Silent Scream

Thirty-Four

I didn't like the girl from the moment I saw her. There was something pitiable about her: pathetic. And she was ugly.

Everything on her body was a size too small. Her toes wore a tear at the tip of her shoes. Her denim skirt showed a little too much thigh. Even her torso seemed too small for the long limbs that sprung from it.

She was the last girl I expected to cause me a problem. She was so inconsequential that I barely remember her name.

She wasn't the first and she wasn't the last but there was something truly satisfying about ending her misery. She was a girl that no one was ever going to love and no one ever had.

Born to a fifteen-year-old mother on the Hollytree estate the fates had been rather unkind. After giving birth to a second child five years later the mother had fled.

Paternal rejection came six years later when her father dumped her at Crestwood with one bin bag of accrued worldly goods. He made it clear that there would be no weekend visits or hope of return.

The girl stood at the reception desk as her father gave her away; old enough to understand.

He walked away with no hug, touch or farewell but at the very last minute he turned and stared at her. Hard.

Did she, for one brief minute, hope for regret, for some kind of explanation; a justification she could understand. Did she hope for the promise of her father’s return, even if it was false?

He walked back and pulled her aside.

‘Listen, kid, the onny thing I can say to steer yer right is try 'ard with the books 'cos yo ay never gonner ger a man.’

And then he was gone.

She stole around her peers like a shadow; eager to ingratiate herself, desperate for love or anything that looked remotely like it.

Her limited knowledge of affection dictated that the attention she received from other girls elicited a pathetic gratitude and an undying loyalty that brought forth gifts of food, allowance; anything her two cronies asked for. She trailed after them like a puppy Lurcher and they let her.

It is amusing that the most inconsequential girl ever to walk the earth is now of some importance. Everyone is looking to her for answers and I am happy to have given her that gift.

She said to me one night, ‘I have a secret about Tracy.’

I said, ‘I have one too.’

I asked her to meet me once the others were asleep. I told her it was our secret and that I had a surprise for her. Bunnies at the lake. The technique never failed.

At one thirty a.m. I watched as the back door opened. A shaft of light lit the gangly body from behind making her silhouette look like a cartoon character.

She tiptoed towards me. I smiled to myself.

This girl was no challenge. Her desperation for attention was sickening.

‘I've got something to tell you,’ she whispered.

‘Go on,’ I said eagerly, entering into her game.

‘I don't think Tracy ran away.’

‘Really?’ I asked, feigning surprise. This was not news. The girl had been telling anyone who couldn't escape her quickly enough that she didn't think Tracy had run away.

Her stupid, awkward face was a mask of studiousness.

‘See, she ay that kind of person and she left behind her iPod. I found it at the bottom of her bed.’

This was not what I expected her to say but damn it. How had I missed that? The stupid cow had always had it hanging from her ear. Undoubtedly stolen, it had been her prized possession.

‘What did you do with it?’ I asked.

‘It's in my cupboard so nobody nicks it.’

‘Have you mentioned this to anyone else?’

She shook her head. ‘No one cares. It's like she never existed.’

Of course it was – and that was just how I wanted it.

But now there was the damn iPod.

I smiled widely at her. ‘You're a very clever girl.’

The darkness surrounding us did not hide the redness that infused her cheeks.

She smiled, eager to please, to be of some use; to matter.

‘And there's something else. She wouldna run off ‘cos she was …’

‘Sshh,’ I said, placing my finger to my lips. I leaned in closer to her, a co-conspirator, a friend. ‘You're right. Tracy didn't run away and I know where she is.’ I held out my hand. ‘Do you want to go and see her?’

She took my hand and nodded.

I walked her along the patch of grass towards the far corner; the dark part furthest from the building and sheltered by trees. She walked on my right.

She stumbled into the hole and fell backwards. I let her hand go.

Confusion pulled at her face for a moment then she held up her hand in defence as I stepped into the hole.

I searched at the edge for my shovel but the stumble had moved it away.

The delay gave her time to stand up but I needed her lying on the ground. I pulled her head back by a handful of hair. Her face was inches away from mine.

Her breathing was laboured and frantic. I raised the shovel in the air and threw it down on top of her foot. She screamed only once before falling to the ground to clutch at her foot. The agony caused her eyes to roll back in her head as she briefly lost consciousness. I grabbed the sock from the other foot and stuffed it deep into her mouth.

I pulled at her body until she lay lengthways in her grave. I stood to the side and threw the shovel down. It caught her on the side of the neck. The pain brought her back to life. She tried to scream but no sound made it past the sock.

Her eyes darted all around, frantic with fear. I raised the shovel even higher and thrust it down as she writhed around the hole. This one worked better. The sound of the blade ripping through flesh met my ears.

The girl was a fighter. She wriggled again. I kicked her hard in the stomach. She began to choke on her own blood. I kicked her again, turning her onto her back.

I concentrated hard. It was a matter of aim. I raised the shovel once more and swung at her throat. The light left her eyes but her lower half twitched.

It reminded me of felling a tree. The cut was made and one more blow would sever it completely.

I launched the shovel from above. There was a sound of metal on bone.

Then the twitching stopped. Suddenly there was silence.

I placed my right foot onto the shovel and then my left, using it like a pogo stick. I jiggled the blade down until I felt it bed into the soft earth underneath her.

Her eyes never left me as I covered her up. In death she was almost pretty.

I stood back from the grave that would go unnoticed amongst the damage from the travelling fair.

The girl had always been eager to help, to be of use to someone, to have a purpose. And now she had.

I stamped down the grass and stood back.

Then I thanked her for keeping my secret.

Finally, she had done something good.