‘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 and 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 out of the best. 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? Mom’s happy with Stein and I just want things the way it is 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. 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 was 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. His left shoulder dislocated…

“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. He was lucky he didn’t twist his wrists on that 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 – and he thought he’d lost his nose right then – an elbow to his back… Christian dropped to his knees.

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.

A wild idea popped into his head. ‘He’d broken my nose…’ 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 jerked the dagger out of his 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 saw the vague outline of Mark. It could’ve been Mark.

He 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 felt it touching the outer surface of the most vital organ in him – his heart. He gurgled 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.

“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. 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 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. ”

 

 

~ *Grins* I know, I know, this is just crap. And yet, this is fave chap. Probably’s because I love putting someone in pain *laughs evilly* … Oh, and the two stanzas of the poem – it’s copyrighted… coz it’s mine!!! Yeah, I know the poem’s crap as well coz I’m not in the mood for poems nowadays… N’weyz, take care! Lyl xxxx ~~