You Know Me So Well

By Olivia Sutton

Part 4

It was dark and quite late, as Marty left the hospital and walked to the car park, then he drove his car to Cope House. Marty walked up the stairs, slowly, to the office. He entered and shut the door behind himself, then went into the inner office, flipping on lights as he went. The office was a mess, the plastic wrappers and other rubbish left by the EMTs and paramedics littered the floor, the whiskey bottle was still on Jeff's desk, papers and such were strewn around. An image hit Marty full force, an image of Jeff lying on the floor. Marty gasped, then shook his head, closing his eyes. When he opened them, the image was gone, and the office was still a mess. He took a deep breath, and then another, and then he began to clean the office.

First, he went to Jeff's desk, and picked up the whiskey bottle. He brought it to the sink, near the coffeepot and dumped it out, noticing white grit in the liquid as he did so, then he dropped the bottle in the rubbish bin. Once that was done, Marty began picking up all the plastic, paper, foam bits, and other rubbish on the floor, dropping it in an office rubbish bin. Marty sighed as he worked, reminding himself that for the moment Jeff was okay.

Once he was done cleaning, Marty sat at his desk, trying to relax for a moment, but instead, he experienced flashes, snippets of his two hospital conversations with Jeff. Marty opened his eyes, and shook his head, then stood. Slowly he walked over to Jeff's desk and began to search through the papers on top. Marty's hands shook slightly as he searched, he was so afraid of what he'd find.

Marty placed the papers and items on the desk in stacks, as he went through them. There was several old files, and newspapers, and other items on the desk, none of which interested Marty. "Come on, Jeff, tell me you opened a new file, come on," Marty muttered to himself as he continued to look through his partner's papers.

Finally, he found a manila folder marked "Andrew Cargill, Freya Cargill" and a date. Marty picked up the file and put it on his own desk, then continued to go through everything else on Jeff's desktop. He found nothing of interest, and nothing distressing, so he gave the papers one last straightening, then returned to the desk and sat down.

Marty checked his watch. It was coming on to eight in the morning; between the time he had spent running around looking for Freya, the time spent at the hospital, and the time in the office, he had worked all through the night and not realised it. Marty reached for the phone. First, he phoned the hired-car company and extended his contract for the car, thinking it might be a good idea to keep a car that Freya wouldn't recognise while looking for her. Then Marty phoned Freya's flat and left a urgent message for her to call him. After that, he phoned the museum, and talked to several people--none of whom had seen Freya or knew where she was, again Marty left urgent messages. Finally, Marty put down the phone, pulled his chair away from the desk, and sat for a moment. More flashes of his conversations with Jeff haunted him, "I'm fine, everything's fine here. Bye Marty."; "'Cause at the time, I wanted to die."; "...the whole thing was stupid and best left forgotten. ...Marty, I don't want to die, all right?". Marty was stood, his back supported by the office wall, shaking his head, and breathing hard, Jeff's words echoing in his head. What is happening to me? Marty thought, then he forced himself to calm down and sat again at his desk.

Marty picked up the file and opened it. A handwritten piece of paper fluttered out of the file, Marty left it on his desk where it fell, and began to read the file. In it were several pieces of paper, all in Jeff's neat handwriting. There were notes from Freya's visit to Jeff to hire him to find her father, with an attached summary sheet, showing Jeff's own suppositions about the case and his plans to investigate it. There were notes and attached summaries from Jeff's interviews with various persons at the museum and elsewhere. There was a daily log, showing what Jeff had done each day that week, with detailed, timed information for every activity. There was even a copy of Jeff's final report with a handwritten note on top, listing the date and time Jeff planned on delivering a copy of the report to the museum, and a second notation listing the date and time that Jeff planned to give the report to Freya.

Marty noted that Jeff had planned to meet Freya that Friday, for an early lunch. There was nothing more recent than the report and it's two notes. Marty read the final report, carefully, then read it again, making notes of his own on a pad of paper. Then he read through everything else in the file, making a few notes of names of people Jeff had talked to, on his pad of paper. But everything in the file looked very straight-forward; there had been a major theft at the museum the same time that Andrew Cargill had disappeared. Marty could see where the investigation was going from the interviews, even without the benefit of reading Jeff's final report. Andrew Cargill had stolen a number of valuable artifacts from the museum; the artifacts had been disappearing for some time; and he had obviously done a runner when it looked like he was going to be caught. Marty finally put the file down on his desk.

"I bet Freya didn't like your report one bit, Jeff," Marty said out-loud. Then he tapped his fingers on the table, as he did the loose piece of paper from the file caught his eye. Marty stared at it for a full minute, before picking it up, and putting it, unread in the file. After sitting there for another minute, he opening the file and took out the paper, and slowly read it.

The paper started out as a brief report, confirming Jeff's delivery of his report on Andrew Cargill to the museum and to Freya. But gradually the tone of the paper changed, Marty continued to read it, and tears came to his eyes. When he reached the last paragraph, Marty gasped, dropping the paper. Jeff, Jeff how could you? Marty thought. How could you do it, Jeff? How could you think even for a moment that I don't care? Tears washed down his face, and he put his hands over his eyes, but let himself cry until he was spent. Once he had himself under control, Marty called the hospital and checked on Jeff. Discovering that Jeff was fine, or as fine as he had been when he'd left the last time, Marty put the phone down, then got up from his desk. As he was getting ready to leave the office, the phone rang.

"Hello?" Marty said, and then after a minute he said, "No, I'm fine, I needed to do a few things in the office, is all, I'll be back at the flat soon." Marty nodded, "Huh-uh, Mrs. Randall, Mum, I should start to..."

Marty left off, as he was, interrupted, listened then answered, "Thursday, I think, yah the last sleep I got was on Thursday..."

"All right, all right, I'll come back to the flat and take some kip. Yah, see you soon."

Marty put the phone down, then left the office.



Earlier that Friday afternoon

It was early afternoon on Friday, Jeff sat at his desk in his office, Marty's bottle of whiskey in front of himself on the desk, Jeff grabbed the whiskey bottle and splashed the amber liquid into a tumbler. He took and tumbler and drank it, then refilled it and drank some more.

You're so dependent, Jeff, do you really think Marty cares at all about you? Hum? All he wants is someone about who makes him look good. He's not your mate, he's the bloke you work with. And you think he cares? You think he's your mate? That he loves you? Right, Jeff, he wouldn't care if you were dead! Freya's screaming at him echoed in his head, Jeff grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured himself some more, drinking down the liquid like it was soda or tea.

And you don't care at all about me, do you Jeff? You didn't find my father (whack!), you're such a lousy detective (whack!), it's your fault he disappeared, you know! (whack, whack!) Who knows where he is, dead maybe, (whack!) and that's your fault as well! I will never forgive you, Jeff, never until the day I die! Get out Jeff, get the hell out of my flat, get the hell out of my life. She threw the pillow at him.

Jeff shuddered, remembering Freya's screams, and her hitting him with a throw pillow with every word that she yelled at him. Jeff picked up Freya's file, and took a piece of lined legal-pad paper and began to write-up a business report, describing giving the report on Andrew Cargill's disappearance to the staff of the museum. As he began to describe giving the report to Freya, his hand shook. Without completely realising what he was doing he began to describe how he felt. Jeff lifted the pen and looked off into space, thinking. Then he thought about his tablets, his pain tablets. Jeff put the pen down and stood up. He checked the pockets of his suit-jacket, then the drawers of the desk. The bottle was in the right-hand corner of his desk. Jeff opening the pharmacy package, and took out the bottle. "Take two for joint pain as needed" read the instructions. Jeff nodded to himself, he carefully put the tablet bottle on the desk, next to the whiskey bottle. Then he sat, and picked up the pen again.

Dear Marty, --he wrote--

Marty, I'm sorry. It's over between me and Freya. There sure as hell isn't going to be any wedding next month. It was all my fault, Marty, I didn't find Andrew. I sussed that he was guilty and when I told Freya... well, she was furious, Marty. She said she wanted me out of her life. And that's what I've decided to do.

I don't know if you'll even care, but I've had enough. I'm sorry. Tell me mum I love her.

Goodbye, Marty.

Love, Jeff

Jeff put the pen down, then picked up the note and put it in Freya's file. He put the file on a corner of the desk, and neatly placed several files on top of it. Jeff took another swing of whiskey, then took a couple of pain tablets. He drank more whiskey, looked at the bottle in his hand, and looked at the file, then he shook a handful of tablets into his hand. Jeff looked at the tablets for a minute, thinking quietly to himself, then brought his hand to his mouth and swallowed the tablets. Maybe I should just dissolve them? It would make this easier. Jeff poured the rest of the tablets directly into the whiskey bottle, and then took a drink.



Early Saturday morning

Marty unlocked the door of his flat, and quietly entered.

"Who's there?" came a woman's voice from the sofa.

Marty looked through the darkened room, and moved quietly towards the sofa, speaking as he did so, "It's me, Mrs. Randall, Mum, go ahead and get some more sleep."

"Marty?" said Mrs. Randall, turning over on the sofa, and facing him, pulling the blanket from her waist up to her chest as she did so.

Marty walked over to the sofa, and sat on a soft over-stuffed chair opposite. "Go back to sleep."

Mrs. Randall was more awake now, "No, Marty... you've been up all night, what were you doing?"

"Working. I went back to the office. I haven't found Freya, yet, and I want to go back out and search for her, today."

"You need your sleep, Marty. You said you were working, did you find anything?"

"I...no, no I didn't, mum," he lied.

"Get some sleep, dear."

Marty nodded at her, "Yah, you too, Mum," Marty stood up, and made to exit the lounge for his bedroom, when he turned back, "Oh, Mum...", his eyes flooded with tears.

Mrs. Randall looked at him, and stood up, taking him in her arms, "It's all right, Marty, it's all right, he's fine, he'll be just fine. Come on, now, Marty, shush..." and she continued to murmur to him as she held him.

Marty collapsed into her arms, accepting the comfort, quietly. Then he murmured, "Earlier today, no, yesterday... I walked in to the office and he was just lying there, on the floor, unconscious. At first I wasn't even sure he was alive! Oh, god, Mum, he...I..."

Mrs. Randall continued to hold Marty in her arms, "It's okay, it's all right, shush, Marty."

Marty pulled back, swallowing hard, and nodding, "I'm all right, I'm all right."

"Marty, I know this has been difficult for you. You don't need to take it all on, alone. I'm here, you can talk to me, all right, Marty?"

Marty nodded again, "Thanks, Mrs. Randall, mum. Thanks. I'll take some kip, then start looking for her again, later on, today."

Mrs. Randall looked at him, standing there, trying so hard to be brave, "All right, Marty, all right. Night, Marty."

"Night, Mrs. Randall, Mum. Good night. Did you find enough blankets and everything you needed?"

"Yah, Marty. I'm fine, go. Sleep. Now, Marty."

"I'm going, I'm going. Night."

"Night, Marty.

Marty woke to the smell of frying eggs and sausage, he got out of bed, dressed himself, then went out to the kitchen.



"Good morning, Marty," said Mrs. Randall who was stood at the cooker, frying breakfast.

"Morning? What time is it?" Marty answered, rubbing his eyes and moving into the kitchen.

"Well, it's almost 1 o'clock, but anytime you wake up it's good morning, Marty."

"One o'clock? How could you let me sleep 'til one o'clock! Mum, I have things to do!"

"Marty, you came in at eight-thirty or nine in the morning. You needed your sleep, so I let you sleep."

"But, Mum, Mrs. Randall..."

Mrs. Randall interrupted him, "Marty, I won't hear another word about it. You've only had a few hours of sleep as it is, now sit down and eat!"

Marty looked at her, then sat glumly in a chair at the table.

Mrs. Randall shook her head and turned back towards the frying pan on the cooker.

Marty smiled at her, "You didn't need to make breakfast, Mrs. Randall, mum, I should cook for you, you're the guest," he said, getting up and moving towards the cooker.

"Nonsense, Marty, and get some breakfast into you."

Marty again sat at a small table in the kitchen.

"Now, once you've had a good breakfast, what are your plans today?"

"I'll run you to hospital, mum, don't worry. I'll see Jeff. And then I need to get back out there, I need to find Freya. I thought maybe I'd check the pubs near her flat, the museum, and her work. Maybe if I find her local I can track her."

Mrs. Randall nodded.


Marty did just as he told Mrs. Randall he was going to do, he checked Freya's work, and local pubs, but he didn't find her. Finally, he went back to her flat, and waited in the dark for her. The flat was still a mess, but he knew she'd be back, Freya was too materialistic to abandon everything she owned. Marty sat, thinking, remembering Jeff's note, remembering finding him unconscious, and waited patiently for Freya to arrive.

There was the noise of heels in the hall, then the noise of a key in the lock. Freya pushed open the door, flipping on the lights, then looked into the room and saw Marty waiting for her.

"What are you doing here?"

Marty looked at her with loathing. "Don't you know, Freya?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't have bloody asked! This is my flat, you want me to ring the police, Marty? Because I'd love to see them haul you away and throw away the key!"

Marty glared at her, then got up, he rushed Freya, grabbing her arm and throwing her on the couch. "Jeff's in hospital, you bloody bitch! He tried to kill himself! He'd probably have succeeded as well, if I hadn't returned to the office a couple of days early! Damn it, Freya, don't you EVER bloody THINK about what the hell you're doing!" Marty's eyes flashed.

Freya quivered on the couch, startled by Marty's intense anger, "He's in hospital?" she asked, quietly.

"Yah! He is!" Marty moved closer to the couch, leaning over her.

"Good!" Freya shouted back. "He deserves it for not finding my father!" She looked up at Marty, smirking at him.

Marty raised his arm, ready to slap her, when he was hit with a flash of being hit by his mum. He shook off the flash of memory, and looked down at Freya cowering before him, then lowered his arm.

"No, you're not worth it. Leave him alone, Freya, get the bloody hell out of London, or I will come back and see that you get what you bloody deserve! So help me, if you ever come near Jeff again, I will kill you Freya. You hurt Jeff again, you come near him again, and I don't care what they do to me, but I'll kill you Freya, see if I don't!"

Marty spun on his heel, and stomped to the door, hand on the door handle, he turned back and said, "You don't deserve Jeff, Freya! You never deserved, Jeff!" Marty yanked open the door, and left, rushing down the stairs and outside. He reached his Ford Sierra and leaned against the car, his forehead resting on the top of the car. He breathed deep, trying to calm himself down, trying to re-gain his equilibrium. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, and he yanked the car door open and got in on the driver's side. He pulled the door shut, and leaned against the wheel, closing his eyes again. Then he straightened up and leaned back, driving off in the car with a squeal of tyres.



Marty had calmed considerably by the time he reached the hospital and made his way to Jeff's room. It was late, but the hospital staff had become accustomed to Marty's visits and waved him through, past the nurses' station. Marty walked to Jeff's hospital room, and calmed himself, pasting a smile on his face before opening the door and walking in.

Jeff was sitting up in bed, reading a book. He looked up when he heard Marty enter, and smiled, "Marty!"

"Hi, Jeff," Marty said, brightly, as he moved over to the bedside and sat down, "What are you reading?"

"Nothing that interesting, actually, Mum dropped it off," Jeff looked at Marty, put the book on the bedside table, and then with his patented ability to read his best mate he said, "So, Marty, I take it you found Fre... her? Found Freya, I mean."

Marty looked at him, "God, you know me so well, Jeff."

"What happened?"

Marty looked at him, silently.

"It's okay, Marty, mum let it slip that you'd been out looking for Freya, that you hadn't been here with me as much as you might have liked so you could hunt for her. I can tell something's happened, so go ahead and tell me."

Marty sighed, took a deep breath, then said, "No, you're right, Jeff," Marty closed his eyes for a minute and thought, then opened his eyes and looked at Jeff, "I've been looking for her for days. I looked everywhere, even the pubs near her flat and her work, but I couldn't find her. So I went to her flat, and was sat there until she walked in," he stood up, and began to pace, "I intended to hurt her, Jeff. I had every intention of extracting my pound of flesh from her, of physically beating her for everything that she did to you."

"Oh, Marty, no!" Jeff interrupted.

"Jeff, let me finish, okay? I said, I intended to. When... when I found her, I... sommat changed, Jeff. Sommat changed in me, looking at her cowering there, and I realised I couldn't do it. I couldn't lift one finger against her. She wasn't worth it, and it would have hurt me, changed me, to beat her like that, Jeff. I didn't touch her, Jeff, not really. I'm sorry."

Jeff stared at Marty, silently, then said, "Marty don't apologise."

"What?"

"I said, don't apologise. Marty, you're..." Jeff got himself out of the bed, walking towards the locked window in his pajamas, and looked out for a minute, thinking, then he turned, walked back to the bed and sat on the edge of the hospital bed, facing Marty. "Marty, I wouldn't have wanted to see what doing something like that would do to you, all right? I would not have wanted you to ... to beat Freya, or anyone, really, Marty. Not for me, not even for yourself," Jeff leaned forward and touched Marty's arm, "It would not solve anything, and it would have changed you, Marty," Jeff got up of the bed, moved behind Marty and put his arm around Marty, who had closed his eyes. Holding him gently, Jeff said, "You have never, ever, been violent, Marty. Not towards others. Not ever. Even in the business we're in, I have never seen you go after anyone with your fists, Marty. Or any type of violence. Not more than you needed to, not ever."

Marty opened his eyes, turned, and looked at Jeff.

"I wouldn't want the responsibility for causing you to change. Of making you into someone you're not."

Marty looked up at Jeff, and his blue eyes widened, "Jeff... you mean that?"

"Marty...I...it's..." Jeff stumbled, looking at his mate, then he walked a few feet into the room, away from Marty, "I mean it, Marty."

Marty walked the few feet to Jeff, then said, "You do know me so well. You know me better than anyone, Jeff," he put a hand on his mate's shoulder, "Are you sure it's all right? Freya's gone. She's left London. And if she hasn't quite left yet, she will soon, after what I said to her. I don't know where she'll go, either. Not that I care, but... I... there'd be no point in trying to find her again."

Jeff put his hand on Marty's shoulder, "Marty, if you had taken revenge for me, it -- it would have changed you, Marty. I'm glad you didn't, all right?"

Marty took a step back, and nodded, "Yah, Jeff, thanks."

Jeff smiled at him, and Marty smiled back. Then Marty said, "Maybe we should get you back into bed."

Jeff looked down at his pajamas, then nodded, "Yah, suppose so. When do you think I'll be getting out of here, Marty? I want to go home."

"To my flat, Jeff."

"What?"

"The doctors said you stay a week, and it's been three days. But then you're coming to me flat. I'm not letting you go back to your flat where you lived with that... that woman," Marty said vehemently, "You come home with me, until I say you can find your own new flat."

Jeff looked at his mate as he climbed into the bed, "Marty, I'm fine!"

Previous flashes of Jeff saying the same thing echoed in Marty's head, and he shook, then gently helped Jeff with the covers on the hospital bed, "It's not up for discussion, Jeff."

Jeff looked at Marty's serious expression, and nodded, then snuggled into bed. "All right, your flat it is, then," turning away to sleep. After a few minutes, Jeff said, "Marty? Marty!" and turned towards Marty.

"I'm here, Jeff," Marty answered.

Jeff sighed deeply, "Stay with me until I fall asleep? Will you do that?"

"Of course, Jeff, I'll be right here, all right?"

Jef mumbled, and snuggled into bed, calmly, turning away again to sleep. Marty sighed deeply and reached for one of the magazines that sat on the table next to the bed, along with a few books, flowers, a bowl of fruit, and the other gifts and things he and Jeff's mother had brought to him over the last few days. Marty glanced through the magazine, reading a paragraph here, a short article there, and occasionally glancing up over the magazine at Jeff as Jeff's breathing evened out.

He sighed, contentedly. Finally, everything was right in Marty's world. He suspected the next few months would be tough, that at times, Jeff wouldn't be so content, but for the moment, Marty sat in a chair, next to Jeff's hospital bed, and listened to his best mate falling asleep.

The End