John Avery - Three Days To Die

At last he said, "We were robbing a bank, and I — "

"Wait a second… Did you say you were robbing a bank? "

"Yes," Aaron replied sheepishly.

Willy wanted to scream. " What? "

Aaron fought back tears as his shameful confession poured out. "I joined up with them, Willy. They kidnapped me… a-and I tried to escape… then my mom called… and I joined their gang and made masks… a-and we drank whiskey and robbed Community Plaza Bank in jumpsuits — and they shot me."

This was too much for Willy. He forgot all about Aaron's weakened condition and laid into him. "You stupid sod," he said. "I heard about that robbery… someone died during that!"

Aaron knew this, of course. "I know," he admitted sadly.

"I can't believe this is happening," Willy said looking around. "You've done some barmy-ass shit before, Aaron. But this — this takes the bloody freakin' cake."

He turned and took a few steps away… then returned. "You know what? If you don't die from being shot, I'll kill you myself." He went to the sink for a glass of water. He was totally knackered.

Aaron wanted desperately for Willy to understand and forgive him. "I don't know how I got mixed up in all this," he said. "But it happened, okay?… and I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

"You should be," Willy said gruffly, his back to Aaron. "Shit…"

Aaron glanced at the clock over the stove. 5:30 p.m. He tried to sit up, but it hurt too much and he flopped back down clenching his teeth.

"I have to go to Sally's Diner tonight," he said, sweating, now.

"Yeah, right," Willy said, uninterested. "You can't even sit up."

Aaron felt himself entering the early stages of panic. He made two fists, struggling to keep his head clear. "I have to do something," he said, "or he'll kill her."

Willy turned and looked at him. "What the bloody hell are you talking about? Kill who?"

"My mom!"

"What? Who will?"

"Damn it, Willy… don't you ever listen? Johnny Souther! The guy I robbed the damn bank with. The guy who shot me for cryin' out loud." He coughed hard into his hand, and there was blood. "They're meeting at Sally's Diner tonight at 6:30. She's trading herself for me! "

He pointed urgently at a small plastic trash can sitting on the floor under the table. Willy grabbed it and handed it to him. Aaron clutched the container to his chest and wretched. Then he continued.

"She's seen his face, Willy. She saw him kill Tom. He'll hurt her. I know he wants to hurt her!" He began to shiver and Willy pulled the blanket up to cover him.

"Here, try to drink," Willy said, trading the trash can for the glass of water.

Aaron managed a few sips, then wiped his mouth and eyes on his sleeve and gathered himself for a moment.

"I think we should take the son-of-a-bitch out," he said at last.

"Whoa!" Willy coughed, unprepared for that one. "Let's slow down a minute…" He glanced around for Aaron's trash can, feeling a strong urge to donate some of his own vomit to the cause.

Aaron looked at him, eyes full of fear, the pain intense. He couldn't think of any other way out of this. "What else can I do, Willy?" he argued. " What else can I do…? "

Willy took a drink from the water glass, struggling to find his words.

"Listen, mate," he said at last, placing his hand on Aaron's arm. "Try and get some rest, okay?" Then, with false confidence, he added, "I'll think of something…"

Aaron nodded and relaxed a little, then laid his head back and closed his eyes.

– Willy was at a loss. He wandered through the kitchen, absently opening cabinets in the hope of triggering an idea. He came across a large curious shoebox which he promptly removed from its shelf. He set the box on the table and pulled off the lid — it looked like the inside of a doctor's medical bag.

Among the many items packed into the box were several small pill bottles. Willy picked one of them up and checked the label: Morphine Sulfate — Sustained Release Tablets, 15 mg.

He recalled, as a child, seeing similar bottles in his mother's medicine cabinet, and had since read up on morphine's dangerous, yet superior pain-killing properties. He shook two tablets out into his hand, then went over and knelt next to Aaron.

"Aaron…" he said softly, as not to startle him. "Put these under your tongue."

Aaron opened his eyes and looked at the suspicious pills. "What are they?"

"It's morphine."

" Morphine? Where the hell'd you get morphine?"

"Someone left a shoebox full of medical crap in the cupboard," Willy explained. "There's a ton of it in there. You've probably been whacked out on the stuff for hours."

Aaron made a face, then placed the tablets under his tongue and took a sip of water.

"Have a bit of a rest," Willy said, comforting him. "You'll be nickers in half an hour." He pulled up a chair next to his friend.

Aaron closed his eyes and fell asleep.

At 5:46 p.m. Aaron abruptly sat up, like an awakening corpse, scaring Willy half to death. He opened his eyes, but Willy wasn't sure they were seeing him. Aaron mumbled a few syllables of nonsense and flopped back down. Willy tucked the blanket up under his chin and waited.

– Aaron's mother pulled back the lace curtains, letting the rising sun shine through his leaded-glass bedroom window. The sun seemed to shine right through her, and she glowed like something from heaven.

He got out of bed and looked out across the rooftops of a strange but wonderful world. It was as if he'd gone back in time a 150 years — to old England perhaps — and yet he wasn't surprised by it. He felt refreshed and wonderful.

His mother smiled at him.

"Am I asleep?" he asked.

"Only if you wish to be," his mother replied.

He walked down a grand staircase into a spacious, marble-floored entry hall. Priceless antiques, furniture and paintings adorned the room.

Aaron's father, Danny Quinn, stood by the hand-carved front door with the fingers of one hand tucked into his vest pocket and the other holding a gold pocket watch. The war medals around his neck gleamed as sunlight struck off of their polished detail.

He smiled at Aaron and opened the door for him. "We've been expecting you," he said.

"Am I dreaming?" Aaron asked.

"Only if you wish to be," his father replied.

Aaron shook his father's hand firmly then stepped through the front door to the outside.

– Where his front porch and the crumbling concrete steps should have been there was now a stretch of beach running right up to the threshold. Aaron stepped out onto the warm white sand and enjoyed the sensation as it moved between his bare toes. He scooped up a handful and let it run slowly through his fingers.

A young black boy was sitting in the sand nearby. He was building a fantastic sandcastle. Aaron had never seen such wonderful attention to detail. The stone walls and corbeled corner turrets looked stunningly real. The boy had even dredged a moat around the perimeter of the castle and filled it with sea water to slow marauders. The drawbridge was a chunk of flat driftwood, and the boy had fashioned an iron gate from a piece of an old picnic basket. Aaron was drawn in by this amazing work of art.

"Am I alive?" Aaron asked the boy.

He looked up at Aaron and smiled. "Only if you wish to be," the boy replied, and Aaron started down the sandy road leading to the front of the castle.

– Before him, Aaron saw the thick wooden drawbridge, its heavy chains arching gracefully up into the stone gatehouse wall. He started across… but as he stopped to look over the edge, a feeling of unease chilled him: Far beneath him, like an opaque ribbon of glaucous jello, the forbidding moat wrapped the castle. Largely smothered by thick vegetation, the moat was undoubtedly home to an odious assortment of grotesque creatures — each doggedly waiting to administer a fabulously hideous death upon anyone unfortunate enough to take a plunge.