Eight Minutes

[MalReynolds]

This was, I think, the first story I ever wrote. I found it again over this last day and I spent a few hours editing it up.

So, I submit for your enjoyment, the second draft of my first ever story, Eight Minutes.

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Space, for what it is, cannot be measured by small or large, man or beast, living or dead.

The cosmos is merely to those who see it, a timeless entity.

The Earth, however, is not.

7:21 AM, Pacific. Los Angeles, California.

A sharp sound split the air sending the students scurrying in various directions, plying them to get to class on time, almost pleading with the few students who walked more cautiously than everyone else to get to class, that knowledge was power and that it was, in fact, worth it to be there on time. But the bell didn’t trouble Gideon – Gideon, the honor student, the pride and joy of his parents and the product of an overbearing high school administration. He threw his bag over his shoulder, looking back one more time at the emptying common ground before turning his attention to class.

Even with friends in the administration, Mr. Eckhart, Science Teacher of the Year (as voted by his peers) had no sympathy to give to a tardy student. Gideon began to widen his stride. One more from Eckhart (Eckhart, Eckhart, smelly old ass fart, the students used to say) and Gideon would land squarely in Saturday detention. Not that Gideon had plans for Saturday, because as it turns out, being the pride and joy of your parents and the product of an overbearing administration does not lend itself kindly to any kind of social life.

8:21 AM, Mountain. Johnson City, Colorado

Eugene O’Leary just so happened to be a frail twenty-about-to-turn-thirty-something who for the past few weeks had been going through his list of contacts trying to find the perfect pasty to launch into a very risky financial endeavor with him. As it turns out, most of the boys from back in the day were either pushing up daises or wrapping their mitts around iron bars. O’Leary was flat out of luck.

“But,” he thought to himself as he slid the note over to the teller, “Sometimes a venture like this doesn’t need a partner.”

The note cleverly read, “I am a robber. I have a gun in my pocket. There are people waiting for me outside. Give me all the money. Do not sound any alarms or my men will shoot the police who arrive.”

O’Leary was smiling because there was something he knew that the teller didn’t know: There were no men waiting outside.

The teller was smiling because there was something she knew O’Leary didn’t know: She had pressed the silent alarm as soon as she unfolded the note.

9:21 AM, Central. Dallas, Texas.

Her eyes had a hard time adjusting to the light, but the empty bed next to her was something she had years to get comfortable with. Eric either worked late or left early again, leaving her with a cold spot where he should be resting.

It was unfortunate how conflicted their schedules were. On a typical day, they only had five minutes of face time. But today was different. Today was sacred. Wednesday’s were always the night for them to share a romantic dinner. It was the one constant of her marriage that Amanda could look forward to.

She stumbled over to the fridge and pulled out an open carton of milk. The sell-by date was rapidly approaching, but growing up in a household with all boys and a poor father had taught her a thing or two about expiration.

10:21 AM, East Coast. Bangor, Maine.

The white operative gown had a slow trail of blood snaking its way up the arm of the chief surgeon, Carlos Velasquez, a man who was noted for beating the odds when it came to surgery and escaping a grim social background. In a matter of seconds, the aging Latino’s arm was covered with the blood of the man stretched out over the operating table, but Velasquez refused to give up. He pushed down once, again, and again, over and over until he no longer felt his arms but rather the possibility of bringing this man back from the brink.

“Call it,” Dr. Jordan said.

“Not yet,” Velasquez panted.

“Call it.”

“Time of death, 10:21.”

Dr. Jordan removed his gloves and carefully pulled the surgical sheet over the dead man’s face.

“Fifth one this week, Velasquez. Protocol says you go in front of the board before you’re fit for surgery.”

“I know.”

“One a week before that. Not great rates.”

Velasquez pulled his gloves off, tossing them into the yellow biohazard bin. Fifth bloody pair this week. Fifth surgery this week.

“Well,” Jordan said, patting Velasquez on the back, “Good luck.”

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, pushing both doors open and stepping through.

7:22 AM, Pacific. Los Angeles, California.

“Gideon the big-fat-Pigeon,” someone hissed from the back of the classroom as the said big-fat-Pigeon wandered into the classroom. A healthy diet of Cheetos, computers, textbooks and a lack of sunlight had ensured that Gideon would never quite fit in with anyone except his chess club contemporaries. One time Gideon had some in to school wearing not a sweater vest, but a band t-shirt and torn jeans in an attempt to camouflage and fit in. It worked in exactly the opposite fashion, making him a bigger target and magnified the teasing.

Ignoring the voice, Gideon found his seat and pulled his Astronomy binder out, flipping to the assignment from the night before, readying himself for another dull class.

8:22 AM, Mountain. Johnson City, Colorado.

O’Leary smirked as the teller filled the bag. She was taking her sweet time, each time she reached for the money, her hand seemed to linger over top of the stack of bills.

“Come on, Sugar, I ain’t got all day. If I’m not out soon, my buddies outside are going to get worried and maybe send a guy in here to make sure everyone is doing their job alright.”

“I’m going as fast as I can, sir. I’m trying to make sure you don’t get any bills that are dye-trapped.”

“What?”

“Proximity dye-trap on a bomb. When you get far enough away from the bank, they’ll pop, making the money red and absolutely useless to you. I’m making sure there are none in the bag and that I’m not giving you the designated dye money.”

“You’d do that for me?” O’Leary asked. “Little ol’ me?”

9:22 AM, Central. Dallas, Texas.

Amanda walked past the locked front door and fiddled with the dead bolt. It was locked, and she knew that Eric didn’t bother with it once he was in the front door. He hadn’t come home last night at all.

She sighed, grabbing a coffee mug and ripping open a single serving package of instant coffee.

It was a shame that they both had such conflicting schedules, and God knows things were tense around the house, but Amanda was willing to work on things. Above her job as a realtor, above her duties as a blood donor, she loved Eric, and hoped that he would be willing to work on things too.

10:22 AM, East Coast. Bangor, Maine.

In a classic panic attack, Velasquez vacated the ER to a more secluded hallway where he promptly collapsed onto a bench. Sweat was rolling down his rotund face, mingling with the tears that wouldn’t stop coming.

It wasn’t the five this week, or the two last week, or the one the week before. It was the three last week that he had manage to turn on the interns. It was the two the week before that he had managed to pin on negligence of his colleagues, the countless others whose blood refused to come out from under his nails.

The pain hit him hard when he found out that Gerald Reynolds had been suspended and as a consequence, took his own and his wife’s lives in a brutal shooting.

Velasquez ran his hands through his hair, trying to find some kind of comforting thought.

He found nothing.

7:23 AM, Pacific. Los Angeles, California.

Eckhart (Eckhart, Eckhart, smelly ol’ ass fart) was trying in vain to get the students to settle down. He threw his book against his desk, a motion repeated many times over many years to quiet them, and it surprisingly did the trick. The loud noise never failed to startle almost everyone in the room to silence, and that opening was all he needed to start the class. He smiled, amused that this trick worked on the same class at least once a week and would continue to work for years to come.

Gideon hadn’t jumped when the book slammed against the desk. He rolled his eyes at the sophomoric antics of his classmates.

“How can they do so poorly?” Gideon thought to himself, turning his homework over and beginning to draw on the back, “When the material is so easy?”

8:23 AM, Mountain. Johnson City, Colorado.

“Yes, sir, I’d do it for you because you have a gun and I’m scared for my life right now.”

O’Leary’s smile faded. “Under different circumstances, I would have found you cute.”

The teller sighed. “Unfortunately, you chose to be a bank robber.”

“Such is life,” O’Leary said, turning to the rest of the bank. People were down on the floor, cowering behind desks.

“I’m sorry to put you all through this, but it’s something I have to do. Maybe it’ll teach all you do-goods out there not to come to the bank so damn early. You should be sleeping in,” he said, turning his attention back to the teller.

9:23 AM, Central. Dallas, Texas.

Amanda set the coffee mug next to the PC and turned the monitor on. It sprang to life and she reached down to turn the tall, black tower on, but realized that Eric had forgotten to turn the PC off. He was so adjusted to using a Mac where the power button is plainly on the monitor that he had neglected to shut down the PC.

She smiled and thought about the funny line of advertisements for Mac that had started last year and how fervent Eric had been about keeping his, but he adjusted well to the PC.

10:23 AM, East Coast. Bangor, Maine.

A group of students filed out of an observation room, passing Velasquez without a second glance, treating him like the ghost that he, in that moment, so desperately wanted to be. He wanted to reach out, to feel another hand against his, the brush of skin on skin, but couldn’t bring himself to extend his hand.

The students knew him as “Dr. Death,” and would recoil at his cursed touch.

The floodgate in his mind broke and a thousand ideas rushed into his head at once. Unable to save himself from the deluge, he attached himself to the closest idea he could find, the one that made the most sense.

Slowly and deliberately, he rose to his feet and made his way to the double bank of elevators.

7:24 AM, Pacific. Los Angeles, California.

A ball of paper launched from Gideon’s flank hit him square in the side of his head, but he did not flinch. Eckhart saw the action, but did nothing. If he coddled his students, the would appear weak, and weakness was not tolerated by students. Save one, damn yourself. Save none, lead the pack.

“Put your homework out on your desks,” he said, moving around the overhead projector. “I’ll be coming around the check it. If you don’t have it, I have a nifty detention form for you to take home,” Eckhart smiled.

8:24 AM, Mountain. Johnson City, Colorado.

“I’m sorry,” O’Leary said, leaning into the teller station, “But is there any way you could hurry up?”

The teller glanced up at O’Leary, but their eyes did not lock. Instead, her eyes quickly focused behind him before she turned her attention back to the bag.

“I’m working as fast as I can, sir.”

O’Leary whipped around and faced the man who had picked up a potted hydrangea and was wielding it over his head. He pulled his gun up to his arm and fired a shot through the clay base, sending dirt over the man’s head and making the crowd in the bank jump.

“Let’s not be a hero today,” Eugene whispered.

The man complacently backed away.

9:24 AM, Central. Dallas, Texas.

With a high level of curiosity, Amanda began to click around the desktop. While she kept honest about all aspects of her marriage, she couldn’t resist the urge to check out his username on the computer. She didn’t have to bother with fancy software that tracked Eric’s internet usage – he was negligent enough to allow her access, and today was the day to give in to temptation.

She glanced down at the toolbar and noticed Outlook Express was opened and blinking orange. She diverted her gaze and opened a music program, setting the play list on classical, something to soothe her. She would resist the temptation to filter through his e-mail today.

10:24 AM, Eastern. Bangor, Maine.

Velasquez

Once a killer, always a killer

Stood in front of the elevator bank, pressing the up arrow rapidly.

“Paging Dr. Velasquez, paging Dr. Velasquez, you’re needed immediately in the ER.”

His pager was rumbling at his side.

His cell phone was going off.

But he ignored them both and waited for the lift to arrive.

7:25 AM, Pacific. Los Angeles, California.

Eckhart reached Gideon’s desk and looked over his homework briefly before pulling it up beside his own face.

“Attention, class! I would just like to show you what real homework is supposed to look like. He even went onto a second sheet to support his formulas. Good job, Gideon.”

There was a chuckle from somewhere in the class.

“Give em’ one student and they’ll thank you for it later,” Eckhart smiled, wandering away from Gideon’s desk. It was true that Gideon showed promise, but Eckhart couldn’t give him a compliment without giving his other students something to play with. It was the law of universal return.

8:25 AM, Mountain. Johnson City, Colorado.

Eugene O’Leary, an unmarried unlucky man with a bright red mop of Irish hair on his head, grabbed both bags from the make-up pretty teller.

“Thank you all for your patience, it has greatly helped me aquire a large sum of money. Do not think of this as a robbery, moreover as a polite donation to help give me a better life. Although this is a donation I don’t think you’ll be able to write off,” he said, turning back to the teller, who was smiling.

He heard the sirens while he was smiling at her and the grin melted from both their faces.

“One can smile and smile and still be a villain,” Eugene said, frowning at the teller. “I’m sorry.”

He raised his gun and fired it once into her chest.

9:25 AM, Central. Dallas, Texas.

Her fit of abstinence from e-mail sniffing took less than a minute to wear off. Their second anniversary was coming up in a few weeks and while Amanda really did want to be surprised, she wanted to know what the gift was ahead of time in case she didn’t like it, if only so she could gingerly guide Eric in the right direction.

Perhaps his e-mail could tell her if he was going to be home tonight, as well. He had missed last Wednesday, citing a meeting, and Amanda wanted to be sure that Eric would be there before wasting her time on a hot meal.

10:25 AM, Eastern. Bangor, Maine.

The elevator ascended five floors, but it felt like an eternity. Sweat was still running down Velasquez’s face despite how collected he felt on the inside. When the doors dinged open, he didn’t miss a beat, stepping out into the carpeted hallway and making his way past the various offices, marching towards his own, preparing to file his latest loss in a blood file he kept for such occasions.

The blood file was uncomfortably full.

7:26 AM, Pacific. Los Angeles, California.

Gideon, while being an excellent example of what a student should be, should sacrifice and should take, despised the school among all other things. Although only a sophomore, his summer school credits would allow him to apply for early graduation and acceptance into a college of his choosing. A perfect score on his SATs had secured him a vacant spot in any school that might catch his eye.

All he had to do was finish this one damn class.

Gideon knew that all he had to do was bide his time and he would be rewarded. There would be a time when people would appreciate everything that he had to say.

It was just a waiting game.

8:26 AM, Mountain. Johnson City, Colorado.

“Drop your weapon, sir!” The voice boomed out of a loudspeaker.

Eugene O’Leary did not move.

“Drop your weapon NOW, sir!”

His jaw dropped. It wasn’t his firearm, but it was a step in the right direction.

But Eugene froze, hands down at his sides. Instead of dropping the firearm, he began a slow, steady walk to the police blockade. He could see his escape vehicle sitting just on the other side of the right most cruiser.

“I should have parked closer,” he said out loud, laughing.

9:26 AM, Central. Dallas, Texas.

Among the spam e-mail offering glandular enlargement and promises of free adult website passes, Amanda spied one that interested her.

“Thank you for a wonderful time, Eric.”

Amanda’s mind did not immediately spring to the thought of Eric in the arms of another woman. She began trying to rationalize what could be in the e-mail, coming up with several viable scenarios before finally proceeding with the opening click.

10:26 AM, Eastern. Bangor, Maine.

Velasquez sat down at his desk, carefully turning on his lamp and opening his top desk drawer, removing hospital stationary. He opened the drawer below and pulled a pen out, pushing several white files aside and removing a large piece of cloth, placing it on his desk. Slowly, he closed both drawers and picked the pen up, turning it over in his fingers.

He never thought he would be writing a retirement letter.

He had no idea where to begin.

7:27AM, Pacific. Los Angeles, California.

The teacher droned on about cursory work and basic equations while Gideon turned his homework back over and began adding detail to the outline of an angel he had drawn at the beginning of class. The figure was finally beginning to take shape. Gideon ran the eraser over the hand of the angel, giving it a large horn to play instead of an empty hand a smiled to himself.

“You gotta have attention to detail, otherwise the whole thing comes undone.”

8:27 AM, Mountain. Johnson City, Colorado.

Eugene didn’t hear the shot nor did he feel the bullet tear into his chest. He kept moving forward, losing the feeling in his fingers and dropping the bag by his side. He maintained a death grip on his firearm, and continued a forward march towards his beat up Chevy that sat just over the next hill of police cars.

“Just over this next hill,” he said aloud. “I think I’ve been shot. Son of a bitch.”

Eugene pitched forward onto the pavement.

9:27 AM, Central. Dallas, Texas.

“Eric, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve been a shoulder when I needed one, a listening ear when I had to so desperately talk. I’m glad we can connect on such a personal level, and last Wednesday night was something I will never forget. I know you promised we’d meet again this Wednesday, but I wanted you to call me just so I can hear your voice.

“If not, I’ve still got a nice surprise for you when you come to see me.

“I love you,

“Jennifer.”

Amanda absentmindedly knocked the coffee mug off of the desk and onto the floor, staining the chaste white carpet.

She rose, walked to the kitchen, and laid a hand towel over the mess she made.

10:27 AM, Eastern. Bangor Maine.

“I am formally announcing my retirement. I know that this will do nothing to atone for the blood on my hands, but you should rest easy knowing that I can no longer ruin the lives of anybody. There are so many people who I’ve done so much to, and to list them all would be to take more time than I have been given.

“Suffice it to say that I am truly sorry for everything I have done.

“I only hope the souls that I have lost can forgive me.

“God have mercy on my soul.

“Jonathan Velasquez.”

7:28 AM, Pacific. Los Angeles, California.

“Using the applied formula on the board, please complete the extra questions I had assigned. I realize I forgot to give the formula out last class, which is why I’m giving you ample time to complete them now. You have one minute.”

Gideon already knew the formula on the board and had already completed the extra questions. He signed his name below the angel and named the picture after himself.

8:28 AM, Mountain. Johnson City, Colorado.

The officers were yelling at each other, trying to distribute blame.

There was no one to blame, really, except Eugene O’Leary who was on the ground trying to convince himself that all he needed was a quick nap before he would be ready to go again.

The blood ran from his chest down to the police cruisers and O’Leary’s eyes began to droop.

Just a little nap and he’d be good for another round.

He was sure.

9:28 AM, Central. Dallas, Texas.

A woman apart, Amanda closed the e-mail and highlighted the message in Eric’s inbox, selecting the “Mark as unread option.”

She slowly rose to her feet, moving to the kitchen.

When Eric got home from work, she would lie and tell him she was pregnant. That would get him to stay home and enjoy a nice hot meal before he had a night out with Jennifer.

But there was one question on Amanda’s mind.

“Is Eric a fan of Arsenic? I keep forgetting.”

10:28 AM, Eastern. Bangor, Maine.

Velasquez unwrapped the lump from the cloth and turned the gun over in his hand. He rolled out the chamber and checked. A bullet for every person he had lost that week.

He sighed, and keeping a tight grip on the gun stared at the brass destiny at the end of the barrel.

Velasquez closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

7:29 AM, Pacific. Los Angeles, California.

“Gideon?”

“Yes, Mister Ass Fart?”

The class erupted in laughter. Maybe this would be the start of something new, Gideon thought, pride swelling in his chest. For that one second he commanded authority. He was the alpha.

Eckhart pretended not to listen.

“The answer to problem thirteen, please.”

“A little over eight.”

“Gideon, read the question.”

“Applying the above formula, if the sun were to shut down, how long would it be before Earth would stop receiving light from the sun? A little over eight minutes. Unless I’m wrong, and you know I’m not.”

Eckhart opened his mouth to speak.

7:29 AM, 8:29 AM, 9:29 AM, 10:29AM… Los Angeles, California. Johnson City, Colorado. Dallas, Texas. Bangor, Maine.

And the world was bathed in darkness.

[smartdude1212]

Bangor, Maine made me think immediately of Stephen King books.

Reading now.

Edit: Oh wow. I read it.
Simply amazing.
Write more!

Saw 2 spelling mistakes and one sentence that made no sense, in case you want to know. xD
aquire = acquire
stationary = stationery

And this sentence doesn't make sense (well, the end):
Gideon ran the eraser over the hand of the angel, giving it a large horn to play instead of an empty hand a smiled to himself.

Anyway it's really, really enjoyable.

[MalReynolds]

King = Big influence on stuff I write.

Good catch.

[smartdude1212]

Well I found the parallel because a large portion of his books are based on places in Maine (whether real or fictional), and his stories weave around each other. I love his work.

Plus the (Eckhart, Eckhart, smelly old ass fart) made me think of the way he writes what the character 'says' and what they think. As if they're denying what they want to believe.

Example:

The doctor had told him he was sick. Peter was pretty sure it was
(AIDS)
just a common sickness, etc.

[whiteflame]

Interesting posting your old stuff. Re-read it.

[Wintergreen]

*read read read*

I think the first paragraph could benefit from a little more editing, and it was overdramatic to my tastes, but other then that, kewl. The ending was especially neat.

[lord_carbo]

This has always been my favorite of your works. Now it is even more.