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!’

bedroom. His mother

‘Bitch!’

again,

door slams.

out from under the

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

Sobbing, ‘You’re bleeding, Mommy…’

Sweetie. Don’t

face with the cloth, squeezing

‘A bit.’

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

tell

all funny. ‘What story would you

one about the train to

in beside him. ‘Once upon a time, there was a little boy called Larry....’ She

‘Mommy?’

bit tired, Sweetie. I'm 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

*****

Is it time for breakfast?’ But she

‘Mommy?’

*****

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

and heaves, the

tide of bluebottles,

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

gash on one hand, swollen, the

is she?

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

fuck’s that that supposed

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

he pushes the bedroom door open, clouds of flies swarm up and

bathroom, closing the door behind him. ‘You stay in there. Don't you

small, trembling, listening to the clatter and the cursing from

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

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