As the flames licked his ankles and slowly crawled up his legs, he thought back; his life didn't flash before his eyes, just the last few hours...
Peter was a quiet man, he mostly kept to himself. His neighbours would say. He was always pleasant, always cheerful to his fellow man. They never knew, they would say, never knew he could do that, they would never have thought.
Not Peter.
Not Peter Grimble. Aged 37. Single. Did something in an office; somewhere. Didn't drive. No pets. Not sure about his family.
When they started to think about it, the neighbours didn't know very much about Peter Grimble at all. Was it Peter Grimble? It was definitely Peter Gri-something...
He was sat at home, a fresh cup of mint tea beside him, the latest Tom Clancy in his hands and a lit Marlborough smoking, cradled in the ashtray perched on the armchair's right limb. The suspense on the pages was thrilling. If he hadn't been sitting back so comfortably in his chair, he would be on the edge of it. The pages turned faster as the scene climaxed. Would he die?
Bang! Bang, bang, bang! Bang!
He'd jumped at the knocking, spilling the ashtray to the floor. It was strange he had a visitor. It was stranger still that they had knocked at his back door.
Knocked? Thumped.
Hammered. Firmly.
Even more strange was that he hadn't seen anyone walk by the window, the only way into his back yard. True, Mr. Clancy had kept him riveted, but surely he would have seen some movement of a passing person.
Halfway to the back door, he suddenly rushed back into the lounge room.
The smoking Marlborough had now created a smouldering hole in the carpet.
Cursing he dropped to his knees and pounded the scarred area.
Bang! Bang!
The ashtray, ash and cigarette remnants are removed from the area.
Bang! rattle-rattle-rattle Bang!
He glanced up from trying to pull good carpet strands over bad. He hadn't wanted to see anyone before, and he sure as hell didn't want to now. His full attention went to the delicate carpet surgery.
bang. rattle-rattle-rattle-tick-ratt...
He was almost done. The hole barely visible to the unknowing eye. Maybe he could even move his chair, the room had become a little stale, a change is as good as a holiday and all that.
He'd become aware of the silence that filled the house.
Something wasn't right.
A step toward the kitchen, craning forward with his ears. Another step; still silence.
Then, movement. Behind him!
He spins around to face his attacker.
The Police reports would contain various claims. Some people saw a man enter the backyard. Some said he was wearing a black beanie. Others a red baseball cap. He was big, he was small; black, white; blond and brunette; wearing a black leather jacket, or a white singlet; shorts, pants, jeans; one even said a tutu. One thing was 70% certain. A man entered into the rear of the property.
Of the many questions that faced the officers of the Peter Grimble case, one stood out from the rest - who had called the ambulance to that address, from that address?
He opened his eyes; it took some effort to achieve this. He quickly closed them again. A bright light was shining in his face and his eyes felt like he'd slept a week with his contacts in. He gingerly squinted through one eye. He couldn't see much, but it looked like his basement. He was sure they were his paint shelves over there in the corner. He had to close his eye, even the eyelash-filtered light was making it sore. He sat back in the chair. It was only then that he realised his hands were bound behind his back. He pulled against the restraints, but the ropes held his wrists fast. It was when he tried to kick back with his legs that he realised his ankles were also secured, to their respective chair legs.
Jason looked at him, bound to the chair, weak. His balding head dipped in submission. This plain, average looking Joe. How could he be the one? How could this weak, pathetic man have done so much damage to, well, at least one person. Jason could feel anger boiling in his belly. That was good, he needed that now. He couldn't not go through with this. It meant so much to him, and he hoped it would mean as much to her. The anger was momentarily forgotten as she flickered though his mind.
He looked at his watch, 13:48. Not long to go.
He could hear someone. Someone was there on the other side of the light. With his head bowed away from the light and his eyes closed, he could just make out a scuffle here, a sniff there and every now and then, quiet muttering. He inspected the floor beneath him. It was definitely his basement. There was the chip in the concrete from when he'd dropped the sledgehammer. He knew exactly where he was in his own basement. Unfortunately, he knew there was nothing useful within reach. Even if he could reach.
Joe.
Joe. Jason didn't like to use his real name. It personified him too much. He knew the man was a monster, and monsters aren't named Peter.
Joe. Jason knew this man. He'd been looking for him for a long time. That hadn't been easy at all. With hardly any information to go on, besides a location and a date/time, Jason had worked for many months, backtracking and sorting out the loose ends from the dead ones. And eventually he had him. P. Grimble, senior sales manager for a global conglomerate; just another number in their system. P. Grimble, never married with no immediate family. P. Grimble, solo resident of 102 Daytura Avenue. Peter Grimble.
Joe.
He was thinking back, trying to work out who had, and why he was, tied to a chair in his basement. He didn't have much money. He wasn't important. To be honest, he was a nobody to the outside world.
His eyes weren't so sensitive now. He looked up, squinting into the light, searching for his captor.
There! Was that shadow him? It wasn't moving, maybe it wasn't.
Jason stared at the man, stark in the brilliant shaft of light. He stared at the slits of the man's eyes, his gaze boring into his skull; offering up the zealous anger that was deep in his soul.
It was him. He could feel the stare. The shadow was his gaoler. He could feel the energy, the intensity. And so, he returned the stare. Even though the light blinded him to the point of streaming tears, he continued to hold fast and stare at the shadowy figure in the darkness beyond his vision.
Jason couldn't believe what he was seeing! The goddamned cheek of this guy. To defy him!? To look at him with that look?
The anger rose like bile; that sweet-metal taste at the back of your nose.
'Defy?'
Jason didn't know he uttered the words as he stepped into the light and struck the guy across his face with a closed fist.
The dull sting in his hand fuelled his anger. He struck again. And again. The man rocked sideways with each blow, his grunts and cries becoming moist with blood.
An accidentally well placed right jab to the nose and Joe's head snapped back, taking body and chair with it.
It was only then that the red haze faded. Jason looked down at his bloody hands. The sting in his knuckles told him some of the blood was his.
AIDS, HIV and HepABCDEFG snapped into the forefront of his consciousness, but he pushed the panic down and away.
He leaned over the unconscious body, staring at the bloody pulped up face.
A grin played on his lips, he kind of wanted to fall on top and continue pulverising the guys melon. But he should wait.
Tap-tap-tap, tap.
Jason cocked his head, what was that?
Tap-t...
Ding! Dong!
Jason looked at his watch, 15:31. Right on time.
The Police investigation, whilst revealing very little in the end, did uncover one piece of information. And while it was never useful in the case, several officers were interested to note that on weekdays, Tuesday in particular, between 1500 and 1700 hours, the residents of quiet suburban streets seem to be doing everything. Picking up the kids, picking up the groceries; coming home from work, going to work, working at home; cooking, running to get or eating dinner; making love to the wife or shagging the neighbour's. They did everything.
Except look out their windows, or, specifically, at one-zero-two Daytura Avenue.
Jason wiped as much of the blood from his hands with a rag he dowsed in some spirits. His raw knuckles burned.
He threw the rag at the bloody, pummelled face before racing upstairs.
He cracked the door ajar.
'Kate?'
'Uh, yeah. Jason?'
He opened the door, ushered her inside and quickly closed it behind her. All the time she was gibbering about the house and who's it was. He lead her to the lounge room, sat her down and disappeared to the kitchen.
Kate looked around the room as she removed her jacket. A few photos sat out on tables and shelves, but they were of small groups, no couple or solo photo's. The décor was, ermm – tacky was the best word Kate could come up with. It was like you'd see in a catalogue, but from a cheap second hand, even charity, shop. She didn't like it here, she felt uneasy and uncomfortable. Who's house was this anyway?
Jason came back in carrying two glasses of water.
'Babe! Is that blood?'
Jason followed the direction of her pointed finger and looked at his chest. His white singlet was spattered with maroon droplets. He looked back at Kate.
'And, what's happened to your hands?' she asked shrilly.
Jason walked over, placed the two glasses on the nearby coffee table and sat beside her on the couch. He rested his hand on her knee, he could feel her tense muscles beneath her jeans. He looked her in the eye.
'Babe. You know that thing?'
He didn't know why he'd paused. He'd rehearsed this thousands of times, but now he just didn't know what to say. Poor Kate looked so scared and confused.
'That thing,' he hurriedly continued, 'that you told me about.' He was doing a sure-as-hell shit job at this.
Poor Kate just sat there shaking her head a little.
'I'm going to start again.' Jason took in a deep breath and grasped Kate's hand.
'You are so beautiful,' his voice was soft with sincerity, 'so damn beautiful. But you just don't know it. Won't allow yourself to know it. You think you have this big scar across you. But no one sees that, all we see is the beautiful angel that you are. But you can't see this babe. And you should, because you are a beautiful light in so many peoples lives.'
She was looking at him, the fear replaced with guilt, the confusion with betrayal. He grasped both her hands in his, holding tight; hers didn't respond.
'This thing, you've only told a few people about. Your parents, your brother, your friends, none of them know. When you told me, or more likely when I made you tell me, it hurt. It hurt me that you blamed yourself. I couldn't understand how could you blame yourself. How could you blame yourself for taking away the one thing a child holds so dear and close – yet is something that no child knows exists. How could you take away your own innocence?'
'Stop,' Kate croaked, 'please.'
Jason didn't realise he had been staring at their entwined hands until he raised his eyes and saw the tears tracing lines down her gorgeous face.
He pulled her close and they embraced, holding each other tightly, fiercely.
'Please let me finish,' he said softly into her hair.
He felt her head shake no.
'Please, babe. It's important.'
The negative shake was barely there this time. Kate buried her head into his shoulder.
'I've said to you before, that sharing baggage, whether physical or emotional is always better, a load shared is a load halved. But then I was thinking. Sometimes it's better to take all the baggage out and repack it. I don't know, kind of deal with it I guess.'
Jason peeled himself away from Kate and held her in front of him.
'What would you say to him if you saw him?'
'I,' Kate whispered, 'I don't kno-'
Her eyes flicked up, fully aware and already full of accusation.
'You haven...you...is this...no...we aren't?'
Suddenly, as it dawned on her, Kate leapt off the sofa, a look of pure horror on her face.
'This!? This isn't!? His chair? His!?' her voice was shrill. She kept wringing her hands together then wiping them on her stomach; wringing, wiping, wringing, wiping.
Jason didn't say anything. And in that Kate had all the answers she needed. She bee-lined for the front door, leaving her coat draped over the sofa. She had the door ajar before Jason got to it and pushed it closed.
'Let me out,' matter-of-factly.
'Babe, just-'
'I'm leaving Jason,' this was delivered through teeth.
'Just hear me-'
'Let me out of this house,' she screamed, 'now! Let me out, let me out,' she started to hit him. 'Lemme out, lemme out, lemmeout,' her words stumbled into sobs and she broke down, her aggressive strikes becoming angry strokes.
Jason put his arms around her and led her back to the sofa.
He could hear the yelling, but he couldn't make out what it was all about. He was surprised he could hear anything over the constant ringing in his ears. One of his eyes was stuck closed. Dried blood crackled and flaked away when he moved any facial muscles. He could still feel warm blood flowing down his left cheek. His nose was definitely broken. Probably his cheek bone and possibly his eye socket too. If he hadn't fractured his skull in the fall it would be a blessing. He tried struggling against his bonds again. They were still tightly knotted.
Knotted.
His hands quickly found and began working at the knot.
'You understand now, yeah?' Jason said as they hugged again.
Kate nodded against his shoulder.
'I love you,' he kissed her head.
'I love you,' she whispered.
The knot was starting to loosen ever so slightly. His fingers were bent at awkward angles playing with the rope and many times a sharp, cramping pain would shoot up his otherwise numb arms.
But slowly and surely the knot was starting to unravel and the ropes around him relax.
With the small amount of movement he had gained, he tried again to get onto his side to give his fingers more room to work.
The chair and his attached body tipped a little to the right as he braced his hands behind him. He put as much of his weight as possible over to the left.
With a deep, guttural grunt, he pushed with his bound hands and threw his weight over to the right.
The chair lifted up and just reached it's tipping point; he willed his body weight to shift just a little more; just a little more...
The chair fell back, crushing his fingers beneath the wood and his body weight. He shrieked.
His body went into auto-pilot and tried to pull his hands in front of him. His body writhed as it attempted to do this – mashing his fingers beneath its moving weight. The more he screamed, the more he moved, the more it hurt.
His cries of pain faded with his consciousness.
When Detectives looked into the life of Peter Grimble, they found it completely unremarkable. His bosses and co-workers thought 'he was a nice guy'. He was punctual, very rarely took sick days and always did what was needed of him. As a supervisor, he was respected by his subordinates, though not very well liked, some describing him as 'a bit weird'. His acquaintances said there was nothing out of the ordinary in Peter Grimble. He was just normal old Peter. Unremarkable.
Completely unremarkable.
The dousing of cold water shocked Peter back to reality. The intensity of the shock caused his brain to lag behind.
Where was he?
Was he sat in a chair?
Why couldn't he move?
Argh! Good lord, the pain! His fingers felt like they'd been crushed.
It hit him like the second bucket of water to his face; rushing back on a tide of agony.
He spat and sputtered bloody water from his mouth, staring with intense anger into the gloom beyond the light. Was he seeing double, or could he see two figures standing there?
They stand together, joined by the hand; and by their love.
Kate was gripping his hand so hard, Jason could feel her racing heartbeat in his palm.
They had spoken about so much upstairs, so many feelings, so much emotion. Exposure to the stark realities of life. And death.
They stand together.
Jason had been momentarily taken aback when, in the middle of a soliloquy, she just suddenly changed tack and asked to see the man.
Coming down and being faced with a bound and unconscious man, on his back, his face bloody and beaten, wasn't a good introduction for Kate. She had buried her face in her hands and turned away.
Jason had righted the chair's occupant, then fetched the water.
They stand together.
Kate is looking at this man's eyes. Trying to see into his soul. To see if he has a soul. Most of her doesn't believe that she is face to face with the unknown man who is such a big part of her life. The man who took her innocence. Her childhood. Who would she be without him? Would she be anything like she is today? Would she even recognise herself?
Who was this man? She took a step closer to the light. Her brain chose to ignore the bloody and swollen wounds, instead analysing the man's overall make-up, taking in his face structure, his eyes, his hair, his body shape.
He was so unremarkable. So average. A regular average Joe.
Was it really him?
Was this really the man who, 17 years ago, had pulled a little girl, barely 13, from her bike, dragged her into the bushes and raped her at knife point?
She stared, and stared. And stared. Looking for that one little glimmer, that one little bell to ring, the right chemical to hit that right sense.
And, bang!, there it was. As his eyes glanced around the room, she saw it. That look. She didn't remember it. She remembered nothing of the man. But that look, it triggered something and she knew, with every gram of her being, that this was the man. Her monster.
Jason had been watching Kate deal with the situation. And when he saw the recognition in her eyes, a tiny part of him sighed relief; he had the right guy. No matter how meticulous the planning, no matter the fact that you've check-checked and double check-checked, there is still that tiny bit of doubt.
Kate took another step toward the prick. Her head was cocked slightly to the side. Jason couldn't see her face any more.
He was the most shocked of everyone when she let out a war-cry and began whaling on the guy. Her hands became fists and they flew through the air straight and true, each one finding it's mark, opening congealing wounds and cutting new ones.
All he wanted was to be able to put his hands up to protect his face. But all he could do was bury his face into his neck and try to take the blows with his skull. She could pack a punch this girl. Who were these people?
Jason could see the energy had gone out of her strikes. He moved to her and took her in his hands; she fell into him, exhausted and weeping. He took her out of the light and over to an old moth-eaten chair in the corner. She curled up on it like a cat and stared off into space.
'Are you okay babe?'
Kate looked up at him with sharp eyes and nodded a defiant yes.
Jason bent down and kissed her lightly on her forehead, she looked up at him, biting her lip, a pained smile.
He'd taken two beatings and injured himself just as much, he was past caring now. All he wanted was the ropes off so he could beat the life out of the little shits. And to find out what the fuck this was all about.
The guys voice made Jason jump, just a little.
'What?' he snapped back at him.
The guy cleared his throat and spat through swollen lips. 'I said, what's this all about? Money?'
Jason laughed loudly. 'Money? You think this is about money? The only thing of value here is that angel over there,' Jason swung the pointed finger from Kate and jabbed it at the piece of shit in front of him. 'This is all about you. You and your nasty fucked up life.' He pressed his finger into the guys forehead, then slowly traced it down the centre of his face, flicking it off his chin. He grabbed the light and moved it further back, expanding the circle of radiance.
With the light not burning his retinas, he could see a bit more of the room. The girl was curled up on his old armchair. The boy was leant over her; whispers drifted over on the stale air. He thought he had an idea why this was happening. And he took a small joy in knowing what he'd done on that armchair over the years. Oh, if only that bitch over there knew. He took a small joy in that.
The autopsy report would state that evidence of trauma would suggest some form of torture before lack of blood caused death. It would also be inconclusive whether the victim was burned alive.
'So,' Jason said as he walked back over, 'you want to know what this is all about. Well, I thought we could play a little question and answer game. How's that sound?'
Jason stood before the man, his hands behind his back, feet shoulder width apart – like a soldier standing at ease.
'See, I'm just going to ask you questions, to which I know the answers, and you're going to tell the truth; easy, huh?'
He stood and stared intensely at the man.
'I said, easy, huh? First question, asshole!' Jason's hand appeared from behind his back, gripping the straight end of the crowbar. It rose and fell with speed, making a hollow-squelchy-crack as it landed across the knee.
The blood-chilling scream bounced of the walls, filling the room with the wretched sound.
Jason tut-tutted to himself, 'This won't do,' and disappeared; only to return seconds later with a roll of tape. He ripped a piece off and stuck it over a protesting mouth.
'I guess I'll have to stick to yes and no questions now,' Jason prodded the man's chest with the bar and grinned at him. 'So, next question. Are you Peter Grimble?'
A reluctant nod.
'Good, good.' Jason walked around, then behind the chair. 'Are you a paedophile?'
The man mumbled urgently into his gag.
'I do believe that is the,' Jason swung the crowbar at the man's mangled fingers, 'wrong answer!'
The man's muffled cries turned into snotty, snuffled sobs as his head fell forward.
'We'll come back to question number 3. Next. Do you know this beautiful lady in the corner?' Jason came back to the front and waved in Kate's direction.
Kate didn't know what to make of the scene before her. That wasn't the Jason she knew, her Jason. This Jason scared her. The violence he was showing toward this man. It should have filled her with utter fear. Instead, she was almost enjoying seeing this pain inflicted upon this one soul who had made her teenage years hell. This man who had made her prematurely come of age. This man who had taken the one gift that was solely hers, and hers alone. This monster had ripped that from her in one foul act. Had turned her childhood upside down. Deformed love. Abolished confidence. She had bottled this up for so so long. A secret only she could bear. A burden that she felt she deserved to carry. A cannon of emotions, with 17 years of tamping, ready to explode out in a rage of screams and fists. She'd felt the release and it scared her. Like Jason was scaring her now.
'I asked if you knew her,' the bar was poised above his head.
The man urgently shook his head. Poor fool.
The crowbar came down in an arc and struck his left shoulder with a wicked crack. There was no muffled scream this time, just the colour draining from the man's face and an odd groaning coming from his chest.
'You do know her, you cunt,' Jason yelled in his face. 'Think back, say, 17 years?' he threw the crowbar to the ground as he threw out the query. 'You'd be, ooh what, 21?' Jason grabbed the guy and pulled them nose-to-nose. He stared deep into his eyes. 'She was 13,' he growled and pushed the man away in disgust; the chair tipped and he nearly went over backwards again.
'She was riding through the park, on her way home from school. You were hiding in the fucking bushes you piece of shit!' Fist connects with nose. 'You see this little girl, on her bike, she's going to ride by you, isn't she,' fist – nose, nose – fist, & muffled squeals. 'As she passes, you lunge, you grab, you take this innocent little girl and you drag her into the bushes,' the nose-fist love connection continues. 'You drag her into the bushes and you rape her, this innocent little girl. This daughter. This sister. This thirteen year old girl!' The nose is a smeared bloody mess on his face. Perfect timing. Jason goes over to the work bench, starts rifling through tools and continues his diatribe.
'And it's not bad enough that you're a 21 year old man, raping a 13 year old girl, you do it at knife point. And when this poor frightened child cries out, you put something else in her,' he finds what he's after and walks back over, releasing a chuckle that is void of humour. 'Although, your blade did a lot less damage,' he raised his arm, 'than your dick!' One moment the hammer was hanging above Jason's head, the next it had come to a stop on the seat of the chair. Between metal and wood were the remnants of male genitalia.
The scream was loud even through the tape, but came to a sudden stop as vomit spurted from his nose. The deep groans and retching sounded like a hiccup slowed down to quarter speed. Jason even felt an empathetic twinge in his balls. Now the guy was sure making some strange unearthly noises.
Kate had seen what Jason was going to do, and had averted her eyes. Now as she looked back, she saw what was happening. She rushed over and ripped the tape from the guys mouth. They both had to leap away to avoid getting splashed with vomit. It was a never ending steady stream of spew.
'Jesus! Turn it off.' Jason muttered.
'He was going to choke,' Kate waved the piece of tape around.
'Wouldn't that be a good thing?' Jason's voice had a sullen edge to it.
'Not yet,' Kate smiled. 'Not yet.'
“...when the flames had finally been extinguished, the charred remains of an unknown male aged 20 – 40 was discovered in the basement. Any distinguishing factors were destroyed in the blaze. Results of dental records are being waited on for finality, but the victim is suspected to be a Mr Peter Grimble, resident of the scene. Accelerants were found at and around the suspected spark zone. There is no other evidence of arson. Foul play has been mentioned by other departments. It is my personal belief, and that of the fire department, that arson was committed in this instance.”
He must have passed out, because when he woke up he was alone. It was just him and the overpowering smell of vomit, blood and piss in the room. And the pain. Pain unlike any imaginable. He literally wanted to die. He wanted to shed his mortal coil and be free of the pain. The physical and the mental. He'd always known it was wrong. Shit, you'd have to be a right sicko to not know that. But he'd never thought of the consequences of his twisted actions. The impact that could spread through lives like ripples on a pool of blood. The first time. He didn't know why he'd done it, he just knew it needed to happen. That poor little girl, her life fucked up and her purity fucked from her. He was only 17. Never been with anyone his age. Didn't much care for the stuck-up jock-whores. But a secret like that can take it's toll. He was called weirdo and freak; weirdo begets weirdness, freak begets freakishness. And as the secret got deeper and darker, he became more removed from society, removed from humanity. It didn't feel wrong any more, that voice wasn't saying it was wrong any more.
How wrong he was.
He saw now, he felt the pain he had caused.
But if he said he was remorseful. He'd be lying. He'd loved every sick minute of it, and would do it all again if he had the chance.
That wasn't a man down there. Even if he still had balls, he wouldn't be a man. Down there was a mistake. A bad egg. And as far as Kate was concerned, he had spread his decay far enough. She realised she had no problem watching him die. It didn't bother her at all.
What did bother her was Jason. He was sat in the armchair, staring at his scabby knuckles. The anger, she could understand, he'd been through a lot with her. That sick fuck had spread the decay through her to Jason. But the severity of Jason's actions had shocked her terribly. And looking at him now, she could see he wasn't the same person. Something had broken inside him. Something that could never be put back the same. Oh, how she loved that boy. It had taken so long for her to allow herself to feel the happiness that love brings. Her barricades were set up as high as always, but somehow Jason had vaulted over each one; slowly breaking them down and allowing Kate to open up like a flower emotionally. If one thing can combat the damage caused by evil – it is love.
She looked over at Jason, who caught her glance and smiled hollowly before looking away. And she knew. He'd done all of this, every bit of it, for her. He had tracked down and cornered the animal who had attacked her. He'd restrained and punished the beast. For her.
And in doing so, he'd made the ultimate sacrifice. His life would never be the same. He'd crossed a border in his mind and he could never go back. She knew.
She went to him. He looked up at her, his eyes full of questions that would never be asked nor answered. She bent to him and kissed him hard. Before he could respond, she broke away and with a gesture for him to stay put, she disappeared down to the basement.
He heard footsteps coming down and he knew it was the girl. At least her punches didn't hurt as much and she was less likely to attack him with a hammer.
She walked purposefully down the steps and straight over to him. She crouched before him and looked him in the eyes.
Her gaze didn't flinch, it was studying him, like he was frog prepped for dissection, spread-eagled on a stainless steel bench.
She looked him up and down. This reptile tied, spread-eagled, to a chair before her. So many things she wanted to say, to scream right in his face. She wanted to yell at him with such force that his hair flowed back, his cheeks ballooned out and any loose skin flippity-flapped, like in the cartoons.
But she didn't. Kate crouched there, before her demon, and collected her thoughts. A quick look at her feet, then a gaze that bore into his soul.
'Why?' she asked innocently, child-like. 'Why did you do it?'
She continued to look into the depths of his being while she waited for him to answer.
The silence was deafening. It was like a roaring wind in his head. And that stare! He could feel her slowly pulling out his soul, inspecting every part of it; like a very careful, meticulous clown with coloured hankies. He wanted to answer with every ounce of energy he could muster, but no words, no explanation, would come to him.
She was expecting the muttered and broken 'I don't know', and the averted gaze. But her gaze was steadfast, it continued to bore.
'I think you do know why you did it, you know deep inside yourself, you know.'
Kate sighed and stood up. She looked around the room, saw what she needed and disappeared.
She returned with a chair, identical to the one he was tied to. He flinched when he saw it, which made her giggle quietly to herself. She sat facing him.
'Do you know,' she said softly, 'I always thought you were a monster. A demon. And, really, you were. To a 13 year old girl, you were the devil. And do you know what?'
She looked at him, waiting. He finally shook his head.
'Up until today, until not very long ago, I believed you were a monster. For 17 years you have been a monster; every scary shadow, every creepy noise, every chill up my spine – has been you. The monster that haunted my life.
'My mind made you bigger, scarier, darker. You were but an evil shadow with eyes.'
Kate bent down and picked up the still wet, blood stained, rag.
'But now I realise. I see you. You're just a man. You're no monster. You're no demon. You're not evil. You're just sick. A sick old man.'
She began to gently clean the blood from his face. He flinches at the alcohol sting. She likes that. She gets up and soaks the rag in fresh ether.
'I know the chances that I'm the only girl whose life you've destroyed are slim to none,' she sat back down and again applied the passive-aggressive torture. 'And that factored greatly in my decision.'
He looked at her, interested in this.
'See, my boyfriend wants to kill you. Straight out. Just slice an artery and be done with it. But then, does that make us any better than you? We'd all be going to hell. And the main thing, for me personally, is you won't suffer. See, I've suffered from you for 17 years and, fuck!' she stood up angrily and threw the rag down at his feet. 'This,' she waved around her, 'probably isn't going to be helping. I'm guessing I've got at least a few more years of shit because of you.
'So I want to sincerely,' she paused and looked at him curiously. 'Do you smoke?'
He nodded slightly.
'Got them on you?'
Another nod.
She moved over to him and patted his pockets. She could see each time she touched him it hurt, and she found the cigarettes on the second pocket-pat, but that didn't stop her looking around, patting each pocket a few more times.
She lit one and inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs.
'I started smoking not long after you raped me,' she said matter-of-factly, 'I wonder if it's a linked self destruct thing?' She pondered this for a moment, before carrying on with her previous point.
'I want you to suffer Peter. I want you to wish you were burning in the pits of hell. And lucky for me, my boyfriend, in his brashness, did that when he turned your junk to mince.
'Now, judging from the amount of blood filling your pants, you probably don't have long, so I'm going to go upstairs and call an ambulance; then my boyfriend and I are going to disappear. You don't know who we are, you didn't see us.
'Because, Peter, we know who you are, and we see you.'
She turned from him and headed toward the stairs. She stopped with her foot on the first step, then marched back over to him.
She looked at him hard, then spat in his face, turned on her heel and climbed the stairs. She flicked the half finished cigarette in her wake.
He watched her disappear up the stairs. Part of him thankful for life, the other wishing for death. He wondered if he would make it until the paramedics arrived. He knew he'd lost a lot of blood. He wouldn't hold on if it came to it. Life without his man-hood?
The still glowing cigarette lay on the floor not far from him. Oh God! How he craved a cigarette. He'd take one of those over life and death right now. The cigarette mocked him – so close, yet so far.
He heard her slam the door at the top of the stairs.
It was only by chance that he caught the movement out the corner of his eye. The half finished cigarette, blown by the draft, rolled slowly toward him, closer and closer. It wasn't much good to him though, he couldn't pick it up. Maybe he could inhale the wisps of smoke that reached high enough.
He heard the front door close.
The cigarette rolled on until it came to rest against the alcohol soaked rag. Fire needs only three things: oxygen, a fuel source and heat.
The rag erupted with a small whoosh of blue flames.
The blue flames spread to yellow flames.
The yellow flames crawl, they jump, they spit and spark, they spread quickly and do their best to cleanse.
When the clean-up crews were called in a small hidden area was discovered in the house. It had been warped shut by the heat. When the workers managed to crack it open they found the contents virtually untouched by the fire and immediately called the police.
The rumours circulated pretty quickly. A paedophile had been living amongst them. They'd always known there was something strange about him; they'd never liked him; weirdo. But there was never any proof or evidence released and the rumours died away without anyone knowing the truth.
Almost anyone.
By J. Barrett
25/02/13
