Post by aquarianstar on Feb 22, 2005 15:56:14 GMT -5
His aching feet whacked off the hard tarmac in a weary rhythm, his mind and body fast growing accustomed to the painful beat. The air was cold and crisp, and as he took strained breaths in and out, tiny clouds of mist appeared for a few seconds, before diminishing back into nothing again. The narrow street he was running through had an eerie, almost ghostly element of foreboding to it. Two dilapidated and empty-looking rows of houses ran past him on either side. The street had an air of loneliness about it, although Conrad knew that he was anything but alone right now.
He wondered numbly if he’d managed to shake off his pursuers yet? Conrad thought back. They had seemed really enraged, and had charged around his flat like bulls, faces set, determined, and ready for a fight. All three had dangerous looking handguns that seemed to tease him, glinting in the moonlight, as if mocking his almost non-existent defence. He was still in shock, for he had escaped. Well, almost. They were still on his tail; he could hear them in the distance. Don never gave up easily, and Conrad feared that the worst of the night was yet to come.
It had to be about the money. There was nothing else, was there? But it was a lot of trouble to go through for such a small sum. Don didn’t need that petty cash. He put the unsettling thought to the back of his mind for now. He had bigger problems. He was alone, at night, racing through a sleeping city, being chased by three thugs, with no means of getting help or escaping. Great. He had no phone; it was back in the flat. He had to get back; it was the only way to dig himself out of this rapidly deepening pit.
Don stopped to listen for a minute at a deserted crossroads.
‘What’re we stopping for boss?’ asked one of his muscular, yet vacant looking companions.
‘Sshhh!’ hushed Don irritably. ‘Where did he go?’
The other two men shrugged together in perfect unison, eyebrows raised. Don let out a string of violent words with practised fluidity, which were too obscene to mention here. All that running and chasing for nothing? He fumed not-so-silently at no one in particular.
Any other man would be flushed with rage at this point, but Don’s albino skin remained forever pale. His piercing red eyes darted around him, as if looking for a sign to guide him in the right direction. Discovering nothing, he was about to turn back when he heard a very distinctive sound close-by. A sneeze. He smirked to himself.
‘Gotcha’, he whispered.
He was sure he’d lost them! One little sneeze was all that had given him away. Just one! Now Conrad was on the run again, from the swift footfalls pounding on the street behind him. He rounded corner after corner, used every ploy and detour that his exhausted mind could stand to provide, but in vain. He realised that they were mere seconds behind him now.
He had to get away, he had to! Think Conrad, think, he urged himself. Okay. He had an idea. A pretty lousy one, but it was all he could manage at this point. He gathered what little strength he had left with tremendous effort. Then, he sprinted. Sprinted as if he was running for gold in the Olympic games, pushing his already wrecked body and mind to the absolute limit. He managed to get two streets ahead. Good. As he rounded the next corner, he slipped into a doorway and hid in the shadow thrown by a flickering streetlamp. The oldest trick in the book, he just had to pray that it would work. Hearing the thugs approaching the corner, he held his breath, shut his eyes, and silenced his body, coming close to stopping his heart, which was pounding like a sledgehammer. Much to his relief, the men darted past without seeing him. He slid to the ground, resting for a second. There was no time to waste. Dragging his body back up again, he was surprised his very bones did not cry out in protest. He had to hurry. The thugs wouldn’t chase shadows for long.
Don crouched in the corner of the dark flat, loading his revolver. His most prized one; he aimed it only to fire it. Cradling it now in his hands, he stared straight ahead, patiently settling in for the wait.
Conrad tripped and stumbled up the stairs to his flat, and looked at the door with what could only be described as a bad feeling, chilling his bones. He pushed it away immediately, for God’s sake, this whole night was one big bad feeling. Nothing to worry about, there was no way the thugs could have gotten here before him. He entered the small hallway, reached for the phone, and began dialling.
……
A voice rang out behind him.
‘Put down the phone and turn around slowly’.
There was no mistaking that voice, low and menacing, even at the best of times.
Don.
He turned to face him, registering the black, shiny weapon aimed at his chest with some false calmness.
‘Don, if this is about the money, I’ll pay you back, I swear, I just need until tomorrow, please’, pleaded Conrad.
‘The money? Oh, this is about so much more than that Conrad. Although that is another point I’d missed. Thanks for reminding me’, Don replied in icy tones.
‘What? What else can this possibly be about?’ Conrad was genuinely puzzled now. What on earth did Don want?
‘Oh please. Don’t play dumb. Are you saying you’ve forgotten Sharon already?’
‘Sharon? Wait, Sharon as in the Sharon I dated a few months back?’ answered Conrad incredulously.
‘Actually, it’s more like weeks’.
‘Whatever. What about her? What the heck has she got to do with this?’
‘Number one, she’s my sister. Number two, she’s now with a child. Do the maths.’ Don was close to foaming at the mouth.
‘She’s… pregnant? Oh my God, Don I swear, I had no idea, you have to believe me, she never told me!’ Conrad suddenly realised the amount of trouble he was in.
Shots rang out through the flat as Conrad crouched behind a chair in the living room. He had to find something to defend himself with. It was too late, as he looked around frantically, Don came into sight, aiming the gun. Looking back, Conrad still didn’t know how he did it. Time seemed to go at a crawl. He lunged himself at Don’s torso, using all the power in his body. Too much, as it turned out. The shot fired and the bullet lodged itself firmly in the ceiling, missing Conrad. But his lunge had another effect. It’s force sent Don stumbling backwards, and straight out of the low window. Not far to fall, but as Conrad watched his descent, he saw Don’s head bang off the railing below him, jerking it back with a sickening crack. Then he hit the pavement and lay there, still, unmoving. Conrad ran downstairs and cautiously approached the body. He put his hands to Don’s neck. No pulse. He was dead. Murdered. I killed him, thought Conrad, his heart stopping for a second. This was not meant to happen. Slowly, numbly, he went inside and dialled three numbers. Then the tears came.
By the time the police arrived on the scene, Conrad was in a terrible state. He was no longer crying, but he was drowning inside. Nothing seemed to make sense. He was confused. The guards were sympathetic enough, but it really didn’t help. He was a murderer. He had taken someone’s life.
One guard, sensing his shame and guilt, came over to Conrad.
‘How’re you doing?’ he asked kindly. No answer.
‘Well, he continued, just remember, there’s no murder in self-defence. Forget this, or else you’ll never move on. Look at what you have. That is probably the best advice I can give you now, sorry’. Getting no response, the guard moved on.
Look at what I have, Conrad thought. Forget this.
Look at what I have… One thought made it’s way through the smothering fog in his head…
I’m going to be a father…
He wondered numbly if he’d managed to shake off his pursuers yet? Conrad thought back. They had seemed really enraged, and had charged around his flat like bulls, faces set, determined, and ready for a fight. All three had dangerous looking handguns that seemed to tease him, glinting in the moonlight, as if mocking his almost non-existent defence. He was still in shock, for he had escaped. Well, almost. They were still on his tail; he could hear them in the distance. Don never gave up easily, and Conrad feared that the worst of the night was yet to come.
It had to be about the money. There was nothing else, was there? But it was a lot of trouble to go through for such a small sum. Don didn’t need that petty cash. He put the unsettling thought to the back of his mind for now. He had bigger problems. He was alone, at night, racing through a sleeping city, being chased by three thugs, with no means of getting help or escaping. Great. He had no phone; it was back in the flat. He had to get back; it was the only way to dig himself out of this rapidly deepening pit.
Don stopped to listen for a minute at a deserted crossroads.
‘What’re we stopping for boss?’ asked one of his muscular, yet vacant looking companions.
‘Sshhh!’ hushed Don irritably. ‘Where did he go?’
The other two men shrugged together in perfect unison, eyebrows raised. Don let out a string of violent words with practised fluidity, which were too obscene to mention here. All that running and chasing for nothing? He fumed not-so-silently at no one in particular.
Any other man would be flushed with rage at this point, but Don’s albino skin remained forever pale. His piercing red eyes darted around him, as if looking for a sign to guide him in the right direction. Discovering nothing, he was about to turn back when he heard a very distinctive sound close-by. A sneeze. He smirked to himself.
‘Gotcha’, he whispered.
He was sure he’d lost them! One little sneeze was all that had given him away. Just one! Now Conrad was on the run again, from the swift footfalls pounding on the street behind him. He rounded corner after corner, used every ploy and detour that his exhausted mind could stand to provide, but in vain. He realised that they were mere seconds behind him now.
He had to get away, he had to! Think Conrad, think, he urged himself. Okay. He had an idea. A pretty lousy one, but it was all he could manage at this point. He gathered what little strength he had left with tremendous effort. Then, he sprinted. Sprinted as if he was running for gold in the Olympic games, pushing his already wrecked body and mind to the absolute limit. He managed to get two streets ahead. Good. As he rounded the next corner, he slipped into a doorway and hid in the shadow thrown by a flickering streetlamp. The oldest trick in the book, he just had to pray that it would work. Hearing the thugs approaching the corner, he held his breath, shut his eyes, and silenced his body, coming close to stopping his heart, which was pounding like a sledgehammer. Much to his relief, the men darted past without seeing him. He slid to the ground, resting for a second. There was no time to waste. Dragging his body back up again, he was surprised his very bones did not cry out in protest. He had to hurry. The thugs wouldn’t chase shadows for long.
Don crouched in the corner of the dark flat, loading his revolver. His most prized one; he aimed it only to fire it. Cradling it now in his hands, he stared straight ahead, patiently settling in for the wait.
Conrad tripped and stumbled up the stairs to his flat, and looked at the door with what could only be described as a bad feeling, chilling his bones. He pushed it away immediately, for God’s sake, this whole night was one big bad feeling. Nothing to worry about, there was no way the thugs could have gotten here before him. He entered the small hallway, reached for the phone, and began dialling.
……A voice rang out behind him.
‘Put down the phone and turn around slowly’.
There was no mistaking that voice, low and menacing, even at the best of times.
Don.
He turned to face him, registering the black, shiny weapon aimed at his chest with some false calmness.
‘Don, if this is about the money, I’ll pay you back, I swear, I just need until tomorrow, please’, pleaded Conrad.
‘The money? Oh, this is about so much more than that Conrad. Although that is another point I’d missed. Thanks for reminding me’, Don replied in icy tones.
‘What? What else can this possibly be about?’ Conrad was genuinely puzzled now. What on earth did Don want?
‘Oh please. Don’t play dumb. Are you saying you’ve forgotten Sharon already?’
‘Sharon? Wait, Sharon as in the Sharon I dated a few months back?’ answered Conrad incredulously.
‘Actually, it’s more like weeks’.
‘Whatever. What about her? What the heck has she got to do with this?’
‘Number one, she’s my sister. Number two, she’s now with a child. Do the maths.’ Don was close to foaming at the mouth.
‘She’s… pregnant? Oh my God, Don I swear, I had no idea, you have to believe me, she never told me!’ Conrad suddenly realised the amount of trouble he was in.
Shots rang out through the flat as Conrad crouched behind a chair in the living room. He had to find something to defend himself with. It was too late, as he looked around frantically, Don came into sight, aiming the gun. Looking back, Conrad still didn’t know how he did it. Time seemed to go at a crawl. He lunged himself at Don’s torso, using all the power in his body. Too much, as it turned out. The shot fired and the bullet lodged itself firmly in the ceiling, missing Conrad. But his lunge had another effect. It’s force sent Don stumbling backwards, and straight out of the low window. Not far to fall, but as Conrad watched his descent, he saw Don’s head bang off the railing below him, jerking it back with a sickening crack. Then he hit the pavement and lay there, still, unmoving. Conrad ran downstairs and cautiously approached the body. He put his hands to Don’s neck. No pulse. He was dead. Murdered. I killed him, thought Conrad, his heart stopping for a second. This was not meant to happen. Slowly, numbly, he went inside and dialled three numbers. Then the tears came.
By the time the police arrived on the scene, Conrad was in a terrible state. He was no longer crying, but he was drowning inside. Nothing seemed to make sense. He was confused. The guards were sympathetic enough, but it really didn’t help. He was a murderer. He had taken someone’s life.
One guard, sensing his shame and guilt, came over to Conrad.
‘How’re you doing?’ he asked kindly. No answer.
‘Well, he continued, just remember, there’s no murder in self-defence. Forget this, or else you’ll never move on. Look at what you have. That is probably the best advice I can give you now, sorry’. Getting no response, the guard moved on.
Look at what I have, Conrad thought. Forget this.
Look at what I have… One thought made it’s way through the smothering fog in his head…
I’m going to be a father…
and 
all
time for me 
echoes, hope you all are doing well 
