Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Read Free

the way he
felt and was twisting inside his head as he continued to walk. We
would not be here if they had just taken more notice.
    He felt the familiar loneliness, there was
no one on the streets this morning; people around here did not get
out much at this time of year, the sun only made a late appearance,
if it bothered at all. They preferred to stay in the relative
warmth of their houses, eyes focused on the television and not the
windows showing snapshots of the cold changeable world outside. The
empty streets suited him; other people would just get in the
way.
    Walking slowly he let his mind wander a
little, letting his thoughts and imagination take over. He thought
of the corner his life was about to turn, of what lay just out of
sight.
    Checking his bag for its contents, he could
feel the reassuring weight that told him he had packed all the
items he would need. This was beginning to feel like his day.
    It was then he saw her.
    She looks just like mother, he thought. She
is perfect…
    He stood still and watched her, blending
into the urban environment, just another man, out for an early
morning walk. She would take no notice of him, she never did.
    She was walking the same leisurely pace she
always did, a slight smile on her face, not a care in the world,
oblivious to fear and pain. She had no idea that she was about to
take the lead role in the biggest part of her life.
    The image of her was hauntingly familiar; as
soon as he had seen her, it had poured powerful emotions into his
body. It had instantly bought back the memories of that time in his
life. It had also sparked an idea in his head that had led him here
this morning.
    The idea had formed into a plan, now his
plan had given him a purpose, made him feel in control again.
    The psychologists of his childhood would
have a field day with this one…, he thought, slightly amused at the
notion of them trying to understand him.
    He did not really care what they thought
though. He was not crazy, the psychologists where in the past, he
just hated the memory of them. He was not like that anymore. His
parents had been diseased, someone had written a ‘tragedy’ as the
script that chronicled their lives, and he had just been a bit
player, only written in to give the play an ending. The script
determined his character, but now he was going to rewrite it.
    The girl continued to walk. The houses were
becoming scarcer, giving way to the trees that were winning the
battle to occupy the space. It was now or never.
    He shook himself out of his self-loathing
revelry.
    He had only fragmented memories of his early
life; he had patched together what he knew over the subsequent
years. Each memory building on the next until it had told the story
to him in vivid detail. The darkness was always whispering in his
ear. He did not actually remember killing his father; he could
scarcely believe he was capable. It was the darkness who showed him
how it happened, reminded him of those feelings. The darkness
controlled his dreams, and lately it seemed his waking thoughts as
well, but that was about to change.
    Reaching into his bag he pulled out the
bottle, carefully unscrewed the cap, poured a measured amount of
the liquid it contained onto a cloth he retrieved from his pocket.
He stowed the bottle safely back in the bag and walked towards her.
There was a slight chemical smell on the cloth that was tingling at
his nose. He found himself whistling, the tune forgotten as she
turned towards him, eyes wide.
    “Now mother, don’t struggle, it’s finally
going to be alright”
    He saw the shock register in her eyes a
split second before she slipped into unconsciousness. A feeling of
warmth started to grow in his stomach.
    “Sleep tight.”
     
     
     

Chapter Two
     
    The rear of the police patrol car slid
sideways slightly as it rounded the corner at a little over the
recommended speed. The tyres trying desperately to find traction on
the wet surface, the noise of rubber on tarmac