The Art of Clutching At Straws

As Gavin and John Walked to the car, a deliberate, almost tentative pace was taken. Despite the urgency of the situation, both felt that, if rushed it was a situation that could easily spiral. They could lose themselves in this. 

Gavin opened the car door with the same careful consideration inhaling deeply before swinging himself into the passenger seat in one fluid motion. The slowness of it all relaxed him, as his father, with similar movements settled into the drivers seat, easing the engine on and pulling into the empty, wind tunnel of a street. The patter of rain on the screen seemed like fantasy in this new world he had became a definitive part of. Almost too normal to belong there, right in front of him. He let his mind wander, to anyplace it could. 

As though he had led it himself, his thoughts led to his older brother. Calum’s face laughing and bright. They way it change as his father told him what he was expected to do, Gavin peering through a small window looking down on the basement, where his father had thought no one would see. His brother had been outraged. His stomach had turned and his father had stared at the mess he left on the floor. Not a man’s reaction. He had almost heard his father think. Some son I have. It had been at this point that his father had grabbed Calum, screaming about duty, and blood. Blood that MUST be spilled. Calum had let his face go blank. This blankness had seemed strange to Gavin, he wondered why Calum wasn’t glad. Neither brother had received must attention from their father growing up and, to Gavin’s younger mind, this seemed like an opportunity. One that he would have ran at. The jealousy he felt that night had been a main factor in ruining the future of his relationship with Calum. What his brother had done next however, had frightened Gavin, so that his jealousy seemed almost behind him. Calum had spat at his father then turned away and left the room. A week later he had left, despite his mother’s cries.

His last word’s had half humbled Gavin half mystified him. Calum had turned to his father from the bottom of the long drive, his face an image of pity. ‘I looked up to you. But we are not the same. I am no monster.’

The the crisp, clinical smells of the hospital jarred Hannah as she sat, watching the sleeping girl. Her heart fluttered anxiously each time Sarah moved. She was uncertain of this feeling, unsure of it origins. Her imagination ran wild as her eyes became heavier, a steady humming ran through her, lulling her into a half sleep, her head drooping with the weight of yesterday. The images came like sharp stabs. A twitch in Sarah’s finger. The sheets slipping over it. A rising figure. Arm out. Hand tucked round her face, with an almost pitiful stroke. Pain so intense it was almost sweet.

‘Hannah?’ The hand on her shoulder woke her, as a dry soundless scream retched from her body.

‘Hannah, for Gods sake this is no time for the dramatics!’ Gavin’s weary face came into her view and her body relaxed heaving relief. He took in her bleary eye’s and weighted shoulders with a sigh. The sigh, to Hannah seemed to be weighted with further meaning, a meaning she could not fully perceive. She felt alone, unaware and, for the first time in a long time, afraid.

John had appeared behind Gavin, his strong presence filling the room. Hannah had never thought much of John. His hard, cold persona didn’t feel right to her, seeming to stark a contrast to both of his son’s who, at least when they were younger, had been kind and joyus. Although she had watched these drift from Gavin’s face, as the hard year drained him.

‘Thank you Hannah. We will take over from here.’ John gestured at the door, his huge figure demanding.

She only nodded, standing on weak legs that guided her into the long silent corridor. She checked her watch. 4am. No wonder she had fallen asleep, yesterday had drained her. Each word of her report had felt like an effort. A confessional piece. As though the experience had been private. Then, sent straight here, to watch over her and ,of course, redraft a ‘more fitting’ report. Her thoughts drifted back to John and his rude manner. To Gavin’s expression. So like his brother, younger and less wise, but the same dutiful look on both their faces. Calum however had lost that just before he left. An almost rebellious streak had blossomed through him, at a sharp, unexpected rate.
It had seemed odd, like watching an old friend become a stranger. He now returned to visit once or twice a year and each of these times stayed with Gavin, who would return to work with a cranky disposition. Calum’s visits to his family home had always been less frequent.

Hannah frowned slightly, something pressing at her. Calum. He was supposed to have arrived in town sometime yesterday… Surely Gavin would have mentioned if he had? She turned back, anxious to ask. Perhaps Calum would be at Gavin’s. She could do with some amicable company. Even at this ungodly hour, she was sure Calum’s good nature would sneak back, and he would be her friend again. Just until daylight.

At the end of the dimly lit corridor she could see the warm light spilling out the small glass window. Voices spilled with it, urgent, frantic and whispered.

‘We need to make the final cut Gavin.’ John’s voice powerful even when hushed.

‘The town knows she is here. They will know we killed her too.’ Gavin’s was quavering, small and weak.

‘We will make them believe otherwise. Hannah. Set it up to look like she did it. Saw killing herself after as her only way out. She carries a gun doesn’t she?’

Hannah’s heart quickened as she stepped back from the window, the gun nestled against her hip felt colder, heavier somehow, as though holding her own death within it’s barrels. She didn’t wait to hear Gavin’s reply. His complacent tones as she retreated told her all she needed to know. His weakness was her sentence.