Chapter 9 of U Murder U (Suicide)

Unable to sleep, very drunk and very angry because Elle hadn’t called her back, Jessica rifled through some papers she had taken out of the secret desk compartment. She kept the compartment locked and the key to unlock it hidden in a pendant on a chain around her neck. She glanced at the papers as she desperately looked for one in particular, she read words like, ‘Death is a friend of mine’ and ‘We’re going to leave this world on our terms when the time is right for us’, they made her smile as did the gothic-like art that surrounded the words. These words usually gave her comfort in her sobriety pending the time she could get hold of a drink. She found the paper she sought, relief flooded through her, igniting her nerves and sending her pulse racing; she clasped it to her chest for a few moments. She turned her iPod on, selected a song then clambered onto her bed. She closed her eyes momentarily absorbing into her soul what can only be described as morbid, death-like music. Chanting embraced and caressed the music as it spewed out from the speakers. Each syllable seemed to conjure up spirits, evil and agile spirits that pandered to her mental state of mind – they danced to the music, decadence rife. Her heart beat faster as the chanting picked up pace and the music became almost maniacal-like. Jessica swayed this way and that, her eyes rolled backwards in her head. She felt herself floating higher and higher.

The banging on her bedroom door served as a light in the dark bringing Jessica back to shore. It severed the hand of darkness which had taken hold of her with its fierce grip and had pulled her to a place she had not ventured to before. The banging persisted. Jessica’s eyes snapped open and she turned to the door thinking it was her mother, “WHAT?” She shouted.

“Turn that bloody demonic music down!” Inspector Patrick Carmichael shouted back in response.

“Sorry Daddy, turning it down now.” Jessica said sweetly as she turned the volume down. She waited until she heard him close his bedroom door then sat and read the words on the sheet of paper in her hand, savouring each word as a desert plant would morning dew:

“There’s something not right with her,” Eloise said to her husband as soon as he closed their bedroom door. “She’s been locking herself in her room, playing that satanic music, laughing and talking to herself for days now, do you think I should take her to the GP?”

“You need to take her to a psychiatrist and book an appointment for yourself while you’re there,” he replied coldly.

“You think that’s funny? I’ve read about people like her who go on to kill people in their school or in shopping centres. We need to do something!”

“So why don’t you bloody do something instead of tip-toeing around her all the time? Get your head out of your arse, get dressed for once and stop prancing around in your silk dressing gown like Lady Muck and sort her out!”

“Why don’t you do something Mr big-shot Inspector? What is it they say – when a child does well they belong to the father but when they do badly they belong to the mother. You’ve always wanted her to belong to you so help her to do well. You’ve always smothered her and given into her every whim. She calls me ‘bitch’ and ‘cow’ and tells me to ‘f-off’ but with you it’s ‘yes Daddy’ this and ‘okay Daddy’ that and ‘Oh Daddy, you’re home, I missed you today!’ It’s all peaches and cream with you! All sweetness and honey! I’ve always been the outsider, the bad guy in this family. So why don’t you take her to the psychiatrist? No one in my family has ever been like her so it must be something from your side of the family, which means that you should be able to explain to the psychiatrist your family history and help him reach a diagnosis quickly. Plus, I can’t take her, in my family we don’t venture outside for help.”

“In your family you don’t venture outside for help? You’re having a laugh aren’t you? Your whole bloody family is nuts. Your dad, Lord of the pubs, is a bloody alcoholic. Your mother lives in cloud cuckoo-land reliving days when she ate at the Palace as a child and always talking about how your great, great grandfather was a Duke of some sorts. And, your brothers are delusional dodgy business men living on hand-outs from hard working tax payers and through the various tax evasion scams they do under the questionable guise of them being Lords. The only semi-sane one is your sister and she wants nothing to do with any of you! She moved thousands of miles away just to get away from the lot of you. Have you looked in the mirror recently? When you look in the mirror, you should see Jessica looking back, you stupid woman!”

“Mockery of the elite, that is so typical of you, so lower class. That’s all people like you know. You really are uncouth to the bones aren’t you darling?”

He moved towards her menacingly, “Maybe I should slap some sense into your thick head so you can see that you ain’t exactly royalty.”

“It’s ‘are not’ not ‘ain’t’ dumbo-” she stopped as he moved towards her then as if suddenly bitten by a ‘senseless’ courage bug she braced herself, “why don’t you then, why don’t you slap some sense into me? That’s obviously all you know, how to beat your wife up one minute and the next collect awards for bravery in the line of duty. They award you for saving battered women from abusive partners who are just like you! You make me sick, you big hypocrite!”

He grabbed her, shook her hard then pushed her roughly onto the bed, “You want me to hit you don’t you? You’re really asking for it tonight. You’re really begging for it?”

“You uncultured buffoon! Only you can make wife beating sound like a sexual proposition. Hit me, go on hit me! I’m sick and tired of being scared of you. Kill me, why don’t you just kill me and get it over with!”

“You’re drunk again aren’t you? You pathetic drunk bitch! Maybe I should just kill you!” He moved swiftly, grabbed her by her throat and squeezed. She struggled against his grip and scratched at his face and hands until he let her go.

They both turned as they heard the bang on their door then saw the door open slowly. Jessica fell into the room. Blood pumped out of her wrists and squirted onto the door, wall and carpet of their room. Both her wrists had been slashed – she was moments away from death.