by John Booth
There were three judges for the contest. They were teachers at the school, all ex-special forces soldiers who, as they never stopped telling the children, had been there and done it all. Two of them were partially disabled. One was missing the lower part of his leg while the other had lost his left hand.
While the children had been trained in the defensive arts since the age of five, over the last year they learnt killing and disabling techniques. This fight would be to the death, in the sense that a killing stroke would end the match and decide the winner. Control and precision were important parts of the contest and neither would land a death blow, but would stop it precisely in front of their target. The target in question would be a vulnerable part of the other child’s body.
The cheering from the eight hundred children in the school reached a crescendo as Jeremy held his hands up in a victory salute and spun slowly around so every person in the room could see his face. As he turned past his father’s chair, the Commandant gave him a nod of approval. Though Peter was by far the better student of the two, everybody knew this was the only competition that mattered.
The judges called to Peter and Jeremy to begin and they took up their positions and bowed low. Over the next few minutes, they cautiously walked around each other sizing up the opposition. This was grandstanding on their parts as they had been fighting each other since they were too young to remember, and always practised together when they could.
Peter saw the determination Jeremy was applying to the contest by his clenched jaw and the way his neck muscles bulged. The two boys appeared evenly matched during their practice matches because Peter always made sure Jeremy won at least half the contests. For Peter, winning wasn’t important as he knew how Jeremy would feel if he lost. This contest was all about impressing Jeremy’s father and gaining his approval. Peter had decided to lose this contest long before the two of them fought their way to the final.
A flurry of blows passed between the two friends. To Peter, the moves Jeremy made were entirely predictable. He worked hard not to take advantage of the openings Jeremy gave him in his eagerness to achieve a spectacular kill.
Peter stepped backwards in a response to Jeremy’s attack and appeared to lose his footing on the mat. As he fell, Jeremy struck with a superbly timed killing blow to Peter’s throat. Jeremy’s hand stopped so close to Peter’s Adam’s apple that he caressed it with the side of his hand as Peter fell.
Peter rolled on the mat and came to his feet applauding his friend as the school went wild at Jeremy’s victory.
* * *
It was summer and the girls played volleyball on the school court. Team practice took place during lunch break and Peter had come to watch. He was fifteen years old and in the throws of a growth spurt. His face itched with spots and he felt very self conscious of how ugly he looked.
Peter came out specifically to watch Sheila Day. Sheila was a bouncy extrovert girl in his year. Her normally flowing brown hair was tied up into a tight pony tail while she played. Peter loved Sheila’s hair and wished she’d left it loose. He sat a few feet from the edge of the court giving him a good view of the action as the girls ran to catch and throw the ball. Sheila stood very close to where he sat. He picked his place to watch for that very reason.
As he watched, Sheila noticed one of her trainer laces was undone and bent over in a very unladylike way to tie it up. This gave Peter an unexpected and delightful view of her pert bottom and tightly stretched underwear with inevitable results. He shifted uncomfortably to reposition his erection in a less obvious place than sticking straight out in the front of his trousers.
There came a strange strangled sound behind Peter and he turned to see Jeremy looking straight at him with a look of horror and disgust on his face.
“How could you get like that, over that… bitch.” Jeremy turned and ran away.
Peter felt confused. He and Jeremy often talked about the wonder of girls. Peter had no idea why Jeremy should get so upset over his reaction to Sheila. It didn’t make any sense.
* * *
It was the night of Jeremy’s eighteenth birthday. The Commandant had been particularly generous and organised a massive party for Jeremy at their mansion. Peter and Jeremy had drifted apart in recent months, mainly because Jeremy found himself a girlfriend in the form of the beautiful and previously unapproachable Tina Lewis.
Without doubt, Tina was the best looking girl in the school and a year older than Jeremy. No one in the school questioned Jeremy and Tina’s pairing. Jeremy had become the most desirable male in the school in recent years, having won the fighting competition every single year for an unprecedented four times. That Peter came second each year wasn’t mentioned. After all, the Establishment taught that history had no place for losers. Jeremy was by popular acclaim the most handsome and admired boy in the school. He was noted for his immaculate grooming and appearance.
Tina was the female equivalent of Jeremy. One of the best students the Establishment School ever produced; she came first in her year in every subject. She won the fighting competition in her year once and came second twice to bigger boys. Equally as style-conscious as Jeremy, she proved completely uninterested in boys until Jeremy won her over with his charm. They became the Romeo and Juliet of the school, watched and copied by everyone, except for Peter.
Peter didn’t enjoy the party. The girls he fancied never seemed to like him. No relationship with a girl lasted longer than a week. In some ways he felt this was a blessing, as when he did go out with a girl he never knew whether to try kissing them. How you placed an arm around them on a sofa or how you might get further than a kiss remained a mystery no matter how much he researched the subject. Besides which, with so much homework to do, he had very little time for such things.
Discipline in the Establishment was so tight the Commandant and his wife felt no pangs of worry when they left the house to the tender mercies of the fifty or so teens Jeremy invited. Silly games like blind man’s bluff and charades were being played in various rooms. Peter was bored silly and decided to go in one of the toilets and hide until it got late enough that he could leave without appearing churlish.
When he opened the door, he found Jeremy spewing up into the toilet bowl. He didn’t instantly retreat because he was worried his friend might need assistance.
Jeremy smiled when he finally noticed Peter. He rose up from the bowl and swilled water from the sink around his mouth before washing his face and fastidiously drying his hands.
“Welcome Peter. My old and truest friend. Welcome to Château Hawkins, my private hell.” From his slurred speech it was clear to Peter that Jeremy was drunk. Jeremy grabbed Peter by the arm and led him into his bedroom. He turned around and slipped the latch on, ensuring them privacy from anyone wandering by. Jeremy flung himself onto his bed and rolled over so he lay on his back. Peter felt uncomfortable at his friend’s condition and stood waiting beyond the bed.
“Where’s Tina?” Peter asked, looking around stupidly, as though she might be hiding in one of Jeremy’s wardrobes.
Jeremy laughed as though Peter had said something hilarious. “Tina is, right now, in the master bedroom of our beloved Commandant with her knickers off, legs in the air and our little Beth Brown sucking on her love button.”
Peter was shocked, both at the images Jeremy put in his head and at the words themselves. “I don’t understand? She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”
“Peter, Peter, Peter. You’ve always been the most naïve boy I’ve ever known. Even if you do have the most delightful sexual organ I’ve ever played with. Tina is as bent as a corkscrew, a dyke for all seasons, and a girl’s girl in every way you can imagine and some you probably can’t.” Jeremy spread his arms as though crucified on a cross. “It’s all protective coloration, my sweet boy. It keeps the gossips from our doors.”
“Oh, I see - I think. But why would you go along with it, except out of sympathy for her predicament. You always were such a decent person.” Peter’s wo
rds began to unravel as another thought finally reared its head.
Jeremy looked at the expression on Peter’s face and laughed outrageously. “And finally the penny drops, the coin tumbles and all becomes clear. Yes Peter, my love, I am every bit as bent and depraved as our fair Tina, and the protective coloration works for both of us.”
Peter looked down at his drunken friend and considered what he’d just been told. The Establishment didn’t approve of gays. He wasn’t sure it approved of sex. It certainly didn’t approve of anything approaching fun. He knew the world outside The Village had become much more sexually tolerant in recent years and that was how he felt too.
“So what? There are lots of gays in the world. It’s no big thing anyway. And who knows, you’re only eighteen, maybe one day you’ll change your mind.”
Jeremy’s face transformed from one of amusement to one of anger. “It isn’t something you can switch off and on like a light, my fucking dim-witted friend. The Commandant will certainly beat me to death when he finds out. He’s beaten me black and blue for less.”
Peter backed away at the anger his words unleashed. “I didn’t mean any offence, Jeremy, honest.”
Jeremy rolled off the bed, came over to Peter, and put his arms around him. “Of course you didn’t, Petey-weety. You never do, you’ve always been such a good upstanding, understanding little boy.”
Jeremy pulled Peter around and gave him a wet sticky alcoholic kiss. Peter pushed him away in disgust and Jeremy fell to the floor.
“I’ve loved you since I was five and I first held you in my arms.” Peter moved away from Jeremy and backed towards the bedroom door. “I can’t live without you, Peter,” Jeremy pleaded, both arms raised up in supplication.
Peter turned the latch on the bedroom door and walked out, slamming it behind him. He ran out of the mansion and down the long drive, his heart pounding. Peter felt his whole world shift and he didn’t have a clue what he should do.
He walked home in the dark, completely confused.
* * *
Then the dream shifted again and Peter found himself in the gym with Jeremy. The part of him aware he was dreaming screamed in anguish. ‘Oh my God. Please God, not again!’
Chapter Eight
To the Death
It had been three weeks since Jeremy’s disastrous birthday party and once again, Peter and Jeremy faced each other for the prize of year champion in unarmed combat. Peter tried repeatedly to talk to Jeremy after the night of the party but his former friend always rebuffed him. Jeremy became more remote, gathering a coterie of young men and women who fawned around him.
The fighting competition progressed exactly as everybody had come to expect. Peter and Jeremy ended up fighting in the final. The gym was crowded with the entire school, the children’s parents and many alumni, who had arrived to witness a special moment in history.
The school only held this competition for its five oldest years. If Jeremy won, he would go down in history as the only pupil to win all five of his year competitions. In the one hundred and fifty years of the school’s existence no one had come this close to doing it.
Of lesser importance, but still of significance, was that the fifth year contest was the most prestigious. Jeremy’s name would go on the fifth year cup and he would become the most illustrious fighter in the school’s history. No one present imagined that Peter planned to lose the contest.
The roar from the crowd as Jeremy began his traditional warm-up was like a physical wave buffeting Peter as he stood and watched the boy he still considered his best friend go through his victory stances and muscle stretching. Peter stood on the far side of the mat from the judges and he saw two of the three judges frowning at Jeremy’s grandstanding.
The judges were sombre men who felt their job was to prevent these children from dying when they grew up and went out in the field. Fighting wasn’t for fun, it was a necessity of war, especially in a covert war.
Normally, the judges called the hall to order when the contest was about to begin, so Peter was surprised when the Commandant stood up from his high chair and blew his whistle silencing the crowd in mid chant.
“Before we start this fight to decide the victor of the fifth year contest, I have an announcement. As you are all well aware, my son Jeremy has won all his previous contests and stands before you in the final of this one.”
There was a tumultuous wave of applause and the Commandant smiled as he waited for the noise to die down.
“If my son wins a fifth time it will be unprecedented in the history of the school. For that reason I have commissioned a special gold cup. It will only be awarded to those boys who have won all five years and it will take pride of place in the school’s trophy cabinet.”
The crowd went wild. Peter glanced at Jeremy who seemed a little pale. No pressure on Jeremy, then, Peter thought as he looked over at the Commandant and for the first time saw a vain, pathetic man, trying to live vicariously through his son. It was no wonder that Jeremy was screwed up. Still, he would ensure Jeremy got his day of glory. Peter considered his primary problem was to make sure Jeremy’s win didn’t look too easy. There was little honour in an easy victory.
The judges called the room to order and an electric hush fell over the room. The atmosphere was so tense Peter felt the hairs on his arms rising. He took his starting position as Jeremy took his.
Peter and Jeremy’s eyes met. To Peter’s astonishment he saw anguish and something that looked like regret in Jeremy’s eyes. The other thing Peter saw was steely determination. Jeremy planned to win this bout.
Peter expected Jeremy to launch into the slow sizing up game they had played in previous finals. It gave the crowd a chance to get their money’s worth and gave the two friends an opportunity to show off. This time, Jeremy ran at Peter like a raging bull. Peter could have sworn there was a red glint in Jeremy’s eyes as he held off a rain of blows and kicks.
Rage can be useful in a fight if you can master it. It can make you immune to the pain of blows, not noticing as they raise bruises. It can make you forget you’re fighting a human being and give you the resolve to kill first and ask questions later. Jeremy’s rage was not like that. His rage was that of the child in the playpen whose favourite toy has fallen beyond reach. Such a rage makes you careless.
Peter easily avoided Jeremy’s blows, letting only those that would do no damage reach him. He ignored countless opportunities in those first few seconds of the fight to land a killing blow. His tactical brain worked furiously to make it look as though Jeremy fought well, when the truth was that a first year could have taken him out.
Peter pushed Jeremy to the mat and pretended to fall backwards himself so it looked like an equal tussle took place. Both boys jumped to their feet. The mad light diminished in Jeremy’s eyes and he moved forward like the martial arts expert he was. Peter visibly relaxed until he realised how it might look to the crowd. The two boys circled each other slowly, Jeremy looking for the split second of advantage and Peter looking for the opportunity to create one for him.
The crowd chanted Jeremy’s name though Peter was only aware of them in the dimmest of ways. He needed to give Jeremy an opportunity without signalling it to the judges. Peter decided to wait until Jeremy moved so his body blocked the judges’ view. He planned to drop his guard and let Jeremy strike.
He didn’t get the chance. Rather than wait for an opportunity, Jeremy decided to create his own. He kicked at Peter in an obvious feint. Peter reacted as though it was real and moved in closer to avoid it. Had the move been real, Jeremy would now be off balance and Peter could take him. In fact, Jeremy remained balanced and his real blow flew straight towards the nerve cluster under Peter’s ear. A place where a blow struck forcibly enough would kill.
Peter intended allowing the blow to hit, though he could have avoided it. In the last tenth of a second, he saw that Jeremy had misjudged the blow. Peter swung his head desperately downwards to avoid its killing impact.
D
espite leaving it so late, Peter managed to escape about half of the blow’s force and fell stunned to the mat. The crowd went wild as they concluded Jeremy had executed the perfect attack. Two of the judges leapt over the judging table to get to Peter, having seen what happened and realising he might be seriously injured.
Peter looked up groggily into Jeremy’s face and knew that it had been no accident. Jeremy meant to kill him and was shocked to see him alive. The pain in Peter’s head drove reason from his mind and he got to his feet and charged at Jeremy.
The hands of Mr Conner dragged him back and wrapped around him. Peter struck downwards with his legs, knocking Mr Conner off his feet. The two of them fell to the ground but Mr Conner held on to him, driving the breath from Peter’s lungs until the world went black around him.
Peter woke a few seconds later with his blind rage gone. The crowd were in pandemonium believing Peter had attacked Jeremy because he lost. That could get him expelled from the Establishment. Peter saw Tina at the front of the crowd shouting out Jeremy’s name as she held hands with Beth.
The three judges were arguing with the Commandant. Whatever they said involved a lot of gesticulation and they looked furious. Finally, the Commandant shouted “Enough!” so loudly it silenced not only the judges but also the crowd.
“I declare Jeremy Hawkins the winner of the fifth year unarmed combat competition. Peter Craig came second in the contest. He’s not responsible for attacking my son as the winning blow rendered him insensible. The award ceremony will take place in one hour.” The Commandant strode out of the room, not seeing two of his esteemed judges spit at his feet.
Jeremy walked towards Tina and the crowd once again went wild. Mr Conner got Peter to his feet and helped him back to the changing rooms while the crowds roared their approval of Jeremy’s victory.