GUILTY 11

BEFORE Winston Waters February 9, 2016 When I was a kid, I would let my imagination wander, thinking about what life would be like when I grew up. Having successful parents and a well - rounded family kept me anticipative and optimistic about what my future held. I wanted to finish school, find a high paying job, get married, have kids, live in a big house in the suburbs, get a dog, maybe two or three. That was the idealistic embodiment of success. The South African Dream. Happiness. I watched my parents succeed and live the South African Dream every day. I aspired to be like them. When I thought about my future, happiness was always of primary importance. But there was always that one thing that came above happiness, and that was money. I grew up in a large house, five acres of property. I was accustomed to the lavished life, so anything below that wouldn’t be adequate. It was during my first year of high school that I decided I wanted to pursue medicine, get my PhD, become a doctor. My mother was a surgeon, my father a successful orthodontist. I had to follow in his footsteps, make him proud. I had my entire life planned out; Where I would go to school, what kind of car I would drive - Mercedes or a Bentley - how my own orthodontist practice would look. Everything, I assumed, would be impeccable. And sure enough, everything I predicted and hoped for came true. Except the part about having a wife with postpartum psychosis. I never planned for that. Not even in my worst nightmares would I have imagined a life where this was my reality. A life where my wife was severely depressed, crying all day long, unable to feel happiness, solely because of our own child. I didn’t even know what postpartum psychosis was, let alone think that my wife could develop it. I don’t blame her, I really don’t, I’m just having a difficult time coping with this situation. I know it’s hard on her, of course, don’t think otherwise. But it’s hard on me as well, Having to stand by and see her like this. Feeling like a helpless bystander as I watch her days turn to misery and her nights become a sleepless battle of tears, tossing and turning until dawn. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Some days I don’t know what to do. I feel as though I’m on the verge of having a break down myself. But I can’t. I won’t let myself break down. Because I need to be strong. I need to support Danny and Emerald. I will be the glue that holds this family together. I am the man of the house, and it’s my sole responsibility to make sure that everything is alright. As I’m sitting in my office finishing up the final paperwork of the night, I glance at the clock. Four - fifty - eight. I sigh, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. What has my life come to that when my workday ends, I don’t even look forward to going home? Of course I want to see my daughter, but there is so much darkness looming around that house right now. I need somewhere to go. An escape. Even if just for a little while. Anything to evade my reality. I end up at a bar down on Cheyenne Avenue. Finniken’s Tap, It’s called. I wasn’t planning on stopping. I was driving home, mind wandering about going anywhere other than home, when I saw the sign. I didn’t think twice. I pulled into the parking lot and went inside. And now I’m sitting here, all by myself at the bar, wondering what the hell I’m doing here. What was I thinking coming to a bar at supper time when my wife and child are at home waiting for me? It’s stupid, really. I should leave. Just as I’m about to grab my car keys and stand, the bartender comes over. A petite red - head with electric blue eyes. ‘Hi hon, what can I getcha?’ She smiles, chewing some sort of bubble gum. I hesitate. I should tell her that this was a mistake and that I should be on my way home by now. But something inside of me lacks the ability to speak up at this point, so I shake out these thoughts and adjust in my seat. ‘Scotch,’ I say flatly. ‘No ice.’ I nurse the glass between my palms. My life is a mess. Valentine’s Day is next week. What the hell do I get Danny? It’s not like she needs a Valentine’s Day gift. What she needs is to get better. I’ll get her flowers. I know that for sure. Her favourites are Roses. She loves the smell. Maybe a box of chocolates. A nice romantic gesture to remind her that I still love her. Maybe cook her favourite meal.. Dammit, that’s not enough. I can’t just give my wife flowers, chocolates and cook her meatballs. I need to try harder. Maybe we can go out somewhere special for Dinner. We could get a babysitter. But she hasn’t been out for so long. Would she even want to leave? I’ll find a sitter. Maybe we could do lunch, the three of us. Emerald will be twelve weeks on the 14th. It would be nice, going out with my wife and child. Emerald is such a happy baby. I’m glad her mother’s mental state hasn’t had a negative effect on her. She loves everything. I can’t believe she’s already three months. Growing so fast and even more beautiful every single day. Three months old. Three months of growing and smiles. Three months of happy giggles and changing diapers. But it’s also been three months of tears and anxiety. Three months of mood swings and insomnia. Three months of screaming, crying, arguing. Three months…. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. ------------ AFTER Danniella Waters Friday May 19, 2016 I’m sitting on the couch in the living room, trying to refrain from crying, yet again. It’s officially been twenty - four hours since she was taken. I peer out the window just in time to see the sky turning a mixture of orange and pink. The days are getting longer now that it’s spring. Soon enough, the sun will be out until eight o’clock. Staring at the landscape before me reminds me of summer nights as a child, when I would yearn for the sunlight at all hours of the day. My admiration for warmth and sunshine must come from the fact that I’m a summer baby. I despise winter and the cold. Nothing irritates me more than having to hide under layers before leaving the house due to temperature. And snow - don’t even get me thinking about snow. But then I do think about snow. And I think about winter. And then I think about November and Emerald’s birth. I feel the tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks. I guess it took having her taken away from me to realize how much I truly needed her. Detective Sullivan is back and I feel somewhat glad to see him. I appreciate the fact that he’s been coming here periodically throughout the day, giving me updates on whatever they have, even when it’s nothing at all. The news about Marcia’s husband came as a shock, but then again, it’s just dagga. At least it wasn’t cocaine or methamphetamine. But none of that matters because they still haven’t found my daughter. Detective Sullivan returns with a woman detective, a petite blonde with vibrant blue eyes. I’ve already decided that I don’t like her. She arrived this afternoon, bringing with her a whirlwind of accusations and patronising tones. I should be used to it by now, the staring and the blame, It doesn’t get easier, though. The entire day has dragged on, as if it isn’t bad enough as it is. From officers coming in and out the house all day, to Winston being MIA since this morning. Our daughter is missing and you think he’d at least have the decency to be home with me. It’s times like these where Winston proves to be selfish, only thinking about himself and his feelings. Times like these when I need him the most. At least Collin was able to come by, even if only for a short time. My parent’s flight should have landed by now and they’ll be arriving soon. I catch them glancing at me, Detective Sullivan and the blonde. They continue to speak among themselves, eyeing me from time to time. My heart pounds in my chest. They’re talking about me. Detective Sullivan nods, pulls out his phone. I watch him carefully, trying to read his lips. The call isn’t long. He slides the phone back into his pocket and begins making his way over to me. ‘Danny Waters,’ he say formally. All traces of the detective I thought I knew gone, replaced by some official, doing his job, ‘We need to bring you down to the precinct for questioning.’ My throat constricts, I can’t breathe. ‘What’s going on? Why Can’t you ask me questions here? Everyone’s been questioning me here!’ ‘Please, Mrs Waters, let’s not make this more difficult, If you could please come with me…’ ‘You think I did this? They convinced you that I killed my daughter!’ I scream. The blonde rushes over and restrains me. I feel metal lock around my wrists, which she holds behind my back. I bet she’s loving this. ‘Why are you doing this to me!’ I cry. Detective Sullivan stares at me, blank expression. He doesn’t answer. I’ve never been in an interrogation room before. It’s cold and I wish I’d brought a sweater. I’m offered a glass of water but I decline. A woman I don’t know is setting up a video camera. Detective Sullivan walks in, sits across from me at the table. So I don’t. I don’t go far at all. Where else would I go other than home? I’ve been home thirty minutes when there’s a knock at the door. It’s nearly seven o’clock and I dread opening the door to more officers coming in to interrogate me. TO BE CONTINUED…