by Stuart Keane
Alan would have shot him again but now time was a factor.
Not long now. Soon he would be reunited with Lucy.
Daddy’s coming, honey, be patient.
A tear slid down Alan’s cheek. He thought he’d been ‘cried out’ for the past few weeks. He didn’t think he had any tears left in him. An improbable smile crept across his lips. He spun the revolver and held it between his thumb and forefinger. He started to raise his arms.
Daddy’s coming, honey. The time is near.
Seconds later, the police burst through the glass door. As it shattered with the impact, glass bounced and rolled across the threadbare carpet. Three officers, armed with MP5 submachine guns, appeared beside Alan. They were dressed in full riot gear. Alan was aware of their presence, expected it and faced them, hands in the air, gun held aloft.
The officers were in formation. He smiled weakly.
“Freeze! Drop the gun! Drop it!”
“Do it now!”
Alan smiled. “You took your time, guys. Did you stop at Krispy Kreme on the way?”
“Drop the gun or we will fire!”
Alan closed his eyes. “Do what you got to do.”
Lowering his arms, he held the gun aloft. Suddenly, he was aware of several bullets shredding his torso, and destroying his organs. Sprays of red decorated his vision. He felt blinding pain before his faculties shut off.
Everything became a blur of red and blue and white.
Alan was dead before he hit the floor.
A white tunnel crept up on him.
Lucy, here I come.
FOURTEEN
FRIDAY
8:09PM
A haze of confusion sat behind Vincent’s eyes. He recognised it as the sensation he had when he woke up in the morning but could not comprehend what he was seeing, or feeling. That moment between when his brain engaged and the rest of his body responded.
Some people call it slumber.
Or inertia.
Vincent wanted to go back to sleep.
His eyelids were weighted, lead-like. Opening them was a Herculean effort in itself. After the first attempt, he gave up. He could handle staying asleep for longer.
Days, would suffice.
After a moment, he realised his left shoulder was numb. He tried moving and a jolt of faded pain coursed through his body. He couldn’t physically move his arm. It was restrained.
Why?
He opened his eyes. It took about a minute.
His left shoulder, entire upper arm and chest, were bandaged with thick, clean dressings. Probably there in order to restrict his movement. Vincent searched his memory banks. What had happened eluded him. He didn’t know why he was here.
Maybe it was the morphine that ran through his blood stream. He knew it was morphine because he had read the label on the drip bag beside the bed.
An assortment of flowers decorated the room. Red and yellow and blue and pink. A variety of colours. Numerous cards stood scattered in and around the vases. GET WELL SOON. SPEEDY RECOVERY. The usual greetings for temporary hospital stays. Several boxes of chocolates sat piled beside the bed.
Several random chirps, beeps and clicks sounded from expensive machines scattered around the room. The windows were dark. One machine pumped up and down like an inverted accordion. How late was it? What day?
Leanne sat in a chair by the wall. She was asleep, curled into the seat itself. Her head was angled on the arm, her hands crossed in front of her chest, and her knees were hooked under her arms. Her brown handbag had slipped to the ground and toppled over. Her phone sat on the chair between her ankles. On her forehead there was a small white bandage.
Typical, thought Vincent. He attempted a smile. His face ached. He suddenly realised his lips and tongue were parched, they felt as dry as a desert.
A nurse walked into the room. Without a word, she checked unknown instructions on a clipboard, glancing up occasionally. Every now and then, she scribbled something. Vincent tried catching her eye. The nurse glanced at him. She smiled. At that moment, Vincent felt a warmth he couldn’t imagine. That was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.
Whether it was because he was alive or because the woman was stunningly beautiful, he didn’t know. The morphine didn’t want his brain to ruin the moment.
“Wha…what happened?” he asked.
The nurse laid two gentle fingers on his left arm. Her fingers found his pulse and she nodded. Scribbled some more.
Her eyes made him feel alive.
“You got shot. Nasty wound, the bullet tore through your shoulder. Thankfully, it missed your subclavian artery.”
“My submarine what?”
The nurse giggled. “Subclavian artery. Let’s just say it’s important and it survived. It wouldn’t have been nice if it had been hit. You’ll heal eventually. Give it time.”
She smiled once more and returned to her checks. More scribbling. A lock of red hair slipped down from her forehead. Vincent thought it gave her an endearing quality. She pushed it back, conscious of the movement.
Vincent then remembered what happened and tried to sit up. The nurse placed an outstretched hand on his chest. It wasn’t necessary. Vincent was too weak to sit. He collapsed back down, exhausted.
“You need to lie down and relax.” She gave him a stern but playful look. She finished her tasks and checked the drip bags. Vincent licked his lips. “What happened to the shooter? Mr. Pierce?”
“I don’t know, honey, I wasn’t at the scene. The police are here waiting for you to wake up. They have a few questions. Your friend over there came to visit you.” The nurse pointed at Leanne with the tip of her pen. “You can chat to her if you want. After that, if I were you, I would get some more sleep. I can tell the boys in blue to come back.” The nurse winked.
Vincent smiled. “Sure.”
The nurse left. Vincent rolled over and looked at Leanne. She rolled over on the chair. Somehow, her phone remained on the seat. Vincent closed his eyes and felt sleep tugging him back to its warmth.
The beeping and chirping became a symphony. His brain was still foggy about the events that had put him here. He concluded he would remember everything soon enough. He felt exhausted. Vincent closed his eyes and let the sleep take him. It took two minutes.
“I quit,” he mumbled.
No one heard him. He smiled.
He meant every word of it.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Acknowledgements
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
