by S. G Mark
Richmond Park: it had seen better days. The bare trees were grey, rotted by winter. The grass was blistered with mud. Steel skies overhung a grim terrain. A few hardened walkers meandered by the roadside, bright jackets a stark contrast to their surroundings. The hill they were driving along gently sloped to meet the Thames; a barren and brown snake battered by a choppy wind. Boats were harboured in a ill maintained marina. Lean swans picked at the shore as a few deer bound over rock and overgrown shrub and darted to safety. Through the gaps in the trees they could see the city stretch on to infinite - a mess of concrete and a spectrum of grey.
Julian spoke for the first time since his own driveway, “Where do you want to go?”
“Stop over there,” he said, pointing at an empty car park.
That was the advantage of the modern world. Everyone was too busy working, enrolled in community services or too poor and hungry to have the time or the energy to venture out to these parts of the world. Aside from a few sporadic tourists, the place was empty. It was perfect.
Julian parked and turned off the engine. He stared ahead, focussing on a far off point that was more than likely not on their present horizon.
“What now?” he said, resignedly.
“We’re going to go for a walk,” he said, getting out of the car.
“What is this about?” Julian asked, as they both felt the chill outside.
Jack didn’t want to give away too much right at that moment. He wanted to let the man sweat for a while. He wanted to drain the man of fear until there was nothing left. After what he had done, it was the least he deserved.
“Over there,” he pointed to a thick copse of trees.
Julian took the lead with Jack following slightly behind; the gun was back in his pocket but only until they reached the outskirts of the woods. As soon as the shadow fell on them, and the road disappeared behind a regiment of boughs and branches, Jack took it out and aimed it at Julian.
“Keep walking until I tell you to stop,” he said.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Julian pleaded, glimpsing the gun behind him. “What happened? What did I do wrong?”
Jack stared at him, but remained silent. Rather than having nothing to say, it felt like there was too much. Everything from the Rations he had bought, through to what Jack had done to Saskia, to the turmoil he suffered when he first blackmailed the man. Their relationship was so much more than blackmailer and victim. Their monthly meetings had become more than just Julian handing over the latest information and a stash of money. They had talked, chatted about the things happening in their lives. It had never been close in an obvious way, but it had been something more than threats and manipulation.
They continued to walk further into the woods. Daylight scattered on the moss and tall grass; there was even a warmth to the rays. The rough track they were following contoured a small hill. There was no sign of anyone else in the vicinity. No bright jackets, not even recent footprints in the squelching mud. They were alone.
“What is going on, Harry?” he said, “Or whatever your real name is.”
“Just keep walking,” Jack said, encouraging Julian to keep the pace by prodding the gun into his back, “And less talking.”
He didn’t want conversation. He couldn’t process it. Right now he had a decision to make and though he was marching ever onwards down the path he had chosen, he could still see the other direction interspersed through the trees. Until the trigger had been pulled, there was always a way back?
For a further ten minutes they walked until Jack was sure they were secluded enough. Acid rose from his stomach. He wasn’t sure of any of this, yet he had made his decision.
“Stop,” he said.
Julian halted at once and immediately turned to Jack. Tears were streaming from his eyes.
“Why are you doing this?” he said. “You promised me you would keep me safe…”
“You know why this is happening. Don’t play me for a fool.” Jack scathed, “How dare you fucking act ignorant with me after what you did.”
Julian shook his head, clasping his palms together, “I really don’t know what this is about…I beg you to believe me.”
“You know, I fucking get it,” Jack spat, “I nearly fucking understand why you did it… and if it wasn’t for what I found out this morning, I would have left you alone for the rest of your life.”
“Tell me what the fuck is going on!” Julian snapped, “I’m not having a gun pointed at me for no reason!”
“Quentin Robson!” Jack shouted.
Julian’s face fell. Guilt dripping from his features.
“You were the only one who knew what was going on,” Jack lowered his tone, “What happened, did you grow tired of the blackmail? Did you think you could finally get rid of me?”
Before Julian could complete his stammer, Jack cut him off.
“Someone close to me very nearly died,” Jack said, “I bet you are furious it wasn’t me.”
“I didn’t do -”
“Don’t you fucking plead ignorance with me!” he demanded, throwing his aim directly at Julian’s head, “You planned to have me killed that night! To put an end to your blackmail, to clear the cloud hanging over your head that I could at any point bring your family down to the gutter alongside the disgusting likes of me.”
Julian had no answer. He stared pathetically at the gun. His entire body shaking.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Jack said, “I’m really sorry I’m still alive.”
“I never betr-”
Jack threw a punch at Julian, slamming his fist into his cheek. The man stumbled backwards and tumbled down the slope a little way. Rising to his knees, clutching his cheek, Julian looked up at Jack, smothered in grass and mud.
“I never said anything! I never said anything! You have to believe me!” he shrieked as Jack rounded on him for a second time.
A deep crack sounded when Jack’s first rebounded from Julian’s face. Blood was pouring down from his disjointed nose. He was lying flat on his back now. Jack stamped down on his chest.
“You are disgusting,” Jack said as he kicked him again, “You act like you are better than others because you have money, because you have status. But you are revolting. The only person you care about is yourself. And I’m done trying to convince you that I’m one of the good guys. I don’t give a shit anymore.”
Blood gurgling from his mouth, Julian said weakly, “I knew you killed Quentin. I haven’t said anything… Please… we’re friends.”
Jack took his bodyweight off Julian’s chest and knelt down beside his face, “Friends? You were nothing more than a tool to me. Do you know that one of the guys the CRU captured had his house burnt to the ground last night. They let his wife and baby die inside. Imagine if it were Beth and Saskia inside.”
“Please, I didn’t… I wasn’t involved,” Julian struggled for breath. His face was blotched with purple and crimson. “You have to believe me. I didn’t say anything...”
“That little baby died because you were too fucking selfish,” Jack spat on him, “You bought Rations because you didn’t want to pay for your own fucking greed. You chose to squeal to Quentin about me. You are filth. And you know what? I would have let you live in your filth had you done this out of fear for your family’s life. The pathetic thing is, you were fucking protected. Not a single person in The Resistance ever learnt your name. So fuck you. Fuck your family and fuck trying to do the right thing by everyone.”
Jack aimed the gun right at Julian’s face. Instinctively Julian raised his hands and shut his eyes. Memories of every meeting they ever had, every conversation and every smiled he’d extracted from Julian over the course of their relationship. There had been a time where he had truly thought he was slowly winning Julian over - a time where he thought it was possible to persuade him of what was really going on, that he was part of the good guys. Those days were at an end - the delusion was over and reality had seized control once more. The things he
had put himself through for this man - to obtain money, information and secrets. The turmoil of their initial meeting, the aftermath of dealing with the morality of the situation. Saskia. He had pushed himself so far past the boundaries of ethics he didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore. Maybe he had been thinking of Eliza, maybe he did miss being touched; it still never justified what he had done to Julian’s daughter. And even now, in the final moments, he couldn’t face admitting to him what he had done. It would surely twist the poisonous knife in so much delectably, but Jack couldn't face it. He had never uttered a single word of what he had done to anyone for saying it aloud would mean an admission of guilt and he wasn’t ready to deal with that just yet.
However, Jack had no intention of giving Julian a quick death. He lowered the gun and fired it at the man’s stomach. He let out a shriek that Jack quickly silenced with his fist.
Julian’s eyes bulged open as his face turned white; the gunshot in his stomach was erupting with blood as thick as crude oil.
“It’s at an end now,” Jack whispered to Julian, “It’s at an end.”
He withdrew his fist from Julian’s mouth; the man spluttered for breath.
“I…. saved… you…” he gasped, “I… saved… you…”
Jack wiped the blood from his hands on the nearby grass. Rising to his feet, he stared down at Julian’s dying body.
For a moment he was jaded from the guilt at what he’d just done. It was tantamount to execution. But a mother and her child had been murdered for this man’s ruthless selfishness. The world didn’t work in right and wrong; it never had, but in that moment Jack realised that the same rules applied to him, to his decisions and to the consequences of those actions.
Without another word, he stepped away from Julian and from the man he used to be.
Julian’s shrieks and pathetic whimpering disappeared as he contoured the rest of the hill. There he found a trickling stream into which he threw the gun. He sighed with an exhaustive relief as he picked up the pace and headed for the first sprinklings of sunshine on the other side of the forest.
He forced the doubt to the back of his mind. With all his energy he defied the rebellion in his heart that told him he should go back, call an ambulance and try and save the man’s life. Despite what he had done, Julian was not Quentin. He was not destroying the country, manipulating the justice system to whatever end he saw fit. Julian was just a privileged family man, fighting to keep the life he once had. At the core of it, what difference was there between him and Jack?
Within half an hour he was standing by a bus stop, waiting for transport back into town. An ambulance sped by and Jack convulsed with a brief guilt. Was the vehicle destined to Julian? Was the man even still alive? He had heard a shot to the stomach was not treatable, that death was inevitable. What if Julian lived? Jack pushed the panic to the back of his mind, comforted that the trail was now dead. Harry Kirk died alongside Julian, and with them both, any links to Jack.
The bus arrived. Jack boarded and sat next to a woman who was reading the morning’s newspaper. He glanced over it and saw that the entire front page was dedicated to Quentin’s obituary. Jack stared back at his hands, over the rough edges frayed with dry skin. These were the hands of a killer. Far from feeling powerful, he felt weak, vulnerable. But with Julian’s death he felt a vacant sense of vengeance. Mike and Phil and both their families were dead because Julian had had enough of the blackmail. So many lives cut short all because one man feared being socially outcasted.
The world was a stranger place than Jack had ever appreciated. For nearly two years he’d fought in the name of this organisation. The Resistance. For a long time he wondered what they were resisting. But as he sat and stared out the rain spattered window on the journey back into town, he realised exactly what it was they were fighting. It wasn’t right for people to fear using Rations. It wasn’t right that there were Rations to begin with. Alex was right all those months ago when he dragged Jack down to the HQ bunker and explained that the government controlled every facet of everyone’s lives. What they ate, where they travelled, what they thought. Until now, Jack had been fighting for self preservation; to remain the man he’d been in Edinburgh. He hadn’t appreciated that he’d not been that man for a long, long time. All this time he’d been helping The Resistance, he’d been losing a little bit of himself along the way. He’d lied. He’d stolen. And now he was a killer.
As the bus turned in towards Mayfair, he hopped off into a sea of anonymity. Devin’s safehouse wasn’t far. A snake of people slithered past him - they appeared to be part of a protest group, but as soon as Jack read the placards they were carrying, he instantly felt disgusted.
The God’s Disciples logo bore down angrily on him. Painted on to the banners were disgusting phrases like, “Poverty is a challenge by God!” and “God is Punishing Us for Homosexuality.”
Jack threw a revolting look at the cluster of GD members. They were all ordinary looking people and he found it difficult to believe that so many had been taken in by the religion of guilt. Just as he couldn’t understand Charlie’s reasons, he could never understand theirs. It seemed strange, though, that they were able to hold a protest along the streets where others would be gunned down for dissent. Why was the government more accepting of them than anyone else - was religion that untouchable?
Shoving past the onlooking crowd, who were both jeering at the protestors and entranced by them, Jack found refuge on the quieter streets. Cast into shadow by the tall buildings on either side, only a few others wandered along the road. So pristinely maintained, the parked cars looked like they hadn’t ever been used. It was as if the recession had yet to hit this area. Along the entire length of the street there was no sign of a beggar or homelessness. Indeed the streets were even cleared of rubbish and the community gardens were pruned and prime for a colourful spring. Poverty was not an issue for those that the dwelled the marble halls of Mayfair.
The residents were exactly the type of people to look down on the common man, and from their high sash windows it was a sentiment they could easily achieve. The Unsightlies, as they were called. In this part of town, The Unsightlies were anyone but them. As Jack passed one of the residents, they glared at him and walked quickly away from him. Another one spotted him far off and crossed the road to avoid him. He was too poor to walked these streets. The world had been far from perfect, but what had happened for it to become this vain, this imbalanced?
From the main road, the cacophony of religious protest reverberated. How were they even allowed to verbalise their free thoughts in public? Why did the government allow them to wander the roads with placards without so much of a police presence? The GD were one of the big three organisations to cause serious harm with their bombs and their firearms. Looking back, he saw the road from where he’d come completely blocked by the GD train of nutters. He thought back to Charlie and the mental state they’d dragged her down to. A normal, decent girl: stripped of all her own thoughts and fed with demoralising whispers that she was bad. And Lana’s mother, the way she allowed that religion to infiltrate her family? Why did the government never bring the GD up on their actions? Why was it always the DD and The Resistance?
Deep in his pocket, his phone vibrated. Jack scooped it out and answered.
“Hello,” he said, eagerly waiting to hear who had this number.
“They know,” it was Kyle, “They fucking know you killed QR. They know your name, they know your face. You need to get off the streets, now.”
“Shit,” Jack wheeled round, the colour flushing from his skin as he met eye contact with a passerby, who flinched and instantly scurried off down the street. “What the fuck do I do?”
“Don’t tell us where you are,” he said, “Just in case they have you bugged.”
“I’m nearly back at the safehouse,” he said, “Should I go there?”
“No!” Kyle shouted, “Just get the fuck out of sight for now.”
Diving behind the cov
er of a dark Mercedes, Jack was freaking out. It was as if everyone was staring at him and he had nowhere to run.
“What do I do, Kyle? What the fuck do I do?” he was panicking. This was it. This was the fucking end.
“Get to someone you can trust,” he said, he hung up.
Jack felt like he was sinking, or that the buildings around him grew taller than the sky. As he slid down against the car, he trembled. Julian had already told them. The liar had already betrayed him - twice over. Once to get him killed, another to make sure he was dead. How else did they know he had killed Quentin?
Trying to steady his breath, he struggled to hold on to a single thought. First he feared for his life; then he feared for how much longer it might last. But as the panic set in, it brought down everything around him. Eliza would know. Maggie too. Even his own father. If it were true, then everyone would know what he was and what he had done. The secrets would be out. Whatever future Jack had had just been crushed into oblivion. It was all over: every ember of hope, every scrap of optimism that he could make a difference with his pathetic life.
Jack took out the sim card from his phone and snapped it in two. He couldn’t use that number again. The plastic dust rained to the pavement: he was alone. There was no one he could contact. There was no one there to help. As hidden as he was behind the car, he knew he couldn’t remain there forever. He couldn’t even linger for a minute. Time was pressing on him, he could feel the pressure pulsing against his temple. Just as Julian’s heart was draining of blood right this very second, so too was Jack’s. Only one question remained: were they both destined to die today?
Rising to his feet, he feigned confidence. Perhaps the news hadn’t spread everywhere yet. Though his legs were like rubber, he strode on. His life plan was to make to the end of the street. From where was now until then he had to figure out what he was going to do after that. He attempted to marshal his thoughts together and think of somewhere he could go. Devin’s safehouse was out. He couldn’t be sure that Lana’s still existed. It had been nearly a month since he’d heard from her. Anything might have happened in that time. From now on he couldn’t rely on anything he knew to be true.