"Isn't it what you get..." He mused, "This endless recurring sense of disappointment, in your own capacity, your own worth, I never achieve anything, nothing, I'm meaningless,"
"Listen Bob," I tried again, "We all feel that, its just being human, but there are the good feelings, the good times."
Another buffeting wind hit us both, he gripped tightly to the side of the wall, I tried to ignore the terrifying height, "Bob, at least grab this rope, just in case you feel like coming back in."
"But...can the good times make it all worthwhile?" Bob asked, the whine of sirens echoed out, "I mean, the emptiness, that darkness that just leaves you feeling so insignificant, I can't handle it anymore..."
“Bob, you can handle it,” I tried another tact, “People care about you Bob, think about them.”
“I don’t care anymore,” He stared blankly into the city, the lights penetrating through the thick choking smog, “I just want it to mean something.”
The freedom entered his eyes. It always happened in the last few seconds. Maybe that simple realisation that they actually had the power to end it all, or something approximating madness. Nothing stood in the way other than their own will, and that was entirely theirs to do with as they chose. Then something else, an inexplicable peaceful longing finally ripped their hearts away and sent their last vestiges of conscious thought hurtling into the oblivion of death.
Those eyes terrified me.
I knew I had one chance. I swung my body out across his path, but a second too late. A body falling from a building has a strange type of beauty, something of such significance, a human life, enveloped by the giant concrete nothingness that stretched out below.
He bounced before his mangled body settled. I spent a few moments up there, staring out at the city stretching below. After climbing back into the office, I did the customary swearing rant at my deputy, minutes of silence staring out the window, then made my way down to his corpse. It was expected these days but had become almost painfully routine.
It picks up round this time of year, holiday season stretches up, painful reminder of loneliness. Almost every evening spent on ledges hoping someone will change their mind. Some do, I had no illusions that my words had anything to do with it, usually cowardice simply compelled them to take my embrace. One perhaps I had some role in; diving in front of and managing to hold on but a few weeks later she achieved her end in another way.
Despite my low success rate, the management of increased suicides had become my official job. This was either due to my general incompetence with any actual detective work or my inability to refuse work. So I had to endure late nights and nightmares for months at a time.
"Bad luck Jim." A constable muttered as I wandered down the stairs, others shared similar sentiments, patted me on the back, nodded mournfully, "Next time," "Don't beat yourself up about it." “Not your fault.” More painful routine. At the bottom of the stairs, a few reporters milled round, "No comment Jim?"
"You got it." I nodded briefly at their bored expressions and walked decisively towards the Sergeant who had just arrived in his sparkling uniform.
He paused to take in the scene, and then leaned over, patting me on the back with faux concern, “Bad luck Jim, don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“Yes sir,” I grimaced, "Got his details?"
"Robert Perkins, home address and occupation already filed,
I nodded back, catching a glimpse of my watch,
Letting the frustration course beneath my skin and straight into my blood pressure, I wandered towards my car, a well used Ford, its completely useless bumper bar extending prominently at the front. At least they'd given me that much, squad cars frustrated me beyond anything else, a million gizmos constantly bleeping. After twenty long years service, an office that didn't annoy every fibre of my being was perhaps not adequate reward, but at least a reward.
"Bleeeeep."
Fucking bastard fucker, so much for avoiding gizmos. I fumbled through my pockets to find the incessantly bleeping thing. I preferred the phones they used to give us, large bulky, with solid no nonsense ringing tones. I could change my tone if I was allowed, but my wife insisted I would only hear if it was shrill and caused me pain.
"Where are you." Her voice demanded, before I'd even had a chance to talk.
"I still have quarter of an hour before my watch even ends honey." I replied as coolly as I could, "Might be a bit late t..."
"Not tonight," She replied with icy cold certainty, "Not tonight James, the
I ignored the rest of the monologue. As usual, her absolute certainty had to face reality and unfortunately, that happened through yelling at me for quarter of an hour. The pain of a woman you have grown to hate yelling at you is hard to translate. I like to think a thumbscrew on its third rotation might come close to the sensation.
Despite the growing frustration and pain, I turned on the engine and drove. Long roads crowded with cars, intersections clogged, malicious lights, the million and one frustrations of a large city. She gave up after ten minutes and insisted on my speed and due diligence, hinting at all kinds of cruel and unusual punishment once I got home.
The feelings melted away inside, I concentrated on the suburbs and the blare of incandescent boredom from my police scanner. I didn’t want to rest my mind, Perkin’s eyes haunted me.
The car moved slowly, rush hour traffic slowly dissipating as I crossed the
At the corner of Kensington and
Turning off my machine and locking it carefully, I walked up to the house.
The most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life opened the door, her face was turned behind her at first I could only take in the long shapely body, the slight freckles adorning her low cut top, a gentle neck with the most perfect sundrenched skin, "Honey bring out the...oh, officer, what can I do for you?"
"M...rs. P..perkins?" I stammered, breaking every single piece of advice in the "Dealing With Grief" leaflet.
"Yes?" She seemed a little defensive but all I could see in her endless green eyes was happiness at the end of a wharf somewhere, with our feet immersed in gentle coursing water. The soft breeze as I leant over and pecked her on the neck, her giggles lighting my heart on fire.
"Could I come in?" I tried sheepishly, avoiding her eyes, "I have something to tell you and your family."
This at least kept with protocol. Absurdly, at least in every practising policeman's opinion, we now had to ensure all adult family members in the house were present and sitting in the dining or sitting room, before making the announcement. Usually a few seconds after seeing us conclusions were drawn, but Mrs. Perkins seemed worried.
"Do you need a warrant?" She asked haphazardly, "This is not connected to any crime I hope?"
I blinked, even through my love drenched eyes, I couldn't pass up on such a terribly concealed hook, "Not unless you have anything to tell us Mrs. Perkins."
"No, no," After a few moments, she seemed to reach an inner conclusion, "Just give me a few moments."
She disappeared inside and I exhaled, watching her delicious form bound down the corridor, a young child bearing her startling green eyes, peered out, only to have his head snapped back.
My mind raced, how soon was too soon for a widow? What was she worried about? How did I look. Absurdly I removed my wallet, and used my sparkling badge, as I had done a few times in the past, as a mirror. My face still carried a haggard quality from the long conversation I'd had with her husband, my hair slowly receding looked passable despite the wind, I tried flattening it with my hand and sweeping it slightly aside. Otherwise, not too shabby. I smiled, that smile still had a bit of life left. I hoped anyway, guilt hit me suddenly, an image of my wife, but I put it aside, with any worries about Mrs. Perkin's guilt.
She appeared again, her face so lovely I caught my breath. Any pretensions of hope I'd entertained, I immediately abandoned. A woman like her, deserved to be immortalised in art and worshipped with the most expensive things that exist. How could Perkin's ever have ended his life with such a lovely creature at home?
Her immaculate lips moved softly, her voice just as entrancing as the brilliant and perfect teeth that flashed as she spoke, "Please come in."
I entered, the opening stretched further than my vantage point and breathtaking marble floor, with a completely unnecessary chandelier stretched upwards, "Welcome, if you'd like to come through to the kitchen."
"I'd prefer the living room," I replied quickly, "Policy."
She looked round panicked for a moment, but then grabbed my arm, melting every defence I had on offer, every muscle tensed, and a large erection began to form embarrassingly, "Please, we are all in the kitchen already."
I just nodded dreamily as she lead me through to the kitchen. Three children sat on stools, munching away on what appeared to be dry bread, she stared at them meaningfully, and then turned to me, "What did you have to tell us officer?"
I wilted in front of her eyes, "Well, Mrs Perkins, I'm sorry I should probably tell you on your own."
My mistake seemed rather horrible until I realised with a start, the file hadn't said anything about children.
Mrs. Perkins smiled and nodded immaculately, drawing me outside of the room.
"What is it?" She said, a trifle shortly.
"I'm very sorry," I said softly, "Your husband ended his own life earlier today."
She stared at me without comprehension.
I lowered my eyes, "I know this must come of some shock, if you would like me to explain to the child..."
She stuttered, "No, no, I have already told them...I mean...well I mean...I already know...we found him...what I mean to say is..."
I took my turn of staring without comprehension, "Mrs. Perkins?"
"Well as you can imagine it has been a rather stressful day, I just, I am struggling to, I’m a little unclear as to…I just…I’m rather shocked as you can understand…" As she kept talking, falling deeper and deeper into guilt of something, although what exactly I had no idea, I had to fight off every instinct I had to hug her close and hold onto her forever.
"Please Mrs. Perkins, calm down, I understand its very stressful hearing about this, but what do you mean by already told them?" I calmly asked.
The children stood behind the door, I could hear them whisper to each other quickly.
"Well," Mrs Perkins smiled, "I think we all need a coffee and then maybe you can explain to the children better than I can."
She seemed calm, in control, her eyes dazzling, her lips pouting, but I insisted “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure you answered the question Mrs. Perkins."
Suddenly my phone buzzed, I ignored it for a few moments, allowing her eyes to sink into mine a moment longer, "Sorry, I will just be a moment."
My mind worked quickly, what if this was the wrong house, the wrong Perkins, and I’d just walked in on something, the phone revealed my wife's demanding voice, "Its been over half an hour, where are you?"
I moved away from Mrs. Perkins, trying to hide my voice a little, "I'm with the family, I will call you once I am done."
The phone beeped, another line, "Listen, sorry I have to go."
The tirade ceased abruptly, a deeper voice continued, "Jim, are you there?"
"Yes," I again tried to keep my voice down, "Wrong Perkin's?"
"Its the wrong Perkin's Jim," The sergeant stated blankly, "Hope you aren't in there already."
"Seem to have hit on something sir," I replied.
The other end of the line paused, "Get out of there, you've got no warrant, just get over to the right Perkin's, its right near Chelsea stadium, as we might have imagined, we'll investigate whatever you found over there when you do your paperwork, come in after you finish, we can chat about it."
Angrily pushing down the button, I turned back to the image of loveliness, "Thank you for your time Mrs. Perkins but I must be off."
Her eyes panicked, but the rest of her body seemed to move fluidly closer, "I don't think I caught your name Constable?"
"Detective James Griffin maam," I replied automatically, "Bu..."
"Well, James." She interrupted, "I must insist on your coming through to the kitchen and having a coffee, we will call it off-duty and we can talk properly."
She had measured me and knew exactly what I was, a hopelessly lonely married bachelor, waiting for something magical, but I couldn't resist, her bewitching eyes held me in her complete command, "Maybe a quick cuppa, but I'll have to be off after that."
"Of course," She smiled, "Just wait in the lounge for me."
Leading me, I swam in her aroma, her eyes, her speech, "I am very sorry to have confused you earlier, I think I was just very shocked, I didn’t know anything about it."
She continued to lead me, opening the kitchen door. The children scampered back towards their stalls, and continued to munch on the remaining crusts staring at me with blank eyes. Yet something had changed, the way she moved, "How do you have your coffee?"
I smiled back utterly enchanted, "Black, one sugar, but whatever is easiest."
"Just head down the corridor to your left," She thoughtfully moved over to the coffee machine, "The lounge door is the large one."
The children watched me with wide, ominous eyes. I felt something wrong about the situation but felt tied up in her eyes, watching me even as they turned towards the coffee machine. I couldn't do anything else except depart and let the kitchen door swing shut behind me. Wandering along the corridor, the lounge was obvious, a large oak double-panelled door, with a large majestic bronze handle. Carefully, afraid of scratching the immaculate metal, I opened the handle and pushed the door open, stepping in.
The lounge stretched out, a large room, bigger than my ground floor, with a small chandelier, a large grand piano, two large bookshelves prominently against the walls, and a man, lying in a chair, with a knife prominently jutting out of his chest.
For a few moments, I continued to take in the room, then felt my eyes irresistibly drawn back to the man. His eyes stared upwards, his face peaceful.
Facts flew through my mind, the uncertainty, confusion, weak explanation and studied ignorance. Those eyes that only held beauty, suddenly seemed so much more sinister. This Perkin’s had not committed suicide.
The door creaked as it opened. I took a deep breath and turned to see the most beautiful woman in the world with a knife swinging towards me. Instincts kicked in, I grabbed at the blade, feeling the cold chill as it cut into my flesh.
I didn't see the other swing through the air and could only cry out as it plunged into my chest. Falling heavily to the ground, I grasped ineffectively at my chest. The image of terrible loveliness stood in front of me, her hand still gripping a bloody knife, “I am very sorry Mr. Griffin, but I just felt compelled to end my poor husband's life, I do not feel particularly guilty so I do not feel the law should bother me."
Her hand still gripped a bloody knife, I smiled weakly, " I love you."
She shrugged, "Many men have said so, I never really understood what it meant."
Despite the pain, I found my hands unconsciously reaching for the small weapon in my concealed holster, after a few moments my hands reached their goal, "Mrs. Perkins I want you to know I am so sorry."
Her eyes fell on my hands progress a moment too late, raising the knife she launched herself. Almost automatically I fired, a hundred hours painful police training taking control. The bullets pierced her chest, killing her instantly. A lifeless body dropped onto my prostrate form.
Blood flew carelessly onto the immaculate carpet from our three figures, children began appearing and wailing at each other with those piercing eyes, but I ignored their antics. My hand released the gun, and my head dropped onto the carpet.
The phone had become dislodged from my pocket and sat within reaching distance, I had just about enough strength to reach for it. Yet somehow could not find the will. Surprised, I felt any vestige of wanting to retain my life drift away, as her face faded into darkness.
Then I understood Perkin’s choice. That terrible look of freedom that had haunted my dreams, now seemed so clear, so true. Freedom is a myth, will an expression of mechanical desires beyond our understanding. Accepting the universe's blind indifference to our existence is necessary but must be done so in a way to also understand our servitude to a mindless and infinite machine. We are bound in a script written by chaos, only prey to the illusion of choice.
Perkin’s hadn’t given into despair; he had simply embraced the inevitable consequence of his life. No one chooses their end. Everything that had ever been leads towards one's death. Every movement drives inevitably towards the final conclusion. It has to end somewhere and every ending signals the only meaning one can ever gain. Happily, I rested my eyes, and drifted into blissful oblivion.
