Please enjoy "Wey Damage" and comment

Wey Damage
by Nathan Viney

Part 1

Two men stood at the door glaring at Rick’s sleepless eyes. “Excuse me sir.” Rick blinked once, twice and then straightened himself up. Well, as much as he could, it was kind of hard to look presentable at 3.33am in the morning. He found himself holding his eyelids open, and then noticed finally that the two men’s expressions were extremely serious. “Oh dear god, you’re the police.”

One officer was dressed in a fluorescent jacket, obviously a size too big for him. It drooped down his arms and waist, but still he remained quite a frightful chap. The bristles around his face and dark shades over his eyes confirmed that. The other man was very tall; he was bending down so his face could be seen below the doorway. A usual dark blue police uniform fit perfectly, so flat a steamroller could have done it. Rick recognized this man but didn’t quite know where from.

“Officer Hartson,” the officer dressed in the fluorescent jacket spoke swaying his arm towards the other man. “… and Officer Parks.” The tall man’s face did not change one bit, not even a blink. Rick stretched his arms out and yawned, staring from the ceiling back to Officer Hartson. The eyebrows above the officer’s shades rose. “Excuse me?”

Rick paused, twitching. The police did frighten him, although he knew he had done nothing wrong. Or had he? Had he accidently soared past the speed limit on his way home from work yesterday? No, that couldn’t be it. For one, he didn’t have a driving license let alone a car. He also did not have a job. He thought for a moment, it was lucky he didn’t have a job because he didn’t have a car to get him there. Rick smiled to himself. “Oh, I yawned…”

“Sorry to bother you at this early hour,” the tall man spoke, though his words a little muffled as he raised his head above the doorway. “Is this you?” He held out a tiny passport photo to Rick’s view. Hartson lowered his shades to reveal his suspicious eyes staring from the picture to Rick’s expression. There was silence. “No. It’s not me.” There was silence once again as the men registered the answer.

“Excuse me?” Parks spoke again turning the photo towards his own eye's. Rick glanced around the room a little confused. “No… I do not have a big grey beard with obvious cobwebs settled inside it.”

The police looked at each other trying to work out the flaws In Rick’s last sentence. “Have you shaved recently sir?” Rick found himself scratching at his head, and for some reason. It hurt.

He had had enough of this. He glanced at his watch quickly, 3:33am. These men had no business here at all. This was sleep time and they were intruding on it. In seconds the door was slammed in front of the Officer’s faces. Rick stood back, a foot on the carpet and growing startled of his actions.

He had just closed his door on two Police Officers just doing their friendly neighborhood jobs. Suddenly a ringing in his ears, he didn’t open the door again. He just stood there surprised. Now they’ll think he’s got something to hide, that he’s guilty. Of what, he didn’t know of quite yet. But he knew luck would fix that for him. Everything he did ended up a disaster; he didn’t know what to believe anymore. What on earth had made him close the door on the men? He felt like a puppet, balancing and hopping around; hung from strings attached to his arms and legs. He wouldn’t be surprised if he suddenly began dancing, opening the door and closing it and singing a tune he’d made up on the spot.

Still dancing in his head he reached out and opened the creaky wooden door. They were gone, the police had gone. Nowhere to be seen, an empty hallway.

Rick’s eye's searched the corridor; he then closed the door and ran towards an open window. As he poked his head out he felt the cold breeze. It’s so odd, the feeling of being inside, no wind or sounds and as soon as you poke your head out of the window you feel the atmosphere crashing at your face. A feeling an ordinary person would just look over, but Rick saw everything in detail. He thought about everything in great detail, this could be a bad thing and a good thing. Outside, down past the building’s walls and entrance were the two men walking away from the scene. He stared at his watch once again, 3:33am. Obviously broken.

Rick leant back; so far back he collapsed onto a bean bag. His body sunk into it and he finally felt relaxed again. The police had obviously made a simple mistake, and must have, somehow known that closing the door on them was a complete accident. Maybe one could read minds? No that was insane. Suddenly Rick noticed the ceiling above him caving in, the floor doing the same thing but sucking the furniture into it's mouth. Suddenly it was pitch black and Rick was in his own world of imagination, where there were no jobs, no paranoia and no embarrassing situations. A dream, a dream he’d eventually forget by the next morning.

Part 2

Rick woke up. He was laying face first on a mattress, dribble leaking from his mouth. He’d fallen asleep with a cigarette, which was now crushed under his hairy arm. He rolled over a little causing him to fall a two and a half metre drop onto hard cement. He cursed and pulled himself upright staring up at the bunk bed he’d fallen off. Pete, a short bloke with no hair sat on the bunk next to his reading a daily newspaper. “Nice trip?” He said suddenly cracking his neck to the side making Rick squirm. Rick turned to the side brushing dust off of his shirt. “Hilarious Pete”

Rick walked over and gripped the bars that stopped him from stepping to freedom. He was trapped in this cell most of the day, every day. Glaring at the cement ceiling above him and listening to Pete bite his nails and crack his neck. “Cheese and rice Rick. You’re all over the papers. Seven people dead in one day.”

Rick gurgled his own saliva and sat on the lower bunk creaking the springs. “Everyone knows it was an accident.” Pete glanced at him and then back at his paper.

“When did you start smoking Rick?” Rick lifted up his arm and saw the cigarette stuck to his grey shirt. Rick placed it to his side, “Since I got depressed.” The cigarette fell onto the floor making a small tapping sound. Pete placed the newspaper onto his knees. “What are you depressed about?”

“I didn’t kill those people. Or… I did but I couldn’t control it. It was like I was a puppet to someone’s sick game.” Pete looked concerned, well as concerned as an axe murderer could look.

“How long have you felt like this Rick? Because honestly; I just killed because of anger. I don’t regret it one bit.” Pete smiled a little. Rick raised an eyebrow and stared towards the metal bars. He stroked his brown hair back slightly letting it fly back in spikes. “I don’t know, do you reckon it’s someone’s voo doo games?”

“I reckon you need help Rick, but it doesn’t really matter now. You’re jailed for life.”

A few hours had gone past in the dark cell. They could hear the echoing gossip the other prisoners were having as they were released into the courtyard for dinner. But criminals of Rick and Pete’s position were not released as regularly as the others. Their food was brought in by a guard every so often and it was almost that time.

--

At the vegetable market Rick walked along casually whistling to himself. A fruit stand stood proud on the crowded street with a man in a trench coat. “Can I help you sir?” He asked politely grabbing an apple and rubbing it against his coat. “Fresh as fruit can be.”

Rick looked disgusted “You’re not going to sell that apple are you? That coat is filthy.” He asked for a plastic bag and filled it with many grapes. The ringing returned to Rick’s head causing him to step back in shock. The fruit seller asked if he was ok placing his hand out to help but all Rick could hear was muffled sounds. And then someone switched on the light, Rick stood straight, his view went back into focus and he gave the man his money.

Rick breathed in; sucking air into his lungs. He let it out and returned to walking. Still, at the back of his head were those two police officers that knocked on the door. Why did they leave so suddenly, without further questions? He scratched his head and walked around the corner of the street. There they were, hundreds of them. Police cars, flashing lights; blue vehicles, blue uniforms and fluorescent jackets. The Yunfall police force was set up at the entrance of the flats he lived. It was like a Hollywood movie, well that would be a typical stereotype. Britain makes Hollywood movies too don’t forget, Rick realized how stupid this sounded. What were they doing there? Were they there for him or was he just walking towards a crime scene that had nothing to do with him? He was noting to himself every little detail. For a second he convinced himself the picture they’d shown him looked exactly like him. Just, with a beard. Of course that was silly, almost insane. “Is that him?”

“Yes! That’s him!” The officers spotted Rick, one pulled their walky talky to their mouth and the other ran fast towards him. “Oh dear god!” Rick screamed and ran throwing the bag of fruit into the air. It flew straight at a front window of a passing car, the glass cracked a little and the fruit was spoiled.

“Officer Hartson here, what’s going on over there?” Hartson was in the market buying pirated DVD’s. It was for his two children. They did so love a movie filmed straight from the cinema screen. At the premiere of Star Wars episode one he found himself sat next to a pirate. Not an “Arr” pirate, you know what I mean. Anyway, he showed his police I.D. The pirate cursed in fear but Hartson just wondered if he could get a discount when the video had been finished. The pirate told him he ran a little shop in the market on Saturdays selling them, under the table. On top he sold alcohol, which he didn’t have permission for anyway. AND he sold it to kids, I say sold, I actually mean gave away. What’s the point of being shifty if you don’t get money out of it? I’m getting off of the subject now.

Rick soared past Hartson in a flash. “I got him,” He screamed into his walky talky. The pirate blinked, and then watched as the entire Yunfall police force moved slowly towards the market. “I’ve been tricked!” He threw all of the bottles of alcohol and DVD cases into a large bag and pulled it over his shoulder. He then ran off up the street and turned into a back alley leaving the table.

Why were they after Rick? What on earth had he done? Did he accidentally knock something out of his window that killed someone? He just couldn’t work it out. Maybe they were not after him, maybe if he stopped they’d just run past him after whoever else they wanted locked away. Maybe they wanted someone else, maybe when they said “Yes! That’s him!” There was someone behind him? So many questions, he didn’t stop. That would be way too risky, he just ran. His head bubbling with thoughts and questions, ‘Why am I running? If I stop, let them handcuff me I can explain that this is all a mistake.' It was clearly obvious he wasn’t the man on the photo.

“Richard Wey is in sight!” Rick heard this from a far away walky talky. A helicopter flew past; he could hear a buzzing voice coming from their gadgets. Most likely voices from the chopper above him. He kept on running, he did not stop. He felt like Forrest Gump, a film he’d only seen once but wished to have seen it more. Richard stopped, so suddenly in the middle of a street.

Part 3

Paused there, it was the strings again, stopping him from going any further. One of the automatic thoughts you go through before you are knowingly going to die or... in this case get arrested, memories of childhood normally stream through your head. Memories of the classic “Life flashes before your eyes.” But it wasn’t happening for Rick, he couldn’t remember anything. The furthest back he remembered was standing on the street with a man he did not know. He was bold and quite frightening in appearance. The man had told him to run far away, get a job and buy a house away from this country. Obviously Rick thought he was a mad man, loose from a mental asylum. He ignored him and walked off not knowing much about anything at all. Though that was one thing he remembered, he did own a flat somewhere in Yunfall. He remembered when he unlocked the door of his flat and stepped inside everything seemed so new to him. Suddenly images of child hood struck him, a shot of his grandparents sitting on armchairs. Tiny Rick playing with a box of Lego, and then without any control he would pick up the Lego and throw it at people inside the room. Anger in his eyes, suddenly the memory closed and Rick snapped back into reality.

It was a powerful snap because he fell onto the gravel. He pulled himself up fast and stared behind him, Officer’s Hartson and Parks were about three metres away, hundreds of other officers behind them. A helicopter circling above. “HANDS UP!” shouted the tall Officers Parks. Rick turned around; the lights were so close now. Right now, for the first in his life nothing at all was going through his head, nothing. “HANDS UP I SAID!” The officers actually looked frightened of him. Why? Why would they look so frightened? They were literally shaking… or maybe that was just because they had run so far. Rick wanted to cry, he wanted to scream that they’d made a mistake. But all he found himself doing was lifting his arms up. This was probably for the best. Parks soared forwards and pushed his hand against the side of Rick’s head causing it to shoot towards the gravel. Rick grinded his teeth in pain as his skin was grinding against the ground. Hartson stepped forward and pulled Rick’s arms to the back, cuffing him. There was a second before Parks stepped back to speak into his walky talky. “Got him. No struggle, as of yet. Find out Peter Finnegan’s old address as soon as possible. Search it and report back. Understand?” There was a muffled screech from the gadget. “Good job boys.”

A tear formed in Rick’s eye's falling down the side of his face. Hartson pulled him back up, “You are not obliged to say or do anything unless you wish to do so, whatever you say or do may be used in evidence. Do you understand?”

Rick blinked and strained to put his face towards the cop. “No.” He said leaning back down for rest.

---

The guard with the trolley stepped into the cell; his shoes were actually silent on the cement. On the trolley was a tray, on the tray sat some butter. Some bread, a knife and blob of marmite.

Since the man had come into the cell everything was silent, apart from Pete cracking his neck continuously, funny thing was. He was asleep. Only Rick’s pupils were moving, eyeing the knife on the tray. Was killing the guard and breaking free the oldest trick in the book? Would it make him look unoriginal? What was he thinking; he wasn’t that kind of person. It was the puppeteer again, this time making him think wrong. In seconds the guard was being held against the bed with the knife too his throat. “Funny, you think these knives aren’t dangerous? They can be. Listen, were you scared when you opened that barred door? Walking into a cell with two murderers?”

The guard replied, “Well to be honest, one is asleep. So it’s one.” Rick was steaming now, anger bursting out of his ears like in the old cartoons. “Any last words?”

The guard wasn’t laughing anymore, “Please, don’t hurt me. I have… four children and a wife. PLEASE I’m begging you!” Rick stopped, stared and then giggled.

“You’re lying, you hesitated. YOU LIE!” In seconds the butter knife pressed through the guard’s throat, his skin caved it and started firing out sinks of blood towards the wall. In the noise Pete woke up cracking his neck violently. Blood was splashing onto his clothes, “OH MY GOD MAN WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Rick stared from wall to wall, ceiling too floor in confusion.

“Hell, I don’t know.” He put his hands over his eyes and cried. Pete got up, blood still firing at him; the newspaper fell off of his knees and onto the floor. He then rolled his eyes, “What is this? Chopper? Man we have a way out now, let’s do it.” Rick looked up at him with flooded eyes.

“We can’t, it’s wrong. I deserve to be here!” Pete glared at him with a slightly disgusted look.

“You said it yourself Rick, you have a problem. You feel like you can’t control yourself, right now, you regret killing the guard. Well let’s go out, and find someone who can help you.”

It was so simple, the guard died instantly as the knife cut through. He was dead on the cell floor adding a little colour to the already grim room. Rick followed Pete through the empty hallway, “The others will be in the courtyard, and we can put ourselves in with them and hope we don’t get recognized.” Rick nodded and they did. A group of inmates were settled on the long wooden table eating what smelt like warm tomato soup. What are they? Gods? Next to them sat mugs of fruit juices, non alcoholic. Hatred made Rick want to kill them, but he didn’t, obviously. Pete had a plan; Pete had been a prison inmate for only about a week and Rick new already that he could trust him. “So what’s your plan?”

“Alright, those guys are playing basketball over there. Right. If we grab the ball and *accidentally*throw it over they might let us go out and get it.” Pete smiled and put his hands to his hips. Rick punched him in the face; he spun around losing balance of his feet and falling onto the ground. A tooth shot into the air landing in one of the soup bowls. “Sorry,” Rick apologized staring down at his bleeding friend. Pete pulled himself up and dusted the dirt from his clothes. “It’s alright mate, it was a stupid idea and I know it. Got any others?” Rick stared towards the giant gate, the giant barred gate that stopped them from going out to the real world. The gate was guarded by too officers standing stern with, would you believe it. Guns. Of course there were watch towers, but someone beating someone else up wasn’t anything new in this area but if anything ‘did’ catch their eyes they would fire without command.

That was how it was here in Prison. Pete was looking up at the watch towers around the giant stone building. “Mate, I seriously have no ideas. If we don’t get out we’re done for anyway, a man’s dead in our cell and we are not in it.”

“I killed him, I could obviously take the blame, and you’d be ok then.” Rick smiled very weakly towards his friend. Pete swayed his hand forward suddenly, “No man, we’re a team now. If you go down, I go down. Hey what about this, we go back to the cell and pretend we were asleep the whole time?”

Rick didn’t hear this last sentence; he was too busy staring at the officers walking out of the cell block. “THERE THEY ARE!” Pete turned and screamed. Rick grabbed his friends arm and pulled him along as he ran through the crowds of inmates playing basketball and hopscotch. Above the watchtowers were alerted of the breakout and broke from watching British cop films and eating popcorn. They set out their guns directing them at the courtyard below. It was difficult for them as now all of the inmates were running around in circles obviously all being used to running away from the cops. Some even began running into the stone walls. Rick pulled out the knife from earlier, but it was too late. One of the guards noticed how close the convict was to him and fired, unfortunately with his eyes closed shut. The bullet shot fast out of the barrel just dodging Pete’s arm and crashing into the back of another convict; who shot backwards onto the wooden table screaming in agony.

Rick roared a lion’s roar and spun out of control slicing at the guard who was now following in the choir of screaming in pain vocals. The other guard departed fast, his gun swinging from his neck hitting his side as his feet stepped. There was another gunshot and the knifed guards head exploded, blood and flesh shot into the air like fireworks. The shot had come from above, the watchtower. The man in the tower leant back assuming his work was done, he’d shot the man that was trying to escape. That’s good enough for him, and hopefully good enough for the rest of them. Unfortunately he really did need another check up at the opticians.

Part 4

“HOW DO WE OPEN THE GATE RICK?” Pete cried as he watched the guards body collapse onto the cement. Everyone was screaming, the convicts and the guards. Both for different reasons.

Rick looked from place to place, from face to face and then up at the gate. “WE CLIMB!” Pete’s head spun so much pressure. Rick knew it wouldn’t work; it was obvious by the time they’d got half way up the gate they would have been shot down automatically. This was it; this was when they were going to die. Rick didn’t mind dying; it meant no one else would die because of him. It meant that he wouldn’t have such a confusing life, such a confusing head. But then there was Pete, he was an innocent guy… well he did murder his ex girlfriend with an axe but otherwise that he was alright. He was friendly, funny. He didn’t deserve to die.

They climbed, climbed and climbed. Their arms holding onto the metal bars above them. Their legs pushing them upwards. They were almost at the top. The other man in the watchtower was very shaky at these sorts of occasions. Though it may have been the gallons of coffee he had had. He fired, the bullet shot down across the courtyard souring through the air and right into Pete’s leg. He screamed in pain and lost grip of one of the bars swinging and hanging now by one arm. “NO!” Rick cursed and violently grabbed Pete’s arm pulling him up and over the top of the gate, they fell the height they had climbed and landed flat onto the gravel road.

--

The police station was very modern, all the usual automatic doors and background phones ringing. Sat in there waiting for service. Rick was extremely tormented by his own head and surroundings. Officer Parks pushed the oddball Rick along the corridor, uniformed men and woman stormed the halls smiling with each other. Just another work place? Work places are hell. Imagine the pressure at a Police Station. Worse than any ordinary job. Suddenly Rick twitched as a door closed behind him and he found himself sat in a gloomy room. Opposite him was Officer Parks and Officer Hartson. Hartson was still in his fluorescent jacket. It rather suited him; his shades were still on even though he was inside. He obviously wanted to hide something.

“I’ll be recording this interview if that’s ok Rick.” Rick did not answer to Parks, there was nothing to say. And or, nothing he ‘could’ say. Parks pressed the button in on the tape recorder. “12^th of October 2007, Richard Wey. How are you Richard?” Rick looked up at the two of them. What was that question? How was he Richard? What the hell did that mean? He was Richard because his mother called him Richard. Was this some kind of police mind game? “I’m fine.” He finally spoke; his eyes looked as if he’d had no sleep for years. In the background there was the muffled sound of a T.V comedy playing in one of the Police lunch break rooms. “’Hey what’s wrong with ya?’ ‘Me eye's are all blurry’” Followed by an audience laughter soundtrack. Rick sighed and looked back at the man

“You are going down for a very long time Richard.” What? What?? WHY???

“Ok.” Rick responded. Why didn’t he say anything, why didn’t he plead how much of a mistake they had made? ‘I’m not the guy you want!! You’ve made a mistake’ that was what he wanted to say, but all he said was ok. Rick threw his head against the table sliding it a little across the floor. “Richard, there isn’t really very much to say to you, we have all the evidence we need to keep you here, until you die of old age. Is there anything you would like to say before we take you back to where you belong?”

Ricks head was still squashed on the table. “You’ve… you’ve made a mistake.” There was silence, broken by Hartson’s enormous laughter. “You mean, you somehow DIDN’T kill nine people? Don’t make me gurgle Richard. Don’t make me CHOKE!”

Rick was not laughing; he suddenly pulled himself together, “YOU HAVE THE WRONG MAN! I DID NOT KILL ANYONE!” I guess you could call that 'together'.

Oh this line had been heard before; no policeman would deny that a tiny bit of doubt pops up when they hear it. “Didn’t you hear me Wey? We have evidence.”

Another tear developed in Rick’s eye. “This is impossible, I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill anyone. This is all A BIG MISTAKE! YOU HAVE THE WRONG MAN! “

Parks looked over at Officer Hartson. “I’ve had enough of this, let’s get this one in jail and call it a day.” Rick stood up suddenly surprising the two officers. Hartson, whose finger was just pressing stop on the recorder? “Can I…?” Rick paused, “Can I see this evidence?”

Part 5

The sirens were piercing at Ricks ears as he pulled bloodied Pete over his shoulder. They were walking free from prison. This was unbelievable. He wondered why they were not still firing, I guess. Because they were part of the public now it was too dangerous. They’d get sued badly if they’d shot one of the public. He was sure that’d go the same for the guards he’d killed.

The police were called as soon as possible, but were too late. Pete and Rick had left the scene. This was in need of a city search, possibly a country search.

One officer was set on this case, Officer Parks. A man was cursing loudly in the street near by hitting the front of a car violently. “Sir! Please refrain or I’ll have to arrest you.” The man, dressed in formal wear, tie, boots. Not a top hat, he was missing a top hat. Everyone should wear a top hat these days, so classy. Money and murder. “Someone bloody stole my car! Two guys, one was bleeding I think. Smashed the window and opened the door. Pulled me out and stole the keys!”

Parks settled the man down, “Calm down sir, can you tell me the type of car and registration details?” The man nodded immediately. “It was a Subaru Rav 4 and the registration was... OH DAMN IT. I forget.”

“It’s ok.” Park’s replied, he was on the case. And that man really could do with a top hat.

It was a day of running, walking, hopping and driving. Pete’s bloodied leg left a trail of blood where they had walked after leaving the vehicle near an old Italian cafe. They found themselves settled in a dark alley, hidden away from gossip, traffic and cops. Rick walked over to one of the metal bins and pulled the lid off. Placing his hand inside he smiled, “Scissors, this will make us less recognizable.” Pete pulled himself up a little and sighed.

“How are scissors going to help?” He looked a bit dizzy. Rick smiled and started chopping at his big grey beard. “Ahh… it doesn’t matter though. For me, I am going to die of blood loss,” Pete sighed. Rick stopped him suddenly hearing a police siren getting louder by the minute. “Let’s go.”

Rick and Pete made their way slowly across the town, passing the clock tower and hiding behind pot plants. Disappearing into shadows they crossed their fingers hoping that they were not spotted. At the harbor the tide was in causing the row of boats to rock calmly on the water’s surface. “We’re here Pete,” Rick said resting his friend’s body down by a wooden bench. Apart from the squawking seagulls and light crashing waves the harbor was silent. Pete opened his eyes, viewing the wide ocean in front of him.

“Thanks Rick, for helping me get here. I’m sure one of those boats has a medical box.” Pete pointed over to a swaying house boat not too far away. Rick smiled, “Way ahead of you.” He grinned and twisted on one foot running off across the road.

That was when it happened, always without warning. Rick’s puppet body crashed into the front of a coach. The giant metal front drove at a soaring speed breaking at his skull. He shot sideways, rolling in the air as the coach continued to drive on. Rick’s body collapsed along the side of the harbor still rolling along the footpath.

The coach pulled the break skidding along the long road. Pete watched as it happened in slow motion, reviewing it back. Watching as Rick ran across the road, and then got struck by the coach, spinning in the air. Rick screamed in agony, but it didn’t last very long, soon he fell silent. Like the day falls to night. Pete ran over to his friend’s motionless body lying on the pavement. “RICK!” he screamed shaking the body with powerful arms. The driver had not got out of the coach; he was just sitting there staring through the front window. His hands not on the wheel but by his side. There was no one else in the coach, no passengers sat reading their books and listening to iPods. Nothing, which was lucky. There had only been one witness, the man driving. Pete stared up at the coach, “You..!”

The driver couldn’t bare this, by instinct he wanted it all to be over. He grasped the wheel and put his foot down speeding the bus down the harbor lanes and off into the distance. “Bloody hit and run!” Pete screamed still shaking at Rick’s body. Pete pulled his hand out from behind Rick’s head, it was covered in blood. Leaking down his palm and onto the footpath.

He dragged Rick’s muscular body along the harbor pebble ground and off onto some wooden decking, the pier. It was quite a short jetty, planks of held up wood hammered together. House boats were tied to metal poles and look-alike tree stumps. Pete placed the body carefully down by one of the poles, bent his legs and used his strength to leap onto the front of a boat. His leg was still extremely weak causing him to collapse forward, the boat shifted a little.

He threw his fist through a small circular window smashing glass into the air. “Hang on mate!” He shouted pulling the firm polished door open and crashing inside.

The interior was very posh, as explained before. Everything was polished wood, or velvet. There was a huge stereo system built into the wall and below it, three wooden drawers. In a flash Pete had pulled the bottom one out to find only old cassette tapes and collectible football cards. In the next one he found a priceless watch and a jewelry box. Finally, in the last one he found a medical-kit. He closed the drawer and pulled himself back up heading for the door.

The boat shifted once again as he leapt back onto the decking splintering the wood beneath his feet. “I’m coming ... Rick.” He had stopped, standing on the decking with the medical-kit under his arm. One leg bent down on it’s last energy boost. Rick was standing there, in front of Pete scratching his bloodied head. He then placed his hands where his beard once was.

Pete rushed over, “Here lie down!” He shouted throwing the box and the wood breaking the lid off. He fiddled through the contents and finally found a large band-aid. Rick was staring at the floor now, very confused. Pete placed the band-air onto the back of his bleeding friend’s head. “It’s going to be fine. Here, come onto the boat. It defiantly looks worthy of robbing!”

Rick’s faced turned from confusion to shock in seconds. “WHAT? Get away from me!” he squirmed and stepped backwards. Pete looked saddened watching his friend walk away from his help, “What’s wrong Rick?”

“What? Get away from me! POLICE! POLICE!” Rick started stamping his foot on the jetty decking repeatedly. Pete was now worried, it was obvious to him Rick had lost a portion of his memory or he was playing some kind of game. But could he risk it? As Rick shouted ‘POLICE!’ more people on the harbor’s heads began to turn.

“Ok, Rick, RUN AWAY! Go far away, get a job and buy a house. Leave this country!” Pete screamed. Rick stared once again confused and worried, “You’re mad!” He shouted. They both ran off in their separate directions.

Pete started the engine in the boat, the water bubbled and the sea vehicle was soaring across the ocean’s surface. He drove and drove until he reached France, though he never dared to live publically. He illegally stayed in the boat in a hidden off shore shed for years before the police finally tracked him down. He was then sentenced to life in Prison en France. He lived a long life, attempted one more escape on his 8oth birthday. He was, unfortunately shot dead half way up the front gate.

Part 6

“You’re mad!” Rick stepped away from the obviously mad man, what the hell was wrong with him? He was speaking to him like he’d known him since the dawn of time. He departed the harbor remembering automatically his home, flat 12.

Fortunately the front door was already open; he slowly pushed it aside and walked through his hallway. It was sure good to be home, surprisingly good. He didn’t know why?

Under the mat in front of his stern flat door was the key. How unlikely, he’d placed that key there… no. He couldn’t quite remember. Well it didn’t matter, he knew the key was there and that was the most important thing. He opened his homey door and stepped inside to breath in the fresh air of personal space. “Ahh, it’s good to be me.”

He made his way to the kitchen opening a classy set of cabinets. The glasses seemed a little dusty. He didn’t think much of it, sure he thought a lot about things but when you’re tired you really just don’t care. Three beer bottles sat on the shelf. Rick glugged down all three, collapsing onto his bean bag and switching on the film, ‘Forrest Gump.’ He eventually fell asleep in the comfortable seat.

*knock knock*

Rick’s body jumped, causing him to stand up throwing one of the bottles across the room. It didn’t smash, just rolled a certain speed along the cushiony carpet. It was lucky it hadn’t smashed, that may have caused a large amount of suspicion. This was in fact, because at the door were two police officers.

“Excuse me sir.”

---

The jail didn’t care of Rick’s obviously mental disorders. And he did have a lot of them. The owners were even told by the jail psychiatrist. Her name was Anne Hines; she’d even tried to mention over and over that Rick had severe brain damage. That he needed help, not torture. But they did not listen, they did not care. They wouldn’t even let him be moved to a mental institution.

Officer Parks was the only person who, with Anne’s help wanted Rick’s mind stable. Eventually he quit the job because of these opposite views and married Anne Hines… who is now Anne Parks. Parks eventually wrote a book about his experiences in the job he’d had. It was titled “My job and people with top hats.” It was an absolute best seller.

So I did try to avoid it, as Parks does in the dreadful ending of his book. Richard Wey died at the age of thirty. The cause, unspeakable.

Rick’s mind was unstable from beginning to end, from his life as a murderer to his short period of being a usual market goer. But he was happy in one respect, locked away in that cell. He had no recollection of the gory side of his life before he died.

Officer Hartson ended up being arrested for holding up to six hundred pirate DVD’s and videos in his home. While he was away his wife went out with the pirate. “Arrr!”

Fin Pete