I met with an agent a couple of days ago. He turned me down eighteen months ago; very nicely and, as Lord Sugar occasionally says, ‘with regret,’ but for all the praise, it was still a rejection. He got back in touch several months ago, having had second thoughts. (It may be unkind to suggest that having sold shed loads of books may have influenced this rethink, so I won’t suggest it.)
We had a good chat and he’s full of ideas. No problem with finding a publisher, he reckons, with my proven track record as evidence of commercial viability. I’m seeing a Publisher next week. Making a special trip to London as he’s such a persistent devil. What to do? Open mind, for now. If I need an agent, I have one in waiting. A high-profile one. The Publisher represents one of the big boys, so next week will need a lot of thought.
Meanwhile, I’m writing again. I’ve started a new novel project – unspeakably rough at this stage – and added a few snippets already to the blog. Here’s a piece to fill in a few gaps. Still not sure where this is going. Too early to judge whether it’s strong enough to take further. I’ve already got three works in progress held in abeyance. Of well, see what you think. Advice welcome. Not that I’ve ever been noted as one who accepts advice!
Why Do They Call You Dog?
He remained motionless with his legs crossed, eyes closed. At peace. Being confined, being locked up, didn’t bother him.
Nothing bothered him.
The doctor’s coat rustled as he entered the room and he stirred, but kept his eyes closed.
‘How are you today?’ The doctor’s voice was calm. Soothing. Doctor Rogers, then. The young one.
‘Feel like a chat?’
The seated man opened his eyes and smiled at the fresh-faced young doctor sitting opposite him. The smile never reached his eyes. ‘I could chat,’ he said. ‘Nothing better to do. Not sure you’d want to hear what I want to talk about though.’
‘Try me.’
He leant forward. ‘What you lot want me to talk about is boring. I could talk to you today, if you like. You’re a good listener. Depends on what you want to talk about. Try me. I’m in a good mood. One question. If it’s interesting, I’ll talk to you.’
Doctor Rogers nodded. ‘Why do they call you Dog?’
The other man shrugged. ‘As good a name as any.’
‘I thought at first it was a nickname from when you were in prison. Top dog on the wing, or so I heard.’
Dog shrugged. Prison was behind him now. He’d made the Governor’s decision for him by his violence and absence of remorse for his actions. This Secure Unit was home now. He was still confined, but the emphasis was on mental health, not punishment. Neither institution was big on rehabilitation, but that would never be an option in his case. The intention was that he would die behind bars.
‘I can’t find a name for you,’ the doctor persisted. ‘Not in your records. Nothing. You’ve been charged and sentenced under a pseudonym. Why is that?
Dog shrugged, closing his eyes as if bored by the question.
‘You don’t exist. Officially. I can’t find any record of you anywhere. Not even when you were a child.
‘Dog is what we called our pet dog. Not a name as such. We didn’t go in for anything like that. I like that idea. Dog’s as good a name as any.’
‘So, you had a dog? As a child?’
Dog sighed. ‘How about I tell you about my childhood?’ His voice was soft. ‘Let you work me out for yourself. Nature or nurture? Which was it that defined the way I am? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Find out what makes me tick? I was never a happy child. Remember that. It’s important.’
Doctor Rogers shuffled closer, touching the table that divided them. The guard moved into their field of vision. ‘All right here, doc?’
Rogers frowned. ‘We’re fine.’
The guard moved away again, glancing at the clock at the far end of the room. Dog watched it too. Three minutes to four.
Dog smiled, bent forward slightly, keeping his voice hushed. ‘Why don’t I start at the beginning? I had a sister. A year younger. My earliest memory is of hating her. I begrudged the attention she received. Fairly normal behaviour for a child, you’d probably say. Sibling rivalry, you’d call it. She disappeared. All very sad. Never turned up either. Not all of her anyway.’
Dog’s eyes were like stones in a river bed. Hard and unyielding. Lacking any feeling.
‘Go on.’
‘My sister was ordinary. Not like me. I didn’t miss her. Not at all.’
He stopped talking. Sat back again.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘You know when to keep quiet. Hoping I’ll say where my sister is, are you? Or some of the others?’ He tapped his long, slim fingers on the table. ‘Not very likely, is it? Not after all this time. Secrets are such fun, don’t you think?’ He glanced up at the clock, shook his head as if reaching a decision. ‘Oh, why not? I need to talk about this sometime.’
The guard approached, stayed a pace away, his face stern. ‘Shift change, Doctor. This’ll have to wait for another day.’
Doctor Rogers looked up at him. ‘Leave us, please,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fine for now. Your replacement’s on his way.’
‘Not possible. Can’t leave you alone with him.’ He checked himself. ‘With the patient.’
‘Just go,’ Rogers snapped. ‘This is important.’
The guard shrugged and moved away, glancing back as he approached the door.
‘You’ve read my records, then?’ The doctor nodded. Guardedly.
Dog smiled at him. ‘Interesting, aren’t they? Forty, that’s my score. You’ll know that though. I’ve killed forty people. It must be true if it’s in my records, eh Doctor? Don’t trust records myself. See, I know things that nobody else does. Not written down. I suppose you’ve seen all those tests they did when I came here. Before your time.’
Doctor Rogers nodded. ‘Remarkable,’ he said. ‘An IQ reading that’s off the scale. That’s why you’re so interesting. What brought you here. What made you what you are.’
Dog laughed. ‘Oh, you can come again,’ he said. ‘I may get to like you coming round for a chat. I’ll make it worth your while. Tell you something nobody else knows, should I?’
Doctor Rogers said nothing, waited him out.
‘It’s more than forty. People I’ve killed. They’re just the ones they know about. My sister, my parents; nobody knows about them. I was only young then. The bodies were never found. Missing presumed dead. Man, woman, boy, girl: the perfect nuclear family. Just vanished. I was the boy, but you’ve already worked that out. The person I used to be disappeared one day and I ceased to exist. That’s when I chose the name Dog.’
He stopped talking, placed both palms flat on the table. ‘Enough for today,’ he said.
‘How old were you?’ When this happened?
Dog’s eyes blazed, showing a degree of emotion for the first time.
‘Thirteen,’ he said.
Doctor Rogers stopped taking notes. He looked at Dog, held his gaze.
‘I can trace you,’ he said. ‘Find that family. There’ll be records. Then we’ll have a name for you.’
‘No, you won’t.’
Rogers crinkled his eyes, puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘What time is it?’
‘Four o’clock.’
‘Four o’clock. Shift change. Last day of the month, right? First of June tomorrow?’
Rogers nodded, his confusion evident. ‘What does that…’
‘Oh, I’ve organized something for the first of June. Away from here. Something has to happen first though. You can help me with that. While you’re here. You shouldn’t have said that about my mother, should you?’
‘I never mentioned your mother.’
Dog shrugged. ‘I know, but that’s what I’ll tell them.’ He leapt across the table, dragging the doctor to his feet and clamping an arm across the other man’s throat. A sudden commotion in the corridor outside confirmed the new shift of guards had arrived and were watching the cameras situated high up on the wall.
Dog increased the pressure, standing tall and wrenching the head of the doctor repeatedly from side to side. Just before the first guard reached him, baton drawn and red in the face, he felt the bones give under the pressure, but he held on tightly even as the other guards arrived and began striking him with their batons. Sinking eventually to the floor under sheer weight of numbers he released the doctor and watched impassively as one of the guards rushed to the stricken man’s aid.
‘Waste of time,’ Dog said, blood streaming down his face. ‘Number forty-one. Add it to the total. He’s dead. I should know. I know what dead people look like.’
