Damien scowled. Screw that! Everyone had it hard and Harry had no right to make out like his problems were worse than everyone else’s.
He did lose his son though...
Damien shook his head and stood away from the now-cushionless bench he was sitting on. Nearby, Jess and Jerry sat with the dying polish kid. Damien had chosen to stay nearby just in case the kids needed help. He’d been impressed by the way Jess had glassed the old bird giving her grief and respected her for it.
Took balls.
Damien sat back down on the cold bench and carried on his brooding about Harry. The man didn’t deserve sympathy because Damien had it just as bad as he did. No one cared about his problems though. No one had ever given a damn when his dad was wasted and beat him black and blue. Trying to toughen you up, boy! Teach you to be a man. No one cared when Damien’s dad had made him deal drugs at ten years old. No one will suspect a kid, so get yourself on that corner and don’t come home till you’ve sold it all. And no one cared when Damien’s dad had tried to pin an assault charge on him.
The rage that flowed constantly through Damien’s veins began to hot up. When his dad had gone to prison last year, Damien had felt free for the first time in his life. But it didn’t last. He’d been ordered to take over operations and report to his father in prison daily. Keep the money safe for me, Dame, for when I get out. Make me proud, son.
Yeah, I’ll make you real proud, dad!
Damien thought back to when his dad had gone down, and what for. Kicking the shite out of that lad until he was a whimpering, bleeding mess. Kid was no older than I was.
Gazz Brown had been a tough kid. When he’d knocked Damien spark-out and taken his stash, Damien’s father was not happy. Not happy at all. So, in a drunken rage, his dad – along with a group of the ‘boys’ – had taken Damien to go find Gazz. And find him they did. The well-built lad was at the back of a local supermarket selling Damien’s supply to the warehouse workers. His father saw red – had gone red. Like a wild bull, he tore into the youth, cracking bones and shattering teeth, stamping and kicking long after the boy’s beaten body covered the ground, motionless. It was almost ten minutes before Damien’s father was dragged away, and by that time someone had called the Police.
Even now, Gazz was still in a coma, and Damien’s father had gone to prison for the crime. Who knew supermarkets had so many CCTV cameras? The worse thing about the whole situation was that his dad had ‘the boys’ circulate rumours that it had been Damien to put poor Gazz Brown into a coma. Damien’s father had even tried to convince him take the fall for it. It would increase his rep, he’d said. Despite the CCTV exonerating him, Damien had nonetheless become feared on the local estate as a vicious, animalistic thug. His father had finally become proud.
But tonight was supposed to be the night where Damien did something to make himself proud. He was going to disobey his father for the first time and do the right thing for once. But instead he found himself trapped inside a rotten pub with a bunch of losers.
Like Harry. A loser who only cares about his next drink.
Finally it clicked. The reason Damien hated Harry was because the man cared more about getting wasted than anything else. Just like Damien’s father had. Every time he looked at Harry, downing another pint, night in night out, he had thought about his father. He’d pegged Harry as just another, selfish – fuckface – father that would rather get pissed than look after his family.
But I got it all wrong, didn’t I? Tonight Damien had learned that Harry was a good man and a good father; a bloke that cared so much about his son that, when he’d died – however it’d happened – he’d just given up on life. Harry’s family had obviously been his entire world, and when they died part of him went with them. Damien finally understood the man’s drinking.
And he could forgive it.
“I should apologise,” Damien told himself, “but first I gotta take a piss.”
###
This is it! Nigel’s body teemed with excitement. Harry had gone downstairs, freaking out about something, and Lucas had followed him. The grumpy shrew, Kath, had disappeared somewhere to clean the gore off her ugly face and Damien was at the other end of the pub, along with Jerry and the young girl, Jess. If he played his cards right, she would be next.
But first he had Steph to deal with.
I’m finally going to have her.
Nigel had watched with delight as everyone gradually departed, then Steph had gone into the toilets alone. Now was his chance. He would follow her in, knock her out cold, have his way with her, and then slit her throat with his trusty pen knife (sharpened to perfection). By the time he dumped her body outside in the snow no one would be any the wiser. Nigel would plead ignorance of Steph’s whereabouts and, while everyone would worry, that would be it. What else could they do?
First thing in the morning, he’d hop in his lorry and get the hell out of there, spend a few months in France maybe; ensure that he never returned to the area. Easiest thing in the world. Raping and killing women had become as second nature to Nigel as taking a leak; just another bodily function.
Silently, Nigel pushed open the door to the men’s toilets where he’d seen Steph enter. The door creaked ever so slightly, but the sounds coming from inside, of Steph gathering up supplies, drowned out the noise. He slipped inside.
The toilets smelt of stale piss and the room was lit only by a single candle Steph had placed on the middle of three sinks. She was at the far end of the small space now, gathering up bundles of handtowels from a storage cupboard. Her back was to Nigel.
Perfect! She won’t even see it coming.
With cat-like grace that belied his lumbering appearance, Nigel struck. He punched Steph from behind, hooking his fist round into the side of her jaw and knocking her cold; the thick Dolphin ring on his pinkie figure helped with his purpose. Steph’s limp body flopped limply to the side, falling into one of the cubicles. Her head hit the toilet bowl inside with a resounding thump!
“Good, girl,” Nigel grinned, “helping Daddy like that. You’ve found us a room and got yourself ready.”
He bent over and groped with his hands. He couldn’t see Steph’s body very well in the dark but that only made it all the more exciting. He’d dreamed of having her for so long that each touch of her flesh was enough to send small beads of ejaculate spurting from his swollen cock. He hadn’t even noticed when he’d gotten hard. It was a natural occurrence to Nigel, like breathing.
He rolled Steph onto her back and slid his eager, trembling fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans. Despite the perishing cold in the toilets, the flesh of Steph’s belly and upper groin was surprisingly warm, almost hot. Nigel’s swollen penis throbbed furiously, demanding satisfaction.
“Not long now, buddy. Just a little longer while I get this whore naked.”
A soft murmur from Steph caused Nigel to halt. Maybe she needed another whack? He considered it, but then decided that he’d prefer her conscious; her quiet murmuring would only turn him on more. “That’s it, you little slut, cry for Daddy. You love it, don’t you?”
He fumbled excitedly at the buttons on her crotch and had to fight against his frustrations when they refused to pop. Taking a deep breath, Nigel steadied his hands and tried again. The buttons came loose one at a time.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
“That’s it, darling, let’s get you out of these clothes.”
Just as Nigel was about to start tugging down Steph’s unbuttoned jeans, he was alerted by a presence behind him. He turned around.
Before he lost consciousness, due to the heavy blows that suddenly rained down upon him, Nigel heard someone ask the question: “What the hell is going on!”
What the hell indeed, thought Nigel as he unwillingly went to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-THREE
Harry had already been on his way to the toilet when he heard the ruckus. After seeing the apparitions in the dance hall, he had hurried
downstairs into the cellar to regroup. The vision of Thomas Morris had reached out and struck Harry, but he was almost certain that was the extent of the threat. If it could have done any real harm then it would have done so, he was sure of it. Harry had no clue what was going on, but for now he decided to think on it. There was no need to panic the others with what had happened just yet. They would only think him mad anyway. For now it seemed like something else was happening anyway, a scuffle from inside the men’s toilets.
It had turned out that what Old Graham wanted to speak with Harry about was a rather embarrassing matter. The old man had needed to piss bad, but couldn’t get up with his leg the way it was. Harry had understood the predicament, but at first didn’t know what to suggest. Then he’d spotted the half empty bottle of Famous Grouse that Lucas had brought down. He gave the bottle to Old Graham who immediately necked most of the contents. “For the pain,” he had said. Then Harry had given him the old man a few moments alone.
Now Harry was on his way to the urinals with a candle in one hand, and a whiskey bottle full of geriatric piss in the other, ready to empty the contents down one of the drains. He hadn’t expected to run into trouble again so soon after his last encounter, but something was definitely happing inside the toilets.
The room was partially lit by candlelight when Harry entered, but it was still too dark to see clearly what was happening at the far end by the window. There was a scuffle going on, and a soft wet thudding that he immediately recognised.
Someone’s getting a beating.
Candle in hand, along with the whiskey bottle full of urine, Harry ran forwards, lighting the room in a narrow sphere as he moved. At the end of the space, he found…Damien…and then he found…Nigel. Damien was beating the other man as though he were tenderising a piece of beef, hands covered by blood and ruptured skin. His knuckles made soft whapping sounds as they bounced off Nigel’s swollen face. What upset Harry the most was the sight of Steph also lying on the floor unconscious…with her jeans undone.
Finally, Damien looked up and noticed Harry – but it was too late for the lad to give any explanation. Snarling, Harry smashed the whiskey bottle of piss over the young thug’s head, so hard that he wondered if he’d killed him.
Part of Harry hoped so.
###
In front of the fireplace, Jess watched over Peter with Jerry. She watched her sleeping friend turn paler and paler, and could not tell whether it was due to the cold or loss of blood. Most of Peter’s wounds were bandaged, but they still wept constantly and had even begun to emit a sickly smell.
“You think he’s going to wake up?” Jerry asked, tugging Jess away from her thoughts. His usual child-like exuberance was absent from his voice now and it had been for a while.
Ever since he watched his best friend turn to blood and dust.
Jess shrugged. “He woke up once before, so who knows. How are you doing?”
“Me? I’m cushdy? It’s this one we need to look after.” He pointed at Peter. “He looks bad.”
Jess shrugged again. “I think he might have it easiest of all, being asleep. Right now, I want to know how you are. You know...about what happened to Ben.”
Jerry’s face crumbled like a moist sandcastle and, for a short moment, Jess thought he was going to cry. He didn’t. “It’s stupid,” he said, “but I miss him already.”
“That’s not stupid at all.”
“Feels like it. I just keep wishing it was me. I wish I were the one who’s dead and he were still alive.”
“Now that is stupid,” said Jess, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to be dead, would he?”
Jerry shrugged. “Wouldn’t surprise me. All I ever did was annoy him.”
“Then why did he always keep you around?”
Jerry looked away from her then and stared into the fire. “Fate I guess.”
Jess wasn’t sure she understood. ”What do you mean, fate?”
Jerry rubbed at his eyes and somehow succeeded in making them look even more tired. “Ever seen the play, Blood Brothers?”
Jess shook her head.
Well,” Jerry explained. “It’s a film about these two brothers that get separated at birth. A mother has twins and can’t afford to keep them both, so she gives one away to a rich family that she works for.”
“Okay,” said Jess, still not following, but willing to listen.
“Somehow, the baby boy she gave away ends up making friends with the son that she kept – his twin. They have completely different upbringings, one rich, one poor, but somehow they become best friends. Despite everything, they’re really very much alike.” Jerry stared at Jess and this time she was certain he would cry, but still he did not. He smiled instead. “That’s like me and Ben. You get what I’m saying?”
Jess didn’t. But then she thought about it a little harder and ventured a surprised guess: “You and Ben were brothers?” Jerry didn’t answer her but Jess knew it was a hit and not a miss. It still didn’t quite make sense though. “Did Ben know?”
Jerry finally allowed a tear to escape his eye. He blinked it away and it crept down his cheek. “We…we had the same dad, but I never told him that. My mom only told me when I was ten. By then I’d already been friends with Ben for three years.”
Jess was shocked. She thought this type of scenario was meant for cheesy films and dodgy talk shows, not real life. “Why did you never tell him?”
Jerry wiped the tear from his face, but did nothing about the new ones that ran down to replace it. “Ashamed, I guess. My mom told me it was just a one-night stand and that it was whilst Ben’s dad was together with his mom.”
Jess understood and nodded. “You kept it to yourself because you didn’t want to hurt Ben or break up his family?”
Jerry avoided looking directly at her and chose instead to carry on gazing into the fire as he spoke. “He idolised his dad; respected him as this great businessman. God knows why, the guy was a small-time jerk with more skeletons in the closet than Norman Bates. If I told Ben what his father – what our father – was really like, it would have broken him. I didn’t want to mess his life up like that – like mine. He was my brother.”
Jess was emotionally winded by the story and had to remind herself to breath. What a beautiful sacrifice for someone to make, she thought, before hugging Jerry tightly.
He yelled out in shock. “Hey, what’s that for?”
Jess kissed his cheek. “For being such a kind human being. I don’t think you realise quite how rare that is. Ben was lucky to have you as a friend, Jerry, and even more so as a brother.” Jess realised that her comments had summoned fresh tears and even a little whimper from Jerry. She patted him on the back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you.”
Jerry wiped his eyes. “It’s okay. Think I needed that. Clears my head for what really matters.”
Jess frowned. “And what’s that?”
“What do you think?” Jerry spoke as if she were stupid. “You saw what happened to Ben. There’s something messed-up out there and it’s not going to stop till it gets us all. I’m sure if Peter could wake up and speak, he’d tell us to get the hell out of this FUBAR situation.”
“He already did,” Jess blurted out. “He said I needed to get away.”
Jerry was silent for a moment, then took a deep breath and said, “I think that’s good advice. No one believed us about what we saw, and I guess we kind of just let it go because we were embarrassed, but we both know we’re not crazy. There’s something out there that isn’t human.”
Jess considered for a moment that maybe she was crazy, but she knew Jerry was right. Both of them knew what they had seen earlier.
They had to get away.
Chapter Twenty-FOUR
“Make sure it’s tight”
“I am!” Harry tugged the curtain ties around Damien’s wrists and felt them dig into the boy’s flesh. “Any tighter and I’ll cut his arms off.”
“Good,” said Nigel. “Exactly wha
t the dirty little rapist deserves.”
When Harry had swung the whiskey bottle at Damien’s head it had instantly shattered, sending streams of Old Graham’s salty piss all over the both of them. Harry could still smell the vinegary pong on his clothes right now. Once Nigel had regained consciousness, the two of them dragged Damien’s limp body into the bar area and heaved him onto a chair. They were now currently in the process of restraining him to it as tightly as possible. The last thing they needed was Damien waking back up and endangering anybody else. They had enough on their plate as it was, and Harry still hadn’t forgotten about the incident in the dance hall. Chaos, it seemed, had started coming at him from all directions.
Harry had placed Steph downstairs on a pile of blankets and covered her up with a duvet. She had stirred briefly when he’d first lifted her from the toilet floor, but she was yet to regain full-consciousness. Lucas had promised to look after her until Harry came back.
It was unbelievable that Damien had tried to rape Steph. Harry had made a massive mistake in thinking that the lad was not capable of such evil? At least he didn’t get away with it, Harry thought, shaking his head as he thought about what could have gone down if Nigel hadn’t walked in and disturbed Damien.
“Nigel, I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t walked in when you did. Steph is so lucky you were there.”
Nigel’s chest puffed up proudly. With the beating his face had taken, Harry thought he looked like a dishevelled bear hit with a shovel. “I’m just sorry the little perv got the drop on me before I could take him down first. My head’s still bloody banging.”
Harry gave the curtain ropes one last tug and was at last satisfied that Damien was restrained adequately. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “Vicious bastard really did a number on you. Soon as the phones are working, we’ll call the police and get him squared away.”
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