by Jacob Rayne
Johnny T was putting the boot to Scotty, still unaware of what was going on.
Pete writhed in pain on the floor, his hands clasped to his bleeding gut.
As Luke moved past him, Olly noticed his attempt to escape and cried out. Everything in the room cut off suddenly; Johnny T’s kicking of the floored Scotty, the shouting of the gang to encourage the beating, and Scotty’s pained cries. They all turned to look at Luke.
Billy was nearest and he moved towards Luke, who slashed the blade across at throat height as a warning.
Billy backed away, panic in his eyes.
Luke slashed the hand that Billy extended, then ran for the front door when he pulled back his injured limb.
He rattled the keys in the lock for a second before realising the door was unlocked and running out into the cold night.
‘We’ve gotta fucking find him,’ he heard Johnny T say.
Luke ran for all he was worth. He held the knife under his clothes. They were going to get every inch of it if they came for him again.
He was still unaware of what they had done with the tattoo gun but getting home safely took precedence over finding out.
He blundered into the back alleys, hearing the gang’s footsteps behind him. His breathing laboured under the panic he felt. His face still burnt from the effects of the tattoo gun.
Through some miracle he managed to find his way home without seeing any of the gang. Norma and Bryony were in bed when he staggered through the door.
The knife still hidden under his clothes, he moved upstairs to the bathroom.
His heart beating fit to explode, he closed his eyes and stepped in front of the mirror.
When he summoned the courage to open his eyes, he saw the face that had haunted his nightmares for the past few years.
He saw the face of the man that had taken the lives of his father and his sister and almost killed him.
He saw the face of the clown.
Chapter 40
Luke stared at the black crosses that covered his eyes.
Stared at the dark circle the tattoo gun had scarred onto his nose.
Saw the permanent black grin that had been etched most of the way to his ears.
For a second, he just stared at how the gang had disfigured him in the worst possible way.
He stared, thinking of how every time he looked in the mirror he would be reminded of the two encounters he had had with the killer clown.
Then he started screaming at the top of his lungs.
He grabbed his face between his fingertips, pulling at it, trying to rip the tattoo out. He ran the taps as hot as they would go and started scrubbing his face.
The scalding water burnt his skin as he scrubbed his face until it was sore and bleeding. Still the clown’s features were scarred onto him.
He screamed again, feeling so frightened his heart was going to stop. He pulled at his features, wishing he could tear them off his bones so he would no longer have to see the face of the man that had ruined his life.
Panic started to close a fist around his throat. It felt like he was going to die if he didn’t get the black ink off his face.
He smiled as he remembered the knife under his clothes.
His right hand trembled as he raised the tip of the razor sharp knife to his forehead. He pressed the blade down to the top of the thick black cross. A ribbon of blood ran down his face. He applied more pressure and drew the blade round the cross.
The pain was intense and made him swoon, but he knew that it was nothing compared to the thought of seeing the clown’s face every time he looked in the mirror. He pressed down harder still and drew the blade around to his temple.
Blood ran down his face like crimson tears.
The sudden intensity of the pain made him cry out.
He barely heard the knock on the bathroom door.
Barely heard Norma asking if he was ok.
Just continued to pull the blade around.
The blade carved into the tattooed skin on his cheekbone now. Finally he drew the blade up his cheek and over his nose, back up to the start of the wound on his forehead. There was now a thick red circle around the black cross that adorned his right eye.
He pushed the tip of the blade under the loose flap of skin and pulled. The pain made him curse.
Drops of blood spattered down into the sink. He bit down hard, grinding his teeth together. Worked the blade around inside the wound, loosening the skin.
Norma pressed her ear to the door and heard Luke making pained grunting noises. ‘Luke, are you ok in there?’ she asked, braying on the door with the flat of her hand. Luke grunted again in response.
Norma turned away from the door and went to get Bryony. Her daughter was fast asleep and it took some shaking to rouse her.
Luke grabbed the loose flap of skin and pulled. Part of the skin at the side of his eyebrow came away with a sickening tearing sound. Grimacing, he carried on pulling. The skin caught a few inches from his cheek bone.
He poked the tip of the knife into the bloody gash and pulled it down. The skin loosened enough for him to get his fingers in.
He gripped the end of his skin hard and pulled. Screaming, he tore the circle of skin away from his face.
Blood pissed out of the raw, bloody hole where the black cross had been.
Despite the agony he smiled at the knowledge that he was a little closer to removing the horrendous reminder of his childhood torment.
He put the blade to the other side of his forehead and cut a circle around the other cross. He moaned as the pain hit him anew but kept grimly on at his task. A piece of eyebrow came away as he slipped with the knife.
‘Luke? What’s going on in there?’ Bryony shouted. She had heard Luke’s screams and she knew that they couldn’t be the result of anything good. She brayed on the door so hard it hurt her knuckles. ‘Luke? Open up.’
Luke still didn’t hear the knocking, so intent was he on removing every last trace of the gang’s tattoo. The flap of skin hung from his eyebrow, pouring blood into the sink.
He took the blade to his right cheek, starting at the end of the enormous black smile that had haunted his nightmares for almost a decade.
He dug in hard, knowing that the deeper he cut now, the quicker he’d be rid of the heinous grin that mocked and tormented him. The tip of the blade poked through his cheek into his mouth.
He smiled. This part was going to be easier than he’d thought. Still smiling, he sunk the blade through the cut and pulled it hard. He screamed as the flesh tore and blood gushed from the wound.
Bryony gave up shouting for Luke and instead started trying to barge the door open. Her shoulder hit the door hard, making her bite down on her tongue. Cursing, she spat blood and hurled herself at the door again.
Luke had ripped the blade through his cheek and it was making its agonising journey towards his upper lip.
He hesitated for a second, the pain making his resolve weaken momentarily, but then he caught a glimpse of the remnants of the clown’s grin on his face and he pulled the blade through slowly, severing his upper lip just below his nostrils. He smelt blood from the gaping wound. The sweet-smelling fluid ran into his mouth.
He pulled the knife down, cutting off the upper lip at the left side of his mouth. The loose skin dangled from his face.
He moved the blade back to the lower edge of the tattooed smile and dug it deep into his flesh. As it penetrated his cheek, he let out a pained cry and pulled hard, severing the skin and muscles that joined the hideous black ink to his face. Warm blood ran down his neck, plastering his clothes to his chest.
Bryony threw herself against the door again, screaming for Luke to stop whatever he was doing. The door remained solid, but her shoulder was becoming numb from the blows.
Luke ripped the blade up the left corner of his mouth, cutting loose the right hand side of the black grin. The dead skin fell into the sink like bloody strips of peeled-off wallpaper.
Luke smiled as
he realised that he was more than halfway through his removal of the gang’s sadistic handiwork.
He moved the blade back to his left eye, working the flesh loose. Blood gouted out onto the mirror.
The bathroom door buckled in as the lock gave way, dumping Bryony on the floor. Norma gasped then let out a scream.
It took Bryony a second to look up, but she already knew she didn’t want to see the sight before her.
Chapter 41
Bryony raised her eyes and let out a bloodcurdling scream when she saw Luke sawing into his own face with a bloody kitchen knife.
‘Luke, what the hell—’
He turned to face her and she saw the full extent of his handiwork. Saw the bloody hole running from his cheek to his chin. Through the gaping wound she saw his teeth swimming among the crimson that flooded his mouth.
His right eye was the only white in a vast raw bloody wound, gaping through the hole where he’d torn his eyelid loose.
She took in the blood that drenched his torso and ran down to pool at his feet.
Saw the bleeding strips of dead flesh in the sink.
‘I’m getting rid of it,’ Luke said, and he smiled. Actually smiled. Blood bubbled out of his mouth and ran down his jaw. His left eyebrow was hanging off, revealing gleaming bone beneath.
He moved the blade a little more, seemingly happy to carry on whatever the hell he was doing with or without their eyes on him.
‘Luke?’ Bryony said, but words failed her. She vomited on the floor. Tears streamed down her face.
‘I’m nearly done,’ Luke said. His smile returned. He looked monstrous. ‘Nearly done.’
With that, he keeled over, hitting his head off the sink. The impact left a bloody imprint on the white porcelain. He landed in a heap on the floor, blood pouring out of his savage wounds.
Despite the revulsion she felt, Bryony ran to him. ‘Don’t just stand there!’ she screamed at her mother who was still watching with a dumb look on her face.
Norma remained frozen, her eyes glued to the bloody remains of Luke’s once-handsome face.
‘Mam, fucking help us,’ Bryony cried. In the end she had to throw the blood-drenched bar of soap at her to get her attention. ‘Call the goddamn ambulance!’
Norma snapped out of her paralysis and ran downstairs to the phone.
Luke had still not come round by the time the paramedics appeared.
‘Holy shit,’ one of them said, unprepared for the horrific scene in the bathroom.
‘Who did this?’ the other paramedic said.
‘He did it to himself,’ Bryony said.
‘What?’ the first paramedic said.
‘Why the—’ the second began.
‘I don’t fucking know why. Just help him, for Christ’s sake,’ she snapped.
The paramedics moved in. The kid’s chances didn’t look good. He was pale as a corpse and, judging by the blood that coated a five-foot radius of the sink, he had hit a major artery during his crude attempts at facial reconstruction. They didn’t voice their concerns to the two women; they looked terrified enough as it was.
They staunched the bleeding as best they could and took him to the hospital. Bryony and Norma followed in the car.
Luke woke, screaming and thrashing. It felt like burning ants were crawling over every inch of his face.
‘Relax,’ the doctor said.
Luke stared at him through a haze of pain. The vision in his right eye was distorted. Focussing with it was painful.
‘What the hell were you doing?’ the doctor said, his tone that of a man seeing something for the very first time.
‘Is it off me?’ Luke moaned.
‘What?’
‘Is the clown’s face off me?’
‘I’m not following you.’
Luke groaned. ‘My face. They tattooed my face.’
The doctor nodded, seeming to understand. He said nothing else, just left Luke alone with his pain.
A few minutes later the doctor reappeared with Bryony, Norma and Sergeant Hirst.
‘Some visitors,’ he smiled.
Luke tried to smile but it felt like his face was wrapped in drying cement.
‘Jesus, what happened?’ Hirst asked, his face a mask of worry.
‘They tattooed my face,’ Luke said, then burst into tears.
‘Was it?’ Hirst asked. He needed to say no more, Luke knew what he meant.
‘Yes, it was his face. The bastards tattooed his face-paint on me.’
‘Who did this?’ Norma asked.
Luke ignored her and continued. ‘I had to get it off me. I’d rather die than see that every time I look in the mirror.’
Hirst nodded his understanding.
Bryony and Norma looked at each other, puzzled. It felt like they were being kept in the dark.
‘Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?’ Bryony said.
Hirst turned to her, his face still shocked. ‘They tattooed the clown’s face-paint onto him.’
‘Oh, fucking hell,’ Bryony said. ‘Who did this?’
‘Gang,’ Luke managed. He wanted to talk no more. The movement of his face was agonising.
‘I think I know who did it,’ Hirst said. ‘I’ll make some enquiries. I’ll come and talk to you later, Luke.’
Luke nodded.
‘Shit, are you ok?’ Bryony said. ‘They actually tattooed your face?’
‘Yes.’
‘They’ve got to fucking suffer for this.’
‘Language, young lady,’ Norma said.
Bryony’s glare was enough to shut her mother up.
‘I’m so sorry, Luke,’ Bryony said, carefully hugging him.
Luke looked at her then burst into tears.
Chapter 42
When Luke’s visitors had gone, the doctor came back in. ‘We’ve got you booked in for a skin graft later today,’ he said.
‘Will you make sure it’s all gone?’ Luke said.
‘Yes, of course. I realise now what happened. You’re that boy aren’t you? The one who saw his sister killed by the clown?’
Luke nodded.
‘We’ll get every trace of it off your face. We’ll do such a good job of it that no one will ever know it was on there.’
Luke smiled.
‘Now, there’s some bad news. Because of the nature of the injuries, we need someone to come and assess you.’
‘What do you mean?’ Luke managed. It felt like his mouth was full of marbles.
‘Well,’ the doctor sighed. ‘We need to assess if you’re going to be a danger to yourself in future. If it seems that you are, we’ll have to take steps to protect you.’
Luke groaned. This was the last thing he needed.
Later on, Hirst came back to see Luke. By his twitchy demeanour and the way he kept looking over his shoulder, it was obvious that there was something on the cop’s mind.
He shut the door to Luke’s room and pushed one of the chairs against the door.
‘Hi, Luke. I wanted to express my regret for what happened to you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘But I have to admit, there is a more selfish motive for my visit. My son was the other lad who was attacked that night.’
‘Tom?’
Hirst nodded.
‘How is he?’
Hirst grimaced and stared down at the floor. A moment later he sniffed and looked up at Luke. Tears sparkled in his eyes.
‘He’s got severe brain damage and is paralysed from the waist down. Those cowards stopped him from ever walking again. It’s breaking my heart seeing him like this.’
‘I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. If he hadn’t come to help me, this never would have happened.’
‘I’m glad he helped you. You’re a good lad.’
‘So what do you need me to do?’
‘I know the doctor already asked you if you wanted to press charges, but it might help our case a little if you identified the scum responsible for this attack. These c
ocksuckers have half of the court in their filthy pockets.’
‘I’ll help any way I can.’
Hirst looked Luke right in the eye. ‘Thanks. I’ll bring the photos in for you. You do realise that if you do this it will bring those fuckers down on you again, so think carefully.’
‘I hope you nail the bastards. And I’ll think about pressing charges, really I will.’
Hirst nodded again. ‘I hope we do too, but in my heart I know I’m wasting my time.’
‘Will you thank Tom for helping me?’
‘I would if I thought there was the slightest chance of him understanding me. Thanks for your time, Luke. I wish you a speedy recovery.’ Hirst gave him a very forced smile and left.
Chapter 43
The five unscathed members of the Marshton Eight were occupying one of the waiting areas on the ward next to Luke’s.
Pete was being treated in intensive care as a result of the knife wound that Luke had given him.
Billy had needed stitches as a result of the vicious slash wound that Luke’s blade had inflicted.
Johnny T was having his face stitched to repair the damage from Scotty’s bottle strike.
Scotty himself was still shaking from the beating he’d sustained at the hands and feet of the gang’s leader.
The five sat in the waiting room, smoking cigarettes despite the six-inch high sign that forbade this.
A doctor came in to tell them the news about their friends, but he paused, a puzzled expression on his face, when he saw the smoke billowing out of their mouths.
‘You can’t smoke in here,’ he said.
‘The fuck’re you to tell us what to do?’ Otis spat.
The doctor raised his hands in front of his face as a barrier. He spoke slowly, like he was talking to a child. ‘This is a hospital, son. You can’t smoke in here. Are you stupid or something?’
Otis got up from his seat, taking a good long while to do so. He swaggered over to the doctor, a placid look on his face. The rest of the gang looked on, giggling like stoners on their last joint of the night.
