Good Friends

'What the hell is wrong with you?'
I hadn't seen Harry like that since when ? Well, since then. Even after
a year and a half I still didn't want to think about it.
In reply to my question I received the customary grunt. Sometimes I
wondered if Harry was actually the lovechild of his father and a
pig.
'Harry, I think you should apologise to Alex.'
Grunt.
'Harry!' I looked at Alex, small and weak with a bloody nose and a
black-eye and then I looked at Harry, scowling, fierce, his muscles
bulging as he strained against the grip of the two boys holding him,
and I wondered if I am friends with the wrong boy.
'Harry!' I urged him. 'Look at him. Don't you think that was
wrong?'
'He [grunt] insulted [grunt] my mum.'
'You insulted my mum!' Alex retorted, almost in tears.
'That [grunt] is different,' Harry snarled.
'Why?' Alex shrilled. 'If you call my mum a whore, I don't see why I
can't call yours a whore just because she - '
For someone with an eye promising a spectacular array of all the
colours in the spectrum, and a nose spurting blood like Niagara Falls,
Alex really didn't know when to shut up.

The world would be so much more pleasant without people like Harry
Goodman. He was laconic and sullen at the best of times, but that day
he surpassed himself. In all my years of teaching, I don't think I've
seen the like. Poor Alex Banbury was half-dead. That's the first time
we've ever had to call out an ambulance. Such a blow to the school's
reputation. I suppose now we will get less students and my pay will go
down. And all thanks to that evil, cruel, violent bastard.
The head said he would be suspended again. In my opinion he should have
been expelled. Her and her bloody 'extenuating circumstances'. I don't
know why no-one can see him for what he really is - an evil, cruel,
violent bastard.
Especially Hannah Badley. I don't know why on earth she is friends with
him. She was such a good girl before she met him - all pigtails and
smiles. Now she is moody and unhelpful.
Anyway, I must get on with marking these English essays. What's the
novel we've just studied? Ah yes, 'The Strange Case Of Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde'. I'm tempted just to scribble 'disgraceful' on every paper
without reading them - they're bound to all be bad.

'Where the hell have you been? I had to throw away your dinner - it got
cold.'
'What do you mean, where have I been? I've been at work. It's where I
go every day to earn money so you can fritter it away on bathrooms and
hideously expensive holidays in the Caribbean.'
'Oh, don't start trying to make me feel guilty again, Geoffrey. I don't
see why we shouldn't be allowed to splash out from time to time.
Anyway, you still haven't told me why you're so late.'
'I had a trial. It took longer than anticipated. And then I went for a
walk,' I add sheepishly.
'Good heavens! A walk! What did you do that for?'
'No reason, really. Just something the father said to me after the
case. I wanted to think about it.'
'What? What did he say that was so important it made you miss your
dinner? I did roast beef as well.'
'Oh, it was nothing really. Roast beef, you say? Damn. Any potatoes
left?'

MUMMY: Oh Harry, you naughty boy! That was Daddy's birthday cake! You
bad, bad boy!
HARRY: Chocklit!
MUMMY: Yes, I know it was chocklit, that's Daddy's favourite! What's he
going to have now?
HARRY: Harry bad boy.
MUMMY: Yes, Harry very bad boy. Come here, you rascal, and let me wipe
it off.
(doorbell sounds)
MUMMY: That'll be Sarah, Harry, she's come to babysit you while I go
out with daddy. (opens door) Hi, Sarah, come in. I'm nearly
ready.
SARAH: I'm not early, am I?
MUMMY: No, it's just I've got a bit delayed in cleaning Harry up. He's
eaten half of Sean's birthday cake.
SARAH: Oh no!
MUMMY: Yeah, well it's my fault, really. I should have put it somewhere
a four year old can't reach, not just left it lying around on the
table!
HARRY: Harry bad boy!
MUMMY: Yes, but Harry going to be good boy for Sarah now, all right?
Mummy's going to go and meet Daddy now, so be a good boy for Sarah. Bye
Harry! (bends down to kiss him) Be good!

I was really worried about Harry.
He was sixteen, it was twelve years ago, he should have got over it by
then. All right, not 'got over' it, but he should have learned to live
with it. I had.
Yes, it hurt, but Dad and I managed most of the time. And we could talk
about her without clamming up like Harry did. Dad would say: 'Hey
Hannah, do you want to look through the photo albums of your mum?' and
I would say: 'Yeah, OK,' and we would. We remarked on how beautiful she
looked in her wedding dress, we laughed at the photo where she was
sticking her tongue out and pulling her ears.
But Harry ? As soon as you mentioned his mum it was as if it triggered
some barrier inside him to close, and he became even more surly than
normal.
I know he was angry, but he somehow needed to let that anger out in a
good way.

'Susan?'
'Yes, Geoffrey?'
'Do you think I'm good at my job?'
'Her hand stops halfway to her head, clutching a luminous pink roller.
I have no idea where she finds the patience to roll her hair every
night. It makes me glad I'm bald.
'What's brought this on?' she says, her tired face frowning
worriedly.
'Do you?' I repeat, ignoring her question.
'Yes dear, I do. It's a very difficult job, but someone has to do it,
and you're the best person I can think of.'
She completes her final adjustments to her hair and switches off her
lamp. I leave mine on, and sit at the edge of the bed, staring through
the window. The cosy glow of my lamp makes it impossible to see the oak
tree, and the rain I hear relentlessly drumming on the roof.
'Why does someone have to do it?' I ask slowly.
'Geoffrey, are you having a mid-life crisis?' Susan asks me. Honestly,
if I ever think about something other than food she automatically
assumes there's something wrong with me.
'No, seriously,' I say. 'Think of all the innocent people that have
been wrongly sentenced. Wouldn't it be fairer to them if there were no
court cases?'
'Perhaps, but then the real criminals would go free and other innocent
people would suffer.'
'Why did I become a judge?' I wonder out loud. 'I should have followed
my childhood ambition and become a train driver.'

Bye Harry! Be good!

I started to really worry about my father. When I said I was going out
with Harry he didn't complain at all. He hated Harry. He hated him as
much as he loved Mum. He banned me from seeing him until I managed to
persuade him Harry was the only friend I had. He took a lot of
convincing. And if he had known where the scar on my face was really
from, if he knew I was lying when I said I fell off my bike ? He hates
Harry.
But all he said was 'OK, don't be back too late.' He didn't even come
out of his laboratory. He sat in there all day then, mixing peculiar
concoctions that supposedly cured back pain or gave you diarrhoea. I'm
not sure about the latter, but you get my drift.
He never used to spend so much time in there when Mum was alive. I know
it hurt him, but sometimes I felt as if I wasn't good enough for him to
come out for.
At least he didn't beat people up, like Harry.
This thought reminded me that I was supposed to be meeting Harry at the
cinema at seven. He got worried if I was even five minutes late meeting
him anywhere.
I didn't tell my dad we were going to see 'The Exorcist' - it's an 18,
so he would have gone berserk. Although, judging from what he was like
in those few months, perhaps he wouldn't have cared.

Eventually I finished marking the essays. Sometimes I wish I was a
Maths teacher - the answers are either right or they're wrong. It's
black and white. With English it's a fuzzy grey. What I say is bad
someone else might say is good. Although I think anyone else would have
agreed that Harry Goodman's essay was surprisingly good. I'm not sure I
agreed with his viewpoint, thought, which was that Mr. Hyde was not
pure evil, he still retained some of Dr. Jekyll's
characteristics.
As I was reading it, I almost began to forget it was Harry's writing. I
nearly awarded him an A, but then I remembered he is an evil, cruel,
violent bastard, and gave him a D.

Bye Harry! Be good!

I reached that place. Where it happened.
A year and a half ago. I shuddered as the memory ran through me like an
icy trickle of water.
We had been going to the cinema, just like that day. A teenager walking
past made a sarcastic remark about Harry's trousers being too short,
which, I have to admit, they were, and he went psychotic.
After I had dragged him away I tried to calm him down.
'It's not my fault my useless dad can't afford to buy me a decent pair
of trousers,' he stormed angrily.
'Harry, that wasn't about the trousers, was it?' I probed, not aware I
was balancing on one foot on the edge of a steep precipice and it was
very windy.
'What do you mean?' he shouted. After he had been worked up, it took a
long while for Harry's voice to resume its normal volume.
'You're still angry about your mum, Harry.'
'What the fuck has my mum got to do with this?'
'You're still angry and you're trying to release your anger by being
aggressive.' The wind got stronger.
'I am not fucking angry!' Harry raged.
'You obviously are, and maybe its time you stopped being angry.'
Sensible Hannah would not shut up. 'Your mum died ten years ago. You
should have dealt with it by now.'
'What the fuck do you know? You can't just 'deal with it'! You have no
fucking idea what you're talking about!'
My irritation at Harry had been building up for a while and once I had
started to release it, it wouldn't stop, like a balloon someone's just
blown up that flies around the room making a squealing noise until all
the air has gone.
'Excuse me, but I'll think you'll find I do. You're not the only one
whose mum died.'
'That is NOT THE SAME! Your mum was not raped and murdered!'
'Oh, and that makes it better, does it?'
'Yes!'
'No it does not! My mum is still dead, however she died, and she's not
coming back any more than yours is! And in a way, she was raped and
murdered, just not by a human. Cancer is evil too.'
'Cancer did not get away with murder! It is not still out there,
somewhere, possibly raping and killing more people's mums, like whoever
killed mine is!'
'It is still out there! No-one's found a cure for cancer yet, and far
more people get killed by cancer than get raped or murdered!'
'IT is NOT THE SAME, and you cannot fucking tell me I should have dealt
with it by now!'
'Why not? I have.'
'SHUT UP! SHUT UP!'
And then he hit me.

'What are you doing, Geoffrey?' Susan's light goes on, illuminating her
'What are you doing, Geoffrey?' expression. Its one she often
uses.
'Nothing. Something. I'm, erm, I'm just looking through the case notes
from this afternoon.'
'Geoffrey, it is one o'clock in the morning.'
'So?'
'You are having a mid-life crisis, aren't you?'
'No, dear. Go back to sleep, dear.' I ignore her protest and continue
perusing the papers. This case is really bothering me. For some reason,
although it was clear what happened, I have a strange feeling I don't
really know who committed the crime. I skim through my notes: '?coin,
photograph of ?' Susan whisks the papers out of my hands and switches
off my light.
'I've got to get up early tomorrow and I can't sleep with your light
on,' she explains tersely. 'Your mid-life crisis will have to wait
until tomorrow.'

Bye Harry! Be good!

'Jesus, Hannah, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hit you, I
just got so worked up. Hannah, I'm so sorry.'
I said nothing. My cheek was stinging like hell. I put my shaking hand
up to it. My fingers came off coated in red. I looked at Harry's hand
and saw his gold ring decorated with my blood.
'Hannah, please forgive me. That wasn't me that did that. It was like I
was possessed or something, I don't know. I'm sorry.'
He took a step towards me and I backed away, scared. But then I looked
up into his face and I saw he was right. The fierce anger that had been
in his eye before had evaporated, leaving a gangly teenager with short
trousers who looked like a lost child.
'I'm sorry too,' I cried, and threw my arms around him. 'I shouldn't
have said what I did. I haven't dealt with my mum dying either, I just
hide it.'
I think the blood from the gash on my cheek went into his mouth, but he
didn't seem to care. We just stood in the middle of the street,
crying.

'Hi, Hannah.'
Harry's grunted greeting roused me from my recollections.
'Hi, are you OK?' I asked, noticing a look of relief on his swarthy
face.
'Yeah, it's just you're a bit late,' he said.
I looked at my watch. 'Only three minutes!' I exclaimed.
Grunt.
'Come on, let's get our tickets,' I said, steering him towards the
door. 'Did you see the statue at the end of the street has been
vandalised?' I asked him.
'Yeah. I liked that statue.'
I waited for him to comment further, but instead I felt a hand on my
behind, and a voice behind me leered: 'Nice arse, girl.' I turned
around to see a greasy-haired teenager grinning nastily at me.
'Leave her alone,' Harry cautioned in a deadpan voice.
'Harry, leave it,' I told him apprehensively.
Harry and the greasy-haired teenager ignored me.
'Why? What are you gonna do about it?' the greasy-haired teenager
jeered. Oh hell, I thought, it was that steep precipice scenario
again.
'This,' Harry said, which was more generous than he normally was.
Usually he didn't even give his victims a split second to run away
before he pounced.
I half-heartedly tried to break the fight up, knowing this was futile
and Harry would only stop pummelling the poor boy when he wanted
to.
But he went on longer than usual. Then he knocked the boy to the
ground, but still he didn't stop. This was even worse than the fight
with Alex.
A crowd gathered, but everyone was too scared to try and stop
Harry.
'Harry, that's enough!' I shouted, but he continued, oblivious. The
greasy-haired teenager was going to die if he didn't stop.
Suddenly Harry stopped punching. He knelt on the ground,
motionless.
Then he started crying.

As I was driving home from school, having finally finished my marking,
I noticed the statue at the end of the street, the one of King George,
had been vandalised. Obscenities scrawled all over it. It was
appalling, it really was. And I bet you anything I know who the culprit
was. That's right, Harry Goodman. It's not enough for him to
hospitalise a classmate and get suspended. Oh no, then he has to deface
our monarch by graffitiing all over his monument. Evil, pure
evil.

Bye Harry! Be good!

It was disturbing. Harry was sixteen years old and he was crying like a
baby. His muscular frame was heaving with the strength of his sobs, and
his nose was running uncontrollably. Between shudders he announced to
me and the crowd: 'I can't take it any more. [sob] I can't. I try to be
good like she said but it comes out wrong and ?. and everyone hates me
[sob] and I ? I can't take it. I want my mummy. I WANT MY MUMMY! [sob]
I don't want anyone else. I don't want my dad's new girlfriend, I don't
want someone else's mum, I WANT MY MUMMY!'
Everyone was silent.
It felt like one of those moments at the end of a play where the
audience is silent for a moment while the final lines sink in, and then
the noise of applause breaks out.
No-one clapped.
This was real, and I didn't know what to do. All I could think of was
taking Harry back to my house, so that was where I went.

Harry Goodman's father is as bad as his son. You can certainly see
where Harry got it from. It was me who had the task of telephoning to
inform him of his son's suspension, and he was most unpleasant. Well,
not unpleasant, really, he just didn't seem to care.
'Mr. Goodman? This is Harry's form tutor. Regretfully I am calling you
to notify you of the fact your son has been suspended.'
'Oh, right,' he said in his flat, uncaring voice.
'I am afraid he seriously injured one of his fellow students.'
'Oh, right.'
'The suspension period will be two weeks. He will not be allowed to
enter the school building during this time.'
'Right.'
'Well ? goodbye then, Mr. Goodman.'
But he had already hung up.

Bye Harry! Be good!

I opened the front door and with considerable effort dragged Harry
through it. It started raining on the way home and we were both
drenched to the bone.
'Dad!' I called. 'Dad, I know you hate Harry, but he needs to stay here
tonight. He's got nowhere else to go. Please, Dad?'
My father emerged from his laboratory, holding a syringe. At first he
looked furious, but then his features curiously metamorphosed into a
look of concern.
'Yes, of course he can stay here, the poor thing,' Dad said, almost
oozed. I try to detect sarcasm in his voice and am not sure whether it
is there or not. 'He can have my bed,' Dad continued, 'I'll probably be
working through the night.'
'Are you sure?' I asked tentatively. Something strange had to be going
on. Even with all the time he had been spending in the lab, and his
dishevelled mad scientist appearance he had obtained, I was sure Dad
hadn't gone crazy enough to willingly offer Harry his bed just out of
kindness.
'Yes, yes, absolutely,' he said, motioning Harry to his room. There was
a strange ring to his tone and an odd gleam in his eyes, a light I
hadn't seen since before Mum died. It was a gleam of hope, tinged with
another emotion I couldn't quite distinguish. I filed it in the drawer
in my mind marked 'unsolved mysteries to worry about later'.
I sat Harry down and brought him some hot chocolate, his favourite
drink. He took it dumbly. I noticed in his other hand he was fingering
what he called his lucky penny, turning it over and over in his shaking
hand.

Bye Harry! Be good!

Susan is asleep. I can tell because she is snoring loudly. I am not
asleep. I am sitting upright, looking through the window. Now there are
no lights on in the bedroom I can see outside - the oak tree and the
rain beating on its leaves.
I think about my life. Perhaps I am having a mid-life crisis. I have a
large house, I like roast beef, I have a wife who snores and wears
luminous pink rollers in her hair. I'm sure there are millions of men
like me (except perhaps for the luminous pink rollers - I can't believe
more than one woman would be tasteless enough to buy them). The man's
words echo in my head. My instincts tell me he was the father of an
evil, cruel, violent bastard, but that doesn't mean he can't be right -
who am I to judge?

I was sitting with Harry, watching him slowly rotating the coin as if
he was trying to decide which was the best side, when my father
entered, holding a cup.
'Some medicine for Harry,' he explained, holding it to Harry. 'We don't
want him to catch a chill and he must be cold with those wet clothes
on.'
I realised we were both still soaking, and went to get Harry a towel.
My dad stood in the doorway, watching Harry. From where I was standing
I could only see his silhouette, outlined by the light from behind, but
as I moved I noticed a strange look on his face. He was half-smiling
and had a peculiar gleam in his eyes.
'Go on Harry, drink your medicine,' he urged.
Harry looked at him, drank the contents in one gulp, then curled up and
went to sleep, still clutching his lucky penny.

Bye Harry! Be good!

'Good morning, Harry.'
'Good morning, Hannah.'
I drew back the curtains, and a torrent of light flooded the room. The
window of my dad's room faced east so in the morning there was a
spectacular view of the sunrise. Harry winced slightly in the
brightness. The air was fresh and clean, the sort of air you get after
it has been raining heavily.
'Nice day,' Harry remarked.
'Yes,' I agreed, slightly surprised at this positive comment. 'Harry,
I've got to go to school today, but you can stay here and rest. I've
phoned your dad and he says its OK.'
'No. I feel much better. I think I shall go for a walk.'
'Erm ? OK. Would you like some breakfast first? I can make you some hot
chocolate.'
'No thank you. I don't like hot chocolate.'
'All right, then.' Something was definitely going on. As Harry stood up
I had an eerie feeling that something about him was not right, but I
couldn't put my finger on it.

'Before we start the lesson, I want to talk to you about Harry Goodman.
I am sure all of you know by now that Harry has been suspended due to
an incident that occurred yesterday. Harry used extreme physical
violence against one of your fellow classmates, Alex Banbury. This
should not be condoned, and when or if Harry returns to this school I
hope none of you will be friendly or welcoming towards him. He is an
evil ba- person and does not deserve anyone's friendship.'
As I made my speech I watched Hannah Badley's reactions. Or lack of
them. She sat at her desk with her head down, her dark hair obscuring
her face.

'Hi, Harry.'
'Hello, Hannah. Did you have a good day at school?'
'Do you need to ask? Or have you already forgotten what a dump school
is?'
Harry's face broke into a smile, and then he started to laugh. I had
never thought of Harry and laughing being synonymous before.
'Are you all right, Harry?' I asked tentatively. An explanation strikes
me. 'Are you drunk?'
'No, I just ? feel good, that's all,' Harry said, for a moment looking
bewildered as if he didn't understand this sudden change in himself any
more than I did.
As he moved in front of the window and stood bathed in sunlight, again
I had that eerie feeling that something about him was unnatural.

I watch my wife as she pours her tea. It's the same old routine - stage
one: fill mug (the one with the black and white squares) three-quarters
full. Stage two: top it up with milk (semi-skimmed). Stage three: add
two teaspoons of sugar. Stage four: stir until the dark water is milky
brown in colour.
'Susan,' I say slowly. 'We have enough money, don't you agree?'
'Ye-es,' Susan says hesitantly. 'Why?'
'I'm thinking of quitting my job.'
CRASH.
Splinters of black and white ceramic lie on the kitchen floor,
intermingled with milky brown tea.

'Good morning, Harry.'
'Morning.'
I drew the curtains again, but Harry complained, shielding his eyes.
'It's too bright,' he moaned.
'Sorry,' I say curiously, closing the curtains. True, the light was
bright, and I supposed Harry had been in a dark room all night, but
still, it wasn't blindingly bright.
'Are you all right, Harry?'
'Actually, I don't feel so good today. I thought I was better
yesterday, I felt great, but today I feel a bit ill.'
'Well, you can rest as long as you like. I've got to go to school now,
so I'll see you later. Bye, Harry. Get better.'
As I left I saw him reach towards the bedside table, on which there is
the photograph of his mother he always keeps with him, and the one
pence coin.

AARRGGHH!
It makes me so angry. If I were headmaster, things would have been very
different. Harry wouldn't have kept getting all those second chances.
And third chances and fourth chances and fifth chances, come to think
of it. I know his bloody mother died, but that's no reason to be like
he was. Hannah Badley's mother died too, and she's not a
criminal.
Alex Banbury's parents wanted to sue the school, but still the
headmaster wouldn't get the police involved, and wouldn't expel the
evil, cruel, violent bastard. Sometimes she is too good for her own
good.

'Harry?' I called, when I found he was not in the bedroom.
'Harry?'
I found him in the living room, gazing out of the large French windows
at the setting sun. Although I could only see his back, he looked weak
and feeble, like a lost child. The sun cast short shadows on the floor.
The old piano's shadow was unrecognisably deformed, the armchair
appeared as a twisted monster.
I looked at Harry and suddenly I realised what it was that was wrong,
the thing I couldn't put my finger on.
He had no shadow.

'Geoffrey, this mid-life crisis joke is going too far. You can't quit
your job.'
Susan busies herself with clearing up the mess of the smashed mug, as
if this will make my statement disappear.
'Why not? You agreed we have enough money.'
'It's just not ? right.'
'Right. Yes, that's the word. How do I know if I'm right? I don't. I
could be condemning innocent people. And if you say leaving my job is
wrong too, then I'm left with a choice of evils. I'm choosing the
lesser one. Isn't it better to condemn myself than to condemn hundreds
of innocent people?'

'Hannah, I won't hurt you. Hannah, please.'
'Who are you? What are you?'
'I'm not sure. But whatever I am, I won't hurt you. Please let me try
to explain.'
I retreated behind the old piano, placing its wooden bulk between me
and ? him.
'I think it was that medicine your dad gave me. It wasn't normal
medicine. It somehow got rid of the anger inside me. The hatred, the
violence, the pain ? the evil. Now I'm pure good. You know the last
thing my mum said to me before she died? She said 'Bye, Harry! Be
good!' And I never was, until now. I was sullen, horrible to everyone
except you. You were the only one who could understand what I was going
through. And I even hurt you once.
And now I'm good. But I'm not better. It's killing me.'
'Harry ? '
'I'm not Harry. Harry died when your dad gave me that medicine. I am
only part of Harry. I'm not even human anymore. I can't choose between
good and evil; I am only good. I was better before all this. I might
have been evil, but I didn't feel good about it, and at least I could
choose.
'Well, I won't be here for long. I'm dying - I can feel it. Good can't
survive without evil. There is nothing to compare it to, it's just the
standard. It isn't good, it just is.'
'Harry, you're not going to die.' My fear of him had been replaced by
pity and astonishment, and once again he looked like a lost
child.
'It's all right, Hannah, it's better that I do, and soon as well. I
don't want you to remember me like this. Remember the evil Harry, the
Harry who was evil to everyone but you.'
I turned to leave and saw my father standing in the doorway. I realised
from his face he had been listening all the time. 'Is this all true,
Dad?' I asked him painfully.
'It is true that I gave Harry a medicine to make him good. Do you think
I would have let that evil, cruel, violent bastard sleep in my bed out
of pure kindness?'
'No, but I would never have guessed it was because you wanted to
experiment on him with your fantastical drugs. I thought you were just
being kind to Harry for my sake, because you'd finally accepted he was
a good friend to me. And anyway, isn't what you did illegal? How do you
know it is safe? Judging from the state Harry's in now, it
isn't.'
As my father spoke I noticed again the strange gleam in his eyes, but
this time it unnerved me.
'Illegal and unethical are two different things, my girl. I have made
this drug for the good of society. Think of the effects it could have.
No more crime, no more murders. Harry's mum would still be
alive.'
'Mine wouldn't, though.'
'True, but it would be an impossible task to eliminate all suffering.
Eliminating evil is a beginning, though. And think of the money we
could make, Hannah we -'
'You cannot give this drug to anyone else.'
'I'm sorry, Harry?'
'You cannot give this drug to anyone else. If you try to, I will kill
you.'
'That's strange. You shouldn't be able to say things like that, I
thought I'd made you completely good. Perhaps the evil in you was too
strong. Anyway, I'm sorry, but I will continue researching this drug
until it is safe enough for everyone to take without these annoying
side effects.'
'These are not side effects. You cannot give this drug to anyone
else.'
'I'm sorry, Harry, but I will not stop until I have. It is for the good
of society.'

'Geoffrey, please don't do this.'
'You don't seem to understand. I cannot not do this. I cannot judge.
No-one can. Everyone has different views. What is good to someone might
be evil to someone else. Who am I to judge?'
'Geoffrey-'
'Who am I to judge?'

I went outside. My brain was whirling with everything Harry had said. I
walked, not knowing where I was heading. I walked, not knowing how long
I was going for.
When I returned the house was quiet and the sun was set.
'Harry?' I called, nervously. 'Dad?'
I searched the house but there was no sign of them. But there was one
room I hadn't yet looked in - my dad's laboratory. I cautiously pushed
the creaky door open. There was no light on, which was peculiar.
Normally the light never went out.
I pushed the door open more, then switched on the light, illuminating
the darkness.
'NO!'
No, No, I had to be wrong, I was hallucinating, this wasn't right. No,
no, no.
I stepped forward. I reached out my hand.
I was not wrong.
It was really my father's body sprawled on the floor, a knife in his
back. The floor was really stained dark red with his blood.
And slumped on top of him, his hand clutching the knife, was
Harry.
I knelt down in his shadow and cried.