Witch(62)

As Michael was talking, I glanced over at my father and could see the drawn and haunted look on his face as he feared what Michael was going to say next.

“I saw a young-looking copper run into the clearing,” Michael continued, not taking his eyes off my father. “He raced to the edge of the well, and with his torch, he saw Molly lying at the bottom. He called out for help and he was joined by three other coppers. One of them was you,” he said, pointing a finger at my father.

My father said nothing.

“The younger copper wanted to climb down into the well and help Molly, as he hoped that she might still be alive. But the others didn’t want to help her. They said she was a thieving whore. To hear him speak about her in such a way, I had to do everything in my power to stay hidden. The younger cop said he hadn’t signed up to break the law himself. So he clambered up onto the wall of the well as if getting ready himself to climb down and help Molly. It was then I saw you...” Michael said, his voice turning suddenly angry as he jabbed his finger at my father again. “I saw you run forward and push that young officer into the well. I couldn’t believe what I had seen. I had to cover my mouth for fear of crying out and revealing myself. I couldn’t comprehend what I had just witnessed. A police officer murder another police officer.”

“Why didn’t you help him?” I snapped at Michael, feeling sick and confused.

“I was just twenty – a boy,” Michael said, looking at me. “I’m not trying to excuse the fact that I have remained silent for all these years, but they were police officers. I heard the three of them get their stories straight as if it was something that they were used to doing. How did I know that they wouldn’t say that it was me who had pushed the officer into the well? How did I know they wouldn’t give evidence to say I had killed Molly, too? I was just young and scared. So I ran, Sydney. I’m not proud of that. I ran and kept running. Two days later, I left Cliff View and hit the road. I was angry and confused and I hated myself. I started to drink, get into fights to try and release that hatred I had eating me alive from inside out. I began to believe that I had been cursed for my cowardice. Then one night, as I sat and got drunk in that bar, I watched as that guy kept harassing that young girl. In my drunken state, that young woman looked like Molly. I swear to God, Sydney, it was her. She looked at me from across the bar and whispered, ‘Help me, Michael.’ So I got up. I wouldn’t fail her again. I raced across the bar and took hold of that guy. As I had my hand gripped about his throat, it was your father’s face I could see as he had pushed that young copper into the well. So I pushed back, not just for Molly, but for that poor police officer, too. I pushed your father down that flight of stairs,” Michael explained. With tears streaming from his eyes, he looked at my father and said, “But it wasn’t you, was it? It was some drunken punk who thought it would be fun to tease a girl in front of his mates. And when I looked back at the girl, she wasn’t Molly. She was just some girl, who wouldn’t even meet my stare, although I had come to help her.”

I crossed the short gap by the well, and took Michael’s cold, damp hands as thunder began to rumble in the distance. Michael looked at me and said, “Every second I spent locked in my cell, I knew I was paying for being a coward that night – for not coming forward and telling the truth. And I know that the ten years I spent in prison would never make up for what I failed to do. I would never be free of that guilt. Tonight, it stops,” Michael said, looking back at my father. “Tonight the guilt – the curse – I’ve been living with since that night ends. I’m not scared of you and your friends anymore.”

My father looked at me from beneath his cap, and coldly said, “What is done is done. None of this will bring those people back. This will only destroy more lives, like the lives you destroyed out on the road, Sydney. If you tell on me, I tell on you.” I could see a twisted looking smile form just beneath his moustache.

Turning on my father, and a rage burning so deep inside of me for him it was almost overwhelming, I hissed, “I’m not so sure it was me who killed those people.”

“Of course it was you,” he smiled knowingly back at me. “And Michael knows it, too. I know all about your sordid little affair. I know you were busy fucking the farmer’s son that day instead of doing your duty. It’s my business to know everything that goes on in this town. Michael knows you were drinking, too, don’t you, Michael?”

Michael stared back at him without making a reply.