I sit down, resting my elbows on my knees

  and clasping my hands together.

  “So Mr Milligan, what did you mean when

  you told Detective Cann that you may know

  who did all of these murders?”

  “I just assumed I knew who it was.”

  “He said that he made out you didn’t say it

  but then shortly after, Shola’s house went up

  in flames so was that anything to do with

  you?”

  “I thought this was about Sandra?”

  “It is.” Hughes stares at me awaiting my

  answer.

  “His house going up in flames was nothing to

  do with me. Simon and Sandra woke up and

  came down stairs and all three of us looked

  out the window so even they can vouch for

  me being here.”

  228

  “What was your relationship with Sandra

  Cann?”

  “I feel as if this is an interrogation rather than

  some questions about my whereabouts, I feel

  like I’m a suspect.”

  “Everyone is a suspect Mr Milligan.”

  “Well I’m not, because it wasn’t me.” I say as

  I stand up. “If that’s all, then I’ll be on my

  way.”

  “Please sit down Mr Milligan I have not

  finished.”

  I stare at Hughes as he stays seated, forcing

  me to sit.

  “The less you rebel against my questions, the

  quicker we can get on with our day Mr

  Milligan. Right where was I…” Hughes stares

  down at his notepad and looks back up to me

  and continues to speak. “So what is your

  relationship with Sandra Cann?”

  “Well she’s my friend of course. I stayed here

  a couple of times when Simon was away.”

  “Did you like her more than a friend? Were

  you physically attracted to her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Do you like blondes?”

  “My wife is blonde so I guess so.”

  “So where did you go last night for your

  walk?”

  “I went to the town and had a look around.”

  “So if we look on CCTV then we’ll see you

  there?”

  “Of course.” I say confidently but inside I

  fear the fact they won’t.

  “Okay Mr Milligan. We’ll be in touch.”

  229

  We both rise and I leave the house without

  seeing Simon or Sam or even shaking Hughes’

  hand.

  I step outside and look over to Shola’s house

  which only has one police car in front of it

  now.

  I sprint over to my house and into the

  garden. I need to get into that metal box.

  As I slowly walk down the side path, I press

  my back against the wall and shuffle to the

  edge of the house and poke my head into the

  garden. It’s clear; those police sniffing around

  earlier have gone.

  I walk in through the back and go straight

  upstairs to the metal box.

  There it is; the battered, peeling, burned and

  dented metal box.

  I go over to it and stick the knife into the box

  and wiggle it around next to the lock, just

  hoping for the catch to spring itself. I twist

  my wrist and press the knife against the lock

  with all my strength, but nothing happens.

  I pull the knife out and poke it back in. I pull

  the handle down as much as I can, the lid lifts

  and bends forwards and comes out of line.

  The hinges on the back bend also. As I pull

  the knife down to move the lid, it finally

  moves and the lid adjusts from its natural,

  tight fitting position and creates a gap to slip

  my fingers in. As I use my hands, my knife

  bends, slips out and drops onto the floor. I

  pull the lid using my hands. The hinges bend

  and the lid pulls away from the main box. As I

  230

  continue to pull at the lid, the hinges

  eventually snap. The lid adjusts and I prise it

  open. The lid is still attached by the padlock. I

  push the back of the lid toward the padlock to

  reveal the inside of the box.

  I pull out paperwork and some lined paper

  which has hand written notes on it. There is

  also another piece of paper which has printed

  writing and diagrams across it. It’s titled

  ‘Architectural and planning sketch of

  basement extension.’

  I look at the sketching and measurements.

  The layout that I know is on this page but on

  this page it is a much bigger basement than

  what it actually is down there. As I study the

  sketches, I notice that a dotted line is drawn

  along the page where the wall is in the

  basement.

  There is nothing behind that wall, there is no

  extension at all behind that wall, it’s just a

  wall, I thought. Well there is only one way to

  find out.

  I go down to the basement door; the door’s

  creaking is louder than before. I switch on the

  light and stare at the wall.

  I place the metal box on the table with the

  two pieces of paper alongside it. I look at the

  extension drawings again, then at the four

  main walls of the basement, I compare the

  sketch of the basement to the actual

  basement. I look at the stairs behind me. I

  knock on the concrete slab walls - they are

  rock solid. I move along to the sides of the

  walls. Once again they are firm and make no

  231

  sound when I knock against them. I move

  onto the back wall where the metal frame is, I

  knock on the wall and I hear a hollow echo

  behind the wall.

  That wall is not made of concrete or brick

  that’s for sure, more like hardboard or MDF.

  How am I supposed to get behind the frame?

  It’s going to be heavy, especially with all the

  equipment on it.

  Back over at the papers, I look at the notes. I

  don’t know who has written them or what

  they’re about. So I quickly skim read the

  squiggly and scruffy handwriting.

  ‘Sitting intensely and twiddling his thumbs,

  my patient faces me and lets his head hang

  loosely with his eyeballs rolled up into his eye

  lids. I ask him questions about his actions but

  there is no response. I ask my patient why he

  rapes and beats his wife Tanya Milligan most

  nights. He shrugs his shoulders and says

  “because I feel like doing it”. I ask if he feels

  capable of killing an animal, he shrugs his

  shoulders. I ask if he is capable of killing a

  human being. He stares at me and smirks.

  I then ask if he is capable of killing his own

  children. He begins to shout; he stands up and

  tosses the table towards me. I summon help

  and security comes in, it takes three men to

  lock my patient down onto the table and

  sedate him to calm him down…

  Taking a short break, I continue to question

  my patient. I ask him about his wife and

  232

  children. My patient’s mood changes, the

  mood is odd to describe, he speaks about

  times which I think are his dreams rather than

  reality, they lacked details, locations, timings

  etc. He speaks about his wife and says that he

  would never harm her. I ask if he knows who

  Ryan Milligan is; he does not respond and

  instead ignores my question. I ask him again

  and he shakes his head.

  To conclude, I believe that my patient has a

  sane mind when his personality doesn’t split,

  but when it does, he changes into a different

  mindset; he changes all beliefs, opinions and

  even language. He changes into a complete

  different person who is interested in mind

  games and puzzles. The only aspect that stays

  the same is his profession of being a talented

  and creative writer.

  The question of the reasoning of the name

  change is still unknown. When I ask him

  about his name he seems unaware of it and

  does not answer.

  I will continue to monitor the situation of

  Ryan Milligan and Liam Graynnil but I can

  come to the conclusion and diagnose Mr

  Milligan of having a severe case of

  Dissociative Identity Disorder. Much care will

  need to be taken. I believe with the right

  support, that Mr Milligan can return to

  normal life and deal with all life expectancy

  and everyday life after care here in the

  institution.

  Signed: Andrew A. Myers

  233

  Date: 28.09.09

  Patient Number: 129113005

  Patient Name: Ryan Milligan

  I stare at the patient’s name. It’s me but I

  have never been to an institution or been

  interviewed like that by Andrew Myers. I have

  never even met him.

  I think about the past, I think about that day

  Tanya and the kids disappeared, that day

  where I felt hopeless, that atrocious day. I

  think of how I dealt with it, by sitting in my

  house and wallowing in self pity and waiting

  for a phone call to give me any hope of

  finding Tanya and the kids, but that call never

  came.

  I look at the notes, an institution? I never

  went to one, I’ve never been to one let alone

  been kept in one and it is pretty much

  impossible that I could forget such an event.

  I’m interested as to why Andrew Myers has

  popped up again in all of this. First in Killing

  for Your Love, then being friendly with Tanya

  and now he was my psychiatrist? I feel as if

  something is going on, it’s as if I’m being set

  up and I’ve been dragged into some business

  to do with Andrew Myers. Something isn’t

  right about all of this, he’s been so heavily

  involved in my life but I cannot remember

  ever meeting him at all. I don’t even know

  what he looks like and I don’t know his

  mannerisms or the sound of his voice.

  234

  I look back to the wall, I go to the metal

  stand and I pull at it. Surely there must be

  some way to get into the basement extension,

  with no other opening through the wall, it

  could be behind here. As I continue to pull

  the metal stand, the screeching of the metal

  on the concrete floor sets my teeth on edge. I

  pause; take a deep breath and pull again,

  creating the shrill noise of metal against the

  concrete again, sounding like fingernails

  dragging down a blackboard.

  The stand is at an angle from the wall and

  towards the stairs. I examine the gap. I fit my

  body in behind the frame and side step with

  my back against the wall.

  Leaning on the wall, I push my back onto it

  but it’s completely rigid.

  I knock on the wall in different positions to

  hear the hollow sound. I look at the wall and

  see a rectangular black line. I stand in front of

  it and study it. I knock on the hollow walls

  and then the door which sounds firm. I move

  my hand down the door and feel a hole that

  reaches mid way through the thickness of the

  door. I feel around in the hole with my finger

  tips. Inside is a cold metal circle. I clutch the

  circle and twist it and the door opens ajar. As

  soon as the door opens, a stench seeps

  through the opening and straight into my

  nostrils making me retch and choke. Lifting

  my arm up to block my mouth and nose with

  my sleeve, I push the door wide open and call

  out “Hello?”

  235

  I hear a muffled sound and movement.

  “Hello, is someone there?” I call out again.

  Feeling around the walls, there is a circular

  light switch so I click it on, the light flickers a

  number of times, revealing a huge concrete

  room.

  In the centre of the room is a pink children’s

  toy table with the brown, red pinned eyes

  sitting in the centre of the table facing

  towards me.

  I look at the four pink chairs around the

  table. There is a wooden puppet on one seat;

  its strings gathered on the floor on either side

  of the chair. Two other chairs are occupied by

  big dolls that look like children; their clothes

  are stained and streaked with brown. One is

  wearing a white dress and the other is wearing

  a white shirt with black trousers, neither with

  shoes to cover their auburn feet and black

  nails.

  I look to my left, against the wall and there is

  a hunched-up blonde woman, leaning forward

  on a chair with her hair hanging down over

  her face.

  I make sure the door can’t slam behind me

  and step further into the room. I walk over to

  the pink table, staring at the woman on the

  chair. Each step I take, I fear that she will

  wake, but she doesn’t.

  I reach the table and kneel down behind the

  puppet. I look at the two children that sit to

  my left and right. I realise that the smell is

  coming from what I thought to be dolls. They

  are in actual fact, two dead children. I stumble

  236

  back and shuffle away from the table. The

  stench makes my stomach churn. I begin to

  retch, my stomach clenches to pump up

  vomit. I eventually throw up. It splatters

  across the floor and makes my mouth taste

  sour and acidic.

  I hear a muffled hum from behind me. I turn

  back around. In the chair, Tanya sits staring at

  me.

  “Tanya?” I shout in disbelief.

  She mumbles something from under a gag.

  She shuffles on the chair and I see her arms

  are tied up behind her.

  If that’s Tanya in the chair, then the two

  children must be...

  I put the two together, the two children are

  mine. They’re Sammy and Alex.

  I stare at the bodies which are barely.

  “No!” I shout. “No, no, no.” My voice

  breaks.

  I stare at them but I cannot go near them,

  they’re my babies and they’re dead.

  Tanya shuffles in the chair, her face reddens

  and the veins on her forehead stand out.

  I go over to Tanya. My face is soaked as

  sweat and tears drip into my mouth, making

  me taste the saltiness.

  I untie Tanya’s mouth and then move the

  chair away from the wall. We do not say a

  word to each other whilst I loosen her hands,

  instead she bursts into tears.

  I undo the ragged cloth that tied her hands

  together and she falls off the chair and lies on

  237

  the floor. I kneel down to her and turn her

  over onto her back.

  “Tan, are you okay?” I ask.

  “Ryan, oh Ryan is it you?”

  “Yes it’s me.”

  “Oh God, oh God, thank you, get me out.”

  “Who did this Tan? Who did this to you?”

  “Ryan just get me out.”

  “Who did this Tan? How long have you been

  down here?”

  “Ryan please just get me out.”

  “What happened to the kids Tan? Is that the

  kids?”

  “Yes it’s the fucking kids and you killed

  them!” Tanya spits in my face.

  She pushes me out of the way and wearily

  stands up. “This is all you Ryan, you did this.”

  “I, I did…”

  “Yes you did, you locked me down here, you

  locked the kids down here and you killed

  them.”

  I look at Tanya’s filth smothered face and the

  streaks of eye-liner on her cheeks and then

  back to the kids. She continues to speak but

  my hearing disappears, I cannot hear

  anything. All I can think of are the kids. I walk

  back up to them; I pick Sammy up off the

  chair and then Alex. As I walk towards the

  door, I collapse onto the ground with them

  either side of me. Unable to hear my screams,

  I clutch my arms together and pull their heads

  into my chest and put my head between

  theirs. Tanya’s hand rests on my shoulder for

  a moment until she prises Alex away from me.

  238

  I look up at her, her face bright red and

  soaked with tears, covered with dust.

  “This is all your fault.” Tanya says to me as

  she snatches Sammy away from me. “They’re

  dead and it’s your fault.”

  “It wasn’t me.” I say to her as she shakes her

  head. “It wasn’t.”

  “It was, Ryan. It doesn’t matter if your mind-

  frame is Ryan Milligan or Liam Graynnil, you

  still did this.”

  I look up at her, she called me Liam