“That’s why he was coming to kill you, wasn’t it?” Randy said, smiling at his own stupidity. “You knew they wouldn’t let you die in peace, you knew they would want you dead.”
“Course I did, you dumb little shit.”
“They had sent him to kill you, not me, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, I suppose they did.”
Randy shook his head in disbelief. “All that stuff you said last night, it was all bullshit wasn’t it Mr. Samsonite?”
“Don’t get all preachy to me, you little asshole! You came here, trespassing on my land then took away my scarecrows, my friends,” The old man raged. “Well even if they think I’m too old, I don’t think I am. I have looked after them, devoted my life to them. It won’t be easy, but I’ll learn to forgive them for trying to replace me.”
“Mr. Samsonite, please.”
“I’m sorry son, but this is the only way to make sure I still have a purpose.”
Randy knew then what Dwayne had been trying to say as he lay dying in the dirt.
Stockholm Syndrome.
The old man had it, and who could be surprised after so long alone with whatever power lived in the dirt here. Randy closed his eyes and hoped that it wouldn’t hurt when it came.
Samsonite took a single step and fired.
SHOEBOX
The shoebox was just lying there in the corner of the garden. The winter had been hard, and it was the first time the snow had thawed for weeks. Schofield wasn’t sure if the box had been there before. He certainly hadn’t seen it, but either way, it was there now, revealed by the elements and presented to him to find. There were no markings on the box, and it was sealed with three red rubber bands holding the lid in place. The box now sat on his kitchen table. He stared at it, lid and rubber bands discarded. Inside, was a hundred and eighty thousand pounds in assorted used notes, each bundle held together with the same red rubber bands as on the outside of the box. He had counted it twice. It was more money than Lee Schofield had ever seen. Enough money to change a life. He glanced from the cash to the mountain of envelopes on the countertop beside the microwave. Mortgage reminders. Final notices for water bills, council tax. A court summons for unpaid TV licence.
Bills. Debts. All things that had caused him countless sleepless nights, things that had contributed towards the death of his marriage and had forced him to take in a lodger to go towards the cost of the house in the void left behind by his estranged wife.
All things that he now had the ability to eradicate thanks to the shoebox full of money on the kitchen table. He scratched at his cheek, a nervous habit he had carried with him from childhood.
The moral thing to do would be to hand it in to the authorities, tell them what had happened. However, that wouldn’t pay his bills, keep a roof over his head or bring Jenny back. He remembered the way she looked at him as he sobbed and begged her not to go, his eyes raw and stinging as she packed her bags, her an emotionless robot who had been pushed too far. He had begged her to stay, to give him a chance to put things right. It was then, as she had opened the front door that she had glared at him, eyes full of hatred, none of the love he once knew visible.
‘Just get your shit together, Lee. For your own sake.’
No emotion. No last-minute declaration of love or telling him it was another last warning. She wasn’t even angry. He had hoped she would have slammed the door on her way out. At least that way he would have known she still cared. He had gone to the living room window, watching as she walked away without looking back, dragging the pink suitcase behind her, its wheels rumbling over the pavement as she went out of sight. That was six weeks ago and despite numerous attempts to convince her to come back, she still didn’t want to know. His most recent attempt to reconcile had been a disaster. He had been drinking all day, wandering around the house and trying to figure out how he was going to get out of the financial black hole that had been slowly swallowing him, when on a whim he had decided to call her to beg her forgiveness. The fact that it was almost three in the morning and he could barely get any words out didn’t occur to him at the time, and he didn’t realise the full magnitude of the situation until the following day when a raging headache and jigsaw piece recollections of his actions had come back to him in awful snippets. She had told him it was over. She was moving into a place on her own where she could build a life for herself away from him. She didn’t say it, but he knew what she meant. She wanted to build the life she deserved that he had been unable to provide. He was a loser, one of those people who was always looking for the next big idea, the next scheme to get rich quick without having to settle for doing a regular job like everyone else. In the end, the instability and living in a dream world had likely cost him his marriage and put him in the position he was currently in where he seemingly owed money to just about everybody.
He looked at the cash on the table, mind swimming with possibilities of how much it could change his life. How it could wipe out his debts and in turn convince Jenny to come back. It would prove to her that he was right, and all it would have taken from her was a little more patience. He liked that idea. Putting some of the blame on her and proving he was right all along not to settle for the mundane existence she seemed to want him to endure.
No.
Handing the money in wasn’t an option. It must have been out there for days in the garden in plain sight. Anyone could have seen it and taken it as soon as the snow had thawed, but nobody had. It was as if some higher power had intervened and it had been left for him to find and use to make his life better. The way he saw it, it was his reward for all the times life had kicked him in the balls and laughed at him for daring to have aspirations.
He slid the box towards him, hands still trembling and took out one of the rubber bands full of cash. He held it to his face and inhaled.
God, what a smell.
The smell of opportunity. The smell of second chances. Fate. Karma. Luck. Whatever he chose to call it, it was his to take. He put the lid on the box and carried it upstairs to his room. He sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what he would do first. He would need to get a lock for his door, that much was essential. His roommate, Gary wasn’t someone he knew, let alone trusted. He had only lived in the house for a few weeks, an essential addition to make sure the bills were paid at least semi-regularly. The shoebox full of money had ended any need for such an addition to the house, and until he could talk him into leaving, he would need to make sure it was safe from him most of all. For now, though, the top of the wardrobe would have to do. Gary would be home soon and he didn’t want to leave him alone in the house with the cash, even if he didn’t know anything about it.
He put the lid back on the shoebox, reattached the rubber bands then put it on the shelf in the wardrobe, pushing it all the way to the back and placing a few old jumpers in front of it to keep it out of sight. It wasn’t in any way perfect but would have to do.
***
Gary was twenty-three, and even though he always paid his rent in full and on time, Lee didn’t think he had a job. He sat in the armchair, Nike cap pushed back on his head as he ate a plateful of overcooked sausages and greasy chips, his eyes glued as ever to the screen of his phone as he shovelled the slimy concoction down his throat.
Lee felt his stomach quiver as the sight. He didn’t eat much now since Jenny had left. Tonight, though, the overwhelming greasy smell was making him feel especially nauseous. He forced himself to stare at the television screen, paying little attention to the quiz show it was showing and instead thinking about the money. He suspected that Gary was mixed up with the kind of people who would kill for that kind of cash. Maybe Gary would too. He was likely mixed up in drugs, maybe other shady, underhanded things that enabled him to live what appeared to be a jobless, carefree life. The idea of his lodger taking the money which was rightly his filled Lee with a fury he had never experienced before. He gripped the arm of the tattered sofa and forced himself to ignore the simmering fury in the pit of hi
s stomach and watch the show on the screen. However, no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about the money in the wardrobe. He would need to protect it. He had already lost so much in his life and wasn’t prepared to let anyone take this from him too. He glanced over and caught Gary staring at him before averting his gaze. Lee told himself not to be paranoid or needlessly twitchy, but he was certain the look his lodger had given him was one of a man who knew a secret and was trying to see if the other person was aware of it or not.
***
He couldn’t sleep. He lay on his bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling and listening to the house. Gary had gone out for a while, then come back, the muffled sound of him speaking to someone on the phone drifting up from downstairs. Lee clutched the shoebox tighter against his body.
He’s plotting to take it. He knows you have it and he’s plotting to take it from you.
It was ridiculous of course. Nobody knew he had the shoebox full of money, least of all his stoner lodger. He knew it was just paranoia talking, but the more his inner monologue expressed its thoughts, the more inclined he was to listen.
What if it was his? What if it was hidden there as part of one of his drug operations and he knows you took it?
He held the box tighter, heart like a trip hammer, every creak of the house igniting his nerve endings.
What if he’s talking to one of his druggie friends, telling them what you’ve done, telling them to come over and make you sorry for what you did?
He blocked it out, but even as ridiculous as it was, couldn’t shake the idea from his mind. He wished he had gone out to buy the lock for the bedroom door instead of staying in just in case Gary came back. At least that way he might be able to relax. Instead, every horror movie cliché flitted through his brain as to how Gary would come for him as soon as he was asleep and take revenge for the theft of his property.
He heard something outside his room, a creak of a floorboard. His rationale told him it was just the sound of the house settling, or maybe Gary was just retreating to his room. The voice in his head said otherwise, though, and projected images of his acne faced lodger creeping down the hallway, switchblade glimmering under the lights as he came to take back what was his.
Lee squeezed the shoebox tighter, unwilling to let anyone take away his opportunity to repair his messed up and broken life. He got out of bed and moved the chair from the dresser, wedging it under the door handle. He knew it would never stop anyone getting in, but he was sure that it would at least make enough noise to warn him if Gary tried, which was as good as he could do under the circumstances. He returned to his bed, hugging the box to his body. He hoped that he would at least now get some sleep, but was wrong. Instead, he lay awake, tense and listening to the house and waiting for Gary to come. The little voice in his head spoke up again, this time saying something he could agree with.
You need to get a lock for this door tomorrow. You might want to get something to protect yourself with too. Just in case.
***
He had stolen the two locks for the door. He had intended to buy them, but the voice in his head had fleshed out a scenario where the person at the counter would know why he was buying them, what he was trying to protect and, like Gary, would try to take the money. Stealing the two locks seemed like the wisest decision under the circumstances. He wasn’t proud of it, and had never stolen anything before but had convinced himself it was a viable risk to take.
Waiting for Gary to go out had seemed like an endless and frustrating time. It wasn’t until after eleven the next morning that he had heard the front door click closed, leaving him alone at last in the house. He was going to take the shoebox downstairs and take the cash out at the table, just so he could look at it in the full light of the day, but was still uneasy about how much Gary knew or if there might be people watching the house. Instead, he had done it in his room with the curtains pulled closed, taking out the piles of cash and lining them up on the mattress, running his finger over the piles of money, over his future. He also looked at the knife, shimmering in the diffused sunlight coming through the closed curtains. It was the big carving knife from the block in the kitchen. He was sure nobody would miss it. Gary, it seemed, lived on foods that had to be either deep fried or oven cooked, and so would have no cause to use the knife block. Although he didn’t expect to have to use it, Lee felt better having it with him.
A click as the front door was unlocked sent him into a panic. Gary was back, and the money was still spread out on the bottom of the bed. He scooped it into the box, wishing he could take the time to stack it neatly like it deserved, wishing he had more time. He could hear Gary now on the phone. Talking to someone about a dog he was interested in buying.
Maybe to bring here and chew your face off for stealing his money.
“Shut up,” he grunted under his breath, as he jammed the lid onto the shoebox and shoved it under the bed. He tossed the knife under there too and then set about acting as normally as he could. He needed to go downstairs and get the screwdriver so he could fit the locks to his bedroom door, and that would mean interacting with his lodger. He wondered if he could do it, or if his face would betray him. Either way, there was no choice. The locks had to be fitted, and that meant heading downstairs. Taking a moment to compose himself and somehow tear himself away from his secret, he left his bedroom and headed downstairs.
***
Gary was sitting on the sofa with his two friends. One of them he knew was called Beard, although whatever his real name might have been was as much a mystery as to why the ratty, clean shaven man was named in such a way. Gary’s other friend though was new. He was broad, and although a little thick around the middle had huge shovel-like hands and muscled arms. His skin was so dark that it almost had a purple sheen to it. Lee didn’t like him. He looked like trouble. He remembered why he had come downstairs and went to the kitchen drawer, retrieving the screwdriver. He could hear them snickering and whispering.
About him.
About the money.
He took the steps two at a time, more desperate than ever to get the locks fitted and protect what was rightfully his.
Later, when it was done, the extra security brought him no comfort. He lay on his bed, doors locked, listening to Gary and his friends laughing downstairs. He thought of the money, now back in the wardrobe. It still wasn’t safe. Still at risk.
He tried to call Jenny, listening to the repetitive dial tone as once again she refused to answer the phone.
Bitch.
He needed to tell her how it was all for her, how everything he was doing was so that he could give her that life he’d always promised to provide.
First, though, the voice in his head said, breaking its silence. You need to protect your investment. If you want to build a new life, then Gary has to go.
“Yes,” he whispered in the dark. He hated how cheery the little voice that lived inside him was. How arrogant it sounded as it told him what he already knew. You’re too scared to ask him to move out. He intimidates you. We both know that.
“So what do I do?”
Get rid of him.
“How?”
You know how.
“No. Not until I know for sure if he even knows about the money.”
Of course he knows. Why do you think he’s brought those friends of his around? Especially the big one. You saw those hands. He could break you and take it all, then what would you have?
“Nothing,” he muttered.
Exactly. Then how will you get Jenny back and fix this mess you call a life?
It might have been arrogant, but the voice knew what it was talking about. He knew it needed to be dealt with, but he was just so tired, so desperate to do the right thing that it was breeding frustration. He closed his eyes, trying to relax. Trying to be rational. The little voice waited in silence. He could still imagine its arrogant grin as it let him stew on the problem and come to the exact same solution it had already presented to him.
>
Later.
The house is silent, Gary’s friends gone. The digital clock reads four in the morning, but this isn’t an early morning wake up call. He hasn’t slept a wink, the thought of letting his guard down and allowing someone to take the money swirling around his brain and making sleep impossible.
He knows these walls, the layout to this house. He knew which floorboards made noise, which doors creaked. He knew it as well as he knew his own body. Because of this, he moved in complete silence.
Gary’s room was at the end of the hall by the bathroom. Lee stood outside, listening to the grating sounds of his snoring filtering through the door. He flicked his eyes to the knife in his hand, ignoring the guilt and uncertainty that surged through him along with the screaming accusation of what he was about to do.
It was murder.
He asked himself again if a hundred and eighty grand was worth it. As expected, that voice that lived in the middle of his head popped up again to tell him what he needed to hear.
It’s not about the money. It’s about a new start. You have to do this if you want that new beginning you keep rattling on about.
He closed his eyes and tried to will the voice away. He had no idea if he could go through with it even when he got in there. Especially when he got in there and saw his lodger sleeping and unaware that he was about to be extinguished. He was no killer. Just a man trying to protect his property.
Either do it or don’t. Whatever you decide you can’t just stand out in the hall all night.
That spurred him on. He opened the door, careful to only open it two-thirds of the way, as it creaked any further forward than that. Gary’s room was a mess. Clothes tossed on every surface, beer cans and ashtrays overstuffed with crushed filters. The air smelled of stale sweat and old semen.
See? The voice chirped up. He’s a waste of space. Worthless. Nobody will miss him. Nobody will care.
Lee ignored it and walked towards the bed. Gary was on his side facing the wall, one pale leg clad in a filthy sock poking out of the bottom of the duvet. Lee adjusted his grip on the knife, wondering how it would feel to run the blade across his throat, to hear that desperate gargle as Gary’s pointless drifter existence was snuffed out as he bled into the mattress.
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