Tony Black - Long Time Dead

My mind ran with the faces of the people I loved, had loved. I knew it was said that at the point of death your whole life flashes before you. I’d dismissed it as a cliché, but now I knew it wasn’t. I saw my brother Michael, my father stood by him. I felt confused, lost. I knew my heartbeat couldn’t sustain this rate for much longer; the pulse in my temples seemed to be squeezing my vision. I felt fragile, close to the end. Did I accept it, like Paul told me to? Did I give in, shake off this mortal coil? What the fuck had it ever done for me? Who’s to say there wasn’t better to come? Fucksake, Dury … knowing your luck, it would be the other place, the shithole.

I felt a last surge of fire in my belly, yelled, ‘This the way Ben went… loud and proud? That the way you killed your best mate, Paul… is it?’

For a young bloke, he held it together well. I expected more of a kick-off, more sparks. But he’d made that mistake once already, he wasn’t about to show himself up again. He knew he needed to keep it together. Paul had some idea of himself that didn’t tally with the facts, though. The lad was living up to the image of someone with more experience, years on the dial, import. But he was just a boy – who was he modelling himself on? There was no way he’d come this far without serious back-up, without protection.

‘Who’s pulling your strings, Paul?’ I blurted.

His thin lips trembled above his weak chin as he pointed to the stage. ‘Get him up there.’

‘Well, who is it?… I know the Seriatim are hooked up with the Craft, Paul. I know the filth are wiping your fucking arse.’

He turned. His eyes were moist, watery. I watched his thin lips part, almost imperceptibly. He seemed to take a deep breath, calmed himself, then took three steps towards me and grabbed at my collar.

‘Move it!’ he said.

Hands bundled me onto the stage. I kicked out, tried to free my arms, but I had no energy, no strength. My hands were tied behind my back and I was lifted onto the stool with little effort. As I stood I felt my legs tremble beneath me; my feet swayed on the stool as the noose went over my head. I stood silently for a second or two and then I felt the noose tightening round my neck. My whole body swayed in circles under the noose. The rope dug into my neck, pressed hard on my throat and arteries. The skin beneath the rope burned, I could feel the bite of it mixing with the salt of my sweat: it stung like a lash. I tried to block out the pain, to steady myself on the stool, but it was next door to impossible for me. With every movement the rope tightened on my neck. I saw my brother and my father again, they’d been joined by Stevo… I could taste blood, death.

Paul spoke: ‘You don’t understand a thing, Dury… not one thing.’ I tried to control my eyes, focus my gaze on him. He had his hands to his head. It was difficult to follow his movements as he paced.

‘I understand you killed Ben Laird,’ I spat. I still had some blood rising in me; my voice was a low rasp.

Paul stopped still when he heard me. ‘No… you’re wrong!’ He jerked suddenly where he stood. A shudder seemed to pass through him and he ran to my side. His hands grew animated as he spoke: ‘You see… Ben was the one that was off his head, mad at his mother for running off with that whore… Did you know Tina was a whore? Bender Ben couldn’t live with the shame, so he devised a little plan to get rid of Tina.’ Paul walked to my side, poked at my chest with his forefinger as he continued, ‘He slipped some GHB into her drink one night and introduced her to some of the lads that didn’t know her, said she was just another one of his whores.’ I saw where he was going with this. He didn’t seem to need any encouragement either, his hands shot into the air, painting the scene for me. ‘They all had her, every one of them. She was a fucking whore… Ben told them so.’

He turned away from me. His face reddened again and contorted with anger, sweat pooled beneath his eyes and nose, he gripped his fringe in his fingers. The knowledge of what he’d done was bursting out of him. I couldn’t tell if he was proud or worried – he was certainly hyped.

I spoke, ‘But Tina wasn’t on the game by then-’

‘No. No, she fucking wasn’t then… she was with Ben’s mother by then.’ He slapped his hip, drew fists. ‘Fucking Ben wanted rid of her… Ben brought this about. Put us all in danger, he fucking put us all in it… He didn’t think about anyone other than himself!’

I felt the rope cutting into my neck again, tightening harder this time. My head grew hot under the lights. My knees were buckling. ‘So you fucking hanged him for it.’

Paul flapped his arms, then hooked them around himself, shaking. ‘No. You don’t understand. That’s not how it was… that’s not how it was.’

I bit my lip; I could taste more blood. ‘Then tell me, Paul… how the fuck was it?’

He scrunched his brows. His words trembled: ‘When a member brings the Seriatim into disrepute, there’s only one way to deal with it… There always has been.’ He stepped back, motioned a hand to the floor. ‘They’re put on the stool with a noose round their neck. If they survive the night, then they’re home free.’

‘And if they don’t?’

Paul sparked, ‘Then they got what they deserved.’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It sounded like the kind of boys’ club horseshit that you only read about in silly novels by public school ponces. Did this kind of thing really go on? Did silly wee boys think they had the right to do this? My head spun.

‘So Ben never made it through the night?’

Paul shook his head. He let his chin touch his chest for a second. As he did so, there began a pounding on the door to the hall. I saw the broom jump in the handles. The pounding grew louder; some splinters fell from the hinges. I felt my feet slipping as my Docs lost their purchase on the smooth surface of the stool. I tap-danced for a few seconds, watching as the broom cracked and split. The pounding grew louder still, like a battering ram was being used, but the doors started to blur on me as the noose seemed to cut off my vision.

MY ANKLES TURNED NUMB, my shins ached. My calves and thighs burned up. I knew I couldn’t hold on much longer. The rope dug tighter and tighter. It was hard to breathe. I started to feel my shoulders grow heavy. My mind was all over the place – awash with strange sensations. Lights, flashes. At any moment, I knew, I could slip into unconsciousness. Paul paced before me: he spoke as though he was giving a lecture, but most of it missed me. I tried to tune in, caught odd words, phrases, but everything was blurring on me. He stopped still, leaned in and stared at the stool, ‘You won’t last the night, Dury… you’re just about done as it is.’

I heard more thuds on the door; they seemed to grow even louder and louder, but the broom handle held.

‘Get that fucking door,’ yelled Paul.

A couple of the group split off, ran for the front of the hall.

‘Hurry up,’ shouted Paul.

The lads got to the door, put hands on it; the banging continued. I could hear voices now, hysterical women’s voices. I didn’t know where they came from – my head, probably. Nothing seemed real to me any more; the noose cut deeper, blocked off my circulation. I choked, my breath thinned. I felt light-headed, drowsy. I wanted to drop into deep sleep. The women continued to wail, they called my name now, ‘Gus… Gus… Gus…’

Christ on a cross , where was I? I felt enormous pain in my back, at the base of my neck, where my skull joined my spine. It felt like an electric drill had started boring into me. I wanted to yell in agony but I had no strength left.