The Lives We Lived

By Alexander Stuart

In the depths of despair, four individuals – Tench, Mark, Hank, and Joe – find themselves navigating the treacherous waters of unemployment, divorce, obesity, and depression. Their lives spiral into an abyss of hopelessness, each day darker than the last. As they inch closer to the precipice of rock bottom, a shared desire ignites within them, a spark of purpose born from desperation. They begin to toy with the notion of vigilantism, finding solace in the idea of reclaiming control and meaning in their lives through daring acts that challenge the very fabric of society.

Yet, as their secret lives as vigilantes unfold, a haunting question looms: When will their hunger for justice ever be satiated? In this gripping tale of redemption and retribution, Tench, Mark, Hank, and Joe must grapple with the blurred lines between heroism and madness, ultimately discovering that the path to salvation is as perilous as the darkness they seek to combat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035813841

Alexander Stuart

Alexander Stuart was born in the Highlands of Scotland in 2004. He has had a long-lasting interest in the art of film and writing, both being activities that he hopes to develop in the future. Alexander currently live in Morayshire.

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About the Author

Alexander Stuart was born in the Highlands of Scotland in 2004. He has had a long-lasting interest in the art of film and writing, both being activities that he hopes to develop in the future. Alexander currently live in Morayshire.

Dedication

To my parents, Grandmother, Great Uncle Charles

Copyright Information ©

Alexander Stuart 2024

The right of Alexander Stuart to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035813834 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035813841 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I’d like to thank my Great Uncle Charles for continued support and his willingness to provide initial feedback.

Chapter 1

Bubbles fizzed and hissed to the top of the bottle as the cap was clumsily yanked off releasing the anxiously awaiting pressure building up inside. A dim light hung lazily above the four men slumped around the worn-out wooden table, as Tench brought the mouth of the bottle up to his own and allowed the cold, refreshing beer to flow into his mouth before easing it down his throat. Cigarette smoke hung in a dense cloud above their heads before trailing off into a pattern of curling waves, and eventually, to nothing. The cracked walls that surrounded the old bar were peeling and beaten, but provided insulation from the whipping rain that lurked outside. A lone bar tender stood anchored behind the dying till, which contained three dull brass taps, dripping every now and again with foamy liquid that gathered in a sphere on the opening and soon gained enough weight to free fall down into the drain below.

And that’s why dogs have whiskers, mumbled Mark. It’s all quite interesting when you actually stop to think about it.

Hank stopped scratching the empty beer bottle in his hand and raised his drunken, heavy eyes towards his friend as he attempted to stay awake.

Say again, he yawned, and started caressing the wood of the table. It’s all quite a lot to take in at once. Why… why do dogs have whiskers?

Mark smiled, knowing his knowledge was being appreciated. He tilted back his head and brought his drink to his lips, subconsciously leaving a hole for air between his lips and the bottle.

Well, he began, placing the bottle down on the table with a thud. If a dog is aimlessly wandering around in the dark, he can’t see, right? Like you and I couldn’t see if we had no light. But we can use our hands to feel around, can’t we? We know if there is an obstacle in front of us because our arms meet it before we do, if you see what I’m saying. Now, imagine you are a dog. You have no arms stretched out beside you to see if anything is near your face. The dog’s whiskers, though, are quite sensitive, and they sense anything near their face, because the whiskers touch them before they do. You get the picture?

Hank nodded, even though he hadn’t listened to a word he said.

Also, continued Mark. did you know why tigers and cheetahs have tails?

Tench subtly placed his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose and dropped his head.

Yes, said Joe, who had silently been contemplating everything Hank had been saying for the last half hour. those guys are always running. It’s their thing, you know, to catch prey, so they have to do a lot of turning. I think the tail helps him turn or something.

Mark sat back, and gently placed two fingers around his cigarette that he had placed in the ash tray a few seconds ago. He lifted it up to his mouth and felt his eyes shut as he slowly inhaled, feeling the smoke invade his lungs, only to be pushed out again seconds later. His eyes felt heavy as he did so, and he tensed his neck as he brought a fresh shot of whiskey to his mouth and grimaced as the burning liquor mapped out a clear path down his throat.

That’s pretty much it, he said. don’t know the physics behind it. And why should I, anyway?

He had now lost his train of thought in his intoxicated mind, and allowed any words willing to escape come out.

Well, it’s been about fifteen years since I even looked at anything related to physics, cut in Tench, who had been listening in a similar hazy state. I studied it at college for a bit, and then dropped the thing for business studies. Figured it wouldn’t help me in life anyway. Same with maths. I’m thirty-five, and I have a dead-end office job answering phone calls.

His eyebrows twitched as he took another gentle swig of beer and placed the bottle down with a bang slightly louder than intended.

Yeah, well that’s easy for you to say, said Hank. I was a mechanic for a few years after I left college, and that’s all I was doing, maths and physics. They’re important for architecture and things like that.

I was always a history kind of guy, came Joe from across the table.

Oh for Christ’s sake, here we go, muttered Tench. You don’t find that stuff interesting, do you? I’ve seen the shit you read.

That’s where you’re wrong, said Joe. I think it’s important we know about the past. My college professor always used to say, ‘how can we change the future if we can’t change the past?’ which I think is true.

No, snapped Tench. Explain that to us.

Well, think of it like this, replied Joe. All the mistakes that our ancestors made led to bad situations, right? If we know about them, then we’ll be less likely to make those mistakes.

Hank scratched his chin and looked on in confusion.

Okay, he said. But that’s not changing the future. That’s just making sure that all the bad shit we did in the past isn’t repeated.

Silence echoed through the four of them as they took a moment to contemplate the events of the evening so far. All that could be heard was the faint rumble as two veterans massaged some peanuts in a bowl by the window, and the bar tender as scribbled some unknown scripture onto a battered piece of paper. After a minute, Joe took three large gulps of beer and spoke.

Alright, he said. This’ll change your minds. The First World War was started by one man, Gavrilo Princip. He was a Serbian who shot the Archduke of Austria. The Austrians thought that the assassination was a Serbian conspiracy, when it was really just a specific gang that killed him. Anyway, the Austrians declared war on the Serbs, one thing led to the next, and then the whole world was at each other’s throats. The War led to the Second World War because of the harsh punishments that the allies imposed upon Germany and their failure to act when Hitler kept on doing bad stuff. After that War, the Soviets and the USA were the two major superpowers, now with different ideas of the best regime, which led to the Cold War, and therefore Vietnam and Korea. All of that started by one guy. The Second World War ended with an atomic bomb over Japan. What started with a bullet ended with a nuke.

The three men stared at Joe blankly, as he looked back waiting for some sort of response.

Huh? said Mark. What are you trying to say?

I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening, muttered Hank, his eyes drooping and struggling to stay open.

Joe sat back, defeated. He sighed and shook his head. The silence continued, so he decided to speak.

I have a question.

The room seemed to tilt as Tench sat in silence, drink in hand, staring blankly off into the corner. He glanced at his watch. Twelve thirty. Monday. He had to be up later this morning.

Go ahead, he said calmly. We’re listening.

Joe was staring at the logo on his bottle as he spoke.

Do you guys think there’s a god? Or something of higher dominance than us all who made us who we are?

The three stared at him blankly and looks of confusion unfolded across their faces at the realisation of him never speaking once of the topic became clear.

Why? said Mark. Since when have you ever been interested in religion?

I’m not religious, replied Joe. I just want to know what you guys think. I never have been religious, I wasn’t raised to be religious.

Well, said Mark after a while. I don’t know to be honest. Rita doesn’t seem to, so I guess I don’t, either.

How is Rita? asked Hank, happy that the topic of speech was finally converted.

A shallow silence displaced the energy of the room as Mark flickered his eyebrows and puffed his cheeks as he exhaled deeply. she’s good. Fine. Everything’s fine, it’s just…, he said, rubbing his eyes with his three middle fingers, implanting his elbows onto the wood of the table.

Tench, Hank and Joe exchanged glances, and turned their attention towards his uneasy reply.

What? said Hank. What do you mean? asked Hank and straightened his back ever so slightly against the chair.

It doesn’t concern you. Well not much. I mean, well you know what I mean, he stammered.

Tench’s eyes flickered towards the other two before straightening his gaze at Hank. He raised his hands.

Ok, look, if it’s something personal then don’t tell us. But it doesn’t concern us ‘much’. If it’s something to do with us, which it obviously has something, even a little to do with us, then tell us.

Okay, fine, Mark said suddenly. She doesn’t want me seeing you guys. She thinks you guys are bad for my reputation and our relationship. And that’s fair enough. You remember about two months ago, just before Dee’s after party during New Year, and Rita’s cousin was there?

Joe felt a half smile form on his face. It was all coming back to him.

How the hell could I forget? he sniggered and placed two hands on the back of his head. These were the moments he lived for.

Anyway, continued Mark. He was a real hippie type of guy, long hair, colourful clothes, everything. I was drunk. We all thought he was a girl and you guys told me to ask to offer him a drink at the bar before I even saw his face…

All four burst out laughing in unison, and each felt their ribs heaving against their hearts as the memories came flooding back. Their laughs evolved into wheezes, and they were left with no option but to accept the tears that were now free falling down their cheeks. The four were oblivious to the strange looks they were getting from a couple sitting across the room sipping at their cocktails.

He even accepted it! Laughed Mark. And I had to buy it for him. I had already offered!

The echoing mirth died down into a cacophony of coughs and wheezes, and finally to a halt.

Anyway, said Mark. She obviously doesn’t want me seeing you anymore, and to hell with that, you know, you guys are the only guys I really hang out with. I guess you guys are really my only ‘friends’. I know a lot of people, but I haven’t seen most of them for years. But I also love Rita. So, I guess things are getting complicated. She doesn’t want a repeat of what happened, and I can understand that. But what I can’t understand is the fact she wants me staying away from you guys. It’s stupid.

Well, said Tench. What are you going to do about it? I mean it’s not like, if you stop seeing us—

Which I won’t, confirmed Mark, with a grin as he raised his glass.

Right, continued Tench. Which you won’t. But if you have to, then who are you going to have? Yeah, you’ll have Rita, who is clearly important to you, and rightfully so, but you need friends. We try playing golf, we try playing tennis, hell, we even tried sailing, and what happens? It all goes to shit. Let’s face it, the best times we have together are these times, beer in hand, at the bar.

Mark sighed and pursed his lips. His beer bottle ascended to his lips and was placed down again with the bitter disappointment of the empty innards.

Hey Greg! he called, and the frail bartender forced a smile. Another beer, please, thanks.

Greg gave an awkward thumbs up sign and let out a grunt as he bent down and allowed his sweaty palms to neutralise in the cool air of the fridge. The ice-cold beer was swiftly placed underneath Mark’s nose and cracked open with the ease of muscle memory. Hissing from the fleeing bubbles was all that could be heard as the flowing contents made its way to Mark’s mouth and was gulped down.

Thanks, said Mark, and managed to muffle a burp before placing his drink down in front of him.

Tench sat back and didn’t realise the buzzing sensation inside him as the alcohol took effect. He started bouncing his knee gently under the table and sighed sharply as his vision became fuzzy. It had happened again. He had gotten more drunk than he intended to. What about you, Joe? he asked quickly. You found anyone special?

Joe smiled forcefully and raised his eyebrows.

Oh, no…no I haven’t, he said.

You got your eye on anyone? Hank added.

Um, no. But, you know, I’m not looking.

Ah.

The four men sat in a welcoming silence for a moment until Tench patted his knees and sniffed.

I might head home, he whispered, and brought his watch to his face, closer than usual, due to his drunken state. Jesus Christ. It’s half midnight and I’m up for work tomorrow at seven.

Tench rose, stumbled a little, and slammed his hand down on the furnished wood of the table for support. As he straightened his back, his vision began to fade as an exhausting head rush invaded his sight from sitting down for too long. He stood there for a few seconds, until it passed. Floorboards creaked heavily as he heaved himself along the room, placed three 20-dollar bills onto the counter with a ‘keep the change’ for good measure. The warmth of the bar was quickly displaced by the icy air of the street. He clenched his hands as he walked out onto the hard concrete and felt his nostrils burn as he inhaled. He dragged cold air into his lungs, and warm air was expelled out and clouded up as it condensed against the night around him. Street lamps illuminated the puddles, lying unsettled on the side of the road. Nothing was heard along the deserted streets apart from the faint sound of music coming from one of the apartments. A stray cat darted along the street and disappeared down an alleyway that stretched into the darkness. Tench felt his hand naturally slide into the inside pocket of his jacket and emerge with a slightly crumpled cigarette which he placed clumsily between his lips. He grasped his lighter, and after a few attempts of shielding the flame from the gentle breeze, the tobacco was soon lit.

The ember required three inhales before agreeing to stay alight, and Tench soon found himself struggling to walk in a straight line as he edged nearer and nearer towards his apartment. He would have to quit smoking, but he didn’t know how exactly. He had read numerous reports stating the effect but had failed to pay much concern. His key slid easily into the keyhole and turned, before clicking, allowing the door to creak open. The cold air flooded into the hall, where Tench entered in a daze and hung his jacket on the single hook by the door. Three letters lay on the letter table and were brought up to his face for inspection. He shoved them under his arm before making his way up the stone steps. Finally arriving at his white wooden door, he fiddled with the keys until his fingers grasped the right one. He tried to feed it through the keyhole, but it wouldn’t budge. This always happened. Tench was at last able to locate the right one and was soon inside, with the low glow of light stretching out from his bedroom into his boot room. Two letters lay waiting patiently at his feet, and he squinted down, vaguely reading ‘Fisher Council TM’. His head was feeling heavier by the second, and too tired to take a shower or brush his teeth, Tench entered his room, stripped down to his underwear and gazed upon his bed. Six hours and fifteen minutes. That was how much sleep he would get. The double bed looked very inviting, and he allowed his muscles to slack as he flopped onto the mattress. He killed the lights and dragged the duvet up to his chin. It was a double bed, but only for him. Lois would never sleep there ever again, not since what happened. If she wanted to visit then she could, but that would never happen. All she was now was a distant memory, and it was she who wanted the papers signed, and that’s exactly what she got.

Chapter 2

A sharp, blaring wail cut through the air and into Tench’s ears, triggering the tiny heart attack he always got from the worst part of the day. It took a considerable amount of strength to stretch his right arm over his eyes, spreading his hand around his table until he came into contact with the familiar plastic of his alarm clock. The shriek was so loud it was no longer a sequence of high and low tones, just a long, ringing hum. Veins stood out on his neck until the button was finally whacked and all was silent. Tench rolled over onto his back and placed his hands up to his eyes, straining his shoulders and allowing a long-anticipated yawn to release his lungs. All that could be heard was the gentle swoosh of cars as they glided down the road just across from his window. A muffled siren was heard, getting louder and louder until suddenly dropping as it became more and more distant. It was only when he sat up did he realise the dull pain in the front of his head. His mouth felt completely deprived of moisture, and as he twitched his point of view towards his clock, he felt a weight of gloom spread throughout his body.

He had to be at work in twenty minutes, having eaten, showered, and dressed in his crinkled suit, accompanied only by a thumping headache. As he hobbled along to the bathroom, he grimaced with every click his ankles made as they set foot on the floor. He massaged the roof of his mouth with his tongue, before clumsily grabbing a glass by the sink, filling it to the brim with water and closing his eyes as it moistened his mouth. Two bags were very visible beneath his eyes, and he gently prodded at them in front of the lightly stained mirror. He stepped into the shower and turned the nob, grateful to be greeted by a powerful jet of hot water that engulfed his body, distracting him from the pain that lurked within his head. His head tilted backwards, and his face was pleasantly hammered by the consistent power of the water from the shower head. He mashed some shampoo vigorously into his hair and felt it expand, only to stream down his chest and legs and lie in a foamy froth at his feet. The constant hum of the pipes was interrupted by the sharp turn of the handle, leaving the excess water to be swallowed down the drain.

Five minutes later he was dressed in a crinkled disorder of clothing that he liked to call his work suit, his tie hanging loosely underneath his undone top button and the rest polished to the bare minimum. Water found its way easily from the tap into the kettle and turned a fluorescent blue as the switch was pushed. Tench seated himself upon his wooden chair, clumsily tossing two teaspoons of instant coffee into the depths of his cup and placed a weary hand over his forehead. The whisper of the kettle was somewhat comforting to the lonely environment, and he felt a strange coldness as it stopped, leaving a rising trail of steam above it. He poured, mixed, and added a generous helping of sugar before drowning the liquid in milk. In a space of two minutes, it had been heaved down his throat, leaving a bitter taste as it did every morning. His head was beginning to ease, faster than usual.

Faint cries of