When You Wake up and Scream

"Are you sure you can drive? You're not just pulling my leg?"

Conán raised his eyebrows.

"You're a very suspicious man, do you know that?"

"Well, not many people can pay me in cash, you know."

"I'm special."

Conán was taking a risk in buying the car, he knew that, but the incident in the flat when Naoise had been there had scared him. He needed to get rid of the evidence, and he had to do so fast. He had taken the bus to Drogheda so he was out of the city and less people would recognise him. He hadn't thought of the excuse he was going to tell his landlord if he asked, but Conán had always been good at thinking on his feet. Being under stress brought out the criminal side in him and he could lie fluently.

"Well, if you say so. You've your license so I suppose I'm not one to judge."

"It has been a while, you know."

"You can tell."

"Hey! I only stalled once."

"And you're still in my driveway."

Conán laughed.

"I'll be fine. At the end of the day, I can crash all I like now. You've got your money."

"I suppose so. Well, try not to kill yourself."

"I shall."

Conán managed to drive out of sight without making any more mistakes, but promptly stalled again at the traffic lights. He swore and started the car again, wondering how many times he would stall on the way back to Dublin.

He surprised himself – by the time he had reached the motorway he had got the hang of it. It was like riding a bike, he guessed. Once you knew how to do it you didn’t forget, even if you did get a little rusty. He was surprised at how much money he had found on the man he had killed. The car had been cheap as it was basically a bucket, but Conán didn't need anything flash. He had counted out the money last night, spreading it in piles across the living room, and it had worried him slightly. He had killed someone important, as he had counted roughly ninety five thousand Euros. There had probably been about one hundred thousand when he had first found it, but he had been dong up the flat in secret, making it more of a place to live than a place to exist.

He would have to be careful with the money, though. He knew he could not get careless. Of all of the research into serial killers he had done, as he was pretty fascinated by the subject and loved finding comparisons between himself and other infamous killers, he had worked out that all of them had been discovered by either getting too cocky or by being careless and allowing a victim to escape. He would have to lie low for a while, now he had the car. He would need to find a new job, as well, now he had car insurance, petrol and a TV license to pay for. He would use his work money as much as possible and keep the stolen money for emergencies.

Conán drove back through his old neighbourhood, heading towards his own street but telling himself that he was not to go in. He couldn't return to the scene of the crime. He was surprised when he drove down the street – it looked as though the body had been discovered. He drove past while showing what was hopefully the innocent amount of interest. He saw that several Garda officers were going in and that a lot of people were watching curiously from the pavement outside. He saw that a Garda officer was talking to two children who looked pretty shaken up, and Conán guessed that it had been them who had discovered the body. He smiled and shook his head. After the amount of time that body had been rotting there, those kids would probably be having nightmares for weeks.

"Curiosity killed the cat." he muttered.

He got back to his flat and parked the car up, looking at it in a slight sense of disbelief for a while, before he let himself in and went up to his flat, shutting the door behind him and wishing that Naoise was still there. It had been fun when she had been here. She had stayed the day but then she had had to go back to the Uni as she had a lecture the next day. Conán hadn’t slept well when she had gone. He hated being alone at night, and he had only realised how horrible it was when Naoise had left. She had been the first person to ever stay with him in his life.

He watched TV until it began to get dark, drinking even though he knew he was going to have to drive later. He was trying to prepare himself for the rest of his task, which he knew was not going to be easy. Eventually, he couldn’t put off the task any longer, and so he went into his bedroom and dug out the biggest two bags he could – old rucksacks from when he'd run away from home. He hoped that they would be big enough to shove the pieces in until he could get them into the car.

He went to the freezer and pulled it open, taking the pieces out and putting the bigger bits in first and then slotting the smaller bits around them, his heart thumping madly and his hands trembling slightly, still not being able to believe that badness of what he was doing. It excited him.

Conán had to take the bags one at a time, but he was lucky the street was deserted and no curtains were twitching. He put the bags in the back, shoved in the footwells, so he didn't have to mess around with the boot when he found somewhere to stop. He didn't turn his headlights on until he got onto the main roads heading out of Dublin, and then he just prayed that he would look innocent enough to be let on his way. He was slightly drunk, he knew that, and he scolded himself, thinking that if he were pulled over for drink driving he would be doomed. However, the roads were deserted and so he was able to take it easy, and apart from swerving over the centre line every so often he thought he was doing OK. His heart was thumping wildly, however, and he had never been so nervous in all of his life. He was petrified of glancing into the rear-view mirror and seeing flashing blue lights.

He was glad when he pulled off of the main motorway and went down into some random country lanes until he found what he was looking for. He turned right and was able to drive up a dirt track and into the safety of a heavily wooded area. His headlights were off, and so he had to go incredibly slowly, squinting into the darkness and trying to see past his own pale reflection in the windscreen. When he felt he was deep enough in, he put his headlights on dimly; so there was just enough light to see what was in front of the car. He had stopped just in time, as a tree was only a couple of inches in front of him and slightly to the left. The last thing he needed was to crash the car or damage it in any way.

He got out and pulled the bags out of the car, along with a large hammer he had brought along with him. He had it from his work as an odd jobs man, and he knew it would come in useful some day. He was lucky he had been quick enough, as the body parts were still frozen solid all the way through. If they had begun to thaw, his whole plan would have been ruined.

He didn't think too much about what he was doing. Starting with the larger pieces, he shook them out onto the floor and raised the hammer above his head, bringing it down as hard as he could onto the frozen pieces. It was hard work and it was taking a bit longer than Conán had first thought, but it was working. As the pieces were frozen through, they were chipping under he heavy weight of the large hammer as a block of ice would if you hit it hard enough. Of course, these pieces were a lot bigger than a block of ice and there was a lot more to it, but gradually they were beginning to be turned into a load of tiny, unidentifiable fragments. By the time they had thawed out they would attract the attention of wild animals who would eat the smaller pieces, and the bones were being chipped into such small pieces that Conán knew they would be mistaken for rabbit or bird bones if, by some twist of fate, they were stumbled across.

Conán couldn't put off what was going to be his least favourite bit any longer. He reluctantly dragged his eyes towards the head, wishing that the eyes were closed and it wasn't staring at him with such a look.

"Quit it," Conán muttered, looking away. He dragged his eyes back. "Steve, quit it!"

The head continued to look at him. Conán raised the hammer, trying to bring it down right on its forehead. He twitched as though he were about to do it, but he couldn't. He let out a scream of rage and picked the head up, throwing it as hard as he could. He heard it smack against a tree somewhere in the distance, and he was suddenly overcome with remorse. He hurried after it, finding it buried in some bushes. He scooped it up as though it were a baby.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "You just annoy me when you do that! I've got to get rid of you. You're evidence."

The head looked at him. Conán looked at the head, his heart thumping, the eyes boring into his own, large and blue and dull.

"All right, all right!" Conan yelled suddenly. He stormed back over to the car and pushed the head back into the rucksack, closing it tightly. "Are you happy now? You can stay in there! Happy?"

In his temper, Conán picked up the bin bag that he had been smashing the fragments on and turned it in such a way that the fragments all fell into it. He ran a bit further away from the car and held the bin bag by the bottom, before spinning around wildly in a circle so all of the fragments flew out of the bag and scattered all around the place.

He ran back to the car and shoved everything back down into the footwell behind the passenger's seat.

'If I'm caught it's all your fault, Steve, you wimp,' he muttered angrily to the rucksack. After double-checking to make sure that everything had been taken care of, Conán had fun trying to navigate his way out of the dark woods while reversing the whole way. Eventually the tires found solid road and he was able to turn the car the right way, before getting out and brushing down all of the leaves and twigs stuck to it. Everything was evidence, he couldn’t forget that.

Conán's heart was still going eighteen to the dozen, and he put his foot down on the way home, eager to get out of there. The motorway was deserted and so he tore down it, easily at one hundred miles an hour, swerving badly at the slightest corner. Eventually, he forced himself to calm down. He was still drunk and he was going to kill himself if he carried on at such speeds. He was out of luck, however, as no sooner had the thought left his brain he saw what he had been dreading: blue lights.

Conán's heart nearly stopped and for a brief, irrational second, he thought about flooring it. Sense soon caught up, though, and he knew he wouldn’t get away if he tried to run, and then he would definitely be found out. He would have to try to fluke his way out and pray that they didn't decide to search the car.

He indicated left and pulled over, managing to keep the car in control and not make any simple, stupid mistakes. Then, he turned the engine off and waited anxiously for the Garda officer to come over and speak to him. He reluctantly rolled down the window when the time came and hoped that the nervousness wasn't showing on his face.

"I suppose you know why you've been pulled over?" the officer asked.

"Yes, officer." Conán said meekly, sounding apologetic and hoping that he wasn't slurring too obviously.

"Any reason why you were going so fast, eh?"

Conán shook his head.

"Not really, officer, no."

"You been drinking?"

"A little."

"How much is 'a little'?"

"A couple of pints."

The officer peered at Conán closely.

"I hope you've got your diver's licence, hey?"

"Yeah, sure. It's here."

Conán fished it out of the glove compartment, feeling the officer's eyes on him as he did so. He handed it over. The officer looked at it for a few seemingly endless moments and then handed it back to Conán, who had to catch himself before he sighed wit relief.

"Is this your car, Mr. Connolly?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Have you proof of that?"

Conán retrieved the papers from the glove compartment and handed them over, cursing as he saw that the officer had noticed that his hands were trembling violently.

"You've not had it long, then, Mr. Connolly?"

"No."

"Just seeing what it can do, I suppose."

"Yeah. I know I shouldn't have been. I just figured seems the place was deserted I'd be all right."

"If by all right you mean you would only kill yourself, I suppose you'd be right. Why so jumpy, Mr. Connolly?"

"Jumpy?" Conán repeated blankly, though it was obvious that he was still trembling with nerves.

"Yes, jumpy. Look at you. You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"I'm just …' Conán thought quickly. 'I'm just annoyed, that's all. Just a bit angry."

"And why would that be?"

"I fell out with my girlfriend earlier."

"Oh, really? It that why you're driving like a loon?"

"Yeah, I'm just frustrated, that's all."

"How much did you say you had been drinking?"

"A couple of pints."

"You quite sure about that?"

"I'm sure."

"You were all over the road."

"I was?"

The officer raised his eyebrows.

"Do you think you could step out of the car for a minute, there, Mr. Connolly?"

Feeling like a prisoner going towards his execution, Conán reluctantly opened the door and stepped out, praying that he didn't stumble or fall.

"Come on over to the side of the road here."

Conán followed, his eyes flashing to the bag sitting in the back of the car. He could almost feel the eyes boring into him.

"Have you ever done the breathalyser test before, Mr. Connolly?"

"No, but how hard can it be?" Conán replied shortly. The officer looked at him, his eyebrows raised. Conán corrected himself. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just hacked off, that's all, sorry …"

"Just blow into tat bit there until I tell you to stop. Failure to provide a sample can result in you being arrested, so just remember that."

"All right." Conán replied, feeling doomed. He knew that if he was over the limit, which he probably would be, he would be coming to the station, and they would inevitably find the head in the back of his car.

"Keep going, keep going, keep going, all right, stop."

Conán waited with baited breath, his heart hammering and his palms sweaty, waiting to see the light tell the officer he was over the limit. You're such an idiot, Conán Connolly! He thought to himself. You could have got clean away with this if you'd stayed sober! Fair enough they won't find out about the other four, but this guy is going to be pretty obvious seems you have his head in your bloody car!

Conán dragged his eyes up to look at the officer again, but he was surprised that he wasn't getting the handcuffs out.

"It says you're still below the limit there, mate, so there's no reason to bring you in. Just take it easy, all right? I know you're angry but you don't need to flip your car over and kill yourself, do you?"

"No, sir."

"All right, on you go. If you're spotted being careless again, though, then you'll have to come down to the station."

"OK, that's fine, yeah," Conán said hurriedly, so overcome with relief that his knees were weak. He forced himself to calmly return to the car and get in, shutting the door and trembling with pure relief. "See that, Steve? That's called pure luck."