Trapped Within

by Bradshaw, Duncan P.

  Joel, shaken by events, dropped the burning log, and backed away from the melee. I rushed towards Marcus eager to help, as he was struggling to keep Darren pinned.

  Craig sat. His mouth hung open and tears streamed down his cheeks. He watched motionlessly as the two of us wrestled Darren back to the ground. Joel, stood opposite, slowly backed towards the gloom of the camp’s perimeter. He was trying to say something to me; his lips were moving rapidly, but I couldn’t hear his voice over the sound of my pulse thumping in my ears.

  He was crying again, pointing towards something behind me.

  And then the laughter surrounded us, insistent and churlish. I stopped trying to contain Darren, who shrugged me aside as if I was a leaf caught on his coat. Marcus tumbled quickly after. Craig stopped sobbing, as did Joel. Everyone scanned the surrounding trees for signs of life.

  There was no snapping of branches, no sounds of movement, but still the laughter came, growing in chorus, raising in volume. Marcus looked at me, and I at him. Darren clambered to his feet and began to back towards Craig, who, in turn, climbed gingerly to his feet, his injured arm hanging limply by his side.

  The fire flickered momentarily before extinguishing completely.

  Joel cried out my name. It hung in the air for an impossible length of time, before fading into silence, becoming one with the stillness of the night.

  With the help of a couple of torches, the four of us stumbled through the darkness as best we were able, hoping to find a trace of Joel. Even Craig, injured and in pain, joined the search, and though neither of us dared venture far, for fear of befalling a similar fate to Joel, of him we found no sign.

  When we recounted our story back in town, we were labelled as liars. Joel’s mother accused us of being in cahoots; saying that we’d somehow devised a plot to kill her boy, and then concocted a ‘cock and bull story’ to make sure that no one took the fall.

  I told her that Joel was better off away from her.

  She slapped my face.

  I feel the sting of her open palm whenever I think back to that day.

  I wasn’t allowed to play with Marcus after that. Darren and Craig were also split up. Last I heard, Craig moved away, and Darren was put into a Young Offenders Unit for assaulting a girl of ten.

  The provocation for the attack? She had laughed at him.

  There’s not a day goes by that I don’t think about Joel. I often wonder if we’d have made it out of Chellton together, and remained friends thereafter? I like to think that would have been the case. But whatever happened to him that night, boy or not, I know that I failed him.

  And I’m sorry, Joel.

  Dan lives in Staffordshire, where is married to his wife Jenni and is a (proud) full-time dad to his daughter Bethany, and his son Nathan.

  Although an award-winning film-maker and an accomplished playwright, Dan's passion for books is evident in his output.

  Completed novels The Underclass and The Tainted Isle are currently with his agent. Expect to see The Dead Stage, a book detailing Dan’s experiences as a novice playwright appear via Crystal Lake Publishing in 2018.

  Visit www.danweatherer.com for more information about Dan and his work.

  Say what you want about me, but before you pass judgement, know that my heart was in the right place, despite my methods being a little, how should I say this—unorthodox.

  My name is Christa, and I killed two people. Surprisingly, I still have a few friends, which is strange, considering what I used to do in my spare time. By day, I am, well, I was, a veterinarian. I saved the lives of animals, all day, every day. I had patients ranging from newborn puppies and kittens to a parrot that is almost seventy-five-years-old. Everything I did was for the animals and I put so much time, effort, and money into my career, that I never bothered starting a family. Besides, given my current situation, no man would ever want me.

  You see, I'm currently sitting in a Texas women's prison, serving out a life sentence for murder. Before you stop reading, let me explain.

  Two years into my career as a vet, I realized, more than ever before, that animal cruelty was on the rise. Texas, true to form, never seemed to strengthen its animal cruelty laws, and more often than not, offenders would get off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. With each case of unpunished animal abuse I heard on the news or read about on the internet, I became more disgusted and outraged.

  I remember it like it was yesterday. Halloween night, 2014. Sitting at home after a long and complicated surgery on a female English bulldog that was having a tough labor.

  She started haemorrhaging and her heart rate fell sharply, so I had no choice but to operate before it was time. All of her puppies died, except for one, but I saved her. After a long and gruelling day, I picked up some Chinese takeout and headed home to unwind.

  As was the norm for me, I dropped my keys off on the table next to the front door and switched on the television, setting my food on the coffee table. I kicked off my shoes and walked to the fridge to grab a cold beer. I sat in silence on the couch, eating and sipping my beer, numbly watching the weatherman drone on about how an approaching cold front brought with it a slight chance of snow the following week. The weatherman issued a warning to all residents of north-central Texas to bring in their plants and animals, as the temperature was expected to dip into the twenties with the cold front—a rare occurrence in Texas in late-October.

  When the weather concluded, I ignored the following commercials as I finished my dinner, still thinking about Bella, the English bulldog. The final news story of the evening was about keeping pets safe on Halloween.

  It's a little late for that, I thought, as it was already ten-thirty on Halloween night, but I listened to the story, just the same.

  “Veterinarians and the Dallas Humane Society recommend keeping all pets indoors this Halloween. Black cats are especially vulnerable tonight, so if you have a cat, or any pet, keep it safe by keeping it inside,” the perky news anchor finished.

  I shut off the TV and made my way into the bedroom, where I undressed and climbed into bed. I remember nothing else until the next morning.

  The next day, Friday, I awoke to my alarm buzzing at the usual five-thirty am. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and stumbled my way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Once I turned on the coffee maker, I went into the bathroom to take a shower.

  I dressed, made my way back to the kitchen, and poured myself the first of three cups of coffee. I switched on my tablet and headed over to Facebook, where I was immediately hit with a story of a black cat found dead a couple of miles from my home. Apparently, the cat died when a couple of teenagers filled its anus with firecrackers and lit them, essentially blowing up its insides. The teens were arrested and held at the Tarrant County Jail in Ft. Worth, awaiting arraignment.

  At that time, I could do nothing but shake my head at the complete lack of respect for life. Even if it was just a cat, so what? That cat could have been a child's favorite pet. Maybe it was the only pet an old woman could have in her retirement community. Even if it were a stray or feral cat, animals have feelings. They feel pain. They don't understand things the way you or I do.

  After looking at my newsfeed for a little while longer, I shut down my tablet, grabbed my keys, and headed out the door, on my way to the clinic. I had a feeling it was going to be a long day, and I was right.

  The minute I got to work, I was informed by one of the vet techs that my partner, Dr. Jerry Goldman, had been called out. He had a death in the family and I was to take on his workload, or reschedule his appointments. Not wanting to make any worried pet parents more stressed out by having to reschedule their pets' appointments, I saw the sick pets, and rescheduled those who only needed immunizations or check-ups.

  As the day wore on, one of my patients was Witchy, a sweet and adorable two-year-old black cat. Her parents loved her, but she truly belonged to the couple's four-year-old daughter, Layla. Layla was autistic and took the cat's illness harder than
the rest of the family.

  With a little digging, I found out that Witchy caught and ate part of a bird the day before. Witchy's problems began later that night and I ended up performing surgery on Witchy to remove a bone that had become lodged in her throat. When I took Witchy away, Layla sobbed and repeatedly called her name as she tried to follow me to the back of the clinic. I promised the little girl that Witchy would be okay and that she could visit as soon as her “friend” was out of surgery.

  As I operated on Layla's pet, I imagined the damage done to the cat killed the previous night by the ruthless teens. The fear in the cat's eyes, the thoughts racing through its head as it tried to get away. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

  Fucking little cowards have to prey on an innocent animal that can't fight back.

  I hope they spend years in jail for this shit.

  Yeah, right. Their parents will go into court and strike up a deal with the judge. They'll probably not even get community service.

  How would those little fuckheads like to have firecrackers shoved in their asses…

  That's when it hit me.

  If there is serious injury, you are to take life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise. Exodus 21:23-25

  Before that day, I was a firm believer that violence should not be used to solve any problem. I don't know what made that Friday any different, but I think I felt something in my mind snap. If the criminal justice system wouldn't do anything about animal abusers, I would.

  I finished the day at the clinic at around nine, and stopped by a convenience store to pick up a sandwich and some chips. I wasn't hungry, but I had planning to do and I needed to keep my strength up to figure out what needed to be done.

  I went home and threw my food on the kitchen table, grabbed my tablet, a piece of paper and a pen, and sat down next to the sandwich. With a little digging, and since arrest records are public record in Texas, it wasn't hard to find out the identities of the teens who had killed the cat. As I suspected would be the case, they were both out of jail, awaiting trial.

  The teens, brothers, lived just three blocks from me, so getting to them wasn't a problem. I just needed a way to get them away from their house. Lucky for me, there was a park right across the street from where they lived, and that would do nicely.

  I did some research on the internet to find a place that sold fireworks. Once that was done, I called my partner and told him I would be running a little late in the morning. I had to check out the park.

  Once I had a game plan in mind, the sandwich and chips laying on the table looked a whole lot more appealing. I devoured both in under ten minutes, washed it down with a couple of beers, and went to bed. As I lay there, waiting for sleep to come for me, I realized I hadn't felt this good in a long time. Justice was about to be served.

  The next morning was cold, sunny and windy. I put on my winter coat and gloves and walked the three blocks to the park. It was deserted, as I hoped it would be, and as long as the weather stayed cold, it would remain relatively deserted, save for a few brave dog walkers. I walked into the park, and ventured deeper, into the area surrounded by trees. I found two trees close enough together to serve my purpose. All I needed to work out was how to lure the kids away from their home.

  I realize the above text makes it seem like I enjoyed doing what I did, and part of me did. The other part wondered how I had become so callous and uncaring as to take two boys away from their parents. As I was about to give up the ridiculous notion of getting revenge for the animal that was killed, images flashed through my mind of how incredibly terrified the cat must have been, and my anger returned.

  I went to work and spent the whole day figuring out how to get the kids to the park. After the clinic closed, I made up an excuse about not feeling well and went home to gather my supplies. Once in the house, I went to the closet and pulled out some rope, a box cutter, an old bandanna, my gloves, a hammer, and a knife.

  Since I left the clinic early, I had plenty of time to head over to the fireworks stand and purchase a package of fifty firecrackers. With my “tools” gathered, it was time to go to the park and set up.

  I tied two long pieces of rope to each tree, a few inches off the ground, and set the rest of the supplies down a few feet away, behind another tree. I slowly made my way out of the park, trying to look as casual as possible, even though my heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest. My breathing increased and sweat formed on my forehead, but I think I managed to pull it off, as nobody looked at me in an odd or alarmed way.

  I rounded the corner that would take me out of the wooded area, into the open field, and I couldn't believe my luck. There, in the park, kicking a soccer ball around, were the two boys. I immediately recognized them from the news reports and, in that instant, came up with a game plan. I approached the teens with a smile on my face.

  “Hey, I know you guys. You're the ones on the news! The ones who killed that cat, right?”

  The boys stopped playing and looked at me with trepidation in their eyes. They were expecting me to berate them for what they had done, but I had other ideas. Just as I approached, a cell phone started ringing. One of the boys reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and walked away from me. I continued my charade with the remaining teen.

  “Dude! What you did to that fucking cat was awesome. I've hated those fuckers since I was a kid and one scratched the hell out of me. I wish I had the balls to do what you did!”

  The kid smiled, and I knew then that I had him.

  “Yeah, man. You should have heard him scream right before he died. It was fucking amazing. I've never heard an animal make those kinds of sounds before.”

  “What's your name, kid? I'm Marie.”

  “Brandon.”

  “Brandon, just between you and me, you inspired me to do something I've never done before. You should see what I've got tied up to a tree over there.”

  “Where?

  “Over there, in that group of trees. I wish I could show you, but if you wander off, you'll probably get in trouble, huh? I don't want to get you into trouble with your folks, but this is so awesome! Ah, well, I guess I'll finish the job myself. It's been nice talking to you, but I guess I should be going. It'll be dark soon.”

  At that moment, I felt like a creepy paedophile trying to pick up little kids, but I didn't care. It was obvious that Brandon really wanted to see what I had done.

  “Hey, I do what I want, so let's go. One thing though, if the cat is still alive, you have to let me help you.”

  I laughed. “Sure thing, man. It'll only take a few minutes, since I've done a number on it already. Dude, I ripped its fucking skin off.”

  Brandon looked shocked. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, come on! We don't have much time left before it dies, and I still have a couple of things planned.”

  I started walking, hearing Brandon's footsteps right behind me. I turned back to determine the whereabouts of his brother, and discovered he was nowhere to be seen.

  As we got closer to the trees I set up, I slowed down, giving Brandon the opportunity to get ahead of me.

  “Sorry, man. Keep going. I'm right behind you.”

  Brandon moved far enough ahead that he never saw me remove the hammer from the inside pocket of my coat. He never saw me raise it above my head and swing it to where it connected with the top of his skull. The next thing Brandon saw was black.

  I'm not proud of what happened next, but in the end, I achieved my goal. After knocking Brandon unconscious, I dragged him a few feet further into the woods where I had the rope tied to the trees. I took off his shoes and pulled his pants and underwear around his ankles. Then, I tied him to the tree, face down. One rope around each wrist, and one around each ankle, giving me perfect access to his asshole. I shoved my bandanna in his mouth to keep him quiet.

  I spread his ass cheeks and began inserting the firecrackers
I bought, one at a time, packing as many in there as I could, fuses pointed out. His ass leaked blood and stretched out as I crammed in more than forty firecrackers, and when I was finished, I sat down against a tree and waited for him to wake up. The sun set, and there was a biting cold wind that helped speed up the process.

  Brandon awoke with a start and immediately began struggling. It didn't take him long to realize that he wasn't going anywhere, so he stopped fighting and began to cry. For a moment, I felt sorry for him, and wondered if I should walk away and forget the whole thing. Then, he released a shriek that reminded me of what that poor cat must have sounded like at the end of its life.

  There was Brandon, six inches off the ground, half naked and crying. Suddenly, I felt nothing.

  “Did you ever think, for one fucking second, how that cat felt when you were torturing it? Do you understand that you might have taken the life of someone's pet? Does the phrase, 'an eye for an eye' mean anything to you?”

  Brandon began fighting again, and as he stopped to catch his breath, pissed himself. Since he was lying face down, a steady stream of urine splashed the dead grass beneath him. I can't explain why, but the sight made me laugh. Maybe now, he was feeling a little of the terror the cat felt right before this idiot killed it.

  “Not so funny, is it, asshole?”

  As I spoke, I heard another voice coming from the other side of the trees, calling Brandon's name. I had to act fast, or risk getting caught.

  “This is the end of the line, son. I'm sorry it has to end this way for you, but since you showed no remorse for your actions, I took it upon myself to invoke your punishment. See you in hell.”

  Brandon began struggling against the ropes as I lit one of the firecrackers with a disposable lighter, and since they were packed so tightly together, it didn't take long for them all to catch. Each one exploded, sending the teen into a frantic frenzy to try to escape the pain. By the time the last one went off, Brandon was unconscious.