"Hank! Shut the hell up man, I have things on my mind. I can't write your goddamn letter for you, just read the book okay!" Denver was lying on his bed, his fingers laced together behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.
"Denver, your dinner!" Fred said dropping the tray down on the ledge with a clatter. He'd already told him twice but Denver seemed miles away and Fred was growing impatient.
"I don't want it." Denver called without getting up. Fred sighed heavily and Denver pulled his head up a few inches to look at him. "I'm not hungry, I don't want it. I don't have to eat it if I don't want to, do I?" Fred picked up the tray without saying another word and put it back on the trolley. That was as much conversation as they would have that night despite the fact that Fred was really quite curious about how Denver had got along with his new lawyer. Denver went to sleep soon afterwards and even the sounds of Jimmy wailing for his Mom all evening didn't seem to bother him.
He hoped that he would be able to get away from his guilty feelings in his dreams, but as is often the case; trying to push the thoughts away makes them an even more prominent feature in your unconscious mind. His sleep was traumatic to say the least.
In his dream, he was in a dark cell; he sat in a steel chair hunched over a sheet of pale pink paper; he knew he was awaiting the electric chair. The air was stale and although no one was left there long enough to smell of death, and everything was thoroughly cleaned up afterwards; it still had a rank scent to it. If fear truly did have a smell, then this was definitely it. On the paper before him was written a single word… Anna.
The torment of his dreams was not the threat of dying, as it usually was. It wasn't the face of Timmy Bailey as he clawed at Denver's orange jumpsuit and begged for his life. It wasn't even his sister or mother that often paid him a visit in the dead of night. The pain was different here; it reminded Denver of the way he'd felt when Fred patted his shoulder fresh out of the hole. This was the pain of feeling. She had done this to him. She had woken this thing inside him; this thing that ate away at him as though he were fresh meat to a vulture. He thought it was long dead… that's if it had ever begun to exist at all.
He woke with a start; hearing Jimmy yelling deafeningly in the cell beside him. Denver knew he'd been needlessly cruel to the woman and he felt bad about it. She was right about his fear and his loneliness. She knew him beyond the file in a way he never thought anyone ever would. He'd never answered her and she eventually gave up waiting on any kind of response and packed up her things.
He'd thought of snapping at her for running away. He thought maybe he would tell her he was right about her false promises; that she didn't really want to be his friend if she was running from him at the first sign of trouble. Then he'd known what he should say. But it was too late. Anna was gone and now what scared him most of all, was that she might never come back.
As he drifted off to sleep again, all he could see was her sorrowful face. The way her eyes had pleaded with him to stop hurting her, to leave it all alone; in the past where it belonged. He'd meant to try and apologise, he never tried to make things worse… once he realised the real problem. It surprised him that he wanted to comfort her. In her eyes he saw Timmy and the agony that he went through… that Denver was responsible for. He felt responsible for Anna now too. He felt protective of her, the way he had felt about Lil… but this wasn't a brotherly emotion that he felt curdling his insides. All these feelings were new to Denver Bayliss; he didn't understand what was going on inside him. Hustler doesn't really teach you how to fall in love, does it?
Anna found sleep no more easily than her client. She shivered in bed despite the heat and pulled the quilt up around her face; unaware of the tears that ran down onto the fleecy fabric. She saw his face again. His eyes had haunted her since she was nine years old. Almost twenty years had passed since that first horrific time and it could still feel like it was just yesterday, at only a single moments notice.
"Denver, you bastard!" she sobbed into her soft feather pillow. "Why couldn't you leave it alone, why couldn't you just let me in, instead of fighting me? Instead of hurting me like this. Why couldn't you just be my friend?"
As her words flowed without thought, they echoed back at her like the mocking voice of her conscience. It startled her to discover what she had just said; she heard it as though it was someone else talking to her. Did she really want this man to be her friend? Okay she had run away from her family and friends to the other side of the world and if truth be told she was almost as lonely as him, but…
'But what, Anna? Why can't you want that? Why can't you want to be a friend to a man in need?'
She couldn't find a reason. She couldn't answer her own question, let alone begin to make sense of why she hadn't run like the others. It was as though something was pulling her to the guy. Something was telling her this was right. Even if it hurt at first… it was the right thing to do.
When sleep wouldn't take her after an hour or so, she rose from bed and pulled on a thick fleece robe; she kicked around in the near darkness for her slippers and then pulled one of the blankets off the bed to wrap around her shoulders. If Mr Thurston didn't fix the goddamn heating soon, she was going to sue the stupid old waster. She went to her desk and pulled on the tassel switch to turn on her desk lamp. There, as if by magic, was Denver's photo staring up at her. His eyes, fixed on the camera; had the appearance of looking right at her… right into her. How did he do this to her? How did he make her feel so vulnerable again? She knew there was a reason… she leafed through the file again and stared drowsily at the pages. Fifty-eight, fifty-nine; every page was another graphic witness account of the terrible things that he had done.
'The damage to the body was extensive. Other than the wounds to the torso and back, brought about presumably by a severe kicking, the boy had deep cuts around his neck and face. The cause of death itself was borne from a severe blow to the head or the purple marks around the throat suggest asphyxiation, it is very difficult to say which came first.'
Though in all this horrific account of how Denver had made his first kill, no one mentioned the fact that up to the point of death, he was as badly hurt as the other boy. The page that stated Denver's wounds and the small folder that contained his medical records while he was hospitalised for a month, were lost in the back of the file. Page one-hundred and eighteen, listed the seven broken ribs, the punctured lung, the results of a CAT scan and the numerous cuts and bruises that had covered the sixteen year olds body.
There was a page in the back of the medical file; a personal account of his health; though it looked more like a diary entry. Anna pushed the sheet under the lamp and leant over her desk a little to read it. A spidery black scrawl wrote,
'I hurt all the time, the bruises make me look like an alien, I'm more blue than white. My skin burns whenever they put the Iodine on me, I think I'm allergic but no one will give me a test or anything. I find it hard to sleep at night, I can't breathe very well and I'm too scared to go to sleep in case I never wake up. Nobody will talk to me. I hear them saying stuff about me. They think I must be crazy… or evil or something… but no one asks me why.
Gillis came to identify Frank's body today. I wasn't supposed to see him but they took me late for my X-ray. He looked at me; he knew… he knew why I did it. He's the only one… I'll never see Lil again. Her God forsook me. No one notices, no one cares, and I doubt they ever will.'
Anna couldn't help but cry. That man had brought out her deepest fears earlier that day; he'd drawn out her most terrible experiences ever and what she wanted more than anything right now was to give him a hug and tell him… and tell him she cared; that she noticed and that she'd be there for him.
She read over the words again. They were barely legible, which could have been why no one noticed….
"Oh my God!" she said suddenly fully awake. "That's it!"
Her finger ran over the lines again, as though the newly discovered truth would soak into her through osmosis. Denver's words spoke to her in a faltering voice.
'Gillis came to identify Frank's body today…He knew why I did it… I'll never see Lil again.'
"Denver, your dinner!" Fred said dropping the tray down on the ledge with a clatter. He'd already told him twice but Denver seemed miles away and Fred was growing impatient.
"I don't want it." Denver called without getting up. Fred sighed heavily and Denver pulled his head up a few inches to look at him. "I'm not hungry, I don't want it. I don't have to eat it if I don't want to, do I?" Fred picked up the tray without saying another word and put it back on the trolley. That was as much conversation as they would have that night despite the fact that Fred was really quite curious about how Denver had got along with his new lawyer. Denver went to sleep soon afterwards and even the sounds of Jimmy wailing for his Mom all evening didn't seem to bother him.
He hoped that he would be able to get away from his guilty feelings in his dreams, but as is often the case; trying to push the thoughts away makes them an even more prominent feature in your unconscious mind. His sleep was traumatic to say the least.
In his dream, he was in a dark cell; he sat in a steel chair hunched over a sheet of pale pink paper; he knew he was awaiting the electric chair. The air was stale and although no one was left there long enough to smell of death, and everything was thoroughly cleaned up afterwards; it still had a rank scent to it. If fear truly did have a smell, then this was definitely it. On the paper before him was written a single word… Anna.
The torment of his dreams was not the threat of dying, as it usually was. It wasn't the face of Timmy Bailey as he clawed at Denver's orange jumpsuit and begged for his life. It wasn't even his sister or mother that often paid him a visit in the dead of night. The pain was different here; it reminded Denver of the way he'd felt when Fred patted his shoulder fresh out of the hole. This was the pain of feeling. She had done this to him. She had woken this thing inside him; this thing that ate away at him as though he were fresh meat to a vulture. He thought it was long dead… that's if it had ever begun to exist at all.
He woke with a start; hearing Jimmy yelling deafeningly in the cell beside him. Denver knew he'd been needlessly cruel to the woman and he felt bad about it. She was right about his fear and his loneliness. She knew him beyond the file in a way he never thought anyone ever would. He'd never answered her and she eventually gave up waiting on any kind of response and packed up her things.
He'd thought of snapping at her for running away. He thought maybe he would tell her he was right about her false promises; that she didn't really want to be his friend if she was running from him at the first sign of trouble. Then he'd known what he should say. But it was too late. Anna was gone and now what scared him most of all, was that she might never come back.
As he drifted off to sleep again, all he could see was her sorrowful face. The way her eyes had pleaded with him to stop hurting her, to leave it all alone; in the past where it belonged. He'd meant to try and apologise, he never tried to make things worse… once he realised the real problem. It surprised him that he wanted to comfort her. In her eyes he saw Timmy and the agony that he went through… that Denver was responsible for. He felt responsible for Anna now too. He felt protective of her, the way he had felt about Lil… but this wasn't a brotherly emotion that he felt curdling his insides. All these feelings were new to Denver Bayliss; he didn't understand what was going on inside him. Hustler doesn't really teach you how to fall in love, does it?
Anna found sleep no more easily than her client. She shivered in bed despite the heat and pulled the quilt up around her face; unaware of the tears that ran down onto the fleecy fabric. She saw his face again. His eyes had haunted her since she was nine years old. Almost twenty years had passed since that first horrific time and it could still feel like it was just yesterday, at only a single moments notice.
"Denver, you bastard!" she sobbed into her soft feather pillow. "Why couldn't you leave it alone, why couldn't you just let me in, instead of fighting me? Instead of hurting me like this. Why couldn't you just be my friend?"
As her words flowed without thought, they echoed back at her like the mocking voice of her conscience. It startled her to discover what she had just said; she heard it as though it was someone else talking to her. Did she really want this man to be her friend? Okay she had run away from her family and friends to the other side of the world and if truth be told she was almost as lonely as him, but…
'But what, Anna? Why can't you want that? Why can't you want to be a friend to a man in need?'
She couldn't find a reason. She couldn't answer her own question, let alone begin to make sense of why she hadn't run like the others. It was as though something was pulling her to the guy. Something was telling her this was right. Even if it hurt at first… it was the right thing to do.
When sleep wouldn't take her after an hour or so, she rose from bed and pulled on a thick fleece robe; she kicked around in the near darkness for her slippers and then pulled one of the blankets off the bed to wrap around her shoulders. If Mr Thurston didn't fix the goddamn heating soon, she was going to sue the stupid old waster. She went to her desk and pulled on the tassel switch to turn on her desk lamp. There, as if by magic, was Denver's photo staring up at her. His eyes, fixed on the camera; had the appearance of looking right at her… right into her. How did he do this to her? How did he make her feel so vulnerable again? She knew there was a reason… she leafed through the file again and stared drowsily at the pages. Fifty-eight, fifty-nine; every page was another graphic witness account of the terrible things that he had done.
'The damage to the body was extensive. Other than the wounds to the torso and back, brought about presumably by a severe kicking, the boy had deep cuts around his neck and face. The cause of death itself was borne from a severe blow to the head or the purple marks around the throat suggest asphyxiation, it is very difficult to say which came first.'
Though in all this horrific account of how Denver had made his first kill, no one mentioned the fact that up to the point of death, he was as badly hurt as the other boy. The page that stated Denver's wounds and the small folder that contained his medical records while he was hospitalised for a month, were lost in the back of the file. Page one-hundred and eighteen, listed the seven broken ribs, the punctured lung, the results of a CAT scan and the numerous cuts and bruises that had covered the sixteen year olds body.
There was a page in the back of the medical file; a personal account of his health; though it looked more like a diary entry. Anna pushed the sheet under the lamp and leant over her desk a little to read it. A spidery black scrawl wrote,
'I hurt all the time, the bruises make me look like an alien, I'm more blue than white. My skin burns whenever they put the Iodine on me, I think I'm allergic but no one will give me a test or anything. I find it hard to sleep at night, I can't breathe very well and I'm too scared to go to sleep in case I never wake up. Nobody will talk to me. I hear them saying stuff about me. They think I must be crazy… or evil or something… but no one asks me why.
Gillis came to identify Frank's body today. I wasn't supposed to see him but they took me late for my X-ray. He looked at me; he knew… he knew why I did it. He's the only one… I'll never see Lil again. Her God forsook me. No one notices, no one cares, and I doubt they ever will.'
Anna couldn't help but cry. That man had brought out her deepest fears earlier that day; he'd drawn out her most terrible experiences ever and what she wanted more than anything right now was to give him a hug and tell him… and tell him she cared; that she noticed and that she'd be there for him.
She read over the words again. They were barely legible, which could have been why no one noticed….
"Oh my God!" she said suddenly fully awake. "That's it!"
Her finger ran over the lines again, as though the newly discovered truth would soak into her through osmosis. Denver's words spoke to her in a faltering voice.
'Gillis came to identify Frank's body today…He knew why I did it… I'll never see Lil again.'