The Frank Toner Creative Writing Award

Broken Men Eimear O Brien

The light from the fire swept across the room, revealing unwanted secrets from the shadows. The man’s face turned paler when the light met him, illuminating his charred face and half burnt hair. Looking into his eyes, I saw anguish and pain flicker brought up to the surface by the memory of the flame that swirled within his mind.

Eyes weary on a face, that was harmed but still youthful and strong, perfect for my line of work. I was supposed to be presenting the offer, yet we were getting nowhere, not even close to it to the heart of his pain to bring up a bad state of mind, which led to bad decisions. Broken men are easy to manipulate. 

And that is when I'll make my offer.

He had not told me anything but I already knew the outline, but I needed him to tell me the real story, to bring up those memories.

At each flicker of the fire, I noticed his body and whole demeanour recoil and shrink further into the big armchair opposite. He didn’t touch his tea, not even the biscuit that lay on the table between us; my efforts of hospitality. A pen also lay on the table, lying on top of a  single piece of paper which we would come to later, if things went to plan. His hand clutched a chain, his knuckles white with the strain and shaking ever so slightly. Whatever happened to him must have hurt him severely and the chain must be a reminder of it. I knew he had to let go of that chain for him to join our group.

A newspaper lay folded on my lap in front of me, hidden from his view. The headline, ‘Mysterious Fire Breaks out on Family Home, No Survivors’, blares in my face, the letters the colour of the grave of his family. “A family of four, American lieutenant, Paul Coakley and his wife,Teresa and their two children have died in a fire that also destroyed their home. Investigations are underway to find the source of the fire, but there have been no leads so far”. 

But, the newspaper was wrong; there was one survivor and he was sitting in the chair across from me. But him and I were the only ones that knew. And I needed to make it count.

“I know you have been through alot in the past twenty-four hours, but I need you to keep your courage for just a little while longer.”

And so I told him my story.

“I was born in the streets of Columbia, with no family or money. My friends and I had to survive everyday, steal to just eat and sleep in doorways. But we made it, they grew into my family and we built our own company to try to make the world a better place. We wanted everyone to be equal so that no one would have to suffer the way we did. We believed that things had to break before they could be built back up again.”

I told all the horrors I went through, which would hopefully make him comfortable to do the same about last night.

I was rambling, I knew, but I could tell he was listening. His once darting eyes lay still on the gold ring around my finger with a flame insignia on it.

His face softened slightly at my every word and his hand loosened on his chain. I told him my life story except one small part, hopefully to be revealed later to him - if accepted my offer.

After I told him my story, I waited in silence. I waited to see if he would tell me what happened. After a long five minutes of antagonising silence, he finally started talking.

His voice was hoarse as he told what happened the night his life was burned away by a blazing inferno.

He began describing a normal evening in their house:

“My wife and two daughters were watching tv. It was a stormy night nut dry as the desert. Everything was fine. They went upstairs to go to bed except me. I still had some work to do in the kitchen. As the clock struck one, things began to go amiss. I smelled smoke and before I knew it, it was everywhere. When I ran out to the kitchen it was too late. The upstairs of my house, where my wife and kids were sleeping, was surrounded by the fire.”

His voice cracked at the last sentence and a tear slipped down his cheek, but he continued his story.

“There was smoke and flames everywhere. Embers from the blaze trailed down the staircase, lighting it on fire. But it happened way too fast, it didn’t spread like a normal, it was too quick. And how it started- it wasn’t possible to start a fire that quickly and-and there was nothing to spread it that quickly either. I know it sounds crazy, but I think someone started it deliberately. There is no way-no way that it was accidental.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong, but, of course, he couldn’t know and never would. 

“What did you remember after that?” I asked, trying to look shocked.

He resumed his account of the night:

“I tried to save them, but when i reached the top of the stairs- i couldn’t- there was too much smoke- i couldn’t do anything to save my family.”

He broke into a fit of coughing trying to cover the tears streaming down his face. I almost felt sorry for him, but I reminded myself of the greater good and squashed it down.

At the same time, I felt a tad smug, not everytime did my plan work so perfectly.

“I called the fire department and prayed they would arrive quickly. If there was any slim chance that they would be saved, the fire department could do it. But I couldn't just watch our house burn, so I tried to find my family again. And that’s all I remember. I must have inhaled too much smoke and blacked out. I woke up here in front of you and that’s it,” he finished, his hands wringing around his chain. 

He lifted his gaze to my face asking, “what do you want?”

I waited until the clock had ticked sixty seconds and then laid out my proposition.

“You have two options: either you can go back to the police and tell them you are alive but you have nothing left for you if you go back- or, you can come and work for me. I am in charge of a group called Inferno. We believe in equality and justice, especially against people who kill innocent families.”

His face hardened at my last few words and I knew I had him interested.

“We continue to shape peoples’ lives so that everyone has the same opportunities and equal rights. But I warn you, some of the work is not pleasant. Every so often, we come across a rich guy who doesn’t believe in equality and we have to dispose of him. I know it sounds ominous, but all for the greater good,”I promised.

His face displayed only a flicker of horror, but otherwise it seemed to be going to plan. I knew I had him hooked after what happened to his family. As I said, broken men are easy to bend to your will.

“Basically,” I said,” we’re like Robin Hood; we steal from the rich and give to the poor. We take revenge on people who deserve it, especially if the ones who were hurt, can’t take it for themselves.

So I’m offering you a job, a position that takes out evil people, people who are greedy and who do not care for the poor. I know I am asking a lot, to potentially kill a person, but remember they deserve it and the world will be a much better place because of it.”

I paused

“And so, are you in, or are you out? It's up to you.”

He contemplated my offer as he gazed out the window. I could almost hear the gears turning in his brain- but too fast, too fast to make a good decision. And that is why we break them first. It makes them impulsive, reckless.

As soon as his face stiffened and went cold, I knew I had won, I had my next recruit.

“I’m in,” he said. “What do i do?”

“Just sign here”.

I passed him the piece of paper and pen, and pointed to the dotted line at the end of the contract. He glanced over it and scribbled on the line. 

He stood up, shook my hand and nodded.

“Thank you, ma’am. Where do i go?”

I smiled.

“Training. Clean up, you leave tomorrow at dawn for Italy. Everything you need will be provided for you.”

He nodded and threw his chain ,that had been in his fist for the entire conversation, on to the table. He walked out, leaving me to my thoughts. I was triumphant, but then again when am I not. My offer was always viewed as a way out to these men. Men who had lost everything, what they lived for. They were so easily bent to my will. So brash and hasty. Mentally, I added his name to my list of would-be assasins, after the right training of course. Assassins with no past, no names. Assassins who were ‘dead’, the perfect killer soldiers. And all under my control.

A memory flashed in my head. A blonde haired monster standing with a gun over my parents heads and pulling the trigger while smiling. I pushed it away, didn’t want to deal with those emotions now. Ever.

He was the only reason I had created all of this. To make that beast pay for what he did. But not yet. I have been picking apart his gang for the past six years of my life. Soon, he will have nowhere to hide and I will kill him. But I didn’t have enough numbers yet. I needed more soldiers.

I called my assistant over and she handed me a file on our next target. I got up, stretched and walked into my office, beginning to plan the next ‘accident’ to get me another broken man, so he can sign himself over to my cause, to the greater good.