‘How are ye doin, Rez?’ I asked, exhausted already by being here, but wanting at least to try and fix things.
‘Not bad, considerin I recently tried to commit suicide.’
That was fairly dark, but at least there was a spark of humour in it, something he’d been devoid of last time.
‘My ma’s worried about them lettin me out. She’s afraid I’m goin to do it again.’
‘And are ye?’
He shook his head. ‘No. It was stupid. I can’t believe what I almost did. It terrifies me, especially when I think it was only a fluke that I was found. I wake up sweatin, nearly in panic.’
I wondered if this was the propaganda he was putting out, to lure those around him into a false sense of security while he made another bid for self-annihilation. Rez and what went on in his mind were beyond me. He had drifted out too far, into weird fog: I couldn’t see who he was any more.
‘Why did ye do it, Rez? Is there somethin ye … somethin that happened to ye?’
‘No.’ His voice had hardened; he looked ready to lash out again, tense and defensive. ‘There’s nothin that happened. I just… I’ve just been seein things clearly, too clearly. And not lookin away.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t seem to look away, the same way ordinary people do. And when ye can’t look away it’s impossible to …’ He paused; each word seemed a strain. ‘To keep livin, doin normal things.’
He looked like he was going to continue, but then he exhaled in a huge sigh, exhausted by the effort. I sensed that he wanted me to leave. But now I realized I had a kind of power over him, something I’d never had before. Rez was vulnerable and I wanted to push him, partly out of curiosity, but also for some other, shadowy reason that wasn’t clear to me.
‘What do ye mean, though?’ I said. ‘I mean, what is it ye say ye see about the world that makes ye want to, to go and do what ye did?’
He watched me for a few long moments, making me feel like a faecal germ under a microscope. Then he said, ‘You, for instance.’
I waited.
‘Me?’ I said eventually.
‘Yeah. You, the way ye are. And you here now, for example. I know what it’s all about. I —’
‘Ye what?’ I snapped. ‘Ye know what about me? Ye always think ye fuckin know about me, and about everyone. What do ye know?’
I was suddenly sick of how everything he said, even every look he gave, was one of accusation.
He said, ‘You’re enjoyin it, seein me here like this. It doesn’t really make ye feel anything to know that I was miserable enough to try and hang meself. All ye really feel is the buzz of it, the drama. I don’t even blame ye.’
‘Here we go again,’ I sneered. ‘This same old shit.’ I shook my head, exhaled in irritation, and shifted like I was about to get up and leave.
‘It’s true, though. Even now, the way you’re pressin me for information, it’s just cos ye want a bit of a buzz from hearin me.’
I looked away. I felt exposed. I tried pleading, hoping for a truce. ‘Look,’ I said in a softer tone. ‘I know it’s true that there are horrible, really fuckin horrible things out there in the world. But it’s not all bad, there are some good things as well that ye don’t have to analyse. Ye have to take things more at face value, not just see the, the ulterior motives all the time.’
‘But I can’t!’ It came out as a terrible screech. His eyes were frantic, like he was looking out at me from a burning room. ‘I can’t, Matthew. I don’t know how to. I really don’t. I just can’t turn me mind off. I don’t know how to walk down a fuckin street any more. I can’t even sit on a bus without thinkin about it from a million different angles at the same time. I keep seein the reasons behind things, why people do what they do. It’s horrible, it’s fuckin shameful. I’m fuckin ashamed of meself. I don’t know what to do.’
The medication seemed to have lost all effect, if he was even still taking it. He was definitely not tranquilized, not sedated — he looked like the only thing he wanted now was to try again to kill himself and this time get it right.
‘I know, Rez, it’s bad, I know. But there’s more to it than that, there are some good, valuable things …’ I said this even more softly, trying to put some warmth and emotion into it. But the words floated from my mouth like feeble things, dying on the air. I hated Rez for hearing my useless words and knowing they were useless. I hated him for seeing everything so clearly, especially me. I met his gaze, just as the furtive thought escaped, like noxious gas from the bowels, that it would be better for everyone if he did kill himself. People who saw the truth all the time, and insisted on telling you about it, were no good for anyone.
‘Oh Jesus,’ he whimpered, as if he’d heard my thought.
I closed my eyes and directed them away from Rez’s locked stare before opening them again.
‘I’ll see ye, Rez,’ I said, standing up.
He didn’t answer. Still avoiding his eyes, I pulled up my hood and left the room.
‘Wait,’ I heard him croak as I stepped out the door, letting it close behind me.
I had no energy these days. At work I just got stoned and spoke to no one, sluggishly washing cars and filling tanks, coming to life only when my manager gave out to me. I wouldn’t have cared if he’d fired me. When I wasn’t working, I hardly left my room unless I was going to get wasted with Kearney or Cocker. I hadn’t heard anything from Jen. I thought about calling her; maybe we could patch things up and make it like it was before, at the start of the summer. I missed her. But then I would remember what had happened and tell myself that she could be dead for all I cared. Because of what my ma had started referring to as ‘the Richard situation’ I was left alone, not hassled about anything. That was a relief.
Then Rez got out of hospital. He’d been in there ten days. His ma said maybe it was best that his friends gave him some space for a little while, till things were back to normal.
36 | Kearney
He kept to himself after meeting Matthew at the industrial estate. Now that the intention was there — the intention to kill somebody — he found that his mind was whirring away below decks, doing the creative work while he played Grand Theft Auto or smoked on his bed. Ideas would pop into his mind at random moments. For instance, there was the thought that he could push some old fucker down the stairs. Or he could leave the gas on in his grandmother’s house, causing a tragic accident that was no accident at all. Or he could go all out and accost someone on the street, or down a dark lane, and bludgeon them to death. When he thought of that one in particular his mind whirled and he experienced a great dizziness, akin to vertigo: there was no limit to what he might achieve if he put his mind to it.
But the idea of bludgeoning, stabbing or beating someone to death, though thrilling, seemed too far-fetched, too outrageous. He would end up getting caught and having to go to Mountjoy for the rest of his life. No fucking way.
When the idea appeared, he knew straight off that it was the right one.
He told no one about his plan. He brooded on it for two days, getting the details just right. Then he awoke on a midweek morning and he knew: it was time to climax.
When his ma had gone out to work — she was a cleaner, Monday to Friday, nine to five, much to Kearney’s inner derision — Kearney lifted open the portal in the garage and climbed down the sturdy wooden ladder into the basement. He was wearing rubber gloves. He stuffed what he needed into a Dunnes Stores bag inside a SuperValu bag, and left the house.
He took a bus into town, on his own. He sat on the top deck and looked at no one.