Silent Scream

Ten

At seven a.m. Kim stood before the headstone and pulled the leather jacket tightly around herself. On top of the Rowley hill dominated by Powke Lane cemetery the wind howled around her. It was Saturday and she always made time for family on a Saturday, new case or not.

Grave markers still bore the debris of Christmas gifts left by the living guilty; wreaths reduced to skeletal twigs, poinsettias battered into wilted submission by the weather. A layer of frost glistened on top of the Imperial Red stone.

From the moment she’d found the simple wooden cross marking the space she had saved as much as she could from her two jobs and bought the stone. It had been installed two days after her eighteenth birthday.

Kim gazed at the sparse gold lettering, all she’d been able to afford back then; simply a name and two dates. As usual she was struck by the distance between the two years engraved, no more than a blink.

She kissed her fingers and placed them firmly against the cold stone. ‘Good night, sweet Mikey, sleep tight.’

The tears stung her eyes but she fought them back. They were the same words she had spoken right before the last breath had left his fragile, defeated body.

Kim put the memory safely back into the box and donned her helmet. She pushed the Kawasaki Ninja to the exit gate. There was something disrespectful about igniting the roar of the 1400 cc engine within the confines of the cemetery. A metre out and she spurred the machine into action.

At the bottom of the hill she pulled into an industrial estate awash with ‘To Let’ signs; a stark testament to the area’s industrial history and a suitably barren area from which to make the phone call.

Kim took out her phone. This was not a conversation that took place anywhere near Mikey’s grave. She would not allow his final resting place to be contaminated by evil. She had to protect him, even now.

The call was answered on the third ring.

‘Nurse Taylor, please.’

The line went dead for a few seconds before she heard the familiar voice.

‘Hi, Lily, It’s Kim Stone.’

The nurse’s voice was warm. ‘Hi, Kim, it’s lovely to hear from you. I thought you might call today.’

The nurse said the same thing every time and yet it had never changed once. She’d made this call on the twelfth of each month for the last sixteen years.

‘How is she?’

‘She had a quiet Christmas but she seemed to enjoy the choir that visited ...’

‘Any violent episodes?’

‘No, not for a while now. Her medication is stable.’

‘Anything else?’

‘She asked about you again yesterday. Although she has no concept of dates, it’s almost like she knows when you’re about to call.’ The nurse paused. ‘You know, if you ever wanted to come and ...’

‘Thank you for your time, Lily.’

Kim had never visited and never would. Grantley psychiatric clinic had been home to her mother since Kim was six years old and it was where she belonged.

‘I’ll tell her you called.’

Kim thanked her again and hit the ‘end’ button. The nurse treated Kim’s monthly phone calls as a welfare check to see how her mother was doing and Kim had never informed her otherwise.

Only Kim knew that she made the call to ensure that the murdering, evil bitch was still safely behind bars.