You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (best fiction novels .TXT) 📕

drops pepper the paper. The same tiny drops are on the sleeves of her jacket. They’re coming from the dark starless sky: drizzle.

‘Excuse me. Can you tell me what’s happening?’

A woman in her sixties has materialised and is standing in the driveway, surveying the haphazardly parked emergency vehicles. She’s illuminated with borrowed light from the garage: coiffed grey-blonde hair, face white with terror, the mist lending her an ethereal air. Her eyes instinctively fix on the sheets of paper clutched in Bridget’s hand, somehow understanding that they contain the answer to her question.

Dylan’s mother is home.

My name is Dylan O’Shea. This is my statement. On August 20th, I shot William Newson twice outside his house. I also intended to shoot Thomas Malouf but found the experience unsatisfying. I wanted more from Thomas. I wanted a confession, an acknowledgement of the wrongs he’d done. I wanted to see him terrified and helpless, like I’d felt during the trial. I planted the motorbike and gun in his storage unit, took photos of ‘the evidence’ and told him he was going to get locked up for murder. He laughed in my face, said that his lawyer would get him off. Then I told him about a recording I had on my phone, where he’d admitted to giving women GHB. I played the recording for him, but he laughed again, said there was no way a court would allow it as admissible evidence. It became obvious that I couldn’t scare him, or get him to confess, or get any reaction at all other than mockery, and so I pushed him in front of that train.

I’ve murdered two men, and the truth is I’m not sorry; I’m actually proud that I saw it through. You’ve no idea what it took. All the planning, knowing there was a good chance I wouldn’t have the guts when it came to it. Thinking constantly about my mum and dad, who deserve so much better. Not sleeping properly for months. It started that school night-out in March. I hadn’t seen Thomas or any of that gang for years, but I went along because I was at a real low point. Late in the night I was sitting next to Thomas. He was snorting cocaine, talking incessantly. He told me about Hayley, and the more he blabbered the more I realised that it wasn’t just Jess, Megan and Hayley: he’d raped other women, too. Then he said something like this: ‘Don’t look so shocked, Dumbo. GHB is magic stuff – you should know. You were so fucking uptight at that party, remember? So I did you a favour, put some in your drink. And it worked, you bonked that bitch stupid. You should try having some again. Might get some action, eh?’

He started thrusting his hips, laughing raucously. Suddenly it all made sense. How everything about the party night was blurry and surreal. How my awkwardness mysteriously disappeared. How I ended up having sex with Megan, even though she’d rejected me earlier. She hadn’t changed her mind; she’d been semi-conscious, and I’d been too drugged to notice or care. Thomas had engineered it all. He’d ruined my life as much as hers.

I shot William Newson because he enabled Thomas, twice. Our barrister never delved into what really happened on the night of the party, he glossed over the details and focused more on what the girls did wrong than what we did wrong. At the time I found this disconcerting but I was too scared to resist the process. I didn’t want to go to prison, that’s all I could think about. I was sorry and ashamed, but incredibly relieved when we were acquitted. I thought I could walk out of court, leave it all behind me, and finally start my life. But something like that doesn’t go away. It affected every relationship I had, every job I interviewed for. To be upfront or not. To tell the truth, or hope they’d never find out. I’d thought of myself as a decent bloke, but I didn’t trust myself any more. I felt dirty, ashamed, and scared of doing the wrong thing again. Thomas felt none of those things; in his mind he was invincible. Meeting Hayley Webster was an eye-opener: here was another real-life victim, proof that Newson was enabling Thomas. Who next? Other guilty blokes were walking free, too. Google Laura Dundas and you’ll see what I mean. Newson needed to be stopped as much as Thomas did.

I decided early on that Megan and Jess should be involved. If William was going to need an ambulance, who better than Megan? There was even a chance he might recognise her and apologise, but he was too far gone for that. Then I arranged to meet Thomas at Artarmon station with the idea of having him confess in front of Jess – but he laughed at me, changed platforms to get the train home, and you know the rest. I wanted Megan and Jess to know that justice was finally being served. And I also want them to know that I hate myself even more than they hate me. The guilt and shame have only got stronger over the years. I don’t want to go to prison now any more than I did back then, and so there’s only one way to end this.

Mum and Dad, I’m sorry about everything. The embarrassment I caused you. The fact that you never really trusted me again. All the money you had to fork out in legal fees. One of you is going to find my body and I’m sorry about that, too. I intended to use Thomas’s storage unit but the police have it cordoned off. At least now you know about the drugs and that it wasn’t all my fault. I’ve killed two men and you’re going to be devastated. Please forgive me but believe this: these men being dead is a good thing. The world is a better safer place.

I