Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

Klempner – The Present

Mine…

My daughter…

Mitch’s daughter…

Alexanders’ words haunt me…

You locked her in the dark with the corpses of the murdered...

I try to escape into sleep…

… The stinking breath

The blood-shot eyes, wild with rage

The fist…

Da... No...

And a scream of anger. ‘Leave him alone you bastard! Don't you touch him! Don’t you dare touch him…’

The smack of knuckles into flesh and another scream, now of pain…

‘Mommy! Don't hurt Mommy!’

The figure so tall…

The screams of pain becoming shrieks…

The smack of knuckles into flesh…

The little figure grabs for something… Anything…

… He swings the big metal stick with all his might, aiming for the ankles… ‘Stop hurting Mommy!’

A scream of rage and pain. ‘You little bastard!’

‘Run, Lamb, Hide!’

bolts, dashing for the bedroom. His mother snatches

‘Bitch!’

again, and

the door slams.

out from under the bed,

then rushes across. ‘It’s alright, Lamb. He’s gone now.’

Sobbing, ‘You’re bleeding, Mommy…’

nothing, Sweetie. Don’t

wipes his face with the cloth, squeezing warm

‘A bit.’

know it hurts but let's have a sleep. We'll both feel

tell me a

all funny. ‘What story would

about the train to

into the bed then climbs in beside him. ‘Once upon a time, there was a little boy called Larry....’ She speaks

‘Mommy?’

going to go to sleep now. You sleep too. It’ll be better in the morning.’ She pulls him close, humming as she strokes his hair. After a while, she stops humming and her

*****

Is it time for breakfast?’ But she doesn't answer, doesn't

‘Mommy?’

…

…

*****

bangs. ‘Fucking well open up. I know you're in there. Your car’s at the front. Open

and heaves, the bolts straining on their screws until, with

the fuck?’ Fanning against a buzzing tide of bluebottles, he stares down at the small,

bin lies across the tiles, the contents scattered: wrappers licked clean, tins wiped, one

small boy has an open gash on one hand, swollen, the skin stretched shiny

is she? Where's your

little boy drops his head, tears trickling. ‘I don’t like

What the fuck’s that

me. I want her to tell me a story

he pushes the

him into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. ‘You

to the clatter and the cursing from

slams open and the man marches in, reaching down to haul him up by the injured hand which oozes, slick and