26 Mar Killing Time

I approached the Bucket of Blood pub from the other side of the street, waiting to cross after the Number 7 bus tore down the road. The neighborhood was quiet on this slow weekday afternoon, and this suited me just fine.

I glanced up at the grey clouds above, the drizzly rain falling on my head. But I ignored the miserable weather and focused on my objective, feeling the cold metal of the sawed-off shotgun concealed underneath my trench coat.

I paused briefly as I stepped off the road and onto the pavement, a cold chill running through me. This all seemed so familiar, like I’d been here before. I don’t mean on this road and outside the pub. I mean at this exact moment in time, with the rain, the No. 7 bus, and me on the street, with the gun concealed under my coat and a murderous intent in my heart.

It was the strangest feeling of déjà vu, and I did hesitate for the briefest of moments. But I put the experience down to last-minute nerves, remembering why I was here today and recalling the deep-seated hatred I carried with me—the overwhelming lust for revenge that drove me. I was going into that pub, and bloody mayhem would ensue.

I barged my way inside through the frosted glass doors, the stench of stale smoke, spilled alcohol, and piss hitting my nostrils. Taking a deep breath, I surveyed the inside of the pub in search of my quarry.

The establishment was near empty at this time of day. I counted only three patrons and the girl behind the bar. Again, the déjà vu hit me as I thought I recognized all present, thinking that I’d seen these people many times before and that they were like old friends by this point.

Two regulars sat separately in booths facing the bar. There was an old man with grey hair and an unkempt shaggy beard, dressed in a ragged jumper full of holes. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused, and he looked down at the pint on the table in front of him, ignoring all else as he seemed engrossed in his own personal sorrow.

The second regular was equally quiet and docile, a middle-aged woman with red hair slowly going grey. She still had glimpses of her youthful beauty—a twinkle in her green eyes and a shapely body hidden under her black dress. But whatever tragedies she’d suffered through in her life had surely taken their toll, along with many years of heavy smoking and alcoholism. She smiled faintly in my direction before returning to her glass of white wine and accompanying cigarette.

The barmaid was cleaning glasses when I came in. She was a young and attractive girl with long blonde hair and expressive blue eyes. The barmaid shot me a friendly smile when she saw me enter, saying, “Yes, love, what can I get you?”

I ignored her and continued to scan the room in search of my target. I found him standing in the corner playing on the fruit machine, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. I glared across at my nemesis from the far side of the bar, the raw hatred rising from the pit of my stomach as I prepared myself for the violent retribution to come.

Five years inside…that’s what I’d done thanks to this bastard. And when I got out, he’d treated me like I was nothing, spitting on me like I was a mangy dog. This lowlife had shown me no respect, and that was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

But Carter didn’t even notice my presence at first, as his focus was entirely on the electronic gambling machine. As I watched, his bald head nodded up and down, and his dark eyes burned with that most basic of human instincts: naked greed.

He pulled the lever, and his numbers came up. The machine burst to life with noise and light as it dispensed a stream of pound coins.

“Oh, happy days!” Carter exclaimed, as he started collecting his winnings in his huge hands.

I decided this was the perfect time to reveal my presence.

“Some bastards get all the luck in life!” I shouted.

Carter suddenly turned in my direction. There was anger in his face at first, but his expression changed to one of contempt once he saw me.

“Well, well! Look what the cat dragged in!” He grinned sadistically, showing off his gold fillings.

“Afternoon, Carter,” I replied, playing his game for just a bit longer. “It seems we have some unfinished business.”

“Bollocks, we do!” Carter shot back dismissively. “I’ve got nothing to say to you, mate. Now, get out of here before you get hurt!”

I saw red in that moment, as any doubts in my mind were cast aside. In an instant, I pulled the shotgun out from under my coat. The girl behind the bar screamed, but I ignored her whilst pointing the gun at my enemy.

Carter was stunned at first, and I savored the fear I saw in his eyes as he looked down the barrel. But the arrogance soon returned to his grizzled face as he laughed in defiant mockery.

“You haven’t got the balls, son!” he proclaimed.

Next, Carter smashed his pint glass, fashioning it into a weapon, and advanced menacingly towards me.

I hesitated for only a second before pulling the trigger, experiencing a heavy kickback and the deafening roar as the gun fired. A millisecond later, buckshot tore through Carter’s chest, spraying blood and viscera in all directions as his body was thrown backwards violently, collapsing onto the stained carpet.

I stood in shocked awe for a moment, admiring my own grim handiwork as Carter, fatally wounded, choked on his own blood and closed his eyes for the last time.

I felt like I was living through a dream, or rather, a nightmare. But this all seemed so familiar—the smell of cordite, the blood-stained carpet, the barmaid screaming hysterically, and that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach—as reality hit home.

Suddenly I needed to get out of that damned pub. I couldn’t bear to stay at the scene of the crime for even a moment longer. I swung around, seeing the grey-bearded regular now standing up in his booth, his glazed eyes filled with raw terror.

He threw his hands up defensively once he saw my still smoking shotgun, crying, “Please, mate! Don’t shoot!”

I had no interest in taking another life and so sprinted towards the door, pushing my way out as the barmaid’s screams still rang in my ears.

I ran out onto the pavement intending to make my escape, but I didn’t get far, as my path was blocked. The figure that stood in my way was unnerving, to say the least. He was immaculately dressed, wearing a dark three-piece suit, shined shoes, a black tie, and a bowler hat. His fancy clothing made him stand out in this working-class neighborhood, but that was the very least of my concerns.

It was when I looked to his face that my blood turned to ice. His skin was a deathly pale and seemed to be wrapped around his skull too tightly. Meanwhile, the strange man’s eyes appeared dark and soulless, resembling those of a shark. But most disturbing was the unnaturally wide grin plastered across his dry lips—a smile that was anything but friendly.

His twisted face was a red flag, as were his claw-like hands. To this day, I struggle to fully explain this dark-suited man’s appearance, or even his existence. I didn’t feel like he was human, and yet I swore I’d seen him before, believing this dark figure had been haunting my nightmares for a long time.

But none of that mattered then. All I cared about in that moment was escaping from the murder scene, and the weirdo was standing in my way.

Instinctively, I raised my gun and aimed at his chest, snarling a threat as I placed my finger on the trigger.

“Move or I’ll blow you away!” I yelled.

He didn’t budge an inch, his unnerving grin not faltering and his dark eyes not blinking. I was scared—terrified, even, but I couldn’t let that show.

“Last chance, mate!” I growled.

There was no response.

I didn’t want to shoot this bloke, but he left me no choice. I pulled the trigger, firing the second shell and cutting the strange man down in the middle of the street.

But then something inexplicable occurred. The dark-suited man had fallen to the pavement, but he didn’t stay down. I looked on in horror as he dragged himself back up on two feet, no blood or wounds evident on his body as he wagged his bony finger at me and spoke in a deep, inhuman voice.

“No good, son,” he said. “Better luck next time.”

With that, all hell broke loose. I felt an intense heat below my feet as the soles of my boots began to melt. The next thing I knew, the heat and fire were all around me, the entire street consumed by flames, my skin and clothes burning up. I dropped my gun and tried in vain to shield my face as the fire grew in intensity.

Screaming in agony, I cast one last look at the still-grinning entity before the pain overwhelmed my senses and the darkness took me.

I stood on the pavement, a drizzle of rain falling on my head as I looked across at the Bucket of Blood public house, where I knew my target was currently drinking. I paused before crossing the street as the Number 7 bus proceeded down the road.

Next came the moment of doubt just before I entered the pub, a strange sense of déjà vu which I wrote off as nerves. Entering the establishment, I was hit by familiar sights, sounds, and smells, but I wrote them all off. Once you’ve seen one back-street boozer, you’ve seen them all.

The blonde behind the bar asked me if I wanted a drink. I ignored her. My mind was focused on just one thing: putting that bastard Carter in the ground. I spotted him playing the fruit machine, cheering as he won the jackpot. This only served to further fuel my anger.

“Some bastards get all the luck!” I exclaimed.

Carter turned in my direction, voicing an insult to which I paid no attention. My blood pressure was still through the roof as I drew the sawed-off from my trench coat and aimed the barrel at Carter’s chest.

The barmaid screamed in terror, but I ignored her, remaining focused on my target as I fingered the trigger. But I didn’t shoot. Instead, I lowered the shotgun as a thought entered my head, a buried memory that I couldn’t explain or rationalize.

“No, this isn’t right!” I called out. “I’ve been here before! I’ve killed you before! You’re already dead, Carter!”

Carter grinned sadistically, showing off his gold fillings as he answered. “No, mate. Sorry to disappoint. I’m not dead—but you’re about to be!”

With that, he smashed his pint glass, converting it into a makeshift weapon, and he charged straight at me from across the pub floor, crying out with a murderous rage in his eyes.

I tried to adjust my aim but was too slow. Carter closed the gap and grabbed hold of the gun’s barrel. The shotgun went off, but the shot fell well wide of the mark. Simultaneously, Carter knocked me down and went for my throat with the broken glass.

A life and death struggle ensued as I desperately fought to save my own skin. I don’t know how, but I managed to kick Carter off me before I grabbed hold of the gun, aimed, and fired.

The buckshot hit Carter at point blank range, blowing his head clean off and showering me with gore, covering me with skull fragments and gore. I resisted the strong urge to empty my stomach as my brain tried to come to terms with the horror.

The ringing in my ears gradually faded, and I heard the barmaid screaming hysterically. Her reaction was understandable given the circumstances, but it was worse than I expected. I was still in a daze as I wiped the blood from my face and surveyed the scene.

Carter was clearly dead.

The blast had blown his head off.

But he wasn’t the only casualty.

The first misplaced shot had inadvertently hit one of the regulars, the red-haired woman in the black dress sitting in a corner booth. The buckshot had nearly cut the poor woman in two. Her body now slumped over the table, her blood spilling across the carpet.

I felt the burning sensation of extreme guilt inside my skull as I realized that an innocent woman had died due to my actions. I didn’t want to be there any longer. I needed to get out of this hell of my own making and escape from the bloodshed.

I darted towards the door but found my path blocked. The man in the dark suit and bowler hat was inside the pub, blocking my exit route. He was an unusual, frightening figure, his skin, eyes and lips all wrong. But worst of all was his hideous smile, a sickening mockery of all things decent.

I had no shells left in my gun and no means by which to evade him. But escape was no longer an option as the pub’s interior burst into flames, the fire consuming everything and everyone in its path.

I screamed as my clothes ignited and my skin blistered under the intense heat, quickly losing consciousness. All the while, the dark-suited man smiled.

* * * * * *

When I came to, I found myself on the street, across the street from the Bucket of Blood pub. I knew what I’d come to do. Carter had screwed me over – disrespected and humiliated me. He was a scumbag who deserved to die, and I was going to be the one to put him down.

That’s why I bought the sawn-off shotgun from the Yardies. Why I’d been following Carter for weeks, memorizing his routine. How I knew he’d be at this pub that afternoon. It was all planned out, a premeditated murder which I was determined to carry out no matter what the cost.

So, why was I having these doubts? Was this a last-minute ping of conscience? This had never affected me before. I felt there was something more, something deeper that I was yet to grasp. But still, I didn’t feel I could walk away from it. It seemed it was my destiny to enter that damned pub and face whatever lay inside.

The Number 7 bus rumbled down the street, and I waited until it passed before I crossed the road. Cold rain drizzled on my head as I placed my shaking hand on the doorknob, but the icy chill I felt had nothing to do with the weather.

Deep down, I knew this wouldn’t end well, but I persevered nonetheless, entering the public house and encountering those who seemed like family to me—the bearded man, the red-haired woman, and the young blonde behind the bar.

And then, of course, there was Carter. My nemesis, my destiny. I’d carried so much hate in my heart for this man for so long—a murderous rage which had brought me to this time and place. But now I was here, and I questioned why I’d gone down the road of violence and revenge.

The scene was all too recognizable. The barmaid asking for my drinks order, the crashing of coins falling from the fruit machine…But something was different this time. There was someone in the pub that wasn’t meant to be there, at least not yet.

The man in the dark suit, the entity with the inhuman face, was sitting at the bar, observing everything with his unblinking black eyes. It chilled me to my bones just to look upon him, but the others in the pub didn’t seem aware of the entity’s presence, and events moved on regardless.

Carter turned in my direction, his eyes lighting up with malice as he spat out his words. “Well, look who’s back!”

I went through the motions, pulling the sawed-off from under my trench coat and aiming at my target. My finger was on the trigger, but I didn’t shoot, couldn’t shoot. Not this time.

Instead, I dropped my gun, throwing it down on the stained pub carpet as I turned my back on my violent intent. I was done with this, but Carter saw my voluntary disarming as a sign of weakness. He grinned menacingly, showing off his gold filling before smashing his pint glass to create an improvised weapon.

“You should’ve stayed at home, mate!” he snarled aggressively. “Now I’m going to gut you like a fish!”

With that, he charged with the jagged glass in hand. I didn’t run or try to defend myself. All I wanted was for this nightmare to end, even if it meant my own death. And so I closed my eyes and prepared for the end, expecting to feel the broken glass cutting my neck in mere seconds.

But the end never arrived. I opened my eyes in time to witness my savior, the man in the dark suit. He had sat back and watched up until that point, but now he burst into action, darting forward with extraordinary speed and determination.

Carter barely had time to see the attack coming, let alone defend against it. And the dark-suited entity used super-human strength, easily knocking the broken glass from Carter’s hand before grabbing him by the throat and snapping his neck like a twig.

I watched in astonishment as Carter’s lifeless body collapsed down to the carpet, his life snuffed out by someone else’s hand. The dark-suited entity turned to face me once the grisly deed was done, the uncomfortably wide grin still on his lips as his black eyes focused upon my person. I felt his gaze burning through me, but there was something else, too.

The pub had gone deadly silent. The barmaid had stopped screaming and was staring at me with dark eyes, as were the two regulars—the red-headed woman and the grey-bearded man. Everyone’s attention was on me. But it was left up to the dark-suited man to speak, his tone deep and inhuman but surprisingly conciliatory in that moment.

“Well then, my friend, we’re finally making some progress. Please grab a stool so we can talk.”

I looked towards the door and thought about running, but reckoned that wouldn’t work too well. It was beginning to come back to me—the pub, the gun, Carter. I’d been here before, many times, perhaps, but I couldn’t explain why or how, and only the dark-suited man could provide these answers.

I sat on a stool facing the bar, the humanoid entity opposite me. I didn’t want to look at his face but forced myself to do so. To my surprise, the entity’s features had softened somewhat, his hideous grin replaced by a sympathetic smile, his dark eyes becoming almost human-like.

He turned to the dead-eyed blonde behind the bar and ordered a drink for me.

“Pour him a double whiskey on the rocks, please, love. He’s going to need it.”

The barmaid did as instructed without comment, robotically pouring the stiff drink and placing the glass on the bar in front of me. I stared at the brown liquid in confusion, but my attention was soon drawn to the corner of the room.

There, I was horrified to see Carter’s limp body twitch and then clearly move, as he slowly and awkwardly pulled himself up from the floor onto two feet. His neck was broken, but his dead eyes stared directly at me. I reeled back on my stool, but the dark-suited man soon reassured me.

“Oh, don’t worry, son,” he said. “He can’t hurt you anymore.” He nodded his dome-shaped head before continuing. “Now, son, let me ask you a question. Who do you think you are?”

He meant this as a question, not a rebuke. But still I was confused. “What do you mean?” I spluttered.

“Well, let’s start with your name. Can you tell me that?”

I thought for a moment but drew a blank. It should have been the easiest question in the world, and yet I couldn’t remember.

Who was I?

Where did I come from?

I had no idea.

Frustrating as it was, all I could remember was the street, the pub, and the murderous rage I held towards Carter. I shook my head in the negative, looking down at the floor as my heart sank.

“Interesting,” the entity replied thoughtfully. “You have made progress, but still have some way to go. I could wait for you to remember more, but perhaps it’s time to reveal the truth.”

He paused briefly, waiting for me to meet his eye.

“Your name is Charlie Hill. In life, you were a small-time criminal and armed robber. In 1990, you were sentenced to five years in prison after a bank job gone wrong. The man you blamed for your incarceration was one Billy Carter.”

He nodded to the zombie watching us from the corner of the room.

“In 1995, you ambushed Carter inside the Barrel of Blood public house, gunning him down in cold blood. There were three witnesses to the murder, the barmaid on duty and two regular patrons.”

One by one, I glanced at the trio who’d been caught up in my murderous attack, seeing them look upon me with judgmental eyes.

“You were convicted of premeditated murder and sentenced to life in prison,” the entity continued. “Six months ago, you died in prison of natural causes—a heart attack, I believe. That’s when they sent you here.”

I felt sick to my stomach, my head spinning as the terrible truth was finally revealed. Instinctively, I reached out for the glass on the bar top, pouring the strong whiskey down my throat in an attempt to calm my nerves.

Taking a deep breath, I asked the inevitable next question. “So, this is my punishment then? I’m in hell, aren’t I?”

“Not exactly,” the entity replied with a sly chuckle. “You’re being punished for your mortal sin, but all is not lost. You have replayed this scenario thousands of times since you first arrived in my realm. Time after time, you gunned Carter down without a second thought. But, on these last few occasions, you’ve shown real progress—genuine remorse and regret, and a will to break away from the violent cycle.”

I felt the pressure rising from my chest as suddenly I discovered a glimmer of hope.

“So, it’s over then?” I asked cautiously. “Have I made amends?”

The dark-suited man shook his head in the negative. “I’m afraid not, Charlie,” he said. “You have taken the first steps towards redemption, but the sin you committed on the mortal realm was severe. You still have a long way to go before salvation, my son. But this stage of your journey is over. Remember what you learned here, Charlie. I wish you all the best.”

With that, he offered his bony hand for me to shake. I was reluctant to do so, but I realized it was necessary, so I accepted his icy cold palm and shook.

A moment later, the pub once again burst into flames, as the holy fire consumed everything and everyone. The barmaid, the regulars, and Carter all disappeared into the flames one by one, leaving only me and the dark-suited entity behind.

I watched in horror as the hideous smile returned to his crusty lips and his eyes turned black.

But I didn’t scream. Even as the righteous inferno burned me up, I held my tongue.

Then, the darkness took me, and I was transported to the next phase of my long and arduous journey of redemption.