When You Wake up and Scream

Conán was only being charged for twenty-one of his murders, as there was no direct evidence linking him to the other two murders. Even though he had confessed, they had needed more evidence to link him, due to the magnitude of his crimes. A couple more wouldn’t have harmed Conán’s chances in a court of law, and some serial killers were prone to confessing to crimes they hadn’t committed to boost their infamy. Detective McAfee didn’t think that Conán was really that sort of killer, and there was no doubt in his mind that Conán had committed the killings. This was to be taken into account, of course, but for now Conán would only be charged for the twenty-one latest murders, starting when he was twenty years old.

One by one, the names of the twenty-one victims were read out, along with the verdict of if he had been deemed sane, or not. Conán knew what the words meant when read in between the lines. Sane: Guilty. Insane: Not guilty. Twenty-one times, he was deemed sane. It didn’t mean anything to Conán, who had been expecting the news all along. He slumped down in his chair slightly and sighed, not exactly knowing how to feel.

Life for every murder was, to him, simple, though the press were all scribbling down what was said. Conán didn’t no why they were surprised. I mean, it was only right, wasn’t it? Life for a murder, so twenty-one murders should be twenty-one life sentences. Simple. The room was told that a typical life sentence in this particular judge’s eyes was twenty years. Conán was going to spend four hundred and twenty years in prison. The thought made him chuckle. Like that would happen!

Unfortunately, the judge’s sharp eyes picked up Conán’s smile, and he looked at the killer, disgusted.

"Do you find something funny, Mr. Connolly?" he asked slowly. The room fell completely silent, and Conán allowed the little part of his brain that wanted to stir something up take over.

"I ain’t gonna live for another four hundred and twenty years, am I?" he laughed.

"You’ll die behind bars, Mr. Connolly, and I’m sure that will be enough. I’m glad you find this whole situation so amusing. Perhaps it will make the guilt even worse when we have this little surprise over with?" The judge looked away from Conán, and now he looked at the families of Conán’s many victims. "I think now would be the best time for anyone who wishes to say anything to do so. Mr. Connolly, I ask that you pay close attention and try to find a scrap of decency in that sick mind of yours."

Conán was silent now. He was scared, though he didn’t show it. He didn’t want to see the families. He had been deliberately avoiding looking at them.

Oran Ross’s mother was the one who spoke to Conán first, and he knew that it could only get worse.

"My son was seventeen years old," she told him and the hushed courtroom in a soft voice that threatened to break with tears at any moment. "Seventeen. He wanted to go to university. He was a bright boy and he was earning the grades that would allow him to study for his dream job. He was going to be a doctor when he was older, he had been telling us since he could talk. I have no doubt that if this monster hadn’t murdered him on the street he would have achieved that goal. On the night he was killed my Oran was walking back from his sister’s house. He had been helping to look after his little nephew, and he was walking home, as he usually did, nothing out of the ordinary. But no. This man –" she pointed at Conán, who flinched as though she had struck him. "Decided that my son, my Oran, should die. Why? Oran had never set eyes on this monster before. Oran always used to talk about travelling. He used to say to me, 'Mammy, there’s a whole world out there just waiting to be explored'. On the day I found out he died, I found a list in his bedroom. I want to share it with all of you.

"Things To Do Before I Die: Number one, get into Uni, of course. Number two: go on a pub-crawl in that street down the road that is more pubs than anything else, purely for the awesome factor. Number three: tour America in anything with wheels, this can include bicycles if absolutely necessary, but we’ve all decided that one of those massive mobile home things would be better. Don’t know how we’re going to afford it. Number four: earn enough money to buy one of those camper vans. Perhaps that should be number three? Ah well. Number five: set foot on every continent in the world, including Antarctica! Number six: Bungee jump. That would rock. Number seven: Get drunk in Russia with Donal. Number eight: Get to be a doctor. Number nine: Try at least ten foods that I would never try normally. Number ten: Climb a mountain. Doesn’t matter which one, but as long as it’s a mountain. Number eleven: Learn to live each moment as though it’s my last ever. Number twelve: Try everything on the McDonald’s menu at least once.

"It goes into the hundreds. I won’t read you them all, but by now you should be able to see what sort of a person my son was. His killer, this man right there, spent less that a minute describing how he casually walked up to my son and murdered him. A whole lifetime of planning and dreaming, gone, vanished, all for a cheap thrill."

She suddenly turned to face Conán, staring him straight in the face.

"I don’t hate you, Conán Connolly," she told him softly. "I pity you. What sort of a man must you be to enjoy doing something like this? Well, I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re happy that you’ve murdered a son, a grandson, a brother and a cousin and a nephew and an uncle and a friend. So you have to spend your life in prison? Big deal. You have your life. We’re the real ones who have a life sentence. We have no escape. Everyday I have to get up and walk past my son’s bedroom, with all of his hopes and dreams scattered all over the place and that picture of him dressed up as a doctor for a fancy dress party framed downstairs, reminding me that he’ll never live his dream. So you’ve have a tough life? You never had to destroy all of ours. Every morning I wake up with the same empty feeling in my heart that was left by my son’s murder, and every night I go to bed and cry myself to sleep, just wishing I could hear his voice one last time. “Mammy, there’s a whole world out there just waiting to be explored”. I just pray and hope to God that where my son is now, he’s happy. I hope he’s living his dreams in Heaven, because, thanks to you, he’ll never be able to live them in this world."

Mrs. Ross was very dignified, and as she left the stand her eyes glistened with tears, but she refused to let them go until she was out of the view of the public. She went back her husband who held her close, his own eyes shining. Conán looked at the desk, feeling something cold and heavy in his chest.

Moiragh McDonnell’s mother, although still dignified, had a very different opinion of Conán, as she made quite clear.

"I understand that some have forgiven you, and some don’t hate you," She told him, looking directly into his eyes. "And I respect them for their strength and their willpower. I envy their strength, because I hate you. I hate you, Conán Connolly, because you murdered my beautiful daughter. You terrified her and you made her last few moments on earth a living Hell. I hate you. I hate you so much that I could kill you myself if I were given the chance. You’re sick, and you need strung up like the dog you are. I wish I could forgive you, I wish I didn’t hate you, because it would make my life so much easier. But I will always hate you. I only hope that you die before me, so at least I can enjoy knowing that you’re rotting in Hell. What goes around comes around, Connolly, and you’ll get your comeuppance.

"My daughter was a wonderful girl and she was my only daughter, the only sister to her brothers. She was the baby of the family and I loved her more than words can ever describe, and I still do. I always will, because she’s my baby girl." Mrs. McDonnell’s voice broke and tears spilled down her cheeks, but she carried on staring intently into Conán’s eyes. Conán got the uncomfortable feeling that she was searching the depths of his own soul, perhaps hoping to find some guilt there. "No parent should have to bury their own child, everyone in this room will agree to that. I just wish that it could have been me instead of her, or that I could have been with her when this vile thing took her from us. I just want to hold her again. I just want to see her bound into the room, full of life like she always was. That was the way she was when I last saw her alive. The next time I saw her, she was on a slab in the morgue, with those awful bruises across her neck. You had better stay safe in jail, Connolly, because if I ever hear that you’re out of those walls for even a minute I’ll hunt you down and rest assured, I will kill you if I ever get my hands on you! You’re scum, you’re a sick man who doesn’t deserve a space on this Earth! I hope you rot in Hell, because God knows that’s where you belong!"

Someone came up for every victim Conán had been convicted of killing. By the time everything was done, Conán didn’t know what to do with himself. The whole incident had had the desired effect, and Conán realised with a devastating wave of terror and guilt the true extent of what he had done.

"Do you have anything that you wish to say?" the judge suddenly asked him, and Conán’s eyes snapped back up. His lawyer nudged him.

"And for the love of God don’t offend anyone," was the parting words. Conán was trembling as he went back up to the stand where he had confessed to killing all of these people. For the first real time, he saw them as people, not his victims. They were people, with friends and families and lives, and the thought pressed upon his conscience so hard that he thought he was going to be physically sick.

"I –" Conán swallowed, forcing himself to look up. He owed them that much, to at least acknowledge them. "I guess I should say I’m sorry, because I really, truly am, but I know that words are cheap in a situation like this. Me saying sorry won’t bring your loved ones back, and I know nothing will. But I’ll say it anyway. I’m sorry. I wish I could sit you all down and give you all of the answers you deserve, but I can’t. I’ll regret what I have done for the rest of my life. I was selfish, I was heartless. All I cared about was making myself feel better. I know I had a bad childhood, but then I remind myself that millions of others have and they don’t turn into a monster like the one I turned into. I’m weak, that’s my problem. I let my past consume my future and as a result, so many people died. I am grateful to those who have forgiven me, but I don’t ask for your pity. I don’t deserve to be pitied. And for those of you who hate me, go right on ahead. If I were in your situation I would hate myself too. I hate myself anyway. If it’s any comfort, I loathe myself so much that if I could do myself in, I would do it without a second thought. Hate me. I deserve it.

"I promise that if I could turn back time I would do it. I would leave all of your loved ones alone. What I did was sick and twisted and you’re right, I deserve to be killed for what I did. I would say a death penalty would be what I deserve, but it would be too good for me. I deserve to suffer. I deserve to live with what I have done for the rest of my life, just as you will have to live with what I’ve done for the rest of yours. I just wish that none of this had ever happened. I’m so very, very sorry. If I could do anything at all to bring them all back, I would do it. I would, I promise you that. For now, though, all I can say is that I am sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I know it probably doesn’t mean anything, but I’m so sorry."

Conán could barely walk back to his place, he was trembling so much. The room was hushed once more, and he collapsed back into his seat and just allowed his head to fall onto his arms. He sat there, slumped, for a long time, knowing that all he wanted was to go away somewhere, and die. The guilt had hit him with a force that was indescribable, and he felt as though someone was ripping him apart from the inside. The words of the relatives swirled around his brain like a tornado, little snippets dancing out of reach every time he tried to banish them. He knew that there was nothing he could do now, he was going to have to live with them for the rest of his life. The thought made him terrified. How was he ever going to live with this? With all those people dead because of him.

Oran’s mother had got to him. He didn’t know if it was because Oran was his youngest victim, but the picture she had painted of her beloved son had hit home. As he thought about the young boy’s wasted hopes and dreams he realised that he was the perfect symbol of all of his victims – the loved and living people who all had their own hopes and dreams and who would never see them. All because of him. All because he couldn’t let go of the past.

Conán began to sob. It was the first time he had cried in front of anyone else – not even the guards outside his prison cell had seen him. They had suspected hat they had heard him on some occasions, but now it was evident that the serial killer was crying. For a moment the room was shocked, and Conán didn’t see the reactions because he was led from the courtroom at that point. He barely remembered it. He was crying so hard that his vision was blurred, though he made no sound. Eventually he realised who was with him, though he didn’t know how much time had passed.

Detective McAfee was sitting with him, and although he said no words, his presence calmed Conán down.

"That was the best thing you could have done, Connolly," the detective told him gruffly.

Conán sniffed.

"It was?"

"At least you showed them that you were truly sorry. I thought you were going to be one of these people who smirked to themselves in the dock, but my gut feeling was right about you. I knew you had it in there somewhere. And that guilt you’re feeling? I’m going to be honest with you. It never goes away. Even when you kill someone accidentally, or because you had to, the guilt never leaves. I can’t imagine what it would be like if the killing was premeditated and deliberate."

"How do you know that? If it was justified you wouldn’t feel bad."

"Believe me, Conán," Detective McAfee looked at him intensely. "It never leaves."

Conán understood at that moment.

"What …?"

"I’m not going into detail. He pointed a gun at me. I had to. I’ll never forget it."

Detective McAfee closed his eyes tightly, his face strained, as though hearing that one distant gunshot from all those years ago.

"I’m sorry you had to do that."

"So am I, Conán, so am I. I was a fair distance from him. I saw him go down but I didn’t see him die. That’s why I can’t understand how you could kill them with your bare hands. How you could look them right in the eye as you did it."

"I liked to see them die. I liked to watch the light go," Conán sighed. "I didn’t care then. Perhaps it was the best state of mind to be in? I don’t know. All I know is that it never should have happened. When I was sixteen, and I’ve never said this before now. When I was sixteen some weirdo grabbed me off the street and tried to kill me. I should have let him. Deep down I always thought that I should have let him, but I never did. It’s strange, how fate goes, isn’t it? I’ll die soon, I know I will. I’ll probably kill myself, I’m not sure. I know I have a lot of enemies out there now."

"You’ll need to watch your back in prison now, Conán. But if you do kill yourself … well, I guess that’s your choice. In a horrible way, I don’t suppose the families will care any longer. They’ve seen what they wanted to see, said what they wanted to say."

"I can’t think of anything worth living for, then," Conán muttered.

He was proved wrong at that precise moment, if only temporarily. At that moment the door opened again and one of the prison guards stood there, and with him was Naoise.

"She’s allowed ten minutes with him."

"You need to stay?"

"I won’t harm her," Conán said quickly, and he looked genuinely horrified at the thought.

"It’s all right, I trust him," Naoise said quietly, and so the two of them were left alone.

"Bang on the door if you need us," was the parting advice.

There was a brief silence, and Conán eventually broke it with some difficulty.

"Naoise, I’m sorry, for everything I put you through. I am, I swear, I –"

"Don’t."

Naoise and Conán met one another’s eyes. Naoise shifted slightly, and then she sighed.

"I’m going to miss you, Conán."

"I’m going to miss you too."

"You understand we can’t see each other again? It’ll be better that way."

"I understand. As long as you understand that no matter what you do or where you go, I’ll always, always love you?"

"That’s fine by me."

Silence again. Conán watched Naoise, but she was looking at the ground.

"You can’t even look at me," Conán eventually said, and his voice broke as more tears fell down his cheeks. "What have I done? I can’t stop thinking about all of the good times we had and now you can’t look at me. What would have happened if I hadn’t done the things I did?"

"I don’t know," Naoise sighed. "Perhaps we would have broken up anyway?"

"Perhaps we wouldn’t have?"

"Perhaps we would have got married and had kids?"

"I’d have liked that."

"Me too."

"And a dog?"

"Of course. You gotta have a dog."

They both managed a tearful laugh – Naoise was crying as well.

"I don’t know what I’m going to do now, Naoise. You were always the only thing I had," Conán sighed heavily. "Naoise, I’m going to warn you now. Don’t expect me to last long, all right? I’m probably going to die soon, I know that. By my own hand, most likely."

"I thought you would say something like that. I guess I came to say goodbye. I’d never see you again anyway."

"I understand."

The silences had taken their toll on the short time limit, because at that moment there was a rap on the door, signalling that Naoise had to leave.

"I guess this is it, then," Naoise said quietly, and they were both reminded of when Naoise had left for Cork.

"Yeah. I guess so. Naoise?"

"What?"

"You did love me, didn’t you?"

"With all of my heart."

Naoise suddenly hugged Conán, who held her back tightly, and they stayed like that for as long as they could, tears running down both of their faces.

"I’m so sorry," Conán breathed. "I love you."