Alex Kicks The Bucket

by Jason Purdy

  “Oh God,” Kate said slowly.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Paul shouted. “Alex is dead!”

  “Paul, look at this,” Kate said. “Look at us. How bad does this look?”

  “Who cares?” Paul said. He burrowed his face into Alex’s lifeless body again. “Alex is dead.”

  “Listen to me,” Stephen said, dragging him roughly away from the body. “Look at me.”

  Paul glared up at Stephen, through a curtain of rain. Stephen, who looked so cold, so calculating. Everything was part of the great cosmic plan. A plan they were all too insignificant to be privy to.

  “He just dropped dead,” Stephen said. “Coroner report will reveal it’s a heart attack. Until that moment, you have no idea what happened.”

  He let Paul go, who slumped slowly to the concrete again.

  “You’ll have to figure out your own cover story for the rest of it,” he said. “If you don’t want to end up locked up, then lie. Lie through your teeth. Lie as though your little lives depended on it.”

  He grabbed his bag, and tossed it over his shoulder.

  “I’ve gotta hit the road now,” he said. “Have a nice life, you two. I hope I never see you again.”

  He offered his hand to shake. Paul climbed to his feet, and grabbed Stephen in a rough hug, clenching his arms around the man’s back. Kate did the same. The three of them held each other tight, while the rain ran into Alex’s open mouth, trickling down into his lungs.

  “He seemed happy,” Kate said, pulling away. “I think.”

  “I think so too,” Paul said.

  “This never gets any easy,” Stephen said, almost to himself. “Why do I ever think it will?”

  Like that, he was gone. The rain held in the shape of his body for just a moment, and then began to pummel the concrete once more. At some point, Kate slipped her hand into Paul’s.

  They stood there, staring at the clouds above another grey day in London, until the rain began to let up, and the sun broke through the clouds.

  Tuesday

  Kate was surrounded by medical supplies. Bandages, rolls of toilet paper, packed needles, antiseptic wipes, gloves, a little bit of everything.

  She was covering her face, her hands were shaking. Her clothes and hair were still damp from the rain. When she took her hands away from her face, her eyes were shining with tears, red and puffy from crying. Her cheeks had colour in them, and her lips were red.

  She somehow looked a little better than before. She somehow felt a little better, despite everything. She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She closed her eyes, and did it two more times. One of her old therapists had told her to do that. When the anxiety or the fear got too fierce. It seemed to help.

  She pushed the door open, and stepped out into the corridor. It was only Tuesday morning, but hospitals are rarely quiet, especially in London. She dodged nurses, doctors, and poorly looking people in gowns, approaching a huddle of people at the other end of the corridor.

  It was her mum, her sister, and her dad. Her mother saw her first. She had been crying, she had no make-up on. Her hair was in a messy pony tail, and she was wearing leggings and an old hoody.

  She screamed when she saw Kate, and sprinted towards her, closing the gap in an instant. She wrapped her daughter in the tightest hug she had received since she was ten years old.

  The rest of the family followed soon, and they became a crying, hugging mass, blocking the corridor.

  Paul watched them, from the other end of the hallway. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see what was happening. Kate’s mother pulled out of the hug, and held her daughter at arm’s length. Both of them were crying their eyes out.

  They both seem to be saying sorry, over and over again. Paul watches them, with a smile on his face. Until his view is blocked by the uniform of a police officer.

  He slowly looks up.

  “I have a few questions for you,” the office said.

  “I bet you do,” Paul replied. The smile on his face felt as genuine as their story.

  Paul was smoking just outside the hospital doors, close to the no smoking sign. It’s just a cigarette, so he figures that makes it okay.

  He’s in different clothes, with a hood pulled up around his ears. It’s dusk again, the sun creeping down once more. The ground has dried, and the sky is red.

  Red sky at night, Angel Delight.

  That’s what Alex always said. He felt sorrow sitting heavy on his heart. An empty ache that he couldn’t help but think would never fade away.

  He looked like he had just walked off the set of a zombie film. He stared at the sky and smoked listlessly. Kate approached him from behind, and he turned to her, passing her the packet of cigarettes without a word.

  She didn’t smoke, but she took one, putting it between her lips. They leaned close, almost kissing, as she lit her cigarette with his.

  She stepped back, his hand lingering on the small of her back. She took a long, hard drag of the cigarette, and let the smoke escape into the coming night.

  “When did we last sleep?” she said

  Her voice sounded strange, even to herself. She had talked so much, told the same story to the same people over and over again. It’s like they were trying to trip her up, while Alex lay rotting in a bin bag downstairs.

  She felt the same pang, her lip trembled, and she roughly wiped tears from her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket.

  Paul took a long time to answer.

  “Forty eight hours ago,” he said. “Maybe. Time has lost all meaning to me.”

  “That’s something Stephen would say,” she said quietly.

  They smoked the remainder of their cigarettes in silence.

  “Do you think we’re in the clear?” Kate said, flicking her end onto the pavement and crushing it under her heel.

  “You know what?” Paul said, turning to her. “I don’t care.”

  She turned to him.

  “Alex is dead,” he said. “That’s the issue here. Not what happened. Or how it happened. My best friend has died of a heart attack for no bloody reason.”

  “Easy,” Kate said. “We don’t know it was a heart attack yet.”

  She snorted sarcastic laughter. Paul joined her, but was surprised by how easy it came. He felt better. Not by much, but a little was enough.

  “Hey,” she said. “Come on”. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “I’m all cried out; don’t wrench any more tears from me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Paul said.

  She squeezed his shoulder, and rested her head against his.

  “Did you see his parents?” Paul said. “I couldn’t…”

  “I said stop,” Kate said, pulling away from him. “Can’t we take a break for this for five fucking minutes? Just five minutes, please.”

  Paul pulled out another cigarette, offering her one.

  “I’m hungry,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

  Kate shrugged, as they put their heads together, lighting their cigarettes together.

  “I could eat,” she said, quietly.

  “How do you feel about burritos?” Paul said.

  “Moist,” she replied.

  “I hate that word,” Paul said. “It’s disgusting.”

  “Moist, moist, moist,” she teased.

  He shoved her playfully.

  “Shut up,” Paul said. “Let’s eat.”

  “A delicious, moist burrito sounds like a great idea,” she said, winking at him.

  “You’re paying,” he said.

  Without thinking, they took each other’s hands, and walked away from the hospital.

  ??:??:??

  Ralph was drunk as a skunk. He didn’t think he had been so hammered since fresher’s week in first year of university. Things had been good since then. He had drifted from a few of his friends, but his job was good. The work was hard, the hours were long, and the months were short.

  His girlfriend was out of town, and he’
d been out with the boys. Now he was home, stumbling through the darkness, fumbling for the light switch to his bedroom.

  The room exploded into blinding light, and he found a complete stranger sitting at the foot of his bed, patiently waiting for him.

  “What the fuck?” Ralph said.

  Alex grinned at him. The door closed slowly behind the man. He pressed against it, fumbling for the handle behind him.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Ralph asked.

  Alex was getting a strange feeling of déjà vu, but he rolled with it.

  “I’m Alex,” he said. “How’s it going? Good night?”

  “Get out of my room, you nutter!” Ralph slurred.

  “Hang on,” Alex said. “We’ve got off on the wrong foot here.”

  The guy wasn’t listening. He lunged for his dresser, whacking his head off the side of it. He pulled a cricket bat from behind it. It was in pristine condition.

  He swung it at Alex, who ducked, out of reflex more than everything else.

  “I owe Stephen an apology,” he said.

  The man swung again. This time, the bat went right through Alex’s head. Ralph lost his balance, and stumbled forward. Alex reached out to steady him, but he passed right through him as well.

  “Sorry,” Alex said. “Still getting the hang of this whole thing.”

  Ralph scrambled away from Alex. He stopped, to vomit on the carpet, and then scrambled away again, backing himself up against the door.

  “Who… what the hell are you?” he said, trembling with fear.

  Alex laughed. “This takes me back.”

  “What do you want?” the man said. “Take my wallet, take my Xbox, just leave me alone.”

  He started to cry, and Alex felt bad.

  “Hey now,” he said, approaching the man slowly. “Relax, it’s okay buddy, I’m not here to hurt you.”

  The man looked up at him, through watery eyes.

  “I’m here to tell you that you’re going to die.”

  Copyright © 2017 By Jason Purdy

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For rights questions, or to contact the author, please email: jason_purdy@hotmail.com