by J P Sayle
Martin’s voice shouted inside his mind, “Move, move, move.” He was confused.
Brad searched for him. Where was he? The chanting made his head pound.
His father’s cry brought reality, like that of a wolf scenting their kill. It rent the air. The effort was gruelling, but Brad managed to trudge up to the shortcut. He constantly checked the narrow path, though it felt more like an animal trap that would certainly contain death he if wasn’t careful. Hiding behind anything he could, he was frightened his body would betray him. He gritted his teeth in pain, his body undulating as the bitter cold sunk into his bones.
Brad was oblivious to the raw scrapes of branches as he staggered on, focusing only on the chanting voice inside his mind.
Martin’s voice boomed inside him. “Move, move, move.”
He sobbed. Was he losing his mind? He couldn’t see anyone. Was he dying?
Spasms immersed his whole body, and he rebelled against every tortured indrawn breath. He wavered. What happened to the colour? Stopping, Brad listened to the noises which were hard to distinguish past his ragged breathing. As he lay against the tree, the bark dug into ripped skin. He felt sluggish. He just needed a minute.
What was wrong with his lungs? Air rebelled inside him. He gasped as sobs tortured his chest.
“Move, move, move.” The chanting was incessant.
He jerked his feet, following instructions that guiding him, but where? Blackened fingers attempted to push back his tangled hair. There, there, home. Martin. Swaying, Brad stopped, relief filling him. Martin’s body heat and scent surrounded him. Safe.
Who was turning the lights out? Brad felt the blackness consume him.
Martin
Sitting at his office desk, Martin felt the unease from yesterday still linger. Tension built as Martin rolled his shoulders, hoping it would help. The sense of trepidation sitting in his gut, along with the tingle at the base of his neck, was unnerving him. He was positive it was to do with the UK-registered car he’d spotted yesterday parked in Ms Stevens’s drive.
He’d texted Joe, feeling the need to know who the owner was, but Joe’s lack of response twenty-four hours later was making him twitchy. Martin hadn’t wanted to pressurise Joe yesterday, not sure what was going on with him recently. But now he felt a sense of urgency pushing him.
Watching the clock was achieving shit all. Leaving instructions on what needed completing, Martin headed to his car. As he dialled Joe, his fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. “Come on, for fuck’s sake answer.”
Agitation had him missing Joe’s answer.
“I’m here. Can’t a man take a wiz without interruption?”
Martin’s forced laughter filled the car. “Not when it’s me, they can’t.”
Martin’s strained answer had Joe getting straight to the point.
“What’s up? I take it you’re after the info you texted me about yesterday. Sorry, I didn’t get back to you, but something unexpected came up.”
The tremulous quake had Martin realizing he was being a selfish bastard.
“Hey, you all right, my man? You know you can talk to me about anything.”
Martin’s question showed his genuine concern for his friend.
“Eh, no, no, it’s all cool. I may need a place to stay for a few weeks if you’re up for a lodger?” Undertones of desperation seeped through the speaker.
Joe’s wary tone alerted Martin to a deeper problem he wasn’t sharing.
“That won’t be a problem. There is plenty of room at mine. You’re welcome anytime, you know that. At least I won’t have to track you down to ask for help then.” He aimed for a jokey tone to lighten the mood. He’d learned that if he pushed, Joe would pull back. “Did you find out who owns that car?”
Joe’s snort had him smirking. “Hey, you don’t doubt my skills. Hang on. Yep, here you go. It’s a Malcolm Cummings.”
He swerved, and his hands shook as Martin pulled over. He hammered the steering wheel. “Shit, shit, are you sure?”
Joe’s hesitant voice confirmed what his insides knew. “Yes I’m sure. Isn’t that the same surname as your new boyfriend?”
He didn’t care where he’d gotten the information. Joe probably had everything, including Brad’s social security number, by now. Thoughts whizzed. Was this why he’d felt off?
Why hadn’t he pushed yesterday? His body had told him there was something wrong for fuck’s sake. Why hadn’t he listened? Brad was alone. As soon as the thought registered, Martin gunned the car, tyres screeched at the abuse. He streaked out, grateful there was little traffic.
Joe’s voice penetrated past the haze of fear. “You still with me? Take it easy, Martin. Don’t, for fuck’s sake, crash before you get to him. Ring me, let me know what the fuck is going on. I’m here, man, if you need me.”
The call ended. But the words still lingered in the car like a bomb ready to go off at any time. Martin felt sick to his stomach, and he gripped the steering wheel, knuckles whitened. He disregarded blaring horns, weaving indiscriminately through the traffic. Insensible, tyres glued to the road as he cornered at speed. His heart rate accelerated as the car roared under him.
His feelings of despair pounded at him. Why the fuck had he left him? What if something had happened? Martin fought past the panic, concentrating on trying not to kill himself. The sign beckoned him into the village. The flashing street sign told him to slow down. He disregarded it. He’d pay any price. He just needed to see Brad. Now.
Martin’s blood ran cold when he saw the UK-registered car sitting, mocking him. Flinging the door open, he leapt out and ran. Jabbing the bell, he fought to control his laboured breathing. “Where the fuck is he?” Finger pressed, unrelenting when he got no answer. Fear stole his sanity, and he banged against the door. The thuds went unanswered. His hands throbbed. Martin pulled the letterbox open, shouting. “Brad, baby, you in there?” His words died. His mouth frozen.
Martin staggered back at the darkness smearing Brad’s wooden floor. What the fuck was that? He tried to comprehend. The coppery smell taunted him, and he choked back the sobs. He begged, “Please be all right, please.” He rattled the door handle. Locked. Shitting hell. Why hadn’t he asked for a key? His regret was little compensation if something happened to Brad.
Realising he wouldn’t find answers there, he headed across the cul-de-sac. He wanted answers, now. He hammered on Ms Stevens’s door. “Open this fucking door. I know you’re in there.” He balled his fists as vibrating nerves plucked tight. The pain in his hand increased, but he ignored it.
What felt like minutes passed as Martin struggled to contain his anger. Fists pounded harder. “If you don’t open this door, I promise you I will kick the fucker in.”
Ms Stevens’s scornful words barely penetrated through the door. “I’m calling the police if you don’t leave this instant.”
Her anxiety was satisfying as he called her bluff.
“Go right ahead. Let’s see what they have to say about the monster you’re housing. I know who’s been staying with you. I know what he did to Brad. He’ll pay for it. I’ll make sure of it.”
Reality hit home as she fired back at him.
“You’re too late. He’ll teach him about human decency and respecting the Bible. Sinners need punishment. You’ll be punished.”
Obscene cackles raked his soul, making it bleed. Oh dear God, what had they done to Brad? His legs wanted to crumble. The pain inside him was unbearable. He pushed past it, knowing that would not help Brad. Martin moved away. Turning, he fled home. Hands fumbled with locks. His mind searched for answers. Surely the car meant they hadn’t gone far?
Gnawing horror had him cringing when he thought about the blood. So much blood, but whose? No, he couldn’t go there.
The police, yes, he needed the police. Impatient, Martin paced as his ear burned from all the questions they were asking. So many questions. Couldn’t they see he needed help now? Brad was out there on his own. He’d promi
sed he’d keep him safe. Needing to sit before he fell, Martin went to the chair. Burying his head between his legs, he gasped for air.
“Sir, you need to calm down so we can help you.”
Panic gripped his throat. Swallowing past the terror, he tried to speak, to explain. His very reason for living could be fighting for his life. Didn’t they understand? Minutes seemed to merge. Why so much information? They needed to come now. Giving up, Martin ranted. His fingers tapped incessantly against his knee. Wild and unseeing eyes blinked rapidly. Was Brad’s life ticking away while they asked these stupid questions. Who the fuck cared how old he was or his full bloody name? Relief poured over his panic when they eventually said they would come.
Martin’s hand trembled as he clicked off the phone. As he was about to put it away, he was distracted by movement at his patio. “Oh God.” Princess. Martin rushed to the door and opened it. He lifted her close.
Desperation laced his words as he spoke. “Where is he?”
His nose wrinkled in distaste. Her matted fur stunk of dried blood. Shit, she was covered. His sanity in tatters, terror ripped his remaining control away.
“Fuck, oh please, whose is this. Princess, please, is it Brad’s?”
His eyes locked with Princess’s. Martin felt a fuzzy warm buzz at the back of his eyes. Links clicked in his mind. Warmth pulsed in his chest, spreading. Martin stared in utter disbelief at Princess. You had to be shitting him! What the actual fuck was that?
His legs buckled as the images bombarded him with crippling intensity. Familiar scenery flashed in front of him. He watched Brad’s steps falter, his awareness gone. Words flew out, “Move, move, move. Come on, baby, move.” Weeping, his mind entranced, Martin chanted for Brad to keep moving.
He clutched the lifeline that the images gave him, and his hands flexed wanting to hold whatever imaginary cords that were drawing Brad closer. Martin let Princess tether him. Scared to blink, he continued to will Brad closer. He was alive. The short-lived relief was swallowed by the pain. Martin grunted at the force of the blow. Not his, not his. His voice, unrecognisable, continued to chant, “Move, move, move.” His mind grappled with the reality, with the pain. Was it real? Matted fur told him he was awake, alive. Martin watched every weary step their love took.
Martin pushed his love out, hoping that Brad would feel it. He sat unmoving, frightened he would lose sight of Brad. He didn’t care where this vision came from or what it meant. He pushed harder past unimaginable pain, hoping it would drag his soulmate away from evil and towards him. The images tortured him. “Move, move, move. That’s it. You’re nearly here.” He whispered, unaware tears coursed down his cheeks.
He wobbled to the door on jellified legs, realising too late he’d left it open. Dropping Princess, Martin sprinted out, knowing Brad was coming.
Alarmed, he ran faster, hardly catching Brad as he staggered into his arms. His relief died when Brad’s unfocused eyes rolled back, and he lost consciousness. “Shit, fuck.” Wobbling, Martin was unsure where to hold as his eyes took in the state of him. Positive that he’d cause harm no matter where he touched. Brad’s icy cold penetrated his jacket. Fuck, he was freezing. Ice had to be warmer than Brad.
Questions jumbled in his mind. Where to go? What should he do? Indecision ate at him. He lifted him as carefully as possible. Moving into the house, he shuffled to the sofa. It would have to do.
Martin exhaled harshly, horrified at what he could see. Brad had bruises covering his forehead and left cheek. Swelling disfigured the eye and cheek on the same side. Blood oozed from a seven-inch wound at his hairline; it trickled blood into black-matted hair.
Clothes, sodden, covered in sand, torn and shredded, revealed cuts and abrasions everywhere he looked. Greyness stole his golden glow. Lips, normally a ripe luscious pink, were now tinged with blue. But it was his chest that worried Martin the most. It didn’t move evenly.
Crap, was he breathing properly? Freaking out, taking a second to control his shaking fingers, he felt for a pulse. Lowering his cheek next to his lips, he felt whispers of chilled breath ghost his heated skin.
Scrabbling back, he grabbed his phone and punched numbers, waiting.
“Come on, baby, hold on for me. I’m going to get you the help you need. You just have to hold on for me.” Martin needed to touch Brad to reaffirm he was there with him. Lips grazed Brad’s icy skin. Martin hoped he could feel him.
“What is your emergency?”
Hysterical laughter bubbled. What besides the love of his life could be dying! Heaving a sigh of despair, Martin tried to pull his whirring mind together, explaining what he needed. Grateful the questions were quick and to the point.
The sirens he could hear in the distance helped calm him. The police, about fucking time. The sound of feet thudding behind him had him looking up. He was confused when he stared into eyes that were unmistakably Brad’s. Martin surged forward as his rage made him see red. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
The words barely had chance to escape when Martin’s fist connected. Two solid blows, one to the jaw, the other to the stomach as bones crunched and his legs crumpled. He felt disappointed it hadn’t taken more. His rage was not satisfied with the ease at which Brad’s father had gone down. Unable to stand him being in his home, Martin yanked him up and dragged him through the house.
Panting, he dumped him in the gutter. Revulsion had him trying to wipe at the vileness that lingered after touching him. Martin disregarded his stuttered words.
“You… you won’t get… get away with this.”
He scowled in disgust when Ms Stevens ran over spewing hate as she leaned over Brad’s father. Fuck them. The pair of them weren’t worth his time or effort. Sirens stopped. The police officers got out of their car, approaching with caution.
“Officer, Officer, you need to arrest this man for assault. He has beaten this poor man.”
Ms Stevens’s spidery hands caressed Brad’s father, making Martin want to heave. Martin turned and stalked back inside, ignoring everyone. Brad was his only concern.
He knelt next to him, feeling distressed. He didn’t know what to do to make it better. Should he undress him? God, he felt useless. He was pulling at the damp shirt when a voice interrupted.
“Sir, are you Martin Clegg? Did you call the police?”
Martin struggled to contain his sarcasm. “Yes and yes. I rang about Brad. I have rung an ambulance. There is something wrong with his chest.” Tears choked him as his voice broke.
Martin blinked, trying to contain his distress. He spoke softly, not wanting Brad to hear his misery. “You need to arrest the monster outside. I’m not totally sure what happened.” His cheeks heated. He squirmed at the thought of having to explain what he did know or how he knew it. “The man outside is Brad’s father. That dickwad caused these injuries. But Brad collapsed when he got here, so I don’t know the full extent of what happened.” Martin felt the shudder shake his frame when images replayed over and over. Rubbing his hands together, Martin willed the cold away.
He looked up at the copper. “Should I undress him? Get these wet clothes off?”
The resounding no made Martin feel twitchy, especially when the police officer touched Brad, feeling for a pulse. Martin sat on his hands and avoided the urge to pull the officer away. Instead, he made room, reassuring himself the officers were only trying to help.
Martin felt Princess move closer, seeking comfort. Lifting her into his lap, he buried his face in her tiny neck and whispered, “He’s going to be all right, Princess. Just wait and see.” Doubt tinged his voice.
Martin willed the ambulance to hurry.
“We need to keep him as still as possible, but if you have a blanket to warm him up, that would help.”
The kindness he heard made his chest ache. Martin turned, hiding his wet face and wiping at it he got up to leave the room. “Eh, yes give me a second.” As he looked down at Brad’s battered body, his hands clenched. “You won’t leave him, will yo
u?” Fear chewed at his insides as he waited for confirmation.
“No, sir, I won’t leave him.”
Not feeling as reassured as he would have liked, Martin rushed upstairs to grab the blanket. Shouts had him running.
“Fucking hell?” Martin wailed, leaping the last few stairs. Feet crashed to the floor as a chair flew past him, missing him by millimetres.
The two officers were wrestling with Brad’s father. Furniture hit walls, as the hands of evil reached towards Brad. Hardly believing what his eyes were seeing, Martin bellowed. Charging Brad’s father, he wrenched his arms away from Brad’s throat. Putting him in a choke hold, Martin tightened his grip as he fought against him. Bulging red eyes wheeled, tongue was protruding, and spittle soaked Martin’s hands. He held firm, the urge to snap his neck making it hard to stop. Ignoring the clawing hands as they gouged at him, he wanted this man to pay. Seconds ticked by as the officers tried to calm him, explaining Brad needed him.
Looking to where he lay on the couch, Martin let the reality sink past his rage and dropped Brad’s father to the floor. Exhausted by his rioting emotions, he staggered towards Brad, paying no attention to the officers cuffing the weeping arsehole on his floor.
The sounds of heavy feet had him looking towards the door. Thank God. Immense relief had him stepping back so the paramedics could put their equipment down. Never taking his eyes off them, he watched them attach Brad to foreign-looking equipment. They worked efficiently, although the language they used was meaningless.
Martin jerked. The touch was so unexpected he couldn’t help the glare he gave the officer.
“Sorry, but we will need to talk to you, get a statement in regards to what happened here.”
Flustered eyes met his steely stare. He wanted to lash out at the officer for not protecting Brad. But he reminded himself neither had he. Feeling dejected, Martin could feel his shoulders slump under that reality. Bone-weary, he finally answered the expectant officer. “Yes, I know. You also have a lot of explaining to do. I left for mere seconds to find you fighting in my home. You were supposed to prevent that madman from hurting, never mind strangling, an unconscious man. What the hell were you playing at?”
