Death and Deceit

A young man, vulnerable, abandoned and confused wakes from a binge of drugs and alcohol to find he has killed the only person he ever cared about.

The initial feeling is one of extreme discomfort. Before the memories come painfully flooding back there's the desperately dry mouth and the irritating beam of light striking me directly in the eyes. I scrunch them up in a futile attempt to defy it but it burns right through my eyelids and my only choice is to roll over, evoking an overwhelming urge to throw up. My body is screaming out for water, it's desperate for delicious hydration but to actually get up and move would be an enormously demanding endeavour. When I finally break the paradox and drag myself up to get a drink I'm then overcome with bewilderment. I begin to wonder where the f**k I am and how the f**k I got here. Then pain. The physical pain in the form of an incessant drum beat inside my head, the burning inside my stomach as the acid eats away at the lining, the dull ache of whatever unidentifiable injuries I may have sustained. Then there's the emotional pain, the fear, the sense of foreboding, the intense guilt and shame left by actions that I do not recall committing. But I know I did.

That chain of events has been generically applicable to any given morning in my life in the last month and this morning was no exception, however after lighting up my morning cigarette the day took an unexpected turn. A turn that changed my life forever. The first clue was the smell. It took a while for it to break the confines of my subconscious before I actually began to notice it amongst the confusing assortment of aromas contributed to by the smell of stale booze and a variety of different types of smoke and bodily fluids. As soon as it registered though, I knew it was bad. The stench of decaying flesh is rarely a good sign. The silence was the next clue. I was usually awoken by the sounds of music that had been left playing, or raised voices in a heated, drug fuelled argument, or someone banging on the door. Today there was just an unsettling silence. I hadn't left the kitchen since I woke up on it's floor but I knew the house was empty, I could just sense it. I had a bad feeling in my stomach. Then I looked down at my hands and what I saw made me throw up all over them. They were covered in blood.

My head was spinning, my vision unfocused. I staggered to the kitchen sink and began aggressively scrubbing at my hands with a dirty brush as red hot water flowed over them, burning me. I didn't care how much it hurt I just had to get this blood off my hands. I scrubbed and scrubbed as my fallen cigarette burnt into the carpet next to a pool of my vomit. The smell had grown worse, each breath made me want to throw up again but my stomach was empty. I decided to just breath through my mouth instead but I could still taste it.

I continued scrubbing long after my hands were clean of blood. I was in a state of trance induced by my brain's reluctance to attempt to comprehend this terrifyingly bizarre situation. Then suddenly I snapped out of it. I could feel the pain of the water scolding my raw hands. I recoiled from the sink and gasped. I began breathing heavily in a state of panic. Then I fell to my knees and cried. I knew what the smell was now. I think I knew all along. I didn't know how or why but I just knew what had happened. Eventually I got up from my knees. Shaking I made my way out of the kitchen and into the corridor of the vaguely familiar house. The smell was coming from upstairs. I put my foot on the first step and paused. Fresh tears welled up in my eyes and a sense of sheer terror washed over me. My head flicked from left to right as I made my way upstairs. There was a tingling in my back and I felt as if someone was watching me. I made it halfway up the stairs before I doubled over, dry retching. After a few moments I composed myself as best I could and continued up the stair case. On the landing I stopped and looked around. Downstairs had been familiar but I didn't recognise this part of the house at all. Beads of anxious sweat began to form on my forehead and roll down into my eyes. The smell was even stronger now, almost overwhelming. The walls were spinning, I felt so dizzy, sick, terrified. How had I ended up here. Not just here in this building but here in life. Was it the choices I had made? Or was it destiny?

I could tell which room it was in, not only by the smell but by the trail of blood that had lead up the stairs and into the bedroom. I stood in the doorway and stared at it. The body, slumped against the far wall below the window. It was a man, the face blue and distorted, his eyes were open wide and full of fear. It felt like he was staring at me. His t-shirt and jeans were saturated with blood, the same blood that had been on my hands. The handle of a knife protruded from his stomach. I took a step closer and examined the face. It looked different, something wasn't right about it but I recognised it.

"Andre." I breathed in disbelief.

Then I collapsed.

I pulled my jumper more tightly around me in a vain attempt to trap some of my rapidly diminishing body heat. Then heavy rain drops began to slap me in face as if they were scolding me for daring to have a flicker of hope. It didn't take long for them to penetrate my clothes and soak me right through to my aching bones. My stomach rumbled and I thought about trying to summon the energy to search the bins for some food. But what was the point in prolonging the inevitable. I might as well give up. I'd spent the last week sleeping under some cardboard in this alleyway desperately searching for scraps of food. A few nights ago I'd feasted on half a ham and pineapple pizza. It was cold by the time I got to it but man it was good. The last few days of foraging had yielded very little. Barely a slice of a bread. If there was a time to give up it was now. A shadow appeared in the alleyway. I didn't even bother to look up as the footsteps grew close. The owner of the shadow stopped beside me.

"You must be cold." It was a man's voice. Deep, seemingly sympathetic.
I ignored him. I didn't want sympathy from this shadowy stranger. I wanted to be left alone, to fade away and be forgotten about. I wanted it all to end, the pain, the suffering, the loneliness. The man nudged me with his foot. I was angry now. I forced myself to my feet with the remainder of my energy. It was at this point that the last few days of borderline starvation took it's toll on me and I fainted.

I woke up dazed and confused but warm. What was that smell? Chips? My stomach rumbled. I sat up. I was on a bed, in a spacious but plain bedroom. It didn't seem like it belonged to anyone. No posters or personal belongings. Perhaps it was a guest room. I was in clean, dry clothes but my body was still dirty. I got up and walked out of the bedroom. I should of been nervous, scared even but I wasn't. I was just numb, indifferent. I'd given up caring. I found myself in the living room. Staring at the back of a man's head as he sat on a leather sofa watching a huge, wall mounted television. I cleared my throat.

"Why am I here?" I asked the back of the strangers head.
The man turned his head and then rose from the sofa and walked towards me. He had dark, brown, cold eyes and a thin scar running from the corner of his left eye down to his jaw. He stopped in front of me and grinned. I couldn't tell if it was grin of menace or of genuine happiness. Or perhaps this man was just deranged. Probably the latter.
"I'm Andre." He said outstretching his hand.
"Dean." I replied before cautiously accepting the handshake. "Why am I here?"

"Because I rescued you and now you are going to work for me."

When I realised where I was again the unwelcome feelings of regret, nausea and total devastation came crashing over me like a tsunami. Had I had a flash back or was I just day dreaming? It'd been two years since Andre had rescued me and a month since he disappeared without a trace. Since his unexplained disappearance I'd been floating aimlessly from crack den to crack den in a drug addled haze. Without Andre my life had fallen apart. I was the fourteen year old boy in that alley way again. No hope, no future, no desire to live.

Andre's body was slumped against the wall opposite me, his blood on my hands. How had this happened? My head was spinning. I had to get out of the room. I ran to the stairs, stumbled down them and burst out of the back door into the garden, gulping in the fresh air. Memories began to trickle back into my mind. This was Lizzy's house. Or was it Lilly? No it was definitely Lizzy. But where was she now? How had I met her? I'd been here two or three days on a bender. Smoking and letting go. The memories were all jumbled and didn't make any sense. I could only focus my thoughts on one over riding fact. The fact that I'd killed Andre. I had killed Andre. I broke down again. How had this happened. The man who had saved me, who had taken me in, fed me, clothed me and given me a job, a purpose. The only person who had ever treated me with respect now lay dead in the building behind me and I was responsible. If I'd had the courage I'd of killed myself in that moment but I didn't have it in me.

I spent what felt like the next few hours wandering the streets, numb and virtually emotionless. People stared at me, I was dirty and stank and had a look of vacancy on my face and desperation in my eyes but I didn't care. I was desensitized to the world, to the opinions of other people. I walked absent-mindedly through town, pushing through crowds and barging past people, walking on as they shouted after me.

“What on earth is wrong with you young man!” A short, elderly women scolded me as she picked up the shopping bag I'd just knocked from her hand. I continued aimlessly until I found myself outside the police station.

Before I knew what I had done I was inside talking to the desk sergeant. I didn't recognise the officer but it wasn't my first time in the station. I'd been arrested on several occasions for offences ranging from possession to assault but nothing ever stuck. The police had shown me a lot leniency due to my age and background, they'd mostly just take me back home and I'd just run away again. Back to Andre. My so called parents didn't want me anyway. They had their golden boy, James and I just stirred up bad memories for my mother. They weren't even my real parents. My real mother had died giving birth to me. She was a crack addict and with no one coming forward as my father and no known relatives willing to take on the burden of an illegitimate child, I was put up for adoption. Paul and Karen Cahill took me on when I was few months old. I'd gone from being an orphan baby, born addicted to crack, to having two loving parents and a five year old brother. It turned out my new parents weren't so loving after all. At least not towards me.

The desk sergeant took me into one of the interview rooms and left me alone for a what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes. The next time the door opened DS Dempsey walked in. I knew DS Dempsey, Sophie, she'd interviewed me before. She was tall and quite pretty, probably in her late twenties. Firm but fair with short blonde hair and a friendly smile, one of the few people I could place a small amount of trust in.

“Dean, please tell me there has been some confusion.” She said with a tone of disappointment.

“I've really fucked up this time. I.. I don't know how it...” I trailed off, staring at my hands.

Sophie took a deep breath and sat down opposite me.
“When you're ready I'm going to have to take a statement and based on what you tell me, probably put you under arrest.” She told me, trying to sound professional and objective but unable to mask the undertone of sadness in her voice. I nodded without looking up.

“Who is this Lizzy?” Sophie asked me.

I'd described to her the mornings events as best I could. Waking up, noticing the blood, the smell, discovering Andre's body. She's listened and prompted me gently when necessary whilst writing down my ramblings in the form of a coherent statement for me to sign. She was now trying to find out where the house was so she could send some detectives and a forensics team to investigate further. She'd tried to dig some memories out of me about Andre's death, she had a theory that I may not of been responsible. I couldn't remember anything but I knew it was me. I just knew.

“I can't remember. We were partying together, you know? She was bit older I guess. The house was full and then when I woke up there was no one. Apart from... Andre..”
“I know this is hard Dean but we're going to need to get that address.” Sophie pressed me.

Then I remembered. I'd walked past the library just after leaving the house.

“It was near the library, right round the corner actually.”
Sophie's expression changed. Her face fell and she jumped to her feet.

“Lizzy? Near the library?” Her voice had become frantic.
“Yeah, why what's up?”
She turned and headed towards the door.
“That's my f*****g sisters house.” She said as she left the interview room, the door slammed behind her.

This revelation left my head spinning. Sophie's sister smokes crack? If my situation hadn't been so dire I might of almost cracked a smile at that. I strained, trying to remember how I'd ended up at Lizzy's house. The door opened and a fat, balding man in a suit stepped into the room. His blazer was flecked with crumbs of some sort and he gave off a sort of stale smell. What little hair he had was greasy and slicked back and it was clear he hadn't shaved for a few days.

“DCI Ashley Delaney.” He introduced himself half heartedly, without looking directly at me. “DS Dempsey is, er, currently preoccupied with another line of enquiry.”

I just started at him.

“This your statement?” He asked picking up what was quite obviously my statement.

I didn't answer.
“Right well you're currently under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Andre Sebastian.”

I nodded and he proceeded to read me my rights.

“You'll remain in custody until you have a responsible adult present and legal representation and which point we will begin the interview process. Have you got a phone number for your parents?”
“I don't want my parents.” I told him
“Well unfortunately young man that's not your choice. You need a responsible adult present.” He sounded fed up.
“I want Sophie.”
He raised an eyebrow at my use of DS Dempsey's first name.

“DS Dempsey.” I corrected myself.
“That wont be possible I'm afraid. Are you gonna give me your parents contact number or am I going to have to get it out of your phone?” He was definitely fed up now.
“Whatever.” I shrugged.
“Little s**t.” The chief inspector muttered as he stormed out the room.
“Fat b*****d.” I retorted under my breath.
A uniformed officer entered the room and escorted me to the custody sergeant who searched and processed me, taking my personal items and my fingerprints. When they were content, I was lead to my cell. My shoes and belt were taken off of me and left outside the door.
“Do you want a phone call?” The PC asked me.
I shook my head.
“Just some water.”

He nodded closing my door and locking it behind him. I sat down on the plastic mattress and took my head in my hands. This was my life now. Plastic mattresses and locked metal doors. I was a murderer.

The shuttered on the cell door slid open and uniformed officer who had locked me in placed a white plastic cup of water on the ledge. I jumped up and gulped the water down in two mouthfuls.

“More?” He asked
“Please.” I nodded.
“I just got off the phone to your mum, she can't make it right now so we've called in someone from social services to act as your responsible adult.” He sounded slightly embarrassed to be informing me that my parents couldn't care less that I was being held on a murder charge. I shrugged my indifference and placed the cup back on the ledge. He took it and went to get me a refill.

It was no surprise that my parents weren't coming. They were probably praying that I get life. Every time I got dragged home they put up a pretence of relief until the police left. Then it was back to ignoring me and cooing over James. I was a constant, living, breathing reminder to my mother of how, her husband, the love of her life was really a filthy monster. Karen could turn a blind eye as much as she liked, but the truth would always be there, eating away at her. Paul Cahill, my father, was a paedophile.

My second cup of water arrived but this time the PC placed it on the ledge and left without speaking a word to me. I drank it slowly this time, savouring it, not knowing when I'd be allowed another one. Not that I deserved another one, I was a murderer.

When my cell door opened I had no idea how long I'd been locked up. It felt like days but time passes slowly when you have nothing to do other than contemplate the rest of your life behind bars. In reality it had only been a few hours. It was DCI Delaney. I wasn't exactly thrilled to see this fat old b*****d stood in front of me again.

“Interview time boy.” He smirked.

DCI Delaney led me back to the interview room where two people were already sat at one side of the table. I presumed these people to be my solicitor and my rent-an-adult from social services. Both were men dressed in suits, one blue, one grey. The were both clean shaven with short haircuts. The man in the grey suit was a bit older looking, probably the same age as the DCI. He looked bored, as though he had been inconvenienced by having to come here. The blue suited man stood up.

“Terry Gibbs, social services.” He said in a professional yet friendly tone as he offered me his outstretched hand. He had the aurora of someone who was suppressing their inner child.

“Dean.” I replied by way of introduction.

Terry noticed that I was staring at the grey suited man who was examining his fingernails.

“This is John Peters. He's here to provide you with legal advice.” Said Terry hurriedly before shooting John a disproving look.

John looked up at the mention of his name and raised his hand in an unenthusiastic wave.

“Right, lets get started then.” Delaney said impatiently.

We all took a seat and I began to painfully recount the whole sorry affair all over again.

Midway through the interview there was a knock at the door and a uniformed officer stuck his head around the door beckoning to Delaney. He paused the tape and left the room. John went back to examining his fingernails.

“How are you feeling?” Terry asked me.
I stared at him. How am I feeling? Was this guy for real?
“Sorry, stupid question.” He said, as if reading my mind.

DCI Delaney re-entered the room.

“How well did you know Mr Sebastian, boy?” He asked me.
“Pretty well. Why?” I answered.

“Did he have any distinguishing features?” The DCI continued, ignoring my question. “For example, a large scar on the left side of his face.”

That was when I realised. That's why the face looked different. It was missing the scar. It was someone else. I hadn't killed Andre. But then who was it?

I was relieved. There was still the guilt and the confusion but I could deal with those emotions later. I hadn't killed Andre. This probably wouldn't come as a relief to many people. He wasn't what would generally be considered a good man. Andre was a big time drug dealer. He controlled a high percentage of the crack that was sold in this town. He was violent and deranged but he was all I had. I was never the target of his outbursts. He was my idol, an example of a gutter kid who'd risen up. He had money, power, respect and he'd started from nothing like me. I was the son of crack w***e who'd been adopted by a paedophile. What chance did I have in life? When Andre found me I was close to death and devoid of any hope. He showed me there was a way to make something of myself. I didn't have to be a nobody any more. What did I care if that meant selling drugs, no one else had ever shown me kindness. Not when it really mattered. I didn't owe anyone anything. I'd spent the last two years working for Andre and in return he'd put me up at his place and given me money for things other kids my age couldn't dream off. I didn't do anything major, just a few deliveries and pick ups. My age was my advantage, I could go undetected where Andre would have to tread with great caution. I was an asset and that made me proud. When Andre disappeared I was alone again and I sought comfort in a crack pipe.

“The victim is in fact Diego Sebastian, not Andre Sebastian.” Sophie told me back in the interview room.

After revelation that I had not murdered my saviour and only friend. I'd been returned to my cell so the detectives could assess the new evidence before recommencing the interviews.

“According to our records Diego is Mr Sebastian's brother.” She went on.

“Brother?” I whispered “He never mentioned a brother.”

“We are still trying to locate Lizzy Dempsey, the owner of the house where Mr Sebastian was found.” Her voice sounded different and she was avoiding eye contact.

“Your sister?” I asked.

She ignored the question.

“You will be transferred to a secure centre for young adults as soon as possible, where you will await trial. In the mean time you will remain here. Would you like to speak to Mr Gibbs or Mr Peters before we put you back in your cell.”

“No thanks.” I replied.
Sophie got up and turned to leave.
“Sophie?” I called after her.

She turned back to face me.
“I'm sorry about your sister.” I mumbled. “I hope they find her.”
She paused for a moment.
“It's Detective Sergeant Dempsey to you.” She said as she left the room.

I spent the night in the cell, obviously there had been some difficulties in getting me transferred to the secure centre for young adults. I wasn't bothered anyway. It made no difference to me where I was locked up. I was kept occupied by my thoughts. Where was Andre? Why had he never told me about Diego? How had I ended up stabbing him at Sophie's sister's house? The situation was beyond comprehension.

The door opened and Sophie was stood in the door way holding a tray with my breakfast on it.

“Got CID delivering prisoners breakfast now have they?” My attempt at cracking a joke was wasted on Sophie. She was obviously trying to hold back her concern about her missing sister.

She placed the tray down on the bed beside me.

“I wanted to tell you myself. Once you've eaten that you're free to leave. Under the care of Mr Gibbs of course.”
I was speechless. That was not what I'd been expecting.
“How?” I asked, “What?”
“You say you have no memory of the nights events and the fingerprints found on the knife do not match the ones taken from you.” My mind was reeling as it tried to process this new information. “Furthermore, there are no traces of your DNA or fingerprints on the victims body or clothing.”
“But I had his blood on my hands!” I protested.
“There is nothing to suggest that the blood you claim to have discovered on your hands belonged to victim. We will, however, be keeping a close eye on you and it is likely you will be asked to come back in for further questioning.”
I didn't know what to say. I'd spent the last twenty four hours battling to come to terms with what I'd done and how it had impacted on my future only to be told I was being released. If I wasn't the murderer, why were my hands covered in blood? Or had I imagined it? Was it a hallucination brought on by the drugs? No it was real, it was far to vivid to be a construct of my imagination.

“Eat your breakfast, Dean.” Sophie's parting words to me as she left my cell, this time the door was not locked behind her but left open. I couldn't believe it. Was this a trick? Or a dream? I pinched myself. Not a dream.

Terry Gibbs entered my cell beaming childishly.

“Good news bud!” He exclaimed, arms stretched out either side of him.

“Yeah, I'm still just getting this straight in my head, you know?”

“Sure, sure. Well you're being released into my custody so you can stay with me and Maria, that's my wife, for tonight then tomorrow we'll get you settled into the children’s home.” He blabbered excitedly.
I opened my mouth to protest but realised if I didn't go home with this lunatic where else would I go? How bad could it be anyway? Warm food and a bed for the night. There'd be plenty of time to hatch my escape plan when Terry dumps me off at the children's home.

“Sounds great.” I forced a smile.

“Yes. Great.” Terry beamed back at me.

Once I retrieved my wallet and phone from the custody sergeant and signed the necessary paper work, Terry led me across the car to his silver Ford Mondeo. I got into the front passenger side and blew into my hands to warm them up. Terry started the engine and turned on the heating. The radio automatically turned on and a pre-set country and western channel came on.

“I can change it if you like?” Terry offered.

“It's fine.” I lied.

I couldn't help feeling sorry for this unnervingly kind, overgrown child. He seemed like the type of guy who got a real kick out of his job. Helping underprivileged, unloved children. It made me feel sick but good for him I guess. There was no amount of warmth and chumminess that would save me. I knew where my place was and that was with Andre. Wherever he was.

As we drove along I stared out the window. I could sense Terry glancing over at me every so often but I ignored him. Thoughts of Andre, Diego, Lizzy and Sophie swam through my head. I was struggling to force my disorganised memories into a chronological sequence but getting nowhere. What had happened? Who had killed Diego and why? How did the blood get on my hands and if it didn't belong to Diego who did it belong to? Had I killed someone?

“Do you like spaghetti bolognese?” Terry broke the silence.

“What?” I was irritated at my train of thought being interrupted.

“Bolognese. That's what Maria is doing for tea this evening.”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

There was a pause while Terry debated another attempt at talking to me. I carried on looking out the window in the hope that he would take the hint and leave me to think. He didn't.

“Look, I know you're going through a lot.”
I was about to tell him he didn't have a clue what I was going through or what I had already been through but that was when the van pulled out in front of us and Terry lost control of the car.

The Mondeo span out control and was halted by the immovable concrete bollard it collided with. Dazed, I looked around. Terry's unconscious body was pinned back in his seat by his air bag. I pushed against my air bag with one and whilst I clumsily removed my seat belt. I put my hand on the door handle but someone else opened the door from the outside. Before I knew what was happening a masked man had dragged me from the car and I was halfway across the road being dragged backwards towards the van that had caused us to crash. I was thrown in back and hit across the head. Then everything went black.

I could feel the cold hard concrete against my face. I tried to bring my hands from behind my back to push myself up off the floor but the were bound in place. Instead I managed to get onto my knees and examined my darkened surroundings. I appeared to be in some sort of cellar.

“What the f**k has happened now?” I asked myself under my breath.

Just when I thought my life couldn't get any more crazy I've been kidnapped and left tied up in a cellar. What's that smell? The cellar appeared to be completely empty. I shuffled around on my knees to see what's on the other side of the room. I saw two big shapes in the corner but I couldn't quite make out what they were. As I shuffled closer my eyes adjusted to the light. A fresh wave of terror washed over me as I realised it was Terry's corpse and beside him the rotting body of women. I threw my breakfast up all over Terry's stiff legs and shuffled back from the decaying corpses as fast as I could. I lost control of my legs and fell onto my back, panting, gasping for air. What the f**k was happening? I heard footsteps. A light came on, blinding me. I could sense someone stood over me, I forced my eyes open.

“Andre!” I exclaimed “Thank f**k, get me out of here man!”

“Sorry brother. No can do.” He said calmly, a blank expression on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn't want it to come to this bro. But when I found out they'd released you it was only a matter of time until you worked it out.” He was pacing up and down the cellar now.

“Andre, what the hell is going on. Worked what out?”
“Diego!” He was shouting now, saliva flew from his mouth. I'd seen him like this before but I'd never been on the receiving end. He was going into one of his rages.

“It was me!” He roared jabbing himself in the chest. “I f*****g done him bro!”

“What?” I choked in disbelief.
“I was like you. My dad, he was nonce bro, just like yours.”
Andre had never spoke about his family to me before but I had confided everything in him.

“Diego was the special one. He got all the special treatment and Dad left him alone. He f*****g knew what that old perv was doing to me, but he didn't care. Just like your mum. I was the runt. The disgrace. When I ran away I came here and lost contact with those b******s. I f*****g left them behind, moved on. You get me?”
I listened in stunned silence. Struggling to take in these revelations. It was all too much, happening too fast. Andre was still shouting but now had tears in his eyes. I'd never seen him like this. I was terrified yet captivated.

“But about a month ago I saw him. Diego. He was with that girl. That s**t. So I went underground and followed him, waiting for the right moment. Then I saw him go into that party so I waited for everyone to leave but he stayed, didn't he? So I went in and stuck a knife in him. That's when I saw you. You were out of it. Passed out. I cut my hand and covered your hands with my blood.” Andre paused to gauge my response.

I didn't know how to feel. Angry at the betrayal of the only person I truly trusted. Devastated that this relationship and gone the same way as every other relationship in my life. Or did I owe him this? He had saved me after all.

“Then I turned around and she was bloody stood there, weren't she.” He gestured at the female corpse.

That's when I noticed it. The silver necklace around her neck with the letter 'L' on it. I recognised that necklace. Lizzy had been wearing it. Sophie's sister. Andre had killed her too. I was suddenly overwhelmed with anger. I forced myself to my feet and charged at him despite my hands being tied behind my back. He'd deceived me just like everybody else. He was no better than either of our fathers or my crack w***e birth mother. I collided with him and knocked him to the floor. I raised my hand to punch him, my aggression fuelled by years of abused and deception. But I hadn't seen him produce the shiny black pistol that he was now holding in his right hand. As I fell on top of him there was a bang. I rolled over onto my back. I opened my mouth to scream or cry or beg but I couldn't breath. A pain like nothing I'd ever experienced was exploding in my stomach. As I lay there choking, tears blurring my already impaired vision, Andre climbed to his feet and stood over me. I could make out his figure but not the expression on his face. What was going through his mind. Did I mean anything to him? Then he raised his pistol and pointed it and my face. There was another bang. This time everything went black.

Author's Note

Any sort of criticism regarding any aspect of my writing is greatly appreciated. I am constantly editing and re-writing this piece of work and I am aware it is far from perfect. I would be extremely grateful for any and all advice on how to improve it.