The Mistake

He was exhausted. His leg was killing him. And he was desperate. His tongue was coated with a slimy film that tasted like copper. He spat on the old dusty boards. The spit looked ruddy and thick. Miller knew blood when it saw it. He was panting, the hot air burning his nostrils and the back of his throat. He looked around the old, dilapidated barn.  The roof was barely held together. Rays of light pierced the solitary window at the top. The panes were broken and cracked. He watched the dust motes float lazily in the sun. The world blurred and he shut his eyes. He rubbed them with two fingers while still holding the gun. He could feel the sweat soaking his eyebrows. It was sweltering. He had sweat through his shirt. This was the first time he had actually stopped since everything happened. He had abandoned his car on the road. It was no longer drivable. He had kept looking the rearview. He had forgotten about that massive pothole. When he had hit it, he remembered cursing it not one week ago.  The car rambled and sputtered for another mile or so. Miller wasn’t sure exactly how. He had bled pretty badly over the seat. He ripped a sleeve from his button down shirt to make an emergency bandage for the wound. Since the shirt was red, he couldn’t see how badly he was still bleeding. He glanced down to check and the color had merely grown darker. Though it did looked pretty soaked. That could be sweat just as easily as it could be blood he attempted to convince himself. He still couldn’t believe that old security guard had gotten him. The old man had taken advantage of his surprise when his own gun went off.

The pain of the bullet and the sound of the gun had snapped him from his shock. He then pointed the gun at the old guard and plugged him right in the shoulder. The man jerked sideways and almost spun completely around. His little body had looked so small in the brown uniform he wore. Miller remembered the blood already spreading over the old man’s shirt after he hit the ground. His small peaked cap had gone flying. He lay there, wheezing and rasping, his eyes closed. The pain returned to Miller’s leg then, the numbness leaving as suddenly as it arrived. His adrenaline kicked in and he ran toward the door. He shouldered it open and got into his still running car. It was your basic four door sedan and had served him well the last few years. He had thoughts of selling it to get out of his debts. It wouldn’t fetch nearly what he needed. He was given so little time. Stupid Packers…and Jets…and Seahawks.

Miller adjusted his stance, trying to put even more weight on his sweat soaked back and off his injured leg. He tried not to think about the clean bullet wound in his thigh. The hole in his faded Levi’s. That was small comfort. Very small. If it was a clean out, he could avoid having to pay someone to pull the bullet out of him. He could change the dressing when he managed to make it home. Hope and Neosporin was all he had to avoid infection. His eyes strayed up to the doorway to his right. Miller was just inside of the barn.  In the top right corner of the doorway he saw a large spider web. It looked mostly intact. A small, wispy strand hung with only the slightest flutter. Miller saw more movement in the web. A fly. Yep, a trapped fly. It was shuddering and struggling. The web looked like it was vibrating with the effort of the small bug. Then, as if on cue, a spider descended looking as thought it was floating in the air. Miller knew it was because he was at a poor angle to see the invisible piece of webbing the spider was hanging from. It was a large spider and looked black to Miller. It was too big to be a widow and those were really all the black spiders he knew. The spider extended one of its long spindly legs out and touched the webbing. The other legs followed and the spider effortlessly made its way towards the fly. The spider was not bothered in the least by the shaking of the terrified fly. Miller briefly considered throwing something at it but he only had his gun and the small sack of money. He eyes flicked between the two.  He wasn’t about to throw the money and shooting the web to save a fly seemed like the dumbest idea ever. Besides deciding to rob a bank using a rickety old gun he filched from his Dad’s closet. With his luck he’d hit the fly. He considered leaving the gun in the car but that was out of the question. He could probably still use it to scare someone, as long as he kept his finger off the trigger.

He glanced back up at the web and it was empty. Had he missed it? The spider nor the fly were there any more. Had the fly escaped? Had the spider taken the fly upward with it? Didn’t spiders just wrap up their prey? Miller didn't know and was caring increasingly less. He had to get out of here. The throbbing pain was becoming unbearable. He had some small relief when he was able to lean against the wall after he had first hobbled in here. The relief from being able to get any weight off his leg bordered on joy. His mouth had broken into a wide smile and he had chuckled a little. He wasn’t chuckling anymore. He needed his next steps, literally.

“MILLER!”

His head dropped. It was Tyson. Sheriff Daniel Tyson. Why hadn’t he heard the siren? Tyson was no-nonsense, a guy that had been elected time and again due to his harsh stance on pretty much everything. He was known to throw the book at any minor infraction. Be it running a stoplight or driving drunk, Tyson wanted to make sure you got the book thrown at you as well as everything else in the library. Miller had hoped to avoid this because word around town said that Tyson was breaking in a particularly incompetent rookie. He was hoping any other cop would have responded to the robbery. Tyson probably insisted when he heard about the two people who had been shot.

“Miller, you drop that pea shooter you stole and get your sorry carcass out here, right now!”

He wasn’t even using a bullhorn. Tyson was just projecting his voice. The normal low growl had been ratcheted up to a roar. The sound reverberated around the inside of the barn. Miller mustered up all the bass he could and shouted back.

“SHERIFF, I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO IT!”

“BOY, YOU MUST BE STUPIDER THAN YOU SOUND!” Shock somehow increased the volume of the voice. It wasn’t just disbelief he heard in those words, it was rage. Tyson wasn’t foolish enough to come charging into the barn but perhaps he brought the rookie. And right on cue Miller heard.


“Stop shaking, boy, you scared? Are you kidding me?!”

They had to be pretty close. It was a clear attempt at a whisper but Tyson couldn’t control himself. It was a pretty big barn and in theory Miller could have been anywhere.

“Listen good, Miller, we got more men on the way. We’ll surround this over blown shack and turn it into swiss cheese, believe me, boy!

So now the clock was truly ticking. He couldn’t outrun them. Not like this. He looked around the barn with increasing despair. There were some small piles of hay. Even piles was being generous. They looked at most like small collections of hay. A stiff breeze would scatter them, never mind a desperate and bleeding man looking to hide 150 lbs inside them.

“Make this easy on yourself, boy! You come quietly, maybe you sit in a jail cell for the rest of your days instead of riding the lightning! She didn’t make it, Miller! You’re not just a robber, boy, you’re a KILLER!”

Miller froze. All the heat seemed to leave not only his body but the entire barn. The sweat that had represented fiery desperation now felt like the cold chill of resignation. Debra had died. The old guard he could have dealt with. He shot Miller first. But Debra, he truly hadn’t mean to do her any harm. It was a complete accident. He was holding the gun on her, watching as she quickly put all the money from her tray into the small bag he had placed on the counter. The other tellers had brought over their tills as well. He had locked eyes with Debra then. Her wide deep brown eyes brimmed with fear and tears. He had on a ski mask and shades to hide his identity. She couldn’t have known it was him. His eyes shifted between her and the rest of the bank. Everyone had their hands raised. He was so close, she was finishing up and thrusting the bag back toward him, her hands shaking as she handed it over. He remembered the sound of the gun going off and the shock in her eyes.

When he didn’t feel any pain he looked back at her. Her white blouse was quickly turning red as the blood spread out from the hole in her chest. Her frosted pink lips fell apart and she collapsed backwards. Then he heard another shot and this time the pain had detonated in his leg before going numb. He fired back, spinning the guard around and limped towards the door. Everything in his memory accelerated back to this moment. His shades falling off, someone reaching for him and pulling off the ski mask. He had bumped his head on the door frame of the car as he got in. He heard someone shout his name as he drove off. Images were coming faster now, the pot hole, the pain, the barn.



“MILLER!”

He was back in that barn but the heat was still gone. He was still cold and now shaking. He licked his dry lips. Was this shock? He couldn’t do it. There’s no way he could shoot his way out of here. He took a deep breath and pushed gingerly away from the wall. He staggered a little and caught his balance. He dropped the bag of money and raised both his hands, still holding the gun. He walked through the door and saw Tyson and a man he didn’t recognize. Gotta be the rookie. Tyson’s face was nothing but a beard, aviators and his sheriff hat. His badge glinted in the sun.

“You better drop that gun, Boy!”

He did and Miller heard a shot. One that caught him square in the chest. He heard a gasp followed by a choking sound. Miller fell backwards. Tyson was suddenly over him, shouting obscenities that were fading quickly. Miller looked over to the other cop. Smoke rose from the barrel of his gun. The cop stood there, stock still. Miller couldn’t make out his face. He felt slight compressions on his chest. His eyes rolled back and looked at the barn. He felt warm liquid run down his cheeks. He looked up at the barn door. In the middle of the web the spider was back. There was no fly this time. Miller watched the web for a bit until he could no longer see.