by Iris Parker
“I’ll take that one. I need it now,” I said, pulling out my wallet and handing the woman a credit card.
For the past week, time had seemed to be slipping away from us. Each hour seemed shorter than the one before it, picking up speed until the days were passing at a breakneck speed. I wanted to leave Emilia something more substantial than a waning scent in her bed, and a watch seemed like the perfect reminder that we’d be together again eventually.
It was a little bittersweet, but I couldn’t wait to see it on her wrist.
“Excuse me, but are you Simon Ferguson?” a shy voice called behind my shoulder. I turned to see a small, smartly-dressed woman staring right at me.
“That’s me,” I answered.
“Oh wow! It is you! I was so sure that I had imagined it” she said, her voice suddenly high-pitched as her cheeks flushed a dark red color. It was rare to meet fans in the States, but it did happen from time to time. I smiled politely and nodded.
“My name is Marjorie Evans,” she continued, breaking into a sweat as she wrapped her fingers tightly around my arm, dashing my hopes of getting back to Emilia without a prolonged encounter. I knew the type, the intensity of her excitement matching all the droves of fame-hungry women who would stalk me into the most unlikely of places in England. It was usually endearing, to a point, but today I was in a hurry.
“I collaborate with the Goodman Youth Center, you know. It’s so great what you’ve been doing there! Saving it from closing, helping get everyone interested in rugby. If people like you keep that up, maybe it’ll finally catch on a bit more over here.”
The saleslady returned with my card and the watch, leaving me to sign the receipt as Marjorie rambled on. Her enthusiasm was nice, but I hoped she would run out of steam soon and ask for an autograph or something so that I could hurry up and get back home.
“Watching you in the dunk tank with Emilia was so much fun!” she continued, my eyes widening just a little at the mention of her name. “I laughed so hard, and if you’ll excuse my indiscretion, you’re so well-built. No wonder so many people bought balls to throw at you. I know I did. So great that you raised all that money for the kids. They certainly need all the help they can get.” she said excitedly.
I nodded agreement, figuring that I might as well enjoy her bubbly personality while it lasted. “What exactly do you do with the Goodman Youth Center?” I asked, relaxing a little.
“Oh, I’m a social worker,” she explained. “A lot of my families go there, and I encourage it. I think it’s good for them, helps them stay out of trouble.”
I raised an eyebrow, glancing over her expensive attire. She certainly didn’t look like a social worker, but then, I didn’t look like a person who bought Cartier watches.
“Theo talks about you so much. For a while there, I had real hope that he could actually be set straight,” she continued, finally catching my undivided attention.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I asked, cold fear seeping into my bones as she spoke.
“Well, you know what it’s really like out there. Hearing about how you started out as one of Argus Hunt’s cronies and escaped into a better life was downright inspiring. It’s what got me interested in rugby in the first place, actually I’d hoped that maybe something similar might happen with Theo…I guess lightning only strikes once, though,” she answered with a shrug.
Her words were like molten lead pouring into my gut, revulsion filling me as I heard Argus’s name mentioned in the same breath as Theo’s. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out as dread constricted my throat. Closing my lips again, I nodded, hoping she’d continue and wouldn’t notice the way my muscles were already tangling themselves into tight knots along my neck, hot tension building over every inch of my body.
Marjorie’s eyes went wide as she looked around in a sudden panic, clearly afraid of being overheard. She’d probably already put her job at risk by talking about one of her apparent clients, but I couldn’t let this drop.
“It’s okay,” I barely managed to say in a hushed voice. “Like you said, I’ve already been there myself.”
Taking me by the arm, Marjorie led me into a quiet corner of the department store and motioned at me to lean down.
“Well, things certainly haven’t gotten any better. As I’m sure you know, Argus won his little gang war shortly after you left for England. He basically runs the city’s underworld now, and he’s as ruthless as ever.”
I nodded, my throat dry. Argus’s so-called little gang war had gotten my best friend killed before my eyes, a burden I would struggle with for the rest of my life.
“Of course, there would still be crime even if he weren’t around. Just, as a social worker, I really detest the way he uses children to help with his drug trade. Mules and look-outs, it’s disgusting.”
The blood was rushing so fast in my veins that I had to grab a counter to steady myself.
“Theo? You mean when he was shot, that was because of Argus?” I asked, my earlier dread now replaced by an intense urge for violence.
“That’s my guess,” she said sadly. “He doesn’t really talk to me anymore, but I don’t believe it was just getting caught in the cross-fire like he claimed. Even Ella is keeping her mouth shut, but that’s no surprise. I’m sure Theo is bringing home a lot of money lately.”
Looking down, I saw that my knuckles had turned white as I squeezed the counter as if my life depended on it. I could feel the rage boiling up in my guts, pure hatred echoing out a name I thought I’d never hear again.
A little over fifteen years ago, Jake had died because I was too weak to protect him.
I wasn’t small anymore, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let the same thing happen to Theo.
Thanking Marjorie for the help, I turned to leave as quickly as I could.
Past Marjorie and her red cheeks.
Past the saleslady and her hypocritical smile.
Past the security guard who was still glaring at me suspiciously.
Past my own sanity.
It was high time to settle an old score.
Theo is always so happy when I see him.
I’m glad that my visits cheer him up, but it’s hard to see him like that.
The whole situation reminds me too much of Jake.
The same violence, the same apathy.
Just another kid shot in the street.
No big deal, nobody really cares.
The police don’t even put on the siren.
What the hell is wrong with people?
It had taken no more than a few hours in a dingy bar to learn everything I needed to know. Argus Hunt had never been one for subtlety, and half the drunks in the city seemed to know all about him. A few rounds of drinks, and it had been the easiest thing in the world.
“The large red-brick building right across from the opera house, that’s where they say he lives. He bought it for his mom after making it big, and moved in with her,” explained a tall, bearded man as he wrapped his trembling hand around the pint I’d bought him.
“So it’s just the two of them?” I asked.
“Nah. She died, maybe ten years ago? Hear he has some cronies living there now, helping him out. She meant the world to him, he took it real hard,” the scraggly man explained as he brought the drink to his lips, pausing to drink like he’d been in the desert for days. Dark, frothy liquid ran down his hairy, dirty neck in two small rivulets out the corner of his lips. His eyes were glazed over, refusing to meet mine.
“Thanks for the info,” I said, standing up quickly.
“Yeah,” he muttered, sadly staring in to his now-empty glass. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want. But you never saw me, right? We never talked. I don’t want no trouble.”
“Of course,” I reassured him, leaning over the counter and paying the rest of his tab before leaving.
The air outside was still balmy, though just crisp enough to remind me every day that fall was coming. A large knot settl
ed in my throat as I took the long walk to the opera house, finally settling my eyes on the big red brick building that reeked of entitlement.
It seemed that even today, with close to eight decades of life behind him, Argus was still calling the shots around here. At least enough that he could live in a prestigious house in the heart of the city.
Approaching the front door, I was greeted by a doorman who called my name over the intercom system.
“Mr. Hunt will receive you now,” he announced a few minutes later, ushering me inside.
Trying to ignore the sick feeling in my gut, I took the elevator up to the fourth floor and walked down the long hallway. A large, double door had been left ajar, and I pushed inside to find a gigantic living room.
My eyes scanned past the ivory-white reproductions of ludicrous Greco-Roman statues, a field of nymphs and naked heroes. At the end of a long carpet sat Argus, staring at me while hunching over an oxygen machine.
“Well, isn’t this something. My most major fuck-up, now all grown up,” he hissed. He took a moment to laugh, a slow dry groan rasping in his throat that seemed to wind him.
Two large, bulky men standing by the door both burst into forced laughter that ended the moment Argus had recovered enough to continue speaking. “I’ve followed you around, you’re hard to miss. Though I’m more of a soccer fan. Arsenal, Manchester United, that’s where the real sport is.”
“I didn’t come back here to debate which sport is better,” I said icily.
“No, of course not. You came back to help people, didn’t you? To spread the gospel about professional sports, to make everyone cry with little tales of redemption. Aren’t you such a wonderful person,” he said, the effort to turn his voice high-pitched and sarcastic sending him into a small coughing fit. “How about you tell them the real trick? Let your friend die on the street, run away, and get lucky.”
My jaw clenched tight, fingers curling into rock hard fists. “Stay the fuck away from them,” I said, my voice suddenly as dry as his.
“Simon, Simon, Simon. You might be grown up, but you’re still a goddamn idiot,” Argus said, nodding to the two goons who were flanking me. They both charged towards me, one of the men tackling me and wrestling me to the floor. Instinctively, I raised my foot with as much strength as I could gather and kicked the other in the face, using the force of his charge to send him tumbling down to the ground in a heap.
With his friend stunned, the remaining man sent his knee into my chest as he frantically tugged at his jacket. I knew he was probably looking for a gun, but I didn’t give a shit. The rage that had been building up in me since talking to Marjorie was now a maelstrom of raw hatred, and with a loud groan I managed to flip him onto his back a couple feet away from me, on top of his friend.
I lunged to my feet, rushing over to the guard as he struggled to stand back up. My fist connected with his gut, and his slammed into my mouth in retaliation. Blood poured down my chin as my lip split from the pressure, and I slammed into the man with all my strength. Pinning him against the wall, I rained down more blows into his chest and stomach while he futilely tried to defend himself.
Playing dirty, his fingers went to gouge my eyes, but I was too fast for him. With all pretenses of an honorable fight now gone, I held his neck against the wall with my forearm while slamming into his testicles repeatedly with my knee. He groaned, collapsing the moment I stopped holding him up.
Trembling with rage and adrenaline, I bent down and ripped the man’s blazer off of him, the seams popping as they ripped at the shoulder while he moaned in pain. The gun he’d been searching for spilled onto the floor, and I snatched it up before he had a chance to move.
Looking down at him, I could see his eye almost swollen shut as he squinted at the weapon.
“Don’t get in my fucking way a second time,” I roared at him, kicking him in the stomach one last time before turning to face the other man. He was a lot smaller than the first, and twitching as he started to come back to his senses. I didn’t waste any time before bending down to search his clothes, finding the gun I knew he’d have somewhere. I clicked the safety on and shoved it into my pocket, using my free hand to lift the man and throw him on top of his friend.
With one gun still in hand and adrenaline screaming in my ears, I walked towards Argus with a manic look in my eye. He was hunched over, but his wizened face was arrogant and unafraid.
Trembling with rage, my eyes went wide as Argus began to laugh. Not the petty, sardonic laugh of earlier, but in genuine amusement.
“Go ahead, get it over with you worthless little punk. You think I’m afraid? Hurry it up now, or the cancer will do it for you.”
Spitting blood on his face, I raised the gun in his direction and put my finger on the trigger very slowly.
“It’s never going to bring him back,” Argus said, and for the first time a little uncertainty crept into his voice. I stared at his face as his wrinkled, white skin turned even paler. I could see the same fear and uncertainty that had been in Jake’s eyes so long ago.
“Do it,” he wheezed.
The shot resonated all around the room, deafening me.
Ten years, and I still have nightmares.
How much it hurt when the bullet grazed my shoulder.
The wild, terrified look in his eyes while he clawed at my arm.
The horrible gurgling.
I’ll never forget that noise.
Never.
I am not available right now, but please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.
My lips moved in sync with Simon’s voice mail greeting as I was, once again, met by the same impersonal announcement. My stomach roiled with worry as I tilted my head back and sighed, my hand sliding down along my leg. I ground my teeth as the phone beeped at me, telling me to leave a message as if everything were normal.
Across from me, the clock on the wall said it was almost midnight.
Simon was late. Very, very late.
I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore, trying to steady myself and not worry. I’d tried everything I could think of to distract myself, but as the hours ticked on my fears became more and more incessant. Finally, it seemed there was no way to deny them.
I’d been staring at my phone since ten.
He’d left early in the morning after our daily jog in the local park, heading for town where he’d had urgent errands to run. I should’ve known something was wrong then, when he’d been cagey about what he planned on doing, but the truth was I hadn’t worried at all.
We’d been almost inseparable all summer long, but we’d always gotten back together quickly on those few occasions when we needed to part for a few hours. I hadn’t subjected him to my friend’s baby shower, for example, or to go dress shopping with Lena.
For his part, he’d visited an old friend who was passing through the area, and went on an interview with a local news channel who’d gotten wind of his presence in town. He visited his mother often, and several times a week he would spend a whole afternoon slaving over workout machines at the gym, striving to counter my so-called “decadent cooking” and keep himself in shape for the upcoming World Cup.
So, it wasn’t exactly as if we’d never been apart. It had happened quite a bit, but it was never an issue. He’d always been back in time for an evening stroll, for drinks at our favorite bar, and for a night of lovemaking and cuddling.
But now, suddenly, he wasn’t back tonight.
Or even answering his phone.
My nerves were beyond shot.
I’d thought of calling his mom, but I had no way of contacting her. I’d thought of calling the hotel, but they wouldn’t give me any information. Time ticked on, the anxious buzzing in my head getting louder with each passing second.
When the clock finally turned to midnight, I’d had enough. I jumped out of my chair and called a taxi. Less than half an hour later, I was standing outside his hotel room door.
I won’t ever
talk about him.
He’s dead and nothing will ever get him back.
Particularly not a fucking diary.
Of course I’d wanted to shoot him. I’d placed the barrel of the gun straight between his evil, milky eyes and took a deep breath, imagining his brains splattering across the large window behind his wheel chair.
I had nothing to lose, I thought. My life was in shambles, and this whole incident had taught me that there was no way I could ever truly move past Jake’s death.
Never.
The most I could do was to help make sure that this evil old man didn’t hurt anyone else.
But when I tried to pull the trigger, something stopped me.
Emilia.
My life didn’t matter, but hers did.
Jerking my hand into the air, I aimed the gun straight up and pulled the trigger. The noise was like a hammer striking me in the ear, and a thick cloud of plaster dust fell from the ceiling above us.
It was too late for me, but Emilia still deserved happiness. A good, sane husband. Healthy kids. No scars, no trauma, no painful memories.
She deserved everything that I could never give her.
Withdrawing with the least fuss was now the only option I had left.
I found Robert’s gun today, stashed away in the bedside drawer.
I stared at it for a long, long time.
It would’ve been so easy.
Emilia came in and raised a fuss, and that was the end of that.
It’s weird, but it actually was good to hear her talking to me again.
Even if she was screaming.
No answer.
I should’ve expected that, but I didn’t know what to do. Panicking, I knocked again, louder and harder. Soon I was pounding on the door with all my strength, desperate for some kind of answer.
When the door finally opened and a tall, dark-haired man looked at me, I stared at him with wide eyes. I could see Simon behind him, his back turned as he looked out the window.
