Tell Me a Story

Interlude

Martin stopped and now silence fell over the small, dingy flat, in which he and his captive sat. Chills ran up and down his spine and he realised how uncomfortable he had become telling his own story. Certainly it had the effect of scaring at least one of the two people in the room. But not the right person.

Now his eyes flicked to Jake; the young boy sat on the carpet, still tilted forward, his eyes on Martin as if he expected the story to continued. Again Martin studied his eyes and again he could see no fear.

“Well?” he snapped, harsher than he had meant. He didn’t want the boy to think he was getting wound up over a simple story – even if he was.

“It was good,” the boy said with a shrug, “good, well told just not...” an uncomfortable pause, as if the boy did not want to upset his host. Martin waved his hand and the boy finished. “Scary. It wasn’t that scary.”

Martin took a deep breath and nodded. He was going to stay calm and he was going to reply in a reasoned and rational tone. So the boy had not been scared by his story – what did that matter? It was after all, just a story.

Except it wasn’t.

“Why was it not scary,” Martin asked, his breathing laboured as he tried desperately to keep his cool. He wondered if the boy knew how close he was to blowing his top and breaking the boys neck.

“It just didn’t seem very realistic. It’s not you… like I said it was a great story, but stories that are about monsters and fake things, personally, don’t scare me. The snake man… it didn’t get me in the right way, that’s all.”

It’s not you. As if he was being dumped. A cruel laugh reverberated around Martin’s head but didn’t make it out of his lips, as if he was taunting only himself. His eyes fixed on the boy who was only eleven but spoke like he was an eighty year old philosopher. All of a sudden the anger that had been building inside him crescendoed, exploding and taking over with rapidity that scared even Martin.

He was on his feet in a second, his arms swinging down and picking Jake up by his neat collar, bringing him into the air in one swift move – the strength displayed surprising him as much as Jake – and slamming him against the wall with a heavy thud that knocked the wind out of the boy.

“I’m sorry boy, did I not illicit the right reaction? Did I not hit your fear bone in the right place? Well if it’s real life that gets ya then I’m sure I can put the fear of God into you. How about that, boy?” He became aware that he was spitting violently in the boys face as he shouted but was too far gone to stop. Now, as he gripped tighter and tighter, he saw the fear appear in Jake’s eyes and he felt it pouring out of the child. Now he had what he wanted. And it made him feel worse than ever.

He let go without thinking and the boy dropped. He landed on his feet but his knees buckled immediately under him and fell down onto his behind, twisting one of his legs painfully as he went. Still he refrained from crying out, instead holding his lips tightly together and closing his eyes, refusing to show any more pain or fear, making Martin feel even worse.

“I’ve got to make a call,” he said, grabbing Jake’s phone out of his pocket. It was about time his parents stepped up to the mark. It was about time he got this kid out of his life for good.

He stormed off to the bathroom, finding the number as he went, while Jake nursed his leg on the floor. It was painful but the pain was dulling and disappearing quickly and, as he watched Martin limp awkwardly across the flat, he decided it could probably have been a lot worse.

Jake had been scared by Martin’s sudden outburst, but only because it had taken him completely by surprise. The fact that Martin had been willing to tell stories had lulled Jake into a false sense of security. He had decided that Martin wasn’t a bad guy, that there was a real reason he had to kidnap Jake. After being thrown against the wall, he was no longer sure.

The phone call lasted about five minutes and, although Jake couldn’t tell what was being said, he thought that it wasn’t going to plan, for Martin, at least, from the way that he spoke and how he paced up and down the tiny floor space in the bathroom. Jake considered going to the door to listen but quickly decided against it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Martin appeared from the bathroom looking agitated and down cast. Jake saw this expression and felt something strange rise up in his belly. A sadness he had not expected to feel. After all, he had decided he no longer cared about his parents or what they thought – wasn’t that why he was breaking all of their rules?

“They don’t want me, do they?” he asked, and for once he sounded younger than his eleven years, not older. This took Martin back and for a few seconds he stalled, not knowing what to say.

“They’re going to pay,” he said, finally, trying to sound both comforting and disinterested at the same time – a difficult feat. “They just need some time to get the money together, is all.” He sat back on the edge of the bed, trying to look genuine and falling short.

“Dad would never give up any money,” Jake said, feeling a wet drop materialising in the corner of his eye, desperate to break free in a show of emotion he was not willing to give. “That’s all he’s ever cared about – work and money – and the only time he talks to me is to give me orders, to make sure I behave in a proper way. He’s terrified I’ll embarrass him.”

“I had a strict dad too,” Martin said, unsure why he seemed to be acting as councillor all of a sudden, unsure why he wanted to. “But he still loved me, just like your dad loves you.”

Jake only shook his head, sadly. “At least he talks to me. My mum, she won’t even look at me. Won’t look at anyone or anything except the alcohol and drugs. I shouldn’t even love them.”

“You’re a kid,” Martin said, “I don’t think any kid can help love their parents, no matter how much of a pair of bastards they are. It’s programmed in from birth. Maybe you’ll get over it when you’re a bit older.”

“You don’t understand,” Jake said, shaking his head again, more assuredly this time. “You want to know why your story didn’t scare me? It’s because of what they did. I watched them… I watched her…” His eyes glazed with tears and his face turned to a ghostly white as his mind was drawn back to some horrible event. An event Martin couldn’t even imagine. If he had seen something so terrible involving his parents then it was no wonder Martin’s tale had scared him.

“What happened?” Martin asked, feeling his voice tremble as it passed through his lips. He wondered if he really wanted to know the answer to his question, but knew he would ask to hear it even if he didn’t want to.

“It was about a year ago, right after the time my mother discovered my father had been having an affair.” and as he spoke Jake eye’s drifted, getting lost in his memory as Martin had got lost in his story.

He got lost as he began the story of his father, the whore and their bastard child…