The Robbery

You know, when I was younger I used to think I had things figured out. So maybe I was wrong, maybe I didn’t. In fact, I know I didn’t. Back then I was just some punk kid with no direction in life. I was nothing then, and I’m nothing now. What has happened over the course of my life has been done, the book closed. I have a lot of time to think now, and although I usually don’t, maybe one day I can come up with some kind of answer, some kind of explanation for what happened to my life. I’d like to say that it hurts me to think about it, but nothing hurts me anymore, if you can believe it.

I am a man of many talents, Jake Waldron. I’m twenty-three years old and I’ve already got an ex-wife and a son I’m not allowed to see.

The judge said it was a possibility one day, that is, if I can ever get my life back on track. I’ve been messed up for a long time, so I’m not sure that’ll ever happen. I had a difficult time growing up. Both of my parents hung around, but they weren’t really the greatest people. I didn’t do well in school. I did all the bad things a person can do. Does this sound like a typical sob story? Don’t worry—it is.

I eventually ended up dropping out when I was seventeen. At that point, I started working at a club. That’s where I met Brandy. She was weird, but I couldn’t resist her. I don’t really remember what drew me to her. Then again, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast, so that says a lot about the way I think.

One thing led to another, and suddenly she was pregnant. As much as I wanted to leave, I didn’t, and we got married. Brandy always hated my “bad” habits, as she called them, but I didn’t care.

So I liked to drink. What’s wrong with that? I liked to smoke, too. And I wasn’t going to let Brandy tell me what to do. I’m Jake Waldron—I do what I want and I get what I want. Besides, she was just as bad as I was in every way. In fact, she probably cheated on me more than I cheated on her.

About the time I was twenty-one my criminal record started getting longer and longer. I can’t remember how many times I was arrested that year. It was all for stupid stuff—vandalism, drunk driving, domestic disturbances, things like that. I think I just did it to get out of the house. By the end of that year, I was doing time. Great.

The divorce wasn’t what killed me. Brandy and me, we hated each other. It was losing my son, Dylan. She took him with her when she left. If I hated her before, I really hated her after that. Although I couldn’t afford to take her to court, I knew I should be the one to have him. I don’t know what I was thinking. I loved Dylan, you have to know that, but I knew I couldn’t afford to keep a kid. But I didn’t want Brandy to have him. I was used to getting what I wanted. The fact that she wouldn’t give him up made me want him more.

She took me to court for child support. Can you believe that? Not only did she get to keep him, but I had to pay her, too. Jeez. She told me I could see him again once I cleaned up. I figured since I was paying her, how I lived my life wasn’t any of her concern. I just didn’t get her.

I wanted to visit my son. I wasn’t going to be one of those deadbeat dads that ended up screwing their kids. I wanted my kid to be normal. How could he ever be normal with that crazy slut Brandy raising him? He needed his dad around to keep him in line.

But I wanted to keep my life the way it was. I couldn’t just give all that up. There was a solution somewhere that would allow me to have everything I wanted. I just had to come up with it.

A lot of people think South Boston is a dismal place. It’s always raining and it smells like trash. That’s just for starters, of course. To me, it’s home. I can’t think of a town that parties more. I’ve never been anywhere else, but I don’t need to. I’ve got everything I need here.

It was at one of these parties that Jimmy, one of my best friends, helped me come up with the perfect plan to get my son back. I guess it seemed perfect at the time.

“Man,” he said, his speech slurred. “Have you ever thought of just ripping off a bank?”

“What?” I said.

“Man, you heard me,” he replied. “Go up to the bank, blow the guy away, and take the money. Then you can show Brandy that you’ve cleaned up and that you got a good job with lots of money.”

As messed up as that sounded, I started to think about it constantly. I was drunk most of the time, so it made a lot of sense. I guess I figured that if I had more money, Brandy would let me see Dylan. That’s all she really cared about anyway.

I began to sit up at night trying to figure out how I would pull off a job like that. I’d done petty robberies before, but never anything this big. I knew it would be tough, but if I had the right tools it would be no problem. I’m Jake Waldron, remember?

After weeks of planning, I was ready to go. Before I did anything though, I needed to see Brandy. Maybe she would let me see Dylan before I had to do anything crazy to get to him.

When I walked over to her house, I saw her loading him into the car. I can’t believe he’s four years old now. She looked at me, her eyes wide.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Jake,” she said, fumbling with the seatbelt.

“Relax,” I told her. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk fast, Jake, I’ve got places to be.”

“I want to see Dylan,” I told her. “I’d do anything.”

She looked me up and down, surveying me, as if she could see right through me. “You wouldn’t do anything, Jake,” she said coldly, turning back to what she was doing.

“But he’s my son, too!” I exclaimed.

“How can you even talk about him being your son?” she scolded. “Just look at what you’ve done to your life. You don’t act like a father.”

“But, I--,” I started, but she cut me off.

“I used to think you were better than this, Jake,” she said. “But you’re not.”

I looked down at the ground, scraping my foot on the pavement. I had nothing to say. Getting angry wouldn’t do anything.

“I have some errands to run,” she said, getting into the front seat of her car. “If you want to do something good for your son, stay away from him.”

Before I could answer, she started her car and drove away. I felt so dejected, so lost, so angry. I wasn’t that messed up, and she knew it. Brandy was the messed up one as far as I’m concerned.

I realized that there wasn’t anything I could do to please her. She hated me and I hated her. Now I had nothing to lose. I was going to go through with the robbery.

So here I am, the great Jake Waldron. I’m getting ready for the biggest heist of my life. I had this planned out perfectly. It was a Sunday morning, so it would be nice and quiet. Everyone would be at church. I’d be quick and get out of there. At the time, it really sounded like a decent plan.

I stared at my gun for a minute before loading it. I hoped this would go well. Finally, I ran into the bank. “Nobody move!” I yelled. There were a lot more people in the bank than I had anticipated there would be, but that’s okay. Things don’t always go the way you plan.

“Drop your weapon!” a cop yelled from behind me. He had been there the whole time. How could I have missed that?

I faltered, pivoting slowly. This was not part of the plan. I froze, not sure what to do. I knew I couldn’t let it end like this. If I got arrested again, I’d be in more trouble than I can imagine. I guess I didn’t think about that part as much as I should have. Brandy would never let that go; no matter I did I would never get to see Dylan again. No, I would make this happen.

I ran across the bank, the cop aiming his gun at me. I began to fire into the crowd of people, hoping to kill the cop so that I could get him out of my way. I was so desperate I didn’t care who I hit, as long as I took him down.

A few people cried out. I had shot them, but I didn’t care. I ended up behind a counter, listening to the chaos I had created. What the hell? I asked myself. I sorted out the details in my mind in an attempt to figure out where in my mind I went wrong.

I heard the cop yell for me to come out, but I was not giving up. I had already gone this far. As far as I was concerned I was going out of that bank with everything or else not at all. What else was I supposed to do?

I took a deep breath before I stood up, firing at the cop. I was so unprepared for what happened next. I staggered backward, feeling shot after shot enter me. I hit the ground hard, shaking, blood all over. The explosion of pain sent a shockwave through my body. Suddenly, every little sound became deafening. This could not be the end!

The cop came and took the gun away from me. There was so much pain. The sounds in the room went from deafening to distorted. The pictures around me started breaking up. I was dying and I knew it. I would die just as I lived: a loser.

That’s when I heard her; I heard Brandy’s voice. At least, I thought it was her. She was screaming and yelling. “…My son…!” was all I could make out. I thought about Dylan as I felt the life draining away from me. Why had I wanted him so badly? Brandy was right; I couldn’t possibly have taken care of him in my wildest dreams. Just look at how I took care of myself.

I closed my eyes, the world around me silent and still. I had failed him, my son, and I had failed myself.

***

I shot awake, sweat pouring off of me as I dragged myself out of bed. It was a dream. I sighed and shook my head, relieved. I went and opened a window, hoping the wind would cool me off. It was strangely silent on the street below. No cars, no people. I lived in the heart of South Boston; silence was a rare thing around here.

If I had paid more attention to it, maybe I would have figured out what was going on. I shook my head again, absent-mindedly making my way to the bedroom door. I had no idea what time it was, but I planned on watching a little television. I needed to get that nightmare off of my mind.

I didn’t know what was going on when I opened the door. I heard phones ringing and whispering voices. It was like an office. This couldn’t be right, though. I never rented out my apartment to an office. I figured it was all a bad trip. When this was over I would cut back on the acid. A woman sat at a desk typing rapidly on an old typewriter. No computer.

“Jake Waldron?” the woman asked, a pleasant smile crossing her face.

“Yeah,” I said, taking off my sweatshirt. Man, it was hot in that room.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Jake?” she said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

How did she know my name? I had never seen her before. I had no idea how they even got into my apartment. I didn’t want to say anything to make me look stupid, so I slowly took a seat. There were a few small fans in the room, but it was still so hot. Finally, the woman called me up.

“Right this way,” she said. I followed, still wondering what was going on.

She led me into an office, and I sat down in a chair. There was a man sitting down at the desk reading a newspaper. He was an older man with scornful lines etched into his face. He was sitting down behind his desk, but I could see from where I was that he was probably six and a half feet tall.

I coughed and the man looked up. “Jake Waldron,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” I said. This guy reminded me of my parole officer. How did everyone here know me?

“I’ll bet you’re wondering why you are here?” he said.

I sat still, watching him.

He smiled. “I’ll bet you’re wondering where you are?”

I waited for him to continue. “Welcome to Hell,” the man said pleasantly.

I choked, trying not to laugh. “Funny,” I said. If only I wasn’t so stupid. “Who put you up to this? Was it Jimmy?”

“No one put me up to this,” the man said. “I’m pleased to meet you, Jake Waldron, and I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you for a while.”

My mouth dropped open. Forget cutting back on the acid, I was quitting. “Okay, stop messing with me,” I said angrily. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am,” he said sarcastically. “I’m certainly not God, so that would make me…”

He paused, waiting for me to figure it out. How could this be possible? I didn’t die; it was only a bad dream. It was a bad dream, wasn’t it?

“The bank--,” I stuttered. “That wasn’t—a dream?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “You died right there on the floor. And now you’re here. You were so young, too. I can hear your ex-wife saying that now at the funerals.”

“What?” I asked. “There can’t be a funeral if I’m here! That makes no sense.”

The man laughed. “Just because it doesn’t make sense to you doesn’t mean that it’s not real.”

I put my head in my hands, angry and frustrated. The world spun around me. I clung to the chair, wondering when I would wake up.

“Too late for that, Jake,” he said, a broad grin revealing old, yellowed teeth. “It’s over. You’re over.”

“If this is Hell,” I started, looking up at him. “Where’s the fire and all that stuff?”

“That is so cliché,” the man replied. “Surely you didn’t think it’d really look like that? No, we’ve come up with a better idea around here.”

I stood up. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He smirked. “I know you’re not,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes, making my way to the door.

“Where are you going, Jake?” he asked with a laugh.

I opened the door, but he stood before me.

“Let’s go, Jake,” he said quietly.

I felt the world cave in on top of me. Maybe this was real…

“Now you’re getting it,” he said, making his way down the hallway.

I followed him slowly. What else was I supposed to do?

I followed him through hallway after hallway. Finally, we came to an elevator. He pushed the button and the door opened.

“After you, Jake,” he said, directing me onto the elevator. I stepped on quietly.

It seemed that thing went down for hours. We finally came to a stop and the door slid open with a ding.

“It’s Boston!” I exclaimed, stepping off of the elevator and into the cool air of Boston.

“Well, where else would it be? You’ve never gone anywhere else.” With that statement, the door began to close. I tried to catch the door, but it wouldn’t stay open.

“There’s no safe haven for you anymore,” he said as the doors closed, laughing. “But I know, you’re still not afraid of me!”

I stepped back away from the doors, looking around. It was too quiet to be Boston. There were no cars anywhere, no people. I made my way down the street slowly, feeling as if I was being led somewhere. I followed the winding streets for what seemed like hours. Then again, maybe it wasn’t hours. The time was weird here, almost like I couldn’t feel it. That’s when I heard it.

“I have some errands to run,” she said, getting into the front seat of her car.

I turned my head, looking over to see Brandy getting into her car, driving off. A man stood where she had just been. When he turned to face me, I saw it was me.

What was going on? He walked past me, not noticing I was standing there. Was this the day of the bank robbery?

“Jake!” I called hoping he would hear me, but he didn’t. I followed him down the empty streets of Boston, the ghostly sound of my voice yelling over the scraping of his shoes on the pavement.

I watched as he pulled out a gun, adjusting it. “Oh, god,” I thought, putting my hand on my head. I stumbled backward, not knowing what to do.

You can’t stop him. Satan’s voice echoed in my head.

We both stood in front of the bank, looking at it. There was no way I could stop him. Was it supposed to go differently this time? Why was I there?

He ran into the bank. I followed at his heels, suddenly hoping he’d stop, that I could wake up from this nightmare.

My eyes diverted to the corner where the cop was sitting, eating donuts. If only I had seen him the first time, this whole thing wouldn’t have happened. I watched in horror as the other Jake pulled out the gun and yelled at the crowd, the only people in Boston it seemed. My ex-wife stood in the crowd. I had wondered why she was there. She held Dylan in her arms. I watched the expression of shock hit my face when the other Jake saw the cop.

He ran frantically towards the counter, shooting into the crowd. I did not move. Instead I stood in shock, watching the people go down. People I killed. The cop yelled towards the counter, holding out his gun. Several other officers rushed in. So this is how it happened. I wasn’t even paying attention! It would have been nice to know what was going on at the time.

I saw the other Jake come up from behind the counter and start firing into the crowd again. He did not hit the cop. I choked when I saw more people go down, when I saw the bullet go right into my son’s chest.

Suddenly the world paused and my perspective changed. I looked down to see that I now held the guy, the other Jake having disappeared. I studied the scene as everything around me moved in slow motion.

The other cop pulled out a gun and shot at me, but this time I did not go down. I looked at my bullet-ridden chest, confused. My eyes did not stay there long, but immediately diverted back to Dylan. Brandy held is bloody, lifeless body in her arms. “My son!” she cried out hysterically, clinging to him.

“This can’t be real!” I yelled, dropping the gun.

I just thought I’d show you what really happened the day you died. Satan’s voice rang in my ears. This is the truth, this is what YOU did, and this is why you’re here. From now on, this is what you are.

My mind instantly returned to what the man had told me earlier. “…At the funerals…” he said. That’s when I realized I wasn’t the only one who died that day; my son died, too.

I dropped to my hands and knees, frustration and sadness pulsing through me. How could I do this? Not only did I ruin my life, I ruined my son’s chance at life. For once, Brandy was right. Dylan would have been better off if I had stayed out of his life. Now, because of me, he has no life.

This is my life now—everyday is exactly the same as the day before. Everyday I go to the bank, everyday I kill my son, and everyday I get gunned down. But that’s not the kicker. Satan, the man in the business suit, got what he wanted. My personal Hell has not been the fact that I killed my son. The truth was only the pain in the beginning. The thing is, with each passing day I care less and less about what happened in the bank. Each day I care less and less that I killed my son. That is my personal Hell, the thing that hurts me the most. I don’t think about him anymore. My thoughts aren’t safe—they won’t ever be. Sometimes I go over to the elevator, hoping by some crazy chance those doors will open and I can go home. The visits become less and less frequent. I have come to realize that nothing I can do will wake me up; nothing I can think will make me happy. I am miserable forever.

Now that everything is said and done, I can see all the mistakes I made. All I could see in life were the things I wanted to see. Who cares if they were real or not? I barely paid attention. If I could go back and do everything again, I’d do things differently. But I can’t go back; it’s all over. Welcome to Hell.