third | percy

I killed a man.

Many times, when I delve into the depths of my thoughts, I return to that point of the May day when the sound of the gunshot shook the evening twilight.

I remember the man's face, contorted in a painful grimace after the surprise. His body stiffened, his pain was short-lived, but the moments that followed were heavy. I saw him fighting for his life, but I couldn't help him, I saw how lifelessness spread through his body.

I didn't want to. I really didn't want to.

But I did it, my selfishness committed a sin that will never be redeemed. Either I die on that May night or he does.

The tragedy immediately fades from my sight as the boy lying in front of me begins to stir. I just wanted to thank him, then he collapsed. The soldier left us here, he said to call if he wakes up, but I don't want to expose him to any more shock, so I wait with him.

The boy starts to groan, then looks around, confusion passes over his snow-white face, which gradually begins to regain its color. The torch casts a warm light on his face, the flames of the fire are reflected in his blue eyes, beads of sweat glisten on his forehead, his lips are parted.

"Have a sip of water."

He looks at me with big blinking eyes.

"I know, everything is confusing, you fainted earlier."

He swallows, slowly but manages to sit up, holding onto the bed frame, then pulls himself up with its help.

He accepts the water. He drinks slowly. He holds the mug with both hands. He seems quiet yet fragile. What could such a boy be doing in a place like this?

"Is everything okay?"

He nods.

"I'm Percy" - I reach out my arm, continuing from where everything was interrupted. He looks at my hand for a while, then hesitantly extends his small, bony finger towards me. We shake hands, his handshake is soft and warm. - "What's your name?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out, he bites his lip gently, looking around, then raises his eyebrows. Something comes to his mind. Slowly, he turns towards the window, gets up from the bed, and walks to the windowsill. He exhales on it, then writes something on the foggy glass with his finger.

Kieran.

"Are you deaf?"

He shakes his head.

"Are you not allowed to speak?"

He nods.

"I understand."

He looks at me. I can see relief in his eyes now. He smiles awkwardly.

"I'll be your driver."

He nods.

"Can you sign?"

He shakes his head.

"Then how do you communicate with others?"

He blows on the glass again.

Paper.

"I see." - I walk towards my bag. I start searching for my notebook.

I take out my sketchbook, then flip to a blank page. I write down a few things with my pencil, then offer the writing to the boy.

Is this acceptable?

The boy furrows his brow, then takes the pencil from me. His fingers move swiftly on the paper. I take the notebook back from him.

Yes.

How old are you? - I ask.

Twenty. And you? - Comes the next question.

Twenty-seven. Your handwriting is beautiful.

Thank you. Yours is beautiful too. - There's a smiling face at the end.

Why are you here?

He starts writing, but the door opens, so he immediately puts the notebook on the dresser, steps back with his hands behind his back, like a child who has been forbidden something but has broken the rule.

"Is everything okay?" - a soldier enters. He wasn't here earlier.

"Yes."

"Did the boy behave well?"

"Of course. He didn't do anything wrong" - I answer.

Kieran looks at me. I see gratitude in his eyes.

"We'll meet again tomorrow. Good evening, Percy."

"Good evening."

The boy is escorted out, and I'm left alone in the small room.

Kieran... He's a strange boy. I look at the piece of paper lying on the nightstand.

Dad sent me here. Not

The rest of his message didn't make it onto the page.

This guy is interesting... He must have an extraordinary story.

*

I woke up in a cold sweat at night.

After the murder, I have nightmares. In every dream, I kill someone who isn't that man. I imagine someone else in the man's place, sometimes my parents, my sister, myself... Today, I imagined Kieran there.

I heard his voice too.

I'll never be able to get over all of this. I've tried. I went to therapy, took drugs, pushed myself to the brink of suicide. Today, I've put away the alcohol, sleeping pills, and blades. I try to show that I'm okay, but my condition is getting worse.

That's why I took this job. I want to distract myself. I have no idea what the rules are, so far it seems like there are no rules for us drivers, we got a separate room, a uniform, they send a list in the morning and evening of the places we need to go, but that's it. If they had warned in time that we shouldn't talk to the boys, I wouldn't even speak, but I wanted to reassure the kid.

There's something about the boy that worries me. I have no idea what it could be.

I'm tying my tie when I hear a knock at the door.

A tall, blond, twenty-year-old guy walks in.

"Hello. I'm Barney Brown, welcome to the club." - We shake hands, he has a firm handshake.

Percy.

"What brings you here?" - He walks around the room, then stops by the window, leaning against the windowsill with his hands in his pockets.

"Money." - He laughs.

"I got you, same here."

"Business as usual" - I tighten my tie.

"If you want, we can go for drinks tonight, we have a little driver team that goes out every evening."

"Thanks, but I haven't drunk in years."

"But it wouldn't hurt, make use of it" - he winks.

"I'll pass."

"Come on, what are you doing here at night anyway? You can't even talk to these little brats."

I cough disapprovingly.

"What's that?" - he looks up at the sound.

"If it weren't for them, you wouldn't have any money."

He shrugs. He probably couldn't care less about the fate of the boys.

"Oh, and if you want something big or anything, just let me know, I'm tight with the boss!" - He proudly raises his chin.

"Cheers. I'll handle it myself."

"Suit yourself"- he waves his hand, a pricey ring idly spinning on his ring finger. - "By the way, food, cigarettes, boys, anything you want and anything you do, just manage your morning and evening shifts" - he walks out. - "We're going to grab a bite at the bistro, are you coming?"

"I think I'll look around a bit, but I'll join you later."

I'm not in the mood to hang out with this guy, somehow he exudes smugness and arrogance. I'm allergic to people like him.

Barney shrugs and walks out of the room.

I sigh deeply. I hope there aren't too many guys around here like Barney.

*

Kieran is sitting in the courtyard on a rickety bench, with a black guy beside him. They're communicating with a notebook, and I can see that the boy is completely different now, much more relaxed, of course, because he's chatting with an acquaintance.

I don't want to form deep and important relationships, but since we work together, I think it wouldn't hurt if we knew a little about each other. True, it will be difficult this way, since he can't speak.

However, I promised myself that I wouldn't establish strong connections with anyone... My connection with him was strong too, yet I cut it off.

"Good morning. Everything okay last night?" - the soldier appears, the one who introduced me to Kieran yesterday.

"Yes."

"Here you go. If you happen to have nothing to read" - he hands me a Bible, then sits in front of me. The chair creaks under his weight. - "I think it'll do you good."

"I'll take a look."

"Do you believe in God?" - he asks, which surprises me, and after a moment of thought, I respond.

"I think so."

"You think so?" - he chuckles. - "You have to believe in the church."

"That's exactly why I don't go there" - I swallow down another bite. - "But I believe that there's something up there that guides us."

"There was someone who didn't believe in that." - he nods towards two seats away. - "That's where he passed away." - The man watches my reaction sharply, which consists only of a raised eyebrow."

"Why?" - I clear my throat.

"He broke two rules. Took the Lord's name in vain and spoke."

"He was a... prostitute?" - I have no idea how to talk about them, but I think this is one of the more acceptable terms.

"That's right. So, I highly recommend you skim through this" - he gestures towards the Bible.

"I don't promise anything, but I'll take a look."

The man nods, then stands up from the table.

"Kieran is a good boy, you won't have any trouble with him. He does everything right."

I figured. To stay alive, he has to do what's expected of him.

"The shift is starting soon, you'll receive the morning and evening coordinates on your phone, they'll guide you to the places. I think you've already received the breakfast."

"I got it."

Once again, I'm left alone in the forty-five square meter space. Will there ever be a time when I'm not left alone with my thoughts, which kill me? I sigh. Probably never.

*

Kieran is waiting in the corridor.

According to the coordinates, the place he needs to go to is three streets away. They said I have to give him a bracelet that indicates his location, so if he wanders off, I can track him, and if I hear a beeping sound, he's in danger. I hope he'll signal, I don't want us to get into trouble; this job is necessary.

"Ready to go?"

He nods. I can see he has no desire for any of this, but he has to do it if he wants to stay alive. I see myself in him. I did the same. If my existence hadn't been so important, that man would still be alive.

A black Audi is parked outside Dale's. It has tinted windows. Three of them are parked side by side, and one of them starts with a loud engine noise, cutting through the city.

We both get in.

Kieran puts on the bracelet.

We set off on the GPS-guided route. We're both silent, having learned from yesterday not to say anything. Although we're not within the walls of Dale's, there are no cameras, at least as far as I know, but if someone is accustomed to silence, no one can force them to speak, like an Arab woman, to take off her hijab.

Pleasant sunlight creeps through the streets of New York; it's going to be a warm summer. The shining glass surfaces of tall buildings reflect the spring sky, and people are already sitting outside in the parks, enjoying their lattes on café terraces. Everything is so intimate. I rarely discover these little wonders in the world, even though I should.

We arrive at the destination.

The boy looks at the house. A house with a garden. Relatively average. Freshly cut grass, blinds, and a graffiti drawing on the side of the house.

Kieran gets out of the car and walks effortlessly into the house. He knocks. A bearded, bespectacled man opens the door. He's wearing a tank top, but that's all I can make out because he quickly shuts the door.

I wait.

I've had writer's block for a month now. Yet there are a thousand ways to continue the story I'm currently working on. It'll be a crime story with a little thriller spice. A rookie detective is the protagonist, and he has to interrogate six suspects; one of them killed a boy, whose case allegedly started as a suicide, but a letter changed everything.

I'm at the first suspect. The plan is to smuggle a piece of myself into each accused person: a drop of guilt, a drop of anger, a drop of aggressiveness, a drop of impatience, a drop of pain, a drop of depression... A piece of my old self into each one, the one I'm starting to forget. I've changed.

I hear a constant beeping.

At first, I think something's wrong with the car, but as I realize what happened, I quickly get out of the driver's seat and head towards the house.

Kieran is in trouble.