Blink {Featured}

Chapter One

JOHN FINNIE (35y) AUGUST 2022, 09.32

'Hindsight, the most beautifully non-existent thing a person could wish for.' John rattled the tub and tipped four Vicodin into the palm of his hand. The ice had almost melted in his whiskey, which he reached for with a trembling hand. 'Hindsight,' he spat the word out in the empty room. The tablets clung to the roof of his mouth, and he swallowed them down with the whiskey in one well practised movement.

'Hindsight,' he grumbled as he wheeled his chair to the bed. A glimpse in the mirror stole his attention. The reflection of a tired older man stared back at him. 'Who are you? Who are you with your crippled body and old face, John?' He sat staring. 'I hate you!' he growled, bursting into a blur of movement. The whiskey glass hit the mirror hard, spider-webbing its full length. Several warped reflections stared back at him, to which he spoke. 'Used to have hindsight, but it was taken from me.' He lifted a gnarled left hand up to the reflections. 'You took everything from me, you bastard.'

The sweet release of the painkillers doing their work saturated John's weary bones, and his head lolled forward. For the umpteenth time, he remembered "that day", when all this had started, and wished he could change it. Seventeen years of dreams, and each one had the murderer in it. Was he the only one who ever saw him?

The clarity of the dream never wavered. The murderer pulled over and opened the car door. He talked for a few seconds and beckoned her in. The little girl hesitated and then got in the car. The car sped away into a blurred horizon.

Seventeen years he dreamed the dream. Seventeen years he stood and watched. A tear streaked down his cheek, and his chest ached with sorrow. 'I'm sorry...'

THAT DAY (17y) JANUARY 2005, 11.45

A creak sounded from under John's chair as he leaned back in it, removed a sufficiently chewed spit bullet from his mouth, pulled out the ink inner from his Bic pen, and stuffed the paper in one end. He eyed his target and smiled. Samantha Grimes. Mr Atkinson, his math teacher, wasn't paying any attention. Good.

The target turned to talk to her friend, and John's smile widened. A clean shot. He took a deep breath and blew hard. To his absolute horror the target bent down to pick up her pen, and the paper spit bullet flew straight over her, spattering off Mr Atkinson's glasses.

In a rush, he darted so close John could smell his cloying stale cigarette breath and lynx deodorant mix. The class went silent, knowing a clash of wills between John and "Acko the Bastard" loomed. Mr Atkinson's face reddened as he fought to maintain control then spoke through gritted teeth. 'You boy, out of the classroom now. Go count the railings.' The lads at the back of the class cheered, drawing a smile from him, but a sharp look from Mr Atkinson quietened them down fast.

John opened the door and turned to the rest of the class. 'Freedom!' he shouted, fist-pumping the air. The class roared with laughter as he legged it down the corridor.

Mr Atkinson ran to the door. 'John Finnie, I'll see you at the Head's office after you're done counting the railings!'

John ran down the stairs then slowed to a walk, safe in the knowledge he wasn't being followed. With every step he took, he kicked at his satchel. Count the bloody railings. 'Ugh.' He knew exactly how many railings there were: one hundred and twenty-three, and one missing after number fifty-two. Why were math teachers so dreary? I mean, why would he ever need the formula for calculating the circumference of a circle anyway? He pushed the fire doors open. Couldn't be bothered going through the main entrance.

The spring air was nice and warm, which was just as well; he'd left his jacket in class. Damn! Mud and grime covered his clothes from the soccer earlier. After a second he shrugged. By the time he got home it would be dry and he could rub it off. Mam was a clean freak, everything had to be spotless. Everything. He was more a "who cares" sort of kid. Although they rarely saw eye to eye, he still thought she was the best mam in the world, the only person who could talk some sense into him. And she had a way with Charlie, his little sister, which made him smile when he watched them.