Broken Toys

by Jackson Lear

  “I’m not that stupid,” said Ian. “Give me a bullet.”

  “We only have a few,” said Daniel.

  “I know. Just hand one over.”

  Daniel opened up the second pouch in his bag and dug out the eight loose bullets. He counted them off in his hand and decided it was easier to keep them in his pocket. He gave one to Ian and stuffed the rest into his trousers.

  Ian fumbled while trying to open the gun and hold onto the bullet at the same time, but with some effort he was able to insert it correctly. He spun the cylinder around and stared off at the trees in the distance.

  “I’m going to do it Russian style. Who thinks I’ll get it on the first shot?”

  “No,” said Warrick. “Third.”

  “Fourth,” said Daniel.

  Ian spun the cylinder again. “I say second. Ready?” Ian took aim at the nearest tree, breathed in and expected this next part was going to be loud.

  Click.

  Ian eased in his stance and smiled at his friends. “I still say second.” He clicked again. “Shit.” He tried again.

  BAM!

  The shock lifted Ian out of his shoes and thumped him in the chest. “Holy shit!” he said.

  “Ha! You flinched!” said Daniel.

  “I did not.”

  “You totally did.”

  “You did,” said Warrick.

  “And it wasn’t that loud,” said Daniel.

  “But I guessed third, so I was right,” said Warrick. “That means it’s my turn.”

  “Fine,” said Ian. He handed over the gun and Daniel gave Warrick a bullet.

  “Which tree do you think?” Warrick asked.

  Ian walked over to the second closest and pointed at a black splotch on the bark. “You see this mark? How about we all aim for this one and see who can get closest?”

  “Okay,” said Warrick. “Stand back.”

  Ian hurried out of the way.

  “Russian style?”

  “Sure.”

  Warrick spun the cylinder and pulled the trigger as quickly as he could until the fifth attempt fired.

  “I don’t think you even hit the tree,” said Daniel.

  “Next time, don’t try firing off all of them at once,” said Ian.

  “My turn,” said Daniel. He took the gun, loaded it, tried to match Warrick’s footing, and aimed for the small black mark on the tree. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” Ian and Warrick said.

  BAM!

  Daniel turned around, all smiles, and enjoyed the tingling rush it sent through his hand.

  “You didn’t hit the tree either,” said Warrick.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Daniel.

  They each fired off another bullet. Daniel and Ian got a third and final shot before exhausting their ammunition for the day. None of them were able to hit the tree standing just five metres away. They called it a good day, packed up, and went home. It was Ian’s turn to keep the gun for the night and he snuck back home as carefully as he could without it showing within his trousers. He couldn’t even imagine the kind of hysterics his mum would scream if she caught him, so he hurried upstairs and hid the gun in his bookshelf.

  That night he pulled out a pair of panties from Daniel’s sister, sniffed them, and jerked off with the gun in his other hand. It was one of the greatest experiences in his life.

  24

  Amanda

  A small part of Amanda died when she pulled the scones out of the oven. They hadn’t risen. Instead of being tall and fluffy they were now more like biscuits.

  “Thirty four and you still can’t bake scones to save your life,” she muttered to herself. “You’re a disgrace to your country.”

  Amy Winehouse was playing in the background as Amanda slowly worked her way through every greatest hits album on her hard drive. It was a welcomed break from marathoning every TV show she had, but with the end of every series came a devastating thump that her life changing goals were still being neglected. Item number two compelled her to improve her cooking and baking skills. Item number three was learn to dance. There was a class that evening for salsa, but Amanda expected there to be twelve women in their early twenties and two guys looking to score.

  Item number one ...

  Her phone buzzed with a message. She smiled at the meme Anthony sent her to celebrate hump day Wednesday. She waited five minutes before sending a reply.

  ‘Just made epic scone/biscuits. Goddess mode activated. All women want to be me, all men want to be with me. x.’

  Anthony responded. ‘Pic?’

  Amanda ran to the bathroom, applied lipstick, eyeliner, and a hint of eye shadow, slipped out of her t-shirt and threw on her bathrobe. She then fired off a selfie to Anthony.

  ‘I meant of the scones! Not of you!’

  Amanda took another selfie, this time biting into a scone with a seductive grin.

  ‘You bake in your bathrobe?’ Anthony asked.

  ‘Let’s just say that if Gemma knew what I was or was not wearing while making your scones she would lose her shit.’

  Another message popped up. This one was from Scott. She didn’t bother responding and instead went back to her computer to find something that would cheer her up. She kept checking for a response from Anthony.

  None came.

  Later that day, she called up Claire and invited herself over for dinner.

  25

  Josh

  He had been trying to avoid the year that covered everything to do with Lara, the girl who had a habit of cheating on him when he was a teenager. There were several evenings back in Fielding Street where he sat in the gloom of his bedroom with nothing but the lava lamp on, watching the red blobs swirl into life as he listened to a mix of songs he had created to give to the girl of his dreams. He lost himself to the demons of winning someone back who no longer cared enough about him.

  Just wait another five years, he thought. Then what Lara put you through will be nothing compared to life as an adult.

  These days he only thought of Lara once or twice a year. Hell, he hadn’t even mentioned her name in almost ten years, as now everything she had put him through was utterly inconsequential.

  His attention drifted away. For once it landed on Hannah. All she ever told him about her high school life was that she didn’t like the uniforms, never had a boyfriend, and got drunk just once while on a sleepover. Somehow she survived school without even a single teenage horror story.

  Josh pushed the year-of-Lara diary away and pulled out a set of old calendars that had fallen to the bottom of the box. The first was of the comic strip Dilbert, dated all the way back to when Josh was ten. Eleven was Dilbert again. Twelve was the Farside. Then there was a noticeable shift towards cars and bikini babes. He was unsurprised to find the first calendar was largely empty and completely alien to him. A couple of dates were circled with ‘Birthday Party’, but they lacked any more details, including whose party it was. They became fuller as the years went by and started to include some important school dates and other life-changing moments. He looked over the circled and sunbeamed importance of every last day of school. In minute writing were notes for when a particular essay or report was due.

  One particular date stood out even after all of these years. 29 August, twenty four years ago. Amanda’s leaving party. He found her a couple of weeks before, hiding on the roof of her garage, crying, telling him for the first time, “They’re making me go to boarding school.” Josh listened to all the things Amanda had to say about her parents, then he listened to how much of a horrible daughter she must have been to need to be sent away to an all-girl’s school. He also recalled Amanda hiding in her room for much of the party, while her mum tried to entice the Aubrey girls with Rice Crispie treats, pin the tail on the donkey, and a piñata in the garden.

  He smiled at all of the ‘illegal’ correspondence Amanda sent him through the years. Somewhere in that box was a copy of a particular announcement to her parents, that because of the all-girl�
��s school she had become a lesbian and thus they weren’t to expect any grandkids.

  Josh flipped through one of the bikini calendars. The first section was packed with scribbles and notes. The rest of the calendar was bare except for school events. As he trailed back through the months he found his social life went from blank to movie nights and day trips being crossed out. Then he found the culprit. The date of Catherine’s disappearance.

  Twenty years later and still no sign of you, he thought.

  Josh stared up at the ceiling as his attention drifted away. It was curious knowing more intimate details of Catherine’s high school life than of Hannah’s. If she was still alive he probably wouldn’t think twice about asking how she was if he bumped into her in the street.

  You probably would’ve hit on Catherine the moment you met her in a bar, he thought.

  That brought a smile to his face.

  Tall, big boobed, didn’t take shit from anyone.

  And from the reputation she had pre-and-post mortem, she fucking terrified him.

  He glanced at the door to make sure it was still closed.

  Of the two of us, Hannah has no horror stories from school. Or in general. That I know of.

  Josh quickly shook his head. She wasn’t the type …

  No, she didn’t seem like the type, but …

  Well, of course she must have flirted with someone while she and Josh were together. Even if it was just with a young check-out kid at the supermarket to make him blush, or the Yorkshire barmaid who bubbled with energy.

  Josh glanced back to the diary on top of the box. The last he heard of Lara, she was in Denmark working for a company that leased private jets. Hannah, meanwhile, worked at an art dealer’s in a sleepy English town.

  She was no stranger to working late. Neither was Josh.

  Hell, in the last five years she must have thought about someone else at least once.

  Thought about, yes.

  She might have even snuck out for a secret rendezvous to tell someone that they couldn’t do this anymore.

  Josh dumped the diary into the box with all of the calendars and closed it up.

  26

  Daniel

  Daniel, Ian, and Warrick shared the gun between themselves, taking it home and playing with it in their rooms when everyone else was asleep. On Daniel’s days he spent the evenings wandering through the twisting streets of Luxford with the gun zipped into his jacket pocket. He kept to the side of the roads and often strayed into the hedges whenever a car passed him by, knowing that he could take pop shots at them if he wanted to. He never did and he was convinced that he never would, but there was the feeling that, one day, given the right circumstances, someone would push him to do it, and it would all be their fault.

  On one Friday morning he caught sight of the Beast. Daniel was sitting in a tree away from any road, trying to avoid being seen, when the tall, lanky, and unkempt man drifted into view. Daniel almost didn’t see him. It wasn’t until the Beast threw a pebble as hard as he could into the distance that Daniel glanced over.

  Him, he thought, thinking of the gun. No one needs him. No one would miss him.

  The lanky man ducked under some bushes and disappeared from sight. Daniel leapt from the tree, staggered on the landing, and hurried across the field to where the Beast had slipped away. By the time he got there the Beast was no where in sight. Daniel counted back through the seconds it had taken him to get there.

  It couldn’t have been more than a minute. He’s got to be around here somewhere.

  There was a stream in front of him that snaked through Luxford. He trotted a hundred yards down one side and stopped behind a tree, caught his breath again and listened out for the Beast. He was met with a resounding silence. A twinge in his guts told him he had come the wrong way. He double checked the gun was still wedged in his jacket and ran back to where he started. From there he edged forward, tiptoeing across the dry mud and careful to avoid the fallen twigs.

  There was no sign of the Beast. There was, however, a small medallion hanging from a tree. Daniel peered up at it. It was far out of his reach and would require some effort to get it down, but it looked like a twisted set of barbed wire, rusted and failing, in the style of a pair of wings. There was a thin metal rod dangling between the wings, holding the piece together. The whole thing dangled from under a branch and caught Daniel by surprise. He was sure it belonged to the Beast, and he was doubly sure that it held some significance to the weirdo. It might even mark the entry point to his lair, or ...

  Daniel ducked down and searched the horizon. He knew exactly what the pair of wings represented – a distraction, and he had fallen for it. If the Beast had installed it there then it was to catch people off guard. The Beast could see who was following him and lead them away from his lair.

  The Beast was watching Daniel right now. Daniel was sure of it.

  Come on you fuck, where are you?

  Daniel put his hand back into his jacket and used the grip of the gun for comfort. If the Beast jumped out and tried to eat his face then at least he could protect himself by pointing the gun right between the Beast’s eyes.

  Daniel’s ears pricked up at the sound of every leaf being kicked off the ground by the wind, every car passing nearby, and hoping in equal measure that he would and would not hear an oncoming rush of heavy, blood-sodden boots.

  Several birds squawked and flapped violently nearby. They’re reporting back to him.

  Don’t be stupid, he can’t actually Frankenstein animals together.

  Daniel waited, desperate to spook the Beast out of his hiding place.

  The birds flew away, the traffic in the distance quietened down, and nothing seemed worthy of Daniel’s attention. He glanced back to the barbed wire pair of wings. They had to mean something.

  I’ll find you, you arsehole. And then I’ll show the world what kind of sick monster you are.

  Daniel left the valley and headed back to the field above. He promised himself that he would return and, using the wings on the tree as a landmark, he would figure out where the Beast was hiding.

  27

  Josh

  Somehow the early morning drudgery of being the first human awake had not killed him. Yet. Nor had leaving the house to work up a sweat by doing something that he wasn’t remotely good at while surrounded by a dozen pros. It wasn’t for a lack of trying on fate’s part either. Reaching some of those yoga positions were simply not meant to be achieved by any human. Similarly, there was an issue of maintaining one’s breathing while in a cat-like stretch. Even the dilemma of whether to get his own yoga mat caused considerable anguish. As far as Hannah was concerned her boyfriend was simply going to the gym to lift weights and use a few machines. There wasn’t even the slightest chance that yoga was his thing, yet if one day he came home with a yoga mat then questions would be asked. As long as he borrowed one of the gym’s mats he could leave the house and simply say that he was on the rowing machine for an hour. And since there actually was a rowing machine in the gym he wasn’t too far from the truth.

  Brooke arrived wearing tight lycra shorts and a slim fitting red top. She beamed sleepily at Josh and set her blue mat next to his. Aside from their up-since-four-a.m. instructor they were the only ones there. Even by Monday’s standards it was a poor turnout.

  “Good morning!” Josh said.

  Brooke stifled a yawn. “Hey. Morning.”

  “Rough night?”

  Brooke shook her head while the yawn escalated, which soon took over her whole body. “I slept in over the weekend. You know when you get up after ten and then that night you’re supposed to be in bed at nine? I must have hit the snooze button three times this morning until Gavin poked me in the ribs.”

  Josh’s smile faltered for a moment at the mention of her husband. “How is he?”

  “Fine,” with little more than a tired shrug. “How’s Hannah?”

  “She’s good. Excited about this weekend. The girls are having a hen n
ight down in London. Limo, hotel, the full works. So Hannah gets to break out her old skimpy outfits for one last hoorah before her forties kick in.”

  Brooke stared back at Josh. “How old is she?”

  “Thirty one. Why?”

  “Cradle snatcher.”

  “Aren’t you twenty six?”

  “Yeah. But I’m not your girlfriend. And if I was I wouldn’t want to hear about my forties while I was still nine years away from them.”

  “Fair enough. Anyway, she’s looking forward to having a few drinks with the girls.”

  “Lucky you. You’ll have the place to yourself.”

  “Absolutely,” said Josh. He felt his pulse gently rise. “She comes back Sunday lunch time.”

  “Two whole days for a hen night?”

  Josh nodded. “It makes sense if you know the bride. If it’s worth doing then it’s worth over doing. Besides, all of Saturday is dedicated to high tea and a spa.”

  Brooke smiled at Josh. “I told you that story of when my mum and I went to a spa?”

  “You did. Good times were had by all.”

  Brooke lifted one foot back behind her and started stretching her thighs. She snapped one hand out to Josh’s shoulder to help steady herself. Josh’s eyes glanced down and had to be forced back up again.

  “I saw that,” Brooke said, smiling cheekily at Josh.

  “I was checking for piercings.”

  “None there,” said Brooke. “And my eyes are up here.”

  “I know they are. I was looking at your boobs.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes and changed legs.

  “Do you still have the one downstairs?” Josh asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Does it ever get in the way?”

  “Not really. If it did I would have taken it out years ago. But it’s like a tattoo. You just tend to not think about it all that often.”