Sixty Seconds

Sixty Seconds

By Claire
Farrell

A Short Story
Collection

Smashwords
Edition

Copyright ©
Claire Farrell 2010

[email protected]

Book cover image provided by
Andres
Rodriguez
@
Dreamstime.com

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Notes

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Sixty
Seconds

Hero

Eco-Friendly

Forgive me, Father

Knick-Knack

Procession

Searching

I
Win

All
Seeing Eye

Gift

Final
Call

Shark

Somebody to Love

“
Pull the fucking trigger, Jamie.”

My
fingers tighten but the gun feels slippery in my hands – like it’s
going to melt into my skin, bullets and all.

I sense
Graeme behind me. Hot breath on the back of my neck. Thick
fingertips digging into my shoulders. His mates laugh and sneer but
they’re just glad they aren’t in the spotlight tonight. Mark stays
silent and just watches me. He’s the one to be scared off, the one
who doesn’t warn you.

“
Do it, I said.” Graeme’s voice is an angry whisper but the
unspoken words are the ones I’m afraid of.

The man
I’m aiming a gun at raises his hands up to me, every inch of his
naked body trembling. He’s covered in snot and sweat; his body
stinks with his own piss and shit. He lost his dignity half an hour
ago, when they started cutting away his tattoos. That’s when he
realised this wasn’t a warning.

“
Please, Jamie,” he says, spluttering, his eyes wide with the
kind of terror that makes me want to look away. “Please, you know
me. You know me, Jamie, just look at me, look! Help me! Help me,
Jamie, help me. Jamie! Jamie!”

If he’d
just stop saying my fucking name it wouldn’t be too bad. I’d aim,
close my eyes, pull the trigger and pretend his brains weren’t
splattered all over the place. I barely know him, and what the fuck
could I do for him anyway? God help us both.

“
What would your ma say, Jamie? What would she say?” He grabs
at my leg; his hand is a curling, bloody mess that reminds me of a
horror film. I need to throw up but instead, I kick him
away.

“
I reckon she’d rather you than me,” I say, looking at the
others with a fake smile plastered on my face. They laugh, more at
the man’s face than my words, and I laugh along with them. I wonder
how it managed to get this far, how I deteriorated so badly in such
a small space of time. I just wanted to fit in, to make a little
money, to enjoy life. I never wanted to be a murderer.

Graeme’s
eager, he shoves me a little. “I swear to fucking God, you have
sixty seconds to do that rat in or you’re taking his fucking place.
D’ya hear me, young fella?” He means it. He doesn’t care who dies,
as long as he gets to watch. That’s Graeme’s thing. Especially when
he’s coked up. Somebody isn’t going home tonight. I’ll do anything
for it not to be me.

I close my eyes. Take a breath.
Think
.

Sixty
seconds.

Me ma’s
face, lined with worries. Money. Me. The mess I’m making of my
life. Would she want a murderer or a dead son?

Forty
seconds.

Gemma.
The smell of her skin and the dimples in her back that I kiss just
to feel her squirm beneath me. The baby in her belly, the kid I may
never see, hidden under the hard curve that has replaced her once
soft stomach.

Jesus, I
haven’t told her I love her since the positive pregnancy test. I’ve
left her thinking I blame her. Would she want to hear it again?
Even if it came from a murderer’s lips?

Ten
seconds.

Can I
live with myself? Can I lie down and die?

I open
my eyes and look right at the man I’m about to kill. I owe him that
much, the poor bastard. The gun is heavier than it looks now.
Clammy hands. Sweaty face. I need to throw up.

He
shakes his head, silently pleading with me. Too late. A second
later he’s on the ground with a hole in his head and I’m deaf.
Except for his last cry. I hear him call my name over and over,
despite his mouth no longer being capable of making a
sound.

Someone
takes the gun from my hand, claps me on the back. I can’t stop
looking at dead eyes, still wide open with fear. Graeme ruffles my
hair, high on something other than the cocaine he
snorted.

“
Great show, son,” he says. “You’re in.”

I don’t
throw up.

Eamon
Davis looked at the huge digital numbers on his watch and tried to
figure out how late it was. He was the only one standing outside
school, waiting to be collected. He wasn’t sure how long to stick
around for – it would be dark early. Da had told him never to go
anywhere alone because there were bad men out there, bad men who
would take him away. But Da would come looking for him. Da would
save him. ‘Cos Da was a hero.

Eamon
puffed out his chest. If Da was a hero, he could be a hero too. He
could get home and if any bad men came near him, he would kick them
where it hurts and run away. Da taught him well. Eamon remembered
the way home clearly, even though he hadn’t taken the journey alone
before. He wondered why nobody had collected him, maybe Selena was
supposed to and forgot.

He
shifted the weight of his schoolbag. Muscles, that’s what he’d
have. Like a hero. Like Da. He grinned to himself and strolled on,
confident and happy. He waited for traffic lights to turn green,
looked both ways before crossing the road. Big boys can walk home
on their own.

But then
nothing looked familiar and Eamon realised he had taken a wrong
turn. He stopped walking and sucked the tip of his thumb, trying to
figure out where to go. He saw a boy in the same school uniform as
himself.

“
Are you in my school?” Eamon asked him, shy because it was a
bigger boy.

The boy
looked down at Eamon and laughed. “Are you Selena’s
brother?”

Eamon
nodded. If he knew Selina then he must be a friend. “Can you bring
me home? Nobody collected me.”

The
boy’s eyes narrowed a little. “Yeah, sure. I’m Jay, I’ll take you
home. Come on, little man.” The boy led Eamon through the park but
not to the playground, not where Ma ever took him.

Jay
passed the pond and pretended to push Eamon in. Eamon didn’t like
that but he didn’t want to cry in front of a big boy. The sky was
darker now and Eamon felt a little scared. Da always said bad
people were out in the dark.

They
walked until Eamon’s feet were sore, until he begged Jay to stop,
until they came across a group of even bigger boys. Jay pushed
Eamon in front of him, toward the others.

“
Guess who this is?” he said and laughed but Eamon couldn’t see
what was funny.

“
He looks like him and all,” one of them said. “What you doing
out this late? Shouldn’t you be home crying?”

Eamon
jutted his chin. “I don’t cry. My Da says big boys don’t
cry.”

The boys
all laughed. “Your Da’s dead, you stupid twerp.”

Eamon didn’t know who spoke but his chin trembled. “My
Da’s
not
dead.
He’s a
super
hero.”

“
Your Da’s no hero, he’s a fucking rat,” one of the boys said,
and spat on the ground. He moved towards Eamon but Eamon wouldn’t
move. The boy smacked Eamon across the mouth.

Eamon’s
eyes watered with the sting. He tasted blood, reminding him of when
he used to put old coins in his mouth. His Da would make him spit
them out in his hand. Eamon spat the blood out. It splashed the
boy’s sleeve. The boy’s face turned red. He lifted his hand again
but this time, Eamon was ready. Ready to be a hero, just like Da.
He ducked and punched the boy where it hurts, hoping Da would turn
up and rescue him. They were lying about Da, he just knew
it.

The
group of boys burst into hysterical laughter as one of their own
bent over with pain. He glanced at Eamon, dark eyes full of hate,
and Eamon dropped his bag and ran. He didn’t look around, he didn’t
stop.

He ran
and ran and kept running until he found a gate and made it out of
the park. His chest heaving, he kept moving, dodging crowds of
people and crying silent tears. He recognised the shopping centre,
the big one Ma went to every Saturday afternoon while he and Da
watched the football together.

Taking a
deep breath, he tried to remember the way home, he knew it wasn’t
far. Eamon found his way but he dreaded going home and telling Ma
he lost his schoolbag. Da would say it was grand but Ma would
probably cry about money again.

He
walked slow, feeling guilty, but a knot of fear was twisting up his
insides, why hadn’t Da saved him? Eamon shuffled his feet –
entering his estate, everything seemed quiet. Maybe ‘cos it was
dark. Everything looked different.

He
turned onto his own street and saw the police car outside his
house, the neighbours gathering outside his gate. He pushed past
them, heard whispers of his name, saw Ma crying on the doorstep.
Sobbing, a woeful cry, a scary cry. Her eyes were wild and her
fingers bunched into fists and she didn’t look up at him, even when
he stood over her.

Eamon
looked up and saw Selena in the hallway, her face tear-stained and
her lips cracked and dry.

“
It’s Da,” she said.

I lean over, hands on knees, and struggle to catch my breath.
Last as always - the others are probably long gone. Typical. I
stand up straight, still panting, and wince at the god-awful stitch
in my side. It’s so freaking dark, I just know I’m gonna get lost
trying to find my way out of here.
Stupid
trees blocking the moonlight
. I kick one
hard and howl with pain as my toes crack.

I hear a giggle.
Did someone just run
past me?
I hope the lads come back to find
me, I think I might have turned around. Maybe we shouldn’t have
egged that car. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The stuck
up bitch who owns it would never think to follow us through the
woods.
Jesus, I hope I’m going the right
way.

Probably stupid of
us
to run into the woods, knowing they’re going to
cut them down in a few days. It was sad that kid died after the
branch fell but it was an accident, why cut down the whole forest
over it? Probably some council official got a brown envelope in his
back pocket from a developer, and signed the order to cut the whole
forest down. He might say it’s a health and safety thing, but we’ll
all know who cha-chinged when the land gets turned into a car-park.
Dave reckons he heard the sex shop was okayed but no way are we
that lucky.
Fucking holy joes protesting
always ruining it for the rest of us.

Maybe losing the woods is for the best. We’re getting a bit
old for all the messing about and hiding in the trees like kids.
Next month, I’ll be old enough to get charged if a copper catches
me with another spray can so it’s a bit of a relief to have an
excuse to stop.
That cock-eyed cop with
the accent has it in for me, I swear.