Dark Blood

Richard blinks. Tries to look away. But the gun’s like a magnet.

She pulls back the slide and peers inside, then lets it go with a clack, ejects the magazine, and puts it in her pocket. Julie places the gun down in front of her.

It clunks on the marble worktop.

‘One in the breech. All you have to do is shoot him in the back of the head.’ She looks at Neil. ‘Show them, Babe.’

He makes a gun of his thumb and forefinger and marches over – Evans, Bruce, and Ellen shrinking back as he gets close. Then Neil takes his position behind Richard, grabs a handful of hair, and forces his head down. The big man jabs his finger into the dip at the back of Richard’s skull.

‘Bang.’

Oh God…

He lets go and Richard scrabbles sideways against the cabinets, knees drawn up to his chest, hot tears dribbling down his cheeks.

Oh God…

‘Isn’t that fun?’ Julie smiles. ‘Best thing is, because it’s a forty-five, when it comes out the other side it’ll take most of his face off.’

Ellen licks her lips. Looks from Richard to the gun, then up to Matt. ‘You do it.’

‘I…with…’ He rubs at the angry red handprint on his cheek. Looks up at his dad, then drops his eyes. ‘Bruce…?’

The old man bangs his hand on the wall. ‘This isn’t right!’

‘You’re not in charge any more, Evans.’ Bruce holds out his hand. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Excellent. Tony, get the patio doors would you, Babe? Don’t want the nice man getting brains and bits of skull all over his nice new kitchen.’

Tony – the one who doesn’t look like Elvis – hesitates a second, then does what he’s told. Cold air floods the room.

The security light comes on at the back of the house. The garden’s almost featureless, an expanse of crisp white. The trees and bushes bent under the weight of snow, more flakes swirling down from the dark sky.

‘Oh God, please…’

Neil grabs Richard’s arm.

‘No, please, God no, please…’ Richard snatches at the cabinet handle, holding on, knuckles going white. He stares at the old man. ‘Don’t let them do it!’

But Jimmy Evans just turns his back.

‘Please!’

Neil kicks Richard in the ribs.

He screams, but doesn’t let go. ‘Please! You—’

His head jerks backwards and hot copper fills his mouth; a ringing noise followed by a wave of fire. He lets go.

Neil drags him across the kitchen tiles, over the lip of the patio doors, and tumbles him out into the snow.

So cold against his naked skin it burns.

Richard scrabbles to his knees, hands clasped in front of him, tears and snot running down his face as they form a circle around him, looming. He chokes back a sob. ‘Please, please, I didn’t mean it. You don’t have to—’

‘SHUT UP!’ Julie holds the gun out to Bruce. ‘There you go, Babe. Just like we showed you: one shot to the back of the head and it’s all over. We’ll even help you get rid of the body.’

Bruce takes the gun.

Oh God.

‘Please, it wasn’t my fault. I’ve changed! I’m not like that any more!’

Bruce scuffs through the snow until he’s standing directly behind Richard, then grabs a handful of hair and forces his head forward.

Something hot runs down Richard’s frozen thigh, steaming in the frigid air. ‘Please don’t do this…’

The gun barrel presses into the skin of his neck, right where Tony’s finger was.

Richard closes his eyes.

Father, why have you forsaken me?

Now the only noise is the roar of the wind, the groan and creak of the trees.

Neil sighs. ‘Some time today would be nice, like.’

‘I don’t think I—’

‘Shoot him.’