HOME
ABANDONED
STATION SHORTS
EXTRAS
BLOG
LINKS
Return to top
PREVIOUS PAGE
SAM’S REPRIEVE
by Jeanette
by Jeanette
The detective hooked a finger at the barman, using the rest of his hand to shove the glass across the grubby bar. A hacking cough overtook him as he picked up the refill. He held the glass to his chest, tensing his shoulders until he could draw breath. He tipped the golden fluid down his throat.
‘Bad day, huh?’ Said the voice next to him.
The detective glanced sideways without moving his head. The young man had tousled hair like wild oats, and what his mother would call a trusting face.
‘Bad coupla months,’ the detective spat in a hoarse voice. ‘How long you been here?’
The young man’s eyes were bright and friendly, with just a hint of something darker there, down below. ‘Six weeks, three days, twenty one hours and an odd number of minutes,’ he said, folding his fingers neatly across his stomach. ‘Ever since my fourth murder, the teacher, the ice pick.’ He sighed. ‘He’s stuck. Thinks I’m not being smart enough to outwit the cops.’
‘Hah, he should meet my boss.’ The detective laughed, which sent him into another coughing fit. The young man extended one manicured hand.
‘Reuben Potts,’ he said.
The detective took the hand gingerly. ‘Sam,’ he croaked. ‘Aint got a last name yet.’
‘So what’s your guy’s story, Sam?’
Sam picked up his third whisky and drained it, then reached for his smokes.
‘It’s a woman. She thinks I’m too stereotyped.’
The barman refilled his glass. He had the sort of looks women would die for, and men would kill for, but his handsome blue eyes had a hollow tinge. He picked up his cocktail shaker with a weary hand.
‘I know just what you mean,’ he said.
Reuben put his head on one side so he could look past the detective.
‘We have company.’
Sam looked over. The young woman was dressed in a tight cream bodice with a massive skirt that was threatening to shove him off his bar stool. She looked round uncertainly, until her gaze landed on Sam. She must have liked what she saw.
‘Excuse me, sir, but what is this place? Why are we all here?’
Sam shook his head.
‘It’s all down to inspiration, motivation and interest,’ Reuben said with a bright smile.
‘Well, fiddlesticks, I’m Kathleen O’Shaunnessy, and I’ve got plenty of all of those!’
Sam took another drink. ‘T’aint you he was referring to,’ he said. He looked over one shoulder at a group of German soldiers, who had temporarily abandoned their card game to have a fist fight. The barman took an agile leap on to the bar and flexed his golden muscles.
‘Hey guys, cut it out! It’s crowded in here already without making it worse.’
The fight was still in full swing when there was a sudden gasp. A woman in a tight silver uniform stood up, sending the table flying. She would have had a pretty face if it hadn’t been for the gill-like appendages sticking out of her cheeks. As Sam watched, her skin took on a brighter glow, and she seemed suddenly more solid.
‘I- I think he’s writing something! I think I’m going back!’ she exclaimed, hurrying towards the exit. She started to laugh, running now, and the other drinkers stood up and applauded as she went, some of them touching her, as if her luck might rub off on them. She had almost made it when she suddenly stopped. The applause died away.
Her shoulders hunched, and she pulled her arms across her chest. ‘Oh no!’ she cried, tucking her head down into her arms, ‘Please, no, no! No!’
As the last word rang out, the gleam of silver faded slowly into the dark, and she was gone.
Sam turned back to the bar with a sigh.
‘Wh-what happened to her?’ Kathleen’s voice shook.
‘Surplus to requirements,’ Sam said shortly.
Reuben gave him a look.
‘The worst thing that can happen to any of us,’ he said. ‘Even worse than being stuck here.’
Kathleen’s eyes filled with tears, and her little white teeth bit down on her trembling lip.
‘She’s been deleted,’ the barman said, hollow eyed. ‘Edited out.’
‘Expunged,’ Reuben added.
‘Erased. Removed. Obliterated. In short, she’s gone.’
‘Will that happen to all of us?’ Kathleen whispered.
Sam shrugged, picking up his eighth whisky. ‘Some of us. Some of us will get lucky and our writers will pick up our story again. Some of us will probably stay here forever. ‘
‘All we can do is hope,’ the barman said, none present in his voice.
Reuben let out a long sigh. ‘I was so enjoying it, too. Especially number three.’
Sam glanced up, watching his cigarette smoke curling towards the ceiling. Suddenly he felt a jolt, a tugging in his chest. It was just like his last heart attack, only this time there was no pain. He put the glass down, and noticed that his hands looked paler, the scars on his knuckles more defined.
‘Sam, are you all right? Reuben leaned forward. ‘You look – brighter.’
And suddenly his head was filled with words, with ideas. He knew who he was, and what he had to do. He pushed the bar stool back and stood up.
‘I might be-‘ he began.
‘He’s going back!’ the barman cried, hope back in his voice. ‘Sam’s going back! Who’d have thought it?’
Sam walked slowly towards the grey door with the fire bar across it, not daring to hope. Knowing his luck, when he got there the damn thing wouldn’t open. He laid a hand on the iron, and found it cold. It was the first sensation he had had in a long time. A deep feeling of calm came over him. As he pushed the bar, he felt it yield in his hand.
‘Lucky bastard!’ Reuben shouted.
He opened the door, and –
- walked across the precinct car park, ignoring the pan handlers hanging round the gate. It had come to him all at once: McGinty, and where he had got the money from, and what Lola had meant when she made that tearful phone call in the night. The body in the basement, and the lieutenant’s order for him to back off. It all came down to one man: Robertson. It all made perfect sense. He felt the weight of the Smith & Wesson at his side and a cold grin crossed his tired mouth.
‘Bad day, huh?’ Said the voice next to him.
The detective glanced sideways without moving his head. The young man had tousled hair like wild oats, and what his mother would call a trusting face.
‘Bad coupla months,’ the detective spat in a hoarse voice. ‘How long you been here?’
The young man’s eyes were bright and friendly, with just a hint of something darker there, down below. ‘Six weeks, three days, twenty one hours and an odd number of minutes,’ he said, folding his fingers neatly across his stomach. ‘Ever since my fourth murder, the teacher, the ice pick.’ He sighed. ‘He’s stuck. Thinks I’m not being smart enough to outwit the cops.’
‘Hah, he should meet my boss.’ The detective laughed, which sent him into another coughing fit. The young man extended one manicured hand.
‘Reuben Potts,’ he said.
The detective took the hand gingerly. ‘Sam,’ he croaked. ‘Aint got a last name yet.’
‘So what’s your guy’s story, Sam?’
Sam picked up his third whisky and drained it, then reached for his smokes.
‘It’s a woman. She thinks I’m too stereotyped.’
The barman refilled his glass. He had the sort of looks women would die for, and men would kill for, but his handsome blue eyes had a hollow tinge. He picked up his cocktail shaker with a weary hand.
‘I know just what you mean,’ he said.
Reuben put his head on one side so he could look past the detective.
‘We have company.’
Sam looked over. The young woman was dressed in a tight cream bodice with a massive skirt that was threatening to shove him off his bar stool. She looked round uncertainly, until her gaze landed on Sam. She must have liked what she saw.
‘Excuse me, sir, but what is this place? Why are we all here?’
Sam shook his head.
‘It’s all down to inspiration, motivation and interest,’ Reuben said with a bright smile.
‘Well, fiddlesticks, I’m Kathleen O’Shaunnessy, and I’ve got plenty of all of those!’
Sam took another drink. ‘T’aint you he was referring to,’ he said. He looked over one shoulder at a group of German soldiers, who had temporarily abandoned their card game to have a fist fight. The barman took an agile leap on to the bar and flexed his golden muscles.
‘Hey guys, cut it out! It’s crowded in here already without making it worse.’
The fight was still in full swing when there was a sudden gasp. A woman in a tight silver uniform stood up, sending the table flying. She would have had a pretty face if it hadn’t been for the gill-
‘I-
Her shoulders hunched, and she pulled her arms across her chest. ‘Oh no!’ she cried, tucking her head down into her arms, ‘Please, no, no! No!’
As the last word rang out, the gleam of silver faded slowly into the dark, and she was gone.
Sam turned back to the bar with a sigh.
‘Wh-
‘Surplus to requirements,’ Sam said shortly.
Reuben gave him a look.
‘The worst thing that can happen to any of us,’ he said. ‘Even worse than being stuck here.’
Kathleen’s eyes filled with tears, and her little white teeth bit down on her trembling lip.
‘She’s been deleted,’ the barman said, hollow eyed. ‘Edited out.’
‘Expunged,’ Reuben added.
‘Erased. Removed. Obliterated. In short, she’s gone.’
‘Will that happen to all of us?’ Kathleen whispered.
Sam shrugged, picking up his eighth whisky. ‘Some of us. Some of us will get lucky and our writers will pick up our story again. Some of us will probably stay here forever. ‘
‘All we can do is hope,’ the barman said, none present in his voice.
Reuben let out a long sigh. ‘I was
Sam glanced up, watching his cigarette smoke curling towards the ceiling. Suddenly he felt a jolt, a tugging in his chest. It was just like his last heart attack, only this time there was no pain. He put the glass down, and noticed that his hands looked paler, the scars on his knuckles more defined.
‘Sam, are you all right? Reuben leaned forward. ‘You look – brighter.’
And suddenly his head was filled with words, with ideas. He knew who he was, and what he had to do. He pushed the bar stool back and stood up.
‘I might be-
‘He’s going back!’ the barman cried, hope back in his voice. ‘Sam’s going back! Who’d have thought it?’
Sam walked slowly towards the grey door with the fire bar across it, not daring to hope. Knowing his luck, when he got there the damn thing wouldn’t open. He laid a hand on the iron, and found it cold. It was the first sensation he had had in a long time. A deep feeling of calm came over him. As he pushed the bar, he felt it yield in his hand.
‘Lucky bastard!’ Reuben shouted.
He opened the door, and –