Flux

you.”
    “Then who was it, you must know?”
    “Please, leave me alone.”
    “You know we can’t do that.”
    Iain gave a resigned shrug.
    Detective Tailor leaned over the table, his face inches from Iain’s. Shouting, spittle flying from his lips; “if it wasn’t you, then tell us who did it? Who was it? WHO WAS IT?”
    Iain whimpered a little.
    The policeman sat back down, leaning back on two legs of his chair before rocking forwards and leaning over the table again, less aggressively this time. His voice was lower, more calm; “OK Mr Andrews, have it your way. I’m charging you with the murders of Gary Fisher and Tim Humphries.” He paused before continuing; “and I’d be very surprised if you ever saw the light of day again.
    “You’ll think I’m mad.” Iain mumbled.
    “Pardon?”
    “I said, you’ll think I’m mad,” a little louder.
    “And why’s that?” asked detective Rodgers, playing the role of good cop. “Why don’t you tell us and let us decide that? Who killed and ate those people?”
    Iain took a deep breath and slowly blew it out through slightly parted lips.
    “We’re waiting Mr Andrews,” eyebrow raised.
    “It was Bert,” said Iain feebly.
    “Bert who?”
    “The old man from the hospital.”
    “That’s more like it. Do you have a second name, and why are you protecting him?”
    “No, no I don’t”
    “Do you know where we’d be able to find this Bert?”
    “He’s dead.”
    “Hmmmm, dead you say?”
    “Yes.”
    There came a shared silence between the three of them sitting there. Iain, looking at the ground, and the policemen looking at each other, not quite knowing how to proceed.
    “Forgive me for asking,” DCI Rodgers asked eventually, “but you didn’t kill him did you?”
    “No, of course not. He died in hospital. All over my face!”
    “Eh? Did you have any involvement in the death of this Bert character?”
    “No!”
    “We will be checking.”
    “That’s OK.”
    “So how did a man who’s already dead, kill and eat two people. How do you explain that?”
    “I can’t. But it was him, I swear. He’s been haunting me since the day he died.”
    “So you did do it? This ghost, Bert, told you to?”
    “No. He did it. I need the toilet.”
    “OK, what do you need?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Number one or number two?”
    “Number two.”
    Geoff Tailor produced a Tupperware container from somewhere. “OK, could you go in this?”
    “Why? Do I have a choice?”
    “Forensics and No.”
    With the interview once again suspended and a fresh deposit in the lunch box, Iain was once again locked in his cell. The two detectives, taking up their regular space in the yard were talking. “I think we need a psychiatric assessment.”
    “No shit Sherlock.”

Chapter Thirty-Four
    Golden Balls

    “God is testing me.”
    “Is that what you believe?” This psychiatrist, a different one from Doctor Jenkins, was a stereotype complete with pointy beard, round glasses and corduroy jacket with leather patches on the elbows. Iain couldn’t take him seriously although he thought he better had.
    “No, it’s what I know.”
    “Why do you think that? Please tell me when all this began?”
    “Well, first there was the accident.”
    “I heard about that. In fact, I’ve requested some input from the doctor who treated you, Doctor Goodman I think. She seems to think your symptoms are physiological but from what I understand, that’s been ruled out.”
    “Dunno.” The sullen reply from Iain. He was bored of all this now. In fact he was tired after all the excitement and wanted nothing more but to sleep. He stared around the cell, only half hearing what the doctor was saying.
    “Can you tell me about this Bert character?”
    “I think he’s the devil; no, wait a minute. I think he’s more of some kind of minor demon. He keeps asking me to join them.”
    “Join who?”
    “That’s just it, I’m not sure.”
    “Not sure, or just don’t want to admit it?”
    “Admit what?”
    “That your brain has invented these characters as a way of coping.”
    “Maybe. Doesn’t matter anyway. We’re all going to die soon anyway.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “I’ve seen it; been shown. He’s coming.”
    “Who is, Bert?”
    “No. His master. The Master.”
    “Who’s the Master?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
    “Well, it would be really useful if you did.”
    “This is bullshit. You’re going to be dead anyway. I’ve