Marilyn

  In fact, Walter needed a breather, but O'Sullivan couldn't allow that, he had to move, had to catch Jack, there was no time to continue the silent in-house debate, but before he knew it, O'Sullivan caught himself walking to seek comfort from a nearby tree, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was furious at himself, at Walter. What the fuck was he doing? There was no time for any of this shit. He fought against every step that his body took, but failed. He sat down holding his shoulder, throwing his gun into lap. He let his head fall back against the stump of the tree, shutting his eyes for a second, a well-deserved break.

  Walter O'Sullivan jerked forward, expeditiously, hearing the splintering of twigs and the trampling of leaves, it was getting closer, louder.

  Walter rolled sidewards off his resting post, and jumped to his feet. He crept off the path and into the bushes, drowning himself from view amongst the dripping wet foliage. Alert and on edge, O'Sullivan waited, aiming his gun through the frond, resting the tip on a conveniently placed crook.

  'Come on, you fuckers. Think you can sneak up on me, huh? Well, you better be willing to die.'

  His hand didn't shake, not reacting to the cold or the anticipation that antagonised him, it was as steady and ready as ever.

  He heard crunch after crunch of the dead crispy leaves.

  O'Sullivan gripped his revolver with both hands, aiming. He followed R.J. and Marilyn, keeping them lined up in the sights. He closed one eye, the weakest, took in a draw- out breath and held it.

  He fired. Once.

  O'Sullivan, weakening and weary, had not fully prepared himself for the recoil from the gun and his arms were thrown back towards his face, blocking his view, he couldn't tell if he had hit anything with his shot.

  **

  The blast boomed through the forest, sending birds swirling off in every direction high above them, squawking in hysteria. The bullet whizzed through the leafy, net-like window ahead of O'Sullivan, tearing the leaves from the branches and embedding itself in the trunk of a senescent tree. The torn up chunks of bark and leaf cascaded to the ground with a serene ripple.

  Marilyn let out a high-pitched scream as she chucked herself at the ground, her head tucked into the crooks of her elbows, protecting her face. She was unhurt.

  R.J. reacted just as quickly, throwing himself down and rolling to a small bit of cover behind a patch of shrubbery. He searched the area, his eyes flitting left, right and straight ahead.

  'Marilyn, are you hurt?' he called out.

  She lifted her head from her elbows, carefully trying not to reveal too much of herself as a target.

  'No. No, I don't think so. Are you?'

  'No, I'm OK. Did you see anything, anyone?’

  She looked across at R.J. and shook her head.

  ‘Me neither; look, Marilyn, on three, I want to you quietly roll as fast as you can to where I am, can you do that? We need to get to some proper cover.'

  Marilyn wanted to move, but she felt as if she was paralysed. She was making herself an easy target, a life-sized bull’s-eye stuck in the mud.

  'I think so,' she decided.

  'Good, OK.'

  R.J. looked around once more.

  'On three, Marilyn. OK? One. Two. Three.'

  Marilyn moved to the right with her eyes firmly closed. The mud clung to her hefty coat and made a slurping sound as she rolled, like the bottom of an empty cup being sucked with a straw.

  No shot was fired.

  R.J. grabbed her elbow with his free hand and pulled her up, spinning her until she was out of immediate danger, behind the cover of shrubbery.

  'You sure you're not hurt?'

  Marilyn checked her body, patting herself down, pulling the coat tight around herself searching for blood stains amongst the mud.

  'Yeah, I'm fine, I think. Can you seen anyone, can you see Jack?'

  'Nothing, can't see anyone. The shot came from over there, behind those bushes.' He pointed.

  **

  'Walter O'Sullivan, this is Sheriff Rupert John Russell. I know you're out there. Where is the boy, where's Jack?’

  O'Sullivan did not reply, instead he used the sound of R.J.'s voice to trace a path to where Marilyn and the sheriff were hiding, but he still couldn't see them. He waited.

  'I know you can hear me, O'Sullivan, all we want is the boy. Give him to us and we'll be on our way.' He waited. 'We only want, Jack. At least let us know that he's OK, that you haven't hurt him.'

  That was all he needed, that little speech let O'Sullivan know exactly where the sheriff was, now all he wanted was a nice clean shot, right between the eyes, the sheriff or the woman, it didn't matter. One was just as good as the other.

  'Listen, Walter. I know about your son, about David. And I'm really, really sorry about what happened to David, and you, and to your family. But what you're doing now isn't right. Think about it. Think about what you're doing, Walter,' he said, with real empathy.

  'You don't know a fucking thing about me, Sheriff,' O'Sullivan screamed, breaking his silence, chastising the air with his viciousness. 'Not a fucking thing. Stop trying to identify with me. It'll never work.'

  **

  R.J. stuck his head out from behind the shrubs, looking in the direction of O'Sullivan's voice, searching. Marilyn stood hunched behind him, looking from over his shoulder. They could see nothing.

  'OK, Walter. I…’

  'And stop calling me Walter,' the voice snapped, echoing amongst the trees. 'Walter has been gone for a long time. He was a weak, fucking piss-ant, cry baby that couldn't fend for himself. He let people walk over him for long enough. I'm in charge now,' he boasted. 'It was a real shame what happened to David, he was my son, too.' His voiced changed. 'Do you know how it feels to lose a child? To hold his cold, dead, bloody corpse in your arms, watched by a hundred strangers at the side of a road? DO YOU FUCKING KNOW HOW THAT FEELS?' he screamed, painfully.

  There was no reply.

  'But he's gone. David's not coming back no matter how hard Walter tries. He's got to let it go. Or it will ruin him and fucking destroy us both and I've taken the back seat for way too long now, I'm not going to sit around anymore.' He laughed his inhuman callous laugh. 'Oh, and before I forget, did you see what I left for your kind at the farmhouse, pretty, isn't it?'

  'That fucking twister motherfucker,' growled R.J. his face an enraged smudge of crimson. 'It seems like the old timer was right on the button. This guy is completely crazy,’ he finished under his breath.

  The calm was slipping away from Marilyn, they were getting nowhere. She needed to see Jack, to know he was OK.

  'Sheriff. Ask him where Jack is again. We're wasting time here,' she pushed.

  R.J. stuck his head out a little further.

  'OK, I understand, you're in charge. Let’s get down to business here, what shall I call you?'

  'Look, I don't fucking care,' roared O'Sullivan, infuriated by the exchange. 'I'm not here to make friends. Why don't you stick your head out a little more, Sheriff? Give me something good to shoot at.'

  R.J. brought his head back, using the forest once more to conceal himself.

  'Where's Jack? Let us see him, we need to know that you haven't hurt him. Like I said, all we want is the boy,' he begged.

  'I'm afraid you're shit out of luck there, Sheriff. The boy's gone.'

  'What do you me…'

  Before R.J. could do anything Marilyn was up and on her feet, her face a convoluted rufescent red. She stamped her shoes into the ground, preparing to charge.

  'Come on, you bastard, where's my fucking son, where's Jack? What have you done with him, you sick fuck?' she screeched. 'Tell me, tell me where he is. Jack, baby, can you hear me? Jack?'

  **

  O'Sullivan couldn't see her head, just her stomach, but that would suffice. A slow and excruciating death. Just what the doctor ordered, and what the bitch deserved.

  The same as before, O'Sullivan closed his weaker eye, took in a deep breath and held it, taking note of the
recoil this time.

  **

  There was a loud crack.

  R.J. saw it, the saying 'if you blink you'll miss it' couldn't have been truer. It was just a rustle in the corner of his eye, the swish of a muzzle, the shimmer of death's scythe popping up to say goodbye. Without a single regard for his own safety, R.J. threw himself at Marilyn with both arms outstretched, a rugby tackle of sorts, toppling her sidewards.

  The bullet made easy work of R.J.'s body, treating it like an inexpensive piece of meat as it tore through his clothing and buried itself deep into his flesh. It minced its way in, churning up anything in its path, rupturing his intestines. It went no further, lodged, pinned cosily in the plethora of internal organs. The blood dribbled from the hole and through his clutched fingers. He rolled off Marilyn, leaving the stain of his dripping, red-black death on her coat.

  Marilyn couldn't scream. Her voice box closed up, sealing away the ability to produce sound. It was horrifying.

  **

  O'Sullivan couldn't suffocate the sound of his laughter, not that he wanted to. It bellowed and it became even louder the more he began to enjoy his own triumph.

  **

  Marilyn crawled on her hands and knees to R.J's feet and pulled him back through the muck. She heaved him up so he was resting out of sight with his back against a trunk. She sat on the back of her ankles with her face inches away from the sheriff’s. She clicked her fingers repeatedly next to his closing eyes.

  'Sheriff, listen to me, listen to my voice. Don't fall asleep, you hear me? Keep your eyes open. God-dammit, keep them open,' she urged, keeping her ears perked, readily listening for the sound of O'Sullivan.

  He was still laughing.

  She pressed both of her hands firmly over the top of R.J.'s, keeping pressure on, trying to reduce the flow of blood.

  'Sheriff, talk to me.'

  Marilyn tapped at the side of his face with her palm.

  'Rupert John Russell, you answer me right now, God-damn you!' she demanded.

  R.J. opened one eye and looked at Marilyn. He gargled, choking on his own drool, before spitting it from his mouth onto his chin. His voice was faint.

  'I hear you, jeez! Give it a rest,’ he joked weakly, the stomach acid and bile poisoning his system.

  Marilyn spurted out a nervous crying chuckle, her eyes filling up as she wiped the spittle from his chin.

  'You're going to be OK, we just need to keep pressure on to stop the bleeding.'

  R.J. closed his eye.

  'Where... Where's O'Sullivan?'

  'I don't know, I think he's still where he was. Don't worry about him.'

  O'Sullivan fired off another shot.

  The bullet sliced through Marilyn's coat, ripping the skin from her left arm, sending her rolling backwards in a heap. She cried out as her vision of the sky spun and twirled around her. She scrambled forward, seeing fresh blood splattered over R.J.’s face, the tip of his ear was missing. Blood poured from the wound, matting his hair and painting his face. So much red.

  'Jesus Christ, Sheriff? Sheriff?' she called, forgetting about her own wound.

  R.J. attempted to speak but he howled, his whole body tensing up.

  'Don't talk, save your strength.'

  **

  With only three shots left, O'Sullivan thought it was high time he made a run for it. The woman wasn't all that important. It was the boy he wanted, to stand over him and watch him die.

  It was just the monster now, finally all alone, unstoppable. Walter was gone, even the niggling in his head had come to end. He was free, no restrictions, no boundaries. He got to his feet and ran.

  **

  Marilyn wiped her tears away, smearing a concoction of her own blood and R.J.'s over her ghostly-looking face.

  R.J. shivered, his hands falling from around his stomach into the dirt. His colour was washing away rapidly. Death swept over him.

  'Marilyn?' he gasped.

  She sniffed at the salty phlegm until it reached the back of her throat.

  'Yeah, I'm here, I'm here.'

  R.J. coughed, clearing the clotting blood from his oesophagus.

  'The bastard shot my ear off, who the fuck shoots someone in the ear, who does he think he is, Mike Tyson?'

  Marilyn covered her mouth with both hands, choosing not to laugh at a dying man's joke.

  'Has he gone, Marilyn?’

  'I think so. I heard him run off.'

  R.J. reeled forward, a short-lived coughing fit taking over.

  'Shhh. Relax, try and keep quiet.' She rubbed at his forehead, lovingly.

  'Sheriff, I'm going to need your gun.'

  'I'm afraid I can't do that, Marilyn.' He coughed. 'The law is still the law, no matter what.' R.J. winced, writhing against the cold tree trunk. 'Let's wait and call for backup. My radio...'

  'You and the fucking law,' she joked softly, with a fading smile and a serious frown. 'Sheriff. Listen to me. I need to get Jack. I'm going to need your gun to do that. Please, help me, Rupert.'

  'Marilyn. I wish... I'm sorry.'

  'Please, Sheriff. Please do this for me. Please, for me and Jack.'

  R.J. thought about it the best he could. He picked up his gun and handed it to her, begrudgingly.

  'You be careful. Only use it if you really need to.' He shivered.

  'I promise,' Marilyn agreed, with a white and red hand held over her heart. 'If you keep your promise to take me and Jack out for a ride in the police car?'

  They smiled together.

  ''I promise. Now go. You're wasting time. Go and find Jack, he needs you. You need him. Go on, go.'

  'But you're…..'

  'Don't worry about me, I'll be fine.'

  Marilyn stood, unzipping her coat, slipping her wounded arm out first. She covered R.J.'s shaking body with it, wrapping it around him and tucking it behind against the tree trunk.

  'Here, this will keep you warm. Thank you for everything. I'm. I'm so sorry,' she cried.

  'Hey, hey. You have nothing to be sorry for.'

  Marilyn kissed him on his cheek, wiped a little more blood from his face to stop it running into his eyes and mouth, and picked up the revolver, watching the last of his life slip away, and left him alone to die.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Elwood had dozed, intermittently, giving in to the aches and pains that tormented him, the twinge was still there, just as sharp and persistent as ever, but he was on the move again. Molly was aimed out in front of him as a precautionary measure as he rushed towards the sound of the shots. He left his thoughts at the tree where he rested, running in neutral into the unknown.

  Elwood traced two sets of prints, one set going up, one set going around. He took the most suitable option and went around. It wasn't just a banking to an old man, it was Everest. He never would have made it up, his heart would have stopped before he reached the top, and his life was cruising by on the tops of eggshells as it was.

  There were shoeprints going all over the place, leading every which way. Up, down, left, right and straight on.

  A perfect time for a breather. That's when he saw it. So much blood. He went cold.

  'Holy shit, what the hell happened here? My God.'

  Elwood relaxed his guard, lowering Molly so she hung at his feet, and called out as he walked over.

  'Marilyn? Sheriff Russell?'

  No reply.

  He moved off the path, parting the branches down and across, following the puddles of blood until he saw something that his eyes would never forget.

  He dropped Molly and ran.

  'Oh my God, no. Sheriff,' he cried.

  Elwood fell to his knees next to R.J., lifting the sheriff's head so it sat straight on his shoulders.

  'Sheriff, can you hear me?'

  He felt for a pulse. It was there, unsteady and faint.

  ***

  R.J's was slouched, sheet-white, acutely balanced between the slow swing of life and the irresistible pull of death. Blood still trickled from the bullet hole in hi
s stomach. It had soaked into his trousers, drying on the skin of his legs.

  'The mother-fucker shot my ear off, can you believe that?' The sheriff shuddered.

  'Jesus, Sheriff. What happened? Where's Marilyn and Jack, are they hurt?’

  'She's got my gun… She went after him.' Blood bubbled and crackled in his throat as he tried to swallow. 'Tell her..' he struggled. 'Tell her I'm sorry I couldn't make it to help her, and I'm sorry that I won't be able to take her and Jack for a ride like I promised. But..' he coughed. 'but I think she knew that already.'

  'Come on now, don't talk like that,' said Elwood, painfully, the suffering clear in his words. 'You're gonna make it, we're gonna get you outta here. Where's your radio? What's happening with this damn back-up? Christ.'

  Crackle. Bubble.

  'It's too late now, they can't come any quicker.' He paused, allowing a little part of death to escape. 'Elwood?'

  'Yeah, Sheriff. I'm here.'

  'Can I ask you something?'

  Elwood picked up R.J.'s hand and held it, covering his whole palm.

  'Yeah, sure. Anything. What is it?'

  'Will you wait with me until I die. I... I don't want to go by myself. I don't want to die alone.'

  Elwood cleaned the blood off Rupert's face, wiping the sides of his mouth then around his nose and ear.

  'Of course, I will. Would you like me to talk to you, Sheriff?'

  R.J. quivered, even under the warmth of Marilyn's coat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the police cruiser.