The staccato sound of boots on pavement. A groan of pain. A gun is kicked away. Voices -- almost insubstantial. A face; a look of concern and consternation. Questions. Answers come unbidden and unrehearsed. A search which reveals nothing. I have to tell you something. I know. I don't care. You just have to listen. I have something I have to tell you. I can explain everything, just listen to me, okay? Okay. This is just the final nail on a coffin that was begun some time ago. I guess it all started just before Jim came up with his brilliant plan. I was seeing this girl named Leeane. We didn't have much in common except sex. It was great sex though, so we stayed together. I think we fell in love. I'm no expert on love, but that's what it felt like. We were happy together at least. That's as good a definition of love as I can think of. I had two friends. Jim was a year younger than me. Billy was a year younger than him. They were the closest thing I had to best friends. If I wasn't with Leeane, I was with Billy and Jim. I wasn't proud of my new job, but at least I had a job. The pay wasn't great, and it had no future, but it covered the bills. Jim and I weren't terribly close. There was something about Jim I never really liked. He always talked about hitting the big money. He once went to Las Vegas, and he lost everything. He always bought lottery tickets, and never won. He bet on every sport, and only succeeded in getting himself into debt. Jim couldn't hold down a job for more than six months. He got caught stealing money while he was working as a short order cook. He was put on probation. Jim fancied himself quite the arch-criminal after that. He had met some real criminals, and considered himself connected. Billy was a follower. He would follow Jim into anything. Billy would even front Jim money for gambling. He had gone with Jim to Vegas. He was constantly bailing Jim out financially. With all that, Billy, of any of the three of us, was the most successful. He had a decent job as a cook at a fancy restaurant, and he was making some okay money. He was in the pink until his parents threw him out. They didn't like him hanging out with Jim and, I guess, with me. After that, he lived with Jim and started to have financial troubles. I think Jim was taking his money, but I could never prove it. Leeane hated Jim. She wasn't all that impressed with Billy, but she thought he was a good person. Jim hated Leeane. Billy always seemed to stare at Leeane whenever she was around. He stared at her in a way that made me want to hit him. I never did. Jim was always razzing me if I went out with Leeane instead of hanging with him and Billy. Leeane figured it was a waste of my time even talking to Jim. They made it hard on me. I tried to spend time with both so as not to slight one in favor of the other, but Leeane always won out over Jim. My life was tolerable, even with the trouble between Leeane and Jim. For a while I was living with Jim and Billy. Though I had graduated in the top quarter of my school, I never went to college. My family wasn't too financially affluent, and I guess college just wasn't a priority. There were loans, but the banks didn't consider me a good risk. I wasn't smart enough for a scholarship. The bursaries that I could get would never get close to paying tuition. The long and the short of it was I never went to college. The best I could do with my high school diploma was a job as a janitor. I wasn't proud of my new job, but at least I had a job. The pay wasn't great, and it had no future, but it covered the bills. Somehow I scraped through and even had a little bit of spending money in my pocket. I had some money, friends and a girlfriend, but none of it was easy, and it all seemed so...precarious. After about a year, Leeane and I made plans to find a place together. Her parents hated my guts, especially her father. He forbade her to move in with me. The only reason that he could give was that I wasn't financially secure. Her mother didn't want her living with anybody until she was married. She didn't want her parents to hate her, so she agreed to their terms. We planned to get married. It was my idea. That was four months ago. After we made those plans, everything fell apart. I lost my job; downsizing. I had a tough time finding a job after that. I joined the faceless mass of the unemployed. This gave Leeane's father further fodder. He called me a "welfare bum". Leeane cried a lot after that. She didn't want to lose me, but she was afraid that maybe her dad was right. That hurt me. I told her I would always be able to provide for her. I would make a good husband. She wasn't so sure. We stopped having sex. My frustration started to mount. It was about a month ago that she called me up and told me we had to talk. I thought I knew what was coming. Considering the ruin my life had become, I assumed she was going to dump me. I tried to convince myself that I didn't care. If she couldn't hold on through one tough break, what kind of a marriage would we have? When she arrived I was prepared for the worst. Her news was like a bomb from the clear blue. She told me she was pregnant. I didn't know what to say. I was stunned. She wasn't too happy about it. I argued that it was a further reason why we should be married; I truly believed I loved her. She didn't think her father would see it that way. You couldn't raise a family on the money you got from welfare. I supposed she was right, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. She was thinking about abortion or surrendering the child for adoption. Malcolm was an independent operator; there wouldn't be any repercussions from the mob or gangs. All we had to do was hit Malcolm's place late one night, and disappear. We needed time to consider our options. I knew that. We decided that in a week we would make our decision. I didn't see too much of her in that week. I was lost in my troubles. I needed a new job, but none was forthcoming. I needed money, and my unemployment check wasn't enough. I had to show Leeane that I could support her. I had to show her that her dad was wrong. I had to prove I was right about marriage. I just didn't know how to do it. I began to grow desperate. I was up by eight every morning, out searching for a job. I went to the employment centers, and I pounded the pavement; handing out resumes. No one was hiring. Those few who were hiring wanted experience or education, and I had neither. As the days wore on, Leeane became more distant, and my future became bleaker. Rejection began to sink in, and it became harder and harder to get myself out of the apartment. My well had run dry; I had no more solutions. Jim did. Jim had been getting his hash off this guy named Malcolm. Malcolm appeared to be a pretty cool guy, at least that's how he seemed the two times I had met him. He was always surrounded by women and seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of money. I thought I knew what Jim was planning, and I wasn't ready to begin dealing drugs. It was tempting, but I was frightened. I didn't want to go to jail. That's not what I told Jim though. I told Jim that I thought it was wrong, and I wouldn't be involved in selling drugs to children. Jim assured me I wouldn't have to. Jim had gotten to know Malcolm relatively well in the few months he had dealt with him. Malcolm had lots of cash, and he had a large shipment coming in. Jim figured that between the cash Malcolm had stashed in his place, and the hash there, all three of us -- Jim, Billy and I -- could get rich. I realized we certainly wouldn't be rich, but I thought it would be enough to get Leeane to marry me. It would give me a chance to get back on my feet. All we had to do was rob Malcolm's place. The whole idea worried me, but it was exciting. It wasn't like we would be robbing anyone who could report to the police. Jim was also certain that Malcolm was an independent operator; there wouldn't be any repercussions from the mob or gangs. All we had to do was hit Malcolm's place late one night, and disappear. No problem. Jim's confidence infected Billy. He would have loved to have quit his job. He hated it. This seemed like an easy way out. It was an easy way out. I realized that too, but I was scared. What if we were caught? Malcolm would have a gun, or maybe more than one. What if there were a few guys with guns? Jim told us that Malcolm had a little apartment on the east side where he lived alone. Not too many people knew about it. It seemed Jim had been planning for a while, and had followed Malcolm home one night. Malcolm's place was small, and it was in a neighborhood where no one was likely to intervene. It was the perfect crime. I looked like a tough guy in a movie. I stared at myself in the mirror with my sunglasses on and flaunting my pistols. I got pretty hyped; I felt powerful. It was almost like a game. Billy and I agreed to help Jim on the robbery, as long as we all got equal shares. Jim had no problem with that, and he started to plan in earnest. I know what you're thinking: how could an intelligent kid get caught up in such a ludicrous plan? It's hard to explain, but I felt trapped. I couldn't see any other way out. There was no other help forthcoming, and I was watching my life crumbling away like an ancient ruin. I certainly didn't think things could get any worse. Once we had agreed to the plan, Jim decided we needed guns, just in case. Jim already had a pistol, but neither Billy or I had ever used or handled a handgun. Jim didn't consider that much of a problem, since we wouldn't have to use them. Hopefully. The cost was a couple of hundred dollars for me to get two automatic pistols with ammunition. They were two 9-mm handguns, each capable of holding around thirteen bullets. Jim was able to obtain them off one of the "friends" he had met when he was arrested. Jim was truly playing the arch-criminal now. Billy had purchased a 9-mm automatic pistol as well. Both of us were like little kids with new toys. I couldn't wait to get my hands on the weapons. I looked at myself in the mirror holding the two guns, and I thought I looked really cool. I looked like a tough guy in a movie. I stared at myself in the mirror with my sunglasses on and flaunting my pistols. I got pretty hyped; I felt powerful. It was almost like a game. I gained confidence that we would be able to pull the job off. Even if Malcolm was there, the three of us had the firepower to deal with any opposition. Jim's plan was simple enough. Malcolm's apartment was on the second floor of a house. The access was through a stairwell just inside the front door. Malcolm was often out partying very late, usually not arriving home until three or four in the morning. If we broke in around midnight, we would have plenty of time to search the place, and get out before Malcolm arrived home. The front door was almost never locked, but Jim assured us he could get it open if it was. Billy and I agreed to the plan. The day for the job began creeping up on us. I had stopped looking for work, and Leeane had noticed. She wondered why I had given up. If I couldn't find a good job and get some money together, there was no way we could ever get married. She was worried about the child. I told her not to worry. I had everything figured out. We would have the money to get married, and then we could get a place together. I had told her I had everything all planned out. She refused to believe me. Our relationship, which was already strained, began to shred. I began to have trouble sleeping. Anytime I started to doze off, I would have horrible dreams. Sometimes they would be about Leeane. I had dreams about Leeane leaving me, and finding some other guy. I had dreams where some other man had Leeane and my baby. I couldn't stand the thought of my child being raised by another man. I would wake up from those dreams unsure of what was real. My dreams were so substantial I had a hard time dividing them from reality. Every time I saw a cop car I just about shit. The plan excited me, but I wasn't sure it would work. I began to suspect that I didn't have any better a grip on what was happening than Jim or Billy. My other dreams were just as bad. I would dream about the job, and about dying. I could see us crashing through the door, but Malcolm had an army there waiting for us. All three of us would be cut down in a hail of gunfire. I could see Jim and Billy drop to the floor, bloody and limp. The guns turned on me, and I couldn't fire my own guns. For some reason I couldn't force the triggers back. I would wake sweating and terrified. As I slept less and less, my nerves became more and more frayed. I would snap at people for no reason. I became a hermit; not willing to enjoy the company of others because of my temper. I didn't speak to Leeane after our first fight. I was certain that I was losing her. I knew I had to go through with the job if I wanted to keep her and the baby. If I didn't do this job I wouldn't have any money, and I would lose her. She would either abort our child, or some other man would be the child's father. I couldn't deal with that. By the time the day of the job arrived, I was on such an edge that I was almost high. My adrenaline was pumping hard the whole day. I was on constant guard. I don't know if I was paranoid, or if it was a result of my insomnia. Billy was quiet around me, but Jim thought that I was just excited about the job. He would repeat the plan over and over again, telling me how great it was going to be. At that point I didn't care. One way or the other I wanted it all to end. I didn't care if we pulled it off or if we died in the process, I just wanted it all to end. Early in the evening we loaded up our guns, and got set for the job. Billy was jazzed by that point, and seemed as excited about the whole affair as Jim was. It seemed patronizing, but I felt sorry for both of them; neither one really understood what was happening. I thought I did. Jim left the house around nine, assuring us that he would return before midnight. He assured us that nothing would be happening before that time. We accepted his lack of an explanation with silent compliance. Billy did not put forward any theories as to what Jim was up to, which was unusual. Jim did return just before midnight. He arrived with a car. It was a mid-eighties sedan, not appearing in the best of shape. Jim told us that it drove fine, and was necessary for the job. We accepted this without argument. Jim told us he had found out that Malcolm had gone to a big bash across town. Jim said it would be going on until at least three. We decided that we would drive to Malcolm's, that it was time. The drive there seemed slow and we were all far too hyped. Every time I saw a cop car I just about shit. The plan excited me, but I wasn't sure it would work. I began to suspect that I didn't have any better a grip on what was happening than Jim or Billy. As my fear grew, so did my determination to see the entire affair through to the end. I refused to quit so close to the end. It seemed like forever in that car. Nobody spoke. I could see the fear reflected in Billy's eyes whenever I saw them in the streetlights. Jim was silently driving, and I couldn't see the expression on his face. I wondered if maybe he would have second thoughts and call off the job. He didn't. From the back seat I couldn't see a light on in Malcolm's little, second-floor apartment. Before I had any more time to question the plan, or my part in it, Jim gave the word, and we all exited the car. We put ski masks on, just in case we were seen. The warmth of my own breath, and its moisture, seemed trapped in the mask. My breath smelled stale, like I had been drinking all night. We moved as quietly as we could to the small door that Jim said led to the stairwell. He tried the knob. It was locked. He seemed perplexed. I almost left right then. Jim had lied when he said he was prepared. I stood with my mouth agape, completely shocked. Billy said something that I didn't catch. Jim hissed at him to be quiet. Jim stood back, then kicked in the door. It must have been flimsy, because it gave pretty easy. There was a piece missing from the door that still sat on the frame, locked into place. The door itself fell back into the hall. Before I could protest, Jim was moving into the stairwell, and I followed, without thinking. We ran up the stairs quickly, climbing them two or three at a time. Before we reached the top I heard Billy, behind me, fall. I was about to turn when the door at the top of the stairs flew open. A loud roar shook the stairwell, and Jim's blood covered me. I could feel the warm ooze slap the mask on my face, and I heard a strange gurgle that seemed to come from Jim. I stood there, Jim's blood soaking into the ski mask. I could smell the blood and feel its warmth. I heard Billy yell from behind me. I thought I heard him run. The roar shook the stairwell again. Jim's head exploded. Gore flew in all directions. Something hit my eye, and my vision became blurred. Jim's body started to fall. I felt metal. I lifted it up, and aimed the revolver at Malcolm's head. I started to whimper. I wanted to cry. I wiped away the blood and gore. My own vomit had collected on the edge of my mask, and its stench was mixed with the smell of blood and God knew what else. I don't know what was going through my head; I don't know what I was thinking at the time that Jim died. While the body was dropping to the floor, I raised my two pistols. I couldn't make out the shape at the top of the stairs. My one eye was stinging and teary, trying to clear away whatever part of Jim's brain or blood had covered it. My other eye was squinty and crying in sympathy. My primate brain was screaming in horror and terror. It screamed in dread at the thought of death. It screamed in abhorrence at the thought of the gore that then covered me. It screamed to run. It screamed to hide. It screamed in an attempt to drown out everything else. I just didn't listen. My arms rose of their own volition, and began to squeeze the triggers of my two pistols. Both guns bucked violently in my hands. Twin detonations reverberated through the stairwell. I was deaf. Power coursed through my body as I fired the guns again and again. I did not aim. There was no consideration or thought; I fired and I fired. Smoke filled the cramped stairs as Jim's body pushed against my lower legs. Warmth covered my feet, a wet, sickening warmth. My shoes were soaked with the hot ooze that was leaking from Jim. My vision grew more and more blurred, but I could see the form at the top of the stairs shudder once, or maybe twice. The walls on either side of the doorway were pockmarked and frayed. The form shuddered again. I tried to continue shooting, but my guns were empty. They had given me all that they could, and now they were useless. Jim's body strained against my legs, trying to topple me and drag me with it down to the base of the stairs. I looked down, perhaps prepared to reproach it, and I saw Jim's revolver. I grabbed the gun, and ran up the remaining few stairs, allowing Jim's body to follow the path it had chosen. When I reached the top of the stairs I attempted to jumped over the form in the doorway. It caught my leg and I tumbled to the floor. Fire, smoke and thunder filled the air above me. The flash almost completely blinded me, but I could make out a body that kneeled on a bed. I tried to bring the pistol to bear before the figure could fire again. My hand was caught beneath my own body. I dragged it loose. I heard the sound of a shotgun being pumped. I heard the shell being ejected from its port, and a new shell enter into the chamber. Jim's revolver was heavy and slippery in my hand. It felt like a dream. I was in one of those paranoid dreams where you are being chased and you can't run. You try and you try but you move like a turtle. The figure was going to kill me and I couldn't bring up Jim's pistol fast enough to save myself. I screamed. I could hear my primate brain still screaming and I joined it. I thought of the gore that covered my face, and my legs and perhaps the rest of my body. I thought of the gurgle of Jim's death. I thought of Leeane. I envisioned my own throat issuing that gurgle. I could see my own gore covering the walls of the room. I screamed. The revolver finally fired. It continued to buck and shake and try to wrest itself free from my grasp five more times. I could taste Jim's blood, and maybe his brains; I didn't know what it was. I was going to throw up. I thought I was going to die. Shoving the mask up and freeing my mouth, I retched. My stomach emptied out everything it had. I puked on Malcolm's body. I puked as I saw the face of a young girl, maybe fifteen, whose insides were displayed on the wall behind her. The shotgun was still held loosely in her hands. Her eyes stared at me. Her mouth was wide in shock. She had thought I would die. She had thought she would live and I would die. I would've agreed with her. Malcolm groaned, and a minuscule cough came from his mouth. Did he move? He was still alive. I finished puking and I could hear him breathe. I groped around for the revolver I had dropped. The floor was wet and warm. Malcolm was wet and warm. I felt metal. I lifted it up, and aimed the revolver at Malcolm's head. I started to whimper. I wanted to cry. I wiped away the blood and gore. My own vomit had collected on the edge of my mask, and its stench was mixed with the smell of blood and God knew what else. I had to kill Malcolm. I had to do it. I didn't know why, but I knew I had to do it. I began crying. I was crying like a little kid. Malcolm began to move. His arm drifted along the floor. It seemed to be moving for his face. I pulled the trigger. The revolver clicked. In defiance of me it wouldn't kill Malcolm. Malcolm gurgled. Was he laughing at me? Was he laughing at me because I was crying? I stood up, and threw the revolver at the wall. Malcolm tried to move some more, but could only gurgle. I couldn't stop crying. Malcolm was laughing at me and I couldn't stop crying. I knew how to stop Malcolm's laughter. I grabbed the gun his pretty little girl was holding. She wasn't laughing. I put it to Malcolm's face. He gurgled. He was still laughing; or was he whimpering? I pulled the trigger. Nothing. I cried. I pumped a new shell into the chamber. Malcolm's legs moved weakly. He whimpered; or did he gurgle? Malcolm's head exploded as the shotgun jolted. My arms almost snapped. The shotgun wrenched back into my chest. I fell over. Malcolm's legs didn't move anymore. I couldn't breathe. I was wheezing and rasping. I could taste all the smoke in the room. I could taste the death as Jim's blood covered my lips. I could smell my own vomit. I wanted to puke again, but there was nothing left. I turned on my side and dry heaved a few times. The shotgun fell from my hands as my body shook with the effort of puking. The convulsions of the dry heaves almost threw me into my own puddle of urine. I stumbled over to the sink. I washed my face in the cold water. I could see the redness of the gore wash off into the basin. I raised myself up onto my hands and knees. My head was swimming. Most of my body was numb and tired. The power I had felt firing the weapons was gone. The energy that had coursed through my body as I ran up the stairs and almost died coming through the doorway was gone. I wanted to sleep. I was tired, and I was scared. Bodies lay strewn about me, and I could see the reddish trail that Jim's body had left sliding down the stairs. My hands were sticky from the ooze that covered the floor around Malcolm's body. It took all my strength to get to my feet. It was an unbearable exertion to tear the mask off my face. It dropped with a foully wet sound to the floor. In the darkness I could make out another doorway out of Malcolm's room. Suddenly I realized I had to urinate. I was amazed I hadn't pissed myself. It was coming now though; it was pushing for release. I toyed with the thought of just pissing my pants, not having enough energy to move to the door, or even to unzip my fly. I stumbled towards the door. I opened it, heedless of what might lay beyond it. If there was another person there with a gun, I didn't care. I didn't have enough vigor left to fight anymore. I just didn't care. If someone was going to pop up with another gun and kill me, I wouldn't try to stop them. I just hoped it wouldn't hurt too badly. There was no one behind the door. It was the kitchen. I didn't care anymore. I had enough energy left to unzip my fly. I urinated on the stove. I thought I would fall over. I was exhausted. The piss felt great. The relief was immense. I forgot all the death and the violence. All that mattered was emptying my bladder. It seemed to take an eternity, but I was in no rush. I turned to survey the kitchen while I finished my leak. I looked into a mirror, and saw all the gore and guts that covered my face and shirt. I needed to vomit again. The convulsions of the dry heaves almost threw me into my own puddle of urine. I stumbled over to the sink. I washed my face in the cold water. I could see the redness of the gore wash off into the basin. I began to regain my senses. I realized how stupid I was acting. It finally dawned on me that the police were no doubt on their way, and I hadn't even left the building. I turned away from the sink, not bothering to turn off the water. I raced out through the front room, and down the stairs. I could see Jim's body lying at the foot of the stairs. There was a large puddle of blood in which the body lay. There was something else at the foot of the stairs. I could see it as I almost reached the bottom. It wasn't blood, or a part of somebody's body, or anything like that. It was Billy's automatic. I snatched it up and crashed through the door. I hadn't expected anyone to be out on the street, but there were a few people there. Perhaps they had been drawn by the noise of gunfire. I don't know. Anyway, I just barreled out of that door, and was faced with three or four people standing on the street, staring at me. I was about to say something when someone saw the gun in my hand and screamed. That set the whole bunch off. They all started running. So did I. I was certain they were ready to kill me. I knew it was over, that the whole plan had gone wrong, and now I was going to pay the price. I didn't know where to run to. I just ran. Somewhere in my head was the thought that I had to get rid of the gun. I had to hide. I knew that, I just couldn't make myself listen. I was scared, and I ran. I was almost three blocks away when I heard the siren behind me. I looked without slowing. It was a police car. I had known that before looking, but now my body was acting independent of my brain. My brain knew it was time to sit down and give up, but my body turned down a small side street. The headlights from the police car silhouetted me against the wall at the end of the small alley. There was no where to turn. I could see a fire escape above my head as I skidded to a halt just before the wall. It was too far above me to reach. I turned to try to find something to help me reach it when the voice rang out. "Don't move. Police." I could make out the shadows of two men standing behind the open doors of the police car. I could discern the weapons in their hands. I was certain they were ready to kill me. I knew it was over, that the whole plan had gone wrong, and now I was going to pay the price. I wondered where Billy had gotten to. I didn't blame him for running. When I thought of Billy, I thought of Leeane. Her father had been right. I was a failure. I didn't deserve her, and probably never had. Another image came into my brain; Leeane and another man. I knew it would only be a matter of time, even if she really did love me. She would find another man to replace me. Would he marry her? Would he be the father to my child? I could see her squirming and squealing beneath some other man just as she had done with me. I could see her smile and hear her laughter, and the soft purr of her satisfaction, and it wasn't for me. And where was I? I would be in jail. I realized with cold certainty. I would go to jail for two murders. I would go to jail and I would rot there forever. Leeane would move on with her life, and I would be trapped behind bars. I knew what went on in prisons. I knew what fate awaited me. I knew I would become someone's girlfriend just as Leeane would. I couldn't get that image out of my head. I could not wipe out the image of that ugly fate no matter what I tried. Nothing had moved in the real world, but the world inside my head was moving rapidly and without mercy. I knew what I had to do. I knew how to escape my fate. The shadows had just started moving. They were still talking. They still had their weapons in hand, and those weapons were still pointed at me. The shadows were still talking, but I wasn't listening. I didn't care what they were saying. Nothing could ever be the same, nothing could ever be good again. It was all over. I raised my gun and pointed at the shadows.