He struck Hillock with a hard right. The already broken nose crumpled further, blood shooting out like a burst blood pack. Hillock rocked back, his eyes rolling, and Sam felt himself lose control.
He hit him again.
And again.
And again.
After the fifth blow, Hillock was barely conscious. His face had been brutalised, with his eye socket and cheek bone both fractured. Both eyes were quickly swelling like a champion boxer and his nose was shattered beyond repair. A faint wheezing noise emanated, the air waves damaged by the brutal beating. As he slipped nearer to unconsciousness, he feebly tried to speak.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You killed him,’ Sam said quietly, reaching for the serrated blade in his left hand and bringing it towards Hillock’s throat. ‘You killed my boy. You killed my boy.’
Sam repeated himself, tears flooding down his cheeks, and he grabbed Hillock by the hair, lifting his head and tilting it back, exposing his throat. The knife shook in his hand.
This man had taken away his son. Snatched him from the world due to his own selfishness.
Sam could end it right then and there.
Just as he gripped the knife, readying it to tear into Hillock’s throat, the image of his son came back to him. Jamie was smiling, looking up at Sam with all the hero-worshipping adulation a son has for his father. They were playing in the local park and Sam was recovering from the bullet wounds that would end his career in the army.
Jamie asked him one thing.
‘Daddy. Will you promise not to kill anymore?’
Sam burst into tears, falling back off of Hillock and leaning against the grimy cupboard. For what felt like an eternity, Sam sat in the dark, damp dwelling and wept, less than three feet away from the man who had caused him his pain.
The man who had killed his son.
Sam couldn’t kill him. He had wanted to, more than anything, but it wouldn’t have made him feel any better. His own pain wouldn’t be numbed by ending this man’s life. He’d spend the rest of his life in prison, another crime statistic, and no closer to anything resembling peace.
There was something else out there for him. Other people who, like him, had been let down not just by life, but by the people dedicated to protecting it. His son had died in a horrible accident, but the man responsible had broken the law. He had served a pathetic sentence and now Sam had delivered another kind of justice.
Hillock was a drunk driver. Sam wondered how many rapists or murderers still felt the sweet release of liberty while the lives they had shattered still remain unrepaired.
Sam knew what he had to do.
He had to fight back.
It wouldn’t bring back Jamie. It wouldn’t bring back Lucy or the life he had fought to protect. That was behind him and as he pulled himself to his feet, he realised just how close he had been to a different path. One that would have ended in a small, brick cell and a lifetime of incarceration.
A new path had become clear, and Sam shuffled towards the door, a new sense of purpose developing its own heart beat within in. A sudden wave of exhaustion hit him as if the closure he had experienced tonight had lifted the lid on every need in his body. His stomach growled. His throat was dry. He yawned.
The new purpose blossoming within in had triggered his body to survive, the basic needs he had neglected popped up like weeds and he was eager to return home for a good night’s sleep before he contemplated his next move. The idea of shaving had never felt so good.
As he crushed another empty beer can on his way to the stairs, he heard the jostling of Hillock in the kitchen and turned back to the beaten man in the kitchen. The man’s face was a living Picasso, the horrific injuries would require extensive surgery to repair.
Sam tried, but felt no guilt.
The man had killed his son.
Just as Sam went to descend the stair case, Hillock coughed, his throat gurgling blood.
‘Kill me.’ Hillock wept. ‘Please.’
Sam stopped. The offer was tempting but it wasn’t why he was there. The man was clearly suicidal, trying to drink himself to death. The demons of murdering a child, the horrific memories of a being raped in prison. The following morning, Hillock would be found, his wrists slashed vertically with a torn beer can. Sam said nothing, heading down the stairs and out into the night sky.
For the first time in a long time, the feeling of fresh air hitting his lungs was euphoric. He strode back to his car, massaging his broken knuckles. He got in, turned the ignition, and pulled out onto the High Street, heading to the next stage of his life.
Sat at Aaron’s dining table, Sam shrugged and took the final sip of his cold coffee. Aaron sat next to him, a look of astonishment on his face.
‘I’ve never told anyone that story,’ Sam said, a look of shame on his face.
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ Sam shrugged. ‘I guess I never felt it was a memory anyone else needed but me.’
‘No, I mean why didn’t you kill him?’ Aaron asked, the bags around his eyes getting heavier by the second.
‘Because he was already dead. His life was going in one direction and whatever I did to him wasn’t going to change it.
