Free Guilty Innocence by Maggie James

Completely forbidden; he’ll be breaking two of his parole rules. He shouldn’t even contemplate going to where Abby Morgan died, let alone risk locking eyes with Michelle Morgan. Mark’s growing ever more desperate in his quest to secure release from his guilt, though. His usual practice of watching the vigil at home then making a donation to a local children’s charity hasn’t provided the relief he seeks. A need to delve deeper into the Morgan family tortures him. The insane idea that’s grasping him tight has to be worth a shot. Perhaps he’ll understand more if he’s back in that field in person, hearing Michelle Morgan’s wrath first-hand, instead of experiencing the vigil via his television.
    It’ll be easy enough to attend, like when he visited Moretonhampstead before. He’ll either take the day off, or bunk off sick, and memories of Adam and him skipping school, the way they frequently did, wash over him with bittersweet irony. The vigil will start at four o’clock, the time of Abby’s death; Mark reckons he can leave straight after lunch and be back by mid-evening. He has the advantage, of course, that nobody will recognise him as the eleven-year-old complicit in the murder. At the time, photographs of the two boys were widely published and their names openly broadcast, hence the need for new identities on their release. The public has no idea, though, of how Joshua Barker has morphed into the adult Mark Slater, swapping the childish features of the boy for the fully-formed ones of the man. He can lock eyes with Michelle Morgan without her ever knowing one of the objects of her tirade is anywhere near her. He’ll stand well back from any television cameras, pretend to be an interested onlooker and blend in. As for clothing, he’ll wear something nondescript, a jacket with a hood he can pull over his face. Once the vigil starts, he’ll do his best to get a grasp of how he’s shattered this family’s lives and perhaps he’ll understand how to atone for his misdeeds. If that’s even possible.
    Back in the present moment, Mark pulls the plug from his bath, draining out water that’s now cold, and then stands up. He has nine days in which to change his mind. He won’t, though. Some resolution has to occur, otherwise in ten, fifteen, twenty years’ time Michelle Morgan will still be spouting forth how he’s not been punished enough. Besides, now he’s got the idea, the compulsion is too strong to resist.
    Mark dries himself off, pulls on fresh clothes and goes into the kitchenette to make coffee. Decision made, the tension of the day recedes a little, although it returns when Natalie comes to mind. He can’t picture a satisfactory conclusion where she’s concerned; she’ll be happier without him. Like your mother, I never want to see you again. I’m not surprised she rejected you. Her words burn like acid.
     

7
     
     
     
    GIVE ME A CALL
     
     
     
     
    Nearly three o’clock on the afternoon of March 21. Mark’s sitting in a coffee shop in Moretonhampstead, downing an espresso to calm his nerves; he’ll set off towards the scene of the vigil in about half an hour. Plenty of time yet. As usual, he’s arrived early, punctuality being another one of his compulsions. He sips the thick brew, savouring its taste, desperate for the caffeine jolt it delivers. The weak March sunshine filters in through the window, highlighting dust motes floating through the air as Mark stares through the glass.
    Thankfully, no blonde female toddlers pass by. A man, probably mid-twenties, crosses the road in front of the coffee shop and Mark studies him. Something familiar about the guy, the self-assurance of his gait bordering on a swagger, triggers a distant memory, although Mark can’t place where he might have seen him before. Ah, he’s got it. The man’s confident stride reminds him how Adam Campbell used to strut around as though he owned the world, oozing supreme self-confidence with every step. Mark