12 Yards Out

by Javi Reddy

  “He won’t get you, I promise.”

  “Don’t make promises like that. Don’t.”

  She got up. There was no more booze left, but he knew that’s not why she was leaving.

  “I will never be free of Vinny De Silva,” she said as she gathered her handbag. He didn’t stop her. He feared for her fear.

  * * *

  Siyadlala – We play!↩

  S.P.C.A – Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals↩

  Chapter 6

  18 September 2013. 4:41 PM

  “Does it hurt?”

  She refused to gift him an answer. Her face, her body, heeded nothing as she remained still. Her strength both peeved and impressed him. “So pretty. So foolish.”

  Amritha’s petite body tried to remain as firm as it physically could. Her hazel brown eyes were still impenetrable. Vinny’s forefinger grazed her chin. She didn’t flinch as the grease on the tip of his finger ran across her. She barely gazed around the room. It felt as if she were in a mechanic’s workshop. Ferocious tools glared at her as they hung from the ceiling like meat in a butchery. The only light came from the single lamp he had perched on the table to the left of her.

  “I suppose, you think he’ll come for you?” he continued as he walked towards the cluttered table. Amongst other vile instruments, a corkscrew covered in dry blood lay upon a dirty cloth.

  Vinny opened a Fizz Pop and began to savour its sugary flavour. He pointed the corkscrew at her. Still, she was unmoved.

  The corners of his mouth spread open as he rolled his lips over the Fizz Pop ever so slowly. “What shall we use today? A steak knife? A grater? Oooooooo, a kettle! How about a kettle?”

  Her legs began to tremble.

  He switched the kettle on and bit into his lollypop. “Would you like some?”

  He spat out a piece of the lollypop at her face. Amritha was still, once more. She focused on her heartbeat. She had managed to keep it regular all this while. She used the beat to drain out everything else around her in the hope of salvaging her sanity. She promised herself to always find a way to keep going. Then, her concentration broke. The kettle began to whistle.

  Chapter 7

  18 September 2013. 6:28 PM

  Vinny hoisted the AK-47 up to Amritha. He had untied her hands, but her tan and tired legs were still bound together with shackles. They were blotched with lumps of red.

  “Can you use it?”

  She threw it down defiantly. She spoke for the first time since he’d hauled her out of the dark room and outside. “For what? What has violence ever brought anyone?”

  “It could bring you your freedom.”

  “I would rather die than kill for you.”

  “How noble.”

  They stood on a dusty turf. The shackles coiled around her legs and gradually jagged into her skin. There was nothing else around them in the open space. No buildings, no trees. Certainly, no people. Just her, the gun, and the monster in front of her. He picked up the gun and cocked it. He aimed it at her.

  “So, would you really rather die?”

  She did not move, endeavouring to be the bravest she could be; even as sinister thoughts streaked through her mind. The flashes that reawakened the visions of his rusty tools. His manic ideas. That kettle. The gun taunted her as Vinny circled it in front of her face. She cracked. Her body shook as the weapon’s cruel look got the better of her. A stream trickled down her inner thigh and leg. She could not prevent it. Vinny cackled.

  “Don’t be a martyr. Nobody wants to die. What makes you think you’re any different?”

  He gripped her by the hair and dragged her across the dust. Her eyes and mouth filled with dirt as she was hauled into his SUV. It hurt even more when he had gripped her arm which had been scalded by the kettle. He snatched a bottle of whiskey from the glove compartment and slowly let it trickle onto her scar. She screamed, but it was all so pointless. Who would answer her call?

  He could have set her on fire, it would not have mattered. He whispered into her ear:

  “Scream. Louder. You will not die. You will live through this madness. And when I say so, then I’ll kill you.”

  He arrogantly took a sip from the whiskey bottle with one hand as he rubbed her scar with the other.

  “Come on, then. Let me show you what you’re missing out on.”

  He placed a beanie over her face, slid the vehicle into first gear and blistered across the desolate surface.

  18 September 2013. 9:02 PM

  By the time the beanie was removed from Amritha’s face and replaced with a dirty cloth for a gag, nightfall had greeted her and whoever else it was that was standing over her. She could barely make out the shadowy creatures as she attempted to look up, dazed. She lay on the ground as her face brushed against the wet grass. It felt like hallowed turf after the rough that Vinny had hauled her through. It took her a while to realise that there were kids standing above her. All far younger than her. They were all dressed in black and had backpacks fastened on them. One of the boys aimed an AK at her. The gun was nearly as big as he was. Babies, she thought, they’re just babies.

  “Get up, you fucking whore.”

  It was as if the boy was Vinny in a minor’s body. She tried her best to follow his command, but the shackles hindered her movement.

  “Please,” she said, “help me up, I…”

  “Shut up!”

  He raised the butt of his gun to hit her, but the others quickly intervened. “No!” said a girl. “Vinny says we mustn’t hurt her. Don’t disobey him.”

  The boy immediately lowered his gun. He nodded to the girl as a means of a half-felt apology. “Suit up, my children.”

  Amritha could not see him, but she knew that he lingered in the darkness. His sinister voice had become too familiar for her liking. Vinny wore a black Chinese-collared suit as he gave out his orders. The children fastened bulletproof vests over their chests and placed goggles over their faces. They then wrapped black cloth masks over the goggles to complete their ninja look. Some tied red pieces of cloth on their arms, the others yellow.

  “Team one, are you ready?”

  All those with red cloths raised their hands confidently. “Then, proceed.”

  Vinny grinned into the musty evening air. The children ran off, in a diamond formation, hastily but stealthily. The yellow cloths moved in closer to Vinny.

  “There are two inside there, my children,” Vinny pointed towards a thinly wired fence.

  “Make this as clean as possible. You should be able to do this in your sleep now. Go. Make me proud.”

  They raised their hands to acknowledge their leader. There was a momentary silence as Amritha crouched at Vinny’s feet. A sudden burst of light hit the night’s sky, illuminating it. A flare gun had gone off, and its bold red streaked the sky’s dark blanket. Vinny’s army had announced their arrival. The flare was a signal to the group of children with yellow cloths.

  “Get them, Team Two.”

  They were off. Amritha could not see what was happening. Vinny placed a pair of goggles on her and everything was immediately visible. She scanned the area and saw the little ones cutting through fences and mounting roofs. They moved quickly and effortlessly. It would only be a matter of seconds before they were inside. Vinny zoomed in the goggles for her. The first thing she noticed was the sign in the front.

  ‘MPALA GAME RESERVE’.

  She didn’t need goggles to hear the incessant gunfire that followed. Fires began to surround the reserve before the little ones made their escape. Amritha screamed when she saw two kids being shot as they ran back towards Vinny.

  “Small sacrifices,” Vinny clicked his tongue at her.

  Amritha struggled and thrashed around, even though she knew that she would never break free.

  The team in yellow were first to get back. They held a bag up to Vinny. He opened it and grinned at them.

  “Well done, my children. Come.”

  They jumped into the SUV, wi
th two of them grabbing Amritha on the way.

  “What about the others?” she desperately agonised over those still running back from the reserve.

  “We have what we came for.”

  The SUV raced off into the night and Amritha screamed until she was gagged again. She ceased her howling when she saw the bag in the back, half-opened. Within it were two rhino horns.

  25 September 2013. 1:12 PM

  “Capital of Kenya?”

  “Nairobi.”

  “Number of official languages in this country?”

  “Eleven.”

  “The time it took Usain Bolt to break the 100-metre record in 2009?”

  “9.58 seconds.”

  “Names of the Beatles?”

  “Now you’re just insulting me.”

  “From oldest to youngest?”

  Jay sighed before continuing. “Ringo, John, Paul, George.”

  “You forgot about Pete and Stuart.”

  “And now, you’re just insulting them.” James poured him some tea.

  “Your general knowledge is sharper than a samurai sword.”

  “Look, I told you before, I don’t have problems remembering little things like that.”

  “They’re not as little as you think. Anyone with amnesia or any sort of memory problem wouldn’t be able to recall them as easily as you did.”

  “Well, this clearly isn’t a ‘normal’ memory problem, is it?”

  “Touché.”

  James poured himself some tea.

  “How can I remember so much, yet not remember at all? I mean I remember the pin number to my Student Achiever bank account and my Uncle’s ex-girlfriend’s birthday. I can even remember the combination to my locker in the school change-rooms.”

  “School, hey? Tell me about it.”

  “I’ll tell you exactly what school was like.”

  Jay gently blew away the steam from his cup, took a sip, and then placed it down on the coaster on the glass table in front of him.

  "The gates to Rosebank High are bottle green and spiked at the apex of each steel bar. On a good day, the sun strikes the gates’ perfect paint and they gleam in the light. The letters ROSEBANK HIGH are gold in colour and curl in a semi-circle fashion at the gate’s summit. Just below the letters is our school badge.

  "The badge is divided into a quadrant. The upper left quadrant is a symbol of two hands, shaking. This represents solidarity and equality. The upper right quadrant has a lion in it which symbolises courage. Below, in the lower left quadrant, is a bluebell, the flower signifying humility. In the final quadrant, in the lower right, there is a book. This is a school after all.

  "Beyond the gates is a parking lot for visitors. If you walk down the wide brick stairs, you’ll come to what is the equivalent of our front garden. Senior pupils—grade 11 and 12—are allowed to take their breaks there. The garden is a beautiful open space dotted with pruned palm trees and stout indigenous shrubs. A bricked pathway lies down the centre with neatly maintained grass patches on either side. There are also smaller cemented paths that break up the grass patches. Wooden benches quaintly sit underneath the trees. If you follow the centre pathway all the way through, you’ll come to the first building which is our front reception.

  “In the centre of that building, a long tower stands erect like the neck of a giraffe. There is a bell at the top of this tower that is rung when pupils matriculate. On each side of this building are other buildings that are far wider. These are classrooms and laboratories. Just like the centre building, they are face-bricked. White burglar bars are on the classroom windows, pinned closely together like sets of teeth. Each classroom door is painted in a green, not too different to that of the front gate. Behind the classrooms are our school fields. There are two main fields. The Hudson Field is where cricket and athletics take place. The Mkhwanazi Field hosts football and rugby.”

  “Aren’t sharing those last two sports on a field a nightmare?”

  “Don’t get me started. Anyway, the change-rooms are on the far right of the Hudson Field and above them is our long room where old boys gather to drink merlot and watch whatever school sport is on display. The long room has a very Victorian era feel to its design with its bay windows, iron railings and Flemish brick bonding. To the far right of the football field, sorry football and rugby field, is another brick pathway that leads to a small courtyard. It’s my favourite place at school.”

  “Your favourite place at school is not the football field? What kind of superstar are you?”

  "One that enjoys the silence and solitude of the courtyard. I’d go there to read books or work on my assignments. I could get away from it all. At least, that was when Keith wasn’t hijacking me there. A wooden arch is placed at the entrance of the courtyard. It has vines slinking through it and you can immediately pick up the smell of fresh flowers when walking under the arch.

  “High walls surround the garden and there is a water fountain situated in the centre with a statue of a mermaid attached to it. She is holding out a large conch from where the water continually flows. There are low hedges on either side of the fountain where the brightest of flowers sprout. There is also a pebbled pathway that leads to the fountain and continues on behind it. Here, you’ll find two benches and a swing. And that, my friend, is school. Accurate enough for you?”

  James bit his lower lip.

  “I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can remember everything so damn clear and yet you can’t remember the most important thing in your life. The thing you were best at doing.” Jay didn’t say anything. It was cruel enough hearing James say it.

  “Okay, it’s pretty clear that reshaping events or recreating important elements of your life in your mind is not the problem.”

  Jay hung his head in disdain.

  “I just wish I was back in that courtyard. Alone and at ease. Now, I’m just alone.”

  “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

  “What does it matter? I can’t do anything that I want to do.”

  James moved in to console Jay yet again when something dawned upon him.

  Do. Action.

  He took out his Parker Pen from his top pocket and handed it to Jay. “Write your name for me.”

  Jay was hesitant to take the pen, then a sudden yearning to be in the courtyard where he used to write out his assignments, took control. He gripped the Parker and tried to write as neatly as he could. He hit all the pressure points perfectly on the paper as he glided across it seamlessly. The letters were so perfect that they looked as if they belonged to a professional scribe.

  “I didn’t know you were left handed.”

  “I’m not.”

  Jay had instinctively taken the pen with his left. “Write with your right hand. Try again.”

  He did exactly that. This time, he failed miserably. He tried to draw the horizontal line for the letter J and it was far too messy as he struggled to make it across at all. He then tried to come down to complete the letter with the curl at the end. He was completely off and it looked as though he was making up bad hieroglyphics. He threw the pen away in disgust and buried his head in his hands.

  “You know, that pen was a special gift given to me.” James plodded across the room to retrieve the Parker. “All you’re worried about is your stupid pen?”

  “Actually, I’m not worried at all. I’ve just realised something. Come outside. I want to see you kick with your left foot.”

  Chapter 8

  25 September 2013. 8:13 PM

  Milk and alcohol. The mere thought of the two co-existing within a single concoction was enough to render James nauseous. All that would stem from such a marriage was projectile vomiting. That’s what James always thought. That’s what any half-sane individual would think. Many a time, he’d meander through the Rosebank streets during the evening, desperately seeking a drink. He dared not to leave the flat too much, for heaven forbid the police became proactive and scoured the alleys to pluck him from his tempor
ary freedom.

  But tonight, he was buzzing after yet another visit to Jay. He briskly cut through the fresh, crisp air of the evening. It was a luxury most free men took for granted. After much deliberation outside the flat’s front door, he had decided that the best course of action would be to grab something bone-warming from the liquor store. Hood on, hands in pockets, he’d be in and out and back at the flat, shortly after the man behind the counter, with the grey stubble and the squint left eye, had cracked open the bottle seal.

  That was the plan before its brightness blinded him. There in neon lighting, it shouted out: THE ICE-CREAM PARLOUR. Those big bright pink letters were interesting enough before he saw the lovely letters below it: All Night Bar. Since Preega’s death, he had visited a few low-key taverns, but they were just ports of pit stops before he had to make his miserable way back to his safe haven. He sussed things out at his newly discovered port. As long as no mug-shots hung up in this bar, he should be able to take in a drink or nine: he gambled to himself.

  A red and white striped canopy-top lay above the building’s creamy white exterior. The turquoise doors were wooden and slid out sideways. He peered in. So far so good. No mug-shots. No stares. As he entered, they all continued sucking at their drinks through curly straws and clattering their teeth in idle chatter. It was like a rainbow had splashed its insides everywhere here in this place.

  Apart from the floors that were designed with black and white tiles, there was colour all around. There were bright red booths to sit in, plastic tables surrounded by multi-coloured plastic chairs; more neon lights—this time in frames and in shapes of drinks, all of which were pinned to the walls. The walls of bars normally carried better versions of James: men in green and gold running towards glory, local musicians threatening to be geniuses, a great man in simple attire after his long walk to freedom. He felt oddly at ease here as he headed straight for the bar, desperately hoping that this place was exactly what it claimed to be.