Blood Runs Deep.

Robert Evens pulled into his driveway and slumped back into the driver's seat as he turned off the ignition. He sighed deeply, trying to ignore the growing nausea that had begun to invade his stomach. His wiped the back of his hand across his brow, sticky with perspiration, then buried his head in his hands. "Oh God that was awful, why? God, oh why did that have to happen?" he asked himself out loud, trying to make logic out of the knotted ball of thoughts bouncing around his head. "How could anyone do such a thing?" He picked up the bottle of water that lay on the passenger seat and drank deeply, swirling it around in his mouth, trying to get rid of the awful aftertaste of the vomit. "It was my first murder scene, that's all," he tried to reassure himself, attempting to forget the real reason why the scene had shocked him so deeply. At the same time he was also trying to ignore the dull, throbbing pain in his forearm, where the fresh cut had just begun to ooze blood. He rubbed his hand vacantly over the damp patch on the sleeve of his shirt, as he tried to rationalise the awful situation that he had just been dumped into. "Damn, Robert, come on, no one's going to find out, you've been on the force for twenty years now, and no one's found out before, just take it easy." His uneasy reassurances, were not that assuring, and he shuddered as a vivid picture of the crime scene flashed in his mind.
He saw the young man curled up, clutching his stomach, the white scars standing out on his bare arms, especially the latest one, the one that had only just dried up. He couldn't shake the look of fear and terror in the young man's eyes as he clutched at him desperate for help. He remembered the thoughts that had flashed through his mind as he knelt by the dying man, thoughts that felt to him like some form of telepathy "Please I don't want to die. Please help me, please, it hurts so bad, please," it seemed like the man was speaking directly into his mind, "Please, don't let me die, please." He shuddered again as he remembered the horrible convulsion the man had experienced before he closed his eyes for the last time. His screams of pain still echoed inside Robert's mind. The man's last frantic call for help, reverberated in his soul, shaking him to his core.
The nausea that had been building in his stomach, began to rise upwards towards his throat. He resisted the urge to throw up again. He opened the car door slowly and stepped out ono his driveway; his knees buckled beneath him as his feet touched the ground. He held onto the door for support. Steadying himself, he walked slowly up the drive towards the front door, his feet like lead weights under him. He lent against the door for support as he searched for the key in his pocket. He brought it out and succeeded in inserting it in the lock on the third attempt. His hands were shaking as he clutched the handle and swung the door inwards. Feeling another wave of nausea surge up from his stomach, he tossed the keys carelessly on the small table that lay in the hallway and darted into the downstairs bathroom. He knelt with his head bent over the toilet bowl until he heard the front door open again.
"Robert are you home?" he heard his wife, Sarah, call from the hallway. "I'm in the bathroom dear, I'll be out in a minute," he called back, relieved that she was back. He went over to the sink and splashed water into his face, trying to get rid of the sticky layer of sweat that covered his face. He walked back into the hallway, still towelling his face dry. "How'd your day go honey?" he inquired as he walked into the kitchen. "Oh you know Robbie, same as usual," she glanced up from the bundle of papers on the kitchen table, that she was hunched over, "Oh God Robert, are you okay?" she asked when she saw his pale, haggard face, "You look awful." "Gee thanks," he grunted back as he opened the fridge and pulled out the carton of apple juice. "What's wrong dear?" she asked again as she walked over to him and put her arm around his shoulder, "Here let me get that for you." She led him over to the table and then went over to the sideboard to get a glass for him. She pulled up a seat next to him, and putting her arm back over his shoulder, she pulled him close. " Bad day at the office?" "I saw a man die today Sarah, God help me, I watched him die." He sank his head into his hands, his shoulders heaving with his sobs. "Oh honey," she pulled him closer, cradling his head, "I'm so sorry Robert, do you want to talk about it?" He twisted around and looked up into her eyes, his face relaxing as he looked into the beautiful brown eyes that still enchanted him after all those years, for a brief second the screams echoing around in his head stopped. He stretched up his hand and caressed her cheek gently, "Thanks hun," he smiled up at her, "but I think that I'll head to bed early, a bit of sleep might do me some good." "Okay, Robert." She leaned in a kissed him tenderly, he saw the worry in her eyes, and he smiled back reassuringly. "Thanks dear," he pecked her on the cheek, before he stood up. She stood up after him and put her arms around his neck, "Don't worry about it okay, I'll be up in a bit I have a small bit of paper work to sort out first," she hugged him tightly, feeling him relax as his arms tightened behind her back. "I love you Robert," she said, staring into his deep blue eyes. "I love you too Sarah," He kissed her again, "Well I'm beat, I'll see you in the morning." "Goodnight dear." She sat down again and returned to her paperwork as Robert, headed up the stairs to their bedroom.
He stood on front of the mirror in the en suite, wearing only his vest and boxers. He looked into the mirror, and saw a pair of eyes looking back at him, that did not seem to be quite his own. He shook his head and blinked, trying to get the idea out of his head, "I'm just a bit tired that's all." He said to himself, his hand absently reaching out and picking up a razorblade from the box next to the sink. He paused, the blade hovering over his forearm, near the cut that was still wet. His hand was shaking with the effort it took him to stop himself running the blade across the tender flesh. "No Robert, not again, what if someone finds out?" He whispered to himself as the blade drew agonisingly close to the soft flesh around the cut. The urge was almost unbearable; he felt the hand with the blade being drawn towards his arm. "Damn, no I'm not going to do this again." He felt the cold edge of the blade touch his arm, his defences were breaking down and he knew it, he felt it in every bone in his body. He struggled again to move the blade away from his arm, but he found that he wasn't able to. The cold steel against his warm flesh was far too inviting.

He grimaced at the sharp pain pulsing through the semi-healed cut on his arm, as he dragged the blade across it. Crimson drops of blood splattered into the white ceramic sink. Droplets of blood ran down the side of the sink towards the plughole as he pulled the blade across his arm for a second time. He felt his mind beginning to clear, and the screams drifted off into the background. The nausea in his stomach began to dissipate as he sliced the cut for a third time, dragging the blade slowly but firmly across the skin of his forearm. The silence in his head was almost deafening as the screams and the dying man's pleas faded completely away. He felt the muscles in his face relax for the first time sense he had showed up at the crime scene, he felt the tension in his neck and shoulders ease. He looked down into the basin of the sink; red splatters stained its usual snowy white surface. "I haven't felt so relaxed in hours," he said to himself as he looked at blood, dripping from his arm into the sink, "That should do it for now." He went to put the blade away but was alarmed when instead he drew the blade across the open wound again. The blood was beginning to flow more thickly from the wound now. "No stop, what am I doing." He knew that he was getting dangerously close to the main blood vessels in his arm. He couldn't resist the urge as he sliced across the wound again, the blood started flow freely, "No stop!" he yelled in alarm, "This isn't supposed to happen." But the urge only continued to grow along with the deep satisfaction that he was getting from the feel of the blade and the pain that was coursing through his body. He was so lost in his own contrasting feelings of shock and clarity, that he didn't notice Sarah coming through the bathroom door.
Her hand reached out and grabbed his just before he could run the blade across the wound again. Clutching his hand firmly, she prised the blade from between his fingers and dropped it into the wastebasket beside the sink. Robert stepped backwards, not knowing what to expect. Sarah still hadn't said a word as she turned on the tap and ran the cold water over Robert's bloody forearm. He grimaced as the cold water stung the open wound. "Hold it there while I go get a dressing for it honey." She strode briskly out of the room, leaving Robert to stare after her. She returned a few minutes later, and carefully cleaned the cut in silence before she wrapped the dressing around it. With that done, she stared up into his eyes, he could she that she was on the verge of tears. She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly; he could feel her tears against the side of his neck and her chest heaving as she tried to hold them back. "I love you honey," she said tenderly. Robert stood still, amazed by the love in his wife's voice, "I love you too honey, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry for everything," he stopped, trying to regain his composure as his voice began to wobble, "I should have told you sooner, I'm so sorry." The composure that he had fought hard to keep was beginning to slip away, "It's just that's it's so hard at times, it's just so hard." His sentence broke off as he broke into sobs. He clung tightly to Sarah.
"It's okay honey, it's okay, I'm here now," she said tenderly again, the love and care in her voice burrowed it's way deep into Robert and he smiled against his tears, "You're not angry at me?" he questioned her, confused, "You don't hate me for it?" "No dear why would I?" she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him gently on the forehead, "It's okay dear, I'm here for you and always will be, it's okay." He was amazed by the understanding in her voice, by her acceptance of what he had just nearly done. "Come on honey, I think that we'd better talk." She took him by the hand and led him back into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, while he pulled on the old track pants and shirt that he wore to bed. When he had finished changing, he sat down next to Sarah on the edge of the bed. She put her arm around his shoulder again and pulled him close, "Let me tell you the story of a little girl."
Keith O' Sullivan
2-11-04