‘No, it really can’t be true, can it?’
“Come and gimme a hug.”
Shivers ran down his spine and his body stiffened. “No…” he
breathed.
Christian turned and faced him. He shouldn’t be running away
from his nightmares anymore – he’d been trying to escape and every time he did,
he succeeded. But not now, not with him standing directly in front of him.
“My little
boy, all grown up, famous and rich.”
“And what do
you care?” Christian spat. Just by the sight of him, he felt his anger
boiling up. The man who had turned his back on him ever since he was a small
boy… how dare he confronted him now?
“Couldn’t I just come back and take one last look at my own
son?” He stepped toward Christian but Christian backed away. “My own progeny.”
“I was never your son! You said so yourself!”
The man kept on inching his way toward Christian and Christian
kept on backing away. The both of them ended up at a dark alley, at the back of
a deserted street. A tower-clock nearby chimed twelve times.
The two of them glared at each other fiercely. If they were in a
cartoon or a comic strip, the tarred path between them would’ve fissure as a
result of their glares.
“That was many, many years ago, Christian. Things had changed
now.”
“What had changed? Nothing changed – life’s better now without
you, that’s for sure.”
“But life for me would never be better without you or
your mother. The both of you, the best any man could’ve asked for.”
“And yet, you didn’t appreciate us!” Christian yelled.
“What a joke!” He said sarcastically. “After making our lives miserable,
you come back to us and said that you couldn’t possibly live without the both
of us.
“What, you think we’re just nothing but toys? Do you really
think we’ll take you back? Mum’s happy with Stein and I just want things the
way they are now… I don’t want my past anymore. I don’t want my childhood
nightmare to haunt me anymore. Can’t you understand that?” Christian
shouted. He was close to tears now. He really didn’t want all those horrible
past of his back in his present life. Now that he had a brother, he didn’t want
Martin to be in trouble – he was innocent and that bastard must not go
after him.
“Speaking of your mother, how’s that son of the bitch?” his
father asked, advancing toward Christian.
“At least, he’s better than you!”
“Oh, fuck off. You know no one could take my place. I’m always
in your hearts…” he sneered and then, sniggered.
“Yeah? Well, the last time I checked, I was sure that you’re out
of our lives and our hearts for good. Why did you come back?”
“For this, my son, for this!” And with those words, he
lunged at Christian at an incredible speed.
Christian hadn’t expected the attack and was thrown off-guard as
he was pushed against one of the brick walls of the alley. His face was pressed
against the rough bricks. Skin tore as he felt his father pushing his head just
a little harder on the rough surface; his arm twisted awkwardly behind him as
his father pressed onto the small of his back with his knee.
Gritting his teeth, he struggled against the will to cry out in
pain.
“I’m not that weak boy you last saw years ago,” Christian said,
somewhat painfully as he felt the tiny edges of the bricks cutting into his
cheek and the tension in his arm increased as his father pulled on his arm
further.
His father jerked Christian’s arm in one fast move and Christian
heard a loud click. White numbing pain shot right through his arm that left his
world black with streaks of red running through it. He fought feverously to
stay conscious.
“I can see that, Christian, I can see that.” He kneed Christian
on the ribs twice, making sure that those two knees were hard enough to bring
down a professional assassin before releasing his son’s from his grip. He’d
been in the prison long enough to learn those tricks from the best fighters.
Christian sagged against the wall and slid down painfully to the
ground. He bit his lower lip and struggled to get to his feet.
“You are better than you used to be!” he said, amused and
delivered a blow to Christian’s jaw.
His vision exploded into a haze of pure white pain as his
father’s fist slammed into his jaw. Christian sprawled backward onto the
street, scraping off the skin on his palms on the rough bitumen in his attempt
to stop his fall.
Christian discarded his coat as fast as he could with his left
arm hanging oddly by his side and stood up but the agony seized him
immediately, forcing him to his knees. He looked up and saw a smug grin on his
father’s face. He was such a heartless man!
The memories of his past suddenly seemed to fuel him. He stood
up shakily and drove a fist to the side of that man’s face and got the same
effect from his father. Both staggered backward and shook their heads to clear
the haziness.
“Strong blow,” his father said, rubbing the side of his face.
Christian was painfully aware of the scrape along his cheekbone
that was beginning to sting.
“And that’s the effect of this ring.” He held up his hand and
showed Christian a ring on his middle finger. There were carvings on the ring
and a small object attached to it, resembling a tiny spike.
Christian realised that his father had prepared himself mentally
and physically for this fight. He’d probably planned it all along. He moved his
jaw and winced at the pain that the movement had caused.
His father picked up a metal rod that resembled a pipe from a
dark corner of that alley and brought it down on his son’s head, hard.
As the pain washed over Christian, his father took this chance
and gave Christian another blow on the jaw. His world exploded with a burst of
bright white stars against black and red streaks before his eyes. While he was
still dazed from the pain of the blow, Christian’s father delivered blow after
blow; kick after kick – hitting his son furiously with that rod.
He felt the bone in his left forearm snapped into two as he
swung in time to block one fatal blow from the rod that his father held. His
arm broken in two places was now twisted at an awkward angle. His father smile
when he saw him struggling to keep his feet on the ground.
One knee drove straight to his abdomen, one punch to his nose –
he heard a crack and knew that he’d broken his nose – an elbow to his back…
Christian dropped to his knees, blood gushing out of his broken nose.
Amongst the shower of kicks and blows as well as the constant
glimpses of the metal rod, Christian managed to take one look at the psycho who
was attacking him and he saw a contented smile playing on that man’s lips. He
elbowed and kneed blindly whenever he could, unaware whether any of his attacks
hit his father but he just knew that he didn’t want to die then. He drew in a
sharp breath but it hardly entered his system.
‘Shit…!’ His
brain stopped processing for a second when he felt another blow at the back of
his head. ‘Mum…’
At the sudden recurring thought of his family and friends, he
felt as if they had been another reason why he shouldn’t die. As he held on to
the man’s shoulders while that man kneed him continuously in his midsection,
Christian denied the excruciating pain that his father had caused as he muster
all the strength he had and kneed his father in his groin, hard.
“Fucking son I had,” he heard his father muttered.
Suddenly, that man brandished a dagger from behind. One second,
Christian saw a gleaming sharp edge and the other second, he felt the cold
metal in him – the comforting coldness that he hadn’t felt for many years
finally inside of him.
Christian looked down at the dagger sticking out of his front,
near his chest. Breathing was an agony right then. He knew the dagger had just
punctured his left lung. One corner of his lips curled up into a mocking smile,
he closed his fingers around the hilt of the dagger, slippery from his blood.
He gasped in pain as he jerked the dagger out of his own body and placed one
hand on his wound before drawing it away. He saw his own blood staining his
hand. Christian smiled at his father as he staggered and sunk to his knees; his
life pouring out of him slowly.
Through the red haze of pain and his dimmed vision, he thought
he saw a shadow behind his father but the man didn’t seemed to notice. He held
up one arm and struggled to his feet and thought he saw the vague outline of
Mark. It could’ve been Mark. Or it might just be his own mind playing tricks on
him.
The man struck Christian across the face. “See, the baddies will
always prevail,” his father said, somewhat smugly.
“Just… l… like… yo… you told me… ” Christian wheezed. The pain
had worsened; he felt as if someone had just stabbed his lung repeatedly. ‘Is
this how I’m going to die? In front of this man?’
He felt the cold metal in him again. This time, between his
second and third ribs. He gurgled and spluttered on his own blood as the knife
drove home.
Weakened, bruised, bloodied and in pain and probably dying,
Christian crumpled into a heap on the rough bitumen when he saw Mark running
toward the scene. He knew Mark would’ve been able to win the battle. At least
he was stronger than that man who had assaulted him but the dagger…
‘It would’ve be nice to have a sleep now,’ Christian
thought when his vision blurred as the fatigue settled in. He could hear the
fight between his father and Mark.
Mark had pocketed his mobile after calling the police and ran to
the scene to attack the man from behind. He didn’t care that he was assaulting
a stranger but this particular stranger was beating up his friend! There
was absolutely no way that he’s going to let that happen. He had a vague
idea who was that man.
‘The one who gave Chris his miseries,’ he thought.
Not long later, Christian heard the sirens and people shouting
orders, the sound of someone being dragged across the tarred road. The fight
that he had been fighting inside of him had died down; he surrendered. No
matter how hard he fought, he knew he was on the losing end of that battle. He
felt as if his energy had been drained out of him, every single drop squeezed
dry; there was absolutely no way for him to win, anyway.
He was slipping into semi-consciousness when he felt someone
cradling his head. The sudden movement caused blood to rise from inside of him.
Bile mixed with blood came up through his oesophagus. A trickle of blood
appeared, forming a thin line on the corner of his lips.
“Chris, he’s gone now… you’re gonna be fine.” He felt someone
running a finger – or a thumb – across his chin. “Chris, you’re bleeding,
profusely, should I say.” He felt pressure on the left side of his chest. He felt
no pain now.
Christian tried to speak but it’s only his lips that moved. His
throat couldn’t make a single sound. More blood poured from his mouth; mingling
with the blood that was flowing steadily from his broken nose.
“Sshhh… it’s over, Chris,” that same person said. “It’s over. An
ambulance is on its way.”
Mark held his friend’s right hand and squeezed it tightly, just
to let Christian know that they’ll be there to fight his side of the battle, to
help him through with his ordeal. Looking at his friend’s face, Mark noted the
bold contrast of Christian’s bright red blood and the ashen pale face that he’d
known for quite some years now. He increased his pressure on his blond friend’s
chest, hoping that somehow it would stop the bleeding. He hated to think how
much blood Christian had lost. Mark’s hand was already covered with Christian’s
warm blood – his t-shirt’s long sleeve was already soaked with the blood. There
was another policeman next to them, pressing his hand on another wound on
Christian’s left ribcage.
“Chris, please bear with me.”
With his waning strength, Christian gave Mark’s hand a gentle,
but nonetheless, reassuring squeeze that seemed to say, “I understand… I’ll
fight this, right through till the end. I won’t die.”
Christian’s eyelids drooped and the pressure on Mark’s hand
lessened. A scant moment later, Christian’s hand fell beside his limp body.
Mark felt around for a pulse and he found it – weak and not very
assuring. “When’s the ambulance gonna come?!” he shouted at the police that
were sealing the place of scene with the yellow tape.
He’d seen the police taping the place with the “infamous” yellow
tape but he just couldn’t believe it’s happening to him, in real life, right in
front of him with his best friend dying in his arms.
“Soon, son, soon,” one of them answered.
“Chris, please, please, I’m begging you, please
bear with me. Don’t give up on me.” Mark felt tears welling up; threatening to
spill any moment. “Please…” His sobs racked his shoulders not long after that…
“Watching the candle flicker out
In the dimness of the cold room
Staring up the dark skies of the night
Singing a toast to the stars as I lay back
But they don’t seem to shine for me anymore.
I recalled the day we met
It was hard for me to fit in
But you were there to help me
And I’ll be forever in debt with you
Please, don’t leave me alone. ”