Eighteen years before he lost his life to mad decisions, Alice Jeidwell found himself walking down the street to his workplace at an old pub in the small town of Marlow, to the old man who would be sitting behind the vintage counter, cleaning his glasses while counting the money from the day's earning.
Marlow had it's own stories. Stories which passed around from rumour to rumours, but no one dared to talk about it out loud.
They made sure no one did.
People who wore shoes too big for them, watches either stolen or swapped from favors in the back alley that always came with strings.The government was fucked up here. Law and Justice didn't exist in Marlow, it was a cold and ruthless environment where loyalty was currency and betrayal was a death wish.
Alice grew up in the streets of Marlow. His childhood past by like a fever dream. He was forced to grow up too fast. To hold his own and face the reality of life living in the streets. All he had was himself and the old man at the old pub who took him in out of pity. He was 10 then.
04:48 pm
The pub was was old and worn. The wooden planks on the floor made small creaks when it was stepped on. There were three small tables inside, two by the window with the broken glass and one in the mid section. It was a small pub, but ancient. It had gone through it's own experiences in life. Every dent, every scratch, every scrapped off paint, had it's own stories.
The place carried a whiff of old vintage wood and whiskey. Not many came by here. Perhaps it was because people thought of the place as old or outdated, judged before stepping in.
Alice stood by the front door, hesitating to turn the handle and walk in. Something he always did when he knew he did something wrong.
"Don't just stand there looking like a beaten ass." A voice came through the door. It sounded old and rich, something that would remind Alice, he was home.
He walks through the door, his shoes were dusty and left a hint of dust behind the wooden plank with each step. His clothes were in tatters and dark brown splattered across his white jacket, carrying a faint scent of iron with him. His dark hair fell to his face, nearly covering his hazel eyes. Maybe it was time to get a trim. He took each step almost thoughtfully as he walked to the counter where the old man sat, cleaning his glasses like always.
"Did you go to Marcie's again?"He asks, already knowing the answer. He tucks the small cloth he used to wipe his glasses back in his pocket, looking up at Alice.
"No."
Alice sits down on the stool infront of the counter. The lie seemed barely convincing with the red and blues on his face. His knuckles sore with remnants of dried blood.
"That place won't do you any good, boy. Stop making a joke of yourself by going there."
His words hurt. He knew. But he had to, he had a reason to do it.
"Marcie wants me in. I worked my ass off for this."
"That man is going to throw you away like you're worth nothing the moment he has what he wants."
"I won't let him. I'll prove him otherwise."
"You can't."
"I can."
"You can't."
Alice stands up from the stool, making the legs scrap against the floor. His gaze lowered.
"I don't have anything to lose, pops. I can't have you looking after me anymore."
The old man looks down, his hands reaching into the register as he starts to count the cash again. No new earnings from the day. The last time anyone came by here was months ago. He couldn't bring himself to watch as Alice walked out of the pub. It was a silent goodbye. For the last time maybe and the first time the silence hurt like a thousand needles being stabbed into his body. He stops counting the money, his old eyes starting to tire. The wrinkles on his face looking more prominent as he holds in the guilt and hurt. He wished he did better for Alice.Gave him a better life than gangs and sin.
Somewhere in the town of Marlow, Keiran sweated in the kitchen of the SevenTimes restaurant, mopping the creamy white floor where the fan barely worked. The evenings started to feel hotter during summer in the town. His shirt was damp and dirty with sweat and spills of food and drinks. Customers piled up in the restaurant to gamble. Cards and dirty hands.
Keiran was 15. Innocent but not naive. He had his own experiences with life here in Marlow. His older brother ran the restaurant, Mitch Barrow. A healthy man in his 20's, tall and strong like every girls dream. He had always been Keiran's guardian, a father figure for him after their parents abandoned them at the shelter house. He was a humble man despite the differences in his life or his brother's. After a few years of hard work, he set up the SevenTimes restaurant with his own earnings from small jobs. It was nothing fancy but he felt proud about the establishment. But years changed him. He was barely around anymore, time shaped him into someone Keiran wouldn't recognize anymore..
Laughter filled the room, the smell of sweat from the men and beer made Keiran want to quit. He hated being here. He wanted more freedom in his life. A chance to spread his arms somewhere far away from this town.
The door was always open. Open for trouble, for beer, for money.
Keiran sets down the mop in the corner, his hands go limp on his sides as he stands there for a moment. Thinking amidst the loud noises from the restaurant. He wanted nothing more than live his own life. Not live it under someone else's control.
07:02pm
The sun had set now, leaving a smoggy afterglow that outlined the roofs of old buildings and houses in the town.
The customers left by now, leaving the place in a mess with spilled drinks and torn cash left on the table. Mitch was not home. He was barely home. Keiran couldn't understand why his older brother couldn't stay home with him. "Is it because I smell bad?", He would think to himself.
He sat down on the chair in the kitchen, alone. The air felt less warm, it sent an familiar feeling to his tired body as he gazed into nothing.
The front door creaks a little, snapping Keiran's attention to it. A shadow creeps through from under the wooden door, the silhouette of a man. The door creaks again as the person tries to come in. Keiran gets up from his seat, he knew it wasn't Mitch. Mitch would never be home at this hour. He calls out as he grabs the chair, holding it like a shield,"Who is it?". His voice cracks a little in the end. Then a familiar voice answers back."Kei, It's me. Let me in." A voice he hasn't heard in months.
Keiran sets the chair back down and rushes to the door as he opens it. Alice stands there, he looked tired, weary. His expression was grim until he sees Keiran, his features softened like a subtle touch. Alice was like a brother to Keiran, more of a brother than Mitch was to him. They lived down the same street, a few houses away from each other. Always looked out for him but never showed his emotions out loud. Inviting himself in, he walks inside.
"Where's your brother?" He asks. Keiran stood by the door, remaining silent for a while. He didn't knew what to say. He didn't knew where his brother was. Whether he was dead or alive. "He hasn't been around in weeks. I don't know shit about him."
"Marcie wants to know." Alice replies, his voice seemed different, it had a colder tone and he hadn't looked up at him even once since he came in. It was not like the Alice he remembered from a few weeks ago.
"Why does he want to know?"
"Cause your brother has been pocketing cash that ain't his. And Marcie is getting impatient playing along with his games." He stands up and walks to Keiran who had still been standing by the front door, stopping warily a short distance from him. Cold sweat ran down Keiran's neck, he knew Marcie wasn't one to spare a second chance to anyone.
You only had one shot — and if you blew it up, you'd be history. History that would end up being forgotten anyway.