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!’

the bedroom. His mother snatches

‘Bitch!’

again, and

door slams. It goes

under the

on the door, top and bottom, then rushes across. ‘It’s alright, Lamb. He’s gone

Sobbing, ‘You’re bleeding, Mommy…’

nothing, Sweetie. Don’t

wipes his face with the cloth, squeezing warm

‘A bit.’

let's have a sleep. We'll both feel

tell me

talking all funny.

one about the train

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

‘Mommy?’

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.

*****

for breakfast?’

‘Mommy?’

…

…

*****

well open up. I know you're in there. Your

again, heaves; bangs and heaves, the bolts straining on their screws

in. ‘What the fuck?’ Fanning against a buzzing tide of

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

open gash on one hand, swollen, the skin stretched shiny and

is she? Where's

his head, tears trickling. ‘I

that that supposed

to me. I want her to tell me a story and

he pushes the bedroom door open, clouds of flies swarm

little boy and pushes him into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. ‘You stay in there. Don't you fucking

sits, hunching small, trembling, listening to the clatter and the cursing from beyond

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