A Shot at Freedom (21 page)

He felt no pain, and he couldn’t see a cut.

But there was blood.

Fuck!
Is she dead? He couldn’t remember firing the gun. Had he done it again?

Pacing and circling,
he tripped over himself, again.

“
Fuck!
”
he shouted, knowing she’d heard him.

“Brooke!” he shouted.

It was the gun. She hated the gun.
He tucked it in his pants, barrel down, but thought better of it.

“I know you can see me Brooke. I know you’re here.
Please be here.”

Silence.

“The gun’s gone. Watch.” He threw it high in the air, saw it arc, and stepped back to watch it drop into the bushes.

Si
lence.

“Brooke!”

Unable to hold himself back he ran up the hill for that bush. Hurtling straight at it, he thrashed inside it. Kicking, grabbing fistfuls of leaves, punching and kicking, branches snagging his shirt, and gouging his face. He couldn’t hold back. “Faarrk!” he screeched, as his hand hit something hard. He wrapped his hand around the gun. If she was dead, he needed it.

Sitting back he stared at it, the world glided around him.

Peace.

He stepped out of reach of the gnarled branches and they let him go without a fight.

It was over.

It
was enough.

He stepped forward and kept walking
, his body sobering as the realisation sunk in that alcohol would never be enough to stop feeling all the years of shit, slapping at him, rotting his life.

He was on track, only stopping when he sensed the cliff edge was
all around him. His only way out was to walk the way he’d come. He stood. It wasn’t a sharp fall to the ground. His fall would be broken by rocks. Goats stirred below as though they sensed he was about to disturb their sleep. He had his death scream ready.

The gun would
do a better job. One clean shot on a cliff edge.

He lifted it and
extended his arm until it pointed it to his ear, so he could hear the clicks and know when the bullet was coming, a quick warning, but no time to do anything.

Behind him he heard a small voice. It was her voice.

“Don’t David. Don’t do this to me.”

She was there.
Not dead. She had come to watch. It was nice not to die alone.

He turned to look for her
, but couldn’t see her.

Figuring it may have been his imagination, h
e turned back and started counting the goats.

“I’m watching David. You know I’m here.”

He shuddered. “Go home.”

“Throw the gun over.”

He shook his head, the barrel jamming into his ear. His shaking wrist began to ache.

“Not in front of me David
, please,” she pleaded.

He could picture her face.
His torso constricted and his mouth watered. He bent over, hands braced against his knees. Vomit hurtled out his mouth, splattering across the earth. Rivulets rushed over the edge.

He swayed and staggered and
faced the hillside of tropical shrubbery wanting to explain. “He didn’t deserve to die. And she didn’t deserve to be locked up.”

Silence.

“I killed my father with this gun…..I did. I did it.”

“I believe you,” she said quietly.

“I’m just like him.”

“It didn’t start with you David.”

“
I don’t deserve to live.”

“Your m
um has gone to jail and given you freedom to have a life. If you die now, she’ll will stay locked up and be sitting there thinking she did it all for nothing. When she comes out she’ll have nobody.”

His hand fell limp
. The gun pressed to his thigh, heavy. He turned back to the cliff. His feet slid out from under him and he skidded down, slamming against a rock. Stuck. Not feeling anything. Bits of gravel skipped over the edge.

He
heard her behind him, and let her walk towards him. The gun was still in his hand but he didn’t want it there, not with her so close. When he lifted a hand to his face he realised he was crying.

“Don’t do this to me,” she said
, squatting down.

His fingers tightened around the gun.

Her hand covered his.

His fingers fell weak
, and knotted with hers. The gun slid and skipped down the mountain, bouncing over rocks and dropping with one distant plonk into a quiet sea. 

She whispered in his ear.
“It’s over. Nobody has to know anything. Your mother wants you to be free.”

“I can’t move,” he whispered.

“Yes you can.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Yes you do.”

“I didn’t mean it. But I was happy. Mum looked so good. So calm. But I didn’t mean it.

***

“You have to walk,” Brooke begged
.

“I am.”

His full weight dragged her down. She got a stronger grip on him, but his feet kept catching on rocks and tufts of grass. It was all uphill. His body was heaving, the onslaught of tears disturbed her.

“You can let me go,” he moaned, dropping to his knees,
dragging her down with him. “I’ll be fine here.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I just want to sleep.”

Before he
had the chance to lie down fully, she tried hauling him to his feet. All she could get him to do was sit up.

“Let me sleep
.” He flopped back, his body a dead weight.

She felt like slapping him.
“Get up David. Just get on your feet. I don’t ask for much. Just give me this one thing. It’s not far. It’s just up there, see?” She lifted his floppy head and opened one of his droopy eyelids, aware it probably made no difference. “Just let me get you inside and I’ll let you have the bed all to yourself.”

“A nice soft bed.”

“That’s it. A nice soft bed.” Brooke took advantage of his legs scrabbling around, and hoisted him back up over her shoulder. She didn’t know where she was finding her strength. Once she got him to his feet, she wasn’t going to let him drop again.

***

David

David stood in the middle of the spinning room. The ground felt like it was moving under him. His legs were
tired but they held him up. He watched Brooke peel back the crisp white sheets. He saw the soft mattress. His palms and jeans were black, with dirt or maybe it was all that blood.

“Shower
. Blood,” he muttered, peeling his clothes off and banging into the door of the bathroom. It ricocheted off the wall and bounced back into him, knocking him off his feet.

She was there again, helping him turn on the taps. He stepped
under the stream of water. It pummelled his bare skin. The tiles under him were still moving, buckling. He squatted down and vomited. His forehead pressed to the shower floor, orange chunks swirled towards the drain. He curled up, hugged his knees and cried. 

“Get up David,” he heard her say. But when he lifted his face to look at her, water
drained down into his nose and he choked, vomiting again. She held him up. Feebly, he brushed the chunks down the drain. The water swirled, eventually running clear.

He dragged her into the shower with him and leant on her. Her p
yjamas stuck to her skin. Her face peered up at him, eyes filled with strange curiosity. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her head to him. The warmth in her body reminded him that he was really there, living and breathing. He thought they were holding each other up, and couldn’t let go. Sadness spread like a virus through his chest. An eruption of thoughts scrambled through his brain. He heard the sound of sobbing long before he realised it was coming from him.

Chapter Thirty Seven

Brooke

Most days, Brooke was awake to enjoy the way light filled the sky long before the sun peaked over the lip of the horizon. But the days she revelled in the darkness and didn’t want the day to break, were days marked with absolute dread. On those days, the sun would rise, people would wake and the issues that had to be dealt with were destined to end badly.

He didn’t wake when she p
lanted tiny kisses on David’s cheek, avoiding the tender ribs in his chest and travelling down to his stomach. She nestled into him, wrapping herself around his body, settling in to listen to him breathe, long and deep, lost in the depths of dreams.

The i
maginary conversation they were due to have that day ran through her mind. Each of them ended differently. It was a struggle to remind herself that she could never predict how he was going to respond to her questions. There were so many untold truths that stood between them, it was hard to know if she really did know him as well as she thought she did.

***

David

The clock w
as the first thing David noticed, 10:11. The sheets felt light across his body. He tensed up, taking a moment to collect himself before daring to peer under the sheet. He was wearing nothing. She was wearing her bikini bottoms and a singlet top, no bra. Her skin was smooth, unblemished and holding a hint of a tan.

When he looked at her,
he figured his face must have said it all.

“It’s okay. Don’t panic
,” she said.

He collapsed back in the bed, pull
ing her to him, fixing his eyes to the dirty marks on the ceiling. “I’m so sorry. If I’ve done anything to hurt you, I’m really very sorry.”

H
er fingers pressed his lips together and he had to force himself to look at her again. Tears trembled on her lower lids but she was smiling at him. Her eyelashes were wet and peaked in tiny triangles.

“
So have you had many thoughts of killing us both? Or was last night the first time?” she asked him, perching herself up on her elbow.

He hated the way she looked at him with her eyebrows raised, waiting for him to tell her more. “
I shot my dad. It doesn’t mean I want everyone dead.”

“But you said, remember
; you sat there on that bed with a gun in your hand and you said you could kill me and then yourself before anyone could get here.”

The memory hit him,
and his insides recoiled. He fought the urge to tell her that he couldn’t remember, but when he looked at her, wide eyed and expectant, tiny lines of concern marring her brow, the only words he could speak were the truth. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you. But sometimes I have thoughts…and they aren’t thoughts I should be having.”

She nodded, slowly, and her face tilted away from him towards the window.

“I’d have to be really, really, really drunk though…to do anything intentionally.” He followed her gaze, seeing nothing but palm trees stroking a blue cloudless sky. He turned back to see her cheeks had grown pink, and the pain had altered her face. She cleared her throat. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say but he knew he had to.

“
You were really, really drunk.”

He lifted his chin and closed his eyes, shaking his head, wanting to press his palm over her mouth so she
wouldn’t say another word. But he didn’t. “I usually am a happy enough drunk. It makes me feel better anyway. The thoughts aren’t usually there when I first get drunk. More when I’m sober or getting sober.” And there was the truth.

“
You’re like your dad,” she continued. “Drinking starts out making you laugh, having fun, feeling good and then it all goes to shit. You wake up sick, you hate your life and the only relief you get is with your next drink.”

“
I’m worse than him. I killed him.”

“
He tortured and you killed,” Brooke said. “Did you mean to kill him? Was he beating you up at the time?”

David shook his head.

“He so was.”

“He had Mum bailed up in a corner. I went in and grabbed the gun. I’d shot a snake that afternoon. I aimed it at his head. He charged at me. The gun went off.”

“Well, then your dad’s probably sitting up in heaven with all his newfound wisdom twiddling his thumbs and feeling pretty stupid right now.”

“You think he’s in heaven?”

“Hell is just something conjured up for publicity to keep those of us with a conscience on the straight and narrow.”

***

Brooke

Brooke had
other things she wanted to know. She tried to soften her questions by tracing the trail of hairs on his stomach. “Were you going to kill yourself on that cliff?”

“I knew you were watching.”

“So were you going to do it?”

“Not with you there.”

Brooke flattened her palm against him, amusing herself lifting her fingers off one at a time and then pressing them flat again. It was a wonderful distraction. She jumped when he spoke again.

“I think about it all the time.”

“What do you mean all the time, like every waking minute? Or every day?”

“Since coming here
to the island, I haven’t thought about it much. When I’m with you it’s less, but when I’m not with you it’s something I want all the time… unless I’m drinking.”

“
So if I’m not with you, you would seriously consider suicide.”

“No
t seriously.”

“Cause
that scares me a bit.”

“It’s why I drink. Alcohol makes me happy for a bit.
I get that feel good buzz.”

“If only you could stop it at that.”

***

David

He cleared his throat and said the words neither of them had dared to speak. “I’m going back for Mum.” The words bounced between them for a while. He watched Brooke pleat and unpleat the sheet, letting her sort out what had been said on her own.

“
I don’t think she’ll be happy with that, do you?” she said to him.

“Me b
eing in jail and having Mum free might be the thing to save me from killing myself.”

“
But you just said if we were apart you think about death more.”

“I think about it because I haven’t faced what I need to face. I’ve let my own mother send herself to jail. Who does that?”

“I can watch over you. I can help you get happy.”

David tried to stop the smile from breaking out on his face, but couldn’t. He rubbed her shoulder and hugged her closer to him. “No one can do that for anyone.
You can’t be there for me 24/7. And even if it was possible, as if you’d want to get inside my head.”

Brooke clicked her tongue. It was loud in the room. He wanted her to stop, but he knew she was busy thinking.

“Your mother wants you to be free,” she said, finally.

“
Well this freedom feels a bit like hell right now. But if I changed things and set Mum free and face the punishment for what I did myself, then I know one day I will be free. If I let things keep going the way they are I will feel like this forever.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“It will get worse until I’ll be like my dad, a grumpy old pisshead.”

She looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Well…a grumpy old pisshead, permanently.”

“You will never be the same after jail.”

“I’ll keep to myself. Draw. Maybe they have art classes.”

“You’ll be someone’s bitch.”

David couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “I’ll deal with it.”

He cringed when she jabbed him in the ribs. They were still sore.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” she said.

David shrugged, not really knowing why he had laughed.

“I hate you for doing this.”

“Face it
. I’m no good to you here. This isn’t the way we planned it. Neither of us is happy.”

“
But right now this feels good. It feels like we’re back to the way we used to be. Why don’t you just see what it is going to be like between us for a few days…and then decide.”

He pla
ced his palm over her mouth, and looked into her eyes. “I feel good because I’ve made a decision.”

She bit hi
m.

He pulled away.

“I feel good because I feel like I finally have you,” she said.

“I didn’t mean to sleep with you, not when I’m leaving.”

It was Brooke’s turn to laugh.

He pulled back from her.

“As if you could get it up in the state you were in last night.”

“Good. I felt like a prick for not remembering.”

“I’ll be waiting for you. When you get happy come back and then I will be happy.”

“
Life shouldn’t work like that Brooke.”

“Well, maybe that’s how our life needs to go.”