[2018] Abel's Revenge

by Ross Greenwood

  The strings on my racquet can’t handle the pace, and slide off defeated. I get a replacement and note it’s as taut as Felicity’s stomach. Olivia’s face is a furious red. It isn’t through exertion. Her and Felicity are equal, my pathetic efforts are dictating the score. If I don’t want to attend the emergency ward to remove Olivia’s racquet from my body cavity, I need to find form.

  The difference with a normal racquet is incredible. My arm still strains as though I have the old one, causing my shots to blister through their defence. We sneak ahead. Olivia ups her game too. I sting Felicity’s nipple with a blazing overhead and get my revenge on Beau’s testicles with a slam. Both give me a small buzz of sexual pleasure.

  Olivia’s gone mad — stamping across the court. She’s started high-fiving me when we win a point. Beau growls the scores. They draw level. I’m tiring, and a glance at Felicity is worrying. There’s not a drip of sweat on her, whereas I look and feel as though I’ve been skipping in a sauna.

  She is breathing heavier. Her front teeth protrude further and she has a small snarl at the side of her mouth. Both features send a bolt of electricity through my genitalia. Stay on target, Dan. I focus on Beau and detect a slight limp. We take the third game.

  I catch a guy in the next court checking out Olivia’s butt cheeks. I have to say, she looks hot as well. She’s panting, too. I wasn’t expecting this to be such a sexual experience. We slip behind in the ‘deciding set’, even though we are 2-1 down. I can tell Olivia wants this as she whispers to herself at the start of each point. Beau’s limp is affecting his backhand. Every shot from me goes to that side.

  It is me that’s now unhinged. I am relentless and dominate the court. I froth and pound and spit us to the brink of victory. Beau’s cool withers and dies as he loses his team another point. A small trickle of sweat finally falls between Felicity’s heavenly bosom. I’m wilting, in every department. Beau is a cornered rat. I’m too weary to make a joke about where Mr Nice Guy has gone.

  We have a serve to win. Olivia elbows me aside as a loose return comes over. Her racquet flashes past my face like the blade from a samurai sword and the shuttlecock scrapes the line at the back of their court. Olivia roars her victory cheer. Every other court stops playing. Beau shouts, ‘Out.’

  Felicity and I look at each other with wide-eyed apprehension. Olivia replies.

  ‘It was in.’

  Time draws out like a blade. My right leg jiggles of its own accord. I’m unsure if it’s through tiredness or nervousness.

  Beau opens his angry, pinched mouth infinitesimally to deny her, when the staff member behind him who was walking by says, ‘Yeah, it was good.’

  I manage to stop myself collapsing to the floor. We shake hands again. There is little eye contact. Any talk of a few drinks afterwards is forgotten. I’m too tired to get changed, so slump and steam in the passenger seat while Olivia drives. We approach her parents’, but then I’m surprised when she takes the turn for our house.

  ‘Aren’t we picking the kids up now?’

  ‘Later. I said I’d collect them at nine.’

  I manage a confused, exhausted nod.

  ‘First, we’re going to bed. You’ve earned a reward.’

  Momma.

  Chapter 24

  Abel

  A week later

  This will need to be the last park ‘attack’, as the authorities are patrolling them. They are changed places. Only the brave, foolish, or homeless wander through them in the dark. All sober up as their footsteps echo around them. In true city style, they fear the night, but dawn is when it’s quieter. That’s where they’ll meet me.

  I’ve enjoyed watching the news and seeing my name mentioned. I love that I’m in control despite insane actions on my part. An inch to the left and that bloody kickboxer could have turned me into a post-op trans person. As it was, I could only hobble. I tripped up the other runner as she laughed at me when I limped past. How was I to expect the clumsy cow would dive onto a concrete kerb? I’m not sure who punched the other girl because it wasn’t me. Nevertheless, it gave me a good idea.

  I require one defining moment. This morning is it. Everyone will know my name after this day is over, but I need to choose my victim with care. Another knee to the balls would be the finish of me. I’m familiar with this park, and it’s perfect. There’s a tight bunch of trees next to the summit of a small hill. I broke the streetlights a few mornings back, so when you get to the top there is a plunge into near darkness. It will be unexpected. That’s where I’ll be.

  The person whose attention I want to grab lives near here. She will be unaware of the coming storm. She needs to feel my presence. Although it would be a shock if it was her who grafted up this incline and came into view. The first girl who runs past is unsuitable. She skitters by like a flighty deer. I couldn’t run that fast downhill.

  I’m ready to give up for the morning when the ideal candidate creaks into view. She must be a size twenty, minimum. I imagine her ankles groaning as she grinds to the top. She is trundling so slow at the peak I can walk up behind her. I grab her shoulder and spin her to face me.

  Her terror fires my resolve. She knows who I am. I clutch her arm and pull her along a path deep into a tight copse. She falls over a felled tree. She is exhausted but pushes herself upright. I hope she isn’t going to fight as I only wanted to scare her. I wait for her to turn around, but she doesn’t. She whimpers.

  ‘I don’t want to die. My name is Dorothy. I have two children.’

  ‘Be quiet.’

  ‘My name is Dorothy, don’t kill me. I have two children.’

  ‘I said shut up.’

  She reaches behind her and pulls her jogging bottoms and thong down in one quick movement and leans forward again. Still crying, she offers me everything.

  ‘Do what you want, please don’t hurt me. I have two children.’

  Her large white bottom glows in the moonlight resembling perfect orbs. Her mantra is irritating. Satanic thoughts swirl around my mind. I care about the kids, but do I give a shit about her? Lucky I didn’t bring a weapon, or Dorothy would be silent. There is a thick stick next to her foot and the twisted part of me yearns to grab it. A vision of a bloody battering flickers through my head like a film from an old cine camera.

  Dorothy isn’t my target. Judging by the grimace on her face as she came up the hill, she’s suffering more than I am. Her task is futile. She’ll never fit into this world of vanity. However, she will be a messenger. Beware, people. Abel is coming.

  ‘You want to live?’

  ‘Yes, yes, please.’

  ‘What’s my name?’

  ‘Your name is Abel.’

  An impulse makes me slap her arse. It’s humiliating, and that is ideal. She squeaks but otherwise remains silent.

  ‘Say it again.’

  I slap her behind on the word Abel.

  ‘Who do you fear?’

  ‘Abel.’ She cries. She must try harder.

  ‘Say it again.’

  A muffled sound.

  ‘Shout. Or you die. Who am I?’

  ‘Your name is Abel!’

  Smack.

  ‘Who do you fear?’

  ‘Abel!’

  ‘Preach it.’

  ‘Abel!’

  ‘Fear me.’

  ‘Abel!’

  ‘Know me…’

  Chapter 25

  The police station

  Detective Inspector Jordan is having a bad day. Recently, a psychopath sprayed three lads with acid and bludgeoned them with a hammer. There would be no more normal for those men. This morning, one of them died. His mother came straight from the hospital in total fury. She wanted justice. What had the police done, who had they arrested? Jordan knew they’d made no progress. They had no suspects and no witnesses. She sent the woman on her way with lies about DNA tests and profiling. The lady didn’t hope for a prosecution anyway, she wanted revenge.

  Jordan had little sympathy. The lads had been squa
tting in the house opposite where eight homeless men were decapitated. They said they’d noticed a man leaving and entering on numerous occasions but couldn’t describe him. One of them said he’d thrown a beer can at him for a laugh but he’d just ignored it. Told them they were too stoned to remember faces. They found the whole process amusing, and kept saying “they weren’t no snitches”.

  It was likely to be the same person who’d attacked them and her team were clueless. A serial killer was the last thing she needed right now with resources stretched to breaking. On top of that, there was some lunatic going around assaulting women. A shitstorm gathered over the lack of progress. If none was made soon, a drenching would occur.

  Jordan looks at the dishevelled woman in front of her and regrets having to question her so soon. Anything she could tell them might make a difference though. Detective Constable Sharpe nods he is ready.

  ‘Okay, Dorothy, in your own words, start from the beginning.’

  Dorothy takes a deep breath.

  ‘I was near the end of my jog, and I’m not a fit person. I was knackered, and he came out of nowhere. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into a clearing. He pushed me over a log.’

  ‘Was he violent, out of control? Did he hurt you?’

  ‘No, not really. I was so scared, he more guided me.’

  ‘So, he wasn’t rough. Did you try to get away?’

  ‘I knew who he was, and I froze. I didn’t want to die.’

  ‘Why do you think it was Abel?’

  ‘He dressed in black with a scarf, moustache above it and a hooded top.’

  ‘Did you scream?’

  ‘No, I have two children.’

  ‘Then he ordered you to pull down your jogging bottoms?’

  Dorothy weeps. She takes a full minute to calm herself.

  ‘No. I pulled them down.’

  Sharpe looks at Jordan.

  ‘Without him asking? Why did you do that?’

  ‘I heard he’s raped and killed loads of women. I thought if I let him do what he wanted, he would allow me to live. I’m divorced. My children don’t have anyone else. They are more important than my discomfort.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  She breaks down, but continues through heaving shoulders.

  ‘I think I annoyed him because I wouldn’t stop talking. He asked me who he was.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I said, “Your name is Abel”. Then he smacked my bum.’

  Jordan squints at Sharpe.

  ‘Hard? With a weapon?’

  ‘No, his hand. I suppose firmly best describes it.’

  ‘Do you have bruise marks?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. It didn’t hurt. He kept asking me to say his name and then he spanked me.’

  ‘Then what happened.’

  ‘He whispered in my ear to not move a muscle, and he left.’

  ‘Could you describe him? Anything, his skin or eye colour?’

  ‘No, I faced the wrong way.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can tell us to help identify him?’

  ‘He did remind me a bit of a vicar.’

  ‘Pardon? Explain, please.’

  ‘He was almost preaching to me. As though he was delivering a sermon or a message.’

  ‘What do you think the message was?’

  ‘That this is just the beginning.’

  ‘How long did you stay there?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Quarter of an hour I should think. He was so powerful and calm. A dog walker found me while he was looking for his spaniel who was sniffing my groin. I thought for a minute Abel had come back. It was an embarrassing experience.’

  ‘He didn’t return?’

  ‘No. I heard his shouted warnings as he ran through the woods.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Tell the city. I’m coming for you all.’

  Chapter 26

  Dan

  Sunday used to be a day for lazy pub crawls. Now we reserve them for arguing. Well, bickering is more accurate. By nine in the morning, the kids have needled us for hours. Olivia has been following me around, barking orders at me. I nurse a hangover and don’t care whose turn it is to hoover up the dog hair.

  The small shed at the bottom of the garden is my escape. I’ve lit a cigarette, turned the radio on, and sunk into my deckchair when she arrives.

  ‘I thought you gave up smoking?’

  ‘I did. I started again.’

  ‘It’s cosy in here. I love what you’ve done with the place.’

  The shed is empty apart from the deckchair and a spade. My radio hangs on a nail. I decide not to mention she only allowed me a small shed so the kids wouldn’t lose too much garden. It is depressing. I bought myself a wooden cell. I allow myself a few seconds to imagine using the spade as a whacking device while she talks.

  ‘Beau wants to play badminton again. Shall we see if Mum will babysit for us?’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? I barely survived that night. I’d rather dry hump a beehive.’

  ‘Well, that’s a nice vision.’

  I smile back at her. I know this isn’t what she’s here for. These skirmishes are just that. There’s something else eating her up inside. She will consider it important and believe I don’t. She’ll be right. As opposed to mentioning it ages ago, it’s festered and now it’s ready to leap out and bite me. I’m cornered, too.

  We’re both distracted by the breaking news on the radio. Abel is everywhere.

  ‘Police reiterate their cautionary advice to women. There were two more park attacks but what is concerning them now is that Abel’s escalating intentions are murderous. In the early hours of yesterday morning, a couple were mowed down by a car on the pavement. They died. There were no eyewitnesses. However, the police received a letter with the time, date and place of the incident and the words, ‘My name is Abel’.

  ‘I hope they catch this man soon, Dan. I keep getting a bad feeling about him.’

  ‘About Abel? Why him in particular? London is full of pyschos.’

  ‘I don’t know. Just that he’ll ruin our lives. I’m jittery on public transport now. I swear a bloke followed me to the station when I left the office, and then he was in the same carriage and kept staring at me.’

  ‘Did he get off at the same stop?’

  ‘No, but I felt his eyes on me as I walked past him.’

  ‘I’m sure it was just a coincidence. Come here.’

  I pull her onto my lap and she winds her arm around my neck. The chair complains, but holds. Her hair smells the same as I remember. I miss what we had.

  ‘Are you aware if you’re going to get murdered, it’s most likely that it will be by someone you know?’

  ‘Who’d want to murder me?’

  I push the spade idea out of my mind.

  ‘Probably no one. After all, it’s the kind of thing that happens to other people.’

  ‘You’d be on HotNorwegianNanny.com before my body had cooled.’

  ‘Funny you should say that, I’ve been on it for ages. Just in case, obviously. Seriously, though. I reckon it’s your boss, Beau. The space between his nose and lips is too thin. My mother always said that makes someone untrustworthy.’

  ‘Beau doesn’t have an evil bone in his body.’

  ‘I saw a glint of the beast the other night when he was losing at badminton. It’s the quiet ones you have to be wary of. Have you been around his house?’

  ‘No.’

  Hmm. She looked shifty and answered too fast. I’ll let that go for the minute.

  ‘I bet he spends every evening drawing faces on watermelons and then making love to them.’

  ‘Dan, you don’t have a good word to say about anyone.’

  With that she gets off and the truce is finished.

  ‘While I have your attention. We need to discuss Grace’s birthday party.’

  Ah! It’s that which has been riling her. I’ve been frantically avoiding the topic hoping Mr Masturbater gets boo
ked up and is unavailable.

  ‘You know my views on the clown.’

  ‘Mr Mystery Maker is not a clown, he’s an entertainer.’

  ‘Why is he so expensive then? He costs two days wages and I don’t even get to laugh.’

  ‘I checked, and he’s still available. There’s a twenty percent booking fee on top of the price as well.’

  ‘What?! He needs to blow me before and after for that to be in any way acceptable.’

  ‘That’s another nice image. I’ve booked it. You need to go to their website and pay for it.’

  ‘Why don’t you use your card?’

  ‘Shall I do everything?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Grace will be, and that’s what counts.’

  She frowns but then her eyes open with interest. Reaching around me, she picks up a square, flat, wooden box that was in the corner.

  ‘What’s this?’

  I have no idea. ‘Open it.’

  She passes it to me. It’s well used and grimy, yet inside is an immaculate chess set. As they say on the Antiques Roadshow, it’s a nice thing — like the prized possession of a filthy beggar. A brief flicker of recognition is there and disappears. I show her the open box. ‘Is it yours?’

  ‘That’s right, Dan. I play chess in your shed.’

  ‘Weird. Perhaps, one of those blokes who put the shed up dropped it.’

  We recall the pair of hairy knuckle-draggers together and laugh.

  Olivia gives me a serious look. ‘This party is important to Grace. What would you rather spend your money on?’

  The shed door slams after she leaves, and unsettles the spade. It falls over and the handle lands straight on my sore knee.

  Chapter 27

  Dan

  A month later

  Christmas is over for another year. We had our usual Christmas day row but otherwise we emerged unscathed. Somebody peed on the tree. Blame was thrown around like confetti, but the jury (Olivia and Grace) was unable to convict any of the accused (Charlie, Bailey and Me) due to the fact it could have been any of us. Two of my presents were soggy but I daren’t complain.