“Steal that from your old man, Rabbit?” he said, pushing off from the tree and slowly walking towards me. “You know, I been watching you these last few months and I noticed something about you, kid. You’re gettin’ big.”
I jumped down from the cart, dropped the butt to the ground and stomped it out.
“What do you want?” I asked, slowly stepping away from the cart. He just stared at me, continuing to slowly advance towards me. “I think my dad is coming soon. To check on my work.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be coming along soon. Just as soon as I finish my morning poke around. You know, Harry, I’m a good cop. I need a very good poke around. To make sure everything’s all good.” He smiled, as if he’d just told himself a funny line. My heart was pounding, fully aware of this prick’s intention.
“I don’t want to,” I tried, but again his smile gave his intentions away.
“Put your hands on the back of that cart, you hear me?” He unlatched the buckle of his pistol and I did as he ordered, his eyes never leaving mine. “If I see them move, Rabbit.” He nodded, as if to clarify his point.
He finally came up behind me, grabbed a handful of my hair and ripped my face into his. “Oh, you are getting big, aint ya?” he said, his breath stinking of stale beer. He reached around the front, undid the button of my pants and let them drop around my ankles. I felt his hand wet my arse with his spit and prepared for the pain that always followed; that tearing scream of agony that he would always force into me.
But instead of pain, I only heard a loud thud beside me, a groan as his hands slid heavily from my shoulders. I looked beside me and saw Royce crumpling to the ground, an open cut above his right eye.
For a moment I was completely surprised, unsure of what had happened. I thought he must have lost his balance and fallen. Or maybe the cunt had finally had a heart attack and was in the final stages of life. The expression on his face was one I would have given my left testicle to see again. It was a mixture of shock, pain and arrogance, as if he was ready to kill who ever dared to strike him.
Something suddenly whistled past my ear and when I looked down at Royce, saw half of his bottom lip hanging down, fresh blood oozing from where it had once been attached. There were also holes where a couple of teeth had lived only seconds before. The sound of whatever had hit him was gratifyingly solid.
I turned to see my father standing almost beside me, a freshly-sawn piece of 4x2 in his hands. He wielded it like a bat and as I watched in horror, swung it a third time, the strain from his effort morphing his face into a grimace.
The piece of wood smashed on top of Royce’s head; a piece of scalp torn off. It was caught on one side of his weapon, dangling as Royce let out a low moan. My father turned to me as I stood frozen in place. For a moment I swear I saw something in his eyes, like contentment. He looked as if he’d righted a wrong.
“Here,” my father said, holding out the piece of wood to me. “Finish this cunt off then bury him.” He held the club out to me and when I didn’t grab it, thrust the end of it into my chest.
I took it and watched as he walked away. He never turned back and once he disappeared into the trees, turned my attention to the writhing bloody coward lying at my feet. He was looking up at me, one eye drenched in blood. But he saw me with the other eye and that was all I needed.
“Harry,” he began, holding one hand up. But that was as far as he got. I swung the piece of wood as hard as I could and brough it down onto his balls. He tried to shield them with one hand, but only managed to add a couple of broken fingers to the list.
I felt something then, something waking up inside me. I swung the bat again, aiming it for one arm that was held up in front of his face. The corner of the wood broke his forearm, the snap sounding like a dead branch. There was a warmth somewhere deep inside me, like a hot bath, only, it felt more than that.
I swung again, hard, aiming the piece at his face, his nose instantly crushed from the blow. Royce’s head went limp and dropped to the ground, his fingers grabbing handfuls of dirt on either side of him. I swung again, the loud thud echoing through the trees. His eyes were rolling in their sockets and I swung again, aiming for one. There was a crunch and when I pulled the bat back, saw that I had crushed the side of his eye socket, the ball now sticking out much further and staring off into the distance at some weird angle. I soaked up his moans, loving the sound of his pain and fear, then swung again. The eyeball burst, sending its gelatinous insides across his blood-stained cheek.
“This is for every,” BANG, “time,” BANG, “you hurt me, you son of a bitch,” BANG.
I could see brain oozing from one spot where his scalp had torn away. The bone had been crushed beneath it and I bent down, Royce continuing to slowly twist this way and that. He couldn’t see me now, both his eyes obliterated.
“What’s wrong rabbit?” I asked, kneeling beside him. I don’t know whether he was still alive, but there was still movement. I dipped my fingers into his brain and scooped a little out. I looked at it sitting on my finger, then tasted it. James, that taste. It
