Page 43 of The Cut
Max had always shied away from using children in stories like this. He felt responsible, like he was somehow cultivating an immunity to extreme violence. Or worse: putting ideas into their heads. But he also understood what children were capable of – Jon Venables and Robert Thompson, Danny and Ricky Preddie, Scarlett Jenkinson and Eddie Ratcliffe: children who had committed appalling acts of violence. How on earth had he allowed himself to stray into this territory for the sake of entertainment? It was the stuff of nightmares.170
Deep down, he knew the answer. He had felt it himself in the cruelty dished out to him, the crack of knuckle on bone. He’d been terrified into silence. About everything. He’d bottled it up, kept it all secret, even from his parents, because he knew that the monster was always hiding in the shadows, waiting for him.
But now it was finally time to lure it out of the dark and into the spotlight.
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The club of the tree branch was gnarly with thorns. He raised it in the air above her head. As the jagged branch swung down to shatter the skull, the face of his own daughter suddenly stared back at him. He tried to scream but no sound came. Then the heavy branch slammed down hard, lacerating her perfect skin, cutting deep into the flesh. He gasped in horror, struggling to fill his lungs with air. He was suffocating in a deep, black pool, water rushing around him as he began to sink, something beneath him pulling him down. He was tethered. He reached down, fingers desperately searching for the weeds that were entwined around his foot. It was clamped around his ankle; something alive, like a snake. He tried to loosen it but the more he pulled, the tighter it bound itself.
His chest was exploding as his head tilted back, eyes stinging in the foul water as he tried to break for the surface. Shadows appeared out of the darkness: hands extending, fingers pointing. He reached back, freed his ankle and began to float upwards. The concrete base of the weir was close now, inches away, the vibration of rain pounding the choppy surface. He had no breath left in his burning lungs. Then the rope tightened again and yanked him down. He screamed out for help, but the black water rushed into his mouth, filling his lungs with a thick liquid. He was drowning.
Ben tried to wrench himself out of sleep. His eyes were open but his whole body was paralysed. He could hear a distant cry,172someone far away screaming out in agony. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he wrenched himself out of his paralysis. Shaking and sweating, he caught his breath.
A hand flopped over on to his chest.
‘All right, love? Night terrors again?’ Dani wasn’t awake; her voice was distant and her words slurred. She rolled over, cocooning the duvet around herself, while Ben lay still. The perspiration on his body began to cool into a clinging dampness.
Ben sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his damp T-shirt. His head was thumping, blood pulsating in his ears. He stood up and went to the bathroom for a glass of water and a painkiller. He was just approaching the door to the en-suite when he heard the front door close downstairs and anxious whispered voices coming from the hallway.
He stepped out on to the landing, shirtless, wearing only his boxer shorts. His irises gleamed bright like a cat’s as he held the door frame.
‘Lily?’ he hissed down the staircase.
Nate had his sister propped up under his shoulder. She was limping, hopping on one foot.
‘It’s OK, Dad, I’m fine. Go back to bed.’ Lily winced in pain as she hobbled into the kitchen with Nate.
Ben moved silently down the stairs and followed them into the kitchen, sliding the door closed behind him.
‘What time do you call this?’ His eyes shot to the digital clock on the cooker. ‘It’s past two. Where the hell have you been?’
‘Night shoot.’ Nate was pulling a first-aid kit from the medicine cupboard. ‘Didn’t Karine tell you?’ He found a can of freeze spray as Lily pulled off her sock. ‘Out in Burbage Woods. It was meant to be the Brecon Beacons, but—’173
Ben stopped for a second. ‘The Brecon Beacons?’
‘Yeah, we pitched tents and everything … Don’t fuss, Dad.’ Lily winced as the ice-cold spray hit her foot. ‘I just went over on my ankle in the dark. Happens all the time at football … not that you’d know, you’re never there.’
Ben didn’t respond and instead flicked on the undercounter lights and scrutinised his son’s face.
‘You’re bleeding.’ A number of small lacerations were speckled across Nate’s cheek.
‘We were running through branches in the dark.’ Nate pulled an ankle support on to Lily’s fast-swelling sprain. ‘It was brilliant, just likeAmericanWerewolf.’
Ben pulled cotton wool from the kit and soaked it in Dettol. ‘Now, listen to me, both of you.’ He pulled Nate in sharply by the shoulder and started to dab at his cuts. ‘I’m not having you gallivanting around at night in the dark.’
‘Ow … you’re hurting me.’ Nate flinched and took hold of the swab, pulling it away.
Lily slid down from the stool. ‘Karine said—’
‘I DON’T CARE WHAT KARINE SAID!’
‘Bloody hell, Dad!’ Lily’s wide eyes found her brother, who looked just as shocked.
Ben lowered his voice. ‘I don’t give a flying f … fig what Karine said … This stops now. I’m going to have words with that woman.’ His eyes darted to Lily. ‘You are both going to school in the morning as usual but you’re getting that ankle looked at first thing, young lady.’
