Marilyn

by J. D. Lawrence

  'Take these.'

  Elwood accepted the gift from a dying man.

  'Promise me something, Elwood.'

  'Sure, Sheriff.'

  'Make sure you take Jack out for a ride in the cruiser, he'd like that.' He smiled his final smile.

  'I promise, Sheriff.'

  Sheriff Rupert John Russell crackled his last crackle and bubbled his last bubble before gulping down his final bloody mouthful of air.

  'Now go get them, old timer.'

  Elwood stayed with the sheriff for a minute, holding R.J's dead hands in his. He looked at the body of his fallen compadre in arms, before he picked up Molly and carried on down the path, towards Jack, towards Marilyn, towards The Monster.

  SIXTY-THREE

  The first thing he thought when he heard the opening of the gun shot ceremony was, he was being fired at, but it was too far away, so he kept on running. It was the second shot that stopped him.

  O'Sullivan was shooting at someone and it wasn't him.

  Then he remembered the headlights.

  That was when he turned and ran back.

  He was heading straight for them, and he wasn't slowing down. He kept at the same steady pace that had served him well, piloting himself agilely over knolls and holes from where he had just come. His lungs and chest were like a knife fight in a phone box, messy with no place to go. Every breath just made it worse, and there were plenty more to go.

  Jack's sprightly demeanour diminished as the real fear set in about what could be waiting for him, he could feel his mother in his heart, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get back to her.

  He headed straight for the hornets' nest, searching for tender open arms and the safety that came with them that only a mother could provide.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  The gun was heavier than she had imagined. It felt alien to her hand, but it made her feel powerful, in control, safe.

  The mist was thickening around her feet, coating her shoes, rising just above her ankles.

  She could hear the squelching of her feet, the sound of her stunted breath, coming and going, in and out, in and out, and the pounding of her aching heart in her shivery chest, they were not great company, but they were the only things she had, they kept her alert.

  Marilyn called out for Jack as she skipped through the damp, foggy undergrowth, turning her head side to side to the trees that imprisoned her, uttering his name every thirty feet or so. She caught a flash of light as more and more power was distributed to the neighbouring towns over the horizon, a dreary tincture of saffron, it didn't make her feel any better. She still felt a million miles away from anyone who could help, or even cared.

  Marilyn clenched the revolver tighter as she burrowed deeper into the woods, slipping her finger over the trigger, remembering her promise.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  O'Sullivan stalked his way down the path. He searched his pockets for the spare bullet he had taken from the Dunn farmhouse, but he was shit out of luck, he guessed he had dropped it a while back when he fell.

  A misstep that had cost him.

  He went off course and took a path that led away from the beaten track, high into the tree line, it was no picnic, but it was the smokescreen he needed.

  The monster zigzagged his way around the thickets high above the path, stopping, fixed. O'Sullivan's luck was rolling in, jogging past on a pair of burned out legs.

  O'Sullivan quickly studied from where he would have the best shot and moved behind a downed log, resting both of his knees on the mossy surface, and his shoulder against a canopy of red and green leaves.

  Perfect.

  He watched as she came fully into view, her flowing hair masking her face as she ran down the track a good hundred metres away.

  'Come on, bitch, look at me, just once. I want to see your eyes before you die.'

  He waited. Their eyes did not meet.

  O'Sullivan fired, not aiming up his sights. He hit a tree just feet from the path.

  He fired off another shot in quick succession.

  The bullet hit the left hand side of the same tree, chipping away at the bark until it was thrown off course like a misguided missile. It sunk into the mud behind Marilyn's feet.

  She never stopped running.

  She didn't slow down to bring her hands up to protect herself, she didn't even flinch. She wasn't getting shot today.

  ***

  Marilyn turned on her heels and fired a shot off. She spun around, keeping her gun level with her shoulder and continued moving.

  Her arm hurt like hell.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Jack skidded with both feet, throwing his arms up and around to remain upright. The gunfire had returned, but this time there was something else accompanying it.

  The first time he tried to speak it was just a croak in his throat, an itch on the roof of his mouth. The second was no better, lost by the time it reached his lips.

  There it was again, his name. It was far away, faint, just a whirl in the wind, but it was Marilyn. It was his mother. It was the best thing he had ever heard.

  The biggest smile of his life split the corners of his dry and chapped lips, breaking the chill in his cheeks, even being happy hurt Jack. He took in the longest, deepest breath he could gather, puffing out his chest and throwing down his arms. He whispered it to himself, shouted it to no one, everyone, and screamed it for God himself to take note. He never wanted to stop.

  With a last ditch effort, he made his ultimate descent into the woods, washing down the contaminated soil with tears of hope and happiness.

  He screamed at the sky until there was nothing left. It was just one word.

  'mom!'

  SIXTY-SIX

  O'Sullivan hunted Marilyn from his perfectly perched path, missing countless opportunities to expel the last bullet from the chamber and end her life. Now that Walter had seemingly left for good, the thrill of the chase took over.

  ***

  Marilyn could hear O'Sullivan above and behind her, the sound of his murderous feet pitter-patting across rows of twigs and leaves.

  They were getting closer and coming from the left.

  She snatched a stare to her left, seeing the shadows of the monster combing through the splits of nettles and bushes. She checked the path ahead for a clear run and turned back to find the shadows. She aimed high and fired through the trees, waiting for the verification of a kill shot.

  It never came.

  ***

  O'Sullivan returned fire, squandering his last bullet in a retaliatory fit of rage, missing wildly, his aggression getting the better of him. The monster pulled the trigger over and over, firing at nothing. He heard the same repetitive, empty, false-promising clicking sound each time, not stopping until he realised that he was out of bullets, five shots ago. He discarded the gun, not caring where it landed. It was of no use any longer. He continued his pursuit, unarmed.

  O'Sullivan ducked down out of view, slithering through the slim gaps, making his way back down to the path, behind Marilyn.

  ***

  She listened and watched closely for the slightest rustle amongst the bushes, the faintest crack of twigs, and dead leaves. The more she listened, the more she heard. Sounds came from every direction all around her, birds in nests high above, insects crawling around on the ground. The woods seemed alive for the first time.

  'Where are you, fucker?'

  She aimed high and low, left and right, in front and behind her.

  ***

  O'Sullivan saw everything that she did, just waiting for the perfect chance to strike. He was standing, leaning behind the cover of a rotting tree, his back pressed against the wet bark, he could feel the beating in his chest. It was exhilarating. The thrill of the kill, it was coming again, and he couldn't wait.

  ***

  She heard the bounding, forceful footsteps through the mud, the snarl of death behind her. Marilyn tried to turn as fast as she could but her feet were sticking to the spot she was standin
g in. Her torso followed her arms as she spun around to greet the monster

  He hit her like a ten-tonne truck, crushing the air from her chest as she moved. Her feet were off the ground, dangling helplessly.

  She struggled with the gun, trying to catch it as it whizzed past her head, behind her. She didn't hear it land.

  Marilyn hit the floor, gasping, begging for a slurp of air that would never come, the weight on her chest denied it. It was like lead, unforgiving, refusing to let her up. Pins and needles toyed with her legs before they went wet, heavy, and dead. She fought like hell, punching out at nothing and everything, swinging to and fro, finding only pockets of air until those too, vanished. She let her head hit the mud, giving up, beaten. She saw his face clearly, for the first time. He didn't look like a monster. It was red, flustered. The scar was clear, unlike before. She saw the pain and emotional struggle in his eyes.

  O'Sullivan straddled her, his legs around her waist, his knees deep in the mud.

  'I've been waiting for this,' he smouldered. 'You don't know how happy this makes me. Oh, no. You have no idea.'

  She spat in his face, her eyes burning with contempt and disrespect.

  'Fuck you, O'Sullivan. Fuck you,' she screamed.

  The monster didn't speak, just smiled, robotically wiping the phlegm from his eye before it dribbled onto his cheeks.

  He ever so calmly lashed out with almost everything he had, drilling Marilyn in the face with his fist, shattering her nose. He sang out with zest, harmonising deliciously with her squeals of pain and mercy.

  'This is better than I thought.' He laughed, staring at his blood-soaked knuckles. 'I'm really going to enjoy this.'

  Marilyn cleared out the tears and blood that had run into her mouth, with small, consistent spittles, and wiped the tears from her eyes with her back of her mud-drenched knuckles.

  She convulsed her body, twisting and contorting, squirming, trying to loosen the lower half of herself from under O'Sullivan's weight. She lunged forward, arching her back, escaping O'Sullivan's flying fist, her fingers like the talons of a swooping hawk. She scraped at his face maniacally, snapping two of her nails on his cheekbones. They drew blood, dark red monstrous blood, she felt it seep under the cracks of her broken nails and run down the sides of her fingers. She plunged her thumbs into O'Sullivan's eye sockets, rotating them, pushing forward with all of her might, hearing him screech.

  Warm sensations gushed through her legs as she wriggled them, reviving them, bringing them back to life. She brought up both of her knees, smashing them against O'Sullivan's back.

  Smash.

  Smash.

  Her stomach strained and shook as she tilted herself upwards. She gripped O'Sullivan's shoulders, digging the remainder of her nails into his skin, giving it everything she had. She screamed with the last surge of energy she could find and threw the monster off from on top of her, and peered at him through painfully swollen, watery slits, before she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. She couldn't stand. Every centimetre of her body stung and ached. She felt broken.

  She combed the soil with crying eyes, flat palms and spread fingers, searching for the gun, plucking and pulling at lumps in the soil. She couldn't feel it.

  O'Sullivan sat up, keeping his back straight, turning to look at Marilyn fumbling around pathetically, a blood-soaked mess. He got up on rocky legs, a little worse for wear and walked past her.

  'Is this what you're looking for?' he simmered. 'Thinking of shooting me, huh? Thought you could put a fucking bullet in me when I was on the floor. Well, I've got news for you, bitch.'

  The monster booted Marilyn in her ribs, cracking them with a sharp splitting sound that rang out through the woods. She rolled onto her back clutching her side, howling, gurgling in agony.

  'Get up. Come on. Get up. You're making this too easy for me,' he seethed. 'Is this how you want to go out, crying and bleeding on the floor like a coward, huh? Don't you want to know what I did with your son?'

  'What have you done with my son, you bastard?' she screamed, clambering out of the foetal position, attempting to get to her feet. 'What have you done to Jack? Where the fuck is he? Tell me!'

  'That's the spirit. I knew you had more fight left in you. Come on... You can do better than that.'

  'Where the fuck is he? Tell me…'

  She ran at O'Sullivan.

  He let her get all the way, until she was almost at his chest before he grabbed her.

  'You're a feisty bitch, aren't you?' he said, slugging her with a right hook. He caught her by the neck as she fell, throttling her with both hands.

  He pressed the gun against her cheekbone and temple, playfully. She could smell the fresh gun powder.

  He let go, dropping her like a sack of spuds.

  There was no beauty left.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  Something hard and heavy bowled into the back of O'Sullivan's legs and lower back, taking him completely by surprise, he couldn't keep his balance. He tossed the weapon as he grabbed an overhanging branch, barely keeping himself on his feet.

  'Get your hands off my mother,' the high pitched voice cried.

  Jack pushed as hard as he could, giving it everything his worn out, eight-year-old body had left.

  The monster spun around, reached around and gripped Jack under the armpit, squeezing and tearing until Jack had lost his grasp.

  'You stupid fucking boy,' snarled O'Sullivan, hot-tempered. 'You've come to join your mother, have you? How sweet.'

  ***

  Marilyn squirmed on the ground, dragging her blood-splattered, mud-clumped hair from the dirt to see the best thing she had ever seen. The biggest rush of emotion she had ever felt swirled through her, filling her with new life.

  'Jack, baby. It's you,' she rasped through blood drops that fell from her stained teeth.

  ***

  O'Sullivan back-handed Jack with a cold, hard slap, splitting his eye. He threw Jack to the dirt, kicking him in the stomach while he was down.

  'I'll deal with you in a minute.' He snorted. 'You can watch your mother die first.'

  Marilyn charged. She held a bat-like log in her hands, raised above her head. O'Sullivan caught it as she brought it down across his head. It burst over his forearms, hacking his face with a barrage of fine, wooden, nail-like staples. They tussled together, neither overpowering the other. They turned in tight, small circles, almost head to head. Marilyn bit down on O'Sullivan's forearm, piercing the skin through the coat.

  She kicked out at the monster's groin, missing the open goal. O'Sullivan released his hold of Marilyn's wrists and took the back of her head in his fist, head-butting her, splitting the fine skin across her forehead and chopping her to the ground. He pushed at her shoulder with his muddy foot, keeping her floored. He had no words left. He had said everything he wanted to. It was time to end this. The chase had come to an end. He raised his foot and hovered it over her face.

  'Are you watching, Jack?'

  O'Sullivan turned to see what had become of the boy, his unsteady leg still raised. His eyes widened as they rested on the bruised and bloody figure holding the gun.

  Jack held it in two hands, one around the trigger and grip, with the butt placed neatly in the palm of his other hand. He had his feet planted firmly in the sinking mud in a sidewards stance, ready, waiting for the recoil.

  He cocked his head, imperceptibly, and fired.

  Blood splashed from O'Sullivan's neck in rhythmic, fountainous spurts, spilling evil coppery red onto the greenery. The monster slapped his hands over the wound, plugging the hole with his fingers.

  'You...'

  O'Sullivan dropped to his knees, light-headed and woozy. Jack was just a wobbly outline amongst the trees and distant, flickering lights.

  Jack fired again, moving forward in a steady fashion.

  O'Sullivan toppled backwards, bent on the backs of his knees. His hand fell from his neck, letting the blood fly. Fluff and fibre still hung around in the air from where
the bullet tore through the coat and entered his chest. O'Sullivan was dead before his head touched the dirt.

  ***

  Jack didn't stop firing. He had to be sure. He stepped up to the monster and cast his long shadow over O'Sullivan's pummelled corpse. The gun was heavy now, he was frail and tired. He let his stance drop, holding the gun with one hand. He had it pointed directly at O'Sullivan's face. Jack sealed his eyes and screamed as he pulled the trigger for a third time, trying to shut out everything he had heard and seen from his mind. He didn't like what he was doing, but he couldn't stop himself. He blew the monster's face apart, splatting brains and skull against the green backdrop, in pieces small enough for the birds to feed off. The shot reeled Jack's arm and shoulder, dislocating it. He screamed again, crying away all of his pain. He let loose everything that he had ever gone through and pulled the trigger for the fourth time.

  It knocked him to the ground, his roar was louder than the last. He had never felt anything like it, it was as if all of his muscles and fibres were pulling and stretching apart in any way they could. He didn't know how he did it, but he forced himself onto his knees, taking the gun in both hands this time. He looked away, he didn't want to see what the monster looked like dead, it was hard enough when he was alive.

  Jack pulled for a fifth time.

  Click.

  Empty.

  He pulled again and again, shouting with each click.

  The monster was gone, he was no more. Jack couldn't be harmed any longer.

  Walter O'Sullivan was dead.

  A careful hand wrapped itself around Jack's, lowering his weapon. He didn't know the voice, but it was caring and soft, he liked it. He trusted it.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  'Shhh… calm down, Jack,' the voice breathed. 'It's over. It's all over. He's gone. Give me the gun, come on, son.'

  Elwood took the gun from Jack's tiny hands and placed it on the floor next to them.