Eyes Open

The knock at the door was familiar and not unexpected: tap ta tap tap, tap tap. After the third time, it was evident that they weren’t going away. Finally, they’d come for me.

There was a thump that shook the building, then another with the sound of splitting timber. They were in. The door flung inward, bouncing off the wall. I heard multiple voices, though they were indistinguishable. Then heavy footsteps on the bare wooden stairs leading up to the first-floor flat. I heard the whine of the apartment door followed by the creak of a loose floorboard.

It must have been late evening as the light entering through the frosted bathroom window had faded, leaving only faint shadows. In the quiet I heard the click of a switch as light filtered under the door into the darkness where I lay.

Now I heard them more clearly. Two men, one older, one younger. The older one was sniffing the air.

‘Don’t reckon he’s here,’ came the voice, gruff from years of inhaling tobacco smoke. ‘Let’s have a poke about.’

I heard cupboards and drawers being opened, papers shuffling… then the bathroom door opened. Just an inch at first. I could not make out the figure standing at the door, but I saw an eye peering in, searching in the darkness.

‘He’s in here, Sarge.’

Heavy footsteps towards the door that was pulled wide open, allowing light to flood in and reveal my plight.

I saw them. Heavy black boots. The younger one wore a crisp white shirt with a cheap clip-on tie. The older one, Sarge, was open-necked, his shirt on its second wear. They both held my gaze.

‘Right. Let’s roll him,’ said Sarge. ‘Make sure he hasn’t got a knife in his back. You do it.’

The young officer’s eyes darted back and forth between the older man and the corpse lying before him.

The bathroom was small. The adjustable spanner that now lay on the lino floor had been the death of me. Not a murder weapon, but the object that I wrestled with as I drew my final breath. It was the exertion, you see. That bloody dripping tap had been eating away at me for months. I’d finally gotten around to fixing it, and it proved to be the death of me. Maybe that’s why I had been avoiding it for so long.

I did fix it, by the way. It was the final pull of the spanner that finished me off. My old heart just couldn’t take it. No more dripping tap. But no more me, either.

I sensed the young officer’s hesitation. So did Sarge.

‘There’s no mystery here, Son. It’s not Colonel Mustard with the lead piping in the library. He was fixing a flippin’ tap. Come on, get on with it.’

The young officer approached, never taking his eyes off mine. He began to step over me, then thought better of it. As he shuffled alongside, I saw Sarge silhouetted, leaning against the doorframe as he absent-mindedly picked at his nails and scratched his scruffy beard.

‘Come on, there’s nothing to him. You want me to call for backup?’ came the mocking sarcasm as Sarge chuckled to himself.

I felt the touch of the latex glove on my bare arm as the young officer struggled to find a hold. I was glad it was him and not Sarge. As he lifted, my arm remained locked in place. I had been here since yesterday, and rigor mortis had set in to my limbs.

Yet, still, I had my senses. Not in the usual way, but I could somehow feel his touch.

Satisfied that there was indeed no sign of foul play, he laid me gently back to my resting place.

‘Right, get him tagged. I’m going to look around,’ came the instruction from the doorway.

We shared a moment then, I think. The young lad looked at me. I held his gaze with my lifeless eyes. I wondered if he knew that I could see. I guessed maybe that’s what he was thinking. Maybe not.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of blue tags. He peeled one off, briefly examining the locking mechanism. First time, I figured. He pulled a biro from his shirt pocket, before checking the time on his wristwatch. He turned his back on me to lean against the wall as he wrote on the tag. When he turned back, I was still there.

The tag went on my left wrist. The same one that he had used to lever me over. He was gentle and fitted the tag to ensure a snug fit, not too tight. Maybe that shouldn’t matter, but it did.

Sarge reappeared in the doorway, a bit more spark to him now.

‘Right, let’s do a quick search of the premises and get out of here. Undertaker will be here in a half hour.’ Both left the bathroom and I listened as drawers opened and closed. I knew they’d find it soon enough.

‘Sarge, take a look at this.’

Through the open doorway I saw the young officer holding the shoe box. Sarge sidled over to see what was what. When he looked into the box, his expression changed to one of sudden surprise and joy. An expression that he soon brought under control. With some effort he tore his eyes away from the contents of the box to look the young officer dead in the eye.

The sergeant held his junior’s gaze, looking for a sign. None came. His shoulders dropped as he let out a sigh.

‘Wouldn’t have touched the sides in my day. Bag it up. Count it first.’

As he walked away, Sarge pulled a packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, lighting up before leaving the flat and trudging down the stairs.

The young officer sat at my desk carefully counting the banknotes into piles.

On his return, there was no sound of footsteps as Sarge slipped into the flat, but the creaking floorboard gave him away.

The young officer glanced over his shoulder, but was too busy writing in a small blue pocket book to pay any notice. Sarge looked over his own shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being watched, before reaching into the pocket of his black nylon trousers to reveal the object within.

I had worn that gold watch on my wedding day. It was engraved with my name by my dear wife who had long since passed. It was not particularly valuable, but it was mine, not his. I felt anger rise within me as I saw him fingering the dial. Though dead for over 24 hours, I think I may have shuddered. Maybe I did, because his eyes suddenly flicked back towards me through the open bathroom door. I gazed back, and for a moment I swear he thought he’d been caught.

‘Fifteen thousand five hundred, Sarge,’ called out the young officer as he placed the money and the box into a plastic bag before ratcheting a large plastic seal.

‘Eh, oh yeah, right,’ commented Sarge before sliding the watch back into his pocket.

He looked back at me. He wasn’t sure.

In the silence of the morgue, I had time to think. Vision was gone and senses were fading. The cold that I had first felt was now no feeling at all. After 77 years, I knew how to live, but I did not know how to die. Even so, this was happening.

It must have been the early hours of the morning when the voices in the dark broke the silence. It was a murmur at first, but as they drew nearer, I could make out the odd word. At least I still had my hearing. A metal door clattered open only a few feet away. I heard the voices more clearly now.

‘Yeah, they reckon he fell asleep at the wheel driving home after the late shift. Hit a lamppost at sixty mile an hour. Didn’t stand a chance. He was meant to be retiring next year. Would have been a good pension. Poor sod.’

I knew it was him. As he slid in next to me, only inches away, I’m pretty sure he knew it was me. No malice. Too late for that now. As I wondered what came of my watch, everything faded away to nothing.

The property store at the police station was no more than a stuffy cupboard under the stairs. Thick brown envelopes and plastic bags piled up on shelving like a disorganised post office.

The young officer picked up one of the clear plastic bags. The label read ‘property of Sgt. Bob Tanner’. Inside he saw car keys, a wallet, a belt, a couple of cheap pens and odd pieces of clothing. And a gold watch.

He opened the bag and pulled out the watch. He held it up to the light and felt the weight. The movement caused the second hand to stir and he held it to his ear to hear the mechanism. On the back he read the inscription ‘Herbert, with all my love – April 1945’. Carefully, he laid the watch on the table. He stood back and raised his eyes to Heaven as if searching for an answer. After a long while, his gaze returned to the watch.

From the top shelf he removed the plastic bag that contained the shoe box with the money. He broke the tag and opened the box. He placed the watch with the money, closed the lid, and re-sealed the bag.

Later that day, in the small room next to the front office, he returned the bag of keys, pens and clothing to Mrs Tanner. She never asked about the watch.