A brief moment of morality

“You know what. I quit.” I wanted to take it back the moment I said it. Oh gosh what have I done? What was I thinking?

His gaze, initially lazing out the window, jerked towards me. “Quit.” The word wasn’t spoken. It was hissed. “What makes you think you can just… quit?” His foreboding figure filled the window, casting a shadow that consumed me. Reducing me to an ant under a looming heel. I felt like a rabbit facing the flared nostrils of a shotgun.

Take it back. Plead insanity. Drop to your knees and beg forgiveness. But I couldn’t. Be it an overwhelming sense of pride or a complete lack of survival instinct, I couldn't allow myself to take it back. “Thank you for employing me, but I can continue no further.”

My fate sealed, I turned on my heels and fled the stifling room. As I walked through the dark corridors people either ducked away or snickered. Whispers pressed against my back. It was as if the whole building had its ear pressed against the door. Or maybe, they all recognized a dead man when they saw one.

Exiting the den, my eyes burned in the sunlight. I lifted one heavy foot after another until I reach my car. And as I sat with my hands on the wheel, I could see a dark silhouette haunting the second story window of that unassuming warehouse.

Fading sunlight streaked my cramped apartment. I fell back against my front door, sucking in a deep breath. I clasped my face in my hands and laughed hysterically. How many times had I been warned? How many times had my mother foretold the trouble my mouth would get me into? It was “too fast for my brain.” But it was easier to act first, think later. Life was too hostile to hesitate. But in that moment, all instinct had abandoned me. I’d let some naive sense of morality puppet my tongue.

Was my life even worth fighting for? Wouldn’t it be so much easier to just lay down and wait for the axe to fall upon my neck. I dragged my hands down my face, locking eyes with the sunset. Silhouettes of buildings polluted the horizon. But just above them, I could see the ensemble of colors that bled from the sun into the sky. It was beautiful. I let out a resolute sigh.

My body moved automatically, throwing necessities into my father’s old army duffle, that was still in better shape than me. I pulled out the couple hundred bills I had stashed in my sock drawer and shook down the couch for loose change. If I was gonna run, I’d need every last cent. As I was checking how many rounds were left in my pistol, a knock that seemed to reverberate through the grave echoed from my door. My heart immediately began pounding against my ribcage. I approached cautiously, gun raised and squinted through the peephole. Standing on my doorstep, was the haggard figure of my friend Jeremy. Flooded with relief, I threw open the door.

“Jerry! How long’s it been?”

“Too long.” His voice grumbled with cigarette smoke.

“Come on in. I’d say this day warrants a drink.”

“I’ll say.” He came in and collapsed onto my ragged couch that groaned under his weight.

“How’s the family?” I pulled a bottle of scotch from under the counter and clink some ice cubes into mismatched glasses with tattoos of faded logos.

“Doin' good. Jame’s still bringing home everything he comes across. By now we’ve got a whole colony of frogs. Then there’s the ant farm, who’s livestock keep escaping. Oh, and a shoe box with a snail named Bob.” An affectionate laugh rumbled in his chest.

“Don’t know how you do it.” I offered a glass to my guest. “Can hardly sustain myself, let alone a family.”

“Laura’s the one keeping things together.” He accepted with a nod of gratitude. I dragged up an old chair, that’d been formerly sequestered to the corner, and dusted it off before sitting down.

Silence set in aside from the occasional clinking of ice. Finally, Jerry set down his glass with a resolute clunk. “Are we really gonna do this?”

I lifted my glass to the remaining sliver of sunlight and took a moment to admire the glowing liquid bronze. A final deep sigh. “I’m afraid so.” Before my lips released the last syllable, I’d lifted my glass and shattered it into my friend's head. He countered by pouncing upon me, sending the revolver I’d just withdrawn out of my hand and scattering gosh knows where. Pinned to the ground I desperately guarded my head against heavy blows. I was at a disadvantage. I had to find a way out of this position. I dropped an arm away from my head, allowing a heavy blow to connect with my jaw, but allowing me to grab a broken chair leg. With the salty taste of blood rapidly filling my mouth, I jabbed it viciously into his side, knocking all the air from his lungs. He folded and I didn’t waste a second, smashing my fist into his nose. Then a knee to the gut and a final shove to get him off.

Blood pounding through my skull, I fought to my feet only to see him nearly on his and quickly reaching into his coat. With all the strength I could muster, I charged him like a bull. We crashed into the wall, cratering the thin plaster, and sending a picture frame shattering to the floor. My firsts slammed rapidly into his ribs, but he grabbed my head in his goliath hands and rammed it into the wall.

I crumbled, fighting desperately to remain conscious. Jeremy stumbled back, gasping, blood pouring from his fractured nose. “Why’d…you have to… go and quit.” He unholstered his weapon.

Arms straining, I pushed myself up. Driven by nothing but a desperate need to survive, I rapidly picked up a glass shard and ran low. Without time to aim, the bullets only grazed me. I slashed his hand then drove the shard deep into his abdomen. He fell first to his knees, where I grabbed his head and rammed it into my knee. Jeremy toppled backwards. I collapsed next to him, shoveling air into my lungs.

Adrenaline seeped away quickly, and pain pulsed through my entire body. Blood stuck to my lips and rolled down my chin. My left eye was caked by the blood seeping from the gash on my temple. A feeble hand lifted towards me. “What…tryna… choke me?” I coughed.

“...Run.” He gasped. “I’m…sorry.” His lips moved to form more words, but nothing came out. Adrenaline was gone. Remorse took over. I clasped his hand and looked to the man I called my friend, just in time to see his eyes rolled back in their sockets. Everything was silent once more. I squeezed his hand as it went limp. All the light was gone. Nothing left but intrusive silence. I held on in the dark, resting my head against our clasped hands.

Andrew Scott. Probably Andy to his friends. With a head of unruly, curly bright orange hair and a baby face he was yet to shed. The moment he got a position as a criminal journalist, he started poking around in affairs others were too cautious to pursue. Maybe he was driven by some fierce desire to prove himself or a naive sense of justice. Just another son, friend, brother. Just another 20-something year old. All this started because I wouldn’t take his life. Was it really worth it? Now, instead of a total stranger I knelt next to the body of my friend, my comrade. I tried to rationalize the guilt away, but nothing could wash the blood from my hands.

Run. I had to survive. Otherwise, this was all for nothing. I clutched my bag and retrieved both weapons.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“One dead. Hedgeway apartments on Peakland Avenue. Apartment 228.”

“Sir, I don’t unstan-”

I shattered the phone beneath my heel. Evading with my own car was out of the question. Noticing a young woman approaching hers, I began reaching for the gun next to my racing heart.

“Give me your keys!” She gasped and turned to meet the barrel of my weapon. Recognition flashed across her face, followed by betrayal. With a shaky hand, she handed over her keys and stepped back under my instruction.

“I’m…sorry.” The words felt corrosive. I swung into the driver’s seat and swiftly pulled onto the road. As I drove into the night, I could hear the hysterical wails of sirens in the distance.