Ok so this is my first shot at a fanfic, so please be as kind as you can manage!
Basically its set on the idea that Murphy has been left alone by a tragic turns of events. Its going to follow the story of how he coped with the whole situation and his grief, before eventually deciding that he needs to get justice. Typical Boondock violence will ensue if you stick with me, and I'm looking forward to writing some angsty/ badass reading material for you guys...hope you enjoy.
His brain felt numb, as though he was just an onlooker, watching his hands move back and forth tirelessly lifting the trays of raw cut meat. The machines of the factory whirred and echoed leaving a dull ringing in his ears, his chest heavy with a feeling that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Murphy knew that when his shift was over, he would do the same as he had for the last three weeks; walk home, sit on the couch, open a drink, and drown himself in whiskey until the static on the television put him to sleep. Maybe when he walked by McGinty's someone would give him a nod, or Rocco would give him a call, perhaps today he would even dabble with some drugs, but there would be nothing out of the ordinary. No banter, no fistfights, no battling over who had first use of the bathroom, nothing that made him feel like life was how it once was, because the simple truth was that it wasn't.
"MacManus! You're done for the day lad"
The manager called from the office window upstairs and he could feel his co-workers eyes on him now, he hated to think that they pitied him. Holding a thumb into the air he signalled an "ok" before beginning to untie his apron, walking slowly to the employee locker room. He wished he could stay at work forever, as much as he hated the place, at least he had a purpose there. Throwing the stained white uniform into the washing bin he kicked off the heavy leather boots that he kept solely for work.
"Yeah MacManus you're done for the day" He couldn't help but whisper to himself mockingly.
"So what do you say after church tomorrow we go straight to the pub, buy two pints and celebrate? Sunday is a holy day after all"
"You can't drink at eight in the morning Connor, I don't think that's what God set Sunday aside for"
"Murph. We're Irish"
Murphy side-glanced his brother who had a look of contempt on his face, before giving in and rolling his eyes. He knew that he wasn't going to win against Connor, once his brother had an idea that was it, no amount of arguing was going to change what he wanted to do. The T.V picture jumped for a moment before the static took over the screen, and a heavy moan that sounded like it came from his brothers gut, filled the room.
"Damn it, not again. The fucking landlords never do shit to fix it…Murph, go downstairs and ask Pete if he can come and take a look at it"
Connor got up and tapped the top of the run-down box T.V. as Murphy took note of the time, before shaking his head in frustration.
"It's ten thirty, I'm not going down there to get him it's too late, we can fix it tomorrow"
"Murph go get Pete"
"No, stop being an impatient bastard and wait until morning, he'll be asleep"
His brother sighed using his whole body, shoulders slumping forward, and legs bending at the knees.
"You know him as well as I do, he won't be asleep but if you're that against it then I'll go"
Knowing that for the next two hours, Connor and the handyman from downstairs would be tinkering on the T.V set he finished off the last of his whiskey and headed for the shower, not really wanting to be a part of the drama when they couldn't fix the shitbox and his brother threw a tantrum.
Strolling down the dark hallway he turned the light in the shower on before beginning to undress, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes sat low on his cheeks, the lack of sleep an overconsumption of alcohol probably being the reason for it. Poking around at the loose skin he could feel the vibration of a train passing on the tracks across the street, the walls of the building shaking almost as much as the floor of their cheap apartment. Forgetting about his appearance he turned the water on, before removing the last of his clothing and stepping in. Lathering his hands he scrubbed his face first, working all day at the factory often left him with blood smeared in his hair and on his neck, even though he couldn't always see it. Making sure he kept his eyes closed he searched for the stream of warm water, letting it run through his hair, over his ears and down his back, a sensation that he always enjoyed. Exhaling deeply he forgot the world around him momentarily until a hard vibration in the showers basin brought his senses back.
"What the fuck was that?" He said quietly to himself before turning off the water and reaching for the nearest towel.
"Hey Connor! What was that?"
Murphy waited for a reply as he half-dried himself, pulling on the dirty clothing that he had just taken off moments ago. Where the hell is he?
Storming out into the sitting room there was no sign of his brother, the static on the T.V still blaring. Still at Pete's…
The wind was blowing cold on his face as he took the daily route home, Murphy folding up his collar to keep the frosty air off his neck. Inhaling deeply he realised that his cigarette had gone out again, and as he couldn't be bothered re-lighting it he let it sit awkwardly between his lips. He didn't feel like going home today, his body felt as though it wished to actively avoid sitting on that cheap and uncomfortable sofa for yet another afternoon. Up ahead the sign for McGinty's swayed violently and it was then he considered stopping in for a drink, after all he hadn't seen the boys, not for a solid month. Quickening his pace to escape the cold he grasped the freezing brass handle and pushed the door open.
The warm air made him sigh in relief as he stood for a moment in the doorway listening to the regulars all joke amongst themselves at the bar. Taking off his jacket he pulled his wallet from the right side pocket before hanging the damp black coat on the hook. Flicking through the money he had, he could hear the background noise in the bar slowly fade, the loud voices dying down into murmurs, and eventually ceasing all together. Don't even look at them Murphy.
Jaw clenched he took long strides taking up the closest stool at the bar, not wanting to engage in any conversation. There was clinking of glasses on the wooden benchtop and a heated conversation amongst friends at the table behind where he was seated. Those who didn't drink at the bar often would have no idea the significance of his visit.
"Hey there lad, haven't seen you here for weeks, we've been worried about you."
Pat, a large man seated to his left sounded sincere as he spoke, his words accompanied by various 'Aye's' from the other regular patrons. Murphy still didn't want to look up, he didn't like being the one who was weak.
"I've been working a lot lately" …Lies, he thought to himself. They all know you're lying Murphy.
Watching the other men shuffle awkwardly in the corner of his vision he held up the cash for a pint. There was so much tension in the room, he could feel it; the strange eye contact, the clearing of throats and tapping on fingers.
"Come on boys, continue what you were talking about when I got here, I just want a drink"
Eyes fell on him now, but still none of the Irish blokes uttered a word. Looking to his right Murphy watched Doc place the pint in front of where his hand were resting. The old man standing flustered as always.
"You look like, ff-ff, like f-shit!"
"Gee thanks you old bastard, I'll keep that in mind"
A quiet chuckle resounded amongst them all, at least they're loosening up a bit.
The lift creaked and rattled as it descended to the ground floor, Murphy itching in his dirty clothes. Sirens sounded outside the building and around the block and a sick feeling crept into the pit of his stomach. Pushing the heavy door of the elevator open he looked towards the crowd of ten or more people that stood ahead of him, wondering what they were all doing out of their rooms so late. The lights of the emergency vehicles parked outside were blinding as he approached the hoard of onlookers. A familiar bundle of messy black hair stood out to him, as he grabbed Debbie, who lived on the floor below him by the shoulder. She gasped and turned with a shocked look on her face taking a moment to realise who he was.
"What's happened?"
Shaking her head violently she pushed him back towards the lift.
"Murphy, you don't want to know, stay back"
"What. Whatcha talkin' about Deb, what's happening?"
Turning away from him now, the thin woman covered her mouth with one hand, eyes red and watery.
"Deb!"
He shook her now but still received no answer or explanation. Connor…
"Connor!"
Calling his name he waited for one of the many faces that lined the thin hall to turn and be his brother's, maybe then he would know what was going on. Instead all of the faces that Murphy didn't know turned to him, some teary, others just plain horrified. Pete stood amongst the crowd, his face matching the rest, but his white shirt was dotted in red. Instinct seemed to punch Murphy in the chest then and there, something was wrong, and as he violently pushed through the crowd fright grew until finally his mind's fears were proven.
"So lad, any word from the police?"
The memory that seemed to play over in his mind had been cut short by a middle-aged man whose name had escaped him. The question caused silence amongst everyone who waited eagerly for an answer.
"Not yet, they think it might have been a failed robbery, but because nothing was stolen and there were no witnesses they can't do much"
Everyone seemed to shake their head in synchronised fashion, before Pat spoke up again.
"And how are you dealing with it? Really, because I think that we are all a little more concerned for you now that we have seen you, rather than when you'd stayed away. Looking mighty thin there Murphy"
Sitting for a moment he searched his mind for an appropriate answer. Um… 'I'm not coping at all', 'I hate going home to an empty house'? Too whiny Murphy.
"Doing fine"
He managed to choke out before the doors of McGinty's swung open, letting a chilling breeze waft through the room that was moments ago warm. The tall and uncoordinated man began to untie his scarf and remove his jacket while talking to himself awkwardly, before starting conversation with the old man behind the bar.
"Hey doc get me a beer, it's been a long day and I tried getting a hold of the kid but he just won't pick up"
Everyone in the bar stayed silent, but Murphy could see smirks on their faces as they waited to see how long it would take Rocco to realise that he was sitting right there amongst them.
"I don't know what to do, do I go round to his place and check on him, stand outside his work, I'm lost on this one I don't know how to fucking help here. I loved the kids but there's only-"
Roc stared in disbelief as he spotted him, and everyone seemed to burst with laughter at the dumb look on the raggedy Italians face.
"How you doin' Rocco?" Murphy said feeling a grin form on his own face.
"I don't fucking believe it"
In the blink of an eye or maybe less, Murphy could swear he was having the life squeezed out of him.
"Jesus kid we've been worried sick, Jeff even said last week that he wouldn't be surprised if you were fucking dead"
As Rocco said this a loud choking could be heard across the bar, and Jeff, an old grey man wheezed with a look of disbelief that mention of their previous conversations had come to light.
"Fuck sakes Roc sit down and shut up, you're going to kill the poor bastard"
He watched his friend's expressions, as Rocco seemed to be thinking about what he might have said wrong, before he took up the seat spare beside Murphy.
"It's good to see you kid"
Hey guys, so if you liked it (or didn't) I'd appreciate the honest feedback! And if anyone wants me to continue id be happy too, just leave a review or PM me with ideas if there's anything you think I need to fix. Hope you enjoyed chapter 1!