3 comments/ 9671 views/ 0 favorites Death Sentence By: Robin P For a change, this is not a sex story, but a product of a bad time in my life. Strangely enough, it seems to be one of the most popular stories I have. No sex. "It'll make a great car!" We looked at the box, a large cardboard egg box that arrived in the garden by some mysterious means. Our hands held, he to my right. Two figures locked in a time warp of our own. I marvelled at the imagination of a five year-olds mind. "Just cut the sides for windows and a bit for my feet." His excitement had an infectious nature and, for a moment, I too, could see the prospects of the box. Wheels were not required to transport his spirit far from the realm of the garden with its neatly manicured lawn and trim borders. How easily it is for a child to go to far-flung corners where no man has trodden. A spark, an object, some piece of debris and they are instantly thousands of miles away, transported on a wave of imagination. As we stood there, I wished I had the same capability, but needed it to be for real and not the fantasy of imagination. I wanted to be elsewhere. A new place, anywhere, but somewhere without the problems that faced me. The treatment had cleaned us out. So many days, nights and weeks at the Hospital. Tests and more tests. Treatments and more treatments. It seemed that each cost more than the last and each specialist doubled in charges. The house had gone, as had the business and our car. Susan had sold her jewellery and the only other thing that had any value, a painting by some Scottish artist. The picture had been almost sepia in colour and lurking in the almost, uniform brownness, were Angus cattle on a hillside. We hated it, but had kept it because it belonged to her Grandmother and had been handed down via her Mother. My stamps went quite early, back in the days of James still being just sickly, right at the start of trying to find the cause of his seemingly constant illnesses. Although neither one of us had counted the total to date, a rough estimate had to be around a hundred and seventy thousand. There was nothing left now. Susan had gone back to work to try and support us. She hated it, working alongside young girls with nothing on their minds but sex, makeup and going out at the weekend clubbing. Technology had moved on in the six years since she had left to start a family. Computers had taken over completely in the office. Instead of a typewriter sitting on the desk, it was now a smart screen and keyboard. The telephone came over a headset and coffee came from a machine in the middle of the floor in a vending area. Moving house had seemed exciting, a new beginning. We had to rent in the private sector because I earned too much to get help from the Council. Since the company folded, that no longer held true, but it seems, we still didn't qualify, not enough points they said. God knows what scores enough points, although it had been said that if I had been a one legged, single parent, alien with lesbian tendencies, I would have got a place, just like that. Even in the midst of the seriousness of our situation, I smiled at the thought of mincing into the Housing office with a Halloween mask on. The humour would have been completely lost on the automatons that habituate the other side of the desk. It was uncertain how long we could continue renting a flat with two bedrooms and a bathroom big enough to touch all four walls if you lie down and spread eagled. Susan and my diets had gone to crap. Fast food and hurried meals were telling on our waists and skin. I suppose the anxiety had a lot to do with the constant eruptions on our faces, but it was quite positive that too many McDonalds eaten on the run helped to push spots of volcanic proportions out. James flipped the lid of the box, peered over the edge and then entered head first, using his hands to break what could have been a serious fall. Surprisingly, the box held together. Although none of the doctors could tell us why, bruises on James became a serious problem and would stay for weeks, sometimes breaking into sores and weeping watery blood. His muffled voice urged me to get to work and create him this super fast machine. I had to lift him out in case I accidentally cut him with the penknife that were to be the tools of a production line. I even remembered to cut a small back screen. Two roughly square holes in the sides served as passenger and driver windows, while a larger oblong cut formed the windscreen. I lifted the driver back into his top of the range, latest, all gadget, extreme machine. Brrrrrrrrrmmmmmmm emanated from the sides and flashes of his hands, sawing at the imaginary steering wheel. James was in the fast lane, his foot, firmly planted to the floor. "Right!" He screamed. "Lets see what this suckers got!" Again I marvelled at the imagination and at the same time, felt a little guilty for the exposure to television that taught him the street language of American movies. "Screeeeeeech, neeeeoooown!" Too bad he would never get to drive a real car. The thought came unbidden and brought yet another hic and a burning behind the eyes. A second thought followed that it was probably just as well he wouldn't get to drive if this style was any example. How can anyone think like that? I wondered for a millionth time. One second, so sad and in the next split, coming up with a funny. Sad and guilty for a humour simultaneously. Was I getting used to it? Or was I uncaring? No, that was never the case; perhaps my mind was trying to relieve some of the strain. It was clear he would be driving and terrorising the pedestrians and other road users in his mind's eye for some time. I turned and headed back to the kitchen. I could watch him from the window while I got dinner ready. For the first time in weeks, we were going to sit down around the table and share a mealtime together. I had even eked out a few extra pounds and bought a couple of scented candles to grace the table centre, while food was going to be real lamb chops with a rosemary and honey glaze. Susan would appreciate that; it had been the rational for spending a little extra for once, a small treat for her holding the family together. James soon tired from driving from one end of the world to another and wailed when he realised I had gone back to the kitchen, even though I had told him just about the same time as he was flying over an open bridge or a canyon, so I guessed it hadn't registered. He came into the kitchen, fist bunched into his eyes, squeezing out tears and stifling a sob. Susan came home at last. Her feet were killing her she said. How is James and what's for dinner? I held her close, then caressed her hair while I kissed her hello. I had always loved the way she did it. Held back plaited in the French style. Her natural highlights seemed to be accentuated in that manner, although some grey was just starting to appear. I felt guilty for that too. Jesus, but she was only thirty-two and going grey already. I felt guilty for feeling guilty. Wasn't that a form of self-pity after all? In all the trials we were experiencing, not once had Sushi (a nick name), ever employed self-pity. Hadn't she been the strong one? Only crying at night when she thought I was asleep. I was not allowed to comfort her in these times, it was a private grief, but I wanted to hold her, cling to her and share the burden of emotion. I knew though, as she did, I would just unload my sorrow and guilt, heaping it on her too thin shoulders. I only had to think back to the moment the doctor told us in a small cubicle sized private office, that James would not see his next birthday. I remember doing the mathematics and screaming in anguish, "That's only six months away!" I remember how I howled, I remember how I broke down and I remember my wicked thoughts when I looked at Sushi who had sat there in rigid shock, with no outward emotion for either her son's impending death, or the evident grief of her husband. I remember thinking that it was supposed to be her who fell apart and me who should be the one to remain staid and comforting. I remember the feelings of role reversal and the realisation of inadequacy. Susan pried James from a light sleep in his specially padded cot and brought him into the kitchen. His appetite had all but vanished some time ago. Pills and drugs filled the spaces I suppose. Trips to McD'S had no interest these days. Occasionally though, it was possible to tempt him into eating enough to subsist. The smell of the honey glazing seemed to awaken an old longing and two bottoms sat down in anticipation, quick smart. "You should have seen my car Mummy, it goes really fast and beat the crap outta anything on the road." James's face lit up with his remembered experience and he completely missed the fact that a naughty word had escaped him. "James, we don't use words like that in this house." Susan mildly admonished him while looking at me as if to ask if I was teaching him these little snippets of street vernacular. "I don't know where he gets it either". I answered the implied accusation. "Probably from the telly." My defence seemed weak and I doubted if it would stand up to cross-examination knowing that I used them all and worse at frequent intervals. The candles burned and gave of themselves, a faint aroma that struggled to overcome the rosemary and honey. We ate in silence and watched as James demolished a real meal for once. After finishing the food James regaled Susan with his daring exploits of driving, car chases and daring do. I guess it was then that I had the idea, but didn't bring it up at that time. Why shouldn't he have a real drive? Sit him on my lap and let him steer? I know it's against the law I rationalised, but isn't a five-year old boy who wouldn't see six against the law? Surely nature has laws too, why were they being broken? Why not do something for once that would give him so much pleasure? Sushi and I made love that night. We had neglected that side of being married and it was only a good evening with James that released us from the natural block of guilt. At least that's how I felt, I don't know what Susan thought, but she initiated the act and we loved in freedom. Sated, we slept, something else we had been neglecting for a while. The next day, James was not so good. He had slept quite well, but he seemed not to really to wake up all day. I remembered my idea and made a few phone calls while he slept in front of the Telly Tubbies. I needed a car, it didn't have to be even a good one, in fact, and it would be better if it weren't. Sympathetic friends sympathised, but one by one, found they had commitments that prevented the loaning of a car. Sympathy has its uses, but only when someone has died. I was alive, not the centre of a thriving enterprise anymore perhaps, but alive all the same. So was my son. In desperation, I called my sister. She had a car, I remembered, I also remembered it was a battered old Escort. Perfect! She dished out sympathy at first and then, agreed to allow me to borrow her car, I could pick it up tomorrow, Saturday, brilliant! She would even bring it over 'cos I'm spending the weekend with Dave. I didn't ask who Dave was; Lucy changed boyfriends like I change socks. It and she arrived early Saturday morning. Sushi and James were sleeping in. They often did that on weekends when James was home. He would creep into our bed and replace my body next to hers. They didn't know anything about the car and I wanted to surprise them. James eventually got up. It was obvious it was not going to be a good day. He was sick and cried in pain. I always flapped uselessly when he got these bouts. It would pass, but each time took more out of him and it is hard for a parent to watch the life of a son being flushed down the bowl. Susan dealt with James while I made some coffee. They eventually came into the kitchen. Grey. Grey faced and grey spirited. They looked as if all life force had been supplanted with mundane and nothingness. Another piece of me died and, once again, I turned to the sink and cried soundlessly. "I thought we might go out for a drive." I was trying to sound cheerful. "Thought we might just go and explore a bit of the countryside, just drive until we get to wherever the car wants to stop." "A car would be useful." Susan answered flatly. "What like that shining monster out side sitting on the drive?" I nodded outside the window. "Is that what you mean?" James found the energy to look out. Getting up from a kitchen chair as it scrapped across the lino tiles. "Oh Wow Mum! Look!" The sight of the rusting heap had the desired effect. "Let's go, please Mum, please?" "You'll need to get dressed." She answered and looked at me questioningly. "Just put a coat on." His shorts and tee shirt that he had slept in were okay. I wanted to get in the car before the mood passed, before the thrill died. Susan offered no objection. We left and got into the car, banging the doors shut because they stuck on the rust. Coffee was left un-drunk and I don't even remember if the front door was pulled shut. We drove for miles. Escaping the confines of the town and finding the hills of Kent. A straight road gave me the opportunity to give James his real present. "Would you like to drive?" I looked straight at James's expression in the rear view mirror and watched the realisation of what I was asking, dawn on him and transform his face to pure light. I sat him on my lap and allowed him to steer with only a few corrections at first. The road eventually brought us to a wooded section with a steep side. Sushi and I knew this place well, we had often made out in a lay-by at the top, before we married. James copped well with the bends in the twisting lane as it climbed up to the summit some hundred feet above the valley floor. "Isn't it dangerous to let him steer?" I looked at Sushi, my beautiful Sushi and one of those rare moments of perfect accord and knowing passed between us. She nodded silently and James drove on. The Coroner seemed to take forever as he related each graphic detail. Susan's seat belt stalk was rotted and broke free when the car went over the side of the ravine and hit a large rock. Her throat was cut as she passed through the screen. It would have been a fatal injury in its self, but her headlong dive brought her into contact with a tree trunk causing catastrophic injuries to her head. She died instantly. My chest crushed James. Trapping him between the wheel and my advancing body, causing internal injuries. He had no chance of survival. I wanted to scream that his chances of survival had already been dealt the coup-de-grace in a cupboard sized office in the Hospital. I said nothing. The Coroner gave his verdict: "The driver had been fortunate that the child was on his lap." (Where did he get fortunate?). He went on. "Although his teeth had been left in the child's head and he had suffered three broken ribs, he had escaped fatal injuries by the cushioning effect of the child's body." This time I did scream and let him know that I had been mortally wounded, some time ago. I died many months earlier, long before the crash. So began my sentence, the rest of my life. The court took pity on me, meaning I would not be going to jail for my recklessness, even offering sympathy which was completely useless to me. But, in truth, walls and bars might have helped me focus, given me something to hold on to and allow the memories to escape away into the ether. I hope there is an after life, another side, where I can be with them both again, healthy, happy and memory is eradicated. I can't kill myself, just in case suicide really does banish me from that heaven. Hope is all I have, except their memory. Death Sentence I was just in the middle of writing my third submission when I got stuck. Wrote this quickie for a bit of a break. I needed to unleash the inner cunt within me. I haven't read that many stories here so if this isn't an original idea I apologise in advance. I unashamedly admit that my last story, 'Onslaught', was an amalgam of other's ideas with one new concept. i.e. The phone bullying. This one I have written from scratch and any resemblance to other stories, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Unlike my first two, this one does contain cheating but may not have as forgiving a main character. Absolutely no sex. I have self-edited it several times and corrected grammar and syntax errors. If your spell checker picks up any errors, change the dictionary to English (UK) rather than English (US) and hopefully all the blue and red squiggles will disappear. Once again, thanks to the Hermit for his wise counsel. ***** Join the army. Travel the world. Meet lots of interesting people, then kill them. With this joke, my best friend Simon talked me into joining the army. He'd been in two years already and said it was a great life. I even joined the same unit he was in, then volunteered for the same special duties outfit he'd joined. The training was gruelling but we helped each other through it. Our outfit was based in a large regional centre and life was pretty stable. In fact we both fell in love and got married within a month of each other. Myself to a real cutie named Pam. By the time I'd done ten years' service, I'd been happily married for eight and begat two daughters I adored, Kate 7 and Melissa 5. Unlike some army units, mine didn't move around. We did have to go out on jobs for periods of two days to two weeks but not that often. I was home at normal time about 300/365 days a year. So life was as normal as can be. I had a wife I loved and a family I would gladly die for. Then of course Osama Bin Dickhead did his thing and through some convoluted logic thing, Simon and I were invited to holiday in Iraq that year. It was rough parting from the family but that's what both Pam and I'd signed on for. We did our job throughout the build-up and invasion and were quietly getting excited about going home. That was dashed when our mob were given a lecture by the regimental political officer. We were to stay and fight to maintain the peace. Simon, ever the larrikin, couldn't help giving the politico a hard time. "Sir, fighting for peace, isn't that a bit like screwing for virginity?" It was cathartic to see a room full of burly soldiers laughing their heads off while the lecturer went a bright shade of pissed off. Well, as history shows, the peace was more violent than the invasion. At least the enemy wore uniforms during the invasion. We lost more guys in that period than ever before. Our outfit was busier than most, deploying for up to four weeks at a time behind enemy lines before going back to base for two weeks. Well, I say enemy lines, no one could mark them on a map though. No one could tell us when we were likely to go home. Every second night, when in base, I use Skype to talk to Pam, Kate and Mel. That way, at least, they won't have forgotten what I look like by the time I get back. Three weeks into our latest mission the shit hit the fan. We were supposed to attack a base of about 100 bad guys but were greeted by about 1,000. There were only the 12 of us so we beat a hasty retreat. It was two days before the Blackhawks dared come in and get us. Only four of us could still walk and three were dead. Worst of all, Simon, my life support system, had the tendons blown away at the back of his knee. Nothing fatal but his service career was over. He was flown back to a hospital in our home town with the other wounded while the rest of us were kept in country so we could be psychologically returned to a fit state to re-join the human race. It was obvious to all that we no longer had enough guys to keep going. Cold military planners since the Romans have known that once a force loses more than 10% of its complement, morale takes a tumble. That's probably why whenever a Roman legion retreated from a fight, their own officers would kill every tenth man in a process called decimation. What bastards. Worked though. Roman legions didn't run from too many fights. Seven days after returning from the mission from hell and nine months after deploying, I was sitting in the mess tent using my laptop to email one of the new widows of one of my guys. I'd been corresponding with all three of them since the army confirmed they'd been notified officially their husbands were dead. The army employed a whole bureaucracy to do this but we were a tight knit unit and I knew they would appreciate the personal touch. I knew them all. Unlike me they all lived on base. This third exchange was very difficult for me. With the first two, I'd been truthful when I said their husbands died quickly and well. This time I would have to lie. As the ranking officer in my platoon, I made sure all contact with these bereaved ladies went through me. If they were going to hear lies, then they were going to hear consistent lies, from me. Suddenly that little Skype box came on the screen of my laptop. 'Kate Young is online'. Desperate for some human distraction from my emotionally draining task I dialled in. Within seconds the beautiful face of my eldest graced my screen. I could see she was sitting on the couch in our lounge with her laptop that she'd got last Christmas. "Daddy", she squealed. That brought her sister over and soon I was talking to my two reasons to be and they were talking at me as fast as they could. Both at the same time of course. We chatted merrily for the next half an hour about school, their trip to the zoo that day and anything else that came into our heads. I could feel myself relaxing. The urge to strike out and kill something, anything, slowly receding. I glanced at my watch and calculated that it was getting on for their bed time so I tried to wind up our chat. "Where's your mum," I asked Mel. Katie had wandered off screen somewhere. "Oh she's in the kitchen with Uncle Mick, mum's new friend. He went to the zoo with us today," said Mel. My blood froze. Neither Pam nor I had a brother Mick. I fought the sudden sinking feeling. I'd seen this too many times to be anything like relaxed. "How long has Uncle Mick been around," I asked with as much casualness as I could muster. Shit, I kill people for a living, I'm not a bloody actor. "Since just after Easter daddy." Fuck that was two months ago. The fact that Pam hadn't mentioned any new friend told me all I needed to know. "Does mum see much of Uncle Mick? How often is he around?" "Oh, he's around most days." All of a sudden I heard Kate whispering from off screen. "Mel, you know mum doesn't want us to talk about Uncle Mick." Suspicion became certainty. Rage started to build. Control pushed rage back with great difficulty. "Kate, come on screen please," I barked. Kate appeared looking uncomfortable. "Kate, does Uncle Mick stay for sleepovers?" "Yes daddy." Shit, shit, shit, shit. With even greater difficulty I controlled the wild hatred that was in danger of consuming my being. "So do you like Uncle Mick?" Again, both girls started talking at once. It was impossible to listen to both at the same time. I did catch the words, "slimy", "he smacked me", "doesn't like us". "Right, shush girls. Now Kate, you first." "No daddy, we don't like him and he doesn't like us. He's mean to us when mum's not around. I think he hurts mum too. Sometimes I hear screams from her bedroom when he's having a sleepover." Fuck, that hurt. One thing the army had taught me, was how to plan quickly in a crisis. It was a skill I'd honed in many deadly situations. "Does that jacket I see hanging near the front door belong to Mick?" "Yes daddy." "Go and get it please Kate and see if there is a wallet in one of the pockets." She did, there was and within five minutes I had Uncle Mick's full name, address and license number. There was also a security card from his employer. After Kate helped with that she went into the garage and got his car details, make, model and license plate number. "Right girls, I'm going to make a phone call for a few minutes. Leave your screen on and check when I come back, OK?" My call took over ten minutes. Thank god Simon's wife Julia was home and not visiting the hospital. I then returned to my screen and called the girls over. "Righty oh, my beautiful princesses, how would you like to go to Auntie Julia's house for a few days?" This was an ever popular question. Julia and Simon had three kids the same age group as my pair and were good friends with them. "Daddy we haven't seen them for ages," screamed Mel. So Pam was hiding from our friends was she? "Well, go to your rooms and pack a few clothes and toys. Enough for a few days and Aunty Julia will pick you up shortly. Now Kate, I want you to do something for me. Pick up your laptop and carry it screen first into the kitchen and set it down with the screen facing mum please. I want to talk to her. Then go and pack." "OK daddy." I was treated to a guided tour of the house while the laptop was carried into the kitchen. As the kitchen door opened I could see Pam and a man sitting at the table with a bottle of wine between them. They took no notice of Kate as she put the computer on the end of the table. In fact, they were in their own little world until Kate said, "Mum, dad wants to talk to you." They both spun around like they'd been smacked and stared at the screen. Pam's face had a look of fear and the man looked like he wanted to slide under the table out of sight. "Hi Pam, how are you? This must be your friend Mick." Their lips moved but no sounds came out so I continued. "Come on Pam, you must have known you'd be caught one day. You must have prepared a little speech for me?" It was obvious she hadn't. She tried a bluff, not realising she was the world's worst liar. I mean, it couldn't have been more obvious if she wore a flashing light on her head that went off every time she tried. "He's just a friend Davey." "Bullshit Pam! The girls have already told me that shithead here has been sleeping over the last few weeks." At last Pam decided to come clean. Her heroic boyfriend tried to get up and leave but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the table. I waited while various possible responses flashed across her face like I was watching a movie. "I'm sorry Dave but I got so lonely while you were away. I got to know Mick and we fell in love." She fell silent. I wanted to rage at them but realised that would achieve nothing. I forced a calm tone as I continued. "Bullshit Pam, this is the first time I have been away for more than two weeks in the nine years we have been married. Before we married I warned you what our life could be like. You accepted it." She didn't acknowledge that I'd even spoken. So I continued. "For the record dear, the correct sequence should have been to wait till I got home. Wait until I wasn't in a country where being distracted can cause death in an instant. Then, when I was home, tell me you wanted to separate and give me a chance to change your mind. Then after we separated you could have gone and fucked Shithead here." Looking at the table Pam mumbled, "Sorry Dave, it just happened." "So what now Pam? You're just going to ditch me and sail off into the sunset with shithead here are you?" She didn't even have the guts to look up, she just nodded. "And in this little fantasy world of yours, you would just take my kids away from me would you?" Something in my tone made her head jerk up. It was obvious the possibility of that not happening had never occurred to her. "Listen Pam, you know I'm keen on Psychology. Can you remember all the discussions we had about what influences children? Nature or nurture? Heredity or the environment? Well if the kids go with you then they will have your cheating slut genes and be brought up in a cheating slut environment. Believe me bitch, it isn't going to happen." Pam reeled back in her chair as if slapped. She'd just heard the first, second and third abusive words from my mouth ever and they were in one sentence. Finally shithead rallied to her defence. "Now wait a minute..." "Shut the fuck up shithead!" Another thing the army teaches you is how to get the instant obedience of people on the other side of a parade ground. He shut up. At that point there was a distraction off screen and Pam said she was going to answer the door. I told her to wait. "That will be Julia come to pick up the kids. She's going to take them to her place tonight and get them off to school tomorrow. They should have packed some stuff already. Make sure they have everything they need then come back so we can talk in peace." Pam got up and Uncle Mick got up to join her. "Sit down shithead!" Again he bruised his ass sitting down quickly. I just stared at him for the eight or so minutes it took Pam to come back. The stupid prick even tried to start a conversation about how life was in Iraq. One of the mess stewards came over and replaced my drink. I asked him to make sure I got some privacy. I didn't want any witnesses to the next bit. Finally Pam re-joined. She started to speak, "Look Dave, this isn't how I wanted this to go..." I shut her down. "I just have two questions for you Mickey boy. The first is, did you know she was married?" "I'm sorry man, I just fell for her..." "I'll take that as a yes then. The second question is, do you know what I do for a living?' "Pam says you are in the air force in Iraq." Pam interrupted, "No he's in the army." "I thought you said he was in the air something..." "Ah, I can see where the confusion is here, I am in the army but in a regiment called the Special Air Service." I could see this hadn't registered with him so I continued. "You probably know us by an acronym, the SAS." The instant look of terror that hit his face showed me he finally understood. Shit, every bloke in the world knew the SAS. Everyone knew that they wrote the book that every Special Forces unit in the world learnt from. Everyone knew that if you were killed by the SAS you didn't even know until Lucifer showed you the action replay. Shithead now knew with crystal clarity that he was in deep, deep trouble. The microphone picked up no noise but his lips clearly formed the words, "Oh fuck." So Mr Michael Brown of 12 Pender Court, Borderdale. The answer to the question of what I do for a living is that I kill people. I leaned in until my face was filling the screen. His face was in a pathetic pale rictus. "So shithead, for the crime of fucking my wife, for destroying my marriage, for putting my daughters possible happy future at risk, I sentence you to death. " "Wha, wha, what!" "You heard me fuckwit, I am going to kill you." He just sat there with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish that had jumped out of the bowl. Pam cut in with, "Come now Dave, cut the macho shit. I know you're in the army and all but how many people have you actually killed?" Her light tone surprised me. I turned away from staring at Mick's image on the screen to hers. I was further surprised by the slightly challenging expression on her face. I suddenly realised she'd no idea what I spent my days doing. As with most Special Forces members I hadn't advertised what I did. No-one outside our close circle of friends knew I was even in the SAS. I certainly didn't tell her what I did in Iraq, mainly because I didn't want her to worry. Keeping my voice level, I replied. "Well dear I've been in base for the last week so I haven't killed anyone. But the week before that I killed 10 or 12, it was a bit of a slow week. Sorry, I didn't really count, it didn't seem important at the time. Most of them I shot but one of them jumped me as I was changing clips and I stabbed him. I stuck my knife in his belly, angled up through his diaphragm until I got his heart, Surely Pam, your mum must have told you that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Through the magic of Skype, we were intently staring at each other from across the world. What she saw was a stranger who she now knew with a deadly certainty was very dangerous and very, very angry. What I saw was someone that was suddenly very, very afraid. "What you should know dear is that I didn't hate any of those guys. They were just doing their job. I felt absolutely nothing for the guy I knifed even as I watched his lights going out. Now imagine what I would do to people I hate." I heard a gurgling noise from Mick the shit so I turned my attention back to him. "Are you still here shithead? The further you get away from my house the longer you live. My knife has an appointment with your throat and that is a promise you can take to the bank." With an audible moan, he bolted from his chair and off the screen. I heard the door slam. Now it was her doing the goldfish impersonation. I let her collect her thoughts which, judging from the facial expressions, weren't good. Finally she whispered. "Are you going to kill me too?" This brought me to a standstill. I hadn't decided on her sentence. "Pam, I'm sorry, I haven't decided yet. One thing I do know is that after you brought a third party into my house and fucked him where the girls could hear, you are not a fitting mother for my children. Oh yes, Kate told me all about how you scream while he is with you at night. She thinks he is hurting you." I didn't think Pam's expression could get more horrified but she surprised me. "One thing for certain is that my girls will grow up knowing exactly what I think of cheaters." Another pause allowed my thoughts to go from my emotional front brain to my rational centre. They were both in agreement. "You know that there is much research to suggest that having one parent die can be less damaging to kids than a messy divorce?" Not surprisingly, Pam didn't respond to this. She was smart enough to know that simple statement contained two options for her and neither one was good. "No Pam, I think I would find it ...difficult to kill you. I loved you once and until now I've had no reason to think you weren't a good mother." Before she got too excited about this I continued. "So here's the deal Pam. If, when I find Mickey boy, you are with him, then I will kill you as well. If you go to the police, I will kill you. If you don't have divorce paperwork ready for me to sign when I get home shortly, I will kill you. Do your homework Pam. Look up how many times murderers are convicted when no body is found. I can assure you that yours won't be." I let this sink in. She looked close to collapse. "Will you really kill Mick?" "Pam, this country has changed me. I have seen so many friends die and have killed so many men that I only have a shred of humanity left. Killing Mick will cause me no qualms at all. Oh Pam, if only you had done this the decent way, I would have understood." For the first time, Pam had tears gushing from her eyes. I wanted this over with. "You'd better write this down Pam. The divorce settlement will give me the house and full custody of the kids. Your visitation will be totally at my discretion and will be what I think is in the best interests of the kids. By the time I get back you will need to have organised yourself somewhere to live. I will pay for your living expenses for a reasonable time until you are on your feet. I'll send you details of an army lawyer. The civilian judges seem to listen to them pretty well." Death Sentence "When I get back I'll take an instructors job at the base so I can be home every night with the girls. We'll get by fine without you. One things for sure. I'm not coming back here. Before I got here I worried that I wouldn't be able to handle being shot at. That wasn't a problem. What does worry me is how much of a soul I will have left if I have to kill many more mother's sons. It eats you. "Good night Pam. Don't bother to mention any of this by email or phone until I get back. I'll not be set up to take a fall when I get home. Just do everything I said and you should have a long and happy life. Not one that is anywhere near what could have been but you made your choice. Now it's time to pay the piper." With that I closed the connection. I got home three weeks later and had an emotional reunion with Kate and Mel. I tried to explain that their mum wouldn't be living with us anymore. They didn't understand but copious distractions from Julia, Simon and their kids helped. Every time they met him they asked Simon why he walked funny. Every time he gave them a different story more fantastic than the last. I was met by the police when I got off the plane. El shitheado must have been desperate. They admitted they'd spoken to my wife and she failed to corroborate his story. I didn't try any fancy evasive tactics but I didn't admit anything either. There was nothing they could do except warn me they would be watching. The divorce went through with only small modifications on my part. I decided to leave it up to my girls how often they saw their mother. I was surprised how their young minds attributed so much blame to her over causing us such pain. They hardly ever chose to see her. Of course I didn't find out till much later that Julia had a hand in that. Julia was picking them up from school every day and the fun they were having reconnecting with their old friends, Julia and Simon's children, left little time for a distraught, no fun, mother. Pam did ask me if there was any chance of reconciliation. I just allowed the ruthless killer that now lives within me to stare at her. It was never mentioned again. In fact she made sure we were never alone after that, I obviously terrified her. I did get the base instructors job and was home every night. The girls were getting the best upbringing possible but divorcing parents always have an emotional impact whatever you do. That's why Psychologists recommend parents always stay together unless abuse is involved. Yes, life is good. 4 years and 2 months later Percy Newmont was relaxed. He was bow hunting with his friends out in the wilds. After all this time, sometimes whole hours would go by without him thinking of his former troubles. He looked back at his friend Peter. He and the other two all worked with Percy and they hung around a lot these days. Peter caught his eye and smiled. Yes thought Percy, life was good. The only activity he skipped with them was Wednesday night poker. That was when Percy fucked Peter's wife. Moving two states and finding a new identity had been hard and had wiped Percy out financially but it worked. He knew that going back to Borderdale last month for his mother's funeral was risky. He'd felt a bit silly in disguise at the back of the church trying to avoid any contact with his relatives. But she was his mother for fucks sake. There was a sensation of frontal impact then Percy was flat on his back. He looked down at the arrow sticking out of his chest just below his heart. He was momentarily confused. His three friends were behind him, how come he'd been hit from the front? He passed out but came to sometime later. He was alone with Peter, the others had gone for help. Suddenly the pain that'd brought him round in the first place was repeated. What the fuck was Peter doing grabbing the feathers of the arrow and yanking them sideways? And why the fuck was he smiling? The pain was too much and Mick passed out again. He drowned in his own blood ten minutes later without having regained consciousness. The coroner's officer looked down at the body. "Every year I get my ass dragged out here when some stupid fucker accidentally shoots one of their friends. Dickwad hunters." And 2 weeks after that Pam sat in her 12th floor apartment crying. She had been at it for the last three hours ever since John, her latest boyfriend had left. "What is wrong with me", she thought? She reviewed her life for the last four years. She had really thought that Michael had been the one. She had married Dave because she knew her biological clock was ticking and it was a way of getting the children she really wanted. So when Michael came along and she saw the opportunity to have her children and a soul mate, she hadn't hesitated. It took a month after Michael disappeared for it to dawn on her that maybe her love for him had been one sided. Without a glance at her, he had gone forever. Even leaving his jacket and wallet behind. Seeking some sort of closure, she'd gone to his apartment and workplace two days after he'd fled but he was gone. What hurt her the most was that he obviously didn't give a shit how she had fared after he bolted. A big source of her depression for the first year or so had been her children. She'd just started the legal process of forcing Julia to return Kate and Mel when David returned from Iraq and quashed that. After that whenever she rang the girls, their conversation was stilted as if they blamed her for something. She did see them every week or so until that bitch had moved in with Dave nine months after Pam had moved out. Apparently she'd been the journalist that covered the story of David and his guys getting their medals. After that the girls hardly seemed interested in even speaking to her on the phone. She had taken to parking outside the school at the end of the day. Even that stopped when she saw both girls running up and hugging the bitch like she were their mother. That year, they hadn't even rung on her birthday. The pain lessened somewhat when she met Pat. He was a few years older than her but shared her dream of having a family. Eight months later, she moved in with him and they were talking marriage and children. Two weeks later, he devastated her by saying he'd met someone else and asked her to leave. A similar thing happened the next year with Randy. They had connected right away and within two weeks were inseparable. Four months later, they moved in together. Three weeks after that, he dumped her saying he was getting back together with his ex-wife. Following that Pam started a series of one night stands, thinking it would boost her confidence. It had the opposite effect. She really thought that John had been the one. Despite the fact she knew if she didn't have children very soon, it would be too late, she forced herself to move slowly with him. It took over 12 months before she bowed to his gentle pressure and allowed him to move into her apartment. With a small amount of regret she realised it was the best sex she'd had since Dave. Three hours ago John met her at the door of her apartment when she came home from work. She saw his packed bags near the door. He gave no excuse, just said he was leaving. He never once made eye contact as he picked up his bags and left. Why had he muttered, "Slut" as he carried his last bag out the door? She hadn't so much as looked at another man since she'd met him. Pam dried her eyes and looked at the mail lying unopened on the coffee table. There was one blank envelope and two bills. She had resisted the temptation to open the enigmatic blank one in her excitement at getting home to John. She picked it up now. It contained a newspaper clipping. She was confused. Why would someone hand deliver a story about some stupid hunter that had died horribly after being accidentally shot with an arrow. Her face fell as she reached the bottom of the article where it explained that the victim had been formally known as Michael Brown who had lived right here in Borderdale. The paper fell from her numb fingers. She thought of Michael, she thought of Pat and Randy. Finally she thought of Dave. Surely not she thought. Surely yes she KNEW. Four years ago she'd had almost everything. In her quest for the last missing piece she'd ended up with nothing. In a daze, she opened the balcony sliding door and looked at the long but inviting drop down to the car park 12 floors below. The end Yeah I know that Skype wasn't invented until 2003. It's called artistic license. Some commentators have said they appreciate my pathetic attempts at humour. Below is one of the cleverest funnies I have ever heard. The defence counsel is delivering his concluding address in a murder case. In this case the body of the victim has never been found. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I have a surprise for you. In 30 seconds time the alleged victim in this case will be walking in that door over there." As one man/woman, the entire jury turn to look at the door. 45 seconds later the lawyer says triumphantly. "You see ladies and gentlemen, there is doubt in your mind that the alleged victim is actually dead. Therefore you must find my client not guilty. The defence rests." The jury retires to deliberate but are back less than 30 minutes later. The foreman delivers the verdict of guilty. The defence counsel is stunned. "But you all turned to look at the door when I said the victim was going to walk in." "We most certainly did sir," said the foreman, "however we all noticed that your client didn't." Don't take life to seriously. The author.