This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
The soil feels soft underneath his knees.
This wasn’t how he had envisioned it. He’d imagined a shattered skull, brains spilled out like yolk on the ground. He’d imagined a tongue pulled out of a mouth, a cut finger, a pool of broken bones. He’d imagined a knife dragged across the skin, a bullet shot to the guts.
It’s not that he’s always imagined to die early. But when you’re a wanted man, you’ve got to have a creative imagination — including the many ways in which you could die — if you’re determined to be one step ahead of everyone.
Thomas sighs, relishes in the sweet press of the barrel of the gun against the back of his head. When he looks up, he sees the clear skies, all bright and blue and inviting. It’s a beautiful morning. He can even hear the chirping of the blackbirds and the swaying of the trees nearby if he listens closely.
When he closes his eyes, he sees his dead wife, beautiful and smiling and welcoming. The image of her pale face in the casket has been burned forever in his mind and he wishes he could unsee it.
The barrel presses harder against his head, eager and impatient to dig out the contents from within.
Shoes crunch into soil, steadying, adjusting, preparing. A deep breath and ah, there it goes. The click of a safety lock. The firm grip on the revolver. The knowledge that a man’s fate now depends entirely on your hands.
Thomas knows the feeling too well.
“Any last words?”
Thomas begins his little prayer.
The devil’s going to make me a free man
The devil’s going to set me free
When he looks down, he sees his grave already dug out and waiting for him. When he looks up again, he sees Alfie’s face staring down right at him.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
