Quinn's Return: A Dead Man's Last Request

The morning air was crisp and pinched Marcus’ exposed skin. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and looked around the park tiredly, unable to spot the face he was looking for.

Quinn was known for being late; every time there was a family event or when they had organized to meet each other at their usual watering-hole, Quinn would arrive twenty minutes after everyone else. Not being able to see his brother-in-law’s face didn’t surprise Marcus in the slightest.

However, he couldn’t understand why Quinn chose to meet him at Springvale Park so early in the morning. Firstly, Springvale was a fair distance from Quinn’s and his home suburbs. Secondly, Quinn was never usually awake before noon. Despite the strangeness, rejecting the invitation was not an option. Marcus still considered Quinn to be a friend even after he left their family on bad terms a year ago. Marcus’ wife, Renee, refused to speak of her brother now so doubted if she even knew Quinn had suddenly returned. One thing was for certain, he wouldn’t dare mention it to her until he spoke to Quinn first.

A cyclist rang their bell behind Marcus and he shifted to the side politely, taking the chance to scan the park once again. The tall and thin figure of Quinn was nowhere to be seen. Marcus checked his phone, noting that they were supposed to meet half an hour ago now. The text to his phone late last night was very specific: he was to meet Quinn at the South entrance of the park. There was no doubt he was in the right area. Marcus continued walking the stiffness out of his legs, ambling down the gravel footpath a while until he came to a bend. As he turned on his heel to walk back down the footpath again, he spied a jacket hanging over the arm of a park bench around the corner. The red patches sown into the elbows caught his eye first and a feeling of recognition held him still.

Quinn’s pointy elbows would always wear holes into his clothes so the patches were a signature style of the man’s appearance. Marcus could imagine the grey jacket hanging off of Quinn’s boney shoulders, a size too large, and the oddly-cut patches hastily sown into the elbows. Moving closer to the bench confirmed Marcus’ suspicions. The pieces of material were attached with a thick knitting thread, an obvious add-on rather than seamlessly part of the design.

Marcus scanned this corner of the park, breath puffing out as a cloud of fog in front of his face, but again felt the familiar, bitter taste of disappointment. Quinn wasn’t here. The man had proven himself undependable before but it was hard for Marcus to face this again. He had made the right choice not telling Renee that Quinn was back.

Defeated, Marcus slumped onto the park seat and pulled the jacket onto his lap. A small hard object was in the beast pocket: Quinn’s glistening black lighter. From the waist pocket Marcus pulled out a small black book bound by a piece of elastic, a white pen clipped over the pages. He peeled the elastic back and opened the hard cover. The first page was blank but a turn of the paper revealed a handwritten letter.

As his eyes flitted across the page, Marcus felt his breathing turn shallow and his heart begin to race. It took all his effort to keep his hands from shaking as he turned the pages to continue reading.

Hey Marcus.

I am not super into writing letters. This is the first time I have tried since I was a kid! I hope you get this, not sure if you will find my coat but I hope you pick it up before some other sleaze.

(If you are some sleaze reading this. . . HANDS OFF!!!)

I wanted to see you, Renee and the kids today but its too dangerous. I got into a mess. A big mess. I can’t see you in person while they are after me. Less you know the better, I think.

First thing, I am so so sorry. I know I left when Renee needed me and it’s a huge regret. Please tell her I am sorry and I hope she forgives me. I miss her so much. The last time she tried to contact me she said Pops died. I missed the funeral. Tell her I held my own service on my own that day! Please. God, I am sorry. I know how hard it has all been on you guys because I left. The money for Pops’ meds, the burden, I left it all with you and Renee . . . and you had the kids to worry about too. I was sooo stupid.

This is my last chance. I cant say sorry enough, so I brought a present with me for you and Renee and the kids. Please follow my notes here to find it and DO IT QUICK. To be honest, this is the last wish of a dead man. They are hot on my heels. You aren’t gunna see me again - not even my body. I got into some messed up stuff . . . nasty stuff. You probably aren’t shocked.

Get off your ass and go find this present. Trust me it’s worth it. It’s my redemption. I hope, anyways.

Tell Renee I love her and I am sorry I couldn’t see her again but I am dealing with the aftermath of my own shit I guess, like she said I would.

Karma is a bitch.

- Q

Marcus read the letter twice but the words looked alien, scrawled in slanted writing across the paper that was marred with dirt and a bloody smear on the corner of the page. He was sure he didn’t get a paper cut. That wasn’t his blood. It was already a red-brown dried stain; this was Quinn’s blood.

Music blaring from a car at an intersection nearby broke Marcus from his stupor and was a stark reminder that the world had not stopped while he was reading. Early morning walkers were passing by him on the park track, commuters were on the roads on their way to work. Marcus should have been one of those people caught blissfully in the routine but he was sitting alone, devastated, fearful, worried for the life of his friend.

Quinn always downplayed the nature of things but the nasty situation he was caught in now was clearly bad. Marcus’ chest muscles tightened as he wondered if Quinn was still alive. He felt himself being sucked into a horrible pit in his heart that threatened to swallow him whole. It was as if he knew that Quinn was already dead. His brother-in-law said that they wouldn’t even see his body again. Marcus feared he knew what those words meant. Quinn was going to be murdered and he called it karma.

Suddenly coming to his senses, Marcus looked around frantically, worried that the eyes that watched Quinn were now watching him. He stood with an iron grip on the jacket and book and ran to his car parked around the block. It was only once the doors were locked securely that Marcus took a moment to look around for any danger again. The world looked as safe as it always did.

The little black book felt heavy in Marcus’ hands. It was like an omen, a symbol. A black dog, a black cat, weren’t they always omens of bad things to come? Perhaps a black book was, too. Marcus shook off his uneasiness and continued reading through the instructions jotted down in dot-points.

The first stop was a busy shopping centre. Any would do, according to the instructions. In brackets Quinn explained that Marcus had to make sure he wasn’t being followed and the best place do to that was to go to a public place and walk around for half an hour.

Next, Marcus had to get on to the Monash Freeway and also make sure he was not being followed.

The third dot point detailed which roads Marcus should take to evade the public eye.

Quinn was directing him to Olinda in the Dandenong Ranges. He advised parking halfway up the mountain to the point where the hiking track intersects with the road. From here, according to Quinn, Marcus would follow the path eastward to find his last gift.

Marcus rubbed his temples with a sigh, feeling like this could almost be some elaborate shenanigans pulled by Quinn, but the sight of the blood on some of the pages wiped those thoughts away and replaced them with worry that this was something more sinister. He followed the instructions dutifully, feeling a weight on his shoulders for the obligation he felt to fulfill Quinn’s wishes. If Quinn was dead, if he never saw Quinn again, he would regret not doing so.

It was mid-morning by the time Marcus found himself winding up the side of the mountain on a narrow steep road. His fear had subsided and was replaced by a deep sorrow. He wondered how he would explain this to Renee when he got home, how she would react to Quinn’s letter. Marcus imagined she might refuse to hear anything about it or would accuse Quinn of lying about the threat to his life just to get some pity or forgiveness from her. Marcus’ judgment was not as plagued by hurt and betrayal like Renee’s would be.

Ahead of the car stood a sign, locating the walking track which was quickly approaching. Marcus pulled up as much into the bracken as he could but half of his car sat partly on the mountain road. Marcus gritted his teeth and shook his head. He didn’t have time to waste on correcting it, according to Quinn.

The nervous man loped across the road and onto the rough hiking track which continued on the other side. The area was barely maintained; the large rainforest ferns had sprung their fronds across the path, obscuring Marcus’ footing. He tripped multiple times on the thick roots protruding from the ground and the eroded dips from heavy rain. It was dark. The canopy created a green roof high above him and ancient trees stood like dense walls. If not for the narrow muddy path Marcus would already have gotten lost.

Five minutes passed quickly and Marcus froze mid-stride, staring ahead at the giant forked tree slightly off the track. Its ancient trunk was a grand pillar supporting the two thick forks half way up. It looked like two separate trees standing on a wide wooden platform, matching Quinn’s crudely drawn picture. Marcus’ mouth went dry and his heart began hammering behind his chest as he trudged through the ferns toward the unique tree. He gripped the black notebook, running the silky bookmark between his thumb and forefinger which helped keep him grounded and calm. One foot after the other, he circled around until he saw a black bag nestled by the trunk underneath a fern.

Marcus couldn’t move a muscle for a moment while he stared wide-eyed at the bag. He almost wished that Quinn would jump out from behind a tree somewhere and scare him but the sound of the wind through the foliage and the distant calls of the birds was his only company. Quinn wasn’t here.

He bent, carefully unzipped the bag, and was left agape in shock while looking at the stacks of cash resting inside. His fingers flicked through the notes deftly and he stood straight, staring down at the gift. Quinn had left them $20,000.

A small note was tied to the bag handle:

I’m sorry. Buy the kids and Renee something nice from me. Get the motorbike you told me about once. Go on a holiday. Be happy. Don’t waste it on a funeral for me. Goodbye. - Q