by Jacob Rayne
‘Luke, you’re here for your own good,’ the first man said, a sad smile on his face. ‘We’re sorry if we hurt you but it’s for your own safety.’
‘The doctor is going to come and see you soon,’ the second man said. ‘She’ll explain the situation to you.’
As if his words had been heard by some omnipotent deity, the door again retracted and a stern-faced woman came in. She wore a white lab coat and held a grey clipboard. Her dark hair was tied back in a severe ponytail that pulled her face taut.
Despite Luke’s first impressions, she seemed kind when she smiled and spoke.
‘Hi, Luke. I’m Doctor Mary Cullen. I’m going to be looking after you while you’re in here.’
‘Where am I?’ Luke asked.
‘You’re in the Psychiatric Facility on the edge of your home town.’
Luke looked puzzled for a moment.
‘You’re here because of the injuries you inflicted on yourself recently. Your guardian and her daughter are concerned for your safety and your mental health.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they found you cutting off large sections of your own face, Luke. That’s not the behaviour of someone who’s in his right mind.’
‘They put the clown’s face on me,’ Luke said, tears streaming down his face. The salt from the tears stung his wounds.
‘I heard all about it,’ Mary said. She smiled a very kind smile. ‘We’ll be discussing it in depth to help you come to terms with what has happened. From what I’ve been told about you, though, it sounds like you should have been brought here years ago after what happened at your home.’
Luke nodded, his eyes still bleeding tears.
‘So, that’s why you’re here. We’ll talk more later. You just try to relax. You’re in good hands.’
Luke didn’t reply, just watched her go. The three guards followed her out.
‘You’ll be fine, kid,’ the one who had sat on his back smiled. ‘I know it.’
Luke’s head lolled forward onto his chest. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to sleep.
Chapter 49
Bryony’s bedroom was cast in a dim glow as the light of dawn began to filter through her curtains.
She woke, drowsy and aching all over. Her stiffness and exhaustion was partly due to her exertions at the gym and partly from her excessive drinking the night before, both of which had been vain attempts to banish the feelings of anger and grief she felt for Luke.
She knew her mother was staying out at a friend’s house, yet she was aware that she could hear the floorboards creaking on the landing.
She jerked awake, but still felt glued to the mattress. Her head was fuzzy, an inevitable side-effect of getting drunk after a ball-buster at the gym. The footsteps stopped outside the door.
Bryony tried to move, but found she couldn’t. She didn’t feel scared, more uneasy.
The door swung open, revealing a dark figure in the doorway. She pretended to be asleep.
As the figure crept closer, Bryony saw him pulling a knife from beneath his tracksuit top.
This jolted her into action. The figure seemed shocked, like he had assumed she was asleep. He stopped, seemingly not wanting to have to kill her.
‘Tell your freak boyfriend to call off the cops or I’ll kill you,’ the figure said.
‘What?’ Bryony said.
‘Make sure the cops aren’t involved or I’ll kill you.’
Bryony’s next words were muffled as her bedroom window exploded, showering broken glass into the room.
While she looked at the brick that had landed on the floor, the figure beat a hasty retreat.
Another brick came through, shattering the other window.
‘Don’t threaten me, you fucking coward,’ Bryony bellowed. ‘Come back here. I’ll slit your fucking throat.’
She staggered to her feet and shuffled out of her room. Her head swam like she was still drunk.
The landing window erupted in a hail of broken glass. The brick narrowly missed her as she turned away, covering her eyes from the flying shards of glass. She looked down to see a lad stood in her back garden.
‘Fucking grass,’ the lad shouted.
Rage overcame her. She ran to the window and hurled the brick with all of her might. The falling projectile slammed into the shoulder of the lad, causing him to cry out.
All around the house, Bryony heard the windows succumbing to the bricks being hurled by the gang. She looked out of the window and saw the lad prone on the lawn. Running footsteps came from seemingly every direction.
Bryony ran downstairs, pulling a knife out of the drawer in the kitchen. She heaved open the back door and ran out into the garden.
The youth was still there, trying to climb over the fence. His arm hung, limp, by his side.
Bryony ran at him, feeling utter rage. The lad looked round at her with wide eyes, then scrambled over the fence. Bryony followed him, but he had already gone.
She stood on top of the fence, holding the knife aloft like a triumphant gladiator.
‘I’ll kill the fucking lot of you,’ she bellowed into the dusk sky as the gang disappeared into the night.
She slept badly that night, but it wasn’t through fear.
She hoped they would return so she could grind their faces into the broken glass until they begged for mercy.
Chapter 50
The next morning, her neighbours awoke to see the house being tended to by both police and window fitters. They were shocked at the state of the place.
‘Are you all right?’ they asked her.
‘Fine. Just really fucking angry.’
‘Who did this?’
‘The same assholes who attacked Luke. We need to get them locked up,’ she growled.
The policeman at the scene frowned. ‘We lock ’em up. They get released. We lock ’em up again. Just goes round in circles. Isn’t really anything we can do. We just leave ’em to it now.’
‘That’s a fucking disgrace,’ Bryony spat. ‘These pricks want locking up.’
The cop shrugged. ‘Are you going to press charges?’
‘Trust me, they won’t like that,’ another cop said.
‘No, I don’t want to press charges,’ Bryony said.
Her neighbours looked at her like she was insane.
‘What’s the fucking point?’ Bryony said. ‘If you cops can’t do your fucking jobs and put these wankers away, there’s no way I’m going to make the situation worse.’
The cop nodded.
‘Ok, then,’ Bryony said. ‘If you aren’t going to lock them up, get the fuck out of my house.’
The cop started to protest, but Bryony shoved him out of the front door and slammed it in his face.
‘Fucking lazy bastards,’ she spat.
Chapter 51
Early the next morning, Mary came in to see Luke. ‘We need to do an assessment on your mental state,’ she said. ‘To see what we can do to help you.’
‘I feel frightened,’ Luke said. ‘I feel like I’m going to hurt myself. Every time I look in the mirror I want to pull the stitches out and finish the job I started with the knife.’
Mary nodded, looking a little overwhelmed at first. She made a few notes on the clipboard. ‘And how do you feel about the people who put the tattoo on your face?’
‘I want them to suffer as much as I have,’ Luke said, his voice devoid of all emotion.
Mary put on a brave face. She knew that she was going to have to keep Luke in the ward for a long time. He was a danger to himself and others.
She could not comprehend the extent of his hatred for the gang, but she knew that he was best kept under her supervision for the foreseeable future.
Something about the boy chilled her to the core.
Chapter 52
Time marched on. Not a great deal happened during the eighteen months following Luke’s admission to the Psychiatric Facility.
The Marshton Eight kept their heads down, in relation to the charges pres
sed against them for the crippling of Tom Hirst. Though it appalled them to behave like normal human beings, they realised that if they were caught committing a misdemeanour it would reflect badly on their chances in the trial.
Hirst was doing things by the book too, also not wanting to cock up the forthcoming trial. He wanted to make sure the pricks all got what they deserved.
Luke spent most of his days in his small room in the mental ward. He found that he didn’t mind life in the institution. He had his CDs and his books, and, for one hour a day, under supervision of course, he was allowed to play his guitar.
He also worked out hard, pummelling the plasterboard walls like his life depended on it. This was all he wanted out of life so he was quite content to stay inside.
The only thing that made him want to leave was the thought of Bryony, but their love for each other remained a secret so he had no urgent desire to escape life in the hospital.
Bryony and Norma visited him almost daily, their visits a highpoint in his days. His crush on Bryony had returned with a vengeance.
He was a model patient, mostly because he was content with his life, but also a small, sly part of him knew that if he ever wanted to get out he would have to play by the rules.
Chapter 53
The enforced period of good behaviour was worthwhile for the Marshton Eight, who were in high spirits as their trial for the crippling of Tom Hirst had been dismissed, despite Tom’s father being a hall-of-famer in Marshton’s police force.
Sergeant Hirst was furious about the gang being let off with the crime and went to the papers, announcing that a re-trial was necessary if they wanted to keep him on the police force.
From time to time, he toyed with the idea of visiting the Marshton Eight and riddling them with bullets, but he always managed to talk himself out of the idea.
Hirst’s superiors took the threat of his resignation seriously, and a re-trial was arranged for the following month.
For now, the Marshton Eight were celebrating at Scotty’s house. Otis had returned from the newsagents with an armful of papers, all of which showed the gang’s mug shots on the front page, along with the headline, ‘Marshton Eight escape justice again.’ He threw each of his seven friends a copy.
The gang hooted, clapped and cheered when they saw themselves on the front page. They sprayed beer around the room and slapped each other on the back.
Laughing, they relived the night they had beaten up Luke and Tom. Each of the eight told their version of events, exaggerating their own role in the attack.
‘No sign of the freak,’ said Scotty.
‘I almost forgot about him,’ said Otis.
‘For a while I didn’t think we were going to put him away,’ said Olly.
‘I knew we would,’ bragged Scotty.
‘Shut the fuck up, Scotty, you can’t punch for shit,’ said Dave. ‘We’d have still been struggling with him now if we’d left it up to you.’
‘I wonder what happened to him,’ Otis said.
‘Ain’t seen anything of him since we did his face,’ Olly said.
‘Learnt his lesson,’ said Tommy. ‘He won’t fuck with us again in a hurry.’
They all laughed.
‘Mouthy little fucker wasn’t he?’ Scotty said. ‘But I shut his mouth for him.’
‘Scotty, he could walk in here right now and kick your pansy ass,’ laughed Otis.
The others joined in.
‘Fuck you,’ Scotty replied, flicking his cigarette butt at Otis.
‘Who gives a fuck anyway?’ Johnny T said. ‘Fucker’s dead for all I care.’
They all laughed and carried on the party, each of them looking with pride at their photo on the front page of the paper.
Chapter 54
The next night, Otis and Dave watched two young girls walking through the graveyard.
Otis smiled when he noticed that one of the girls was the freak’s girlfriend, the one whose windows they had smashed. She had threatened them all. Now it was time to see if she could back it up.
When the girls were level with him, he broke his cover in the bushes and raced at them, his flick knife held above his head. Dave followed, bellowing a bloodcurdling war cry.
The girls screamed and took off. Otis and Dave cursed and set off after them.
Bryony and her friend, Clare, ran through the graveyard, not daring to look back. They could hear the two lads’ heavy breathing and footsteps behind them. It sounded like they were getting closer.
Their limbs gradually tired. Every breath felt like acid in their throat and lungs. They both felt sick with panic and knew they couldn’t keep this pace up much longer.
Clare chanced a look and saw that one of the grimacing youths was only a few feet behind them.
Her house was only a minute from here. If they could just outrun the lads, get home and lock the doors, then her dad would kick the shit out of the hapless bastards.
‘Go… to… mine,’ she breathed.
Bryony nodded but veered off to the left. Dave followed her.
Otis pursued Clare. She got to her house and started slamming her palms onto the door. Her eyes were bulging and seemed ultra-white.
Otis enjoyed the panic on her face.
She pulled the keys out and unlocked the door, then ran in and slammed it shut behind her. The lad disappeared from view.
She pulled breaths into her starving lungs and called out for her dad. He should be in. Her eyes landed on a note on the table, ‘Gone out for a few jars. Be back around 10:30.’
Her watch showed 10:10. She’d be cold and bled dry by the time he got home. She needed to find a weapon.
Her heart punched against her ribs. She risked a glance out of the curtains and saw no sign that the lad was outside.
But she knew, deep down, that he was still there.
She hunted for a weapon, finding only an old length of wooden curtain pole. It felt hard enough but had a flex to it that made it highly suspect.
She ran to the kitchen and remembered with a groan that the knives were under lock and key thanks to a drunken argument between her parents which had got out of hand and led to her dad needing stitches.
‘Thanks a lot, mam, you crazy bitch,’ she said.
She scanned for another weapon. All she could see were rows of brown Bud bottles stacked in a neat formation by the back door.
A noise came from the back door to her left. She glanced down to see the lad’s grinning face poking through the cat flap.
She screamed, drawing a laugh from him.
The handle to the back door wiggled back and forth. Luckily the door was locked. The lad said something which she couldn’t understand. Then she made out Bryony’s voice, shrill with panic.
She ran to the front door, and, despite all of her fears, hurled the door open and screamed for Bryony to come in.
Nothing happened for a long few seconds. Then Bryony echoed Clare’s scream. Footsteps thudded up the path at the side of the house.
Bryony ran in. Clare slammed the door shut and peered through the spyhole.
Their pursuers were nowhere to be seen.
She waited a moment then turned to look at her friend.
‘He got me in the back,’ Bryony said, turning to show a ragged wound running diagonally between her shoulder blades. Blood welled up from the wound, soaking into her shirt.
‘You’ll survive,’ Clare said.
‘I know. Hurts like hell though. You gonna call your dad?’
‘Yeah. Good idea. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘No time to be sarcastic.’
‘I wasn’t. I’m not thinking straight.’
She picked out her phone and tried dad’s mobile. The credit lady told her that she’d spent her allowance already. She cursed as she remembered the house phone was out of commission too.
‘Best get some of those bottles,’ she said. ‘In case they get in.’
‘I think it’ll be fine. They won’t have the balls to break i
n.’
‘I hope not.’
They took deep breaths, trying to slow their frantic heartbeats. A few minutes passed.
‘See, they’ve fucked off,’ Bryony grinned.
As soon as she’d finished her sentence, there was a crash from upstairs.
Chapter 55
Bryony and Clare stared at each other for a frozen second. Time seemed to stretch out before either of them dared to move, but the second crash shocked them into action.
Clare remembered her habit of leaving her bedroom window open. Her dad had often told her about it and she had always ignored him. Now it looked as though her belligerence was going to cost her dear.
They ran to the front door but as they did so, fists beat against the wood, sending them scurrying back into the living room.
‘What do we do now?’ Bryony whispered.
‘Get out of here. And quickly.’
‘Your dad will be well pissed if this psycho gets his money out from under the bed.’
‘He’ll be even more pissed if he finds his only daughter chopped up into little pieces.’
‘True, but—’
Bryony’s next comment was blotted out by the sound of footsteps crashing down the stairs. Maniacal laughter accompanied the footsteps, sending shivers down both of their spines.
Otis poked his head around the doorframe, a hideous grin on his face. His hand curled up one finger at a time in a casual wave.
One of the Bud bottles burst on the wall next to his head. He didn’t flinch. Fucker didn’t even stop grinning.
Suddenly the bottles and the wooden rod felt totally inadequate. Clare hurled another bottle for good measure.
It bounced off the youth’s shoulder as he came through the doorway.
Clare pressed a couple of bottles into Bryony’s shaking hands then started rummaging through her pocket for the back door key so they could escape.
Bryony threw a bottle. It whizzed over Otis’s head, missing him by a fraction. He let out a shrill laugh and ran at them.
Clare forgot her search for the key and instead swung a home run swing at Otis’s head. The curtain rod smacked into his temple, confirming her doubts about the weapon when it snapped on impact.