Chapter 3

I hurriedly rush up the doors to CID; hoping no one will notice my bandaged hands. I had to bandage them up last night because they were in such a state from the blood that I'd be ashamed to let anyone see them.

Thankfully I manage to make up to CID and my desk without anyone noticing until:

'Mickey there you are!'

I turn round to see it is Sam who has spoken:

'Wot's the matter, guv?' I ask.

'Leela and Diane have discovered a possible suspect in the male rape/murder case on the CCTV footage.'

I bolt upright; suddenly intrigued to the fact that the case might be moving forward at last. As I do so the sleeves of my jumper fall down revealing my bandages arms. Sam instantly notices them.

'That looks nasty,' she says, turning the bandaged arms over in her hands.

'It's nuffin,' I snap, pulling my arm away.

'Suit yourself,' she shrugs.

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'See this is our victim,' Leela says, pointing to the tv screen, 'and he's just leaving the nightclub when he is grabbed from behind by an IC1 male with black hair and dragged into the alley where he was murdered.'

In the next moment there is a knock at the door. Seeing that Sam is still engrossed with what is on the tv screen I decide to answer the door. I find Smithy standing there.

'Wot is it?' I ask.

'The post-mortem results are back,' Smithy announces, 'seems Mr. Jones was raped as well as murdered.'

I close my eyes: I feel sorry for that poor young man he must have felt so afraid and alone while it was happening and yet in another way I envy him because he will never have to deal with all the pain and he hurt that builds up and up once the attack is over and just never, ever, seems to go away. Suddenly Smithy touches my arm and I flinch.

'You alroight, Mickey?' he asks, concern clearly shown on his face

'Yeah,' I reply even though I probably don't look it. 'I'll er… give Sam the post-mortem results.'

'Thanks,' he says as she hands the results over then he leaves.

Phew! Glad that awkward moment is over with just Sam's reaction to deal with now. I turn round and for a few moments feel confident. That all rapidly disappears the moment I give her the results.

She takes one look at them and then one look at me and then says:

'I guess that pretty much confirms what we both suspected then.'

Yeah I guess so

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Its evening once more and I am just about to get in the shower as usual. This time I'm not just thinking about getting clean I'm reflecting upon today's events: the CCTV footage, the port-mortem results confirming what I was dreading and Sam's suspicious looks when she saw my bandaged arms. My mind suddenly wonders back to my thoughts when I first saw the post-mortem results; how I had sympathy for the nightclub victim but then at the same time envied him too because he would not have to endure the psychological pain that rape leaves his victims with; the psychological pain that I was still forced to endure day in day out even after all this time. All this different things I tried, counselling, refusing to eat properly, the sex with all the different women, I'd even been to a support group for male rape victims and had listened intently and other victims had given their stories and one time I was even strong enough to tell my own and finally the whole cleaning myself, religiously, in shower every night. Not one of these things had worked; the pain and the feelings of shame and dirtiness where still there. Then it hits me. There was only one way to make those feelings go away.

Still fully clothed I make my way to the kitchen and opened the drawer which held my cutlery and rake around until I find what I am looking for: a butcher's knife. God knows why I have the bloody thing because I'd never actually used it before.

I feel the adrenalin rushing through my veins as I pull the knife out of the drawer. Its long, sharp, clean, blade calling out to me, drawing me near to it; daring me to touch it. Without a second thought I plunged the knife deep into my stomach and am surprised at how easily it tears through my clothes. Then I pull it out again as I tumble to the floor. I look at the blade. It isn't clean anymore it is covered in blood; my blood and there is a strong pain in my stomach.

Time passes and with each moment that it does I feel weaker and weaker. I find the pain in my stomach has gone and I for the first time in years I feel calm, no more desires. I'm too weak to move and know that I'm going to die where I lie but that's ok that's what I want to die alone and free from pain. Suddenly I hear a knock on the door and what I am sure is someone calling my name but I am too weak to know for certain or even care. I close my eyes.

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When I next open them I see, although blurrily at first, a familiar face; full of concern looking down at me.

'Jack,' I manage to gasp out.

'MICKEY WHAT THE BLOOY HELL HAVE YOU DONE?' he yells. I've never heard him so stressed and worried before. He is the most calm guy I know even in high-pressure situations he is as calm as a butterfly on a stone.

The darkness is getting closer and closer I can feel it coming down for me; enveloping me. There's only one for thing to say; one more thing to get out of the open before it's too late.

'Jack…'

'Yeah?'

I can feel him holding me close; and despite everything I wanted before I'm happy not to be actually dying alone.

'Jack…. I love you.'

Then I close my eyes for one last time.