Alex Kicks The Bucket Page 7

  He stopped walking. That’s what he would do; he’d go back to the flat. It was better to die in company than kick the bucket completely alone.

  The problem was, he was completely lost. He’d stumbled into a rather nice residential area, but he didn’t recognise the houses, or the street. He couldn’t see a street sign anywhere.

  He was about to pull out his phone and use Google Maps, when he heard sirens approaching in the distance. They grew louder, as a fire engine screeched around the corner, disappearing down the street.

  It left his ears ringing, and he stared after it. Up ahead, he could see a column of smoke rising into the orange sky. More sirens could be heard off in the distance.

  He didn’t think, he just started to run.

  15:17:33

  It felt like he could run for an eternity now. He didn’t get out of breath, he didn’t sweat, and he didn’t even feel the pounding of his feet against the pavement.

  He was still slow though. The early onset of death hadn’t changed the fact that he was slightly overweight and hadn’t ran since the bleep test in school.

  He finally reached the source of the smoke. It was a nice house, burning merrily, sending clouds of ash and smoke into the already polluted smog of the London sky.

  Police had the crowd cordoned off, and there were two fire engines there, kitted up firemen preparing to enter. It didn’t look good. The entire house was almost completely up in smoke, and it looked as those it might spread to its neighbours.

  Alex stared at the blaze, feeling a deep, icy dread inside of him, despite the heat blasting from the inferno.

  He remembered the fire, from when he was just a kid. He was ten, staring at a roaring fire. His family home was burning to the ground, and he watched as the fire men rushed into the flames.

  Rushed in to try and save his little brother. To try and save Chris, who he had left behind when he smelt the smoke, when he saw the fire hungrily licking at the bottom of the stairs.

  Over the blaze, you could scarcely make out the sounds of a scream from within the house. Alex’s next door neighbour, Mrs Norris, grabbed him and pulled him into a hug, shielding him from the blaze and covering his eyes, right as the front porch collapsed.

  In the present day, he stood, equally transfixed and helpless as this house burned. From within, there came a scream. It sounded like a child.

  “There’s someone still in there!” one of the police officers shouted. The fire men started spraying the blaze with water, while a squad of two of them made their way towards the door.

  Alex felt like a man waking from a dream. His legs carried him to the do not cross tape, and he ducked under it.

  An officer tried to push him back. The man was very old, and extremely overweight. He likely couldn’t run the length of himself.

  “Stay back, sir,” he said.

  “There’s a kid in there!” Alex shouted, over the roar of the fire.

  “We’re doing everything we can,” the officer said, wiping his forehead with his arm. “Stand back.”

  “Fuck that,” Alex said. He slipped past the man, and sprinted towards the house.

  The officer took two steps after him.

  “Stop him!” he shouted.

  Two more officers, shielding their eyes from the blaze, rounded on Alex, trying to stop him, but he slipped past them again, dodging out of their reach.

  He disappeared into the burning house, his body vanishing into the fire.

  “Shit!” one of the officers by the door shouted.

  “Who was that?” the other asked.

  The blaze intensified. The porch collapsed, driving them further away from the building.

  The firemen set about clearing the rubble while the others tried to quench the thirst of the blaze. Whoever the man was, he was surely dead.

  Alex shielded himself from the flames, instinctively. He stood in the hallway for a moment, watching the stairs burn like firewood. He looked down at his hoody as it burned off his body, catching fire and turning to ash. His jeans burnt away, his shoes melted and he stepped out of them.

  He was now completely naked, standing in the middle of a roaring fire that felt not much hotter than the sun had felt on his skin earlier in the day.

  “Shit,” he said.

  His hair caught fire, but it didn’t burn. His beard too. He looked like a wood carving of a man burning in hell from a sixteenth century church.

  He heard the scream from above again, and started to move. He scrambled up the collapsing stairs, almost on hands and knees. He was on all fours, with everything on display. His testicles swung like a pendulum between his legs.

  At the top, they completely give away behind him, just in time. The landing was an inferno too, and the heat was more intense here. Sweat rolled off his body and evaporated instantly.

  He stopped, staring at his burning hand with fascination, turning it over and watching the flames crawl across his skin. He put his face close to the flames rising from the floor, letting them lick against his skin, touching his eyes.

  Nothing. The scream came again, from further down the hallway. He came across a closed door with a towel jammed underneath it. He tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.

  He took a running leap at it, throwing his whole body weight against it. He bounced off, landing flat on his ass in the fire. He tried again, and it splintered slightly.

  “One more time,” he said.

  This time he crashed through, his body flying into the room. He landed in an awkward heap. Before he could stand up, a wooden cane was smashed across the back of his head. The force of it knocked him down, but he felt no pain.

  He stood up, coming face to face with an elderly man, who looked out of his mind with terror. He held the handle of his shattered cane in front of him like a dagger.

  “Get behind thee, Satan!” he howled, jabbing at Alex with it.

  “Stop!” Alex shouted, holding his hands up. “I’m here to help you.”

  He felt slightly embarrassed about being naked, but this wasn’t really the time or place to be body conscious. After all, he wreathed in fire like a Greek god.

  The old man backed away from him. The fire poured through the door behind him, eagerly taking the opportunity to chew up and spit out a new room.

  “Like hell you are!” Edgar howled. “You’re an avatar of the devil! A vestige of the fallen angel! A wicked wretch, wreathed in flame and pain, send to carry me away to Dante’s Inferno!”

  The old coot jabbed him with the cane again. Alex felt like he should applaud him.

  “I didn’t dispatch fifty Nazi’s single-handedly to be carried away by a naked, needle-dicked millennial like you!” the old man screamed, throwing the cane at Alex’s head, and raising his fists, ready for a brawl.

  Alex looked down at his flaming genitals.

  “I’m a grower,” he said.

  “Stay away, Hell spawn!”

  “It’s me or the fire, old man,” Alex said, sighing.

  “I’d rather burn,” was the reply.

  A crash came from behind Alex, as the hallway collapsed, disappearing into the fire.

  The old man screamed. It sounded oddly like that of a child.

  “Shit…” Alex said, looking around the room.

  The wrinkly bugger looked at the blocked door with wide eyes.

  “Help me!” he screamed.

  Alex resisted the urge to be snide.

  “Quick!” he shouted, “the window!”

  The old man turned back to the window, overlooking the garden where the fire fighters were helpless to control the blaze.

  “How the bloody hell am I supposed to…” he started, but Alex was already charging at him.

  He grabbed the old man around the waist and jumped backwards out the window, using his body to shield the man’s fragile frame. He was so slight; it was like lifting a hat stand.

  The glass shattered around them, and Alex felt the cool night air on his body for just a moment, before
they rocketed towards the ground.

  He landed on his back, and just like with Kate, his body took the shock of the fall, the old man rolled away from him, unharmed. He pulled himself to his feet, patted out the flames on his cardigan, and shoved away an officer who tried to offer him help.

  Alex was tackled to the ground by a pair of officers. They immediately backed away from his naked body, leaving him lying in the grass.

  “Jesus Christ,” one of them said. “Get him some clothes.”

  The house continued to burn behind them, casting dancing shadows across their faces. It was collapsing in on itself, the fire eating it alive. The creaks and groans of its collapsing wood and brick work sounded like the howls of some dying beast.

  The old bugger approached, a strand of his hair was on fire, but he slapped it out without a moment’s pause.

  “Don’t touch him,” the old man shouted at the officers.

  They looked down at Alex’s body.

  “No problem,” one said.

  “This man saved my life,” the old man said. “You’re not tossing him in a cell, not whole those cider drinking teens are free to shag in the alley behind my house and you do fuck all about it.”

  Nobody seemed quite able to believe what they were hearing.

  “Calm down sir,” the first officer said, “we’re just…”

  The old coot went from zero to one hundred in a heartbeat, becoming the picture perfect image of flipping your shit.

  “Calm down?” he said. “Calm down he says! When my house is burning and you sit here with your thumbs up your arses? When Satan himself has to kick down my bedroom door to drag me to safety?”

  He took three deep, hitching breaths.

  “Get fucked,” he said. “Get fucked, the lot of you.”

  He stumbled forward, rubbing his left arm. In the light of the fire, his face was a hideous theatre mask of pain.

  “My pills,” he whispered, clutching at his chest.

  He went down to his knees. The officers crowded around him, trying to help him. As they hoisted him to the ground, he caught Alex’s eye, and winked.

  Alex nodded at him, and disappeared, sprinting across the grass, and clambering over the fence at the edge of the old man’s garden. His balls swung in the wind as he did.

  The big boned officer watched him go, and decided against doing anything about it. He mopped his forehead with the back of his meaty arm, and turned back to the crowd.

  “Stand back folks,” he said. “We’re doing everything we can.”

  Alex landed in the alleyway, and rolled, like he’d seen them do in the movies. He slowly rose to his feet like the time travel bit in Terminator 2. He gasped for breath, leaning against the fence, grinning.

  After a moment, he put his hand over his lips, and then looked slowly down at his chest.

  He drew in a breath, looking down at his chest. It didn’t move. He was suddenly panicked. He was wide eyed and naked, a crazy hairless beast lurking in the alleyway where teens went to drink cheap cider and cop a feel.

  He took a deep breath, and held it. He held it, and held it, until he should have been turning blue, until his body should have been screaming for breath. Until he should have passed out, clunking his head off the dirty concrete of the alley.

  “You don’t need to do that anymore,” Stephen said.

  Alex turned to see him standing at the mouth of the alley. Even here, the light from the fire made strange shapes on his face. It almost seemed to shift, from the Stephen he knew, to something darker, and then back again.

  Alex let the breath whistle out through his teeth.

  “Fuck off, Stephen,” he said.

  “Alright, alright,” Stephen said, raising his hands. “Peace, come on.”

  He pulled a small white flag from his shirt and waved it.

  “I was a dickhead,” Stephen said. “Can we call it a truce?”

  Alex took more hitching breaths that didn’t seem to go anywhere. They disappeared into his chest, but his lungs didn’t inflate. He felt like a busted bike tyre.

  “Make yourself useful,” he said, turning to Stephen. “What’s happening?”

  “You don’t need to breathe anymore,” Stephen said. “You haven’t since this morning, in fact. It takes your brain a while to catch up to your body. It’s always the way.” Stephen grinned. “Especially for men.”

  Alex clutched at his throat, with two trembling hands.

  “I don’t like this,” he said, croaking. “I feel like I’m going to have a panic attack.”

  “Impossible,” Stephen said.

  “I’m going to faint,” Alex said.

  “You can’t,” Stephen said.

  “I’m going to die,” Alex said.

  “Not just yet.”

  Alex slumped to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees. His testicles scraped across the concrete but he couldn’t feel it.

  “Oh God,” he said, shaking. “This is real, it’s all real.”

  “And the trial by fire didn’t confirm that already?” Stephen said. “Or the jump from the car park?”

  Alex looked up at him. His eyes were wide and manic. Stephen knew the look well. Eventually everyone realised what it all meant. What watching the countdown to their own death meant.

  It was why he was here.

  “I need you Stephen,” Alex said. “I need you to be my genie.”

  Stephen slowly shook his head.

  “Come on,” Alex pleaded. “Like in Aladdin. Show me how the magic works.”

  “There’s no magic here, kid,” Stephen said.

  “You’re not helping,” Alex said, burying his head in his arms again.

  Stephen reached out, and slowly stroked Alex’s head, tousling his hair.

  “There, there,” he said. “It’ll be okay.”

  “It won’t,” Alex said.

  Stephen sighed, and slid to join Alex on the concrete.

  “Your parents would be proud,” he said, quietly.

  Alex looked over at him. His face was blank. That moment when someone is one step away from screaming and one step from crying.

  “You’ve saved two lives today,” Stephen said. “Not bad going for a waste of space like yourself.”

  “Fuck you,” Alex said, but without much vitriol.

  “You know I’m right,” Stephen said. “You know what the last guy I was with spent his entire day doing?”

  “What?” Alex said.

  “Coke and hookers,” Stephen said. “Don’t get me wrong, it was fun for a few hours. But that was it. Mountains of blow and paid escorts. He couldn’t get high either. You know about that, it’s a side effect of all this nonsense. Spent all his families’ savings on it too. Selfish git.”

  Stephen pulled himself to his feet.

  “Three kids lost their dad and had their trip to Disneyland cancelled in the same day,” he said. “This guy ruined four lives, his wife’s included. You saved two, and you’ve still got time left.”

  Alex hardly dared hope that the strange man who wore sunglasses at night was telling the truth, but he could hardly deny it.

  “So,” Alex said. “If you had to rate my day out of five stars…”

  Stephen pretended to think about it. He put his hand on his chin, and looked thoughtful.

  “Hmm,” he said. “That’s a tough one. I’d say four. A low four.”

  He offered his hand to Alex.

  “Let’s make it five,” he said.

  Alex looked at his hand, but made no effort to take it.

  “Oh come on,” Stephen said.

  He grabbed Alex’s hand instead, and the two of them vanished. Just as they did, the old man ran around the corner, wheezing.

  “Wait,” he said, doubled over, hands on his knees.

  Stephen appeared behind him.

  “You too, old timer,” he said.

  He grabbed the man, and they both vanished.

  15:05:45

  Kate couldn’t help but wonder w
hy she was such a miserable git. She knew that other people thought it too. A lot of the time, they didn’t even bother thinking it; they just came right out and said it.

  Total strangers on the street often felt the need to tell her that she should smile, that she was probably beautiful when she smiled. That was probably true, but she didn’t see what business it was of theirs. Like when men offer to buy you a drink at a bar and get pissy when you refuse, or when you take your triple vodka and coke and walk away from them.

  She had heard it all.

  Why the long face?

  What’s got you down?

  And of course, eventually.

  Why are you always so fucking sour faced?

  Then it stopped, because nobody wanted to throw a pity party for you. Before too long, you stopped getting invitations to any kind of party at all.

  Kate had always had a little voice in her head. A dull nagging, that asked her why she was happy when she was, and why she wasn’t when she wasn’t.

  Alex had made it worse. How could she throw away more than fifty years of life when there was a man struggling desperately to make something of his last twenty four hours?

  It was that old chestnut again. How can you be sad, when other people have it worse? How can you be happy when other people have it better?

  It made her hate Alex. It made her feel like her blood might boil in her veins.

  How dare he?

  How dare he come into her life and foil her best attempt at taking it. How dare he make her feel like her reasons aren’t good enough? Make her feel as though her problems were something that could be solved?

  She knew the truth, though. She didn’t hate Alex. She didn’t hate her smart parents with their beautiful house and their hard earned jobs.

  She didn’t hate her dad for saying he was ashamed of her because she was dyslexic. She didn’t hate her mum for getting drunk after a charity dinner and telling her that if she was really so miserable, maybe she should just get it over with and quite whining.

  She didn’t hate her sister for being so nice. For her pity, for her smiles, for her offer of her couch whenever she needed somewhere to sleep, for her offer to recommend her to a great therapist, to get her an internship.