctor. I'm trying to help you.'

John looked around. 'It seems familiar, I don't know why. Remember me. Something is wrong. Blink out now. Something is here. Remember me. I'm scared. Blink. Wake me up, there's something here. Remember me. Hurry up, get me out. Get me out now! Blink.'

'Who's there, John? I can help. Tell me what you can see, what's scaring you?' said the voice.

'Grimsol,' John answered in a low guttural voice.

MARTY

Back in the bedroom John lashed out, catching the psychiatrist square in the face, knocking him off the bed. John crawled out after him. He rolled onto the floor and grabbed Callum by the throat with his right hand and squeezed.

'Grimsol. Grimsol. Grimsol. GRIMSOL!' he screamed over and over. Spit flew from his mouth and the veins stuck out on his forehead as he screamed louder and louder.

Marty and the doctors ploughed into the room. It took some effort to remove John's hand from the doctor's neck, and then the others sedated him. John's body relaxed.

Callum wheezed on the floor, struggling for breath. After a short while he sat up.

'That can't happen,' he said. 'It's impossible to pull yourself from the ball,' he said as he rubbed his neck.

Marty looked over to his friend strapped down on the bed. 'Well Doc,' he said, 'there's always a first.'

© Steve Ford and Joy Cronjé 2018