Visions - In my Minds Eye., ARTHUR HOWE [good beach reads .TXT] 📗

five for effort though.”

He stared metallically around the table.

“How about you, Mr Bloody Big-deal Bouncer? Are you ready to plead for your life like you’ve had others pleading for theirs in your dirty, sordid little business?”

“I really don’t know what you want from me Gareth? If you want me to lick your arse and tell you I’m sorry, if that’s what is needed then tell me and I’ll satisfy your failing ego.” He waited for a response but none was forthcoming.

“We got into business together Gareth, because you enjoyed the sordid, dirty little world of Night Clubs, booze and Prostitutes and the big ticket money it could spin for you. I thought it was great to have someone fund my little venture at the beginning but when my Protectors starting hitting on me for not being paid enough, I found out that you’d been skimming off the top right from the start. Cost me more than a hundred grand that little episode did! You’re lucky I didn’t do more than put you in hospital back then. I should have had you snuffed, you dirty fucking cheat!”

“Which brings your little effort to a close and a lousy three and a half point score. You should learn to control your temper, Mr Bloody Big-deal Bouncer” interrupted Gareth.

Looking around the table, I could see the others looking more and more like they were about to fall asleep. I felt a little drowsy, slightly weak but not half as bad as the rest of the table looked. My slow eating had done me a bit of a favour this time, or had it? Maybe my death would just be more drawn out and painful?

“So, my long lost Partner,” said Gareth, looking at me. “How well can you kiss my arse? Better than the other three, I hope? Let’s see how much you want to be the Survivor.”

“What can I say?” I hesitated. “ When I got into business with you, all was well and good for a while. But, and having many years of thinking about the “but’s,” we both went into the venture with our eyes wide open and, as they say, choosing a business Partner is more difficult than choosing a Wife.” I continued.

“I could no more forecast that you would screw me over any more than you could foresee me screwing you over. So, life’s a bitch, get over it! Which is what I have done Gareth, I’ve gotten over it. In fact, I learned so well from our little encounter that I went on to become stronger and certainly wiser. To sum it up, I suppose I have you to thank for that. Today, I’m not a victim, I’m a Survivor. And Yes, I am sorry! Sorry for where you are today and the position we all find ourselves in. I only wish we didn’t have to get to this.” I concluded.

“Clap, clap, clap, clap,” coming from Gareth’s palms slowly patting together.

“Oh very, very touching I must say.” He smiled. “If I taught you nothing else, it was how to appeal to people’s emotions and to kiss backsides to get the deal.” He laughed. “Let’s see – 22 months I spent in prison for you, divide that by your four other co-conspirators, Yes, a very credible five and a half survival points for you!”

“Which leaves our Fat little friend about two minutes to make his plea.” He said, relishing his display of control.

“Gareth, I think that my being totally honest with you will only cause me to fuck up any chances I have in this little judgement,” began Fatty, “ So, instead of being honest, I’m going to rather “do-a-Gareth” on you and tell you what I think you want to hear. Give it to you, the way Gareth would give it to you!” he hesitated for a moment.

“Gareth, I’m sincerely sorry that my involvement with you has caused you to be in the position you find yourself today. If there was any way I could undo the damage done by our relationship, I would undo it right now, take things back to that fateful day we met and make everything right from there. I’m truly sorry Gareth, now, please, let me have the antidote?”

Gareth stood up and took a few steps back from the table.

“A nice ending but a terrible beginning, I’m afraid. Certainly not as appealing as others but, probably worth, let’s see, a five and a half.” He said, turning his back to us.

He was fiddling with the syringe, holding it up to the light.

“Which means we have a tie for first place now don’t we?” he said, looking back over his shoulder at us. “And, in the case of a tie, guess what?” he paused.

“I get to be the winner!”

What happened next took us all by surprise.

He’d been preparing the syringe while his back was turned towards us and, turning round, plunged it deep into the prominent blue vein in the crease of his elbow.

He held the syringe in that position for a few seconds; “ Gent’s, in the drawer under the side table, you’ll find a packet with some little capsules in it. You can decide who’s going to take them or not? A few minutes after you take it, you’ll be on the road to Salvation.” He looked down at his arm.

“The worst thing about dying is knowing that you’ll die alone.” He said, quietening his voice almost to a whisper. “I really don’t want to die alone, in some grubby little hospital ward with some grubby little nurse throwing a sheet over my head. No, I wanted to share this moment with all of you who have been influential in my life. As for my little game – well, let me say that you were all so soft and gullible and if I could fuck-you-over once, why not fuck-you over again?”

At which, he plunged his thumb down firmly on the syringe, the brownish liquid emptying into his veins.

Two seconds later, his legs collapsed, and Gareth lay in a heap on the floor.

No one spoke. Everyone was focused on Gareth’s crumpled, motionless body.

“I think I can still walk to the table,” I suggested to a semi-comatose audience.

Without any response from the rest, I pushed my chair back and was shocked to find enough strength in my legs to lift me out of my seat. Resting my arms on the table edge and then onto the shoulders of my fellow sufferers, I made my way slowly to the side table and opened the drawer.

It was empty.

I pulled the drawer right out and explored the insides with my numbing hand.

A plastic packet, zip-loc hospital issue, came into view as I scratched around.

I opened the packet and, true to Gareth’s word, there were the capsules, each containing a reddish liquid. I counted them out – four of them.

I took one out and then made my way slowly around the table, putting one into each of the open mouths, starting with the bouncer and ending in the accountant.

“Bite down on that” I instructed each of them, making my way back to my seat for their recovery and my gradual demise. Yes, I had a choice, take one for myself and leave one of the others out. But which one? Maybe I’d survive because I hadn’t gulped down the wine and attacked the meal like a starved savage? Maybe I’d just pass away slowly, no pain, no feeling, just like the animals this stuff was intended for?

I sat down and through blurring eyes, looked around at the others at the table.

The Bouncer seemed to be rolling his head from side to side and the red head was shaking his up and down. A slow glance around the table showed that everybody seemed to be having a similar reaction, obviously as the antidote started working through their systems.

My vision went blurred, in fact, so blurred that it seemed that all of the mouths around the table were wide open and were filling with shaving foam!

My eyes cleared for a moment and I could swear that Fatty had put his head on the table and that the Bouncer had fallen sideways off his chair.

An electric pain, like the sort of pain you get when the dentist exposes a raw nerve and then pokes it, shot through my entire skeleton.

My God! Surely poor animals don’t have to go through this? Surely, my death will come quickly?

The pain stopped. The four dinner guests were now all lying in some crumpled form or other and judging by the state of their faces, I would say that they had all expired.
I nudged the accountant with the little strength that I had left in me only to have him slide off the seat and onto the floor. Like Gareth, he lay in a crumpled and obviously dead heap.

I finally lost consciousness thinking to myself that Gareth truly had “fucked us over one last time.”


Patching the pieces together later, I learned that Sally had worried about me after trying my cellphone unsuccessfully until about eight thirty. At eight-forty-five, she decided to call her brother Tony and together they had come to Gareth’s address and after kicking in the door and finding it padlocked from the inside, Called 999.

I was in a deep coma for more than a week after having my stomach pumped and according to the Doctors, it was touch and go for a while.

The Newspapers were onto the story from the start, calling it a “suicide pact” and wondering why five-seemingly-perfect and normal people would meet and do such a thing.

It still didn’t click.

Only after I got home from hospital some ten days later and was lounging in front of the TV, did the question hit me.

Sky News was on the box and I listened closely, fascinated that the story was still making headlines well after the event.

The announcer recapped the story to date and further posed the question, “Why?”. He then went on to name the four dead people and me as the only survivor.

I frantically grabbed the phone and called Sally down at the Charity shop she worked in part-time.

“What the hell happened to Gareth?” I almost screamed into the telephone.

“He’s disappeared, everyone’s trying to find him” she replied, trying to calm me with “Slow, down, calm yourself!”

I dropped the phone, as the reality of what she was saying started to sink in.

Sally arrived home about twenty minutes later and a Detective Inspector from the local Police Station arrived a few minutes after that.

When Sally and Tony arrived at Gareth’s house, she explained, they had to call the police to break in the door and upon entering the dining room, found four people dead and me hanging on to life by a thread.

There were only five of us in the room and as much as my wife tried to tell them about the invitation and Gareth’s phone call, no one had yet been able to confirm whether he had actually been present at all that evening. Amongst the other checks that they did, it seemed that Gareth had left the country and had taken a flight to Amsterdam’s Schipol Airport more than three weeks beforehand and so far, had not re-entered the Country. No one had been able to track him down yet and the Police