Cara’s voice is suddenly clearer than it’s ever been, and as I dip my fingers into the paint and scoop out a glob, I close my eyes and transport myself back in time.
“Don’t cry. I’ll hide. I promise. A’ll not make a sound.”
“Good boy. Mummy loves ya. So much. Never forget it.”
I don’t need a mirror. I know each stroke by heart. I run circles over my cheeks, giving birth to the devil within. Once I’m done, the container drops to the floor with a thud. I then feed the darkness as I use a single finger to draw my black, sinister grin.
As his mother’s mouth gets slit from ear to ear, Punky repeats the same action with his black face paint.
He runs the tip from the apple of his cheek to his mouth, where he draws lines across his lips, wishing to silence his screams, then repeats the action on the other side of his cheek. He now wears a grin as big as his ma’s. With precise strokes, he draws slashes downward along the line he just drew, emphasizing his grin as something sinister, something grotesque.
I’m suddenly outside of my body, a voyeur given a front-row seat to the show.
I see Cara being tortured, beaten, and raped. I see it all.
Punky paints black around his eyes, not wanting to bear witness to his ma being defiled over and over again.
“I never wanted this for ya, Cara. But ya didn’t listen.”
Punky doesn’t know what that means. But he knows his mother did something bad.
The man bends down and lifts Cara’s head back by her hair, exposing her neck. Cara moans, her face barely recognizable. Her bloodshot eyes focus on the wardrobe door where she knows Punky is watching. She reaches out with a quivering arm, wanting to touch him, to tell him it’ll be all right.
Cian is right. I am two people. Punky was born the day he watched his mum be slain by his dad, and right now, Punky is running the show.
Once I finish coloring my eyes black, I open them slowly. The first thing I see is Sean. He looks afraid.
He should be.
Cian stands off to the side, suddenly realizing what he asked me to do.
Inhaling, I tip my face to the ceiling, a smile spreading from cheek to cheek. I feel like I can breathe again.
“Father,” I commence, returning my attention to him. “It seems I’m the only person who wants you alive.”
“’Cause yer not a fucking idiot, that’s why.”
“Aren’t I?” I question, walking toward him slowly. “All I could think about when locked up in that cell was killin’ you. It was the only thing which kept me goin’ because givin’ up would mean ye’d won.”
“Kill me now, and I promise ye, y’ll forever be runnin’. Say goodbye to the normal life ye want for yer family. Isn’t that why yer doin’ this? Why y’ve done all of this? For them?”
He knows what to say. He knows how to manipulate me.
“Aye, they’re all that matters to me. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun. I may need you to ensure their safety and my freedom, but some parts aren’t as vital as others.”
Sean pales, knowing what this means for him. I’m going to torture him within an inch of his life, to the point that death would be a mercy.
I don’t have much in the way of equipment, but I’m creative. There’s some rope and a small hammer a tradesman must have left behind. I don’t think he’ll want it back once I’m finished.
Gathering both, I stand in front of Sean. “This is the face you created. Do ya like it? Mum told me to pretend to be someone else while you raped and killed her. She told me it wasn’t real, but it was.
“It was really fucking real when you slit her throat with ease.”
Sean’s eyes follow the movement of the hammer as I gently bang the face into my open palm.
“You know why I did it,” he says, hoping I see reason.
“Naw, I don’t. Ya told me why, but that doesn’t mean I understand or accept it.”
Before he can say another word, I purse his cheeks between my fingers so his lips pop open. He doesn’t fight me because he knows he won’t win. Flipping the hammer, I force open Sean’s mouth and place the claw of the hammer on his jaw.
Cian hisses, knowing what I plan on doing.
“I should slit yer mouth open, just as you did to her. But this will do.”
With force, I jam the claw into his gum and pivot the hammer at an angle as I work it back and forth. When I feel his tooth wobble, I push down harder, laughing manically when blood trickles from Sean’s mouth. The roots of the tooth are imbedded deep, but as I use a lot more strength, it dislodges, and with a squelch, it pops free.
Reaching into his mouth, I pull out the tooth.
Sean holds back his pained whimpers, but he looks to be on the cusp of passing out.
“Shall I put this under yer pillow for the tooth fairy?” I mock, holding the tooth between my thumb and pointer finger. “Y’ll get at least five pounds for this big sucker.”
The blood spilled only encourages me to continue.
I could break his kneecaps, but he needs to walk as I’m not carrying his sorry arse. So I decide to break his elbow instead.
He can’t move as his wrists are still bound, but he’s unable to hold the weight of his arm and it flops to the side limply. He flinches as the pain would be unbearable. He wants it to fall naturally, but he can’t because he’s bound…which gives me an idea.
Dropping the hammer, I pick up the rope and swing it high, securing it over a low-hanging rafter in the ceiling. I’m suddenly very pleased they’ve taken their time with the renovations.
Turning to Cian, I gesture he’s to give me the knife he always carries. Only now do I realize he’s turned a sickly shade of green.
“What’s the matter, mate? Isn’t this who you want me to be?”
Cian doesn’t say a word as he gives me his blade.
Snatching the knife from his hand, I walk around Sean and hack through the ropes at his wrists and ankles. Before he gets any ideas to flee, I stab him in the shoulder. It’s a flesh wound as experience has taught me where to stab someone if I want to kill them—femoral artery, neck, heart.
This would merely tickle.
But as Sean sags forward, winded, I realize tickle is maybe underplaying it a wee bit.
Gripping him by the back of the neck, I walk him to where the end of the rope hangs and roughly yank his arms behind his back, not bothered that his elbow is broken and he has a knife sticking out of his shoulder.
Once his wrists are tied tight, I pick up the other end of the rope and smile. We lock eyes, and I’ll give it to him, he doesn’t beg. He simply stares at me as I pull down on the rope with all my strength, dislocating his shoulders as his arms hyperextend.
This position restricts airflow, and he wheezes, desperately gasping for air.
“This is how my mum would have felt, gaspin’ for air as you brutalized her in every way possible.”
The memory has me pulling down harder, and when I hear a snap, I know Sean’s shoulder has popped free from the socket. He sags forward, strung up with no place to go. I loosen the tension, allowing him a moment of reprieve because I don’t want him passing out yet.
Where’s the fun in that?
He greedily gulps in air, and just when he thinks I’m done, I pull down on the rope again. This time, I hear a crack, followed by a guttural scream as his feet lift off the floor.