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!’

dashing for the bedroom. His mother

‘Bitch!’

screams again,

the door slams. It

out from under

slamming the bolts on the door, top and bottom, then rushes across. ‘It’s alright,

Sobbing, ‘You’re bleeding, Mommy…’

nothing, Sweetie.

the cloth, squeezing warm soapy water. ‘Is that

‘A bit.’

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

tell me

course I will.’ She’s talking all funny.

about the train to

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

‘Mommy?’

too. It’ll be better in the morning.’ She pulls him

*****

it time for breakfast?’ But she doesn't

‘Mommy?’

…

…

*****

The door bangs. ‘Fucking well open up. I know you're in there. Your car’s at

the bolts straining on their screws until, with a

Fanning against a buzzing tide of

scattered: wrappers licked clean, tins wiped, one trailing what looks like

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

is she?

little boy drops his head, tears

that that supposed to

wake up and talk to me. I want her to tell me a story and she won’t. And she's gone all

around the apartment. As he pushes the bedroom door open, clouds of flies

turns, grabs the little boy and pushes him into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. ‘You

little boy sits, hunching small, trembling, listening to the clatter

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