Read Online Sin by Shaun Allan - Free Book Online Page A

thoughts, drifting like a
strait jacket on the water, returned unbidden to the crash scene
I'd left behind me. I'd trained myself to not dwell on the things
that happened, that I caused. 'Trained' might be too structured a
word. It wasn't really that conscious, or that regimented. It was
more a case of I'd learned, through instinct or pain or sweet self
preservation, to not think too much about the deaths and the
screams and the things I knew. The fact that I had wanted to turn
myself into a strawberry Pop Tart might decry that admission, but,
while I could want to rid the world of Me because of everything I'd
done, I didn't concentrate on individual atrocities. The situation
as a whole made me want to, let's be blunt, kill myself, not
because of anything specific, but because I was a monster
ass-ay-hole.
    I think that makes sense. I
could turn a blind eye to causing the death of a family, but not to
the fact that I'd caused death.
    I looked back, briefly. I
couldn't see the remains of the car. The scene back there seemed as
peaceful as if it was an autumn's day, just before the rain. The
trees and hedgerows stood out in stark relief against the
blackening clouds. The air felt charged as if the sky was winding
up a dynamo ready for a lightning display. I certainly didn't want
to be caught in any downpour but didn't see the point in quickening
my pace. I could be 100 metres from sanctuary, just around the next
gang of elms, or it could be 100 miles, over the hills and far
away. Who knew? I, for one, didn't, so why bother breaking into a
sweat when it might be pointless? If the heaven's opened, as they
surely were planning to, I'd take shelter under the branches of a
tree and wait it out.
    The car. The boy. The blood and
the broken glass and the crushed metal.
    I flashed back to him flying
past me. He'd been a blur, but I saw more in retrospect than I had
at the time. He was driving on the left hand side of the road. He
was sitting on the right. The number plate was a UK one. FX56
something or other. A new car. Nice one. I wasn't in Outer
Mongolia, nor was I in deepest, darkest Africa. Darkest England was
a fairly safe bet.
    I smiled. It had been a long
time.
    There was a body. There was a
wreck. There was death. But hey, there was also the chance that I
might be able to find a pub and have a few neat vodkas.
"Yippee-ki-yay, you mothers," as Bruce Willis might say.
    I blotted the crash out. What
could I do, that I hadn't already done? Come on. I'd rid the world
of an idiot driver, one that had gotten away with running down a
young girl? Was the world a better place? Was it sweeter smelling
and fresher? No. Not to my nose anyway. Not to my senses. Not to my
heart. He was an idiot. His idiocy had resulted in the death of a
girl. Who was I, though, to dictate that he should die? I didn't
wear a great black hooded cloak and swing a scythe like Tiger Woods
does a nine iron, or my old mate Tony tries to. I don't live on a
cloud, have a long white beard and lightning shooting from my
fingertips, having to be careful if I wanted to pick my nose. I was
just me, Sin, a mortal more mere than most.
    But anywho-be-doo. Hi-ho, it's
off to wherever I go.
    The light was fading and the
distinct lack of any street lighting meant it was becoming much
darker than I was used to. I hadn't thought enough time could have
passed since I left the hospital for the day to be leaning towards
night. I knew I'd been walking for a while, but I had nothing to
track the hours by. Watches weren't allowed - yes, you could
possibly hang yourself with the strap if your shoelace happened to
snap, and I didn't have Tonto's skills in telling the time by the
position of the sun or the song of a cricket. If I didn't have my
Pulsar or my mobile phone, an hour could last five minutes or be
about five days long. It meant the few years I'd spent in Dr.
Connors care had lasted about six millennia. Even so, I would have
guessed that only a couple or three hours had loped by