Alison trod her way wearily across the green, within seconds she was enveloped in darkness as the night closed around her. Behind her the station lights quickly disappeared from view as the trees blocked out their glow. Trudging home this way was probably more dangerous in the light of recent muggings in the area but it saved at lease 5 minutes from the journey and at this time of night, on balance, minutes spent at home were more precious than the small chance someone would pick on her - besides, she was fit, strong from hours in the gym trying hard to convey the air of confidence that self defence experts always say is vitally important so as not to be picked out from the herd.
She was around halfway across the grass, keeping pretty much to the well worn commuters path, when her attention was drawn to footsteps running up fast behind, inwardly her stomach did a flip and she involuntarily stiffened. Instantly she told herself not to be stupid, it was clearly just a jogger, just calm down. As she finished the thought she felt an arm around her neck and a hard object being thrust into the side of her ribcage - Christ! - her reaction was instinctive and probably as much to do with being hurt as survival. She twisted and drove her foot hard down onto the instep of the assailant. At the same time her elbow crashed upward into the stomach and then racked across the face.
She jerked free and twisted again to face her attacker. What looked like a small bundle of sweatshirts and trainers was flapping on the floor a few feet away from her, obviously winded and in some pain. More angry than premeditated she stepped quickly across the distance and aimed a kick at the bundle, " you fucker!," she drew her foot back and kicked again, " fuck off,. fuck off!". The bundle started to move away from her, almost like a crab, slowly moving along the ground without looking up or ahead.
She aimed another kick but the bundle got the message and suddenly sat up and bolted away into the darkness.
Alison was alone, breathing heavily she turned back to her path and realised she'd dropped her bag, panicking, quickly looking around she saw it, probably where the attack had happened, a little off the trail. Next to it was something else, smallish but with a dull glint where what light there was reflected back. She moved quickly, aware that the attacker might come back and scooped up her bag and moved her hand to see what the object was, expecting it to be her phone or something from her bag. Her fingers grasped something metallic which she brought up to her eyeline to examine. Sitting across her palm lay a small silver gun, with a dark handle, a short stubby barrel and a cylindrical centre. Her stomach turned again and she suddenly felt very frightened and alone. Without thinking she stuffed the gun into her bag, rejoined the trail and ran rapidly towards her towards the distant street lighting, not stopping until she was inside her flat.
Once inside the door Alison worked the double lock and walked quickly to the kitchen. Pouring herself a large vodka she downed it in one. Pouring another her eyes went to her bag, now on the kitchen table. Screwing the cap back on the bottle she replaced it in the fridge and crossed to the table. Her heart pounded fiercely as she opened it up and let her fingers clasp the metallic shape inside. Taking it out she gazed levelly at the revolver, turning it over and investigating all angles. There didn't appear to be any markings on it at all, no maker's name or code number.
An idea suddenly occurred: taking the gun and her drink she crossed to the bedroom and switched on her computer, starting with her favourite search engine she browsed until the early hours, from one forum, one manufacturer, one user's group to another. By 2 am although she had never held a gun in her life and had only the barest notion of how it worked, she felt confident enough to open the barrel and empty the bullets. She was surprised to see each chamber was occupied with a short little bullet, for some reason she had expected it to be unloaded, or more likely not a working gun at all, more a replica.
Placing the bullets in her bedside table and the gun under the bed she had a shower and fell into an exhausted sleep.
Next morning she awoke with the alarm and immediately felt under the bed. Still there. It was Friday so a day's work to go - but more worrying she would have to walk past the spot where her attacker had struck, and presumably they would want their gun back. She resolved to go by bus.
Before she left something made her go back to the bedroom and reach under the bed. Flicking open the chamber she loaded each bullet and dropped the gun into her shoulder bag. She was more than aware of the penalties of carrying a gun, years in prison, bad publicity and danger - but she was a little excited by the lawbreaking, and of course although she would never show it to anyone, it did make her feel a bit more secure to know what that comforting weight was in her bag.
The day passed without incident and it was soon the end of the working day. She had been extremely aware of her bag, never letting it out of her sight and even taking it to the toilet when necessary. At least she had an office job where it was fairly easy to melt into the background. The previous nights events had weighed heavily on her thoughts all day, so once again she took the bus away from her usual route. Eschewing the office drinks she went straight home and again locked herself in.
Once back on the internet she resolved to look into the business of shooting technique, practising in the mirror - with no bullets. She pulled the trigger, not too much pressure and a loud click. Once again a late night but Alison had a plan for the next day.
Rising early she drove down to near her childhood haunts, she knew the area well and wanted a deserted place for some target practice. Eventually after some time she found her bearings and parked up, after some walking she sat down to catch her breath. The spot was well off the dog walking trail and there was no public right of way. She scanned the horizon for anyone and was glad to see a farmer about a mile off, ploughing noisily - she had no idea what sort of noise she was going to make but at least there was some cover.
Picking up her pack she crossed to a copse of trees and took out the tins she had rescued from her recycling bin for the purpose. Bearing in mind she only had six bullets she set out six cans, 5 inches apart on a stump. Once again looking around she moved about ten feet away and brought out the pistol, wrapped in a T-shirt. Loading up the bullets she stood face on in front of the cans and raised the weapon, one handed. Her plan was to just to try out the weapon. If she was lucky she might hit a target!
Taking careful aim along the barrel she steadied her arm and tried to slow her breathing down. With immense concentration she tried to squeeze the trigger and not jerk it as all the texts said. Her finger tightened - finally the gun jerked and kicked, throwing her arm to one side. The can stayed intact.
She raised the gun again and this time brought up her other hand to her wrist to form a triangle. She squeezed again and was rewarded with another satisfying report and kickback. However the can stayed untouched. Bullets 3, 4 and 5 were expended in much the same way with various degrees of control. Finally Alison stepped two paces closer and took aim. In her hand the gun coughed and jerked and the can ripped open. She was so surprised she jumped, then wandered closer to have a look. Placing the cans back in her bag along with the weapon she reflected on the feeling. What a rush -and so intense, nothing came close, she felt exhausted. The amount of smoke was a surprise, she hadn't really been aware of a flash and the bang seemed disengaged from her, like a firework going off in the next road. Hurrying back to the car she wondered idly what she would do with her new found power and ability - of course first she would need some more bullets. She cursed herself for not saving a bullet so she could have used it as a sample. Presumably you could not just go down to the local DIY store and stock up! Back to the internet.
Later that night she discovered a store in the former Yugoslavia that appeared to stock what she needed - after measuring the cylinders and the spent cases she decided to take a risk and order the ammunition over the internet in the post. She had read a report in the papers saying that most illegal weapons come in the UK through the post and the mail was rarely checked. It was a calculated risk. The only concession she made was to claim her address was that of a neighbours whose flat was temporarily empty and she had the key. The order was made.
Two weeks later and Alison was sitting on the floor with a box of bullets in front of her, loading the first into the gun. Amazingly and with some luck it fitted perfectly, the box went into her bedside cabinet and the gun went back under the bed - fully loaded.
As the weeks went by Alison began to feel more at home with a loaded, concealed gun in her bag, taking it to work, and even to social occasions at the pub or even clubs. She felt safer and powerful, knowing she had the power of death inches away if she needed it. In her head she replayed several fantasy's, getting her boss in a room alone, pulling out her gun and shooting him again and again, her work competitor Hayley in the toilets and filling her full of lead. Even other drivers or passengers that cheesed her off in the course of her day. Of course the fact that she could do it seemed to completely destroy any notion of doing it for real, and she remained very realistic to the actuality of using what she now considered her gun on someone. She even walked deliberately alone in the dark along the path where the attack had first happened.
One evening she went for a drink with her work mate Ross, they got chatting and the talk turned to relationships. Alison could see that Ross was unhappy and had been for several weeks, she had not asked why so as not to pry but as the drink flowed it came out. Ross had a long term boyfriend, a married man who was always promising to leave his wife but of course never would. Finally they had a huge row and it had become physical, the man had hit Ross around and then sexually attacked her, leaving her badly injured and emotionally wrecked. He had shown no remorse and eventually Ross had called it off, but one phrase stuck in Alison's mind, " I tell you, If I had a gun I would have killed him, I still would, that man deserves to die for what he did to me and probably does to his wife".
Alison mind involuntarily drifted to what was in her bag and thought about what she could do, but the evening passed and the next day a busy itinerary wiped any ideas from her mind.
Later that week she was out with her friends when she was shocked to see Ross's ex boyfriend, drinking with some male friends. Excusing herself from the social throng Alison made her way over to the man and watched him without being seen. There was something cruel about his down turned lips and grey eyes - but he was a confident performer and clearly the dominant male of the group. For a second she thought about going over but changed her mind when his eyes flicked across hers. She moved quietly across the room back to her friends, just as they decided to go to another bar. She needed the toilet so dashed up the stairs to the ladies. As she closed the door on her way out he was standing in the way. "I saw you earlier didn't I", he said, "my names Shaun, can I get you a drink?".
"Sure" she found herself saying, "why not?", " see you downstairs in a couple of minutes - she went back into the toilet and locked herself into a cubicle. So what was she doing? She picked up her bag and grabbed her phone to call her friends. "Hi, it's me - I've just met an old friend, I'll maybe try to catch up with you later, don't wait around." She hung up and replaced the phone. Almost absent mindedly she wrapped her fingers around the gun's handle and pulled it out - not knowing what she was doing she dropped it back into the bag, unlocked the door and stepped out into the hall.
He was still there - "I’ll tell you what - why don't we go back to mine? I've got a pretty good drinks selection". She felt her stomach flip. He led her out into the cool air and hailed a cab. "The Middlesborough" he said. "I thought we were going back to yours?", she asked - suddenly concerned. "I'm only staying for a couple of nights on a conference," he lied," so in a manner of speaking it is mine".
Alison glanced at the cabbie, he was singing along to a song in front, probably hadn't even noticed her. Once at the Hotel, she stepped out and followed him through the foyer, trying not to be noticed, jumping into a closing lift as it whirred up to his floor. Once out of the doors she glanced up and down the corridor before skipping up behind him. He turned the key and entered the room. Actually it was a used room, maybe he wasn't lying, maybe it was mistaken identity? He was at the mini bar, surveying the offers. "Drink?". She looked up quickly, alarmed as the question interrupted her thoughts. "err, yes please - how about a gin and tonic?". He placed the drink on the bedside table and patted the bed.
Now what? She walked slowly over to the bed and sat down on the edge, her bag still close by her side - once again she asked herself what was she doing here?. He reached out and touched her hair, "you've got beautiful hair, I saw that back in the bar", she arched her head back into the cup of his hand. His other hand reached across and caressed her breast and he made as though to kiss her.
Suddenly she made up her mind sat upright and reached down to her bag. "Shaun," she said coolly, "are you still married to Pauline?".
"Who told you that", he exclaimed, moving away from her.
"Just a friend, actually I've got something for you from her in here", she brought up her bag onto her knee.
"Oh yes, what would that be?", he said questioningly, looking down at the bag, a bit apprehensively.
"Before I start you have to remember I'm not used to doing this OK?"
"OK." He looked confused.
"And you must promise to be very quiet."
"Oh, OK, I'll try". He smiled quietly.
She unzipped her bag and pushed her hand inside - he watched with rapt concentration wondering what on earth this woman could have for him in there.
Her hands fastened around the grip, in one movement she brought the pistol out and pointed it at him. He flinched and moved away towards the back of the bed raising his hand in defence.
Alison's heart pounded in her chest as she continued to hold the gun on him, "I'm a friend of Ross, she sends her best". Raising the gun slightly she aimed towards his chest, feeling an overwhelming pressure. She tried to focus on the trigger, to squeeze not to jerk. Finally she looked into his eyes and with immense care tightened her finger.
In her hand the gun jerked and cracked, she blinked involuntarily and brought up her hand to steady the gun. On the bed the object of her attention twisted, a neat hole in his stomach. He put a hand on top and looked back at her with terror on his face. She squeezed again immediately and absorbed the kickback. Once again there was a surprising amount of smoke in the room, she peered through it to where Shaun was. He was doubled up near the headboard, suddenly he sat up and reached out towards Alison. She found herself looking at his nails, perfectly manicured and flecked with blood. She aimed a little higher, towards the heart and squeezed for a third time. This time the other arched his back and hit the wall, sinking slowly down on his side onto the bed, a fixed expression on his face.
She watched for a moment and then rose to her feet. He was still lying in the same position, not moving. She rose the gun again and fired twice more into his torso. His body twitched a little and she watched in fascination as little bits of cloth appeared to flick up and down as the bullets entered.
Finally she lowered the gun and crossed to the end of the bed. Reaching over she placed the gun next to his temple and fired for the last time.
This time the his head jerked violently away and a spray of blood and matter spattered the headboard and back towards Alison. She realised she was probably covered and looked at a mirror to check. Her face was speckled with red. Immediately she wiped the muzzle of the gun on his shirt and dropped it back in her bag. She suddenly froze. She had decided to use gloves as she knew enough from the TV that the gun firing leaves deposits on its users hands. Stupidly they were still in her bag. Well nothing she could do about it now. She walked rapidly round to the bathroom and washed her hands and face in the sink.
From her bag she produced a large cloth, lint free - she had checked - and wiped down everything she had touched.
Taking a last look around the room she steadied herself, took a few deep breaths and reached for the door, handkerchief still in hand.
Once in the lobby she checked her watch and made for the bar - all the better to see what happened. A large gin and tonic later the police and ambulance service had arrived.
"What's the fuss?" she asked the bartender
"No idea love, probably some old codger had a heart attack."
She smiled and turned to leave, dropping her purse into the bag, next to her gun.
Its been one hell of a night. Walking out of the hotel she picked out her phone and called her friends.