(a series of 300 word drabbles, warning for blood, period typical homophobia and sexism, and infidelity)
Names
"William!" His mother called his name but he didn't listen. He's ten, sitting in the middle of the road, hands firm on the wound, blood soaked up to the wrist. Wasn't that what you were meant to do? He's bleeding furiously from the wound to his side. Clipped by a car, he's more annoyed by the fact that he didn't know who did it so he can find out why. It wasn't as if he was doing anything wrong, he looked both ways, he's a good kid. His mother is running towards the nearby phone box, her shoes click click clack on the pavement.
His breath comes to him in shallow gasps. It hurts so bad. People have started to gather now, taking watch around him, a man falls to his knees and tucks his hands over the top of Munros' to keep the blood inside.
"Am I going to die?" He asks, his white school shirt is quickly absorbing the red viscous fluid.
"No, no you aren't." The man says, sharply. "You're going to be just fine."
"Really?" Munro asks, feeling woozy and almost like he might throw up.
"Yes, really. Stay with me, son." The man urges, "Stay with me. What's your name?"
"Willam…" He answered, face clenching up in pain. "William Munro."
"Well, William Munro, I'm Doctor Blake and I'm going to make sure you get back to your mother just fine." He said, as his mother click clacks across the road to join them.
"William!" She says, falling to her knees next to Doctor Blake. She was so graceful, his mum. "Mummy's here." She said, reaching a shaking hand to run through his hair. He wants to say something in reply, but he can't. Instead, he falls into the lull of unconsciousness.
Young & In Love
It's nice to be in love, Munro thought, stretching out in the bed. Norm is asleep, and he is so beautiful. Munro cannot help himself from reaching out with one hand to gently touch his split lip. He doesn't exactly understand boxing, he doesn't know why anyone would get beat up on purpose, he's been beat up, it's not fun. Not to say that he doesn't enjoy the spoils of Norms boxing of course. The rough, fast paced angry sex. If he won or lost, it didn't matter, so long as Norm was pulling him closer, and closer still.
His finger comes away wet and bloody. Mildly intrigued, his brought his hand close to his face. The split lip had reopened at some point during the night, and had left a trail of blood down his chin and a few drops on Munro's clavicle. The blood is red wet. It smells a little metallic. He smeared it on his bare thigh, suddenly a little disgusted by it.
Norm doesn't stir.
The light is streaming in the window, bright yellow. Outside their hotel room, the street lamp bathes them both in golden sunlight. Invisible honey. He can't sleep with the light streaming in like that, so he won't. He doesn't mind, not really. He just wants to admire his lover, and ruminate on his good fortune.
He is positive that Norm will marry Shirley, and pop out several Davis babies in quick succession, because that's what people like him do. But he's not so worried about the future, because it is just that, the future. This is the right now, and in the right now, he is young and he is in love.
The following morning, Norm is up and changing into his clothes, and Munro is gripped by the thought of how good it must feel, to have your lover love you in return.
Names II
"William!" Norm Davis has big hands. It's probably not the thing that should be on his mind when he's possibly bleeding out but he does. Norm's hands are the sort that fit around his hips just perfectly, just tightly. The wound is agonizing, like a bear had grabbed a hold of his shoulder and bit down as hard as it could, or perhaps some kind of big dog? Like a candle was being pushed against his skin on both side, but Norm, Norm has big hands.
They're not warm, they're cold. That's not unusual. Norm always has cold hands, and feet too, for that matter. He wishes that he'd taken more time to be alone with him, now. Spent just a minute more in his bed in the night, just a second longer holding his hand. It occurs to him that if he dies, then it will very likely be some years before he sees Norm again. That's assuming that there is somewhere to go, when you die, and not just an empty inky blackness. He tries to express this fear that he's on the fast train to nowhere in words but all that comes out is a choked gargle. Norm has a trail of blood snaking down his face, and for a horrible second, Munro thinks that he's been hit too, but no, it was just a would from boxing reopened.
He must be going into shock. Because he feels like he should be more in pain, but he's not. Well he is, but it's not that bad. He knows how weapons work, he's shot someone before. There should be more pain, but all he can really feel is...Wet, as blood soaks through his shirt and blazer. He must be crying, because his face feels wet too but he can't feel it. In fact, he doesn't feel much of anything at all.
The Ugly Truth
"I saw what you did, William!" Norm says that with dignity. As if he doesn't get it.
"What did I do?" Munro counters, looking up and smiling. Norm slams his hands down on the table in front of him palm side down. It reverberates up through his elbows which are resting on the desk. It's late, they're the only ones here. Norm should get back to his family, his little boy, Charlie, is on the cusp of high school. Not so little anymore, then.
"You took money, to cover up a crime!"
"No, I didn't." Norm is furious, and in some other time, some other life, that might have made Munro want to do anything to cool him down, but not any more. If his near death experience has taught him anything, it's that he should be thinking about his future.
"I saw you take the money." Norm spits, and Munro can feel the wetness on his face. He smiles again, to cover up his rookie error.
"Norm, even if I did take that money to cover up a crime." He said, as if he was responding to a particularly funny quip. "I would never do something like that. If, by chance, I was taking a bribe, and I'm not saying I did, I would have done it because I need connections, if I want to further my career. I'm only looking out for myself." He wasn't in the business of protecting criminals, he's a copper, he helps people. He protects people. If he gets the next promotion he can help and protect more people. Norm is a reasonable man, surely he can understand that?
Norm slaps him across the face.
"You are no better than any of those petty crims we put away!"
Anger seethes deep in Munro's gut, thick and twisting. How dare he? How dare he even suggest that Munro was a crim, after everything they'd been through together. His left cheek burns hot. Before he can come up with something to say, Norm has gone, and Munro is alone at his desk, stewing in his own anger. He'd show Norm Davis. He'd show everybody.
Take Me Down to the River
Sleeping with Shirley Davis was easy enough he was almost offended on her behalf. Apparently all she wanted was someone to listen to her when she spoke, or complained. And that had been easy enough. Just drowned her out and nodded at the appropriate times. He let her take it a step further. He was purposefully risky, chose bad times, praying that Norm would come in and see them.
He just wanted to take everything Norm had. Lovely wife, beautiful son, family dinners and position at the station. For no reason other than to prove that he could, that it was possible, that he wasn't so special.
Shirley was soft and warm, her hands were soft and her lips were kissed red. But he doesn't enjoy himself that much, when he thinks about her. She's just means to an end, which is unfair of him, in the long run, but at the time, she was just means to an end. Wishing for Norm to storm in and fall down a peg was what he really thought about.
He never did.
Shirley found out she was pregnant a couple of weeks later. Seven months after that, Ray Davis was born and Norm was just ecstatic. He wanted more children, a big family. More people the merrier. Personally, Munro thought it looked like Shirley was cracking under the pressure, but what did he know?
It wasn't until later when the similarities started to show and Shirley started to panic. She didn't have to panic that long, because Norm was dead less than a month later.
Names III
"You got a real name?"
"William."
"Anyone call you Bill or…?"
"Just William." The prostitute is a handsome young man, a soft face and dark hair slicked back from his face. He looks so much like Norm that Munro thought it was one of his sons at first. Or maybe he doesn't, and Munro is just a lonely pervert. It doesn't particularly matter. He's young, beautiful, and willing, the three criteria that Munro requires ticked.
"Do you have a real name?" The man rolls over, his chest looks like spilled milk and Munro wants to reach out and touch it. He's paying, so he does. The prostitute looks at his hand and moves to straddle his hips. Munro's hands fit around his hips nicely.
"No." He replies, leaning down and catching Munro's lips in a kiss. "Not that you need to know anyway." That was fair, he supposed, leaning up to kiss him again.
"So you want me to just keep calling you Louis then?"
"Hm…" He replied, "I like that name. Regal. What would you prefer it was?" Munro pauses, and then shrugs, his hands smoothing over warm stomach and soft skin.
"How much then?"
"Same as usual."
"No, for your name."
" What makes you think that I have a price on my name?"
"Everything has a price."
"My name is Fairly."
"Fairly what? Fairly weird?"
"Just Fairly." He said, as he started to get out of bed.
William sat up, and produced his wallet from the bedside table. With any other man, he might have hidden it, but Fairly has proven himself to be trustworthy. Or at least as trustworthy as he could be.
"What do I owe you this week?" He inquired. They used to work on fixed prices, but these days, he just paid what Fairly asked.
"You can have it for free."
"Why?"
"Loyalty reward." Fairly said, his fingers finishing the buttons on his shirt. "Same time next week?"
"Of course."
Sons and Daughters
Ray Davis is a beautiful child, Munro thought, as he walked up the park path, cigarette clamped between his teeth. He chases after his older brother, screaming excitedly while he does. Charlie is holding a cricket ball in his hands, and seems to be trying to pay some version of Keepy Off with a screaming eight year old who doesn't really get it.
Shirley is sitting on a bench, hands tight in her lap, and face tight. She smiles when Charlie looks over in her direction. He's smart, that boy. He'll make a good cop, some day. He looks just like Norm, soft and round, but a hard edge to him that makes the other children wary. From what Munro has seen, he has few friends, but excels at his work. A true Davis indeed.
He sat next to her, he looked at him, and then looked away, guilt smeared over her features.
"What do you want, Munro?" He looked pointedly at Ray.
"Does he know?"
"Know what? That his mother is a whore?"
"That I'm his father."
"No. And there is absolutely no reason for him to. Norm was his father, and I'll go to my grave saying it." She spat, fingers tightening.
"Fine." Munro replied, before reaching into his coat and producing a brown paper wrapped parcel.
"What is it?"
"Money, for his school supplies and to help you get through the month." She sneers at him, but he persist. "There'll be more every month, if you want it."
"Why?"
"Because Munros take care of each other." He paused, "You're not in a position to say no. Charlie will need new shoes soon, and your rent has to be paid."
"Just this once." She tells him, tucking it firmly into her purse. "Now get the Hell outta here."
He does, but he comes back the next week as well. She takes the money.
Names IV
"William!" Lucien Blake. He's dying for Lucien fucking Blake. That's a good joke, isn't it? Dying for Lucien Blake. Lucien Blake has plenty of people willing to die for him, his fiancée, Matthew Lawson, Charlie Davis, but it ended up being him. The universe hates him passionately, why should his death be any different?
Lucien's hands and sleeves are soaked with blood and he wonders how Mrs Beazley is going to get it out. If she can be bothered, she might just toss it away. It's just a shirt, it's not worth much and there are millions like it. Just like you he supplied, mind ricocheting around madly, trying to pick something to settle on to be his last thought. He doesn't know quite what he wants to think about. His thoughts drift over Norm Davis, and he can't help but to draw a parallel between that one and this one. Lucien is talking to him, but the words are barely registering.
God, he didn't even see who did it. At least, he supposes, Lucien will try and solve his murder, he's good like that, Lucien Blake. He just wishes that he didn't have to. He isn't ready to die, God! He isn't ready to die. He has too much left to do, so much left to say. He needs to talk to his son, he needs to apologize to Fairly, there is so much left on his list.
There is a smear of blood on Lucien's collar, his blood. It is so, so red. But, even so, even after everything and even with where he's headed, he doesn't think he would take it back, if he was living his life over again. It would offend his sense of justice.
Good Friends of Bad Men
Munro didn't have much in the way of family. Had a mother that he didn't speak too, two bothers in the force who threw him to the wolves and a dead father. None of them were willing to cop the funeral of a crooked copper. So Lucien did.
He selected a nice headstone, set into the ground with his name, his years of life, and a simple epitaph that read 'Gone, but never to be forgotten'. He couldn't think of anything more fitting for a man like him, and despite it all, he didn't want Munro to be forgotten, not when he'd saved Lucien's life. It just didn't seem fair. He stopped by often when he was in Melbourne to clean up the grave and put down fresh flowers. The man saved his life, did he mention that already?
This time, there was someone else here. He could have passed for one of Charlie's brothers, he was that young and that pale. He's holding pathetic looking flowers in his hands and studying the grave. He looked up briefly. Lucien came to a stop next to him.
"Did you know Munro?"
"Yeah. He was…Very special to me." The boy carefully set his flowers down and stepped back, they are not as grand or as beautiful as Lucien's but it's the intention that matters. "I was a little bit in love with him."
"A little bit?" The boy looked at him, and then
"Was he a bad man?" Lucien looked at the grave.
"Not through and through. He had good in him. I'm glad he had someone."
"Me too." And with that, the boy was gone. Lucien is alone again, except for the cool eyes of the spectral Munro who follows him now, where ever he goes.