Page 2 of Into These Eyes
A sharp crackle pierces the night air. “Ambulance and police are on their way. But if you’re screwing with me, Darryl, I’m gonna fire your arse.”
Beneath him, the kid stops struggling. He’s given up. Knows he’s done for.
Darryl beams with elation. The only way this night can get any better is if that woman is dead.
More than being a cop, he dreams of something bigger. He can already see the news, see himself being interviewed while the banner at the bottom of the screen reads:Local Hero Catches Killer.
One Hour Earlier
Chapter 2
Gavin
Isit on the edge of my bed and pull on a fresh pair of sports socks. The last thing I feel like doing is going for a run, but once I’m out there and my heart’s pounding, lungs protesting, I’ll disappear into the mind-numbing rhythm. It’s an escape I need, even if only for an hour. Besides, as captain of our high school soccer team, I have to keep in top shape to lead them to victory when we play in the grand final in a few weeks.
Although I’m sure no one would blame me if I failed them, the weight of obligation falls heavy on my shoulders all the same. Dad’s taught me the meaning of responsibility my whole life. So, whether my heart’s in it or not, I won’t let my teammates down.
Funny how things change. A little over a year ago, all that mattered in my world was soccer, training, and getting scouted by the professional teams in our state. Now three scouts have put in offers to take me on next year as a fully paid professional player. Everything I’ve been working for my whole life.
And now, I couldn’t give a shit.
Letting out a heavy sign, I shove my feet into well-worn runners. As I tie the laces, my gaze settles on the bedside drawer.
I shouldn’t, it’ll only tear my heart out all over again, but I can’t help myself. Leaning over, I open the drawer. Guilt hits me when I’m forced to shove aside junk I’ve thrown on top of the framed photo of me, Mum and Dad. I’m disgusted with myself for treating this memory with such disrespect. I’d love to keep it out in the open, but I just … can’t. Not yet.
I stare at us all smiling for the camera after I led the school soccer team to victory last year. At least Mum got to share that moment. If only she was still here. It would’ve been something special to see her face light up when she learnt I had my choice between three teams. But all the joy and enthusiasm I once experienced through the sport I love has gone.
Gone because Mum died a month ago. After her ALS diagnosis, the cruel disease had given her a year and some change with us before taking her. We’d hoped she’d be one of the rare people who lived a decade or longer. She wasn’t. I’m grateful Dad and I gave it our all while caring for her, even though the pain of watching her deteriorate before our eyes shattered us. At least we were there for her. At least we had each other to lean on.
When the time came to hand her over to palliative care, everything changed between me and Dad. While I spent every spare moment I had at Mum’s bedside, Dad grew distant, rarely visiting her. I want to know why he changed during that time. I want to talk to him about everything, but he’s still so damn closed off.
The only comfort—as painful as it was—is that I was there, looking into Mum’s eyes and holding her hand when she took her last breath. She didn’t die alone. My final gift to her. And hers to me. Dad missed it, and I’m not sure if he feels bad about that or if he’s relieved he wasn’t there.
Mum might not have been alone when she passed, but I was.
I needed him.
I still do.
Staring at Mum’s smiling face, my heart lurches as my eyes fill with tears. How long will it take until I can look at her without crumbling? Another month? A year? Never? To push aside all the decimating emotions her death has brought into my world, to try and move on, feels like a sickening betrayal.
I desperately need to talk to Dad about that. But, when it comes to me, he seems incapable of communicating anything other than mundane orders.
I didn’t lose just one parent the day Mum died, but two. Nothing’s the same. We were always a close, tightknit family unit. My parents were best friends. And Dad used to look at me with such pride … pride that meant everything to me. Now, I may as well be a ghost.
Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, trying to get a handle on the pain coursing through me, I tenderly place the photo back in my drawer.
Outside my window, the streetlights glow as light fades from the sky. I love running at twilight while the final strand of illumination on the horizon vanishes into pure darkness.
Standing, I raise my arms over my head, lengthening the muscles in my back, then my sides. As I begin calf stretches, the door swings open.
Dad stops short at the sight of me. “I thought you were at training tonight.”
“Got cancelled. Coach had to move it to tomorrow night.”
“Shit.” He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms, lines furrowing his brow.
“Why? What’s the problem?”
