“The school has closed down now. The teacher’s don’t want to work without pay. Besides, the headmaster got beaten up by the children today.”
Looking at his broken daughter for a moment longer, and then sharing a lingering futile look with his wife, Chris called out, “Michael!”
Within a minute, Michael appeared. “What’s up, Da—” He stopped and looked at his sister, his jaw hanging loose. “Matilda, what’s happened?”
Stepping forwards, Matilda hugged her brother. Being twins gave them a bond stronger than most siblings, and when they needed comfort, they tended to find it in one another.
Taking her hand, Michael said, “Come with me. I’ll help clean you up.”
Watching their two children walk away, Diane said, “This wouldn’t have happened if we’d kept them in a private school.”
Balling his right fist, Chris fantasized about smashing it into his wife’s face. “You’re right about that. But who would have paid for it?”
“Not you, you useless piece of shit.”
Bored of the tension, Chris said, “I want Michael.”
“What?”
“I want Michael when we go our separate ways.”
“When will we do that?” she asked, sounding very matter of fact, like she was planning a trip to the seaside.
“Well, it seems it could be any day now. We don’t like each other, so we may as well just cut our losses and move on. But I want Michael.”
Staring at her husband through detached eyes, Diane said, “Okay. I want them both, but I can see that won’t happen. Don’t forget to tell him how much I love him—every day.” She then left Chris in the cold hallway by himself, the emptiness of the frigid space soaking into his bones.
Charlie
When Chris heard growling outside, he dropped the second strip of electric flex halfway through tying the noose and rushed to the window on the stairs. He felt relieved to rest his cold and numb fingers, which were disregarding his desire for cooperation. They made tying anything a frustrating exercise. His eyes stung from the toxic smoke, and he had to rub them to clear the mist from his vision. He coughed quietly into his sleeve, his tight chest stabbing like he was inhaling acid vapor. When he looked at the Gerrards’ driveway, he saw their black Labrador looking scared and confused.
“Charlie!” Daisy called as Chris watched the gentle dog trot towards the suited psycho, who was stood with his hammer hanging by his side. Although Dean was still, he was buzzing with energy waiting to explode from him. Charlie looked from his fallen master to the bloodied stranger and continued moving slowly forwards.
Bending down on one knee, Dean held his hand out and said, “Here boy. Come here, Charlie.”
The sweetness in Dean’s tone made him all the more horrifying. He seemed to be able to turn his mood on and off like a light. He then watched Daisy drop her head in the back of the pick-up. She clearly regretted revealing her beloved pet’s name.
Taking a swig of pilfered champagne as the dog jogged up the driveway, Dean waited. Charlie then stopped, sniffed John and licked the open wound on the side of his head. He let out a small whine, recognizing that his master was dead.
Dean’s patience vanished, and his entire frame hunched as rage bubbled to the surface. Chris felt the air change as if the atmosphere was preparing for a thunderstorm. It made him shiver. Charlie was fucked.
Turning the charm back on, Dean said, “Come on, Charlie boy. It’s okay. You have nothing to fear from Uncle Dean.” His smile was crooked and forced. It was more a clenching of his teeth than anything. Charlie had everything to fear from ‘Uncle Dean’. They all did.
Feeling his little boy pressing into his legs again, Chris looked down to see Michael’s bloodshot and smoke-sore eyes. “What are they doing to Charlie?”
“I’m not sure, mate, but I don’t want you to watch this okay?”
Nodding, Michael sat on the stairs and waited, his face an ant farm of worry lines.
When he was only a few meters away, Charlie’s steps slowed down.
“That’s a good boy,” Chris muttered. “Now turn around and run.”
Dean bounced on the spot like a boxer before a big fight. He took another gulp of the champagne, swallowing aggressively as he waited for Charlie to carry on walking towards him. “Come on, boy, that’s it, mate. Good boy.”
Chris’ heart was sinking fast, and like most of Dean’s activities, he couldn’t stand to watch, but he found that he couldn’t take his eyes away either.
Daisy then screamed from the truck, “Leave him alone, you fucking psycho! You horrible piece of shit! He’s just a fucking dog!”
Sincerity returned to Dean’s beaming smile as he looked at the pleading girl. It seemed that causing absolute suffering was where he found his joy. Lifting his bottle as if to toast her, he winked and looked back at Charlie, who was now less than a meter away. “Good boy,” Dean said. “Now sit.”
Charlie obediently did what was asked of him and then glanced at Mel’s fallen form in the road.
Although Dean wore what was once a very expensive suit, on his feet were steel-toe-capped boots. It was the right one of these that he delivered into Charlie’s jaw with all of his might, his face contorted with rage and effort. The dog’s head snapped upwards as if there were no muscles holding it in place and his high-pitched yelp bounced around the close.
Daisy and Sarah both screamed, and Chris’ stomach lurched.
George, who had returned to his pick-up, shook his head and stared at their suited leader.
Dropping down on one knee, Dean said, “I’m sorry, boy, my foot slipped. Come here, boy, there’s a good boy.”
Dean’s behavior showed Chris a new level of sadism that was beyond the violence. He could imagine him doing this to other people in his life, flicking between monstrous cruelty and sickly sweet charm as he systematically destroyed them. From the way he treated women, Chris wondered if he’d had a wife, and if so, what had happened to her when the rules of the world had changed. He then wondered what had happened to her before that, imagining that this level of instability was there before everything went to hell. Looking down at Michael, he also wondered if Dean had any children.
Both Sarah and Daisy screamed at their beloved pet, “No, Charlie, don’t do it, run away! Go away, Charlie!”
Charlie shook and urinated on the driveway. Looking at his caged owners and then at Dean, his face was slack with confusion, and he was crying.
“Come on, boy,” Dean said. His murderous grin lighting his face up like a slot machine. “It’s okay.”
Walking back towards him, Charlie then got another boot to the face that lifted him clean off the ground and sent his limp body into a backwards somersault. He hit the floor like wet mud. When he got up, the bottom half of his jaw hung loose like the limb of a broken puppet, and he was whimpering and dribbling blood.
Chris’ guts burned, and he thought he’d vomit where he stood. Unable to look away, he leant down and touched Michael’s head. He felt his boy’s cold hand reach up and grab his wrist as if hanging onto his dad would provide all the protection he needed. Chris feared that his son’s expectation would fall woefully short of the mark.
Letting out a gentle and constant whine of pain, the black dog cowered, but he still didn’t run away.
Daisy and Sarah screamed louder than before, their wails ringing out over the fearful city.
Taking a moment to look away from the dog, Dean addressed them in an even tone, his twitching body contradicting his calm voice. “You seem more concerned about what happens to the stupid fucking dog than you did your mum and dad. What’s fucking wrong with you?”