A: Summer Chapter One

1

Flin.
Flin is a bastard.
His pride, his joy, his wet dream sat there lazy in the street outside
my apartment block, waiting for 'the master' to return. It gleamed in
the depressing overcast day, curves seducing, overwhelming. The only
thing that Flin could ever love was a poisoned apple to all of us. It
was painful sex. Euthanasia. Chaos theory. His viagra was a metallic
petrol guzzler, a co? provider, a bullet etched with 7 billion
names.
I remember his smile was so nauseating that I had to look away. Down at
my shoes, towards the cracks in the cheap marble finish floor that I
wouldn't mind falling into, at the shadows that gathered around me.
Stare long enough and the rest of the world will fade away.
I thought of beggars and whether they still have sexual urges like the
rest of us. I thought of how long I could stay conscious after 50
paracetomols. I thought of why I sweat when I talk. I breathed but it
turned into a choke. No matter what I tried, one solitary thought kept
dominating my mind.
This bastard is my brother. This bastard is my brother. This bastard is
my brother.
Flin. F-l-i-n. Fl-in. No matter how I say it, it's always the same.
F-lin. I hadn't seen him in over six months, maybe even a year before
he decided to waltz back and appear in front of me with his sex thang
parked outside. There are three elevator shafts in my apartment block.
Two elevators were out of order; Flin had the other one covered.
Evasion was impossible but I still tried.
'Oh very mature Jake.' he scoffed. I thought calm thoughts, removed
myself from the situation. I was peaceful. I was serene. I was a
fucking Hindu.
'Having a party there?' he pointed to the carrier bag in my left hand,
luckily not noticing the dried blood from the knife wounds on my
forearm.
Two 750ml bottles of Smirnoff, some kind of cheap Tequila, Bacardi
Spice, a litre of my best friend Mr Daniels, a lemon, and a packet of
Caffeine Pro-plus.
'&;#8230;Or are you planning on doing us all a favour?' he scoffed
again.
This bastard is my brother. This bastard is my brother. This bastard is
my brother.
'Ok, ignore me then. See if I care.'
Reverse psychology? How on Earth did this idiot get a job on the police
force? Or have I just answered my own question?
'Look, we're brothers. I know you probably hate the idea
but&;#8230;'
'Why are you here Flin?'
'Fine,' finally he moved away from the elevator. 'Be like that. I've
had enough. I can't believe I even thought you'd be reasonable. Just
remember you might need me one day.'
'I doubt it.'
He lingered speechless for a few moments, not knowing where to put
himself. Uncomfortable silences. Suffocation. The elevator doors
clicked and glided open like a mother opening her arms to greet a
child. Tension release.
'How did you get in anyway?' I asked as a curious afterthought.
'I know people.'
I stepped into the rusted capsule that felt so homely. The doors began
to shut, hugging me. My saviour.
There are very few people in the world that I hate right now. It just
so happens that Flin is one of them. I don't even know why I feel this
way anymore. The answer's in there some where, I just don't care to
look for it anymore.

'God?'
Nothing but a vastness of empty thoughts. Or thoughts that maybe I'm
not ready to put into words. Yet. Nicola was always doing this,
persevering, trying to find out who I was. The real me. Whether I was
worthy of greater, more immaculate things. But then I sometimes sensed
that she already knew. She would continue where others would simply
give up and find someone else more interesting to examine. Someone more
willing to boast how 'it's so great to see you!' or point out that
'your new haircut looks great!' or claim that 'yes, you really are my
very best friend!' I've always admired her determination. It's always
been something that I seem to lack.
I look up from my glass and her eyes are like swirling clouds of space
dust, aqua blue crystallised with shades of green and yellow. Stare
long enough and the rest of the world will fade away. I'm lost in
slo-mo. Floating, drifting away. How did I get here? In this cancerous
back street bar drinking ice cold tap water? To 'keep focused' I think
she said, but it isn't working.
'Yeah. Is it really that hard?'
'I don't know&;#8230;' I mutter while sipping from my glass - the
water now room temperature. Its acidity comforts me in a strange way
that, even if I somehow managed to define and explain it, it would
still be pointless to try and understand. Maybe it'll have some sort of
grand significance in time but right now, in this seedy smog-consumed
void, I feel at ease, '&;#8230;I'm too cynical.'
The bar is all but empty - just a few locals lingering around with
nothing better to do. There are no windows, no sign of the outside
world, just velvety walls that are enclosed in shadow. It could be
midnight, but in fact it's only two in the afternoon.
Thinking of Flin makes me realise how home is a vague memory now.
Faded, drained, sepia toned. All after just two days. All after Flin's
fleeting visit. Strangely I still get that twisted feeling inside when
I think of the past and my memories, although I can't say my life was
any better than it is now.
I wonder who's there now, in my home, searching through my things,
trying to pick up clues into what went on in there. Forensic evidence.
DNA samples. Physiological profiles. Filtering through garbage. Police
department. FBI. CIA. They'd be calling my neighbours, maybe even my
old school mates, and they'll be on TV saying how unexpected this all
is. Saying what a very nice guy I was. Saying that they'd never suspect
this of me. Or maybe I'm forgotten already. It makes me warm and
content to know how wrong they are.
I'm still swimming in her gaze as she sits content in front of me. I'm
oblivious to the impending doom surrounding us. Just one slip, one
pause, one mistake. The shadows lurk and wait to engulf us all. She
draws on her cigarette, then focuses on the tip as it burns and glows
delicately. A smile emerges on her soft moist lips - a knowing smile.
She's testing me, I can tell. I feel back at school again, blazer three
sizes too big, backpack larger than I was. I recall my schoolteacher's
face but not her name. Pre-acne. Innocent. Happy.
Nicola's attention turns to me once more.
'But do you believe in him?'
'I don't think He's ever been one of my role models.'
She sighs and resorts to blowing smoke rings that dance in front of me
as they disperse. After I few moments, I mutter 'The Gay
Science.'
'What?'
'Nietzsche's The Gay Science,' I say almost proudly. ''God is dead. God
remains dead. And we have killed him.''
The pain in my stomach is beginning to get worse. A dull ache
festering, eating its way out of me. On the plus side however, the
blood has finally clotted to a thin, fragile scab as strong as wet
tissue paper, but at least it's a start. I lean over the restroom's
decaying sink and splash my face with what I hope is clean water.
I've never been shot before. And although I'm hardly in the mood to be
thinking this way right now, it makes me feel&;#8230;
Confident&;#8230;
Sexy.
A movie star. A hero. I don't need sympathy. I don't need a hospital.
I'm too cool.
It makes me think about Nicola's question that she asked me some five
minutes ago. Maybe I should start believing in God. Only he knows how
the bullet missed all my vital organs during its fleeting visit through
my lower abdomen yesterday. Surely I should be dead by now. Maybe I
will be by tonight.
A cockroach scurries across the infected tiled floor, breaking a
silence only previously interrupted by dripping water that echoed from
somewhere. In the event of nuclear fall-out he'll still be here. Poor
fucker.
Back in the bar, Nicola is still sitting peacefully in her seat. My
pain has left me feeling exhausted but I can just about manage to keep
the discomfort to myself.
'Now what?' I ask.
'We gotta get Amber.'
Cars in gridlock, blasting horns. Crowds of faceless people pushing
past me. Sirens wailing, couples arguing, engines overheating, babies
screaming. A wall of unrelenting aggression. I could feel the sound
waves bludgeon my ears as Nicola opened the bar doors to expose us to
the outside. Everyone rushing.
'We gotta be careful now ok?'
Claustrophobic streets. The air hot and stale. The stench of rotten
flesh. It makes me wanna pull out the .45 that is hidden against the
base of my spine. Just to get some room. Cigarette butts scattered on
the pavement. Crisp packets. Milkshake cups. Parking tickets. Kids
playing with plastic bags. Teenagers with pointless metal key chains,
skateboards, ridiculous hair.
Nicola was alight, as wide eyed as ever. Mesmerised, in awe at the
world. She hadn't seen anything more beautiful. I could never
understand why, in the brief time that I've known her, she found glory
in a living hell.
'Are you ok?' She turned to ask me. I was lagging behind.
A beggar asks me for some spare change. His face haggard and broken.
His teeth jagged. His beard and hair tormented and knotted. He backs
away before I can even say no. Did I scare him? Did he see my pain and
decided to harass someone else? The bustle of the world regresses into
a background humming. I'm so accustomed to the chaos I don't even
notice it after a few minutes. I'm so desensitised I could almost
smile. A fireball erupts in my belly; I clench every muscle in my body
trying to ride the waves of pain out. I don't need sympathy. I don't
need a hospital. I'm too cool. A walking suit barges past me, making me
stumble. I trip on a pram wheel. The dull ache in my stomach has
evolved into sharp pains stabbing, ripping at my insides. Pressing my
hand against the wound didn't help. Wave after wave after wave of
sensory numbing pain. The next thing I see is Nicola's face.
'What's wrong? What's wrong?' I think I hear her say. Her voice
strained and urgent.
I feel myself slumped against a pile of discarded bin-liners that will
probably still be here when the next millennium comes rolling round
again. Nicola is leaning over me, shaking at my body, trying to wake me
up. Although I know I should do, it's just too tempting to remain like
I am. She spots traces of blood that have stained my shirt from the
inside. Quickly she unbuttons it - revealing my wound.
'Fuck Jacob! When did this happen? Why didn't you fucking tell
me?!'
She begins to shake me again but soon realises it's not helping. It's
gonna take more than that to make me come back anytime soon. Maybe if I
just remain lifeless she'll accept it and leave me alone to rest. My
mind can't help but trail off. Everything becomes distant tea stained
visuals. I see autumn leaves fall down from the sky and hear the
blissful whistle of sparrows hiding in the trees. The world is a
blizzard of burnt browns and honeyed yellows. Each leaf having its own
agenda as it meanders its way to the damp floor. It reminds me of the
flakes of confetti on my wedding day eight years ago. At least one
memory in my dilapidated mind remains fresh. I can perfectly recall
Holly's delicate face peer at me from behind her veil. Her dark hair
and the way it shone golden on that summer afternoon. Her soft, lightly
freckled cheeks. And although she has gone now, photo frames resonate
her memory as they litter the walls and any available shelf
space.
She her smile.
She her happy.
But as soon as my mind entertains the memory of her existence, it
trails inadvertently to unwanted territory. Sadly, the recollection of
Holly carries excess baggage. A burden.
The sound of a distant voice echoes more prominently in my head,
reverberating against the walls of my skull but I'm reluctant to find
out what it is. I can feel my body jerk wildly but I'm too tired to
stop it. Sensations dull. Pain is numbed. I'm underwater; everything
removed and hazy.
Life is hard when you aren't good at anything except regretting. Nicola
kept telling me to never regret anything. What we've done in the past,
whether good or bad makes us what we are today, and for that we should
be grateful. Being grateful is the last of my feelings.
I feel warmth press down gently on my stomach, over the bullet wound.
The warmth quickly spreads around my aching bowels and I don't feel the
pain anymore. But that's not enough to make me return. I'm not deluding
myself like some people would like to think. I know Holly's not coming
back. I know she's gone.