My brother had done something unthinkable. But I knew I’d stand by him… By Sarah Merritt, 38
I sat on the sofa with the controller for the Sega Mega Drive in my hands, and watched my on-screen avatar duck and dive to avoid being hit.
When I reached the end of the level, I turned to smile at player two — my brother Adam.
‘We did it!’ I said.
I was four years older than Adam. But we shared a close bond and played together on video games or with friends on our street.
Adam was a sweet boy, who loved Pokémon, toy cars and dinosaurs.
We were a tight-knit family, and Mum, Dad, Adam and I would go out for a pub roast every Sunday.
But in time, my parents’ marriage broke down.
Mum moved out, and it was a tough time.
Then, when Adam was aged 18, he started behaving strangely.
One day, when we visited Mum, he screamed at her.
‘You’re a witch!’ he shouted.
I felt stunned, as such anger was completely out of character for Adam.
'He's escaped from hospital'
Back home, Dad began to notice a change in him too.
‘Something’s not right,’ he said, taking Adam to visit the GP.
Weeks later, my brother was diagnosed with schizophrenia.
We felt shocked and anxious about what the future held, especially after Adam was sectioned.
We visited him in hospital.
But he was on so much medication, it was as if he wasn’t really there.
Then one night, I was at my job as a hotel receptionist, when Dad phoned.
He sounded panicked.
‘Sarah, it’s Adam, he’s escaped from hospital,’ he said.
Dad told me he was going out to search for him.
I felt helpless — I was the only one on shift, so I was stuck at work.
When guests came to check in, I plastered on a smile.
But I felt worried about Adam.
Later, I was relieved when Dad contacted me to say he’d found Adam and was taking him back to hospital.
But soon after, Adam broke out again.
This time, Dad decided to become his carer.
‘I’m going to take him in and look after him myself,’ Dad said.
But I worried about Dad. He hadn’t been given any training on how to take care of someone with schizophrenia.
Years passed, and Adam had his ups and downs.
I met a man and went on to have three children.
By now, I’d moved away.
But I spoke to Dad every day, and visited him and Adam regularly.
When my relationship came to an end, Dad was there for me.
And when I fell in love with a man named James, he felt thrilled for me.
But Adam struggled.
He felt anxious going out. So he had no social life and kept to himself.
If Dad needed to pop to the shops, he’d asked me to phone Adam to put him at ease.
It was hard for Dad to get on with his life, and he went to the GP to speak about the depression he’d started suffering.
Although he loved Adam, he felt helpless.
But Dad would never give up on his son.
In time, he wondered if a change of scenery might help, and made plans for himself and Adam to relocate from Peterborough, Cambridgeshire, to Cumbria.
One weekend, Dad came on a camping trip with me and my children.
He had a great sense of humour, and the children rolled over with laugher as he did a funny dance outside the tent.
'Hi Adam, we really miss you'
He doted on them, and they thought the world of him.
A couple of weeks later, I took the children to the swimming pool.
As they played in the water, I snapped a picture and sent it to Dad.
He replied: Cool.
Short and sweet, as always.
Next morning, I was at home when a text came through from Dad and Adam’s neighbour.
It read: If you need anything, let us know.
It was an usual text to receive, and I wondered if it had anything to do with Dad and Adam moving home.
I replied to clarify, and a response pinged back.
It read: Have you spoken to your dad?
I had the sickening feeling that something was wrong.
So, I called Dad, but it went to answerphone.
Then I tried Adam.
But he didn’t answer either.
I felt a knot of dread in my stomach.
Minutes later, there was a knock on my front door.
My heart sank when I opened it and found two policewomen stood on my doorstep.
‘Is this about Dad?’ I asked.
They nodded.
‘Can we come in?’ one of the officers asked.
I ushered them inside, and James came to see what was going on.
‘I’m so sorry, your dad has been killed,’ one of the policewomen said.
‘Are you joking?’ I asked.
She shook her head.
It was like a nightmare. It didn’t feel real.
Who killed him? I wondered, assuming he’d been attacked by a stranger.
‘He was found in his house, and we’re investigating what happened,’ the officer said.
‘Did anyone enter?’ James asked.
‘At this moment, it seems not,’ she replied.
It was then a realisation hit.
Although Adam had never done anything violent before, he was mentally ill and wasn’t receiving the professional help he needed.
Later, my fears were confirmed.
I learnt that Adam had stabbed our dad, Robert, aged 60, 16 times, before calling 999 and telling the operator he’d done ‘something terrible’.
Adam had been arrested.
But, despite the horror I felt, I forgave him straightaway.
I knew Dad would have wanted me to.
Adam loved Dad more than anything in the world.
He would never have hurt him if he’d been in his right mind.
For months, Adam wasn’t allowed contact with us.
But then one day, he phoned.
‘Hello,’ he said, down the line.
My eyes filled with tears.
‘Hi Adam, we miss you,’ I said.
I didn’t want to bring back the trauma of what had happened, so I didn’t speak about it. Instead, I spoke about everyday things.
I felt sorry for Adam. And Mum shared her support when she visited him.
‘We’re here for you,’ she told him. ‘No one is holding anything against you.’
Although Adam was charged with murder, he was found not fit to stand trial.
Instead, a trial of facts was held at Cambridge Crown Court.
I didn’t attend.
But afterwards, I discussed the case with a police constable.
She explained the jury were told that Adam had stopped taking his anti-psychotic medication two weeks before Dad’s death, but had taken a dose of medicine the day before the killing.
I felt heartbroken when I saw Dad’s wounds on a dummy and listened to the 999 call.
The trial found that my brother, Adam Merritt, 33, had committed the murder.
He was sentenced to a hospital order, where he would stay until a panel deemed it safe for him to be released.
Now, I visit Adam and speak to him regularly on the phone.
He keeps busy in the hospital, drawing, gardening and baking.
Since Dad’s death, I’ve had another daughter, Tilly, who has his bright blue eyes and blonde hair.
I’m also pregnant, and it pains me to know that my youngest two children will never get to meet their grandad.
If Adam had received the professional help he needed, maybe this tragedy could have been prevented, and my caring and wonderful dad would still be with us today.