Chapter Seventeen

Day 122

I’m only half awake as I lie in the hospital bed, alone in my room. There’s a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ I say.

The door opens and Gemma, my sister-in-law, is standing on the other side. I’d say it’s a welcome surprise as she hasn’t been here in weeks, but the look of anger in her eyes soon puts paid to any pleasantries.

‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ she shouts, tossing the newspaper that she’s clutching at me.

The paper slaps down onto my chest.

Gemma stares at me aghast. I glance at the paper. A copy of the Daily Mail. I look at the date. It’s today’s. I pick the paper up, and straighten it out to look at the front page. I’m left staring at a picture of myself. In my hospital bed. Inset is a picture of Ben, my brother.

‘What is this?’ I say, feeling my hackles raise.

Jason has told me that the national press have taken an interest in my story. Well, my brother mostly. It’s not every day that a multiple murderer is caught in Britain. Ben’s trial is now in full swing. Jason has warned me off speaking to any reporters, though really he didn’t need to. I wouldn’t want to speak to them anyway.

‘I don’t understand,’ I say as my eyes scan over the first few lines.

‘Yeah, well I bloody do. How much did they pay you for this sensationalist crap?’

‘No,’ I say, shaking my head, as the reality slowly starts to sink in. My thoughts begin to blur as though my memories are suddenly cracking. I remember the doctors cautioning me. My brain, in its bid for recovery, continues to create false realities. I no longer pace around the hospital looking for the mystery madman, but I’m still easily confused. I see things that aren’t really there, have conversations with non-existent people or can’t remember anything about real conversations with real people. I feel it now. Confusion. It’s taking over and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus, to gain some clarity.

‘This wasn’t me,’ I say, but even I’m not so sure I believe those words.

‘No? Then how the hell are they quoting you? It’s one thing to put yourself out there, but how dare you bring me into this?’ Gemma slams. ‘And my children? How could you do that to them, you evil b—’

‘Get out!’ I yell at Gemma, though I’m not angry with her. I’m angry with myself. ‘Just get out. Leave me alone.’

‘My pleasure,’ Gemma says. ‘And you leave me and my kids alone. Got it?’

Gemma storms out. I pick up the paper. It rattles in my hands, which are shaky from the adrenaline surging through my blood. I read the whole article.