When You Wake up and Scream

"I don't want to be here," Conán stated simply.

"I'm afraid it's really a necessary thing, Conán."

The man Conán was speaking to had seen similar cases before, being a psychiatrist, but no one he had ever seen before had looked as dejected as the young male sitting in front of him at that present moment.

"You're wasting your time. There's people out there who need you, why talk to me when you can be helping someone who wants your help?"

"This is routine when someone has attempted suicide. Now, I'm not going to deny that it annoys me when people aren’t cooperative, but it's your choice. I just want you to know that anything you do decide to tell me will be treated in the strictest confidence. I'm only trying to help you, Conán."

"I don't need help. It's my choice. I'm bored with life, yeah? That's all. I'm curious. There's got to be more to it than this."

Conán couldn’t even begin to tell the truth on the matter, but Dr. Michael McMurray knew enough to realise that Conán wasn't simply 'bored' with life.

"Why are you bored with life?"

"Because you eat, sleep and work, and that's all there is to it."

"Well, that's open for debate, isn't it? Most people don’t just do that. They go out, visit people, engage in hobbies … don’t you do anything like that, Conán?"

Conán glared at he desk in front of him. He didn't like the way Dr. McMurray was speaking to him – as though he were stupid, a child.

"No," he said shortly.

"Why not?" Dr. McMurray prompted patiently.

"Because I have no interest in any of it."

"Any of it? What do you mean by that? Can you not be bothered going out? Do you not like being around others?"

"I don’t like being around people I don't trust."

"Who do you trust?"

"My girlfriend Naoise."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

"Not your parents?"

"I don't have any."

"They've passed away?"

"I'm a bastard child. My mother kicked the bucket last year."

"How did that make you feel?"

Conán snorted maliciously.

"On top of the world," he said softly.

Dr. McMurray raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Look," Conán sat up straight, quite suddenly. "I'm not going to beat around the bush. Every person seems so interested in my mother, thinking it's some big thing in my life, but it's not. I hated my mother, right? Hated her! She was a sadistic, drug-addicted whore who used to make my life Hell and I hated her stinking guts. When she died, it was the happiest moment of my life, that's all there is to it. There's no harbouring resentment, there's no mental trauma, there's no sitting in a corner shaking and hearing voices, there's no dwelling in the past. She's gone and she's dead, and I'm free. There is nothing else. So don't waste your time, and mine, by going over it for hours on end, because it's nothing. She's nothing."

"It sounds to me like she's something, Conán. Listen to your voice. You can tell that this had affected you."

"Of course it's affected me, she used to do awful things. I'm not saying I walked away from it fine, I was shaken up for a couple of years, but now I realise that I've got my life back. I don't need to carry on living in the past, she's not there to torture me anymore. I'm free and she's gone, and now I'm over it there's no way that I'm going to let her continue to have a say in my life."

"You want your freedom and your life, yet you throw yourself in front of a train?"

"That was nothing to do with my past. That was to do with my future."

"Interesting."

"I'm not a display in a freakin' museum."

"You say it's to do with your future? Tell me about that."

"I don't want a future. I tried life, and I guess I didn’t like it. So I want to see what's ahead. Some people just want to die."

"I can’t say I've met very many."

"You should have, in your job."

"Why? Do you imply that they're mentally ill? If they want to die?"

"Well, it's not right, is it?"

"So why do you object to being here?"

Conán paused, and then he did something completely unexpected. His face suddenly cracked into a grin and he started to chuckle.

"You're good," he laughed, pointing at Dr. McMurray. "You should be a lawyer, never mind a psychiatrist."

"Let’s stop messing around, Conán. I’m only here because I want to help you, and I really would be disappointed if you didn’t want help."

"You’re going to be disappointed, then."

"Tell me a little about yourself Conán."

"There’s nothing to say."

"I’m sure there is."

"I’m just a guy who lives by himself in a flat in Dublin, that’s all there is. Seriously, that’s what my life is."

"No friends?"

"No. Well, one, my girlfriend."

"And how do you feel about your girlfriend?"

"She’s the only person I’ve ever loved, and she’s probably the only person I ever will love, too."

"So if you have your girlfriend, why did you tire of life?"

"I don’t know, all right? I was drunk and it was spur of the moment."

"Do you drink often?"

"All the time, and I’m gagging for a drink now."

"Do your drinking habits not concern you?"

"No. I like to be numb. It blocks things out."

"Like what?"

"Thoughts and stuff."

"Do you get a lot of thoughts that you wish to block out?"

"A few, yeah, but then don’t bother me because I’ve trained myself to ignore them now."

"What are they about?"

"My childhood."

"You had a bad childhood, I understand?"

"There’s an understatement!" Conán laughed.

"What’s you earliest memory, Conán?"

Conán thought for a minute.

"Probably when I was really, really small. I was still in my cot. I remember standing gripping the bars and crying. I can’t remember why I was crying … anyway, my mother came in and punched me full in the face and then held a pillow over my nose and mouth until I nearly passed out," Conán laughed suddenly. "That was the last time I ever cried."

"Do you cry now?"

"Sometimes," Conán muttered.

"Over what?"

"I’d rather not go into that."

"What about other emotions? Do you feel them?"

"Not really."

"Just love for your girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Do you ever feel anything else?"

"Well, I get frustrated sometimes."

"What do you do then?"

"I drink."

"And when you’re angry?"

I strangle someone and cut them up into tiny pieces and leave their body parts on street corners to play cat-and-mouse with the police, ha ha ha! Conán thought to himself.

"I drink," he shrugged instead. "Look, this isn’t going to get us anywhere. I don’t want to change, I’m fine how I am. Go and find someone who wants help."

"It’s just worrying in a young man such as yourself, Conán. Do you really want to let your past ruin your future?"

"I have no future."

*

Naoise was back at the hospital, visiting Conán who had been forced against his will to stay for a further night, and she was coming back down from the small café when she spotted a familiar figure up ahead. As she got closer, she realised that it was Detective McAfee, and she knew he must be there to see Conán. She caught up with him.

"Detective," she said, when she reached his side. He turned and recognised her.

"How are you, Miss McCullough?"

"I’m fine, I doing fine."

"I understand you’re meant to be on holiday?"

"I couldn’t leave Conán."

"How is he?"

"As well as he can be," Naoise bit her lip. "Thank you for what you did for him. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you."

"I did what anyone would do, Miss McCullough."

"Are you here to see him?"

"I’ve come to have a word."

"I don’t know if you should, Detective. I mean no disrespect, but I don’t think you’re the person he would really want to see."

"No, I don’t suppose I would be. It’s fine, Miss McCullough, I just want to see how he is. I have something of his anyhow."

It was a gentle tone of voice, but a tone of voice that Naoise knew not to mess with. Reluctantly, she nodded, still chewing her bottom lip, and pointed Detective McAfee in the direction of Conán. Detective McAfee smiled his thanks, nodded goodbye and left in the direction Naoise had pointed him.

Conán looked up as he entered the room. Conán had a small room all to himself, and he had been enjoying the peace and quite up until the moment the door opened and Detective McAfee walked in. Conán was, at this moment, still unaware that the detective had been the one to save his life.

"How are you doing, Conán?"

"Of all people, it had to be you. I’m already suicidal, do we want to risk a repeat attempt?"

"Very funny, Conán. I have something of yours here."

Detective McAfee dropped the wallet onto Conán’s bed. Conán looked at it in some confusion as he recognised it.

"How did you get a hold of that?"

"I was there, Conán. Do you not remember?"

"I don’t remember anything. I remember just before I did it, but then it’s nothing until I woke up here."

"Well, I was there. I just about managed to pull you out of the way of the train, but I was slightly too slow. You gave everyone a scare, Conán, you were in a bad way when we had you lying on the platform. The train driver was very distressed, understandably, of course."

"Why did you save me?"

"I couldn’t watch somebody throw themself in front of a train, and I was just fortunate enough to have the right experiences – I can spot danger from a mile off, young man. So, what was that all about?"

"That’s none of your business."

"I just find the whole thing very curious."

"It was the head you showed me. Scarred me for life."

Detective McAfee chuckled as the young man’s eyes glinted, slightly maliciously. He was saying the words for annoyance, not for sympathy.

"You out on quite a show, Conán. You should have been in movies, you would be an award winner by now."

"I can see we’ll just have to agree to disagree on that one."

"And what does that mean?"

"I wasn’t acting, that’s what that means. How can you get away with showing things like that to innocent people?"

"Ah, but you’re not innocent, are you, Conán?"

Conán snorted.

"You need to get a life. That killer is running around Dublin laughing, and he’s laughing at you."

"Do you know what I found especially interesting?"

"What?"

"Well, as you’re following the case so keenly, you must have noticed that the attacks were getting a lot more frenzied, and lot more frequent?"

"Yes."

"I find it highly interesting that you throw yourself in front of a train and end up in the hospital for three days, and in those three days Dublin is quite, No murders, no disappearances, no body parts turning up on street corners. It’s slightly suspicious, isn’t it?"

"Unless the killer has got wind that you’re centring your attention on me, and he’s laying low until I get out to shift the blame away from himself?"

"It’s a possibility."

"Exactly. So lay off."

"Always on the defensive there, Conán, just like an innocent person would be."

Conán groaned.

"Would you give it up? I’m not on the defensive, I’m pissed off! You’d think that I was the only person in the city! I’m sure there’s hundred of deranged psychopaths out there – what makes you think I’m your man?"

"I don’t know for sure," Detective McAfee smiled thinly. "There’s just something about you, young man. I’ll be seeing you. Have a nice day."

"Yeah, you too," Conán muttered, sarcasm heavy in his words, dripping off them. Detective McAfee decided to ignore the young man, and smiled at him, leaving the room.

Conán was normal with Naoise, letting her know that nothing was wrong. She left to go back to her parent’s house when visiting hours were over. Conán waited until the lights were out, and then he got up and padded to the toilets. He stayed in there for a while, waiting until he could hear no footsteps in the corridor outside. Naoise had brought some of his own clothes up now he was up and about, and so he was in an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He casually walked to the lift, getting in with a man who was visiting someone who was more critically injured, and therefore allowed visitors all day. He blended in as another visitor and was lucky enough not to meet and nurses as he walked out of the hospital.

He walked for half an hour through the dark city, far enough away from the hospital. His skin was prickling against the icy air and his teeth were chattering, but he brushed off any strange looks he was getting from people coming home from nights out by staggering around as though he were drunk. He eventually spotted someone who was alone, and older man who looked as though he had had one too many to drink.

Conán didn’t have time to mess around. He punched the man hard in the back of the head, sending him sprawling to the floor easily. The force of the punch combined with the drink was a lethal combination, and before the man knew it Conán was already pinning him to the floor.

"Thanks in advance for the favour," Conán muttered, before he moved his hands around the man’s throat and squeezed. His heart was hammering the whole time, terrified of getting caught but the terror adding to the excitement. He knew if he were caught sneaking back into the hospital, it would all be over when Detective McAfee found out, but that wouldn’t happen. Conán wouldn’t allow it to happen.

The man was still now. Conán performed his usual trick of holding on for just that minute longer, and then he hurried back towards the hospital. He was back in his bed just seconds before the door cracked open slightly. The nurse saw him sprawled in his bed; sound asleep, at the same time as the time of murder would be recorded in the police files.

Detective McAfee was livid when he found out. He rang the hospital instantly. The nurse told him that Conán Connolly had been sound in his bed, all night.