1. The Closing Minutes

The final moments of a boy's life, whose death brings down both bad men and good.

1

‘Reese, they got me. If they got you too, if that’s why you’ve not been picking up, then I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean for -- I was trying to make things right again. It was with good intentions, yeah?’
     As he left the message Deano could hear his voice reverberating in the phone, delayed by half a second. It sounded higher than it did in his head. Younger. Worse, he sounded afraid. He wasn’t afraid. What he felt was a hot, molten rage at the unfairness of it all. If rage alone could have kept him alive then he would have been sorted.
     Five minutes before he left the message he had been heading home. Exhaust-scorched grass and hedgerows reached up either side of him.  He was on his BMX, hurtling down a cut-through. The burn in his thighs made him want to go faster, until the tears blistering in the corners of his eyes could be blamed on his speed and not on something more shameful. His wheels skipped over flat puddles like black holes laid out in the road ready to rip him apart and reduce him to scattered matter.
     Keep it together…
    The sun that afternoon was washed-out and wintry. It was the last hour of daylight and Deano thought he was alone.
     He heard from behind him the snarl of a diesel engine and swung his bike over to the side of the road to let the vehicle pass, something he did instinctually. He wasn’t thinking about the van when it struck him hard from behind. 
     Deano’s head snapped back. He was flung up, slammed into the windscreen. A crunch of bone and glass. A wail as the frame of his bike buckled. He hit the road and rolled. 
     An accident: that was his first scrambled thought. Just some wanker driver, probably chatting on their phone, and in the dying light hadn’t seen the boy on the bike. Blood thundered in his ears and filled his mouth, bitter and metallic, and he spat it out as he shakily raised his finger.  
     ‘TOSSER!’ 
     The van had stopped with the tangled remains of his bike beneath its front bumper and spidery cracks radiating out from the centre of the windscreen. Deano removed his helmet and got stiffly to his feet, holding his ribs. His lungs didn’t want to inflate and his chest was tight. The driver jumped out and strode towards him, his bootfalls heavy on the pitted country road.
     ‘What are you, blind?’ Deano panted. ‘You’re lucky I’m hurt or I’d properly mess you up right now!’ 
     Deano was fifteen and the smallest boy in his year. The driver quirked his head and smiled at him, like he’d said something funny; he was tall and work-strong, with grey in his hair and unevenly trimmed beard. Another door slammed: someone else had got out of the passenger side. The second man, who was younger than the first but not as fit, threw open the doors at the back of the transit. He reached in and brought out a cricket bat which he threw to the driver. Then Deano clicked. 
     He hadn’t expected them to find him so soon. 
     He had thought he’d been smart about it.
     ‘F**k..!’
     He turned and ran, or tried to. His left leg was immobilised by pain and his skull felt like it was combusting: lights exploded behind his eyes, bright flashes of disorientating colour. He limped on, quick as he could, his breath hot clouds ahead of him. The man behind him casually matched his pace.
     Deano fumbled in his pocket for his phone and then dialled his brother’s number. He hadn’t answered his calls for weeks now but Deano made a wish that this time he would. 
     When he heard the familiar answer phone message he lunged at one of the towering hedgerows which bordered the lane, scrabbling up the bank and attempting to push through the hawthorn and into the field beyond, but the branches were too close and they forced him back. A blackbird burst out chattering in alarm and the woodpigeons clattered after it. Even the birds were deserting him. He left his message, his hurried goodbye to Reese.
     A strong hand closed about his ankle, dragged him back into the gravel and dust of the roadside. Deano aimed a kick at the man’s jaw as he bent down to pull him up and the feel of his tatty trainer connecting hard with his chin was satisfying, as was the snap of his teeth and his sharp, pained inhale of breath. 
     ‘Worthless little scrote…!’
     Deano grinned a red-toothed grin. People had called him worthless all his life. He’d never listened, and he wasn’t about to start now. He hocked out a mouthful of pinkish-green phlegm which hit the denim target and stuck. The man’s lip curled as he swiped the spit off his jeans and raised the cricket bat. 
    The thwack of the bat as it struck him and the bray of applause from the second man took Deano back to the beach. Back to a not-so-distant childhood. Playing with dad, with Reese. Mum a rubbish fielder somewhere behind him with Pimms in one hand and a camera in the other as she shrieked encouragement to both sides. To both her boys. 
     The first blow broke his forearm and the second his collarbone. The third sent him into darkness, but only briefly. He came to in the van. No light. Oil and petrol and sharp metallic smells singeing his nostrils. The floor beneath him was lurching, rolling him into bundled tools. He vomited and passed out again.
     They had shaken him awake when they’d reached that place, and then worse things were done. Wires and water. A crackling, sparking heat that seared his skin and sent lightning arcing through his skull.  
     Now his breathing sounded like the rattle of a tin of spray paint. His peripheries were greying, shrinking his vision to a single pinpoint of light. The cold crept up into his bones and Deano thought of mum. He summoned up the sweet smell of her and nestled into it and slowly the pain began to lessen. 
     He hoped it wouldn’t be her who had to identify him. He wasn’t pretty. But then dad was gone, Reese was gone. Who else was left?
     It wasn’t fair they’d taken him from her too. He kept his eyes fixed on the two men as the world fell away. With his stare he both condemned them for what they’d done and begged them not to do any more. To leave her alone, at least.
     The pinpoint of light extinguished.
     Not fair…

 

 

Author's Note

All constructive criticism gratefully received.

Reviews

[NoelHC]

I have read that editors want the writer to grab the reader's attention with the first words, and take them right into the story immediately. You achieved that very well with this first chapter, and I feel compelled to read on. I am not sure what it looked like prior to Justin's suggestions, but I certainly could see nothing else I would suggest needs changing.
Well written.

[MyAddictionToMe]

"People had called him worthless all his life. He’d never listened, and he wasn't about to start now." I like this line and his kind of 'piss off' attitude. nice!

[SLD Bailey]

I'm really pleased you liked Deano's 'tude :) I hate that I only get to really write one chapter with him in it, as although the plot hinges on him in many respects he's absent from it. Boo. Still, hopefully it gives readers the impetus to find out why what happened happened. The crux of all crime writing.

[SLD Bailey]

Also, thanks so much for taking the time to review :)

[The Quill]

nice one ma'am..i am not good in this genre but your writing made me think into it :) well written

[avant security guard]

well done--above the crowd--interesting
I read of your interest in crime fiction--so far--this is different
very rough and tumble--I like it

[SLD Bailey]

First off, great name :) Secondly, thank you for your kind review. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the following chapters, if it isn't too much of an imposition!

[Jonathan Barrett]

This first chapter seemed very interesting, the descriptions are paint a very vivid image. i like it, a lot actually.

[SLD Bailey]

Ahhh, awesome, I'm glad :) I hope you keep reading!

[A. Amos]

Every writer has a voice and you truly have a good one, great start and will back to read rest...:)

[SLD Bailey]

A massive compliment, thank you so much :)

[A. Amos]

You're most welcome

[Justin Powell]

First off, you made me want to read on so you accomplished the main goal of any first chapter. I found this chapter riveting and suspenseful. It was in the moment and had the perfect amount of mystery. You absolutely nailed the requirements of a great first chapter and ensured that I will be reading and reviewing what comes next.

There are still parts that could be looked at closely. The flashback came out of nowhere and so the transition could be more clear. In the moment of being struck by the bat what other sensation around him might remind him of the beach? That might also open up an opportunity for more setting. Also, you write after they leave the van that worse things happened. As grim as it might be, the reader could use a little more detail. Hint some more about what those things were but still keep it somewhat vague. Repulse the reader by playing with their imaginations through some more detail. Make them imagine the trauma Deano is going through. That adds sympathy and more mystery as to who these people are and what Deano has done to inspire this punishment.

This is a very strong piece. I look forward to reading more. Great work!

Courtesy of the Constructive Critics

[SLD Bailey]

Wow, you Constructive Critics do what it says on the tin! This was immensely helpful, thank you. I have edited the piece per your recommendations and I think the chapter is much stronger for it. I'm very grateful, thank you :)

[A. Amos]

You're most welcome

[Justin Powell]

The additions were exactly what I was envisioning. I am glad that my suggestions were helpful.

[SonOfPlunder]

Interesting start, caught my attention and i very much look forward to reading the rest..

[SLD Bailey]

Thanks, SonOfPlunder! I'm glad it held your attention and hope you are able to read the next chapters :)

[SonOfPlunder]

You're welcome, it certainty grabbed me. Look forward to the rest!

[Dickey Harrold]

Hi Bailey. I stumbled a bit in this read due to being overly descriptive. It took away from the flow. The sentence variation are too similar, meaning length, word count which doesn't allow the reader to engage with the story. (My opinion) A bit of dialogue during the beating would have impelled compassion allowing (show vr telling). Why was he beat? Maybe I missed that. Just needs some polishing.

[SLD Bailey]

Thanks for taking the time to read this, Dickey. I shall attempt to polish it some! You're not supposed to know why he was beaten, though. That's the question the plot hangs on so revealing it in the first chapter would be counter-intuitive. I agree that a little dialogue may work to break up the description/action and will try to slot some in, but not during the beating.

[Dickey Harrold]

I forgot this is a chapter. Your write about why he is beat.

[MAC]

well, I am not much of a writer so criticism whether constructive or otherwise won't be happening. I can tell you that this is gripping to me and therefore an excellent opening chapter. based on the beginning I would make the purchase.

[SLD Bailey]

That in itself is hugely helpful :) It's sometimes good to know what is working, thank you so much for taking the time to read this.