The Lies Our Fathers Told Us

THE LIES OUR FATHERS TOLD US

ROBIN TOMLIN

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ISBN-13: 978-1530403288

ISBN-10: 1530403286

Copyright © 2016 Robin Tomlin

All right reserved.

Also By Robin Tomlin

The Beautiful Death

The Revenge of Maximo Violence

The Blind Wolf

Tales From A Twisted Mind

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

FORWARD

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

FORWARD

It was a cold November night when I stood somewhere between Piccadilly Circus and the streets of Soho. It was either very late, or a very early morning.

I knew a man, if you could call him a man, was going to die. His name was Eddie and I had been watching him for several nights.

Let me tell you a little about Eddie, he was a drug dealer who had sold a bad hit to the wrong girl. He had sold an E tablet to a girl called Emma and now her old man wanted him dead. Emma had been a bright young girl of nineteen with a bright future ahead of her when she had been out celebrating her birthday. She met Eddie in a trendy Soho club and he’d sold her the tablet that killed her. Emma’s Dad had owned the club where she’d bought the tablet so one way or another he knew exactly who Eddie was.

Shortly after Eddie had been arrested for dealing and had been sent down but justice had been alarmingly short especially in the eyes of the girl’s Father. He wanted Eddie dead at any cost and that’s where I came in. I’m a contract killer, a hit man, a cleaner, call me what you will. I was introduced to Emma’s Father through a mutual friend and a price was set. He said that he wanted Eddie dead at any cost but it only cost him twenty thousand which is cheap for someone like me but I did feel bad taking the money off him, I guess I felt sorry for him.

This was an easy job Eddie was only careful of the police and chose to push his wares in a quiet backstreet to the punters coming out of the busy clubs. He’d kindly chosen a spot without cameras so in effect he’d done a part of my job for me.

Now most of the punters had gone home to sleep off the effects of that night and Eddie was about to do the same. I walked up to him very casually, the fact I had my hands deep in my pockets did not look suspicious because of the cold night air.

Hey man, I got what you, Eddie never finished his sentence as I whipped out my piece and fired three times once in the head twice in the heart. My gun was fitted with a silencer so it didn’t even wake any one up. I’m real considerate like that. Eddie collapsed without even a scream he never knew what hit him. I quickly rolled him over threw some newspaper over him so he looked like a sleeping tramp. Then I walked quickly but not hurriedly away. When I got to Piccadilly station I stopped and peeled off my leather gloves.

I took a moment to light up a cigarette and look up at the starry sky.

I felt good.

CHAPTER ONE

If you’re reading this I’m probably already dead. I was born Anthony Nest it’s not my real name but it will do for this book. None of the names I mention in this book are real including Eddie and Emma. A few of the people in the story have gone by different names in their lives but for ease of reading the names I give them will remain constant. I have changed a few of the places and a few of the events so the people in the story can’t be traced. The basic story however is true even if it has been disguised as fiction.

I was born in England in the year of 1961. I stand six feet tall with a slim build. My hair is kept short and is a muddy brown while my eyes are blue and so I’m told, very cold and piercing. My cheek bones are high and well defined my nose is small and ever so slightly crooked from a break I received as a child but it’s not too noticeable.

I don’t possess film star quality good looks but my face isn’t too bad looking, I'm told that I have an honest face.

I don’t consider myself evil but know that I have had evil in me since I was seven years old and a lot of hate. I’m not ashamed of what I am or what I’ve done and I’m not trying to make any excuses no one ever pointed a gun at my head and said go kill this man.  I don’t have many regrets, as life is too short. 

So how do I kill men for money?

It’s easy I just pull a trigger nothing easier in the world after the first time, though I’d like to point out that I’d never hurt a child not for all the money in the world. I’d also like to point out that I’m not some brainless thug with a gun, my I.Q is over one hundred and seventy and I’m a total professional in my work.

So why do I do what I do?

I suppose to understand me you would have to go right back to my childhood that’s when the pain started and all this began. 

I’m going to tell you the facts and let you draw your own conclusions so let’s begin.

I was born an only child into a wealthy upper class family who lived in a large lavish mansion in the country. My parents were looked upon as pillars in the community. My parents and I lived alone except for the servant and cook who lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of our land.

My earliest memory is of my Father taking me out hunting with him for the first time. I can remember getting out of bed early one morning and feeling excited as I got dressed and him driving into a field and the dry leaves crunching under our feet as we walked.

I remember my parents with fond memories and they were great parents I couldn’t have asked for better.

My Father was a big happy man who loved his family very much.

My Mother, to think of her brings a bittersweet tear to my eye, I used to think she was an angel. I really used to think that my Daddy had climbed his way up to heaven and kidnapped her but she’d fallen in love with him on the way back down to Earth anyway.

Looking back I suppose I was something of a Mummies boy but who could blame me with a Mum as good as mine. I can remember her taking me on long walks across our land that seemed like an enchanted forest to my young senses but was probably no more than a few trees.

Then there were the picnics my Mum would make and pack into a hamper and we’d all sit out on the lawn to eat. I was happy at home and probably more than a little spoilt.

At night my parents would tuck me into bed and take turns in reading me bedtime stories I don’t think they ever looked upon it as a choir.

Whenever we had a guest they would always tell me how lucky I was to have such great parents then tell me what a good boy I was.

I went to a private school where I was very happy with a lot of friends and was top of the class in most of my subjects.

Then when I was ten years old my life as I knew it ended and it or I would never be the same again. 

CHAPTER TWO

It was a summer holiday six weeks off school and the weather was hot. We had just come back from a trip to Blackpool. I know that doesn’t seem very special now but you have to bear in mind the times I’m talking about. A lot of family’s had no holiday at all and to disappear to a foreign country like you can today was unheard of, it just didn’t happen. Also Blackpool beach had a nice blue sea that parents were not afraid to let their children play in. I haven’t been back to Blackpool for a long time but the last time I went there the sea was a dirty brown.

My Father had just bought me a brand new model train set and I thought it was absolutely smashing. Again I know the children of today would be unimpressed by such I toy what with these new video games and play stations but for the time this thing was astounding just for the fact it moved all by itself.

I was just walking down the stairs pondering on whether I should go and pester my father to set up my new train set, or go pester my beautiful Mother for a bowl of ice cream. I heard a loud crash that sounded as though it came from the front door then in a moment my Mother and Father were running up the stairs pushing me up as they went.

When we were at the top of the stairs my Father grabbed my hand squeezing it so hard it hurt. I think it was the first and last time he ever hurt me. We all ran into one of the bedrooms. At this point I still thought this was a game, or maybe I didn’t but just didn’t want to accept what was happening. My Father ran to the window but it was barred with big black iron bars going down it preventing any chance of escape. My Mother started to cry uncontrollably and this scared me, as I had never seen her cry before.

My Father opened the door to one of the wardrobes and told me to get in I obeyed without hesitation. He told me to be quiet not to make a sound and not to come out of the wardrobe. My Mother told me that she loved me and everything was going to be all right but her voice was scarcely understandable through her constant sobbing.

Then I was shut in the cupboard and I heard a key being turned in its lock. I could see through the keyhole and hear the sound of many footsteps racing up the stairs through it all I could hear shouting and one of the servants was screaming.

My Father grabbed my Mother by her arm and went to run from the room but as they reached the bedroom door a man was standing in the doorframe blocking their path.

He had a handgun pointed at my Father’s head, put your hands up and back up, said the man in a gruff voice.

My parents did as they were told walking backwards slowly with their hands held high in the air.

Seven men walked into the room none wore any kind of uniforms or masks. Most wore either jeans with T-shirts or casual suits. All of them carried guns most were handguns but one man carried a pump action shotgun. By this time my Mother was beside herself. She was crying uncontrollably and begging these people not to hurt us to just let us go.

Shut her up, said one of them who was obviously the leader, she’s giving me a headache.

He had short dark blonde hair and wore an expensive looking pair of metal-framed sunglasses so I couldn’t tell what colour his eyes were. His nose was short and narrow his jaw was chiselled giving him a strong handsome face.

He wore a long sleeved black shirt that was buttoned all the way to the top and tucked into a pair of black jeans with a leather belt that had a gun poking out, leather shoes with a shiny buckle rather than laces completed the outfit. He was of average height with a slender build I estimated him to be in his early twenties.

I can remember all this as though it was yesterday because I have been gifted with a photographic memory. I don’t know how or why I can do it but it’s something I’ve always been able to do. When I do it it’s like taking a photo with my mind then the picture is stored in my mind for future reference. All I have to do is close my eyes and I can bring up any image I want. I can look at a page of a book for less than a second take a photo of that page with my mind and read that page from my mind at a much later date.

But what I couldn’t record with this photographic memory was the presence this man had just the way he walked gave off confidence he and everybody around him knew he was in charge. Yet there was something more to him that sent a shiver down my spine the feeling that this man was an evil wicked man.

Hanging off his arm was the only woman of the group.

She was tall lithe and ghostly she was taller than the man in her heels and would be as tall as him in bare feet so she was tall for a woman.

Her face was almond shaped she had full but very pale lips and long dark eye lashes perhaps her most startling features were her cold blue eyes and long raven black hair that reached almost to her slender waist. She had decorated her hair with black and red beads. She wore a long dress that went down to her ankles with little tassels that hung from it almost to the ground it was blood red. She wore a black sheer flute top with a ribbon tie front.

Her long fingernails were decorated with a black and white swirl design and her toenails were painted black. I estimated her to be quite a bit younger than the man though she seemed like a young adult to my eyes she was really little more than a child herself, perhaps no more than fifteen.

Walter, said my Father in surprise looking at the group’s leader then to the girl that hung off his arm.

Just then one of them hit my Mother across her face with the butt of a handgun, I saw an arc of crimson in the air shoot from her mouth and heard her teeth clatter on the floor.

I can remember thinking that I was going to be sick, I had never seen anything like that before, I had not even thought that it was possible, I thought my Dad was like Superman and could protect us from anything. 

No, you bastard, screamed my Father lunging at the one who had struck my Mother but one of the others hit him on the back of the head with the handle of a pistol and he went down.

My parents huddled together My Father put a hand to the back of his head and his hand came away slick with blood. I suspect that his skull may have been fractured. My Mother was bleeding from a broken nose and weeping but more quietly than she had been doing before.

Hello, old man, said Walter as he stepped towards my parents. Search him, he said turning his head to one of his lackeys.

As my Father was being searched my Mother tried to make a break for it but Walter pushed her down hard making his girlfriend laugh a deep evil laugh that sent shivers racing down my spine and the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

For God’s sake Walter let her go, do what you want with me, protested my Father.

Walter took off his glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket, his eyes were a light brown, almost wolf like somehow.

You know you don’t leave witnesses, said Walter, as he smiled at them. One of Walter’s lackeys ran his hands all over my Father’s body padding down his clothing.

He’s clean, said the man who had been searching my Father’s clothes.

Where’s your boy gone, old man? Is he round here somewhere? asked Walter, I was sure he was about to ask one of the other men to open the cupboard.

No, replied my Father, he’s staying at a friend’s house tonight.

The girl standing beside Walter was running her hands over his stomach and back, as she heard what my Father had said about me she pouted and gave him puppy dog eyes. 

Lucky boy, said Walter. He turned away from my Father and looked at one of the other men, Check her, ordered Walter and pointed to my Mother.

Those same hands swept over my Mother’s body, this time the search was much slower much more thorough and not for weapons at all.

Leave her alone, shouted my Father in a voice of thunder as he got to his feet. Immediately weapons from all around the room were drawn and pointing at him. They began to laugh I couldn’t believe they were laughing at us. It made me feel cold and empty.

Walter stepped towards my Father with a wicked smile on his face and that girl clinging to his waist. Walter and my Father were the only men in the room not holding guns.

On your knees, old man, said Walter as if he was talking to a piece of dirt.

My Father stood up to him bravely, maybe foolishly. Walter pulled out the gun from his belt in one fast fluid action he aimed and fired. The bullet ripped through my father’s knee destroying the joint and shattering the bones.

My Father fell to the floor and rolled onto his back wriggling like a bug that couldn’t right its self and clutching his destroyed knee in both hands. Not screaming out was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.

The woman besides Walter cried out in glee clapping her hands in approval.

Walter and the girl kissed passionately then she whispered something inside his ear and began to probe inside his ear with her tongue while nibbling gently on his ear lobe. Walter laughed from either the sensation of her tongue or whatever she had told him.

Nina says she wants to see you bark like a dog, said Walter expectantly.

My Father stopped rolling on the floor and remained quiet, Walter pointed the gun down at his head. Bark, he ordered.

My Father still remained quiet.

Ok, said Walter as he took the gun away and pointed it at my Mother, I’ll just shoot chunks off this bitch until you start barking.

Woof, woof, grrr, woof, said my Father still on his back all the men around him burst into laughter. 

Nina giggled happily then whispered something else into Walter’s ear.

He turned his head to look into her face and she nodded at him eyes wide with excitement a large grin spread across her lips.

Ok honey, said Walter he aimed the gun at my Father and shot him in the balls. Blood instantly spread out from around my Father he screamed from the pain.

Nina looked so excited she was almost jumping up and down, kill him, she said as if she couldn’t wait for it to happen. Kill him for me Walter, kill him for me.

No, screamed my Mother and she was slapped down by another of the men.

Walter walked forward and put one foot on my Father’s chest. Listen to me old man, said Walter in a warning tone. I just want you to know that after we kill you we’re gonna have some fun with your lovely wife, you don’t mind do you? Old man.

Walter was just about to fire when Nina shouted out.

No, she cried making Walter stop and turn to her. Let me, she said looking eagerly at the gun.

Ok baby, said Walter, come here.

Nina took the gun and Walter started to tell her what to do putting her in a stance and making her bend her elbows. All the while my Father was looking up at them from the ground.

Go on baby, said Walter.

She fired into my Father’s chest again and again each time her hands jumped up with the recoil of the weapon twice she missed him completely and shot into the floor. All the while my Mother was screaming and screaming so loud.

The gun clicked empty my Father’s chest was a bloody mess I could see his insides but he was still twitching still moving.

Billy, gun please, shouted Walter. One of the men tossed a gun to Walter who caught it, lowered it to my Father, took careful aim and fired one shot into my father’s face.

The bullet ripped into him biting into the centre of his forehead and killing him instantly. In a way I am glad that he didn’t survive to see what happened next. Maybe out of all of us he was the luckiest.

No, he’s dead, dead, screamed my Mother pitifully.

Fun time boys, shouted Walter and some of the men started to remove their clothing, they bent over my Mother and started to pull at the dress she wore. Some of the other men just stood back and watched what was going on.

I can’t bring myself to write what they did to her, I’m sorry but it’s just too painful.

Nina went to a leather satchel that one of the other men had carried in and dropped. She opened it and took out a sponge. She walked to my Father’s body and dipped the sponge in the pool of his blood. She craned her neck and held the sponge over her head letting the blood drip into her mouth and over her face. She kicked off her shoes and stood barefoot in the pool of blood slowly spinning round and rolling her neck grinding her hips as if dancing to music only she could hear.

Nina, said Walter to her snapping her out of her trance.

She hurriedly went to him leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind her. She kissed him smearing his face with crimson red. While my attention had been on Nina, Walter had produced two surgical syringes from somewhere filled with a yellow liquid. He gave one to her and they kissed again, then he took off his shirt to reveal a wiry muscled body. Nina took off her top and threw it to the floor so she only had on a dress with thin straps over her shoulders.

Walter went to the leather bag and pulled out two thin leather straps one he gave to Nina. They both wrapped these straps around their upper arms waited a few minutes then injected themselves with what I suppose was morphine though I have no way to be sure it could have been something else.

Walter scooped Nina off her feet with surprising ease and walked her to the bed. He threw her upon it and jumped on top of her tearing at her dress.

Shortly they were fucking in a brutal frenzy on the bed Nina raked her nails up his back and bit into his shoulder hard enough to leave deep teeth marks.

I watched this in silent horror, for how long I honestly don’t know but it seemed like hours. Eventually Walters and Nina’s thrashings on the bed came to an explosive climax then they lay still in each other’s arms. I thought they had gone to sleep.

Walter rose first and started to put his clothes back on. When he was fully clothed he looked over to my Mother. The men were still on her groping her, making her do things.

Fun’s over boys, he called out.

I saw a strange look on my Mother’s face, I can only guess how she felt but I think it was a look of pain, shame, grieving for my Father but in that one moment relief that it was over.

The dogs didn’t stop their assault on her even when their master told them it was over. So Walter took out his gun and shot my Mother in the head blowing away a large chunk of her skull.

One of the men who were still inside her was splattered with bits of blood, bone and gore. He shrieked in horror pulling himself out of my Mother and pushing her off letting her body fall to the floor. The others around him laughed.

It was then that I realised that I was alone in the world that my Mother and Father were dead.

As far as I was concerned my parents were not the only ones to die in that room that day. We all died, Walter, Nina, all of those men and me.

They died the moment they touched her, they just weren’t aware of it yet but they would be.

I died because I thought my life was over, no one would ever love me the way my Mother had.

Nina got up and walked across the room naked, she wrapped her arms around Walter and kissed him quickly on the lips.

Clear this mess up, ordered Walter then Nina walked away from him and put her dress back on. Walter picked up her shoes and they walked out arm in arm like innocent first lovers.

Most of the men walked out behind them leaving only two behind. These men carried the bodies out and came back to clean up wiping away any fingerprints that could have been left. This was a time before computers so there was no need to worry about DNA or anything like that. One of them at one point actually leant against the wardrobe I was, in throwing my world into darkness until he moved. Then they came back with a petrol can and splashed its contents around the room. One of them lit a piece of paper threw it to the floor and they ran out.

In moments I could feel the flames heat, the smoke began to fill my prison then my lungs. I beat on the wardrobe with my hands but it was old and well built.

Soon I lost consciousness. 

CHAPTER THREE

I was in a dark hot place like a caged animal in a cheap zoo. Flames danced all around me like a forest of fire. I could see my Mother burning in the flames her tormentors were still with her, doing things to her that I didn’t really understand but I knew were very, very wrong.

I tried to go to her to try and help or comfort her but an invisible barrier like a sheet of glass kept me back.

So all I could do was watch helplessly.

I saw the men who were abusing her leering and laughing as they put their dirty hands upon her. Then they became monsters there was no sudden flash I didn’t see them change it was just a realisation that they were no longer men.

Some of them had grown taller with black horns protruding from their heads and milky white eyes. Others had grown long fangs that protruded from their mouths like the teeth of a sabre-toothed tiger. I remember that one of them had turned into a 1930’s version of Frankenstein’s monster. I don’t know where that image came from I can only presume that I saw a part of the film or an advert for it as a very young child and it scared the hell out of me and the image was locked in my subconscious mind. The way the monster looked and moved would be deemed as laughable by even the youngest children of today but it scared the hell out of me then.

Then all the men became demons with flaky red skin and bald heads I remember their penis’s that were being thrust into my Mother’s unwilling body were long and pointed making them look more like weapons than anything else.

Then I saw my Father dragging himself along the scorching floor towards my Mother. The wounds that had been inflicted on his body were still fresh so he left a trail of blood as he dragged himself along. About half of his skull was missing and I could see his brain inside his skull it was pink in colour and looked like a strange lumpy jelly.

I screamed out but he didn’t hear my cries.

I felt a hand touch my shoulder and knew whom it belonged to but had to turn just to make sure. The black and white painted nails confirmed it. I looked up into Nina’s face and she was wearing the most evil grin that became even more evil as it changed to a snarl. I could see madness in those cold blue eyes madness and evil I was convinced that she was the devil.

She leant down low so she was almost on my level and started to sing a nursery rhyme that my Mother had often sang to me.

‘The rabbits play no more,

The little birds are weary,

The buttercups are folded up-

Good night, goodnight, my dearie.’

Her snarl changed again into an almost pleasant smile and she pointed ahead to my Mother. Her attackers had changed once again this time into rotting corpses.

Their skin was opaque, rotting and in patches peeling away from their bodies. Their eyes were milky white and unstaring, jaws hung open.

Just the stench of them was unbearable. The image of my Mother and Father began to melt away into the flames until they were gone altogether.

I saw another image emerging from the flames and knew instantly it was Walter walking straight towards me. Even though he walked through the flames he did not burn, not even his clothes it was as though the flames themselves were afraid of him.

Walter stopped about three feet in front of me I could feel Nina’s presence behind me and knew she would be grinning.

Kill him, Walter, kill him for me, she said excitedly and I knew she would be dancing now.

Walter pulled out the gun from his belt it was the same action as when he had pulled a gun on my Father but now it was in slow motion. I was unable to move or protest my body was frozen solid.

Walter aimed the gun at my head and fired.

The suffering did not end there. I woke up with a start in a strange place and my lungs were on fire. I can’t remember much of this time, it’s all blurred faces and strange voices. Strangely when I think back to it I picture it in black and white I’m being wheeled into a strange place on a stretcher. Over the top of it all I can hear my Mother’s voice singing to me in a strange creepy voice.

‘Ring o ring o roses

A pocket full of poses

A tissue a tissue

We all fall down.

By the end of the rhyme the singing voice is never that of my Mother but has always transformed into that of Nina.

I think I must have passed out again then because my next memory is of only one doctor standing by my bed.

Mother, I gasped as the memories came flooding back into my head like an unstoppable tidal wave. My voice felt rough and dry the words felt as if they were being dragged along the inside of my throat building up friction as they went.

She’s not here, said the doctor he spoke in a very heavy accent that I could hardly understand. You’re very, very lucky to be alive young man, said the doctor.

I couldn’t and still can’t believe that a doctor said that to a child who had just lost both of his parents.

I didn’t feel lucky at all.

A fire man rescued you from inside a cupboard, it’s a miracle, continued the doctor.

I wish, I wish I was dead, I managed to say before my head fell back on the pillow. I saw the doctor’s face turn very long.

Someone will be here for you soon, said the doctor then he quickly left.

I was glad to be on my own. I really did want to be dead at that time and think if I had more strength in my body I could have taken my own life. But I was weak and oh so tired so I just slept.

I don’t know how long I slept for, minutes, hours, days perhaps. 

My sleep was troubled filled with strange dreams that made no sense at all.

When I awoke my eyes felt sore my body heavy and my throat just as dry. Something cold and hard was poking the back of my neck then I was being shook awake. When I turned over to see who was doing this my eyes refused to focus for a time when they did I saw the face of my Grandmother.

She was a very old woman with grey eyes and tough wrinkly skin that looked and even smelt like old leather. I’d only ever seen her before at family gatherings, weddings, funerals those kinds of things.

She always had a strange presence that kept children away from her, she was never one to laugh with her Grandchildren or ask if she could hold a baby as she was too scared of getting piss or sick on her ironed clothes. Besides there were always other people at such events who were willing to give a young well behaved boy a toy or some sweets or even just a few minutes of their time so I never really got to know my Grandmother.

In all the time I’ve known her I think I only ever saw her smile in photos or when she was posing for one. Then she’d put on this cheesy grin that couldn’t have looked more false if she had tried. It looked more like the grin of the Cheshire cat from Lewis Carroll’s children’s story ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’.

On top of all this she was almost always smoking a cigarette that had over the years stained her teeth and fingers yellow and the smell of smoke hung around her like a foul smelling perfume.

Anthony, said her horrible rough voice, how are you?

I want my Mum, I wined knowing this request was impossible but I felt like it had to be said anyway. The tears began to pour from my eyes as I sobbed.

Don’t cry now boy, she snapped at me. I need you to tell me what happened.

I told her everything and she listened and watched me like a hawk. Her expression remained empty and unchanging so I couldn’t tell if she was sympathetic, angry with me or if she thought I was lying. When I had finished her expression changed to one of deep concentration as she decided what to do. There was no sign of sympathy for me or even sorrow at the miserable fate of her daughter and son in law.

Wait here, she told me as she slowly got up from her perched position on my bed and walked out the room. I really don’t think I could have gone anywhere even if I had wanted to.

A short time later I heard her outside the room she was screaming and shouting at someone I don't know whom but suspect it was the police. She came back into the room and sat back down on the edge of my bed.

Anthony, she said sharply to get my attention.

I turned to her and looked into her old worn face.

Yes Nana, I said.

The police will come in here and ask you some questions, about what you saw, she paused a long moment taking in a deep raspy breath. Don’t you tell em anything you saw, you just say after Daddy put you in that closet you didn’t hear or see anything, right boy.

Why do I have to lie, Nana? I protested my Mother had always taught me that lying was wrong.

Don’t you worry about that, she said as if I had asked the most ridiculous of questions. Just do it, you understand.

I didn’t say anything, as I didn’t want to make a promise to lie.

Suddenly the old women went mental grabbing me by the shoulders with her cold little hands and shaking me violently all the while shouting at me, not a word, not a word, you understand boy.

Yes, yes, I pleaded with her to be let go. She released the painful grip on my shoulders.

So what are you going to tell them? she demanded.

That Daddy locked me in the closet I didn’t see anything, I replied.

Promise me that’s what you’ll say, she said expectantly.

I promise, I told her.

Good, she said as she stood up, you’re going to stay here for a few days and if a policeman or a doctor asks you anything you know what to say.

I nodded my head.

Good boy, she said and walked towards the door, I’ll see you in a few days then boy. She stopped in the doorframe and turned back to me.

If you do tell them anything, she said coldly, I’ll beat you black and blue, understand? before I could answer she was gone.

And I was on my own again. 

So there I was a child who had never been afraid of anything in his life, never been in a fight, until he saw his parents murdered and now my own Nan was threatening me with violence as well.

Can you say culture shock?

Police did come to speak to me. I was awoken by three men, two were in police uniform and the other was in a casual suit.

Hello Ant, said the first officer pleasantly he looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. He had a very wrinkled face with deep frown lines in his forehead. His eyes were set deep and his nose was flat as well as being slightly crooked. He spoke with a local accent that I was still having trouble understanding. He looked (to a young boy who had just gone through a very traumatic event) a bit scary.

How are you feeling, Ant, said the same police officer I don’t think the other one said anything right until the end of the interview.

Ok, I guess, I lied.

Good, good, my name’s officer Sterns, but you can call me Gary, this is Dave and Mr Payne, he gestured to the other officer and the other man.

I’m going to ask you some questions and it’s very important that you try your best to answer them, ok? he continued.

I nodded my head.

Ok, tell me about what happened the other day, he asked as he took out a pen from his top pocket and a small note pad.

I can’t remember my exact words but I said something along the lines of, I was downstairs when I heard a bang at the door, I ran upstars with my parents and then he locked me in the cupboard.

Who locked you in the cupboard, Anthony? asked the police officer inquisitively.

Daddy, I replied a little sheepishly.

Just like that, said Officer Sterns expecting me to go on I think but I remained silent.

Did you see anyone else in the house other than your parents?

I shook my head.

They asked me a lot more questions things like, what were you doing at the time? Has anyone new been hanging around the house? Have any men ever come round to see Mummy when Daddy’s at work? Did Daddy have any people that didn’t like him?

And a whole bunch of other questions some of them designed to catch out liars. At one point the policeman said to me, Anthony you do want us to catch the people who killed your parents don’t you, you’re not holding anything back are you? You must tell us if you are.

Near the end of the interview he pulled out a small passport sized photo from his pocket and showed it to me. I recognised the man in it instantly, it was one of the men who had assaulted my mother.

Have you ever seen this man, Ant?

No, I said finding it increasingly difficult to hold back the tears that were welling up in my eyes.

Ok then, said the policeman putting the photo back into his pocket, if you think of anything you want to tell us, anything at all tell one of the nurses and we’ll come back, bye Anthony.

Bye Ant, echoed the other officer has he followed the first one out and the other man followed him.

I thought about what he had said, ‘you do want us to catch the people who killed your parents, don’t you?’

I didn’t want them to catch them, I wanted to do it myself and kill them all.

CHAPTER FOUR

So I spent the next couple of days in hospital, while I was there I didn’t make any friends or even talk to anybody more than I had to.

I think if I had not been so depressed I would have refused to eat as I remember the food as tasting like rubber and feeling strange in my mouth. Looking back I think this was because I had grown accustomed to the finest of foods.

I did hardly anything with my time in the hospital, and then Nana Marge came to take me ‘home’.

I remember her walking into my room quite unannounced throwing some old clothes on my bed and saying, get dressed boy, we’re going home. Then she walked out.

I put on the clothes she had given me, a pair of green denim jeans a yellow shirt and a pair of grey shoes. The jeans and shirt were far too big for me while the shoes were painfully tight.

I remember walking out in those god-awful clothes and there she was waiting for me, sitting in a chair just outside. She held a copy of woman’s own or some such close to her face but she was recognisable by the hair peering out from over the top of the magazine the ugly yellow stains on the fingers of her right hand and her yellowed nails.

Ready boy, she asked me putting aside her magazine.

Yeah, I said slowly nodding my head.

Good, she snapped as she grabbed my hand and started dragging me along. Her hand was hard and cold and her grip frightfully tight. We walked outside into the streets of London.

It was typical British winter weather of the time, overcast with dark grey clouds and a harsh wind that whipped at my face. As we stepped outside I heard the sound of far off thunder and the heavens opened up as if they had been waiting for us.

I could hear a siren and saw an ambulance a little way away. My eyes were drawn towards the flashing lights and my ears to the siren, or was it a morbid curiosity that made me look? Either way I saw a man jump from the driver’s side run round the back and pull the doors open. Others soon joined the driver and another man inside. They carried a man out the back of the ambulance on a stretcher then put him onto a trolley.

The man was bleeding a lot from the stomach I think he had been shot. I imagined that this man had been hurt by the same people who had hurt my parents and I was the only one who could stop them.

It’s amazing how close that childhood twisted fantasy was to the truth.

There’s nothing here for the eyes of a young boy, snapped Marge at me angrily. But I had seen her, her eyes had been firmly fixed on the man as he had been pulled out from the back of that ambulance.

As we walked through the streets I felt as if the downpour was washing the last bit of my life away. All that was good in me was being washed away leaving just a hard but empty shell.

I felt as if I were losing my soul.

We walked through the streets for a long time the pain in my feet growing with each step as the leather wound itself tighter, but this pain didn’t really bother me. Then we went into a train station and boarded a train, the pleasure at getting out of the rain and wind while getting the pressure off my tightly wound feet was non-existent. I just didn’t care.

We sat on the train’s hard seat in total silence I didn’t even know how long we would be sitting on this train, not that I cared to ask. We got out somewhere in north London and I had never seen a place like this in my entire life.

There was so much grey and the streets were dirty, I just wanted to go back to my old home. Either that or curl into a ball and die but that wouldn’t happen. 

As we walked along I could see and smell rubbish everywhere, the rain had stopped now and children had ventured out of their houses to play. Some of them didn’t even have shoes but were jumping into the puddles anyway. Trying to make as large a splash as they could. I saw these children playing in the puddles and they looked happy.

The first thing that came into my mind was ‘how can they be so happy? Don’t they know my parents are dead?’

Of course they didn’t, my world had seemingly come to a crashing end but no one else’s had stopped. The world had just kept going. 

I was led into a very tall tower block that I couldn’t help but think this must have looked like how a prison might look. Somewhere people were sent to be punished. Was that it? Was I being punished? But if so then for what?

I still couldn’t believe that this place was going to become my new home it was something that just refused to set into my young mind.

Nana Marge pulled out a set of keys from her purse and opened the front door as we stepped into the lobby my senses were assaulted by the stench of piss and stale beer.

When I saw someone had thrown up in one of the corners I was very nearly sick myself. We walked up many flights of stairs nearly to the very top. Then my senses were assaulted by a new fragrance that was as bad as it had been downstairs but also different. This was the sickly smell of cat piss and other more solid things. The smell came from a flat opposite my Nana’s and I often wonder if this was the reason that she could not abide cats or any other animal.

The flat where this wretched smell came from belonged to an old widow who was well into her nineties. I remember the other residents were always rallying some protest to have her and her animals removed but they never succeeded not until one day she was found dead in her bed. This was during a very hot summer and the smell coming from the flat had been much worse than usual and there was no reply when someone knocked on the door so someone broke in.

The men who came to remove the animals found sixteen cats in total, five mice, two budgies and a litter of rats she had kept in a large glass fish tank. They also found five fish bowls filled with water but no fish so I guess the cats got hungry when she stopped feeding them.

Anyway I’ve drifted away from my story and that is a dangerous thing for a writer to do so let’s return to it.

We stood outside the flat with this evil smell wafting up our nostrils as Nana Marge pushed a key into the lock so forcefully it looked like she was angry with it.  

How can I best describe her flat? Small, cramped and smelling of damp. It consisted of a small hall about as wide as two telephone boxes put together. This hall led to the kitchen and the living room.

The kitchen was a small square room it had a window by the sink so you could look out over the street below as you washed up the dishes. There was a small cooker with single stove as well.

The living room was the biggest room in the flat but could hardly be called a large room. The off white carpet contained more than a few cigarette burns, as did the old couch. The room was covered in these damned china dolls, they were everywhere and I don’t why but those damn dolls always gave me the creeps even today as an adult. It always looks as though they’re looking straight at you no matter where you stand. I think the way they look almost alive but not quite is eerie as well. As if any minute they are going to come to life.

Past this room was a second hall with five doors in it. The doors took up more space than the wall. There was the door that went into the lounge, and then there was Nana Marge’s room. This room was decorated in a bright pink so bright it hurt your eyes. Two other doors were right next door to each other. One contained a bath and small washbasin while the other housed the toilet. I was rarely allowed to use the bath, as Nana used to say it was a waste of good water. The last door led to my room. This had been a utility room the iron and ironing board, vacuum cleaner and many other boxes of things were always kept there. Often when I was asleep Nana would wake me by ‘just popping in to get the Hoover, boy’.

Some of the boxes were filled with nothing but old newspaper that she always refused to throw away. The mattress that I slept on was as hard as wood and lumpy with it.

Nana told me that she had picked it especially for me and not to complain, as a hard mattress was good for the back. Funny that her own was more like a huge giant pillow than a mattress.

Anyway I sat in the kitchen while Nan made us some tea and toast with a little butter. By this time it was mid-afternoon so after I had eaten I went to my room and sat on my bed just thinking really while I gazed at the cracks in the walls and ceiling as if they could offer an answer.

I wondered what I would be doing if my parents were still alive, and tried to dream up ways I could have saved them. Over the coming years I many times imagined myself jumping out of that wardrobe armed with a knife, or springing from it like Batman and saving everyone. 

Eventually Nana Marge came into my room gave me some bedclothes and told me to wash and go to bed.

After I had washed I got into bed and switched off the light.

Anthony, she said as the door opened with a creak. Are you asleep Anthony?

No, I said as I sat up in the bed.

She threw the switch throwing the room into light and came near to my bed.

Anthony, you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone what happened, understand boy?

Why Nana? I asked.

She grabbed me by the shoulders again and started to shake me violently. You just have to boy, don’t ask me why, she screamed.

I promise, I promise, I shouted her shaking me had caused my head to strike the wall and a numb pain was spreading out from the back of my skull.

She stopped shaking me and looked deep into my face as if she were looking right through it.

Say it, she almost spat her words out at me and I don’t mind admitting by this time I was once again close to tears.

I won’t say a word, I promised her.

Good boy, she said to me as she released my shoulders, she got up and walked out the room switching out the light as she went past it.

There were no words of ‘good night’ or ‘sweet dreams’ like my Mother had used to say to me. There was no gentle kiss.

I was left in that dark room, contemplating, planning.

Out of the corners of my eyes I could see small figures demons that would run up to my bed to tease and torment me but they would run away before I could get a proper look at them.

It’s strange the things that go through your mind when you’re alone I felt a terrible guilt as I again imagined how I could have changed things to bring my Mummy back.

The truth of the matter is I’ve never forgiven myself for doing nothing but watching as my parents were slaughtered.

I’ve carried that regret with me for all of my life but over the last couple of years it hasn’t been as bad. I think I’ve finally started to let go.

One thing I’ve learnt about this life is it really is too short to have regrets I can’t stress that enough. What’s the point in thinking if only I could go back to such and such, or if only I had done something differently?

The truth is you never can and you will never be able to, what’s done is done, what’s lost is lost.

And if you could go back and change things you don’t know how those changes could affect other things. If you could go back to the past and change just one thing you might very well place yourself in a far bigger problem than you started with.

What could I have done if the opportunity to go back to the day my parents were killed was given to me? I know I couldn’t prevent it.

No, all I would be able to do is bang on the wardrobe door thus alerting Walter and his friends to my presence and from that a best-case scenario would be catching a bullet in the skull. Then my parent’s sacrifice would be for nothing at all.

About the only thing that my Mother and Nana Marge had in common was they both used to say, everything happens for a reason and Nana would always add, God has his plans, or the lord works in mysterious ways.

I don’t think that’s true, I wish it was true but I doubt it very much. I think that sometimes things just happen, no real reason, no great plan, they just happen.

CHAPTER FIVE

So anyway when I woke up the next morning someone was gently shaking me awake. The first thing that came to mind, the first thing I said was, mummy. Even as I said the words I knew it couldn’t be her.

I could feel something wet and cold on my leg it was then I realised that I had wet the bed. It was the first time I had ever wet the bed and as the covers were pulled back off my body revealing the wet patch I felt a great deal of shame.

A boy of your age wetting the bed, remarked Nana Marge scornfully, I don’t know. Then I saw what I think was compassion in those old eyes and she said to me, We’ll forget it this once but don’t let it happen again.

She gave me a grey coloured uniform then told me to get washed and changed. When I had washed I put on the school uniform she had given to me. It was tight and itchy unlike any of the clothes my parents would have given me. In fact if they had given me clothes like that I may have flat out refused to wear them.

I found Nana Marge in the kitchen cooking us a breakfast of toast. She spread the smallest amount of butter that could possibly be spread on a piece of bread.

I’ll walk you to school today boy, she told me after breakfast, but you’ll have to make your own way home, understand? I nodded my head not really caring for what she had said.

I’ll get you some keys cut today, so you can let yourself in, she said as she spoke specks of bread shot out from her mouth over my arm and breakfast. I simply didn’t care so just nodded my head.

Nana walked me outside into the streets I remember frost crunching under my feet as we stepped out. As we walked I thought ‘I’m in hell, I’m never going to leave this place’.

The walk to the school was quite long I suppose about two miles give or take. The school looked as uninviting as Nana’s flat had with big iron gates going round it and the buildings inside were grey and drab looking.

It looked old and run down.

One more thing boy, you’re a Cook now, not a Nest, Anthony Cook, do you understand?

I nodded my head.

Tell me you name boy, she demanded.

Anthony Cook, I told her, a few days later she had my name legally changed to Cook.

Nana took me to see the head mistress in her office. Her room was small and cramped her paperwork was spread all around the room. She sat behind a desk and two seats were on the other side for us. I sat down next to Nana.

They talked about me for a long time but I didn’t really listen, as I really wasn’t that concerned over what was going to happen to me. I caught a few things like, ‘troubled boy, may take him a while to settle in, find his feet, his parents spoilt him some.’

A short time passed where I shut my eyes and flicked through the mental pictures I’d taken in my head over the years. I looked at pictures of my Mother and Father, some of the images I couldn’t even remember taking as I must have been too young to remember when I took them but the images were clear in my head. My mum cutting cake or putting our washed clothes on the line, my Father dressed up to go hunting. But my favourite images were of them together.

Suddenly images of the terrible day flashed through my head I couldn’t stop them and it was like reliving the whole damn thing.

I was finally and mercifully snapped out of it by my Nana’s voice.

Anthony, Anthony, wake up boy,