I never made it to class; I had an overwhelming urge to ride the tube to Malcombe Moor, reaching the town at nine in the morning. It was one of those typical English mornings with lowering gray skies and a dismal rain falling.
The lane between the town and the line was running as if a stream went through it; I kept to the high side, finding a narrow opening between two trees and the hedge where I could squat and hide without becoming very drenched, as I hadn’t the wit to bring a mackinaw to stay dry. Nor had my trainers fared any better, they were soaked through all the way to my knees.
I was miserable, cold, wet and yet, I managed to doze the whole day away, woke only when the shadows lengthened into dusk and people started to hurry home off the train and use the short cut.
They came in groups and alone, the postman, matrons with grocery sacks and city workers; all of them with brollies and Wellies, heavy rain coats. They had obviously listened to the weather reports.
School kids slipped past me if they were first formers, even the older ones didn’t tarry but hurried along as if they sensed the coming evil. It was near dusk when Kitty appeared, and this time she wasn’t in her school uniform, just a pair of jeans and a rain slicker with the hood up, rain covers pulled on over her shoes.
She glanced about, wary as a rabbit and jumped when the postman stepped out behind her. He called his name and she relaxed, smiled as the two of them made their innocuous remarks about the weather.
I slipped off my perch and stood behind them, he had already been down this route from the post office hours ago.
“Kitty,” I heard him say, “I’ve a parcel for you just down the lane. I was bringing it over this afternoon and got hung up on a big delivery to the Jensen’s.”
“Who from?” she asked, delight on her face with the thought of an unexpected present.
“From me.”
“You? Whatever for?”
He grinned and pulled out his knife and I had seen it so many times in my nightmares, I knew it better than he did. I ran up behind her, jerked her out of his grasp, and sent her flying, shoving him to his knees with a rugby tackle.
“Kitty! Run!” I screamed and she did so, scrambling to her feet with an alacrity missing in her everyday motion. She screamed the entire way to the village and I was fast after her.
He was up and on his own feet seconds later, I heard the pounding of his heavy footsteps and he cut me off, wielding the knife before him.
“You bloody bastard,” he hissed. “I’ve seen you loitering about before. You spoiled my bit of fun. Guess what? I do boys, too and you’re far prettier than that cow. Love your eyes.”
“I told the coppers about you,” I said and bolted to the side and promptly sank into knee-deep mire. The more I struggled, the faster I sank. He grabbed me by my hair and I swatted at him. He hauled off and punched me in the stomach and I stopped breathing. He was able to drag my limp, nonresistant body onto solid ground where he went through my pockets and found my ID. Trussing me with plastic cord, he bound my wrists and ankles and then dragged me off into a copse where we were hidden from casual view.
“Aidan Smyth,” he read. “London. E6. Bit off your turf, Heh?”
I struggled as he pulled down my jeans and boxers, played with my balls and dick; I tried to scream once my lungs started working. Heard the far off shouting of people heading our way. He heard it, too.
“Too bad,” he whispered. “I bet you’ve never had a big cock up your arse.”
He took the knife and slowly slid it into my belly to the right of my belly button, watching my eyes darken as he did it. The pain was an ice-cold burn and then a fiery monster eating my guts. My entire body went into a spasm. He drew the blade up and hot fluid gushed out of my insides to splash down my sides, my guts were like snakes weaving and dancing. I could not speak in the horror of seeing inside me.
His face dissolved. I could feel the knife reach my heart, felt it shiver and skip but the pain had receded; no longer touched me.
“Good bye, Aidan Smyth,” he whispered in my ear and I barely heard him as he stood and ran off.
The last thing I did hear was her voice telling me not to die in her place, the lights of police, and the cold blackness of death.