Are These Eyeballs?
Page 3
Again and again his fist comes down until it is coated in warm, wet red.
He looks down at the beast that is a man, hoping that it’s over but knowing that it isn’t. He knows from the police reports he’s collected over the years that this is not how the scene was discovered.
He’s not finished yet.
He takes the unconscious man by the scruff of the neck and lifts the top half of his body. He drags him over to the open cubicle, not looking forward to what he must do next.
With his free hand he lifts the seat and rests it against the back wall. He sits the beast - to him the drifter will always be the beast - in front of the toilet and it moans through bloodied lips.
“Shut up.” Closing his eyes he takes hold of the beast’s hair and smashes his face into the rim of the bowl.
Not once, but four times, inwardly flinching at the sound of cracking bones and the tinkling of dislodged teeth falling into the pan.
When he finally opens his eyes he knows the beast is dead and as memory fades he knows that something is still not quite right.
***
He stands alone in the derelict building and cries at what he has seen and what he has done. He realises that what he has witnessed is more than just a memory and he weeps.
“Wayne Mason, still a puffter after all these years.” The voice is unexpected and Wayne turns around with wet eyes.
“You?” He stares at the grown up James Kiddy, ravaged by years more than the estate that has been his home.
“Yeah, me.” James smiles with a mouth of yellowed teeth. “Thought I’d welcome you home.” The knife comes from nowhere.
“What do you want James?”
“I owe you.” The adult bully steps forward; the drugs in his system evident on his face. “I spent six fucking years locked up ‘cos of you.” Without warning he lunges forward and the knife sinks deep into Wayne’s stomach.
“Thank you.” Wayne places his hand over the one holding the weapon and James looks at him questioningly.
“You’re fucking crazy,” He pulls the blade free and lowers Wayne to the floor.
As the man who used to be the town thug rifles his pockets Wayne fades away, his mind returning to where he knows he should be.
***
“In here, quick.” He hears the voice of his younger self and he can see the blue flashing lights reflecting off the white walls.
The chain is cut and the gate thrown open. The room fills with bodies dressed in dark blue.
He feels a hand on his chest and looks up into his own eyes and sees himself mirrored in them.
“Are you OK?” The boy is no longer crying.
“I’ll be fine,” he lies.
“Thank you.” The boy leans forward and hugs the man.
“For what? This is your fucking closure.” The words are half whispered on his dying breath and never heard.
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