Watching, Waiting
Author: Matt Shaw
Date: 2015-04-24 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror
Description: Sitting at the school gates. It has gone three o'clock now. The students have been filing out for the past ten minutes. He is usually one of the first out, pushing and shoving the others. But he hasn't come out yet. He couldn't have. I would have seen him. I check every face, on every child - even if they're the wrong height of body shape... I still check. I'll wait until they stop coming though. I won't give up. And then, if I don't see him today, there is always tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after. He is mine. He is coming back with me. He just doesn't know it yet. His name is Trav
Publisher: Amazon Media

Copyright©2015 by Matt Shaw

Matt Shaw Publications

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The characters in this book are purely fictitious.

Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

WARNING:

This is a SHORT STORY.

It is intended for the readers who are subscribed to Kindle Unlimited.

It is designed to give you a short jolt of‘weird’or‘disturbing’before bedtime.

If you are looking for a longer piece, please do NOT purchase any of the‘F*cked-Up Shorts’range.

There are many longer stories available HERE

About this title:

Matt Shaw is known for his extreme stories. He enjoys pushing boundaries and making people feel uncomfortable with the words he writes. Usually. This is not one of those tales. This is a tamer one. There is not much blood and guts. Some tales just do not need it. There are, though, twists and turns aplenty…

Watching,

Waiting.

Matt Shaw

Tuesday

12:45

Blue skies. No clouds. A brilliant sun shining high. You can feel the warmth against your skin. One could be fooled into thinking it’s a beautiful day. I guess to some out there it is. To me the day feels just as grey as other days. For all intents and purposes it may as well be raining such is my mood.

I took a drag of the cigarette hanging from my mouth and held it in my lungs for a while longer than usual, letting the nicotine ease my stress. I slowly exhaled as I flicked the butt to the side.

“That’s littering,” my wife said. She always moaned when I threw my butts to the floor. I ignored her and sat back on the sheet we’d laid down upon the park’s grassy bank. She was sitting next to me with a small hamper of food between us; our attempt at a romantic picnic on this Summer’s Day although I’m not sure why I packed so much food. I had only eaten one sandwich and a biscuit and she hadn't touched anything. I presume she had eaten earlier. She probably wasn’t expecting me to drop a surprise picnic on her. So much for being spontaneous.

“You aren’t hungry?” I asked her.

I’d have to be packing up soon by the looks of it. If she wanted anything to eat, she would have to be quick or else she’d lose her chance. She answered by shaking her head before changing the subject.

“Why are we here?” she asked.

I looked back towards the tree line across the freshly cut field. Kids were playing football, people were walking dogs, groups from the nearby offices were enjoying alfresco lunches. I wasn’t interested in any of them. Only one person interested me and he was currently kicking a ball around. Watching the way younger kids were chasing after him, I’d hazard a guess to say it hadn’t been his to begin with. I realised my wife was still waiting for my reply and turned my attention back to her.

“I thought it would be nice,” I said.

“Nice?”

“To spend time together.”

“Well, yes it would be,” she said, “at least it would be if you were here with me.”

“What are you talking about I am here.”

“You’ve hardly spoken to me. You’ve just been staring over there. I have no idea where you are.” She followed my earlier gaze across the fields to where I had been staring. “What’s over there that’s so interesting anyway?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Oh I see,” she said.

“What?”

I turned away from her and glanced back across the field.

“Getting a nice eyeful?”

At first I didn’t know what she was talking about… Until, that is, I clocked what she’d seen. A group of teenage girls lying on the floor, not wearing a lot of clothes - merrily topping up their tans as though they hadn’t a care in the world.

“I wasn’t even looking at them,” I defended myself. I actually wasn’t although I could see - from the look on her face - she didn’t believe me.

“Then what were you looking at?”

I looked back to what had originally caught my attention. I couldn’t tell her the truth.

“I’m waiting,” she said impatiently.

I laughed, “Okay, you got me, I’m sorry…”

“I can’t believe you,” she shook her head in disbelief, yet she had a smile in place.

“What?”

“You bring me out for a romantic picnic, your words, and then you stare at girls young enough to be your daughter.”

I laughed again, “It wasn’t like that. I just turned off for a moment.”

She laughed, more so because she didn’t know what else to do given what I’d just told her, “That’s even worse!” she said. “You bring me out on a romantic picnic and then - I bore you so much - you turn off from me. Wow, you really know how to make a girl feel good about herself.”

I started to put the uneaten food back into the hamper, along with the flasks of hot tea, “That’s not what I meant.”

She didn’t move; just sat there watching me load the hamper back up. The food won’t go to waste. I’ll get it home and put it in the fridge. So long as I cover it all up, it should last a few days yet. Saves making myself something for work first thing in the mornings although it would have been nice to see her eat something.

“Then what did you mean?” she asked. She raised an eyebrow, expecting an answer. I didn’t answer her. I stopped what I was doing and looked at her, unsure of how best to respond without getting myself further in trouble. This was supposed to be a nice afternoon out. Come here with the wife, enjoy a nice picnic and - of course - watch him, not that she knew that. She started to laugh, “I’m just teasing you.”

“You’re a dick,” I laughed and - at the same time - breathed a sigh of relief. “Help me pack up.”

“No, you’re okay, I’m enjoying watching you,” she said. She laid back on the cloth and rested her head on her hand, propped up by the elbow.

“Thanks then!”

“This was your idea. You said I wouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

“Yeah well maybe if you had helped me make the sandwiches, maybe you would have wanted to eat one too… Last time I try and do something nice!” I said. She had literally touched nothing of the picnic. She said she’d eaten before I had surprised her with the idea. She had eaten but was more than happy to come along anyway and make the most of the warm sunshine. I stopped what I was doing long enough to admire her. She looked so pretty. Her crystal blue eyes shining in the brilliant sunshine, her long blonde hair seemingly more blonde with the sun beating down upon her head, her nose and cheeks already slightly red. And to think, we’ve only been here for about forty minutes. She catches the damned sun so easily whereas I can sit it in all day and still look like Casper the friendly ghost.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, a playful smile on her face.

I smiled, “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Oh, charming!”

“No, that wasn’t what I meant!” I quickly corrected myself, “You’re so beautiful,” I told her.

I’m not sure how but her face seemed to get a little bit redder. She smiled and looked down at the pattern on the blanket we rested upon.

“Shut up,” she went all coy.

“I don’t say it enough,” I said, “but it’s true. You’re beautiful. I’m the luckiest man alive.”

She tried to hide her embarrassment by being a smart-ass back at me, “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said. She smiled, as did I. She never was one to take a compliment. She often felt awkward or, if someone presented her with one, that the individual talking to her was having a laugh at her expense by being sarcastic but that wasn’t what I was doing. I meant it. I also meant it when I stated I never said it enough. I wasn’t one for saying things like that not that I am sure why. I guess I am one of those men who prefer to say it when he really means it so that the person on the receiving end of the compliment knew it to be genuine. If you say things too often - such as ‘I love you’ - then they can become redundant words; their true meaning lost. “Stop looking at me,” she said, getting embarrassed again.

“I can’t help it,” I laughed as I resumed the packing up of our picnic.

From somewhere over my shoulder, a child screamed out. On instinct I turned in time to see a football flying towards us. The lad I had been watching was smirking, a little further away than the child screaming out for the ball. He turned and started to walk off as the child, and his friends, ran over to collect their ball as it rolled to a stop on my blanket. I picked it up and threw it back to them before hurriedly continuing to pack our stuff up. The kids ran off in the opposite direction to the one who’d kicked the ball.

“That’s not like you,” my wife said.

“What’s that?” I asked, not stopping what I was doing.

“Usually you’d have lectured them,” she pointed out. She was right. Usually I would have given them a ticking off or I would have told them to take their ball games elsewhere, away from the people trying to enjoy their picnics, or quiet lunch breaks, but there was no time. He was leaving which - in turn - meant we needed to leave too.

“Accidents happen,” I shrugged. “Come on.” I jumped up, with the hamper in hand. As soon as she got to her feet I scooped the blanket up too, holding it between body and arm. My wife patted her clothes down both to get rid of the creases and any traces of the park - such as blades of grass.

“What’s the hurry?” she asked.

“Nothing. I just want to beat the traffic,” I said. Another lie and not even the best. It was a little after one in the afternoon and traffic wouldn’t be building up for another couple of hours at least.

“Traffic?” she asked. I ignored her as I started off in the direction of the young lad; my eyes glued to the back of his head. Sixteen years old but he looks to be eighteen. I see him around quite a lot. His name is Travis. Usually you would find him the centre of attention - in a large group - of young lads all looking up to him and girls wanting to be ‘with him’. Looking on from the outside, you can see why that would be the case. Look into the group though, listen carefully to what is said, and you know it’s not for the best. Travis shouldn’t be a role model. Someone needs to tell him.

“Excuse me!’ I called out after him.

“What are you doing?” Kathy, my wife, asked.

“I’m just going to have a quiet word with him.”

“Just leave it. You said accidents happen. It was an accident.”

I shook my head, “No. He intentionally kicked it at us. No point shouting at the kids who came to collect it because,” and I pointed out the fact that the real owners of the football had headed off in a completely different direction, “it wasn’t their fault,” I said. I had been watching. The two lads had been playing ball down on the open field, well away from people such as my wife and I. The only reason they’d come anywhere near us was because Travis had stolen the ball from them; just another older boy being a dick to the younger ones. Nothing that didn’t happen every day.

“Well he’s gone now,” she continued, “does it really matter? And no harm was done.”

“It’s the principle,” I told her.

She stopped walking, “You’re so embarrassing. I don’t want to be a part of this,” she said.

Fair enough, I thought. I continued after Travis, quickening my pace. I called out again, “Excuse me?” He still didn’t turn around. Perhaps I was being too polite for someone of his standing? “Oi!” I called out.

Travis turned towards me, a look of pure hatred on his face. I don’t believe it was just me who received such a look. He was known in the town. He had an attitude problem.

“You talking to me?” he hissed. I was instantly reminded of his namesake, Travis Bickle from the film ‘Taxi Driver’. Is that the direction this young lad is headed? Will he - at some point - grab some guns and go on a killing spree? God only knows. “Hey Granddad, you talking to me?” he spat again.

“You just kicked that ball…”

“What? Wasn’t me, mate.”

He had no idea who I was. If he did then there was no guilt there, no compassion. Nothing. My heart skipped a beat and I felt sick when I found myself asking if he even remembered. I’m not sure which would have been worse; the fact he didn’t remember or that he didn’t care. I tried to dismiss the questions buzzing through my mind.

“I watched you do it,” I said.

“Got it wrong, mate, was someone else.”

“I’m not your mate.”

“Look just fuck off before we have a problem, yeah?” He made himself look broader by puffing his chest up. He was about sixteen years old, yes, but he was built much, much bigger which is probably what helped with his alpha-status with people of his own age. He didn’t scare me though. If he wanted to take a swing, he was more than welcome. I’d welcome it and consequences be damned.

“Come on,” a woman said to my side. I glanced at her. She was ushering her young daughter away from Travis and I, offended by the language and wishing to shield her daughter from it. I can’t say I blame her, especially if things were about to kick off between us. I turned back to Travis. I felt my wife’s eyes burning into the back of my skull. She felt just as uncomfortable as the stranger beside me.

I wanted to smash his head in. I wanted to keep hitting him until he stopped breathing. I wanted to stamp on his throat… So much I want to do. Here isn’t the place. Neither the place nor the time. I tried to wrap things up, “Look just watch where you kick balls in the future, yeah?”

“Told you, mate, wasn’t me.” He smirked and turned his back on me. I looked around at the people close to us wishing – more than anything - that we would suddenly find ourselves alone and I’d be able to simply hit him in the back of his smug head. The problem with sunny days, though, is that the park is rarely empty. Certainly not empty enough to get away with swinging the first punch, especially at someone who’d be seen as a minor still, despite all he’d done. I watched as he walked away with that damned swagger he used, as though he were the main man. Kathy came up beside me.

“Did he learn his lesson?” she asked.

“Let’s go,” I headed off towards where we’d parked the car. Kathy followed.

14:35

I was sitting at my computer - in my home office - staring at the screen half paying attention and half in another world; a world where everything was better. Everything was different.

“What are you doing?” Kathy asked, from the doorway.

I clicked a button on my keyboard and the screen went blank, hiding what I was looking at. I swivelled around in my office chair and smiled at Kathy.

“Just work,” I said.

She was standing there in nothing but one of my tee shirts - some musical band shirt which stopped above her knees. She looked sexy.

“Stephanie isn’t home yet, we have the house to ourselves, I thought you might want to come to bed with me,” she purred, a seductive smile on her face. Stephanie was our fourteen year old daughter. Ninety percent of the time, the perfect daughter. Ten percent of the time, a typical teenager. Kathy thought she wasn’t home because she was still at school but I hadn’t told her the full story, Stephanie was staying with a friend tonight and wouldn’t be home at all. What with organising the picnic and then rushing home, it had completely slipped my mind that Stephanie had told me she wouldn’t be home earlier. Kathy continued, “But, you know, if you’re working… I guess I can go to bed by myself…”  She shrugged and turned from the room. I couldn’t help but watch. She must have been holding the front of the shirt as she walked away what with the way it hugged her arse so tightly. I couldn’t help but smile as I jumped to my feet and followed her down the hallway. I got to the bedroom door and froze.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked from her side of our large king-sized bed.

“I’m sorry,” I told her, “there’s something I need to do.”

“Well can it wait?”

I shook my head, “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

I turned and headed down the hallway to the stairs.

“You’re joking, right?” Kathy called out from the bedroom. I can tell by the tone in her voice that she isn’t sure if I am being serious or not. When I leave the house, car keys in hand, she’ll know for sure and the confused tone will change to a pissed one. I can deal with that when I get back home though. She’d understand. She wouldn’t want me to leave the house, she’d want me to stay in, but she would know why I had to.

I grabbed the keys from the hook, at the bottom of the stairs and left via the front door. There were five steps down to the drive. I touched only one of them in my haste to get to my waiting car. I pointed the key-fob to the metal bodywork and pressed it down, unlocking the vehicle in the process. The lights flashed as the central-locking clicked open. Seconds later and I was in the driver’s seat, sliding the key into the ignition. I gave the key a twist and the car spat into life. I can only imagine Kathy’s reaction not that I really have the time to be worrying about that. I need to do this. For my own sake if nothing else.

Without a second thought about home, I pulled away from the drive and sped off through the quiet cul-de-sac where we’d spent the majority of our married life, ignoring one of my neighbours in the process as he stood there - in his drive - waving at me.

Time was ticking on. If I wanted to make it, I’d have to put my foot down. It was a twenty-minute drive at the best of times and that wasn't taking school-run traffic into consideration. As I pulled up at the junction, ready to turn right, I mentally berated myself; I should have left earlier.

My mobile phone started vibrating in my inside jacket pocket. I pulled it out and saw ‘unknown number’ displayed on the screen. I rejected the call. It was most likely Kathy, no doubt concerned about what I was doing. I’d explain when I got home. Or rather, I’d have an excuse by the time I got home. As I slipped the phone down into the centre console of the car, I noticed the clock change digits. 14:45 already. Where did the last ten minutes go?

I pressed my foot down on the accelerator and increased speed only to then slow to a near stop when I caught up with the expected traffic. I knew I was going to hit it but - even so - there was a part of me which had hoped I wouldn’t have. Shit.

I glanced back to the clock and the last digit increased by one. 14:46. Fourteen minutes and they’re out. Fourteen minutes. I won’t make it. It’s pointless trying. I should just turn around and go home. Confront the wife. I’ve waited this long, what’s one more day?

Despite agreeing with my brain’s thought processes, I didn’t attempt to do a three point turn nor did I attempt to turn back. I sat there patiently waiting for the traffic to allow me the opportunity to continue along the same path; a small part of my brain - a foolish, stubborn piece - convinced I’d make it there still. Just because the gates opened at three, it didn’t mean it would necessarily be too late. He could be detained in there. He could be out there a little later than three on the dot.

Another twenty minutes, or so, of battling the school traffic and I pulled up outside the large set of school gates. Over six foot tall and spiked across the top of them, as was the fence surrounding the perimeter, I couldn’t help but wonder whether they were there to stop people from getting in or to keep the students from getting out. If it’s the latter, they fail considering the number of children milling around down the local park at lunch-time.

The park.

It’s only just dawned on me now that the chances of Travis returning back to his classes, on a beautiful day like this, are extremely low. Growing up, I know I would have most likely taken the afternoon off whether I was meant to or not.

Don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to him. You are not the same. You are not a bad man.

Regardless of my sudden realisation, I started looking from student to student. There are not too many standing at the gates now, waiting for their parents to come and collect them. Just a handful, all smartly dressed in their uniforms. A contrast to how he looks usually with his top shirt button undone, tie loose and shirt untucked. I wonder how many times he is told to smarten himself up by the teachers only to ignore them. He needs to be taught some respect.

I shall teach him.

I’ll do more than that.

Another car pulled up outside of the gates and two of the students waiting jumped in. The car pulled away. Two more down and still no sign of Travis. The longer I sit here - not that it has been very long - the more I realise today is not the day to find him. I wondered whether I could go in and ask where he is? Maybe I could pretend to be one of his parents here to collect him?

“Hi, I’m here to pick my son up but he doesn’t seem to be here. I just wondered if you’d happened to know where he was?” I said out loud paying close attention to my tone. I didn’t sound convincing. It sounded all wrong. Scratch that idea. You don’t want to highlight to other people - not even your wife - that you’re looking for him and following him. You don’t want people knocking on your door when they eventually find him; when you’re finished with him.

I do not recognise any of the students standing outside of the gates as being people who usually hang around with him either. That’s also disheartening. Had I recognised one of them, I could have simply followed them in the hope they would lead me to him. Of course his friends aren’t there. They most likely took the afternoon off with him too. Unless I have it all wrong and they either left by a side gate, of which there are three, or they’re still in the building somewhere.

I opened my car door and set a foot on the concrete outside. Half in and half out of the car, the temptation was to venture into the building and have a look around. See if I could see him, or any of his friends. I can’t deny that the temptation was strong even though I knew it was a foolish thing to do. What if I did see him in there? He’d see me too. He might not have recognised me in the park earlier - and it was stupid calling out to him then - but he might now, if there weren’t many people around. Alarm bells might start ringing in his head, especially if he sees me somewhere I am not supposed to be. I can’t risk it.

I put my foot back in the car and slammed the door shut.

Just go home. Go home, with an excuse for your disappearance, and play happy families. Start again tomorrow but this time do not let him out of your sight for a minute. I was doing well this morning having spotted him at the bus stop first thing. I followed the bus all the way to school, I watched as he entered the building via this gate. I hung around until lunch, when he left with a couple of friends, I followed him to the park. Satisfied he’d be there for a while, I called home and invited the wife to the picnic. I should have just stayed with him. I shouldn’t have called out. Who knows, maybe I could have even snatched him there and then?

Don’t beat yourself up about it. It didn’t have to be today. I have waited this long, what’s one more day?

I started the engine up and pulled away from the side of the road. It was hard not to be a little disappointed with how the day ended. I thought today was going to be it; an end to the whole thing.  And - on top of that - I knew I now had to sit in the long traffic queues to get home again.

Today was a wasted opportunity.

15:58

I walked through the front door still feeling angry at myself for not having done what I had set out to achieve today. I had been building up to this day for so long. Everything was ready. Had I not invited Kathy to the park - for the picnic - chances are my day would have ended differently. I closed the door behind me and turned towards the kitchen to fetch a drink. I jumped when I noticed Kathy sitting on the stairs waiting for me, still wearing the tee shirt I had left her in earlier.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“I had to do something,” I told her.

“Do something? Do what?”

“It was a surprise,” I told her. Her birthday was in less than a month. The perfect excuse for any husband to act suspiciously. “I can’t say but it needed to be dealt with now.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“For your birthday. Just leave it,” I told her firmly, “I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

She didn’t say anything and neither did she move. She sat there, on the middle step of the stairs, with a suspicious look on her face which suggested she didn’t believe me.

“And what about the park today?” she continued.

I frowned, “What about it?”

“Why did you want to go today of all days?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. In her eyes the park was supposed to be a spontaneous show of affection on my part and yet here she was, questioning it with no good reason.

“You said I wasn’t spontaneous. That was me being spontaneous!”

“And what about work?” she asked.

I should have dropped her off at the house, after we had finished, and disappeared for a few more hours to keep up appearances. That was a mistake on my part. But then she knew I could also work from home too, thanks to the wonders of modern technology. We’d arrived home and I’d spent a good number of hours sitting in my office. How did she know I wasn’t working then?

“What about it?” I asked.

“You said you had the afternoon off.”

“And I did,” I lied, “and yet I still did more work in my office upstairs such is my dedication. What is all of this about?” I asked starting to get frustrated. Fine, my behaviour earlier was odd - running out like that - but did it really warrant all of these questions? I also noticed the lies were getting easier. A few months ago my face used to go scarlet whenever I lied and I was unable to look people in the eye but now - they rolled off the tongue with alarming ease without so much of a flicker of emotion hinting that I wasn’t speaking the truth.

“Is that right?”

“Yes. What the hell is all of this about?” I asked trying to act all innocent.

She pointed to something behind me. I followed her pointing finger and turned on the spot. There was a small wooden table behind me, up against the corner of the hallway close to the front door. The house telephone was sitting on the table, next to the Yellow Pages telephone directory not that we ever used either one anymore. The only calls that came through tended to be from cold-callers trying to sell us dodgy insurance and, with regards to the telephone directory, if we needed a phone number we tended to use the Internet on our mobiles to get it for ourselves. The phone itself was sat in a black cradle which also acted as an answering machine for when we missed the calls. A green indictor light was flashing on and off showing we had a message waiting for us.

“You might want to listen to that,” she said. “You might think it’s important.”

Kathy stood up and walked back up the stairs. I watched her until I could see her no more. When she was out of sight, I turned back to the answering machine. I didn’t need to press it. What with her attitude towards me, and all of the questions, I knew who it was. Regardless, I walked over and pressed it the button. The message clicked through:

“Hi Will, this is Gary. We were just wondering what was happening? Your doctor’s note ran out a couple of days ago and we haven’t heard anything. Obviously if you need more time it isn’t a problem, we’re here for you. We just need to be kept in the loop. If you could give me a call, buddy, I’d be grateful. If not I’ll try you again tomorrow. I hope everything is okay. See ya, bye.” The phone clicked and the answering machine asked if I wanted to save the message or delete it.

Message deleted.

Shit. That was a pretty condemning call. Not only did it give away the fact I hadn’t been in today, it also revealed I hadn’t been in for a while. Kathy must have come downstairs to answer the ringing phone only for the machine to kick in. She would have heard everything.

I am getting better at lying, there is no denying that. But thinking quickly on my feet? That’s not my strong point - not for circumstances like this anyway. Damn, damn, damn. I can’t tell her. She won’t want me to do anything stupid and will try and talk me out of it but I need to do this. Might even lose her if I told her. Whatever. I can’t ignore this conversation, or even delay it. We need to talk.

I hurried up the stairs after Kathy. The bedroom door was shut. I walked over to it and knocked softly, “Honey?” I called through the wood. She didn’t answer me. Great. The silent treatment. It’s always harder to talk when they employ the silent treatment. “Open the door,” I told her. I waited for a response but none came. I couldn’t even hear her in there. Maybe she’d stormed straight through to the en-suite bathroom and locked herself in there? A second door to call through. “Kathy!” I called out, louder this time. “Open the door. Let me explain.”

“Why? So you can feed me mores lies?” she asked.

“You’re being unreasonable!”

I may have done wrong and my intentions may not be as clear as they should be but it was all for her benefit. Our benefit. Once it is done, she’ll thank me. Until it is done, though, I can’t talk to her about it. She’ll understand when it is all done and dusted. She will understand and she will thank me. Both her and Stephanie.

“I’m coming in,” I told her. I put my hand on the handle and went to twist it only to stop when she shouted for me to stay away. “Honey. I can explain…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said. I guess, given my recent behaviour, she had every right to feel this way but it didn’t make it okay. If she’d open the door I’d feed her a line about looking for a new job, maybe even having one but it doesn’t start yet so I thought I’d take a little time off to enjoy the peace and quiet before I am thrown in at the deep end. Although, I guess, if I did say that she would then ask the question of where I had been every day. I’m not sure how I could respond to that one…

I backed away from the door.

“I’ll be downstairs if you want to talk,” I told her. Once again I wait for a response from her that never came. I nodded and convinced myself we could fix this in the morning if she doesn’t come down and speak before then. Surely we’d speak before then. She couldn’t stay in there all evening and night without coming out - even if it’s only for a drink.

I walked down the stairs trying to fill in the blanks of a good enough lie to tell her. She’d asked more questions, when she does talk to me, so I need to be prepared or else it will only make it worse… What the Hell?

I was standing in the doorway to the lounge, at the bottom of the stairs. A spare bed had been set up on the sofa. I guess locking herself away in the bedroom hadn’t been a spur of the moment decision.

I was hit with immediate regret as I started reminding myself this particular mess had stemmed from the wasted journey to the school. Had I thought about it more, had I not just jumped in the car, all of this could have been avoided.

I walked over to the sofa and slumped down into the seat. I hesitated a moment, unsure of what to do, before reaching into my pocket and pulled out my mobile phone. There were no missed calls and no waiting text messages. Thinking of the latter, I opened up a new text message and entered Stephanie’s name before typing out a message; “Hope you’re okay. Love you. Miss you. See you tomorrow xxx”. The way her mum has gone off the deep end over that call, and running out on her earlier, it’s probably for the best she isn’t home tonight although I could sure do with a hug right about now.

A silver lining to the current situation means I can - at least - use her bed. If only for tonight.

I leaned back on the sofa, pushing the duvet up to the other end next to the pillow, and stared at the television even though it wasn’t turned on. In my mind I filled the blank screen with News Reports from weeks ago. It always happened like this if I saw a blank screen; flashbacks to the news on that damned day. It was the same with newspapers. I’d look at them and - instead of seeing what was on the front page for the day - I’d only see the layout from that day. A constant reminder and one that I hoped would stop after I did what I had to do.

There was a temptation to grab the car keys and hit the roads; patrol the areas I knew Travis liked to hang out. I didn’t want to sit in the house knowing she was up there fuming with me and - more to the point - I couldn’t think of a good enough excuse not to have been at work for Kathy, should she come down and start talking to me.

Fuck it. I doubt I will find but him it saves sitting here, in silence, staring at the blank television and remembering bits and pieces I’d sooner forget.

I jumped up from the sofa and grabbed the car keys from the hallway before disappearing out of the front door. I closed the door behind me, unsure as to whether I should have called up to Kathy or not. I decided against it. If she wants to talk, she has my number. With the key in the ignition and the engine purring softly, I pulled from the drive unsure of where I was heading.

20:01

I was sitting in McDonald’s carpark with a drink in my car’s cup-holder, a bag of fries sitting in my lap and a burger in my hand. I was half paying attention to what I was putting in my mouth and half watching a group of youths hanging around next to their cars, clearly proud. My car isn’t the biggest and certainly isn’t the fastest of automobiles and - even at my age - I find insurance to be pricey. God only knows how these kids are running their cars. I guess mummy and daddy pay.

I didn’t actually want a burger. I don’t like junk food. It is an unsatisfying meal. You eat it and you think you’re full and yet - twenty minutes later - you find you’re hungry once more. And nine times out of ten it gives me a stomach ache which cripples me. The only reason I am here is because I thought he might be. Driving past, on many an evening, I noticed this seemed to be a local hang out for young lads and their girlfriends. Needless to say, he wasn’t here. Of course he wouldn’t be. He’s only sixteen. Most likely - if he survives until his seventeenth birthday - he’ll be here next year with his car, complete with L-Plates.

I took another bite of my hamburger. I’m not sure if it’s due to thoughts of Travis in the forefront of my mind but - somehow - the burger tastes worse now. I wound down the window and dropped the remainder onto the carpark’s concrete floor. With the windows down the sounds of the youths were clearer now and I could make out what they were talking about; mixed subjects but mainly focused on the rest of the cars in the carpark. They were passing judgement on each and every one they could see, including mine.

It wasn’t the first time people had mocked me for the car I drove, a KIA Picanto, and usually it didn’t bother me. But because it was a group of youths, because of what had happened with Travis, it annoyed me more than it should have done.

I fired up the engine and revved the engine. The group of youths turned towards me with a look of bemusement on their faces. I showed no emotion as I revved the engine again. A second later and the group started to laugh, some of them even pointing towards my car. I released the handbrake and revved the engine again.

“Come on! Show us what it has! What is that? A V8?” one called out.

I revved once more before pressing the clutch down and selected first gear. A few more revs of the engine as the youths continued laughing. One of them leaned into his car and turned the bass up, drowning out the pathetic engine hidden underneath my bonnet. I pressed the accelerator again, holding the revs, and released the clutch, launching the car forward with a sudden burst which startled the youths as I shot towards them.

As I got near them, I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt inches away from one of the young lad’s well cleaned and polished car. I couldn’t help but laugh as the group picked themselves up from where they’d hit the ground, to avoid being rammed.

“What’s your problem, old-timer?” one of them yelled.

Another leaned in and grabbed me by the shirt. I slammed the car into reverse and accelerated backwards. The hand - gripping my shirt - released me but not through a choice of their own. Again I slammed on the brakes causing the car to screech to another halt. I was just sitting there with a grin on my face as the youths all stood there, by their own cars, shouting at me. Some of them were giving me the finger whilst others were gathering up their rubbish from where they’d earlier dropped it - despite being close to a bin. Slowly I raised my middle finger to the group before selecting first gear. They responded by throwing their empty packages towards my car. I laughed again as the rubbish bounced off the metalwork. I drive a KIA. Do they really think I care about the bodywork?

I flashed the group a wink and pulled away from the carpark. A creeping satisfaction that I’d won. A little taste before the main fight.

Wednesday

07:45

It hadn’t been the most comfortable of nights sleeping on the sofa. Having finally got home, a little after midnight, there was a part of me which considered going on up to the bedroom and creeping into the bed but I knew - with my luck - I’d wake Kathy and the arguing would start again. Sleeping on the sofa was easier.

My mobile phone’s shrill alarm woke me with a start, pulling me from a dream of happier days. Happier days which were clouded in grey within the first couple of minutes of being awake just as they always were. I should be used to it by now. This is my life. This is all I have. There’s no time to lie here feeling sorry for myself. I need to get up and get out, just as I had the previous day.

I flung the spare duvet off my aching body and swung my feet to the floor. As I stood up I felt every part of my spine click, from the top down to the bottom. The sofa clearly doesn’t offer proper back support. I threw my clothes on after picking them up from the floor where I had flung them the previous night. They could probably do with an iron, or even a fresh change of clothes, but I do not have the time. Something to sort later.

Walking through to the kitchen I was surprised to see Kathy standing by the sink. She was staring out of the window with a slice of toast in her hand. There was a mug of tea by her side.

“You okay?” I asked. I was almost afraid to ask as my mind questioned whether she was still angry from the previous night. She didn’t answer me. It annoys me how does she that from time to time. I’ll be there chatting away, quite happily, and she’ll be completely ignoring me as though her mind is somewhere else completely. I looked around the kitchen work-tops in the hope I’d spot a fresh mug of tea and slice of toast for me. No such joy. Guess I’m supposed to make my own then. I guess it also answers the question as to whether she is still angry with me.

I walked over to the bread bin and opened it only to see she had taken the last slice. No tea-bags left in the tin either. Great.

“You can go shopping,” she said quietly, her eyes still fixed upon whatever had caught her attention outside. “Seeing as you’re not going to work.”

I didn’t have the time to get into it now. Always running out of time. Regardless, I turned to her so she could have her say and - maybe - let me have mine or at least set a time to do so. No joy though as she turned her back on me.

“We’ll talk when I get back,” I told her. I won’t allow the silent treatment forever. She is being ridiculous. Fair enough, I lied and have been lying but… I did it for a reason. Maybe I should just tell her the truth? No. I can’t. She’ll leave me. I know she will. She won’t understand. No one will. They’ll just label me a criminal and lock me up, throwing away the key no doubt - unless she talks me out of it that is but, as previously said, my mind is made up. I need to do this.

Before I said something I regretted, I turned away and walked from the room. Collecting my keys from the hallway, I left the house and got back into the car once more.

7:51am. I’ll be lucky to make it in time.

08:11

Damned traffic is always the same at this time of the morning. The only reason I didn’t give up straight away, and turn back home until lunch-time is because I had hoped the bus had been caught in the same traffic as me.

I took the final turn towards the required bus-stop in the hope of seeing a large group of teenagers hanging around in the distance where the stop was. Not a soul present other than an old lady waiting at the same stop. I pulled up next to her and wound the window down.

“Excuse me,” I said, catching her attention. She looked at me with suspicion in her eyes. “I’m guessing all the school kids have been collected already?” I said, putting her out of her misery.

She nodded, “Yes. A few minutes ago,” she said. She visibly relaxed. What was she expecting? Was I supposed to be selling her something from the road? Was she expecting me to snatch her from the streets? I might be a bad man but I haven’t stooped to that level yet.

“My son,” I explained quickly, “he left his lunch at home. I was hoping to catch him.”

She shrugged as there was nothing she could do about ‘my situation’, “Sorry.”

“Not as sorry as him come lunch-time,” I said. I did the window up and headed off down the road, in the same direction the bus would have gone. It has to make other stops along the way before it gets to the school gates. I might be able to catch up with it.

Bottom of the road, I turned right. An annoying trip around the houses coming up as I search for the bus. I only hope he is on it. If he is then I know that was definitely his stop. If he wasn’t on it, then seeing him there the other day was nothing more than a fluke. Perhaps he had been staying around a friend’s house? No. Don’t think like that. Be optimistic. That was his stop. He lives somewhere close-by. Please let that be true. This is the closest I have come to tracking him down now and - to have come this far - this has taken weeks. I want to move things forward, not backwards by having to restart the search. Please let that have been his stop.

Left turn. The bus is at the other end of the road. Bingo.

I pressed my foot down on the accelerator, ignoring the sign posts warning me to keep my speed to twenty. At twenty miles per hour, this adverts say, you’re less likely to kill a child but what if they deserve to die? No one ever considers that, do they?

My mind started flitting to what would happen if I did find his home address. I could watch him for a while and then, when he was alone, I could strike. If I was quick enough, and quiet enough, I could be in and before anyone knew what had happened we would be long gone. At last, just the two of us. Thoughts of what I wanted to do to him disappeared, only to be replaced with images of my wife and daughter. Both of them seeing the headlines when my secret was discovered. Both of them looking hurt. Shake those thoughts from your head, Will, you can’t let that put you off. You’ve been thinking about this for too long now to just let it go. You can’t go on living a lie and pretending everything is fine. You owe it to yourself to act upon this.

Behind the bus now. I reached across to the glove compartment and pulled out my sunglasses. The weather outside is bright, sure, but it does not warrant the glasses. Their only purpose here is to help disguise my face on the off-chance I do happen to catch sight of him.

The bus pulled up at the next stop and - much to the annoyance of the car behind me - I pulled up too. Not to the side of the road but behind the bus as though I couldn’t get by him, despite their being no oncoming traffic and plenty of room to do so. The car behind me beeped but I ignored it. They can fucking wait. That’s the problem with the world today, everyone is in such a god-damned hurry. Another beep, longer this time as though the driver was really pressing down on his horn. Now he was revving his engine too. I didn’t need to check my rear-view mirror to know it must have been a younger driver. Another press of the horn. I noticed some of the lads, sitting at the back of the bus, turned around to see what was going on.

There!

There he is!

The son of a bitch. Top deck, sitting at the back with his friends. He was looking down at my car and the one behind. I sank back in my seat changing the angle we shared. I could no longer see him and he could no longer see me. I don’t need to see him now. Not now I know he is definitely up there.

The bus indicated right and pulled away from the side of the road having let more children onboard. I followed at a sensible distance. The driver behind me was zig-zagging from side to side and driving right up to my bumper, trying to push me into going faster. I’m not in a hurry. I slowed down just to annoy him more.

By 8:45am the bus pulled up outside the school gates. I pulled up against the kerb, just before the bus’s drop-off point. From here I can see all of the youths who get off. They jump off the bus, turn towards me, walk down the pavement a little way and then turn right into the school gate. I get to see each and every one of the little fuckers.

To remain as inconspicuous as possible, I sank down a little more in my seat. Hopefully no one will pay me any attention. I’m just another parent sitting in his car, having dropped his child off at school for the day. Nothing more and nothing less.

Partially hidden I watched as a large group of youths jumped from the bus and started walking towards the school gate. From behind, they were shoved to one side as he, Travis, pushed through. A look on his face - and a look on the faces of the youths he shoved his way through - suggested they weren’t friends and he was merely playing up to the alpha-male status his bullying ways had ‘earned’ him. Temptation was great to restart the car engine and accelerate straight into him - pinning the shit between bonnet and the metal railings surrounding the school’s property.

With him having successfully pushed his way through, it wasn’t long before his friends did the same - re-joining him by the school gates. Some of the faces I recognised, some of them were new to me. They don’t interest me though. They’re simply the sheep. When he is with me, and the two of us leave, they will find someone else to follow. Hopefully a better role-model than him. The fact I recognise them means nothing. When this is done, their faces will soon fade to nothing. His face - his face will stick with me forever.

To my surprise he - and his minions - turned into the school gates and continued towards the main building. And here was me thinking he was going to play truant again, unless - like yesterday - it is only the afternoons he disappears for. Goes to register in the morning to at least give the impression he was in and - then - goes out at lunchtime whilst leading his friends astray. It might not be too late for them, though, like it is for him.

I continued watching until he disappeared in through the double doors of the old building. I waited an extra couple of minutes, unsure as to whether he’d come back out although I did doubt it. Something in my brain kept me there. More pupils went in, none came out.

12:35

I had gone home to talk to Kathy but she wasn’t there by the time I got there. I presumed she’d left for work. There were no notes so clearly she was still in a mood with me. Otherwise she’d have left something like ‘hope you have a good day’ or ‘love you’ and a little picture of a heart. She left them for me, I left them for her. Stephanie was never impressed when she found them and nor was she impressed when we left them for her, just to creep her out. That was back when times used to be happier.

I spent the morning on the Internet, looking up various News Reports on the Internet and getting myself more and more wound up with how I felt about the world today. I remember, growing up, it used to be a question of playing outside in the streets with your front doors open. Not a care in the world. And if your mum (or dad) popped out to visit the next door neighbour, they never worried about locking the door. Sometimes, even though you were in the street playing, they still didn’t bother closing the door. The house would be completely empty. And wars - they never happened on our own turf. Bad crimes, wars… It was always somewhere else. Nowadays though it’s all you hear about; people dying, fights breaking out, corruption. The world has gone to shit and we might not be on talking terms right now but my wife knows it too. So does my daughter. Hell, back when I was younger, the News Programmes often ended with a funny story to lighten the mood. They’d talk of this and that in countries overseas and then end on something like a piano-playing cat. Now the programmes end with just more shit to stress you out with.

I left the house in plenty of time to drive back here, to the school. I didn’t want to miss the kids coming out for lunch-time; the older children being allowed to leave the premises and the younger ones being forced to stay in and play ball games on the field. Hopefully he will come out again. The weather is good, the sun is shining now… I’m sure he will be tempted back to the park with his friends. Better yet if he decides to pop home. Without the morning traffic, it wouldn’t take long for the bus to take him there. I doubt that will be an option though.

Sitting here, looking at the school, and I feel puzzled. It’s an expensive place to send your children. Kathy and I couldn’t afford to send Stephanie here, not that we were unhappy with where we sent her. Kids got in here thanks to rich parents or earning a placement through a scholarship, or some similar scheme. Travis can’t be bright. He can’t be. Which means his parents, whoever they are, must be rich. I wonder whether they’re as proud of their son as I am of Stephanie? How could you be proud of someone like that, parent or not?

With the windows open I heard the school bell echo through the large building, across the fields. Lunch-time. I can imagine the chaos erupting around the hallways now; doors swinging open, kids running everywhere - each of them desperate to get to the front of the lunch queue before anyone beat them to it. Of course there’d be teachers shouting at them not to run, but ultimately the place would definitely be chaotic. I feel safe in the relative comfort of my car.

12:51

Here he comes now, walking down the long driveway with some of the group I had seen him with earlier. He looks as though he is in a bad mood. Certainly not smiling as he had been this morning when I saw him. Has he had a bad day? Maybe I should get out and offer him some comfort? A shoulder to cry on perhaps? I laughed to myself without taking my eyes from the group. They exited the school premises and crossed the road just in front of my car, once again forcing me to sink back in my chair. I need not have worried, they weren’t bothered by me. I guess they each had fish and chips on their minds from the shop a little further down the road. One fish and chip shop, one newsagent - these are the shops for the students - and one wine merchant, a shop for the teachers.

Sitting here now, I started to regret confronting him in the park yesterday. Had I not done so, I could have followed him on foot now. If he hopped on a bus, down the road, I too could have done the same. But now I’m stuck. If I follow him, he might recognise me although - truth be told - he should have yesterday too. The fact he didn’t, just makes him even more hateful. Regardless of how I feel though, I’m stuck. I can’t follow him down the road on foot and I can’t exactly use the car; driving behind him at a snail’s pace. I can’t let him get away again though. I want this done. Today. I need to. For the sake of my marriage and my sanity I need to do it today.

My mobile phone, resting in my jacket pocket, vibrated for my attention. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. Another call from an unknown number. I dismissed it. Now is not the time. Now is definitely not the time. If it was important, they’d leave me a message. Deal with it later.

Travis and his little friends are further down the road now. If I follow from here, I should be okay. I opened the car door and climbed out, closing it quietly behind me. They’re a pretty long way away from me now but I don’t want them turning around because of a loud noise. Car shut, I started walking after them.

I could hear them laughing. Joking around without a care in the world. In a way - as sick as it sounds - I actually feel a little jealous of them. I don’t recall a time when I felt I could laugh in such a way. I’m not sure what they were talking about; not close enough to hear it properly and - to be honest - I’m not sure I want to be.

I quickened my pace as they disappeared around the corner. It is fairly obvious they are going to the shops but, even so, I don’t want to risk losing them. As I keep telling myself, today is the day. By the end of the day, everything will be better and I will have him. Just the two of us and no one else to get in our way.

A pang of excitement. Excitement and sorrow. Sorrow? So much of my time has been dedicated to this day, I guess… What happens afterwards? Don’t think about that now. So much to do.

I turned the corner just as they disappeared into the newsagents. Okay, surprising, I had guessed they’d have been after fish and chips. But then maybe they’re just stealing themselves some dessert?

I hung back on the corner. When they come back out, I can disappear easily depending on which way they travel. They might come back this way, in which case I can run back to the car, or they might head on for the bus stop around the next corner - away from prying eyes of possible school teachers out for a walk.

All I wanted to do was find where the little shit lived. Easier said than done. I had tried the Internet, using people with his surname and nothing. At least nothing for free. I could have probably hired someone to find him for me but then I wouldn’t have remained anonymous and that’s vital. I need to remain anonymous. Especially from Kathy and Stephanie. Speaking of which…

I took the phone from my pocket and opened the text messages. Stephanie hadn’t replied to my last one. At a guess I would say she either left her charger at home - and so her phone is now dead - or she has run out of credit again. I swear, when she asks for cash for credit, she spends the money on going out with friends instead. Sneaky but not exactly helpful in circumstances like this. Even so, give her a text but play it cool… Teenage girls hate it when they feel like they’re being crowded.

“Hey, hopefully you got my text last night… Just wondering if you’re coming home tonight. Need to know if we’re having dinner for two or three XxX.”

I hit ‘send’ and watched as a small bar crept its way across the screen showing the progress of the transmission. And then it was gone. She might not be able to text me back but I’m sure she can borrow a friend’s phone for a quick call. I’m thinking take-away tonight. It might help win Kathy back round. Forgiveness through food, right? Whatever. I don’t want to order and not have enough food for her and - at the same time - I don’t want to order too much and waste it. It’s not as though it’s exactly cheap.

My heart skipped a beat when the phone vibrated in my hand once more. Damned unknown number again. These marketing companies annoy me. I don’t know how they get hold of your number. You try and keep it private but - somehow - it still manages to get in their hands. Companies offering help with PPI claims, unwanted help in claiming for an accident you never had, offers of money at exceptionally high interest rates… If I could find out who gave my number out, I’d kill them. Verbally at least.

I lifted the phone to my ear, ready to answer, but stopped short of pressing the relevant button on the screen when I noticed Travis and his friends step from the little shop. I declined the call and hid my phone back in my pocket . They can have a piece of my mind later.

Travis and his friends bypassed the fish and chip shop and headed back in my general direction. I turned away from them and started walking back towards the car. As I did so, I wanted to turn occasionally to see if they were close-by - still coming - but I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t let them see my face. At least, I couldn’t let Travis see my face. Not after yesterday.

As I walked I kept listening back to their voices. If they suddenly got distant it would have meant that they were walking away. All the time they remain at this particular volume I know they’re still heading back to the school.

I reached my small car and climbed in, closing the door behind me. I leaned down to the footwell of the passenger seat and made it look as though I was pretending to get something from down there. Listening to the voices still, Travis and his friends walked by the front of the car and through the school gates. I sat up and watched as they continued back to classes, merrily eating their fucking sweets. I hope the cunts choke.

“I’ll see you at three o’clock,” I muttered.

15:05

The school bus was parked up. The driver hadn’t opened the doors yet and students were milling around, impatiently waiting - all of them keen to get home and do whatever it is they wanted to do. I had parked up ten minutes before the end of school and twelve minutes before the bus had arrived. I wasn’t going to miss Travis today. Not like yesterday. I had scoured the waiting students but Travis wasn’t among them so now my eyes were fixed - like a hawk - on the school gates. I carefully studied each face as they came out. Sometimes it was easy as it was one student at a time and sometimes hard as a group came out together. Still no Travis though.

It’s okay. It’s only been five minutes. His class might have been at the other end of the school. It would take time to get his bag from the locker and get out. He’ll be out. Any minute now. I’m sure of it. Tonight is the night. I can feel it.

Shit.

The take-away.

If tonight is the night - what about the meal I had planned with the wife (and daughter if she ever replies to my text). Don’t be hard on her. She would have only just finished classes, like Travis. I am sure she will reply soon enough. But that doesn’t help me with what I should do tonight if my plans do come to fruition.

Need to fix things at home.

I suppose I could find out where he lives and follow through with the plan another night? Have a meal with the wife and kid tonight? Try and fix things? And then tomorrow… Tomorrow I could finish what needed doing. Not ideal but… A compromise. I just need patience. But then - from the moment I started to consider doing this - all my patience went out of the window. Especially when more and more people around me let me down. To Hell with it. The family can wait. They will be there tomorrow and I will have had Travis. I would have got the urge - the need - out of my system. Just get it done today and then rebuild the family tomorrow.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the mobile once more. A quick text to the daughter telling her not to worry. We won’t be having take-out tonight. Daddy has to work late.

I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and looked up in the nick of time. Travis was walking out of the gates with his bag slung over his right shoulder. His expression; still not a care in the world. No friends with him this time. Just him, alone. If only there weren’t so many people milling around. I could have just grabbed him now and been done with it. At least - looking for the cloud’s silver-lining - it means he will be headed home.

I sat there, watching, as he jumped on the bus which had since started letting people on. I didn’t start the car yet. It would be another five minutes - give or take- before the bus pulled away ferrying the kids back to where they lived.

I sat there waiting, wishing for it to move away so we can get this show on the road, with my mind bouncing around ideas as to what happens next and whether I’d get away with it. What? Of course I will get away with it. He won’t tell anyone. I sure as Hell won’t tell anyone. It will be our little secret. The wife will never know and neither will my daughter. I’ll think of something to tell them though, something to keep them happy - the wife anyway seeing as the daughter has been spending so much time with her friend recently. She doesn’t have a clue as to what is happening at home and I can’t help but feel that is for the best. As for the wife… As for Kathy… What’s one more little lie? Especially if it means keeping the peace?

The bus’s indicator flicked to the right and - carefully - the bus pulled away from the side of the pavement. Here we go. Time to find out where Travis lives.

18:32

I stepped into my house half-expecting to see Kathy on the stairs waiting for me. She should have been home from work by now. She should have been home hours ago. The roads were relatively clear at the moment so I know she wasn’t stuck in traffic somewhere. Unless, maybe, she had been home and then gone out again?

I walked down the length of the hallway, towards the kitchen, with the bags of shopping I had picked up in the afternoon whilst I waited for the school to kick-out. Usually Kathy would leave me a little note on the fridge if she had popped out somewhere; just a little clue as to where she had gone. There was nothing there other than an old photograph of us - stuck there via a magnet - which had been there for as long as the fridge. I liked that photo. We both did. It was our wedding day and someone had captured the image moments after my darling wife had taken a handful of the cake and shoved it in my face. There is a look of shock on my face and a beaming smile on hers. I should have expected it considering - whilst we were planning the marriage - she always joked that she was going to do it. I smiled to myself and set the two bags of shopping - bread, milk, tea-bags, a few other essentials - up onto the side. Her mug was there from earlier, along with her now empty breakfast plate (empty, at least, other than a few burnt crumbs). Guessing another helping of my punishment for lying to her was having to clean up after her too? I shook my head. She really going to be that petty with me?

I walked out of the kitchen and back down the hallway to the bottom of the stairs. I stopped and listened. The house was still. Quiet. Depressingly so. I called her name up the stairs hoping for an answer but there was nothing. She definitely wasn’t in. Unless she was still giving me the silent treatment?

I remember a time when the house was always buzzing with noise. Mainly when Stephanie was younger - say about eight years old. Stephanie was always running around, or playing her music noisily in her bedroom, or asking her mum to help with make-up… I’d be in the office working and praying for peace and quiet but now… Now I actually miss the daily noises of people going about their lives happily. Of course there were temper tantrums from Stephanie, especially when she hit those teenage years, and I don’t miss those but, even so… I don’t like the silence.

I climbed the stairs and went to the bedroom. The door was shut. So she is in and giving me the silent treatment? I knocked on the door and carefully opened it - half expecting a barrage of abuse but none came. Nothing unusual in the bedroom. Kathy wasn't home though. The room hadn’t been destroyed in a temper tantrum, not that I expected her to, and had been left as though she’d simply gone out for the day. The bed was made, her make-up was out on the side, there was a towel hanging over the back of her make-up chair as though she’d put it there after washing her hair. Nothing unusual.

18:36pm. I am sure she will be home soon. Knowing my luck it will be just before I have to leave the house. I can picture it now. She will come in, expecting a conversation with me to find out what exactly is going on and I’ll have to cut her off short and disappear. And by doing that - well it will only fuel her paranoia and general hostility towards me at the moment. To think, yesterday afternoon we were enjoying a picnic together in the park and now this. Talk about a quick change in circumstances.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised it would be stupid to sit here waiting for her to come home just to have to tell her I am going out again. It will only open the door to more questions that I am not in a position to answer. I need to be smart. Leave the house now and deal with everything at home. Find a suitable lie to cover everything up. A lie that not only my wife will believe but strangers too, if they ever come knocking on my door. No idea what yet, though. I need to be prepared. Whatever. I can’t sit here waiting for her.

I closed the bedroom door, leaving the room as it was, and hurried across the landing through to my office. A modest sized room with a filing cabinet (mostly filled with old paperwork), a computer desk with a computer and a cupboard in the corner. In the bottom of the cupboard, stashed at the back underneath an old pile of clothes I no longer wear, was my gym bag. I pulled the top layer of clothes off and lifted the bag. The contents clanked around inside. Forgot how heavy this was. I tossed the clothes back inside and closed the cupboard door. Kathy doesn’t normally come into this room, unless I am here, but there is no point in leaving it a mess. If she were to come in, and see, it would only raise yet more questions.

With everything back in its place, and the gym bag in hand, I hurried from the house - back to the car - before I was caught there. I tossed the bag in the trunk of the car and jumped into the driver’s seat. Key in the ignition, engine started, a little accidental wheel-spin and I was off back down the road. A little flutter of anticipation in my chest. Tonight is going to be a good night.

Thursday

00.01

All of my Christmases came at once last night. I was there, waiting for Travis, sitting outside of his house - a little further down the street anyway - watching and waiting. For what I wasn’t sure. I had spent so much time trying to find out where he lived that I never stopped to consider what would happen when I did get to his house. I knew I couldn’t just barge in there. Not with his mum and dad living there too. They’d probably object to their son coming out with me. Even more so if they knew my plans for him. For us.

It was a little after eight o’clock when the front door opened and his mum and dad stepped out looking all smart. They walked towards the car parked in the driveway and got into it. I saw Travis standing at the door. He was waving his parents goodbye with a smile on his face. Look at him, the little cunt. The perfect son. He looked to be waving them off but it’s more likely to be a case of him making sure they’re definitely gone so he can get up to mischief. Standing there, like butter wouldn’t melt. I wonder what his parents really think of him and his antics. Can they really be proud of that? Or do they put a brave face on because they feel as though they’re supposed to love him?

I had sat in the car waiting. I wanted to make sure his parent’s car didn’t suddenly come back down the road. Unlikely, yes, but they could have forgotten something and popped home. It’s not as though I hadn’t done such a thing in all my years - more so as I have gotten older, much to my growing frustration. I stayed there waiting, and watching, for another thirty minutes. Thirty minutes? Everything in my life at the moment seems to be dictated by time. Be here at this time, be there at that, don't forget this at this time and so on and so on. I’ll be glad when today is over with and I can finally stop worrying about time. Unless of course people learn of what Travis and I get up to and then I’ll have nothing but time to think about - up until they release me from my cage and allow me back onto the streets.

People like me are always thought of as the predator. We are always considered to be the evil ones with very few people feeling sympathy for us. We are given strict punishments with regards to lengthy prison sentences and given a rough life with the inmates we are forced to share with. All those who prey on children are hated. The circumstances are never considered. Sometimes life is really unfair but I won’t let those thoughts detract from what I am going to do. I need this. Travis needs this.

Darkness fell before I got out of my car. I was still worried his mum and dad would make another appearance as I scuttled over to his doorway. At that stage I still had no idea as to how I was going to proceed with this. Just as I hadn’t given any thought to the finer details with regards to what I told Kathy, I hadn’t thought about this either. That had not stopped me from knocking on the door though, a million different things flying through my head with how best to start a conversation with him.

“Hey, remember me?”

“Hi Travis.”

“Sorry to bother you but my car ran out of petrol and I wondered if I could borrow your phone?”

All these different options and routes the conversation could take and yet - when his face appeared at the door - it suddenly became very clear as to what course of action I would take.

“Cunt!” I couldn’t help myself. The word had just blurted from my mouth as I took a swing at his smug-looking face. My knuckles connected with his face with a force which surprised me and knocked him - spark out - to the floor with a satisfying crack. At least I had originally thought it had been the force of the punch but - in hindsight - it could have been the way his head hit back against the floor. And now I am here, sitting in this abandoned warehouse whilst waiting for him to wake up. He is on the chair in front of me - head slumped back at an uncomfortable angle - and I am resting back against the wall with a tatty old blanket I found to keep me warm. My old gym bag is on the floor next to me, unzipped with the contents on display. Just need him to wake up, preferably before the sun comes up and any potential walkers come by the old building.

I’m not sure what this building was originally used for. It’s definitely old and has seen better days with many of the windows smashed through. It’s clear that we are not the only people to have stumbled across the ruins either. In the other corner of the room there are piles of rubbish and drug paraphernalia. All the more reason to wish him awake so we can get this over and done with before we are interrupted.

I got up and walked over to where he sat.

“Wake up,” I gently tapped him across the cheek. When there was no response I did it again, and again until he finally started to respond with quiet little murmurs. He’s coming around. This is it, showtime. “Wake up!” I ordered him again.

Travis opened his eyes. It took him a while to focus.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Not important. Do you know who I am?”

“What happened?”

“I hit you. You lost consciousness. I brought you here.”

“Where am I?” he asked again.

The old building sat in the woods, close to the edge. He doesn’t know this now although he might when I tell him where we are, but we are actually close to the spot where our lives first crossed paths. The motorway is less than a five minute walk from this very spot. He says he doesn’t know me. He didn’t recognise me in the park Tuesday morning and he didn’t recognise me when he opened his front door to me, not that I gave him much of a chance. Now, with his eyes slowly focusing in on me, there is still no recognition. It hurts. How could he forget me so easily?

He tried to move. He won’t get far. He was bound. Rope around his wrists and rope around his ankles. Strong knots to stop him from escaping. He is mine. I have gone to a lot of trouble to get him here and he is not going to get away.

“What is this?” he shouted. His voice - so scared - echoed around the abandoned warehouse.

“Do you recognise this place?” I asked. There was fear in his voice. There was a calmness in mine.

“No!” he spat. “No! Where the fuck am I?”

“I’m not really sure what this building was used for, I’ll be honest. I like it though. It has a certain charm about it. You might not recognise it now but if I were to walk you out of the front doors… If you saw where we were - you’d know instantly.” I pointed towards the far wall, “Just beyond that wall, across the field, through the woods… There lies the motorway. Should be a little path somewhere leading to a narrow footbridge leading over to the other side and yet more woods…” His faced dropped. Slowly he puts the pieces together. And here I was thinking he was going to have to have it explained to him until it finally twigged.

“You?” now there was definite panic in his voice. The gravity of his situation came crashing down upon him with a heavy weight that should never have been lifted from him in the first place. It wasn’t me who lifted it from him. I was the one campaigning for it to crush him. It was the courts who took it from him. The fucking courts. They’re there to protect us, help lock away the criminals and - yet - they fail us. People walk free when they shouldn’t. The innocent parties end up feeling in prison despite being able to walk the streets; a worry they’ll bump into the one who wronged them. It’s fucked up. It’s unfair. Unjust. Other people might get away with it but not Travis. Not Travis. He’s mine.

“Say my name,” I ordered him. He stuttered. “Say it.” He slowly shook his head as tears started to roll down his cheeks. “Say my fucking name!”

“I don’t remember it!” he shouted, interrupting me. I fell silent. I didn’t know what to say. He had forgotten my name? How could he? After what he had done… I felt a sickness brew within the pit of my gut. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry…” His apologies did nothing to stop the feeling in my gut, it just angered me that little bit more. It was the first time I had heard him utter an apology. Even in court, when he was standing before the Judge, he didn’t say it. And yet the Judge, that fucking old cunt, was still lenient with him.

“Does this jog your memory?” I kicked the gym bag forward. Travis looked down and saw the contents within; a hammer, a hacksaw, a nail-gun, a carpet-knife to name but a few… He shook his head again. Not enough of a memory jogger for him? What about if I start pushing a scalpel up between his teeth and into his gums? What about then?

“Will?”

I froze. Kathy. How did she know I was here? I haven’t spoken to her since Wednesday morning. How could she know I was here? It’s not possible! It’s not fucking possible!

I spun around. She was standing in the doorway. There was a look of confusion on her face. Her eyes darting between myself and Travis. A look of horror slowly crept across her pale complexion when she realised what was happened.

“You can’t do this,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t try and stop me!” I reached into the gym bag and pulled the hammer out. “I need to do this.”

“Do what? What are you doing? Who is this…” she looked at Travis again, “… boy? Who is this boy? What is going on?!” she asked. Her voice was shaking. She took another step closer to me. I raised the hammer up.

“This is why I have been disappearing… This little cunt!” I pointed at Travis. “This fucking cunt ruined everything!” I shouted.

“I’m sorry!” he shouted again. He wasn’t sorry though. He wasn’t sorry when he was let off the hook with a suspended sentence. He wasn’t sorry the very next day when he was laughing with his friends as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Of course he didn’t have a care in the world. If people knew him, they might have felt differently but - his age - he was too young to be named in the press. No one knew. Only me. Only I knew.

“Please just come home with me. Whatever you’re doing,” Kathy said, “just leave it before you do anything stupid.”

“No! I can’t! I need to do this!”

Travis yelled, “Who are you even talking to?”

I screamed at him, “Shut the fuck up!”

He had gone up onto the motorway bridge with his friends. It was a sunny day. Cars were speeding underneath him. He had a brick in his hands and his friends dared him to toss it over the edge. Of course he did. The brick fell to the traffic below. It hit a car’s windscreen and smashed straight through it, killing the driver instantly when it hit them in the face. The car careered into the barrier before rolling. By the time the car came to a rest, the driver was dead and the passenger was in a critical condition.

My eyes started to well up as I relived the experience through once more. I had been at home. It was morning and I had been getting ready for work. I was standing in the kitchen, eating a slice of toast and drinking my morning cup of tea before heading out to the office. The house phone rang at first not that I answered it. I never answer the house phone. Too many cold-callers trying to sell me unwanted wares. If someone knows me, they know to phone my mobile. The house phone stopped ringing and I thought nothing else of it. Seconds later my mobile started ringing too. It was Heidi, a friend of the family but one who very rarely calls me. I answered the phone only to hear her crying down the other end of it. She explained she’d been driving down the motorway following what she thought to be my wife’s car.

“Please! My mum and dad have money. If you want, I can get some for you!” Travis was starting to sound desperate. Pathetic. Did he think a few notes stolen from his father’s wallet would be enough to replace what I had lost? “Please!”

“Are they proud of you?” I asked him. “Your mum and dad - are they proud of you?”

“Yes.”

“Really? Even after what you did? They’re still proud of you? You killed an innocent woman. My wife. Kathy. Her name was Kathy.”

“I didn’t mean to. We were just playing around! It was an accident.” His eyes were streaming with tears now not that I felt any empathy for him. He was nothing to me. Less than nothing. If he were on fire, I wouldn’t have pissed on him. Unless, of course, I happened to urinate petrol. Fuel those flames.

“What did mummy and daddy say when they found out?” I asked.

“I was grounded.”

“Grounded?” I couldn’t help but to laugh. “You killed my wife and you were grounded for it?”

“We didn’t know she was dead at the time…”

“Honey, please, don’t do this. You’re better than him. You’re better than this. You’re a good man,” Kathy was talking in the corner of my vision. I tried to block her out. I knew, if I listened, she’d had the power to talk me out of this. I don’t want to be talked out of it. I want to do this. I want to…

I swung the hammer to Travis’ knee-cap. It connected with a satisfying clunk of metal on bone and he let out a loud scream of agony. I hope it did hurt, you son of a bitch.

“Will! Please! Don’t do this!” Kathy yelled at me.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Travis kept saying again and again as he grimaced through the pain. Wasted words. I didn’t believe he was sorry. I remember his face. I remember the smug look when the Judge gave him that insult of a sentence. Why? Because of his age? Because he really bought into the whole ‘accident’ plea he went with? Fuck that. No. You don’t get to kill someone and walk away unscathed. Watching him, this little prick, over the last few weeks - since the end of the trial - and he had been getting on with life as though he didn’t have a care in the world. You don’t get to kill someone and carry on like that. It isn’t fair! I hit him again - both he and Kathy screamed.

“Your phone has been ringing! Your phone! All day you have been ignoring calls! You need to pick-up your voicemail messages!” Kathy screamed at me.

I remember the sound of Heidi’s voice. The sorrow. I remember. She explained how she got out of the car and ran over to help whilst other drivers - also stopped due to the wreckage - called for an ambulance service. By the time Heidi had got to the car, there were other helpers on hand. She leaned into the car and she told me, on the phone that morning, that she saw that my wife was dead. A little crack in her voice as she did so. She had told me my daughter was unconscious and taken away in the back of the ambulance. She told me to get to the hospital, before telling me which one. I remember hanging up the call and just standing there, in the kitchen, with a slice of toast in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. I was just staring out of the window at nothing in particular. Was she being serious? Was it a joke? It wouldn’t have been. Why would someone call to say that? I left my plate and mug on the side and hurried to the front door, desperate to get to the hospital to see for myself.

“Please! No more!” Travis screamed out.

I raised the hammer again.

“Will! You need to get your messages!”

I froze.

“I don’t need to listen to them!” I told her, still with the hammer high up in the air. “It’s just cold-callers. It’s always cold-callers. People phoning about an accident I never had, talking compensation… They’re just cold-callers!”

“It’s your daughter! You need to listen to the messages!” There was a desperation in Kathy’s voice which made me sit up and pay attention.

“She’s fine. She’s with her friends.”

“Please just listen to your messages!”

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Travis screamed out again.

I remember walking into the hospital room, the news already broken that my wife was dead, and seeing Stephanie laying there with a tube poking from her mouth. A ventilator moving up and down. A slow beeping noise coming from another machine which was attached to her finger via a little clip. Her eyes were shut. Her face was bruised. I remember the doctor’s telling me what was happening to her, what was going in her body, but I didn’t pay attention. I just turned and ran from that room as fast as I could. I’d lost my wife. I couldn’t lose my daughter. It was days before I finally managed to go back in there to see her and - with the exception of her bruises turning yellow - nothing had changed.

I reached into my pocket with my spare hand and withdrew my phone. On the screen it did show there were missed calls and new voicemails. I looked at Kathy, unsure of what to do. She looked at the phone and nodded; telling me to listen to them without saying the words once more. Shaking, I dialled 1-2-1 on the touchpad and lifted the phone to my ear.

Travis was staring at me. Tears streaming from his red-raw eyes. Dribble trickling from the corner of his mouth. I turned my back on him. He didn’t get to see my face. He didn’t get to see the expression change on my face when I listened to the messages…

My heart skipped a beat. It was the hospital. A female voice. Not one that I recognised. A concerned voice telling me that I needed to get in as Stephanie’s condition had changed. I dropped the phone and heard as it smashed against the hard floor. That familiar feeling of wanting to throw-up tickling both my guts and back of my throat. I retched noisily as I dropped to my knees.

“What’s going on?” Travis wailed. “Please talk to me! Please…”

I let out a scream. I’m not sure if it was rage or despair. Maybe a mixture of both?

“Daddy?”

My heart skipped a beat again. A heavy thud when it caught up with itself. No. Not her too. No. I turned, slowly. There - behind Travis - my daughter was standing with Kathy. Both of them looked so pale. No, not her too. I screamed again as I knew what it meant, my own scream causing the same from Travis.  I jumped to my feet and lurched across to him, putting the cold metal of the hammer against the side of his face.

“You did this! You did this, you cunt!” I screamed. Little droplets of spit spraying from my mouth onto his face. “You did this!”

“It was an accident! I promise! I’m sorry! I never meant to hurt anyone!”

“Fuck you! You did! You hurt me! You killed my wife and daughter! You hurt me!”

“Daddy what’s going on?” Stephanie looked scared, as did Kathy. Kathy put her arm around her daughter and turned her away from what I was going to do. I tried to ignore them as I lifted the hammer high in the air above Travis’ thick skull. One hit and he’ll pay the price. A one way ticket straight to Hell…

Kathy was looking back at me. A look of sorrow in her eyes at what I had become and what I was going through. A wish, perhaps, that she could put everything right again. I wish she could. I wish I could. But there’s no way. Not with him out there, living his life. Even if today has given him reason to feel the guilt. Even if he will carry it for the rest of his miserable life… It’s not fair that he gets to live and my family doesn’t. I need to do this.

Kathy shook her head, “Please don’t,” she said. “You’re better than this.”

I looked from her face to the back of my daughter’s head to the top of Travis’ head, up to the hammer in my hand poised ready for the fatal blow. My mind was being pulled in different directions. Tears streaming down my face now, and still streaming down his face as he looked up at me with eyes filled with sadness and regret. I yelled out again in frustration and tossed the hammer to the side. It bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor as I dropped back down to my knees with my head bent down towards the grimy floor. I screamed again as Travis continued to tell me how sorry he was. I didn’t want to hear it. Sorry didn’t bring my family back. Sorry didn’t make anything better. It was an accident. It was an accident. A stupid game. It went too far - that’s all he kept saying. Over and over again and again.

I flinched as I felt a hand on my shoulder. Looking up and Kathy was standing in front of me, blocking my view of Travis. There was a look of relief in her eyes as she realised I’d tossed the hammer away.

“He has to live with what he has done,” she told me. Words that didn’t reassure me or bring me any comfort. He had to live with the knowledge he had been responsible for the death of two people but I had to live without my daughter and wife. It would have been hard enough moving on with only one of them by my side but - to lose both? Travis was the lucky one. I’d take guilt over grief any day of the week. “He has to live with it,” she said again.

Stephanie appeared by her side. She was smiling at me. I’d miss the smile. “I love you,” she told me. I wept. I can’t remember the last time I heard her say the words to me. Since hitting the teenage years, she seemed to say it less and less. It wasn’t cool to say it anymore. When she did say it, it was because I had asked her to which wasn’t the same. To hear it now, though. The final time I’d hear the words. As her body grew cold and rotted, the sound of her voice would grow distant until I could no longer recall it, despite my best efforts to keep it fresh. The same with the dulcet tones of my wife.

“I love you too,” I told her.

“What?” Travis said from behind them. A reminder that he was there. What kind of cruel world lets him go unpunished for what he has done? He is unpunished and I am forced to suffer for the rest of my days. The rage built up within me once more as I pushed my wife and daughter to one side. I reached into my pocket and yanked out my brown leather wallet. I opened it up and removed a small photograph from within; a picture of my family - me, my wife and our daughter. It had been taken at one of those studio days where you go and have a selection of professional pictures taken. Once done, you’re lead through to another room where you see the images on a computer screen. It is then the job of the sales person to sell you as many of the photos as possible. Unfortunately, for me, my wife liked them all and we ended up spending far more than originally intended. Now, with them gone, I wish I had purchased another session too. So wrapped up in our lives, we take things for granted and never seemed to have the time for photos. Only when it is too late do we regret this.

I put the picture on Travis’ lap so that the smiling images captured within were facing him.

“Will, that’s me. My wife Kathy and my daughter. I want you to keep this picture with you at all times,” I told him. My voice was strict and harsh to ensure he knew I wasn’t joking. “I want you to keep it with you and remember the people you killed and the lives you ruined. You keep this fucking picture in your wallet and you never forget. You do that and I might let you live…”

“I’ll do it. Yes! Please! Anything! I don’t want to die.”

“Neither did my family and yet that didn’t keep them alive…”

“Dad what are you doing?” Stephanie asked. I ignored her voice.

“I keep telling you, it was an accident. We were having a laugh. We didn’t think…”

“You keep that picture on you at all times,” I continued. “You remember this situation. You keep in mind how close you came to dying… You… You make your mother and father proud because, I bet, at the moment they’re ashamed of you. They might not say it to your face but trust me they are. Their son. Their precious son, the murderer. The foolish murderer. You make them proud, you never forget this moment or…” I backed away and reached down into the gym bag removing the sharp scalpel, “… I can kill you now.”

“Will!” Kathy shouted at me as I pressed the blade against his apple’s apple. He swallowed hard and held his breath, expecting to feel the cold steel slice through his skin, spilling his blood.

I moved the knife away.

“I won’t forget, I promise…”

“And the picture?”

“I’ll keep it on me. I’ll make my mum and dad proud. I’ll be a better person. Please. I don’t want to die. I really am sorry…” finally said with a tone in his voice which made me believe him. Was it the look on my face that broke him or the fear for his own life? It doesn’t matter. I’ll take it. It’s as good as it’s going to get for me. I can’t keep repeating myself over and over again. What needed to be said, has been. My family are waiting for me.

I lifted the scalpel to my throat and gritted my teeth before I dug the blade into the side of my neck and dragged it across the front of my throat. Pain. Searing pain. Blood spray. Travis screaming. Kathy screaming. A gargle. Wobbly legs. Travis splattered in red. Could have been his. On my knees. Scalpel, bloodied, dropped to the floor. Slumped to the side. Pain subsided. Tired. Floor around my head pooling in red. Kathy and Stephanie standing by the warehouse doorway. Travis still screaming for someone to help. There’s no one. Focus blurring. A man standing with my wife and child. A smile.

It is me.

Blackness.

00:58

T H E    E N D

Table of Contents

- Tuesday

- 12:45
- 14:35
- 15:58
- 20:01

- Wednesday

- 07:45
- 08:11
- 12:35
- 12:51
- 15:05
- 18:32

- Thursday

- 00.01

- 00: 58