‘This is the NYPD, open up!’ I was slowly venturing towards the door, when I spotted the covers pulled back on my bed. “One minute officer,” I shouted nervously, and I ran to the bed and pulled back the covers, phew! I grabbed my keys and opened the door. On the other side was a middle-aged man of medium build, with a pale complexion, and a large, brown handlebar moustache. From his expression, I could see he meant business, and he wanted to get this over and done with; he showed no signs of being affected by the cold, despite it being well below freezing. ‘Can I help you officer?’ I questioned. ‘I’m pretty sure you can, sir. I am Officer Frank Burns, NYPD and I have received a complaint from numerous neighbours about screaming from this apartment.’ ‘Oh, yeah, I was watching a real scary movie. Aliens, you seen it, man they really freaked me out; I guess I better stick to just comedy next time. I am sorry for the disturbance,’ I exclaimed, trying to cover up my utter amazement at striking lucky again. ‘I have a search warrant for this apartment, mind if I take a look inside,’ he proclaimed, flashing a badge in my face, making me bend backwards to avoid it. ‘No problems do whatever you need to do.’
Minutes later, after checking every room in my tiny apartment, he seemed satisfied, and turned to me. ‘You might want to see someone about the whole self harming thing.’ ‘Don’t worry officer, I will,’ and with that he shut the door, and his footsteps faded gradually into the early morning mist that enveloped the city like a huge claw, and I was all alone again, only my thoughts of death and pain to accompany me.
Sitting down on my sofa, it moaned and groaned in a high pitched way that reminded me of the man I had murdered what seemed like an age ago, I realised I had to make a confession to someone, to anyone. I picked up the phone; I had the number on speed dial. As the handset started to vibrate and buzz gently in my ear, I knew this could be the end of me, but I stood firm, and the voice of Vincent came down the line. ‘Hello, who is speaking?’ ‘It’s me Vin, I need help, I’ve done something terrible.’ Vincent was the only way of getting it off my chest. He was my brother, and the only friend I had left. He would understand, he left when I was 10 to become a priest, and now worked in a small parish near Central Park. ‘Meet my near Mum’s grave in half an hour, I’ll be there, I will help you,’ he assured me, and the line went dead. I picked up my coat, and hurried out of the apartment.
It was 8am, and I walked into the cemetery with a small bunch of flowers in my hand. My boots crunching gently through the thick snow, I could hear children playing in the park, and their parents shouting after them. My one desire was to have someone, all I had was the long arm of guilt wrapped tightly around by chest, and the knowing that one day I would be behind bars. Staring at the sad, grey grave of Victoria Vincent, and brushing away snow and soil, I placed the bright flowers down by the stone, which read, ‘beloved mother and wife, the best anyone could ask for.’ If only they hadn’t gone out that night, if only he hadn’t crashed into the petrol station, if only Dad hadn’t left for Europe, maybe none of this would have happened. ‘We both miss her terribly, Vic, but she’s never coming back.’ I stood up, and tried to look him in the eyes but I couldn’t. ‘I’m sorry Vincent, but I’ve killed somebody. I didn’t mean to, it wasn’t me.’
It was only ten minutes later that I was alone yet again; even my brother didn’t want anything to do with me. He told me that he wouldn’t give me away, but he didn’t want to associate himself with killers, and he hoped that I could find some way of getting myself out of the terrible mess that I had found myself in. I needed to get to work, to attempt to put everything behind me. I hailed a taxi, and it slowed to a halt, its engine grumbling nonchalantly, it wasn’t the only one that didn’t want to be out this morning. I got out of the taxi on 32nd, and walked through the revolving glass doors of the Accenture building. I worked in the IT department. We maintained the servers and fixed problems, and I was the joint head of the department along with Marcus Street. He was a middle aged black man, with bulky shoulders and a very intimidating figure, but once you got to know him, he was the gentle giant. We worked well as a team, and this year the company had a down time of less than 0.2%. Surely I wasn’t far from a promotion, but I doubted this now. I was going to be distracted, and my work would suffer.
I sat down at my big mahogany desk, opposite Marcus; his defined facial features – the protruding nose, the thick dark eyebrows – were easily visible with the light of the many screens next to me; my eyes during the working day. Here I could see what people were browsing on the net, and I could see any problems. Right now, a woman was having trouble in Area 13, not far away, I’d see to her in a minute. Just then, a vision of a coffee cup spilling over flashed through my mind, and I realised that it was Marcus’s desk. Back in the real world I blurted ‘watch the cup!’ just as the phone rang. Marcus ignored me, and reached out for the phone, but he knocked over the mug and coffee spilled all over the desk, and dangerously near his computer systems. How did I do these things? How did I see the future? I attempted to block this out of my mind, thinking it merely to be coincidence, and headed for the women in trouble. Having completed my task successfully, I was heading back to the office, when turning the corner, was the melancholy face of the dead man, his face beaming hate straight at me. But there was not just one; there was a multitude of clones. His army marched solemnly towards me, but then sprung at me, arms outstretched and moaning ‘revenge!’ I dodged and ducked between the bodies, avoiding their demons claws. Repeatedly I was close to being seized, but escaped capture each time, and sprinted for the nearest exit. I was going to make it, when an invisible blast struck me, and I fell to the floor. My shivering hands clasped my chest screaming. I passed out.
I was woken by shouts. I opened my eyes to the faces of colleagues. ‘He’s awake,’ one of them shouted. ‘Get a doctor a.s.a.p.’ ‘What happened?’ I inquired, as I tried to stand. ‘We heard your screams,’ exclaimed Marcus, ‘man you freaked us out!’ ‘The ghosts, whe…wher…where are they?’ I stuttered nervously, but after seeing the faces of my workmates, I gave up and collapsed back to the floor.
The doctors referred me to a psychiatric clinic; they said that I had mental problems. If only they knew what had been happening to me, it wasn’t me, it was some force that I had no control over. Anyhow, I needed to get back home, and I needed to leave quickly. I was going to Mexico. Walking back through the park, the same route that I had walked so many times, tears welled up in my eyes, this was the last time I would take this journey. I gazed at the happiness on people’s faces, children dancing and dogs barking, and saw myself when I was young, playing with Mum and Dad, and enjoying myself. Now the colour had drained from my cheeks, and I wasn’t human anymore.
As I gazed at one particular child, I saw he was the spitting image of me when I was a young child. He was quite plump and had rosy cheeks and bright sparkling eyes. Suddenly a mangled body at the bottom of a crevace flew by in my head, and I knew the boy was about to fall off the railings he was jumping on, and into the crevices on the other side. I set off towards him, trying to redeem myself, but stopped dead in my tracks. Walking towards the child were two police officers. They were chatting, but would surely have pictures of me by now. I was never good at decision-making, but something made my mind up for me.
I saw the wrinkled face of that innocent man in the toilets, and rushed, like a leaping lion, towards the child, shouting ‘Watch out!’ I careered into him, and pushed him over the holes to safety, my body cushioning the blow beneath him. The officers rushed over, and immediately recognised me. On of them, with a penetrating glare said ‘I’ll deal with you later, and rushed the child back to the on running mother. The other picked me up, fastened me in handcuffs, and marched me towards the car park.
Going past the sights of New York, The Empire State, Flat Iron and many more, I saw my life coming to an end, gradually fading into nothingness, insignificant. As we rounded the last corner to the station, a great juggernaut came charging towards the police car, and in an instant, smashed into the front. I was thrown what seemed like miles, through the windscreen and onto the bonnet. My face bloodied and battered, I looked up to the cab of the lorry. Clambering out of the drivers seat was the victim of my knife. He knelt down by my dying body, and in my last seconds, scooped up a finger of blood and whispered in my ear, ‘there’s nothing quite like revenge now, is there?’
