My name is John Louis Martin St Crow-Baker-Blatt-Langdon-Phineas-many other surnames. All my life I've passed between families, the unwanted child, the one no-one could deal with or love. You want to know the one thing I've always wanted? It was to know who my mother was. I knew my father killed her. I knew her name had been Linda. I looked up school records from all over the country to find a Linda who looked a little bit like me, and as I reached adulthood, I found an old newspaper from the year I was born detailing the murder of a Linda Clifford. I came across this piece after abandoning my search, forming a family of my own. I found it doing cleaning and the picture of the woman with untamed brown hair, high cheekbones, cleft chin, lobed ears...the other half of me.
Linda Clifford
Singer and actress. Not who I wanted.
Linda Clifford Murder Case
First search result. I had a new anger burning inside me. My second daughter had died. Maisie had been attacked by a dog and transfused with the wrong blood type, and she had died. I was in a low and slightly desperate place. Penny, my wife, was worried about me. I wasn't coming to bed. I was spending all night and day at that computer, trying to find out more about Linda Clifford. She was the one, found with a newborn infant upon death, pregnant through sexual assault, and slowly as I found out more information, where she was found, leading to where she had lived, leading to schools in that area, leading to known family, and eventually finding out where they lived...I placed a hand over my mouth as I realised exactly what I had now.
Linda had an older brother. Matthew lived to the south, a two hour drive away. Not too far for meeting the family you never had but have always wanted. I didn't call to say I was coming round. I didn't even tell Penny I was going out, just left under cover of darkness and waited outside Matthew Clifford's house until the morning. When I was sure it was a decent time to call, I went up and rung the doorbell.
Matthew had a blog on the internet, wanting to unravel the mystery around his sister. Neither her rapist nor her killer were ever caught...at least, not until I caused the death of Michal St Crow...I would never know who snapped her neck though. Normally I kept up a pretence that I was strong as nails and never fazed, but it still took a long time for me to gather the courage to knock on the door. Once I did, there was no going back, and then the door opened and there stood a man in his forties or fifties, at least 20 years older than me for sure. He gave me a look, scrutinising me. He was shorter than me, but larger, more muscular. He was staring at my eyepatch, and I squirmed in discomfort.
"Can I help you?"
"...Matt Clifford?"
"Yeah? You are?"
"My name's John...I'm here to talk about Linda..."
Matt narrowed his eyes. I had barely turned 26 and he clearly didn't think I had anything of use, as young as I was. "Linda was before your time." He said, going to close the door. I stuck my foot in the doorway, and it hurt. Matt sure was desperate to get it closed.
"Please, just hear me out! I'm positive that Linda was my mother!" The pressure on my foot was relieved and I dropped down to try rub the pain away and Matt glared at me. "Fuck off."
"There was a newspaper, the year I was born, she died the day I was born...she was found with a baby boy...I met my father, I know I was born from him assaulting a woman called Linda..."
"You know who-?"
"Michal St Crow, the weird scientist business man who was murdered by a seven-year-old." Matt helped me up.
"Oh yeah, that psycho...he was trying to kill the kid, wasn't he?"
"Because he was 'proof of his crimes', yes." I decided not to say that I was the child in question.
"What do you want?" Matt asked, scowling.
"...To get to know my family...you're my uncle."
"You have no proof we're related."
"Look, I've wanted to meet my family my whole life, I'll go to any means to get proof."
"Oh Jesus, get a girlfriend or something, get a life!"
I stepped back, hanging my head. "I don't need a girlfriend, Mr Clifford. I'm married. I just want to know my family."
"I feel very sorry for your poor wife."
"I never had a stable family is all...it would be wonderful to meet my real family...just for a day..." Plus breakfast with Uncle Matt wouldn't go amiss, I thought as my stomach growled. Matt glared.
"Go away."
"This isn't going well."
"How did you expect it to go?"
I reached into my wallet and brought out two photographs. One of a dark-skinned man with hazel eyes and my nose and mouth, and one of a teenage girl with my cheek bones and ears, and untamed brown hair. I handed them both to Matt. "For comparison." I told him. He seemed to tear up at the sight of his little sister.
"She was murdered naked in the streets with a new born baby in her arms by a monster."
"I don't know who the murderer was, just the initial rapist. I wish I could be of more help, Mr Clifford."
He compared the photographs to me and sighed. "What did you say your name was?"
"John."
"John, you understand I can't just welcome you in with open arms."
"Honestly, sir, I'm just glad I know where I come from now."
"So how did you find us?"
"I do a lot of research. Linda was the name of the only one of Michal's victims he didn't kill himself. That Linda probably lived within the area. I knew she died the day I was born, so I looked up obituaries for my birthday, found a couple of Lindas and did some research." I trailed off as I realised maybe he didn't care about all that. And then the dreaded moment came. For all his suspicions, Matt was drawn to asking about the scars.
"What's with the eye patch?"
"It covers an injury."
"What injury?"
I was so distrusting of people who kept secrets that I told people everything about me, even though I didn't trust them. "Somebody shot me in the eye."
"You know who?"
"Michal St Crow."
"And what happened to your hands?"
"Fire damage."
"Fire?"
"House fire." I didn't want to speak any more because my throat was closing up and my eye was stinging and I knew that in a few seconds I'd be in tears on this man's doorstep.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Terrible memories."
"Oh yeah?" His voice finally softened. I don't think he was actually asking me to explain, but still it spilt forth.
"I'm a terrible person! Whenever I try to help someone or care for someone, somebody dies!" Yup, that was me, breaking down, and Matt guided me in and set me down on the sofa and went to make some coffee. There was a moment where he argued with a woman, evidently his wife, and someone walked in and then back out again, and slowly I calmed down. I peeked between my fingers and there stood a poster woman for plastic surgery. Apparently my Aunt Fiona. How Matt could deal with a woman like that I would never know. I closed my fingers, refusing to meet her eyes.
"Whatever your game is, stop it now."
I looked up. "He asked about my burn scars." I said in no more than a whisper.
"You came here with some cock and bull about being our nephew?"
"My name's John."
"I don't care."
I looked around, wiping my eye. "I did a lot of research, and it led me to Matthew's blog. If I'm wrong, so be it, prove me wrong and I will never come here again." I bowed my head, not wanting to look at this girl. Woman. Piece of living plastic. Whatever. Matt came back out and offered me a cup of coffee, which I gratefully accepted.
"You okay?" He asked after a moment.
"Yeah...just, the fire's a really bad memory..." I closed my eye and saw a small body, burnt to a crisp. With a gasp I snapped my eye open. Do not think about Agnes. The eye closed again and instead was the dog-mangled body of Maisie. "No..." I whined, gripping my head with my free hand. All I could see. Brook's body when giving birth had proved too much. Michal St Crow, eyes full of madness as his fingers closed around my throat. Matt's hand was suddenly on my shoulder and I just...sobbed...and told him everything. From the abusive foster carer to the violent old perverts on the streets, to Michal St Crow and his trigger-happy fingers, to dealing with the lost eye. Finally, Brook and Agnes, Penny and Maisie. All of it. All too much, and I spilt it all, spilt my heart out, to this man I was certain was my uncle, and he looked at me for a long time before speaking and handing me a tissue.
"To have survived all that...you're a strong man, John. Linda was strong too. You clearly take after her."
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