Sixty Seconds
By Claire Farrell
A Short Story Collection
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © Claire Farrell 2010
[email protected]
Book cover image provided by Andres Rodriguez @ Dreamstime.com
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Table of Contents
Sixty Seconds
Hero
Eco-Friendly
Forgive me, Father
Knick-Knack
Procession
Searching
I Win
All Seeing Eye
Gift
Final Call
Shark
Somebody to Love
Sixty Seconds
“Pull the fucking trigger, Jamie.”
My fingers tighten but the gun feels slippery in my hands – like it’s going to melt into my skin, bullets and all.
I sense Graeme behind me. Hot breath on the back of my neck. Thick fingertips digging into my shoulders. His mates laugh and sneer but they’re just glad they aren’t in the spotlight tonight. Mark stays silent and just watches me. He’s the one to be scared off, the one who doesn’t warn you.
“Do it, I said.” Graeme’s voice is an angry whisper but the unspoken words are the ones I’m afraid of.
The man I’m aiming a gun at raises his hands up to me, every inch of his naked body trembling. He’s covered in snot and sweat; his body stinks with his own piss and shit. He lost his dignity half an hour ago, when they started cutting away his tattoos. That’s when he realised this wasn’t a warning.
“Please, Jamie,” he says, spluttering, his eyes wide with the kind of terror that makes me want to look away. “Please, you know me. You know me, Jamie, just look at me, look! Help me! Help me, Jamie, help me. Jamie! Jamie!”
If he’d just stop saying my fucking name it wouldn’t be too bad. I’d aim, close my eyes, pull the trigger and pretend his brains weren’t splattered all over the place. I barely know him, and what the fuck could I do for him anyway? God help us both.
“What would your ma say, Jamie? What would she say?” He grabs at my leg; his hand is a curling, bloody mess that reminds me of a horror film. I need to throw up but instead, I kick him away.
“I reckon she’d rather you than me,” I say, looking at the others with a fake smile plastered on my face. They laugh, more at the man’s face than my words, and I laugh along with them. I wonder how it managed to get this far, how I deteriorated so badly in such a small space of time. I just wanted to fit in, to make a little money, to enjoy life. I never wanted to be a murderer.
Graeme’s eager, he shoves me a little. “I swear to fucking God, you have sixty seconds to do that rat in or you’re taking his fucking place. D’ya hear me, young fella?” He means it. He doesn’t care who dies, as long as he gets to watch. That’s Graeme’s thing. Especially when he’s coked up. Somebody isn’t going home tonight. I’ll do anything for it not to be me.
I close my eyes. Take a breath. Think.
Sixty seconds.
Me ma’s face, lined with worries. Money. Me. The mess I’m making of my life. Would she want a murderer or a dead son?
Forty seconds.
Gemma. The smell of her skin and the dimples in her back that I kiss just to feel her squirm beneath me. The baby in her belly, the kid I may never see, hidden under the hard curve that has replaced her once soft stomach.
Jesus, I haven’t told her I love her since the positive pregnancy test. I’ve left her thinking I blame her. Would she want to hear it again? Even if it came from a murderer’s lips?
Ten seconds.
Can I live with myself? Can I lie down and die?
I open my eyes and look right at the man I’m about to kill. I owe him that much, the poor bastard. The gun is heavier than it looks now. Clammy hands. Sweaty face. I need to throw up.
He shakes his head, silently pleading with me. Too late. A second later he’s on the ground with a hole in his head and I’m deaf. Except for his last cry. I hear him call my name over and over, despite his mouth no longer being capable of making a sound.
Someone takes the gun from my hand, claps me on the back. I can’t stop looking at dead eyes, still wide open with fear. Graeme ruffles my hair, high on something other than the cocaine he snorted.
“Great show, son,” he says. “You’re in.”
I don’t throw up.
Hero
Eamon Davis looked at the huge digital numbers on his watch and tried to figure out how late it was. He was the only one standing outside school, waiting to be collected. He wasn’t sure how long to stick around for – it would be dark early. Da had told him never to go anywhere alone because there were bad men out there, bad men who would take him away. But Da would come looking for him. Da would save him. ‘Cos Da was a hero.
Eamon puffed out his chest. If Da was a hero, he could be a hero too. He could get home and if any bad men came near him, he would kick them where it hurts and run away. Da taught him well. Eamon remembered the way home clearly, even though he hadn’t taken the journey alone before. He wondered why nobody had collected him, maybe Selena was supposed to and forgot.
He shifted the weight of his schoolbag. Muscles, that’s what he’d have. Like a hero. Like Da. He grinned to himself and strolled on, confident and happy. He waited for traffic lights to turn green, looked both ways before crossing the road. Big boys can walk home on their own.
But then nothing looked familiar and Eamon realised he had taken a wrong turn. He stopped walking and sucked the tip of his thumb, trying to figure out where to go. He saw a boy in the same school uniform as himself.
“Are you in my school?” Eamon asked him, shy because it was a bigger boy.
The boy looked down at Eamon and laughed. “Are you Selena’s brother?”
Eamon nodded. If he knew Selina then he must be a friend. “Can you bring me home? Nobody collected me.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed a little. “Yeah, sure. I’m Jay, I’ll take you home. Come on, little man.” The boy led Eamon through the park but not to the playground, not where Ma ever took him.
Jay passed the pond and pretended to push Eamon in. Eamon didn’t like that but he didn’t want to cry in front of a big boy. The sky was darker now and Eamon felt a little scared. Da always said bad people were out in the dark.
They walked until Eamon’s feet were sore, until he begged Jay to stop, until they came across a group of even bigger boys. Jay pushed Eamon in front of him, toward the others.
“Guess who this is?” he said and laughed but Eamon couldn’t see what was funny.
“He looks like him and all,” one of them said. “What you doing out this late? Shouldn’t you be home crying?”
Eamon jutted his chin. “I don’t cry. My Da says big boys don’t cry.”
The boys all laughed. “Your Da’s dead, you stupid twerp.”
Eamon didn’t know who spoke but his chin trembled. “My Da’s not dead. He’s a super hero.”
“Your Da’s no hero, he’s a fucking rat,” one of the boys said, and spat on the ground. He moved towards Eamon but Eamon wouldn’t move. The boy smacked Eamon across the mouth.
Eamon’s eyes watered with the sting. He tasted blood, reminding him of when he used to put old coins in his mouth. His Da would make
him spit them out in his hand. Eamon spat the blood out. It splashed the boy’s sleeve. The boy’s face turned red. He lifted his hand again but this time, Eamon was ready. Ready to be a hero, just like Da. He ducked and punched the boy where it hurts, hoping Da would turn up and rescue him. They were lying about Da, he just knew it.
The group of boys burst into hysterical laughter as one of their own bent over with pain. He glanced at Eamon, dark eyes full of hate, and Eamon dropped his bag and ran. He didn’t look around, he didn’t stop.
He ran and ran and kept running until he found a gate and made it out of the park. His chest heaving, he kept moving, dodging crowds of people and crying silent tears. He recognised the shopping centre, the big one Ma went to every Saturday afternoon while he and Da watched the football together.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember the way home, he knew it wasn’t far. Eamon found his way but he dreaded going home and telling Ma he lost his schoolbag. Da would say it was grand but Ma would probably cry about money again.
He walked slow, feeling guilty, but a knot of fear was twisting up his insides, why hadn’t Da saved him? Eamon shuffled his feet – entering his estate, everything seemed quiet. Maybe ‘cos it was dark. Everything looked different.
He turned onto his own street and saw the police car outside his house, the neighbours gathering outside his gate. He pushed past them, heard whispers of his name, saw Ma crying on the doorstep. Sobbing, a woeful cry, a scary cry. Her eyes were wild and her fingers bunched into fists and she didn’t look up at him, even when he stood over her.
Eamon looked up and saw Selena in the hallway, her face tear-stained and her lips cracked and dry.
“It’s Da,” she said.
Eco-Friendly
I lean over, hands on knees, and struggle to catch my breath. Last as always - the others are probably long gone. Typical. I stand up straight, still panting, and wince at the god-awful stitch in my side. It’s so freaking dark, I just know I’m gonna get lost trying to find my way out of here. Stupid trees blocking the moonlight. I kick one hard and howl with pain as my toes crack.
I hear a giggle. Did someone just run past me? I hope the lads come back to find me, I think I might have turned around. Maybe we shouldn’t have egged that car. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The stuck up bitch who owns it would never think to follow us through the woods. Jesus, I hope I’m going the right way.
Probably stupid of us to run into the woods, knowing they’re going to cut them down in a few days. It was sad that kid died after the branch fell but it was an accident, why cut down the whole forest over it? Probably some council official got a brown envelope in his back pocket from a developer, and signed the order to cut the whole forest down. He might say it’s a health and safety thing, but we’ll all know who cha-chinged when the land gets turned into a car-park. Dave reckons he heard the sex shop was okayed but no way are we that lucky. Fucking holy joes protesting always ruining it for the rest of us.
Maybe losing the woods is for the best. We’re getting a bit old for all the messing about and hiding in the trees like kids. Next month, I’ll be old enough to get charged if a copper catches me with another spray can so it’s a bit of a relief to have an excuse to stop. That cock-eyed cop with the accent has it in for me, I swear.
I hope I’m walking in a straight line, I’ll find my way out eventually if I don’t circle. I pass an old oak tree with a deep slice in the bark of the trunk, that’ll be Dave and his pen knife again. He thinks he’s a big man with his knife, used to be the quiet one before he bought that blunt piece of crap. He’s a show-off now, flicking it open whenever Sharon is around. Wanker, he knows I had my eye on her first. Who cares if I never said anything? I don’t know why I touch the incision. Gross. I pull my fingers away, sticky with whatever’s oozing out of that tree. Looks like silver blood.
Getting cold now, too quiet, isn’t there supposed to be animals at night? Badgers or something? Owls even? The trees look sort of creepy, like giants with lots of arms. The branches dip low but I don’t feel a strong breeze, just a chill in the air. I clear my throat, just to make a noise. It echoes around the trees until I’m almost convinced someone is out there, mocking me. Probably Dave, it’d be just like him. I’ll show him. I’m not scared. Much.
“Very funny, Dave. Hil-fucking-arious. Now stop acting like a twat and help me figure out how to get out of here.”
Nothing. He’s always been a wanker, that Dave. Feels like I’ve been walking around for hours but I’m still in the middle of a hundred poxy trees. Is that the same oak tree? Looks like the same cut on the trunk. Dave’s getting imaginative now, running ahead of me marking trees so I’ll think I’m lost.
“Way to be obvious, man.”
My words echo for a long time, until they sound almost like a little girl. Is that supposed to happen? Whatever, I have to hurry, get home before Mam gets home from work. She’ll flip her lid if she finds out I was hanging out with Dave and all.
What’s that noise? Maybe I should slow down, I keep tripping over roots I don’t even see. Can’t see the wood for trees. What’s that even mean?
I must be seeing things, I have to be seeing things. Is that a girl? A hot one, no less. Haha, Dave, you’re missing out.
“Alright there, love?”
She smiles at me, beckons me, in her white dress, one strap falling down her shoulder. I hope my mouth didn’t just drop open. I step towards her and it’s like the trees have moved out of my way because I don’t trip up once.
“What’s your name?” she says. Funny, ‘cos I didn’t see her lips moving.
“M . . . Michael.” I barely get my own name out, how lame is that?
She smiles again, puts her hand on my chest and lowers her eyes, all coy like. Up yours, Dave.
She’s not as pretty up close but who cares, she’s wearing a slip of a thing on a cold night. She’s well up for it.
“Who are you?” I ask, delighted I didn’t stutter.
“Deirdre,” she says, her voice like a whisper floating through me.
“Nice name.” Yeah, right. “So, where you from?”
“Here.”
“What, like the woods?”
She nods and laughs, a nice tinkling sound that doesn’t echo. Great, she’s cuckoo. Does that mean I shouldn’t get my leg over?
I’m trying to think of something else to say when she pushes herself against me, her face close to mine. Actually, she isn’t good looking at all now – won’t be telling the lads that. She presses her mouth against mine and pushes me until my back is against a tree. Alrighty then.
I grab her backside and pull her against me but she feels funny. Doesn’t feel like skin. I open my eyes and see a wooden monster before me. Skin dried up like bark, her tongue slips between my lips and feels like a twig poking around my mouth. What the fuck?
I’m panicking now because she won’t let go. Her hand, or whatever, is pressed against my chest. I can feel something sharp pierce into my skin, like her nails are growing into me. I try to look down but her tongue is growing inside me – at the back of my throat I can feel it. Moving, living, choking me. Jesus, help me.
I’m struggling, tears streaming but she won’t let go and all I feel is pain. She’s eating me, melding into me, pushing me into that tree while I feel pinpricks of pain all over me. My face feels wet and all of a sudden she’s pushing me away from her. Releasing me, setting me free. Except I’m not free. The tree behind me is growing around me, the trunk gathers, encasing me. The tree is swallowing me and as she pulls away, she licks my face – the wounds she’s inflicted. Instead of blood, her lips are covered in silvery juice. She swallows it and her skin changes slowly. Less dry. Less wooden. She sucks my chin and I try to scream but there’s something in my throat. Something hard. I can’t move but she can. She steps backwards and the trees seem to separate, letting the moon shine on her. She turns back into the beautiful, skimpily-dressed girl I first saw. Please be dreaming.
&
nbsp; She steps away but the tree is still growing around me until I can’t see. My eyes are gone now, I see what the tree sees. I am the tree. She smiles at me and places her hand against my trunk.
“Thank you for taking my place before they cut us down,” she says, a tear rolling down her cheek. She leaves and I try to follow but my roots are deep in the earth. I stand there for seconds, minutes, hours, days. Light then dark. Light then dark.
Dave and the others come back for me but they seem feeble and tiny. Their voices echo in the hollowness of the forest.
“Maybe he ran away,” Dave says, flicking his knife open and cutting my trunk. I scream with pain and rage but they hear nothing. My branches sway and Dave looks up, fear flickering across his face. “Come on, we better go. Don’t want to be here when they start cutting these fuckers down.”
They leave and I see no way out. Please don’t let it hurt. But it does.
Forgive Me, Father
“Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It’s been . . . years since my last confession. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“That’s alright, son. The Lord welcomes you with forgiving arms, never forget that. It’s nice to see you back.” Father Pat clasped his hands together, hoping his words rang true. After this confession, a break. A nice cup of coffee laced with a drop of whiskey would get him through the day.
“Really, father, I’m sorry. I’ve fucked up, fucked up big time.” The priest heard the anxiety in the young man’s voice and groaned inwardly. Not another one.
“Not to worry, penance will fix everything.” The priest tried to tell him but the man wouldn’t listen. They never did. Not anymore.
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