Almost a year had passed since I had killed the young fox. I didn’t kill anything else in that time. I hadn’t suddenly developed a taste for torturing small animals or small humans for that matter. Life continued on as it had before.
I had just started my second year at secondary school. It was a small church run comprehensive, my mother and I weren’t regular church goers, but it was apparently one of the best schools in the area so she pulled a few strings to get me in. I guess being well known in the local bank has its advantages, as I was about to discover, it had its downside too.
It was early September, I’d just enjoyed another glorious summer holidays just exploring my favourite haunts and discovering new secrets and I was now back at school.
I don’t what time it was, but something had awoken me. For a short time I just lay there, looking at the silhouettes of my model planes hanging from the ceiling in mock battle. It must have been quite late at the glow in the dark stars that dotted the ceiling had no glow.
My attention was caught by a muffled sound from the room next door, my mother’s bedroom. I strained to hear, another sound followed by footsteps that sounded heavier than my mother’s. Quietly, I slipped out of bed and padded towards my bedroom door. I wasn’t surprised by how calm I felt. I reached the door and paused, concealed in the darkness I tried to listen, to understand what was happening.
There was a cry, clearly my mother’s that was quickly smothered. I then heard a gruff whisper commanding her to be silent and to get the boy. The note of panic in the smothered cries rose as she begged to just to take her and not to hurt me. I could stand it no more and at thirteen years old I pulled open the door and strode into the hallway to defend my mother.
I was strong and quick for my age, but it was a futile attempt. Physically I couldn’t match even the smallest of the masked men that were dragging my mother from her bed. I charged the nearest shouting with rage and striking him with my fists. I could hear the amusement in his voice as he laughed while casually back handed me. The blow sent me flying hard against the wall. Seeing me, my mother too began to struggle, but to no avail, held as she was between two of the men.
A fourth man, the last of the gang told the one that had just struck me to stop messing about and let’s get out of here. With a quick step he reached down and with a single large hand grabbed my pyjama top and lifted me into the air. I struggled with all my might, punching and kicking as my mother was dragged down the stairs and I was carried after.
The fourth man opened the door, checked the street outside before waving to someone unseen outside. I managed to bite the arm that held me, not enough to break the skin, but enough for him to cast me angrily to the ground. He kicked me, knocking the wind from me and with both hands this time, snatched me into the air.
And then something strange and wondrous happened.
I felt my mind burst from my skull, with a roar that drowned out all other sound and like a battering ram smashed into the head of the man that gripped me. As I entered his mind I could see a kaleidoscope of images, what I assumed to be the thoughts and memories of this man. He dropped me again as he screamed and fell to his knees, clutching the sides of his head. He then collapsed to the floor and was silent.
At the same moment, I was back inside my own head.
The other men stopped in surprise. My mother, still struggling managed to break free and screaming as loud as she could scrambled across the floor towards me. I was pretty stunned myself, I just stared at the fallen man’s face, although covered in the woollen mask I could see a damp patch spreading.
In the distance dogs started to bark and lights in other houses on the street flicked on. First one, and then more. The two men made a half hearted attempt at grabbing my mother. The fourth man regained his composure, I heard him mutter that this was some fucked up shit, before grabbing his two remaining men and pulling them into the street. I saw them leave, heard the revving of an engine and squealing tyres as they made their escape.
My mother clutched hold of me sobbing, while I just stared at the dead man’s face. I had done that. I didn’t know how I did it, but I had done that.
I’m not sure how long it was before the police arrived, summoned by one of the neighbours who had warily looked through the open door before rushing off. Gradually my mother calmed and by the time the ambulance arrived was able, in a stuttering voice to answer some of the questions.
Over the next few days we learnt the whole story, the gang had planned to kidnap her and use threats against me so she would open the bank doors early for them. They would then wait until the time lock opened the vault taking any staff hostage as they arrived for work. Once the vault opened they’d clear out the cash and then be on their way. They’d already done this a few times in recent months. We were told that we had a lucky escape.
As for the dead man, his death was deemed natural causes. A cerebral aneurism, but even with a post mortem they couldn’t find the cause.
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