Around midnight Jack awoke. His mother had turned over and this must have woken him. He listened, and heard... Nothing. Moonlight now shone through his mother’s bedroom window. The night was peaceful; the storm had completely passed leaving only a memory of its ferocity. He quietly left her room and crept back to his own. He settled into his extra comfortable bed, pulled up the covers and yawned. He thought, nothing like your own bed and turned towards the wall, closed his eyes and drifted away.
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The window to Jack’s bedroom burst inwards as Jess, her throat cut, was hurled through the glass to land on top of his bed in a dead heap. Jack screamed and wrestled himself from under the covers and fell sprawled on the floor. In the darkness he blindly reached for the cord that dangled from the middle of the room. He grasped frantically in mid air as he felt for the thin cord. He just saw it, for an instant, captured in the light of the moon. He gripped it in his hand and pulled down. There was the familiar click of the switch but the light did not come on. Dead. His mother yelled out, “JACK ARE YOU OKAY?” He yelled back, “HOLD ON...” As he scrambled beneath his bed and found his torch. He switched it on and lit up his bedroom in a pool of light. He aimed the beam at his bed and screamed. He saw Jess, her lifeless eyes staring at him, the gaping wound in her throat, the head pulled back and the windpipe and jugular exposed, blood still oozing from the hideous slash. He saw her torn body with the numerous stab wounds all over it. Her fur had turned red and he wondered what sort of madman could do such a thing? But of course he knew. It was Doug. Doug was back and this time it would end here, once and for all. Someone had to die. And the odds are definitely stacked against us, thought Jack as the terrifying reality hit home. He screamed at his mother, “JESS, SHE’S DEAD. IT’S HIM. HE’S BACK. SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE. GET THE GUNS!” And he leapt for his door and grasped the handle and felt... Heat? The handle was hot and then he saw a red glow from the gap under the door. The house was on fire. He yanked on the door handle anyway, preferring to face the fire rather than Doug. Screamed at his mother, “THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE!” And then as he realised that the door wouldn’t open. “I CAN’T GET OUT, THE DOOR’S LOCKED!” He yelled. His mother screamed back, “MINE TOO!” And then Jack heard breaking glass, his mother’s bedroom window smash, and he turned and ran to his window and looked out. Doug was using the butt of the rifle he held, to smash out the panes of glass. Their rifle. A deathly grin on his face, a rictus. Teeth bared, as he howled with hysterical laughter. And Jack thought he’s going to get in there and kill my mother, as her screams were heard above the sounds of crackling timber and buckling iron as the fire took hold and intensified. And a red glow, from the flames now raging over the roof and engulfing the back of the house, the kitchen, the lounge and rushing down the hall to the bedrooms, lit up the yard outside their rooms, turning the darkness into an eerie, blood filtered light and Jack looked at the face of Doug and saw the madness in his glowing orange eyes. The eyes of a rabid dog. And Jack screamed, “GET AWAY YOU BASTARD. LEAVE HER ALONE!” But he ignored him and carried on punching out the glass until there were no panes left. And then, as Jack thought he would surely enter her room and kill his mother he stepped back, and stood looking at both of them from the edge of the veranda. He stepped off and onto the lawn and said, “Now that I’ve got your attention...” And then he cackled, as he threw his head back and slapped his leg as he got carried away with the humour of it all. One big fucking joke it was, and then he said in a caring considerate voice, “But seriously folks, we need ta talk. We really do.” And he smiled at them; a large toothy grin. A leer, which had as much appeal as a white pointer shark, as a wall collapsed and brought part of the roof down with it. Showers of sparks drifted around Doug as he stood there looking back and forth at Jack and Ellen, waiting for them to say something. But they said nothing and wondered if he could actually see them as their rooms were dim and he was looking in from the light. Because they could see him all right, he was lit up like an actor on stage. An actor in the starring role, playing Lucifer at the gates of hell. And despite the dark rooms he could see them clearly enough, enough to shoot if necessary, he believed, and that’s all that counted. But he was hoping he wouldn’t have to as his sick mind had worked out a plan, a plan that would see him walk away from here a free man, despite the two bodies he would leave behind. And he just had to tell them how he intended to do it. “Ya see my faithful family,” he began. “I have decided that tonight, you will both die, together. But being the kind of man I am, I’m going ta let ya choose how ya want ta die. Hell, I’ve even given ya a sporting chance,” he said as he chuckled to himself. He continued. “I’ve given ya two ways ta die. Ya can die in the fire or ya can be shot.” He looked back and forth at them, grinning, waiting for them to say something. To plead for their lives. When they didn’t he continued, slightly disappointed. “Aw, okay. So here’s how it works. I have tied both of your bedroom door handles together with rope. At the moment ya can’t get out. But when the fire reaches your rooms it will burn through the rope and ya will be able ta leave your rooms through those doors. Okay. Got it so far? The only problem with that plan is that ya will have ta walk through the flames and will possibly have ta end up becoming roast pork.” And he lost it then. Absolutely cracked up in hysterical laughter at his joke. Laughed so much that he started to cough and ended up in a coughing fit that doubled him over. Jack thought about making a run for it then, to get help. Thought he may make it, without being shot. But he stopped himself. What was the use? By running he would certainly be condemning his mother to death and he dismissed it from his mind. Over the roar of the fire he could now hear her sobbing next door, repeatedly saying ‘No Doug, no Doug, no Doug.’ Over and over again and if he could see her he would see her hands clasped as in prayer, her eyes drawn down to the floor and her body crouched, rocking back and forth on its heels. She was in shock and Jack knew that time was running out, fast, and it was up to him to try and get them out of here. Alive. He could feel the heat increasing in his room, air was being drawn past him, through the broken window and sucked under the gap in the door as the fire dragged in oxygen from every direction and the bone dry native timbers of the house were hungrily engulfed by the flames. Doug regained his composure and smiled and continued. “Sorry ‘bout that. Now where was I? Oh yes, ya can take your chances with the fire or you can head on out here, through the window and take a bullet... But one at a time if ya please as this is only a single shot rifle, as you well know.” He grinned. And Jack knew that they were doomed either way and he knew which way he would rather go, and it wasn’t being burnt alive. Doug continued. “You see I would much rather ya stay there. That way the kind folks of Putumu and the po-lice will think it was just an accident, just one of those things that happen when the fires are lit after a long summer and the proper care and attention hasn’t been taken ‘round it. Happens all the time. Folks’ are always dying in house fires around this time of year.” A red hot sheet of corrugated iron sailed past Doug - tossed up in the thermal draught of the fire - and landed behind him in the paddock. It sizzled in the wet grass. Other materials, some in flames, were being thrown up from the fire and were all landing perilously close to Doug. Jack was praying that something like a sheet of iron would fall on Doug, sharp end first and slice him in two. But it didn’t happen, and Doug who seemed oblivious to it all, just carried on talking. And pacing up and down in the yard now as he started to walk and talk. Like a guard on sentry duty he walked a short distance one way, turned on his heel, and walked the other way. Back and forth he did this, not looking at them anymore but letting his thoughts escape from his crazy mind as he told them all the things they didn’t want to know. He said, “So ya see if ya could possibly die that way, in the fire, it would be much appreciated...On the other hand, if I have ta shoot ya, well, that makes it a bit more complicated, doesn’t it? I mean they’ll find the bullets won’t they? And then there
’ll be questions and they’ll come looking for me. But hey, your choice at the end of the day. I’ll be happy either way.” And he didn’t stop there, just carried on talking as if Jack and Ellen had said, ‘Tell us everything Doug. Get it all off your mind why don’tcha?’ So he started to ramble on and on and told them about his dog, Nigger and how it misbehaved and no matter how much he loved it and how much patience he showed the damn thing, it still just would not behave, turned on him in fact and well, sadly, it ended up dyin’. Not his fault really. He gave the damn mutt a chance. What more could he do? And his father and his wandering hands and how he waited and waited till the time was just right and then he clocked him one. Showed alot of patience with that one he did. Right on the swede he hit him until his brains came out. That killin’ was completely necessary. Did the world a favour in fact. And all those stinking Japs he poisoned with broken glass in the POW camp and how he just had ta kill Konosu ‘cause, he just wouldn’t do what he wanted. And what were ya doin’ with him anyway Jack. No, don’t tell me I don’t wanna know. Whatever it was it wasn’t decent. Anyway the only good Jap is a dead Jap. Another necessary killin’, by jingoes by crikey. And killin’ Jacks dogs? Well that was just pure joy if the truth be known. Very satisfying. Very satisfying indeed. They hated him almost as much as Jack did. Never goin’ ta change. No sir, no way. Better off dead. And he spoke about how he was so disappointed with them both. Okay, Jack he could understand, as he always treated him like he didn’t belong, so he never had any high expectations regarding him. I mean, he made him feel right uncomfortable most times, and right from the start too. All he wanted ta be was a father to him, but no. Jack had to try and compare him to his other father. His dead father, who Doug could never hope to live up to. Not in a million years. So you see, he never had any hopes for Jack. Always thought that they wouldn’t get along, so he’d almost accepted Jack as an enemy, and learnt to live with that. But Ellen. Now she’s a different story. She actually began to like me. Hell, she fuckin’ loved me! And why not. I gave her everything she wanted. And I’m not just talking about in the sack either! Eh, Jack. Ya, like that one Jack? No, I’m talking about the farm. I broke my back on this land, gettin’ it back up and runnin’, and how does she repay me? Kicks me out. KICKS ME OUT! You cowards! You couldn’t do it yourselves, could ya? No, ya had ta hire the ‘hori’. Got ya gorilla ta do the dirty work. Well it didn’t work did it? I waited and waited, showed an incredible amount of patience I did, and now I’m back. Back ta see justice is done and that I, Douglas Brown, has his revenge...
And so it went on and on and Jack hardly heard any of it. He had been thinking about how to get out of this situation, worrying about more important things like staying alive, to even be concerned about the ravings of a mad man. And he had come up with it, a solution, or so he thought. His slingshot. His trusty slingshot. He had four stones and his slingshot in his trouser pockets. Only four stones! They were in his trousers sitting on the floor near his bed. And all the time Doug was ranting on and on, Jack had taken out his slingshot and loaded it. He stood in the shadows of his room as Doug marched back and forth alongside the veranda, a nonsensical tirade spewing from his mouth as Jack had pulled the rubbers back and with shaking hands, aimed at Doug’s head. But he was a moving target. Not only was he walking, but his head moved up and down and side to side with the animated speech, and it was near impossible. But he tried. He could do little else but try, and with great concentration and willing, Jack fired the slingshot and... Missed. And fortunately Doug didn’t notice. Why would he? Any minute noise from the slingshot or the whizz from the stone were masked by the wrenching sound of timbers, splitting and cracking as their supports burnt away. By iron rippling and buckling, expanding and contracting in the heat. By the constant roaring of the massive flames, the inferno that could be seen from the town of Putumu itself. By the animals, far back in the house paddocks crying and moaning with fear as they watched the flames and felt the heat even though they were some distance away. By Ellen sobbing and chanting, ‘No Doug.’ As she stood in her room on the brink of insanity, waiting for the inevitable, waiting for death. And Doug’s own crazy talk, all took the attention away from Jack and what he was trying to accomplish. And as Jack loaded once more and aimed again, he realised that such was the heat from the fire that Doug was starting to burn. His hair was smouldering and his skin looked red like a bad case of sunburn. But Doug didn’t notice any of it and even when Jack fired and hit him stingingly in the arm with the stone, he just brushed it away, as if it was a irritable insect, not a missile with the potential to kill. And Jack despaired as he counted his stones- two left. And he knew only a direct hit to the head would kill this mad man. And not just any old hit to the head, no that would be far too easy, it would have to be like in the temple, that may do it, or please, please God, through the eye for that would surely kill the beast. And he loaded his second to last stone and took careful aim this time. He breathed the heated air, in and out, calming his nerves, willing his shaking hands to stay still as he focussed on Doug’s head and then, like the time when he dropped the pigeon from the tree, Doug’s head swelled in size, filled his vision as it became as big as a planet. He couldn’t miss. He was going to hit this time and yes, he’s turning his head exposing his temple, that’s all I need. Yes!
And Jack fired, the stone rocketed through the air and he watched in fascination as Doug kept walking away from him now, totally unaware that he was Jack’s target, as the stone flew past the back of his head. And Jack slumped to the floor and knew it was over. That they had lost and would die here, tonight. And still Doug marched up and down excreting his verbal diarrhoea, his clothes smouldering and his skin starting to blister in the intense heat, and then Jack had a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe Doug would burst into flames and be consumed by the fire right in front of him. Burnt alive. A fitting end to this worshipper of flames, this devil. Satan. A fitting end to, Akuma. But then the heat intensified in his room and the paint on the walls bubbled and melted and some of it flickered alight as small flames tried to take hold. Then fire flicked in and out under the door - from the other side - like a serpents tongue, then finally took hold and spread up the inside of the door like a plague. Jack let a little cry escape from his lips as the fire then spread across the wall. And the heat was so intense, and he had trouble breathing as all the air was greedily taken by the flames to feed itself , to consume and destroy. And Jack laughed as he thought at least the first option was available to him now. That the rope holding the doors closed was burnt away and he could simply go that way, into the flames and be done with it. He shook his head to snap out of it. Hell no! That wasn’t an option and he would much rather die by the bullet. Surely it was less painful and if one must choose their death then surely they would always choose the sweeter way to go. So he went to the window and sucked in all the fresh air that he could and he made his decision. He had one stone left and he would try it. He would give it a go and if he failed to do what he hoped to do, then he would simply run towards Doug and at least hope to draw his fire, so that his mother could escape. If she was capable. He could still hear her above the roar of the fire, just, so maybe it was possible. The flames smothered the walls of his bedroom like a blanket. Posters and newspaper cuttings, pinned to the wall, simply vanished in the heat. Dried possum skins tacked there shrivelled after the fur exploded in flame and disappeared in a puff of smoke and Jack could hardly stand it. The fumes, the blistering heat was unbearable as Jack took his last stone and loaded it into his slingshot. He waited till Doug turned and walked back towards him. He was still bleating like a lost sheep, head still moving this way and that as he went on and on about himself, justifying his evil life. He stopped closest to Jack and Jack knew, this was it. And under his breath he said, “Please God you did this for ‘David’ now do this for me”. He lifted his slingshot, pulled back the rubbers with all his strength and aimed at Doug’s head again, waiting for the turn, waiting for the ‘side on’ view.
The view of Doug’s temple. His last shot. His only hope. But Doug never turned. He just stood there and he stared at Jack. No, he stared straight through Jack. And he was the perfect target. And Jack knew he wouldn’t get another shot like this. And he held his breath. And as Doug’s mind was lost somewhere in space, lost in the mists of the fugue that kept overtaking his body more and more often in recent times, Jack let the rubbers go. He fired. And watched. And watched, as the stone exploded the eyeball in Doug’s left eye socket like a rotten plum. It penetrated through the bone behind and lodged itself in the soft tissue of his brain.
And Jack’s Goliath fell and lay crumpled on the ground. Dead.
Perhaps God had run out of patience with Doug, Jack thought with a grimace and great relief as his pyjamas caught fire and he dived from his window head first and rolled on the ground extinguishing the flames. He jumped over Doug’s lifeless form and straight through the window into his mother’s room. The flames had not yet entered her room but he could see the blistering paint and the fingers of flame trying to grasp the bottom of the door, and he knew it wouldn’t be long. He dragged her outside, pulled her along, stumbling on jellied legs, dodging debris from the fire, over the fence and away from the house. Into the paddock, safe, where they collapsed in each other’s arms.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
RETURN TO WANEA
“A
nd that’s about it,” said Dad.
I shook my head. “Bloody hell Dad, that’s some story.”
“Yeah, well, that’s how I remember it anyway. The bastard deserved it. Don’t regret a thing looking back on it.”
“So did the cops come in the end? Did you save the house? What happened after that Dad?”
“Never told the cops. They didn’t need to know. It was all done and dusted and they would’ve just asked alot of questions that we couldn’t have answered. No, as far as I remember we made it to the Kotare’s house that night and told them all about it. I believe Pera and his brother Kahu sorted it out after that. Went back there and threw the body into the flames and let the house burn to the ground. There was nothing we could do about that, no fire brigade to speak of. Yeah, as I recall they said if we played dumb and made out that Doug had accidently died in the fire then we could forget about it. We had to say that he still lived there or had come back there to live or something, and got trapped in the fire. I think we even blamed the fire on him. Smoking in bed or something like that. If we said all that then they would take care of the rest. You see, they got themselves on the clean up, the Kotare brothers, and they knew where they had thrown Doug. So when they were helping the police and others look through the remnants of the fire for his remains, they made sure they stomped all over his body. Especially his skull. It was so burnt up and charred that it simply disintegrated and of course having none of the organs left, the authorities just assumed it was smoke inhalation that killed him.”
Fathers Page 31