Dead Dogs Read Online Free PDF Page A

of the pitch has a black curtain drawn across it. Now, though, the floodlights are drenching me down one side and alongside me, instead of Rory, my shadow keepspace with me. It is elongated and made spidery by the angle of the lights and it is as black as I feel. It is rank and frustrated. It is a spillage of anger.
    I’m jogging up the sideline, away from Paul Cullen, away from Rory, away from the other lads and their curses and panting, away from their clutching stares. I’m jogging up the sideline and my breathing is a sea in storm and every slap and suck of my boots pulls a little more out of the muscles in my legs.
    Halfway round the first lap, I look up and across the pitch at everyone else in a welter of movement under the eyes of the lights. Everyone is running and swerving and everyone is hard-edged and stark. From over here in the dark it all looks so alien. It is all dance and ritual. Primitive.
    I’m on my third pass through the black when I look down to see where I’m putting my feet.
    I’m on my third pass through the black when Seán grabs me by the throat.
    He’s looking at me and even in what little light there is I can see an awful glee in his face.
    I don’t know how long Seán’s been waiting in the black dark beside the pitch. I don’t know how long he’s sat with the water dripping off the briars onto his head and neck. I don’t know how long he’s been watching me slop and strain in the mud with that disgusting look on his face. I don’t know how long it took for his hands to get this cold and hard, how long it took for his blonde hair to get this plastered to his head, how long it took his olive green jacket to get this soaked. I don’t know how long it tookbefore the fire in his eyes exploded into life like this.
    But it has and now Seán has me by the throat and before I can even yell out, he’s bringing his wide, wriggling mouth close to my ear. His clammy cheek is pressed against mine and he whispers two words.
    He whispers, ‘Help me.’
    I’m blinking in the darkness and Seán is so close to me that the smell of him fills my senses. Shampoo, Lynx deoderant and something else. Something pervasive and unpleasant. Something coming from his hands. I can feel the soft dampness of his cheek against mine. I can feel the hot surge of his breath against my ear and I can feel the way he’s shaking where he stands.
    I push him away from me and now I’m staring at him in the dim light from the far side of the pitch. His huge shoulders are slumped forward like his chest is caved in and his whole body is shivering in horrible little ripples. He looks shattered. In the cold wash of light from the training area he looks beaten.
    He looks like this until you see his face.
    His stooped shoulders have brought his head down and forwards like he’s wearing an invisible yoke. He’s looking at me from under his blonde eybrows and the will-o’-the-wisps that live in his eyes are frantic and bright. From between the tight curves of his lips his teeth show white and slippery. From behind this horrible smile his voice comes soft and pleading like from a different person, ‘Help me.’
    I’m looking at him and it’s like watching someone wearing a mask.
    I’m looking at him and I’m thinking, Seán’s fucked. He’s done something really, really bad.
    I’m thinking this but what I’m saying is, ‘It’ll be fine. Don’t be worrying. You’ll be alright.’
    And now Seán’s expression is starting to fold into that of a sobbing child. I’m watching his smile slacken and wilt into a sagging line and I know that whatever effort he was putting into stopping himself doing bad things was way too much for him in the end. Dr Thorpe’s little lipstick-red tablets didn’t work and now looking at Seán I know that whatever it cost him has cost him everyting.
    Standing there in the dark I’m thinking, Seán’s beyond fixing.
    Without really knowing what I’m doing, I put my arm around Seán’s