Last One Standing, part 2

A small piece of rubble breaks off from the broken wall, falling down through the crumbled remains of the house. It hits a floorboard and bounces off, tumbling down a newly created hole that exposes the old cellar beneath the house. The little piece of rubble bounces this way and that, until it hits Jim’s face, awakening him.
With a start, Jim comes to. His whole body jerks in shock as he tries to open his eyes, not realising that they are already open in the darkness.
‘I’m blind, Oh help me, I’m blind!’ cries Jim in panic. A second later, however, Jim thinks no more, as his body is besieged by an agony of pain. Erupting from every nerve across his body, Jim is frozen in place, unable to move or think as pain thrashes through him like a burning cold, ripping away all thought and reason to his soul. His body rocks in painful spasms, bounding him tighter than chains. As the aftermath of the pain begins to subside slowly, Jim realises in horror where he is.
‘Oh, Jim lad, what have you done?’ mutters Jim. Slowly, Jim tries to move, the rubble shifting about beneath him. ‘Careful, no -’
Moving about slowly, Jim manages to pull one arm free from the rubble as his eyes adapt to the darkness around him, letting him see in various tones of grey and darker grey. With one arm free, he tries to push himself up; managing to half free his other arm and shoulders before pieces of rotten wood and plasterboard fall over him. As his chest twists, rising off the rubble, Jim howls out in pain as a flash of lightning erupting down his spine again, paralysing him. Fear quickly follows down his lightning-scorched nerves, chilling Jim as he realises just how gravely he is injured.
‘What happened?’
His body and mind work sluggishly, terrified of the waves of pain in case they come crashing down over him again.
‘The wall, the money, the floor,’ mutters Jim, staring around his dark pit in realisation, as he notices the broken hallway floor above him for the first time. ‘I fell through the floor.’
Staring around in the gloom, Jim struggles to catch his breath as panic begins to take over him.
‘No one knows I’m here,’ he realises with dread.
He stops suddenly, his body and mind becoming silent. Something moved beside him, underneath the rubble. Something else was buried with him.
‘Oh god, what is that?’ whispers Jim. In the darkness, all he can make out is the sound of rubble shifting and moving, as something rises up from its loose burial. Pieces of wood and rubble shift and move about, falling over themselves as Jim watches in blind fear.
A hand, ghostly pale in the darkness, rises up as if bursting from a grave, and stretches up into the air, relishing its first taste of freedom.
A whimper escapes Jim as he sees the hand ahead of him, bending as its elbow is freed. Reaching down, the hand starts to grope around as it hauls the rest of its body out.
‘Don’t get out, don’t get out, please don’t get out -’ whispers Jim to himself in a fearful chant as he stares at the hand in the gloom. His breath catches in his throat for a second as the hand sinks, but as he watches the hand catches onto a burst water pipe hanging amongst the rubble. Keeping a tight grip on it, the hand pulls harder, the rusted pipe groaning in protest as its old metal twists and bends under the strain. As Jim watches horror-struck, a body starts to follow the hand, revealing a dirty, torn overall, and a head full of dark, dust covered hair.
‘It can’t be,’ whispers Jim suddenly. ‘Oh Lord above, help me - it can’t be.’
Trying to stagger back in fright, forgetting he is trapped, Jim cries aloud once more, blinding himself as a flash of pain erupts, blinding his eyes for a split-second. Breathing harshly as his sight clears, Jim stares back into the dust-covered face of Desmond; his old friend and accomplice; the man who set fire to the house; the man who died in prison three years ago.
‘Alright Jim? Long time no see, huh?’ says Desmond with a grin.
‘No, no, no,’ whispers Jim frightfully. ‘This isn’t real, this is a dream or nightmare, it has to be, I’m not; you’re not, you can’t be, no -’
Panicking, fear takes over Jim and he faints, his eyes rolling back as his head falls behind him, resting on the rubble.

‘Jim- hey, Jim -’ whispers a familiar voice from the darkness, jolting Jim awake.
‘What- ah-’ crying out with pain, Jim cuts off, wincing as the pain in his back, held dormant while he was unconscious, comes flooding back with a vengeance. Waiting until it goes away, Jim reluctantly looks around, knowing with dread what he is going to see.
Sat cross-legged in the rubble staring back at Jim is Desmond, wiping his overgrown hair from his eyes as he looks over Jim’s injuries.
‘You know, I always thought you were smarter than this. Not as much as Larry, but certainly more than me. Now look at you.’
Shaking his head, Desmond leans back, resting on his elbows as he stares at Jim. He seems unaffected by the look of horror Jim throws at him; in fact Desmond is almost comforted by it, as if Jim’s horror reassures him that Jim is still sane.
‘You can’t be- you’re not- oh god.’ cries Jim, looking over himself for the first time.
In the dim light Jim sees dark pieces of things that were once assembled together to make a house, now lying in tatters around him. He sees his arm beside him, just as pale as Desmond’s but scratched and stained with dirt and blood. Looking down, Jim gags in horror, seeing a foot beside him, recognising the shoe that encases it. It is his foot, Jim realises with repulsion, but the foot is twisted around, the toes pointing back at him, rather than away. The rest of his leg is buried beneath a pile of rubble, bent back into an unnatural shape.
Broken in body and mind, Jim lets out a small sob, as tears wash down his face, cutting paths in his dust covered face.
‘Its no use crying now, believe me. What’s done is done as they say.’ said Desmond.
‘What do you know?’ spits Jim harshly. ‘What do you about anything?’
Shouting, Jim vents his fear and anger at Desmond. His eyes shine with malice for a second, before Jim realises that Desmond doesn’t react, not even the slightest bit. He just stretches out his feet calmly, waiting for Jim’s temper to subside.
‘Just look at him,’ mutters Jim viciously, not caring whether Desmond can hear or not, ‘stretching out his legs because he knows he can. How dare he, how -’
Cutting off, Jim’s mood turns to shock, as he registers for the first time that Desmond is sat with him.
‘This isn’t possible,’ whispers Jim slowly, ‘You’re dead, I know you are, I went to your funeral. This isn’t- this can’t be -’
Trailing off, Jim licks his dry lips slowly, his thoughts in a panicked frenzy as he stares at his dead friend.
‘There’s no use fighting it, Jimmy,’ sighs Desmond, ‘believe me. I wasted so much time fighting, I -’
Desmond cuts off, sighing again. He rises up from the rubble, sitting back against the wall of the hole, not caring about the dirt and grime as he makes himself comfortable.
‘How did you get clever all of a sudden?’ asks Jim suspiciously, doing everything he can to avoid thinking too much about Desmond. ‘You were always the stupid one, acting first and thinking later. What changed?’
‘I died.’
Laughing bitterly, Desmond stretches back, staring up at the gap above them as they lie in the darkness.
‘Everyone gets clever when they’re dead, Jimmy. Death gives you all the knowledge of what you should have done in life, lets you know all the things you did wrong. That’s hell right there for you. Knowing all the things you should have or could have done but didn’t, leaving you to rot as you brood over every last mistake and regret.’
Desmond turns and smiles at Jim, his eyes warm and kind in the darkness.
‘I know a lot of things now that I didn’t, Jim lad. You will too, I think.’
Scared, Jim turns silent, not knowing what to say.
‘There’s no point getting angry.’ said Desmond again, seeing Jim’s eyes flash. ‘Let it go. You shouldn’t have come here, but it’s too late now for that.’
Jim pauses as he stares at Desmond for a moment.
‘This is ridiculous. I’m not sitting here talking to ghosts.’ scoffs Jim.
Twisting around, Jim pushes himself up from the rubble, wincing as he pushes his back to the limit.
‘Careful, you fool! You’ll only make it worse!’ cries Desmond.
Jumping up, Desmond rushes over the rubble, quickly scooping up a pile of floorboards and wood to rest against Jim’s back, helping to prop him up. Waiting until Jim’s harsh breathing settles down again, Desmond turns and sits next to him, shaking his head with a small smile.
‘You always were so damn stubborn. I’d almost forgotten you know. Funny, isn’t it, how time does that to a memory.’
‘You’re not… You’re not real. I’m not listening,’ coughs Jim. Turning his head away, like a child having a tantrum, Jim does his best to ignore Desmond.
‘You’re not real; you’re just a figment of my imagination. You died three years ago. I watched them bury you.’
Shaking his head, Jim looks ridiculous as he acts like a child, refusing to believe what’s in front of him. Smiling to himself, Desmond stares at his feet, unable to hide his grin.
‘I know mate. I remember it well. But I must say, it’s nice to be back again, even if it is stuck with you in a rotten cellar. I mean you don’t half pick ‘em do you? Of all the places to get yourself stuck.’
‘Well I didn’t do it deliberately. This wasn’t part of the plan.’ snaps Jim.
‘What was the plan then?’ asks Desmond.
Giving up trying to ignore Desmond, Jim shuffles around, trying to make himself comfortable, not realising that his body grows colder with each passing second, his nerves growing fainter as life leaves him.
‘The plan?’ coughs Jim. ‘The plan was to find Larry’s money and spend it. You remember that money, right? That’s why you burnt this place down.’
‘Yeah, I remember.’ says Desmond coldly, cutting across Jim. ‘But there’s more to life than money, you know. You should have let it go, I- We both should have let it go.’
‘That’s rich, coming from you’ scoffs Jim. ‘You never let anything go.’
‘I should have done. I know that now.’
‘You know, I think I liked you better when you were stupid. This whole ‘I know something you don’t know’ act is getting a little old now.’
‘I’m just trying to make it easier, Jim, as one friend to another. Let it go, before it’s too late.’
‘Too late for what? Oh, to hell with your riddles. What do you know dead man?’ Jim shuffles about in the rubble, shifting further into it as his body grows heavy and still.
‘If only I had my torch right now, I could wave it around for help, someone would find it.’ mutters Jim distractedly.
‘If only,’ whispers Desmond quietly, so quietly Jim hardly hears him. About to carry on, Jim stops, turning to Desmond, seeing the tear as it breaks from his eye. Frowning, Jim looks again, staring harder, only to find his friend’s face as still as marble.
‘What did you say? If only what?’ asks Jim.
‘If only we knew, right? If only we knew then, what we do now; if only we could go back and change it -’
Desmond cuts off, sighing deeply, full of regret and anguish. As Jim stares, the strangest feeling dawns on him. Watching Desmond carefully, Jim licks his dust-covered lips, trying to see him as clearly as possible in the dim light.
‘Desmond, do you know what happened to the money? Do you know where Larry hid it?’
Slowly, almost guiltily, Desmond turns his heavy eyes to meet Jim’s pale ones. Unable to answer, he nods his head once.
‘Where?’ asks Jim at once, desperate and greedy. ‘Where is it? Tell me? Was I close? Was I close? Tell me!’
With a sigh, Desmond breaks his eyes away from Jim’s, his features silent and unreadable. Straining with the effort of keeping still, Jim cries out angrily, the howl of an impatient, tormented man.
‘Tell me damn it! I need to know.’
‘It won’t change anything, Jim. It doesn’t matter now, let it go.’
Crying out again, Jim thrashes around in his anger, slamming his fist against the pile of rubble beside him. It hits a loose board, which in turn knocks against other loose boards, creating a domino effect. Realising too late what he’s done, Jim brings his hands over his head with a cry, as the precariously perched rubble is knocked and falls down over Jim and Desmond, burying them again.
Jim catches one fleeting last glimpse of Desmond before the mound of charred and broken rubbish separates them both, blocking Desmond from Jim’s sight.
Shielding his head between his arms, Jim waits until the fall has subsided, wincing as more rubble falls on top of him.
‘Desmond? Des, where are you? Are you -’
Cutting off, Jim looks around, seeing no sign of Desmond anywhere.
‘Oh no, no- Desmond!’
Struggling to sit up, Jim cries out in pain, his body trembling with spasms. Racked with guilt, Jim struggles to search for Desmond, seeing nothing in the darkness. With a sob, Jim goes slack, knowing somehow that Desmond has gone, and isn’t coming back. Instead of running over the things that Desmond said, the warnings and advice, all Jim is aware of is his own self-pity. With his friend gone, Jim is left alone, the victim of his own circumstance.
Falling back onto the rubble Jim looks up, staggered as he sees a beam of light darting around, back and forth. He watches it come and go, reflecting off broken charred remainders of glass and metal amongst the rubble.
‘What is that,’ mutters Jim slowly, ‘it’s, it’s almost like.’ Stopping suddenly, Jim tenses again, too caught up in his thoughts to realise he feels no pain this time.
‘Hey!’ shouts Jim desperately. ‘Hey, over here!’
Struggling to keep one arm free, Jim waves it over his head in the darkness, hoping against hope that he’s right when he thinks the flashing light reminds him of a torch beam; his torch beam.
The light darts closer and closer to him, shining down the small hole. Squinting, Jim hides behind one arm, the light too bright to his sore eyes.
‘They’re here. I’m rescued.’ he whispers with a small smile. ‘They’ve found me. I’m going home.’
As the light shines directly into Jim’s eyes, it becomes too much for him, and he shuts them tightly.
‘I’m going home.’