The Wrath of David

by Sean-Paul Thomas

  'Sersha? Are you listening to me now?' continued the old man, shaking her a little harder. Sersha froze and glared at him. It was the first time she had truly looked at his hard, wrinkled, rough-shaven face.

  She stared with great disgust right into his raw blue, yet deep and concerned, eyes. A little confused, she quickly wondered just how on earth the dirty old creep bag had known her name? How did he know her? Had he been following her and watching her for some time? Exactly how long had he been following her before grabbing her off the streets like a stray dog? A day, a week? Months even, perhaps?

  'I'm gonna take this tape off your mouth now, but only for a few seconds, all right, lass?' the old man stated, still very calm and composed.

  Sersha nodded. Her eyes glazed wide with terror.

  'But don't you scream or make any bleedin' sudden movements now, ya hear?' the old man said with a hearty warning.

  Sersha nodded again.

  The old man pulled the tape from her mouth. He had to pull it hard, right across her lips. Sersha screamed with the sting of the tape ripping over her mouth and upper lip. She'd never felt anything quite like it. All thoughts of the kidnapping, rape and murder of her of lovely, innocent young body, evaporated from her mind. She felt truly pissed off.

  'Jesus fekin' Christ. Can I have me bleedin' lips back now, please?' Sersha cried, feeling more annoyed than she'd ever felt in her entire life.

  'I told ya not to scream or I'll put it straight back on again,' the old man threatened. 'Didn't I just say that now?'

  'Well it was fekin' sore. Why don't you let me try ripping some masking tape from your hairy-arsed face and see if you scream any less now?'

  The old man chuckled. She was a feisty wee lass, all right. Just as he imagined she would be.

  'I'm sorry. It's really strong stuff this, no?' said the old man, still smiling.

  'You don't fekin' say, mister,' Sersha snapped back as she stretched her lips and mouth wide, like she was participating in a facial aerobics session. Then she exploded into a fit of uncontrollable, verbal rage, as she tried to condense everything running around her mind - all those anxious, horrible thoughts and feelings - into words and sentences.

  'So what the hell do you want with me, anyhow? Why did you kidnap me from the street, you dirty old creepbag? Are you going to rape me now in the back of this here van? Is that what this is all about, huh? Is that why you brought me all the way out here in the middle of nowhere? You dirty, filthy, rotten, bleedin', perverted bastard, ya.' Sersha raged before spitting right into the old man's face.

  She hesitated for a second, instantly regretting the action. Her emotions had gotten the better of her. She motioned her head back a little, waiting for the old man's retaliation. Like he might slap her in the face and grab her by the throat before spitting back into her own face again. Just like her third foster father had done when she was eleven years old, and for the pure, simple reason of not being able to finish her vegetables at the dinner table.

  Surely some retaliation would come from the old man. She took a deep breath, expecting the worst.

  The old man remained quiet and unemotional. He took a short moment to wipe the saliva away from his face.

  'Now, that wasn't a very nice thing to do, was it now, Princess?' the old man finally replied, still cool, calm and collected.

  Sersha felt even more shocked at the man's calmness and utter lack of retaliation. To tell the truth, it made her feel even more angry. 'Not a nice thing to do? You just drugged me and abducted me right off the fekin' streets of Galway, ya bleedin' head case.'

  'Look! I don't have time for these wee dramatics right now, Princess. I have to go soon and leave you here on your own for a wee while. Is that all right?'

  'You're leaving me here? On me own?' Sersha cried. Now that was unexpected. What happened to the raping or mutilation of her body? If the old man was going to do something horrible and repulsive, she'd rather he'd just get bloody well on with it and do it right there and then. Just get it over and done with.

  'Would you rather I stay here with ya like? the old man replied with a cheeky grin. 'I thought you'd be glad to see the back of me, for a few hours at least.'

  This irritated Sersha to the core. That the old man could be so cheerful and coy and make jokes at the expense of her misfortune. What kind of a sadistic creep bag was the man?

  'I'd rather you take a big fekin' run and jump right off a big fekin' cliff and land right on a big bastard, spiky, jagged rock that impales ya right through your fekin' ersehole, ya erse-hole... but doesn't kill ya though, no. Just completely paralyses the fek out of ya for the rest of your miserable, pathetic, bleedin' life, ya old perverted scumbag, ya.'

  The old man chuckled loudly again. 'Jeysus Christ, you've some mouth and imagination on ya there, lass.' He stood and straightened his crumpled suit jacket.

  'Where are you going anyhow, Mr Kidnapper? When will you be back?' Sersha asked, fearing that the old man might never come back and she'd be left inside that van until she starved to death and faded away into a pile of dust and bones. What if he had a heart attack out on the road after he left? Then the joke would well and truly be on her.

  'I told you lass, about an hour or so. And you're actually not far off from the truth there when you mention cliffs and jagged rocks and whatnot. But I need to leave now, before sunrise, ya know. I'll be back soon, though. I won't forget about ya, lass. I promise.'

  'Great.' Sersha sighed in defeat. 'I'll have the bleedin' dinner ready for you getting back then, shall I?

  The old man chuckled again. The girl was funny. She had a real good Irish sense of humour, even in the worst of times. Sersha looked mad as hell, though.

  'What's so funny? You think this is bleedin' funny?' Sersha roared.

  The old man just shook his head, still laughing profusely.

  'No Sersha. I don't think this is bleedin' funny. But I think you're extremely funny. You really stitch me up with some of your crack there.'

  'Well I'm glad to be of a service to ya, old fella. Maybe I'll even put in for a wee spot at the next comedy fringe in town.'

  'Aren't ya even just a tiny wee bit scared of me now?' asked the old man, surprised at the girl's carefree, cynical and sarcastic attitude.

  'Look at me. I'm fekin' petrified,' Sersha said, and she was, but her hard, stern, Irish-backbone personality was just as strong as the fear raging deep inside her. 'I don't want to lose me virginity,' she lied, '...to some smelly, stinking-arse, old homeless pikey bastard, out here in the middle of nowhere and in the back of his dirty, fekin', shagging-wagon old van. And just because no girl out and about in her right soba state of mind would ever look twice at ya, so he needs to take out his sexual anger and pent-up frustrations on innocent wee girls, just like me... And I am just an innocent wee girl by the way, I'll have you know, regardless of what me overgrown bosoms say about me down below there now.'

  The old man smiled and gave Sersha a reassuring pat on her shoulder. 'Well, you don't have to be scared of me, Princess, that's for sure. I'm not going to rape you or touch you or anything that might cause you harm or offence now. That I can guarantee.'

  'So, is kidnapping me against me will not offensive to the likes of you where you're from, then, old man?' Sersha retorted.

  'Actually, in some parts of me land, no, no it's not. It's a perfectly legal act.'

  The old man took a deep breath, sighed and placed his hands upon his hips. He had business to take care of and he had to take care of it before first light. He was wasting time here. They had all the time in the world to natter and argue and get to know each other, just as soon as his business had been finalised.

  'Look, Sersha! I really need to go. Do you need a bathroom break before I leave? Or a wee drink of water even? I've got plenty of water there in the back of this here van, as you can see.'

  Sersha turned away from the old man in a sulky teenage mood. If her sulks worked on gullible foster parents from time to time, surely to god th
ey could work on strange old perverts too, who, apparently, hadn't kidnapped her for anything normal kidnappers would normally kidnap a young girl for.

  'No thank you,' Sersha continued in her strop. 'I don't need anything from the likes of you.'

  'Are you sure now? I might be gone for a good few hours at the most,' insisted the old man.

  Sersha remained silent and continued to look anywhere but at the old man.

  'Speak now or forever hold your piss, wee lass,' said the old man, chuckling at his wordplay joke.

  'You're disgusting. Just put the tape back on me mouth and fek off, ya dirty old swine.'

  'Sorry, lass. It was just a wee joke, was all. I meant no harm.'

  Sersha remained deathly quiet. If looks could kill, the old man would be hung, drawn and quartered in the young girl's stare.

  'Fair enough,' replied the old man, shrugging his shoulders, suggesting that he'd tried his best to be as reasonable as he could. He put the tape back around Sersha's gob. She didn't resist. He helped her roll into the back of the van as Sersha stared helplessly back up at him. The old man then gave her a faint, reassuring smile. Sersha just gently shook her head.

  'I'll be back as soon as I can, all right lass. Then I'll make us a nice wee hearty breakfast and a cuppa tea before we hit the road. How does that sound?' the old man asked.

  From underneath her taped mouth Sersha mumbled what sounded like a string of foul mouth obscenities as the old man just grinned and shut the van door, locking it tightly shut.

  ***

  The old man drove onto the top of a secluded clifftop, just as the sun began poking its firm round head up from its horizon, Atlantic ocean bed. Next stop, America, the old man thought as he gazed at the never-ending stretch of ocean.

  He parked close to the edge of the cliff and stared out at the beautiful, gloomy, grey sea for a short time. Finally, he climbed out of the car. He opened the boot and glanced inside. The tied and gagged young man with the crater face stared angrily up at him. His eyes were red, swollen and wide, full of rage and anger. His face was black and blue.

  The old man didn't have to, but he ripped the tape away from the young man's rough-shaven mouth. He would give the cold heartless bastard one last chance to speak and say his final words, which was more than the younger man had been willing to give the old man and his dog.

  The young man roared like a caged lion as the thick masking tape took away most of the facial hair around his mouth and cheeks.

  'You thought of anything decent to say to me now, young fella?' the old man stated rather coldly.

  The young man glared up at the older man with a sinister grin. He knew it was over for him, but he had no weak or pleading thoughts of forgiveness.

  'Aye!' the young man spat. 'How's your fekin dog?'

  The old man frowned for a moment. He then began fiercely punching the young man in the nose and mouth, over and over again. When blood covered the young man's face like erupting lava, the old man stopped just as quickly as he'd started.

  'He was a good wee dog, that. Had him for a fair wee while too in all. Fifteen odd years and counting. Ever since he was just a tiny wee pup. Fair enough his wee back legs were almost going and his bark wasn't as enthusiastic as it used to be, but he didn't deserve to go out like that, ya know, ya cold-hearted, callous bastard, ya. Not one bit, ya hear?'

  The young man winced in pain. He coughed so hard that he gurgled and spat up more blood, more than what looked to be flowing inside his veins. He turned back to the old man and looked him dead straight in the eye.

  'You can't hide from us any longer, old man. We found you. I found you. And we'll find the lassie soon enough, too.'

  The old man slammed the car boot, sealing the young man inside his tomb and final resting place. He'd heard enough of his pish now. The old man leaned back into the front of the car and took off the handbrake. Slowly, he pushed and rolled the car over the rest of the cliff edge, tipping it gently into the sea.

  The old man wiped his hands. It was as simple as that.

  Once the car had disappeared underneath the rough, early-morning waves, he started walking back the way he'd come...

  Lust for Life

  By Sean-Paul Thomas

  (Part 1 now FREE on Amazon)

  'A Tour de Force of the Male Psyche'

  'In the vein of Irvine Welsh. A pulsating novel for the Trainspotting Generation. An insane ride of Love, Romance, Action, Adventure and Revenge. Foaming with crazy ass characters and mouth watering dialogue. Combined with a rip roaring finale, just oozing with sex appeal and a Vigilante Justice.'

  (This novel contains some Scottish dialect/slang, strong violence and language in parts and a couple of graphic sex scenes.)

  Synopsis

  If you knew you had only a short time left to live on this planet, to really live, what would you do with that precious time?

  A young man with terminal cancer decides to live out his dreams and wild fantasies. But even when he finds love and a new lease on life along the way, it fails to stop his new adventurous ways from spiralling into an unstoppable train wreck of carnage and revenge against his childhood abuser.

  A dark, sexy, black-humorous tale of sex, violence, the male psyche and an unstoppable whirlwind adventure of finding love in the least likely place.

  Present Day

  I jumped into the police car. A sexy yet firm and official female voice on the car radio called out for the real owner of the vehicle to answer, but he was currently indisposed and wouldn't be replying any time soon. I switched off the radio. The keys were still in the ignition. I turned on the engine and accelerated away, not even looking back for a second. All I could think about was getting back to her and our new life together. Packing up our shit and getting the hell out of this goddamn country once and for all. Just take off to France, like Celine had suggested, and make a go of life on the continent together. Of course, I felt bad about Mum. I thought about driving back down to the borders to see her, if only for ten minutes, to apologise for what a horrible, inconsiderate bastard of a son I'd been to her all those years. How I'd never kept in touch. How I'd never looked after her and cared for her like any decent son should have watched over his only parent. I'd never even told her how much I loved her. Not once. And I did love her. With all my heart.

  I shook those thoughts from my head. Realistically, there was no time. I would phone her, either on the road south or whenever we reached just wherever the hell it was we were gonna end up. If I owed anything to the woman who gave me life and did the best job she possibly could of raising me, I owed her that much.

  Everything was going swell driving along the A1 from Dunbar to Edinburgh until I hit the Musselburgh turnoff and a police transit van exploded onto the dual carriageway directly behind me from the Haddington roundabout. The lights on the van were flashing wildly and the horrendous noise from the sirens echoed throughout the countryside.

  This didn't look good.

  The van was right up my arse as I accelerated. I sped up to well over one hundred miles per hour, continuing to weave in and out of the thin afternoon traffic. If I could just make it to the Newcraighall turn-off, I might have a flickering chance to lose the bastard. I spied another two police cars screeching down the opposite motorway lanes ahead. They must be coming for me, yet thankfully they had a fair trek to go to find a turning point along the steel barrier frame that split the two sides of the carriageway in half.

  The slip road down to the retail park was fast approaching. The police van hounding me remained hard on my tail. There was no sign of any other police cars blocking my route ahead, so I took the turn off, gently applied the brakes and swerved around another four cars as they slowed for the red light. Not me, though, no danger of that. I bumped up onto a narrow curb and blitzed through the intersection like a bat out of hell, mounting the next pavement to avoid smashing into oncoming traffic from the crossroads. When I peeked into my rear-view mirror, I was shocked to see the large framed poli
ce van doing the same thing while clipping cars and taking out all road signs in its path. I returned my concentration to my own driving and rattled through another two roundabouts, passing through another retail park and hitting the approach road to the Niddrie estate. This would be as good a place as any to lose these persistent policemen fuckers. Niddrie! Sending a patrol unit into the heart of that schemey, war-torn shithole was every Edinburgh policeman's worst nightmare.

  I drove along a boarded-up housing street, then another before taking a sharp turn down a narrow side street. The whole scheme was strewn with garbage, more stray dogs than you could swing a cat at, the occasional random fire burning in a garden or two, and smoke coming from the roof of another random building. Cars with smashed windows, cars without tyres, tyres without cars—all of this decorated the housing estate passing me by.

  Then there were the dozens of tracksuit-wearing teens and neds (Non-Educated Delinquents) wearing their clan hoodies and baseball caps. All lounging around, sitting and standing, smoking and drinking, sniffing and staring. The police van remained glued to my rear and sped recklessly with me around the next street corner. I caught another glimpse of the groups of lounging teens in my mirror as they jumped to attention, fully alert and falsely believing for a few anxious seconds that the screeching police van raging behind me was coming for them. Then they relaxed, laughing amongst themselves while playfully pushing one another as the van whizzed on by, still close behind me in the police car out in front.

  I made a sharp turn just before a row of shops and sped into a large park and grassland area. I swerved around a frail old man walking his dog as he entered the park. Perhaps he was deaf because he didn't hear me roaring up behind him until it was too late. When I swerved around him, he crouched to the ground in sheer fright, looking like he'd literally shat his pants. I zoomed on by, inches from his bum cheeks.