Partners In Crime

• Lauren O'flaherty, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2014

We raced from the room with the high arches and gold-plated counters, ten thousand dollars richer and with an ecstatic sense of accomplishment. No one came after us. We were free, we were rogues. Magnus gripped my hand, pulling me to him, chest heaving against me as his breathing slowed. He checked the hallway with wide eyes.

A faint wail sounded outside. Although far away, there was the distinct rise and fall as it came closer. From the second floor we could see the parking lot and the industrial buildings beyond that, clouds reflecting the dull grey of the buildings. Red and blue rotated, weaving through the parking lot. Magnus wiped the sweat from his brow. I glanced at him, taking in his curly brown hair, his pale blue eyes. The sweat glistening on his cheekbones. His teeth biting hard into his lip.

From the direction of the bank a burly man with a tribal tattoo advanced, and before I realised what was happening I had shot him in the kneecap. The bloke collapsed to the floor, heaving with each sob. Magnus laughed and ran through the hallways, his hand clutching mine, pulling me along. He resembled a god: solid stance, shoulders back, feeling immortal. He was able to see himself as powerful. I beamed, knowing that it was my presence that was giving him that feeling. We were perfect partners. I tried to get his attention but his focused had shifted, downwards to another obstacle.

“Don’t move!” A deep voice called from below. “The police are just out the front. Drop the gun and put your hands up.” A security guard looked up the stairwell, attempted to reason with Magnus, and with no luck, ducked back under a flight of stairs to safety.

Magnus looked at me, grinning, entranced by his newfound power. He clung to me as he leaned over the railing and pulled the trigger. A badly timed glance collided with a bullet. My body shook as the blast echoed around the stairwell. I saw Magnus open one eye, assessing the damage to the security guard. He slowly descended the stairs. On the bottom step was a man, body collapsed in a bloody mess, brains spread across the room. Blood seeped from the gruesome cavity in his head, and across the floor. Pieces of fragmented skull were scattered everywhere. The man’s face was disfigured beyond recognition.

Magnus looked at me. He looked at me with such shock, such disgust, like he blamed me for the death. But he had pulled the trigger. He had been the one with all the power, the hatred, and the willingness to kill. I’d just been an instrument in the crime, I’d done nothing wrong. I wanted to say something but I couldn’t. I wanted to scream, to tell him to man-up and face the crime he’d committed, but I couldn’t. Magnus jumped over the final step and released his grasp from mine. He fled the room, daring himself to glance back once more at the man before he rounded the corner. I was left alone, shocked, unable to move.

***

“Sergeant Dowe, you might want to see this,” Detective Antill said, picking a chunk of metal off the cold concrete.

Dark red gore oozed out of the barrel. Blood had crusted around the trigger and grip. The gun itself was made from brass and a nail chipped away some crust, revealing an ivory handle.

The sergeant turned to study me. I was handed over to the detective, who dropped me into an evidence bag.

“Let’s hope we find your owner soon."