Something Called Redemption

A bitter wind rustled the bare branches of the trees, the cold a seeming defiance on the part of nature to release winter and move into spring. Clouds covered the night sky. The rain had passed, but lightning and distant thunder still filled the sky on occasion. Ian Gray squashed his cigarette butt beneath the heel of his shoe and took a long pull from his bottle, grimacing as the liquor burned its way down his throat. He shoved the bottle back into the thigh pocket of his cargo pants and continued walking through the dense trees. Another breeze shook the branches, sending more drops of water plummeting down. He raked his hand back through his wet, dark brown hair and leaned his shoulder to a tree, squinting his bloodshot blue eyes as he glanced at his watch. He waited for a streak of lightning before he was able to see the time—near one in the morning. He pursed his lips. He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t exactly sober, either. He’d had enough to calm the tremors that plagued his hands halfway through the day and muffle the thoughts that drove him to distraction. It was a pleasant enough place to be, but it also left him the choice of either spending the night in the park to sober up or breaking his own rule of never drinking and driving. Normally he didn’t bother leaving the house during the week, preferring to sit in his room and get sloshed while his dad fretted downstairs about what to do with his wayward son. But another in a string of seemingly endless fights left him storming from the house shortly after 10:00. No doubt his father was at home pacing the floor. It’d serve him right to lose a few more hairs. He tripped over an upraised root and barely kept himself from falling by grabbing onto a nearby tree. He cursed softly under his breath. A light filtered through the trees and he moved toward it, knowing there was a small clearing with an old wooden bench beneath the lamppost. As the clearing came into view, he stumbled again and went completely to the ground. He wiped his palms off on his pants and scooted back to lean against a tree. A glance over his shoulder gave him a view of the bench and light, but before he could move toward it, there was movement at the edge of the light. A man shuffled beneath the lamppost, pulling his tattered coat tighter to his too-thin body. Homeless, if Ian had his guess. He paced back and forth, eyes shifting over what he could see of the surrounding area before he sat on the bench. Interesting. Ian pulled out his camera—something he never left home without—and turned off the flash, trusting that the light from the lamppost would be bright enough as he snapped a few pictures of the man as he bounced his legs. He was waiting for someone or something, and Ian had the feeling that if he had any sense he should have been long gone. But his curiosity overtook his sense of self-preservation; and he remained seated in the darkness as a car pulled up on the other side of the clearing. Ian pressed his back more firmly to the tree he was leaned against when three men got out of the car. The first man pushed from the bench, wringing his hands as the youngest of the new arrivals neared him. Ian’s curiosity grew, and he kept his camera aimed as much as he could while trying to make sure he wasn’t seen from his hiding place. “Marcus, I heard you wanted to see me.” The haggard man licked his lips. “Yeah, I got a deal for ya.” He lit a cigarette and blew smoke in the man’s face. “What kind of deal?” “Yer mad, I know, but I jus’ need a bit more time. I c’n make things right. I swear.” He examined his nails. “I don’t know. I tried to do a good thing. You came to me wanting a job, and I took a chance on you. I gave you the opportunity to get your sorry behind off the streets and maybe into a nice apartment somewhere. I don’t think the job I gave you was too hard, and you blew it royally. I can’t get back all the merchandise you lost me.” Marcus looked to the other two men who were digging in the trunk of the car. “I know, but … seems ta me, that some people might be int’rested in what I know … if ya know what I mean.” The younger man raised an eyebrow, mouth set in a smirk. “Are you trying to blackmail me?” “I’m just sayin’ that—things bein’ what they are—I could make life difficult for ya.” He wiped at his sweating forehead. He nodded. “It seems you’re right. What is it you want?” Marcus swallowed. “How much is it worth to ya for me to keep quiet?” He stuck his cigarette in his mouth, moving it back and forth with his tongue. “I think you ought to cover it.” “What?” Marcus felt someone grab him from behind, and a rope was thrown around his neck. “What are ya doin’?” He grinned. “Keeping things simple. Pleasure doing business with you.” He turned and walked away. Ian watched with wide eyes as the man fought vainly against the men who tossed the end of the rope over a tree limb and hoisted the man up, tying the free end of the rope to another branch. Strangled gasps escaped the man’s lips, and he clawed at the noose cutting off his air supply. The men waited until he stilled and then left. Ian pushed to his feet, the buzz that had been running through his system dying in the wake of what he’d witnessed. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone die, but it was the first time he’d seen a murder. He took a look around before creeping toward the body and gazing up at the man’s face. It was dirty and haggard, eyes bulging and tongue hanging out between his chapped lips. It was far from a pretty sight, but he’d seen a lot worse. He quickly shook off the memory of exactly what that worse had been and backed up a step. Would anyone even notice the man was gone? Would there be anyone crying over the loss? Loved ones left behind to wonder why he had to die? Was there someone who would be scarred for life by his cruel and sudden end? It only served to cement several truths in Ian’s mind. Number one being that it didn’t matter how hard you tried or what you did, some things were inevitable. There was no such thing as redemption, at least not for people like them. People who'd made mistakes that couldn't be erased or taken back. Decisions that had, in one instant, completely changed the future. Once that line was crossed, there was no going back. He’d accepted that a long time ago. Ian pulled out his bottle of whiskey and took another long swig from it before lighting a cigarette. “Looks like you got in over your head, buddy,” he said. “You should’ve accepted your lot in life.”