Novels‎ > ‎Shot Down‎ > ‎

Chapter Three


He’s alarmed.  He doesn’t understand.

            “Ryan?  Ryan, what’s wrong?  Where are you?”

            How do I tell him what I’ve done? 

            “I killed Shaun.”

            Easier than I thought.

            “Oh fuck off Ryan!  I’m not in the mood for stupid games.  What happened?  Did they tell you that I went home early and-“

            Egotistical bastard.  I knew I should have called someone more worthy.  I just thought that he would be the most interested.

            “I’m not lying.  I need you come to Charing Cross police station.  Don’t tell my Mum, I don’t want her to know just yet.  I shot Shaun dead.  He was trying to kill me.”

            “Ryan, this isn’t funny.”

            “I know that.”  My tone is flat, I can tell.  I sound deranged, taking on the qualities of a murderer.  I have to think of myself like that sooner or later.  “He was there.  At the gig.  That’s how I knew it was him.  Everything.  The notes, the…”

            He didn’t know.  Nobody knew.  I had kept it to myself because I thought I was going mad.  Then I knew I wasn’t, and I forgot to tell people.  It got to the stage where I was buying a gun and still I hadn’t told anyone.  Apart from him of course.  The police hadn’t believed me, so why would my friends?

            “It might be on the news.  There seemed to be lots of people there when they took me away.”

            “I don’t have the time for this.  Very funny Ryan, creative almost.  Shaun isn’t even in London right now.  You’ll have to get up earlier than that to fool me.  Now, if you don’t mind…”

            “Just look on the news.  If you see something you believe come and get me.”  So flat.  Where has my emotion gone?  “If you don’t help me then I guess you are the self-involved prick I always feared you’d become.  You don’t joke about murder.”

            I hang up on my only chance of a friendly face.  I had put too much faith in that one.  I had also just used up my entitlement.  The next person I would talk to would be my duty solicitor, who didn’t even care if I was guilty, as long as he got his commission.  Bloody legal salesmen, that’s what they were.  Unfortunately, they also represented the one person who would support me right now.

            If I’d thought I was isolated for the past few months, I was obviously deluded.  This was real loneliness.