Revival

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “I’m sorry,” Charlie squeaked, attempting to stand.

  “Don’t!” I raised my hand and she flinched. If she got any closer I’d hit her, I was sure of it. I turned back to her latest recruit. “Fifty K, huh?” He didn’t answer; he gasped and gurgled and stared at me in terror. “Well, I better make it worth the money.”

  I hit him. Hard. Again and again. The voice, a voice of someone from my not so distant past, told me to stop. To control my emotion. To resist the urge to self-sabotage. None of that mattered now. I’d been threatened with replacement tonight and the fear that the end was nigh, and I was soon to be tossed aside and left to fade into insignificance, kept the furious punches coming. His lip split and covered my knuckles in blood. His eye swelled beneath my fist. His nose cracked and began to trickle thick, viscous liquid that only fuelled my anger further, like a bull to a red flag. His legs thrashed so I hit his ribs to keep him still, a popping sound echoing around the room as his rib broke. His raised arms presented themselves like a target, an obstacle to be obliterated so I hit them, watching his forearms redden from my brute force. Charlie screamed so I looked at her as I continued my assault. Slow, precise punches, mentally aimed at her.

  “Go on,” I barked. “Keep screaming. Attention is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “No!” She cried, her voice breaking as her eyes reddened and the tears broke free.

  “This is what you wanted, wasn’t it, Charlie?” Rapid shakes of her head. No words. “Answer me!”

  “No. God, no. Curtis, I’m sorry.”

  The man beneath me had nothing left. Powerless. Feeble. Overpowered.

  “You didn’t pay him to fight back?” I grabbed his hair and turned his head to face Charlie.

  “I did.” She bowed her head and knotted her hands in front of her.

  I dropped him; his head crashed back to the wooden floor with a heavy thump and he laid still, groaning and spitting out blood. I stood up straight, stepped over him and stretched out my neck. I took a step towards Charlie. She stepped away until her back hit the bookcase. Still I stalked her, watching the fear become her. She didn’t know what I was going to do and, at this point, neither did I. I grabbed her waist and pinned her to the shelves, leaving thick red handprints on her white dress.

  She stood still, her breathing shaky and jagged. Her entire body trembled. So did mine; hers in fear, mine in unrestrained, unbridled vexation. Charlie had had an awakening and I could see it horrified her as much as it did me. I didn’t know I was wound so tight.

  “I came back here to protect you,” I breathed through shattered breaths. “I had to stop him hurting you.” I cupped her face, smearing the blood that stained my hand across her cheek. “Why?”

  I already knew the answer. Charlie didn’t talk; she stared back at me like a child who had just been told Santa didn’t exist. I was far from the happy-go-lucky fat guy in red who loved his job. Charlie thought she knew me. Tonight she had discovered she didn’t.

  “Talk, Charlie.” I kicked back when I heard him moving. He grunted and I was satisfied that he would stay still for a while.

  “Because I can.”

  She recoiled, fearing her answer was the wrong one. I continued to stare into her eyes; I couldn’t believe what she had done. I didn’t understand why Charlie would pay someone to…

  “Was he supposed to kill me?” Her glistening eyes met mine and her lower lip trembled. “Beat me to death with his bare hands?”

  “No.” The tears trickled down her cheeks, dragging her mascara with them. “He was just supposed to get you mad. Your head hasn’t been in the game lately and I had to make sure you were still loyal.”

  “Is this loyal enough for you?”

  I grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to the centre of the room, tipping her body so she was bent over him. She tried to twist her body away from us both, desperate to get away. I let go and she scurried to the other side of the office.

  “This isn’t a fucking game, Charlie. It’s my life and I’ve given it to you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  I stepped further away and she sagged against the wall, staring at the bloody mess on the floor. I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and tore the notes from the back. I threw them at him, watching them float and flutter to the floor. I turned to Charlie and pointed to the door.

  “Out.”

  “We can't just leave him.”

  I took a deep breath. She did not want to argue with me right now. I shrugged out of my jacket and held it out to her; she took it without question and pulled it on. I could feel the blood on my shirt, seeping through and sticking to my heaving chest, but I was wearing black. I could hide it. The blood-stained handprint on Charlie wouldn’t go unnoticed.

  “Get. Out.”

  She wobbled on her heels as she struggled to move fast enough. I kept my eyes on her until she’d escaped and then I crouched down next to my victim – attacker – victim. Whatever he was.

  “Breathe a word of this to anyone and you’ll have more than a couple of broken bones to worry about.” He mumbled something incoherent and I smacked his cheek, for good measure. “I can find you…and I will. Are we clear?”

  He nodded.

  “Good boy.”

  I patted his chest and watched him wince.

  And then I stood up and walked out of the office without looking back.

  There was no time for remorse.

  I headed straight to the exit and out to where the car was parked. Charlie turned away from me as I folded myself in next to her.

  “You could have killed him,” she said, her voice a whisper, barely carried by the icy distance that separated us.

  “Please,” I scoffed. “Give me some credit. If I wanted him dead, he would be.”

  I threw my arm over the driver’s seat for his phone. It was untraceable, just what I needed. Charlie didn’t trust anyone, including her driver, who had been driving her around since she was fifteen. She even changed his SIM card every other week, so she knew we’d be safe. Safe – what a word.

  I dialled the number.

  “Hello, which service, please?”

  “I need an ambulance…”

  Twenty Five

  The most successful way to punish yourself for a lifetime of sins?

  The best way to release the pain of a broken heart?

  Take a beating from your one and only friend.

  Yeah, I know.

  March 19th, 2011

  Talking about the night of Eamon Fitzpatrick’s eightieth birthday party had been avoided, but it had not been forgotten. Charlie and I floated through life, stealing the odd few hundred thousand from people who wouldn’t even notice it was missing. It pissed her off; she wanted more and she wanted to hit them where it hurt, but I called the shots now. I never wanted to have a hold over someone based on fear. The bottom line was that I just wanted a normal life; it was all I’d ever wanted. To hold down a job, any job, so I could pay my bills and go on holiday. All I ever really wanted was a wife and children; children with golden eyes like an autumn sunset; children who had drive and passion and intelligence. Children who had two parents – something I was only allowed to have for five years. Children and marriage and a life with Skye Jones.

  But I had come to accept that my life would never be normal. I realised I’d probably spend my life with Charlie. We’d probably have an accident somewhere along the line and end up with a peroxide-haired, spoiled, viscous kid who hated the world. And then I’d have to marry her because if I didn’t? Her father would probably stick a target on my head and send the SAS out to hunt me down. And then, because let’s face it, Charlie and I would fail at every aspect of parenthood, we’d ship it off to boarding school. It would hate is and return with only one objective: to bury us. And the cycle would begin again.

  So my future was looking pretty fucking fantastic.

  I was staring out at the city in a trance when th
ere was a faint knock on the door. I swivelled my chair around and spread out some papers so I could pretend to be busy.

  “Come in.”

  The door handle turned, the door opened slowly and Jesse stepped into my office. I sighed in relief and sat back, grateful it wasn’t Angelica or anyone else who expected me to know what was going on in my company.

  “Jesse.” I smiled weakly and reached out my hand as he leaned over the desk to shake it.

  “Where have you been, stranger?”

  “Here and there. How’s it going?”

  I hadn’t seen Jesse in months. I slipped into yet another depression and kept myself hidden from the world. I stopped training Jesse, stopped going to fights. I gave up on Geoff; he never came back for me and, truth be told, I was sulking like a teenager. I knew it was my fault but defensiveness and avoidance was what I did when I was faced with responsibility.

  “Good. I’ve just started my second year foundation course.”

  “Hey! Congratulations, mate. What happens now?”

  “I’ve got some time off. I’m heading into a placement and I’ve got some reading and studying to do.”

  “That’s awesome. Good job, Dr Kennedy.”

  He laughed awkwardly, like he always did when we talked about his career.

  “Thanks. I was thinking of booking in some extra fights. You in?”

  “In for what?”

  “Coming with me.”

  “Ah.” I scraped my hand through my hair. “I don’t know.”

  “You need to have some fun, Cut Throat.”

  I recoiled at the use of my name and Jesse frowned, noticing my reaction. I hadn’t used it since I beat a stranger up with no relent. I demanded Charlie stopped using it, too. I could keep the guilt away as long as I wasn’t addressed as Cut Throat. That name, the one I used to love; the one I had inked down my arm was now a trigger – a switch to turn on the terrible memory of what I’d done.

  “What’s the matter?” Jesse asked.

  I shrugged, “Nothing. I just don’t know if I can be ringside for you.”

  That was selfish. Really damn selfish. I opened my mouth to change my mind, when there was another knock on the door and Angelica walked in with a pile of magazines in her arms.

  “Thanks.” She placed them on the desk and smiled at Jesse and me. “What’s in your diary today?”

  Jesse picked up the magazine on the top of the pile and began flicking through it.

  “Not much, actually. I’ve got to place some orders and set up some appointments for Yusef.”

  “Okay. Take the rest of the day off when you’re done.”

  “I can't.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have to pay my rent next week.”

  “Angelica, it’s a paid afternoon off. Just take it.”

  I watched a smile illuminate her face, along with an excited glow.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “Positive.”

  “Thank you Mr Mason. My son has his first swimming lesson this afternoon.”

  “You’re welcome. Go and spend some time with your kids.”

  She almost jumped for joy and moved excitedly to the door.

  “Can I get you a coffee or order your lunch?”

  “No, thank you, we can manage.” She opened the door. “Oh, and Angelica?”

  “Yes, Mr Mason?” She asked, turning to face me.

  “Book an appointment for you and me next week. I think an appraisal is long overdue.”

  “Of course, Mr Mason. I’ll say goodbye before I leave.”

  She left and closed the door softly behind her.

  “What a good boss you are, Mr Mason.” Jesse mocked, placing the open magazine on my desk. “You’re going to give her a raise, aren’t you?”

  “I am.” I sat back and steepled my hands beneath my chin. “She’s a single mother to two young kids and works her ass off for a boss who’s never here. I can make sure she makes her rent payments.”

  “I knew there was a soft side beneath that tough exterior.”

  Yeah, well…” I trailed off as I dropped my hands and stared at them, envisioning a time not so long ago when they were covered in the blood of another. “So when is your first fight?”

  “Tonight, actually.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I didn’t come all this way just see your pretty face.”

  “Funny, aren’t you?”

  “I have my moments.”

  I rolled my eyes, “Where is it?”

  “Somewhere in Kent.”

  My hands froze and my heart stopped still, jumpstarting to make me gasp. “You could have gone straight from Cambridge. I came here first to ask you to come with me.”

  “Right.” I shifted in my chair. “Sure, why not. What time?”

  “I’m heading there soon to get some gym time in.”

  “Okay. Let me clear up and I’ll come with you. I could use a workout.”

  I began clearing my desk and reached for the open magazine to shove in my drawer with the others until Monday.

  Something caught my attention. Dark hair, golden eyes, a beautiful, radiant smile. Skye Jones. What was she doing in a sports magazine? I pulled the magazine onto my lap, staring at the photo of Skye and the man I saw her with on New Year’s Eve.

  “Jesse?” I turned the magazine to face him, “Who’s this?”

  His lips twisted in thought. “Thomas something or other. He’s the editor of that magazine. I’ve met him a few times, nice guy.”

  “You’ve met him?”

  “Yeah, at the BBC Personality Awards a couple of years ago. It was the last ceremony my father took me to. He’s an investor in one of the sponsors.”

  My face fell and I turned the magazine back around, instantly seeking out the couple in the centre of the collage of pictures from the British Sports Journalism Awards.

  “Will you give me a minute?”

  “Sure.” He stood up, studying me as I studied Skye and Thomas. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  He cleared his throat, but my attention was on the photo in front of me.

  “I’ll wait outside.”

  I didn’t reply; I waited for him to step out of the office and I read the text that accompanied the picture.

  “SportsUK editor Thomas Radley, son of Martin Radley, former SJA winner, and his girlfriend, Skye, at The Sports Journalism Awards 2011. The sports news rumour mill had been running wild, with reports that the couple are trying for a baby. They have yet to be confirmed, but the next generation of Radley’s, a big name in sports journalism, is expected soon.”

  An overwhelming energy surged through me. Every hint of pain I had ever felt culminated in my stomach and I gripped it with a pained groan. Of course I never stood a chance; I should have known that when I saw Skye and Thomas together on New Year’s Eve. I shouldn’t have needed photographic evidence of a captured moment between two lovers to tell me Skye had found her happy ever after.

  They were so in love; it killed me that it could even be felt through a picture. I’d never, in all my life, felt loved – truly loved. That dream slipped further out of my grasp the longer I looked at that goddamn picture.

  It was over.

  I was done.

  I felt the life leave me as it had done once before; I could feel the compassion, my conscience, my hope, everything go. It was like I could feel it drip from my fingertips and into the glossed paper beneath them. I would forever be tied to the promise of Skye Jones; an illusion, a dream that would never be mine.

  Aimlessly, I stood, pulled my jacket off the coat hook in the corner of the room, turned the lights off and left my office.

  Jesse was leaning over Angelica’s desk, talking animatedly with her. She giggled, a sound I’d never heard the middle-aged redhead make, and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. Jesse was gesticulating as he spoke, his forearms leaning on her desk, his hands inches from her face. They were flirting, and it made me feel physically
sick.

  “Jesse.” I grabbed his arm at the elbow as I walked past, pulling him away from the desk. “We’re going.”

  He turned and fell into stride next to me; his walk had a bounce to it, a confidence it didn’t have earlier so I could only assume it was secretary-induced. The nervousness he had when he entered my office a mere half-hour ago was gone. I had it instead. Christ, I was on edge; I had the driving urge to put my fist through the wall of the lift as it signalled its arrival with a cheery ding – which only fuelled my anger – and we stepped in.

  “You okay?” Jesse asked, instinctively stepping away from me.

  “Yes.”

  My voice was hoarse, low and aggressive. I vigorously pumped my fists by my sides; clench, unclench, clench, unclench. My body tightened on the inside and trembles wracked the exterior. I was desperate to hit something. A torrent of rage whirled around me, inside me; it overcame me. I had to get it out. I couldn’t breathe, my chest felt tight, my head pounded. I was clenching my fists so hard, they’d gone numb.

  The doors of the lift opened and I burst out, followed by Jesse.

  I didn’t wait for the green light before I crossed the road; I didn’t even really hope I wasn’t hit. To get out of my mind at that moment would have been a godsend. I didn’t slow down as I continued on the pavement, still aware of Jesse following me but keeping a safe distance - for his sake; we both knew that. I shoved past the doors of First Fitness and stormed through the foyer. I didn’t reach for my pass; I didn’t move my fists from where they were still clenched by my sides.

  “Open!” I yelled to the receptionist, vaguely aware of Jesse apologising to her.

  She scrambled to the other side of her station and hit the button in time for me to propel myself through the turnstile. I ran up the stairs two at a time and crossed the space to the door at the end. I didn’t reach for my keys; I gave the door an almighty shove with my shoulder and it flew open, sending parts of the lock scattering. I tore my jacket from my body, hurriedly threw the contents of my trouser pockets with it; shaky hands ripped open the first few buttons of my shirt and I yanked my sleeves up. The lights came on and I turned to see Jesse closing the broken door as he stepped inside. My eyes locked with his; his stared back as he shook his head.