The Tied Man
It wasn’t the most graceful punch I’d ever thrown, but it still broke Henry’s nose. I simply let the momentum carry us both to the floor, where I reckoned I might get to throttle the man before I passed out, especially as Henry didn’t seem particularly keen to fight back. He was just beginning to make some fairly interesting choking noises when Coyle returned from his pick-me-up and kicked me off Henry, managing to break the second rib of the morning.
‘Jesus, you don’t learn too quick, do you , faggot?’ He hauled me into a headlock to allow Henry to crawl away. ‘Come on, time to go and see your new cage.’
*****
Coyle’s buddies had prepared my room whilst he was dealing with me. My life’s possessions now consisted of the pyjama pants I was wearing, an ancient sweatshirt, a stripped mattress and a thin duvet. Worst of all, no oil lamp. The few things I had foolishly thought of as mine – just books for the most part, and my precious sketch of Bran – were nowhere to be seen. Fuelling a bonfire somewhere, no doubt.
‘You stupid little shit.’ He threw me to the back wall. ‘Jesus, if you thought you had a crap life before this, you’re going to love your world from now on.’ He crouched at my side. ‘Right, time for the ground-rules. One,’ he began to count off on his fingers, ‘and this’ll come as no surprise, no more swanning around like lord of the fucking manor; you’re either in here or you’re working. Two – you have any ideas about meeting up with our resident artist and I’ll hurt her in whichever way I fancy, and three, I’m in charge of that nasty little habit of yours. You get two visits a day, and I watch you swallow so you can’t stockpile and do anything stupid. If you’re a good boy I might up your dose, but if you kick off, you know I can give you just enough to keep you screaming on the edge of a rattle for days. Are we clear, you shit-stabbin’ piece of filth?’
‘Perfectly.’ My mouth now felt as though it had been stoved in with a housebrick.
‘Good dog.’ Coyle got to his feet and placed the tip of his boot on my latest broken rib and nudged his foot forwards. I cried out despite myself. ‘Oh, and talkin’ of useless mongrels, there’ll be one less in about, ooh, ten minutes’ time. A bit of target practice, if you get my drift?’ He mimed raising a shotgun and firing at me.
I got his drift. Bran was already as good as dead, and I’d killed her.
‘See you in a few hours for your next fix, faggot,’ Coyle called as he slammed the door. ‘As long as I don’t forget, that is.’
*****
I heard the muffled report of a shotgun being fired at close range. A terminal, numbing emptiness filled me as I lay down on the mattress, shut my eyes against the approaching darkness, and began to go quietly mad.
Lilith
The first morning after the conflagration was the worst. Sleep hadn’t stopped the hurt: the night was filled with pethedine dreams of Coyle’s hard, jabbing fingers deep inside me, and the sound of my fingers snapping and Coyle’s boot slamming into Finn. I awoke shaking with fear and pain, and knew what I had to do if I had any intention of surviving. Every muscle screamed as I swung my legs over the side of my bed.
I tentatively placed my unbroken hand between my legs and checked my fingers. The bleeding had stopped and I clung on to this small act of healing as I dragged my trainers from under my bed using my clenched toes.
It was six thirty in the morning and I was still breathing. I was going for my run.
*****
‘Run’ was a misnomer. A meagre three circuits of the island took me the best part of an hour, but in that time I learned two important things: I was considered sufficiently tamed to be left alone, and I was still capable of putting one foot in front of the other so I could do the only thing in the world that might stop me going crazy with longing for Finn. No matter how difficult I found it, I knew the only way of keeping him safe for now was for Blaine to think I had learned my lesson.
A soft drizzle cloaked the rocks as I began my final lap. I pushed damp hair from my eyes and touched the stitches in my head; a row of tiny thorns. I cursed Coyle and walked on into the grey dawn.
Chapter Twenty Three
Finn
I knew it was Coyle long before he appeared. Even if I hadn’t recognised the sound his customary heavy-footed swagger made on the bare stone, I could have guessed purely on the basis that he was the only soul I’d seen since the beginning of my confinement.