Stuart MacBride - A Song for the Dying

Now Im no saying hes gay Im no saying hes ho-mo-sexual Im saying hes a big Jessie. No the same thing.

Not this again A crescent moon makes a scar in the clouds, glowering down at them as Kevin picks his way through the frost-crisped grass, breath streaming out behind him. Nipples like little points of fire. Fingers aching where they stick out past the end of his sleeve, wrapped around the torch. The legs of his glasses cold against his temples.

Behind him, the ambulances blue and white lights make lazy search beams, sending shadows creeping through the trees at the side of the road. The headlights glint back from a bus shelter, the Perspex blistered and blackened where someones tried to set fire to it.

Nick clunks the ambulance door shut. I mean, seriously, look at him: could he be any more of a Jessie?

Will you shut up and help me?

Dont know what youre so worked up about. Nick has a scratch at his beard, really going at it, like a dog with fleas. Tiny flakes of white fall from the face-fungus, caught in the glow of his torch like dying fireflies. Just going to be another sodding crank call, like all the rest of them. Tell you: ever since they found that woman with her innards all ripped up in Kingsmeath, every time-wasting tosser in the citys been on the phone reporting gutted women. Listen to them, the bloody place should be knee-deep in dead tarts.

What if shes lying out there, in the dark, dying? Dont you want-

And do you know why Spider-Mans a big girls blouse?

Kevin doesnt look at him, keeps his eyes on the grass. Its thicker here, the broken-glass stems dotted with rusty spears of docken and dead thistles. Something out there smells musty, fusty, mouldering. What if its real? Might be still alive.

Aye, you keep telling yourself that. Fiver says she doesnt even exist. His fingertips scrabble through the beard again as he kicks through a pile of crackling leaves. So, Spider-Man: action is his reward, right? Total Jessie.

Two more hours till the shifts over. Two more hours of inane drivel and bollocks

Is something sticking out from underneath that whin bush?

The long dark seedpods clatter like a rattlesnake as Kevin pokes at the branches.

Just a plastic bag, the blue-and-red logo glittering with frost.

See me? See if I save some hot bird from a burning building? Im expecting cash, or a blowjob at the very least. When did you last see someone going down on Spider-Man? Never, thats when.

Nick, I swear to God

Come on, if it was you or me running about in our jammies, squirting random strangers with our sticky emissions, wed end up on the sex-offenders register, wouldnt we?

Can you not shut up for, like, five seconds? The tips of Kevins ears burn, like someones stubbing a cigarette out on them. Cheeks are going the same way. He sweeps the torch beam back and forth. Maybe Nicks right? This is a waste of time. Theyre out here, sodding about in the freezing cold, on a Thursday night in November just because some rancid wee sod thought itd be funny to report a womans body dumped at the side of the road.

Hes not a superhero: hes a pervert. And a Jessie. Quod erat demonstrandum.

A hundred and fifty thousand people have a stroke every year, why cant Nick be one of them? Right now. Is that really too much to ask?

The hairy git stops rummaging in his beard and points. Aye, aye, looks like someones been getting lucky. Found a right nest of condoms here He pokes the toe of his boot into it, rummages. French ticklers from the look of it.

Shut up. Kevin chews at the skin on the side of his index finger, breath fogging up his glasses. What did they say?

Nick sniffs. Woman, mid-twenties, possible internal bleeding, A-Rhesus negative.

The tarmac scrunches beneath Kevins feet as he picks his way around the bus shelter. How did they know?

That she was here? Suppose-

No, you moron, how did they know what her blood type was? Kevin stops dead. Theres something behind the shelter, something person-sized.

He lurches over, feet slipping on the icy tarmac. But its only a hunk of carpet, the faded green-and-yellow swirly pattern, spotted with darker stains. Dumped by some dirty scumbag who couldnt be arsed going to the council tip. What the hell was wrong with people these days?

It wasnt like

Theres drag-marks in the grass, leading away from the carpet.

Oh God.

And dont get me started on Superman!

Kevins voice cracks. So he tries again. Nick?

I mean, what kind of pervert goes to work wearing blue tights-

Nick, get the crash kit.

-bright red pants over the top? Could he be any more, look at my crotch, for I am the Man of Steel! And hes faster-

Get the crash kit.

-speeding bullet. What woman wants-

GET THE BLOODY CRASH KIT! And Kevins running, slithering through the grass at the side of the bus shelter. Crashing through the whip-fronds of dying nettles, following the drag-marks.

Shes lying on her back, one leg curled under her, the other pale foot smeared with dirt. Her white nightdress has ridden up around her thighs, a yellow cross staining the fabric across her swollen abdomen distorted by whats been stitched inside. Scarlet blooms through the nightdress: poppies, dark and spreading.

Her face is bone-china pale, freckles standing out like dried bloodstains, coppery hair spread out across frost-sharpened grass. A golden chain glints around her throat.

Her fingers tremble.

Shes alive

Six Years Later

The wall hit me between the shoulder blades, then did the same to the back of my head. An explosion of yellow light. A dull thunk deep inside my skull. A grunt broke from my throat. Then again as ex-Detective Sergeant ONeil slammed his fist into my stomach.

Glass rippled inside me, tearing, shredding.

Another fist cracked my ringing head to the side, sending fire burning across my cheek. Not ONeil this time, but his equally huge mate: ex-Constable Taylor. The pair of them mustve spent most of their sentences in the prison gym. Certainly would explain how they managed to hit so bloody hard.

Another fist to the guts. Jerking me against the corridor wall.

I lashed out with a right, the knuckles screaming as they tore into ONeils nose. Flattened it. Snapped his ugly, wedge-shaped head back. Painted an arc of scarlet in the air as the big bastard staggered away.

Right. One not so much down as on hold. A couple of seconds would be enough

I threw an elbow at Taylors big round face. But he was fast. A lot faster than someone that size should have been.

My elbow cracked into the wall.

Then his fist smashed into my cheek again.

THUNK my head battered off the wall. Again.

This time my elbow caught him right in the mouth, an electric shock charging up my funny bone where it mashed through his top lip and teeth. More scarlet in the drab corridor. It dribbled down the front of his prison-issue sweatshirt, spreading out like tiny red flowers on the grey fabric.

He backed off a pace. Spat out a couple of white lumps. Wiped a hand across his mouth, smearing the blood. The words came out all wet and lispy through the gaps where those teeth used to be. Oh, you are tho dead.

You really think two against one is enough? I flexed my right fist. The joints stabbed and screamed, every movement like someone was digging burning needles through the cartilage and into the bone.