Eeny Meeny

20

Is it possible to die of fear? Peter hadn’t moved in hours.

‘Peter?’

Still nothing – hope sprang up in Ben’s heart. Perhaps his heart had given out, overwhelmed by theatrical self-pity. Yes, that’s what it was. And wouldn’t it be great. The perfect solution. Survival of the fittest.

Ben immediately felt black. Wishing someone dead. Pitiful to even think of it, given what he’d been through. And anyway even if he was dead, would it count? Would he be released? He hadn’t killed him after all.

Ben’s thoughts strayed back to his abductor. He hadn’t recognized her – she was striking with those long black tresses and plump pink lips – so why had she chosen them? Was this some sick reality TV joke? Would someone jump out soon and reveal the gun to be full of blanks? The tone of her voice on the phone suggested otherwise. She wanted blood.

Ben started to cry. There had been so much bloodshed in his life already that it seemed the ultimate cruelty to end his days like this.

Now. Why not? Just to see if Peter is dead or not. He looks dead, so where would be the harm?

‘Peter?… Peter?’

Ben eased himself to his feet. It was impossible to do it quietly, so he did it ostentatiously loudly. Stretching and yawning, he said:

‘I’m going to have to take a shit, Peter. Sorry.’

Nothing.

Ben took a step towards the gun. Then another.

‘Did you hear me, Peter?’

Ben bent down slowly. His ankle joint clicked – the noise echoing around the silo, bugger it – and he paused. Then slowly, quietly, he picked up the gun. He shot a glance at Peter, expecting him to rear up in alarm, but he didn’t. He wished he would. At least then it would be a fight.

The safety catch was obvious, so he released it. Then he pointed the gun at Peter’s back. No, not like that. He might miss. Or just injure him. Fuck knows what a ricochet might do in this metal can. Kill them both? Yeah, that would be a good joke.

Stop prevaricating. Ben took a step closer.

‘Peter?’

He really is dead. Still, he’d better do it to make sure. To make sure he gets out. And suddenly a thought of Jennie flitted through his mind. His fiancée. Who’ll be in pieces. Who he’ll see soon. Who’ll forgive him. Of course she’ll forgive him. He only did what had to be done. What anyone would have done.

Another step closer.

Ben lowered the gun so the barrel was almost resting on the back of Peter’s head. This is it, he thought, and began to squeeze the trigger. Which was when Peter suddenly reared up, driving a metal splint right through Ben’s left eye.