Copyright©2016 by Matt Shaw

Matt Shaw Publications

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For the Animals

Matt Shaw

PART ONE: NOW

1.

I am an animal lover and have been my entire life. My love does not extend to most humans. I can’t tell you why this is.

My mother and father are tolerant of people but not that fussed with animals, my father especially. My mother likes them but wouldn’t rush out to get a pet for herself. One pet dies, I am quick to replace. Her cat died and she wasn’t worried about having another. Dad, though… It’s fair to say he is indifferent to them but that is not to say he is cruel to them. If he saw one hurt, he would try and help it. For example, let me tell you about the pet cat I mentioned earlier - from when I was growing up and living with my folks. My mother bought it, much to my father’s resentment. She had wanted one for a while and he had always said no so when my birthday came around, she purchased one and said it was a gift for me.

The first my father knew was when he turned up and found me playing with a kitten. Quiet words were exchanged between father and mother but the cat stayed. My father was hardly father of the year, in fact nowadays we rarely talk, but he wasn’t such a monster he would snatch away a pet and send it back to the shop. Anyway, this cat brought a bird in one time. The bird was not dead but it may as well have been. Its wing was broken and it was lying on its side, clearly in distress. My father picked the bird up with gentle, gloved hands and placed it in a bed of tissue which was then carefully placed within a box. With me in tow, my dad drove to the nearest animal shelter, hoping to find someone who would be able to help.

We got three miles, give or take, down the road when the little bird suddenly ruffled its feathers and breathed its last. Tears rolled down my cheek despite taking comfort in the fact that we had tried to make it as comfortable as possible in its last moments. We had also tried to save it.

Dad drove us home and I buried the bird still in its bed of tissues in the back garden: a spot close to where I buried my hamster a few years before. Father ranted and raved to mother about ‘That fucking cat’ as I then - secretly - set about punishing it for causing those fatal injuries. She had killed an animal and needed to be taught a lesson so I smacked her hard across the backside. I was young and didn’t know any better. She would have no idea what had happened as more than an hour had passed. To her, I was simply beating her for no reason. This boy who loved her one minute was smacking her the next.

It didn’t stop her from killing. It didn’t stop her from hunting. It just confused her. I am older now and understand it is in their nature to hunt animals. I do not like it and actively try and discourage it but now, if my current cat kills a mouse - or bird - I do not seek to punish. Instead, I ignore her. I show no affection; I show no gratitude for the gift given. I simply turn my back and walk away, but first making sure the injured victim is either rescued or put out of its misery. I am an animal lover and have been my entire life.

Today, though, I sometimes wonder as to whether I am one of a kind. It seems there are more and more assholes out there - scum of the earth - who seem hell-bent on hurting animals. But then, maybe it was always like that?

Maybe it is just the rise of social media which has allowed it to be more visible? When I was growing up, we didn’t have the Internet. We didn’t have Sky television or Cable. We had four channels and they were filled with soaps, documentaries and the News. Hell, even the news was different when I was growing up. There would be the main stories, usually horror-fuelled, highlighting the fucked-up world we live in, but then they would end with a nice, happy story.

Those days are gone. Now the news is nothing but doom and gloom highlighting issues both here and overseas. You can’t leave your door open on a hot summer’s night anymore, and children can’t go to the park without being accompanied by an adult.

Then, of course, there is in the Internet. Pages and pages of porn and shit children shouldn’t be seeing and social media sites where everyone thinks they’re entitled to force their opinion on someone else without taking their own opinion into consideration. A cyber-world of people shouting and screaming, trying to be heard - trying to sound more important than they are. And with the social media? The videos. Viral videos which pop up on your newsfeed which loop back to my point about bad things being more visible… Numerous videos of people hurting animals. Clips of skinheads kicking cats and dogs to death, images of dogs being hanged in the trees, little chicks being… I don’t want to think about it.

The videos annoy me. They are graphic and disturbing. They haunt me. The people sharing them aren’t doing so because they like them, they’re doing it because they’re highlighting the monsters in the videos.

‘Look what this cunt is doing to this dog! Share the video and make him famous!’ The idea being that someone who knows the man (or woman) in the video reports them to the authorities or gives them a kicking. I don’t know… It annoys me. Especially when they word it with “make him famous”. The guy kicked a dog to death, despite its yelping and cowering. You really think he gives a shit about people watching the film he had videoed in the first place? He’d most probably relish in it.

‘Look how many fucking hits I got!’ The YouTube Generation.

*

As I turned my car into the warehouse’s parking area I found myself wondering how many hits I will get when these videos go live?

2.

The warehouse is one of the smaller units in the industrial park. After the recession hit, most of the businesses tanked. They either shut their doors completely or they packed up and moved somewhere cheaper. Although not close to the city centre, or even the airports, this area is still pretty damned expensive for what they offer. Not that money is really an issue after the inheritance came through from my parents.

Sitting here in my car, with my engine idling, I still find myself surprised at just how small this unit is compared to some of the others here. It sticks out like a sore thumb: a midget standing with giants. I could have purchased one of the larger, swankier units here but I saw little point. Once I have done what needs to be done, I’ll be moving on. Whether through choice or by force.

I turn the engine off and sit there a moment. Long drive and I’m tired despite having much work to do yet. As I stretch my back, I catch sight of myself in the rear-view mirror. There are heavy bags under my eyes, my skin is pale and I’m sure there are a few extra speckles of grey in my once jet-black hair. I’m in my late thirties and yet I feel as though I am knocking on sixty with the Grim Reaper looming ever closer.

‘Yes,’ its voice whispers in my ear as I sleep at night, ‘go to sleep… Drift away. Come with me…’ I know it is nothing more than a figment of my tired imagination and yet I still find myself forcing sleep away, lying there with my sore eyes wide open. I won’t go quietly into the night.

I sigh heavily as I open the door. The cool air from outside the heated car rushes in and sends a shiver down my spine. I had forgotten what a bitterly cold day it was out there. That tends to happen when you drive for hours with the heaters on full, blowing hot air in your face. Jesus. I unfasten my seat-belt and reach for my jacket on top of the boxes sitting on the back seat. It’s a thin leather jacket, hardly great for keeping this weather at bay but it is better than nothing.

I climb from the car and slip the jacket on before doing it up with the flimsy zip. For once it didn’t break. Surprising really, given the shitty day I am having so far. Still - all this stress, all these headaches… They will be worth it. In the end.

I fish the warehouse keys from my pocket as I walk across the empty car park towards the side door. Easier to go in through this door compared to the main entrance - a set of double doors hidden by a manual shutter which needs to be opened before getting to the door’s lock. The side entrance is just a door with a single keyhole, the easiest part of the building to break in through, given that the minimal windows have bars covering them. By the time I am ready to start, I will have added more locks to this door just to be safe. The last thing I need is for someone to come along and force their way in. They don’t need to involve themselves in my business.

They wouldn’t understand.

Twisting the key in the lock, I push the creaking door open letting some of the light spill in. It still stinks in here despite trying to air the building yesterday by opening all of the doors and leaving them open whilst I worked. Layers of thick dust choke up the atmosphere in here. Pretty sure I’m stuck with the stench unless I literally wash through everything and - well - I don’t have the time or the patience for that. I’m keen to get this show on the road.

I reach to the light switch on the side wall and press it down. Up above, the large lights flicker on. A hum of electricity from the bulbs lining the corridor’s ceiling kill the eerie silence. Silence won’t be a problem soon when I am set up properly. There’ll be the constant drone of machinery, metal grinding metal, water running on and off… And screaming. There’ll be lots of screaming. I smile as my imagination populates the various rooms on offer. Every room with its own little purpose. Not a single wasted space.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. Still plenty to do and a car that needs emptying.

It’s going to be a long afternoon. I should have gotten up earlier.

3.

Hungry, I climb into bed. Dinner had been waiting for me on the kitchen side along with a note on how to reheat it, as if I didn’t know how to work the microwave. Shepherd's Pie. It had been standing so long the meat looked as though it had congealed. It didn’t look as though it would have been a filling meal but - instead - a one-way ticket to an upset stomach and a night of sitting on the lavatory. A night? Not much of a night left. Anyway, I scrape the plate off into the bin and rinse the plate semi-clean under a hot tap. I’ll wash it properly in the morning after breakfast. Right now, all I want to do is settle into bed and get some shut eye before my alarm forces me up again.

Christine stirs from the other side of the bed as I carefully try to make myself comfortable. Didn’t mean to wake her. Didn’t want her knowing I had been out all night. Especially as she thought I was popping over to Tom’s to play a game of cards. She’d never believe I had been with him all of this time.

‘What time is it?’ she asks without opening her eyes.

‘A little after four.’ There was no sense lying. Not when all she had to do was glance to the digital clock on her bedside cabinet. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘You’ve only just come home?’ she asks.

‘No. Had to use the bathroom,’ I lie. ‘Guess I really am old, huh? Can’t even go the whole night without a piss.’

She didn’t respond. I pause, waiting for something - anything - but seconds later I could tell by her soft breathing that she was once again sleeping. I didn’t bother cuddling in, for fear of disturbing her again. Instead I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling with my thoughts drifting back to the dinner plate on the kitchen side.

Rewind a month or so and there was no way we would have been able to leave that there. Not with Ringo. He would have sniffed it out and licked the damn plate clean even though he knew better. I smile to myself. The amount of times I caught him eating things he shouldn’t have been eating. No matter how you try and safeguard the food from the damn dog, he’d find a way to get to it. By the time you realised, it would be too late. There’d be nothing left but a clean plate dripping in canine saliva.

I sigh. I’d give anything to see his face again. I’d even let him lick the dinner plate clean. I close my eyes and try to think of something else. Happier thoughts for fear of tainting the impending dream with darkness and grief.

I think of Ringo. My Akita cross-breed.

I think of going home with nothing but his lead and collar.

I think of Christine’s face as I tell her the news.

I think of her tears.

My tears.

I think of the reports to the police.

I think of them.

I think of the fine they were given when they were found guilty.

My tears.

Her tears.

Their grins.

Their laughter.

The screech of their car tyres as they sped from the Courthouse car park.

The whole damned pathetic system. A fine for killing someone’s pet yet most people regard a pet as part of their family. A fine? How can it not be punishable by a stretch inside? How can it just be a fine? The system is fucked. They walk away with a slapped wrist, a lighter bank account… They walk away.

I roll onto my side. Won’t be able to sleep with the anger brewing inside. So much for thinking other thoughts. So much for going to my happy place. My happy place? Where the hell is that anyway? Been so long since I visited it, I’m not sure if such a place still exists or whether it burned down long ago.

A little voice speaks up from the back of my mind. It’s usually quiet right up until the moment when I think I have lost everything and am on the verge of giving up the fight. Times like now. Only then does it speak up. And what does it say? It reminds me that I might have lost a fight but I haven’t lost a war. Every dog has his day.

*

I know this is a dream but I don’t care. I’m at the beach. Christine is here but sitting some way away from me. She is smiling, watching me from the comfort of a picnic blanket stretched across the yellow sand. In her hand is a can of drink and there is a basket to the side of her that has food ready prepared for our day out. It’s a dream now but it is based on fact. A trip to the beach one hot summer’s day - just the three of us; Christine, myself and Ringo.

Ringo isn’t barking at me. He’s just watching me intently. Patiently sitting, waiting for me to toss the ball that’s in my hand. I smile at him and ask him if he is ready. He responds by barking. I hold up the ball again, showing it to him. He whines. Just throw the damn ball already, daddy. I twist and throw the ball towards the sea. Ringo is after it within seconds, bouncing into the murky green waters desperate to get the ball back to me so that I can toss it again. I watch as Ringo swims the little distance to where the ball is floating on the water’s surface. It’s not too far. I didn’t throw it as hard as I could have done and - already - he is on his way back to me, ball in mouth. If only all dreams could be like this one. Instead they seem to alternate. This memory to the one where the vet tells me there is nothing they can do and the kindest act would be to put him to sleep. Come on, don’t think of that now. Enjoy this. Don’t taint this dream too. Enjoy it whilst it lasts. The alarm will be going off soon and you’ll have to leave it anyway.

Ringo bounds up the beach heading right for me. I prepare myself for the usual tug of war game for control of the ball, before I throw it again, and all the time I do so - I can’t help but wish I had set my alarm for a little later. Even if it’s just an extra ten minutes.

‘Come on boy!’ I call out. He doesn’t know this is a dream. He doesn’t know he is racing against the clock. He doesn’t know that we need to make the most of this time before I wake. ‘Come on boy!’ I call out again.

4.

Watching her scoop the remnants of her cereal up, chasing it around the milky puddle with her spoon - continually hitting the side of the bowl. Dink. Dink. Dink. I want to tell her to shut up. Eat quietly or just tip the last bits away. Dink. Dink. Dink. Scoop. Crunch. Crunch. Kill me. Or - kill the silence. Make up some conversation. Talk about something. Anything.

‘Did you see that video on Facebook?’ I ask.

She puts her spoon down. Thank God. I think she has given up chasing the last Cheerio hoops. They live to see another day. Or rather, they get to go in the bin. Regardless - the peace and quiet is nice.

‘What video?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know if it’s in a slaughter house or… Well this… Cunt… He’s trying to kill a cow but he is using a sledgehammer. A fucking sledgehammer. Anyway, he’s there hitting the cow over and over. Poor thing is a bloody mess. It’s lying on its side and it is kicking out but… The cow next to it - watching - is so stressed. It fucking faints. Just passes out and hits the deck. The cunt starts laughing, pleased with what happened but…’ I sigh. Don’t even know why I shared that. Even if she hasn’t seen the video, Christine wouldn’t want to know about it. Especially after Ringo. I change the subject quickly. ‘You know - I have this photographer friend. Rick Jones. He does these horror portraits of people. Horrify-Me. He posts pictures of his work up, right? And it’s awesome stuff…. He gets banned occasionally because there is a hint of a nipple in one of the photos. It’s not the gore, it’s not the horror… It’s the fucking nipple Facebook has the problem with. A nipple. Horror? Fine. Gore? Fine. Pictures of animals hurt, or being hurt? Fine. A nipple. Banned.’ Christine looks at me with a vacant expression on her face. ‘You believe that?’ I ask her, unsure if she heard anything I had said to her.

‘Where did you go last night?’ she asks.

‘I told you. We were round Tom’s place. Card game with the lads.’ I continue the lie, ‘Which, by the way, I won meaning I can take you out to that posh restaurant you like, if you want?’ We haven’t been out for a while. A night out - just the two of us - would probably do us some good. Especially before I start filling the warehouse properly.

‘I needed you last night,’ she says quietly.

‘You did? Why didn’t you just try calling me? I had my phone on me…’

‘I did. It went straight through to voicemail. I left a message.’

Did she really just call me at the exact time my phone was in a blackspot? That one room in the unit which doesn’t seem to let any signal through. Sod’s law. As for her leaving a message though - damned thing should have at least notified me of that when I was back in an area with coverage.

‘I’m sorry…’ Nothing else I can really say to her.

‘So I called Tom. Samantha answered. She said he had been in bed for the last couple of days. Some sort of chest infection…’ Christine is staring at me, trying to read me. I feel my cheeks burn and my pulse quicken. Fuck it.

‘I know.’ Thinking on my feet. ‘We didn’t even know he was unwell until we turned up with beers in hand. Ended up playing round Graeme’s house. He is the only one who had an empty place.’ I wait for Christine to say something. She gets up from the kitchen table and carries her bowl over to the sink. I watch as she runs it under the tap, rinsing the milk out and down the plug-hole. She puts the bowl on the side, ready to wash up properly later no doubt.

‘So did you want to go to that restaurant then? If so - we should think about booking a table.’ I wait for an answer. Christine stands, leaning on the side, staring out of the window with a faraway look in her eyes. ‘Honey?’

‘Who is she?’ she asks.

‘What? Who?’

‘Or is it still her? You promise me it is over but you’re seeing her again?’

I answer immediately, ‘I’m not seeing her.’

Christine starts to cry.

‘After everything that happened…’

I tell her again, ‘I’m not seeing her. I swear to you.’

She turns to me, tears running down her cheeks. ‘You weren’t playing cards last night. I know you weren’t. Please don’t lie to me. Not again. I can’t take it again. We’re supposed to be building trust up again and…’

I stand up and crosse the room. I put my arms around her. ‘I swear to you, on my life, I’m not seeing her again. I haven’t seen her. Haven’t even spoken to her. It is over.’ I continue, ‘There is no one else. Only you.’ I pull her in close and kiss her gently on the forehead. We’ve had the conversation so many times since it all came to light but, I say again, ‘It was a mistake. A silly mistake.’

‘Then where did you go?’ she asks again, pulling away from me. I can see in her eyes that the trust still isn’t there. Hardly surprising. It hadn’t been that long after all and given what happened… It’s a bridge that will take a long time to rebuild and that’s fine. I’m grateful for the opportunity. But - that being said - the building can’t continue all the time I have secrets from her. Maybe she needs to know? Maybe I can trust her? Maybe she’ll support what I plan to do? There’s only one way to find out, I guess.

‘Sit down,’ I tell her.

‘Why?’ She looks nervous, almost as though she expects me to tell her I'm seeing someone else again, even though I’m not.

‘Please. Sit down and I’ll tell you everything.’

Nervously, she walks over to the kitchen table. I join her, taking a seat opposite. Noticing both her hands are on the table, her left hand over her right, I reach out and take a hold of her. Comfort.

*

She looks out of the passenger window of my car. Her eyes fixed to the warehouse. I can see from her expression that she still doesn’t believe it but what reason would I have to lie about this? She turns to me. The look of disbelief had turned to one of disgust. I know what is going through her mind. It’s not for what I told her the warehouse was for. It’s the fact I used the inheritance money on it. Another betrayal since the death of my parents.

‘When I’m done, all being good, I’ll sell the property. Get my money back and then…’ I try to explain.

‘An extension. That’s what we were going to use the money on. We were going to clear our debts. A holiday. Debts, holiday, extension. Remember? We discussed it. Our future together with no financial obligations, a nice holiday for our fresh start and the dream extension we always talked about and…’

She shakes her head. ‘This is a joke, isn’t it?’

‘It’s not.’ I try to explain again, ‘I have to do this. You know that, right? I mean - don’t you want it done too? I can’t move on all the time…’ I stop talking. Now isn’t the time to talk about what happened. She’ll be okay when she realises we’ll have all of what we talked about eventually. Get this done, sell the warehouse, get the money back and…

‘All being good, you’ll sell the warehouse and get your money back… All being good? How do you expect to get away with this? You’re going to end up in prison.’ Her eyes well up.

I shrug. ‘At least justice would have been served.’

Christine doesn’t say anything. She wipes her cheek as a runaway tear spills from the corner of her blue eye.

I tell her again, ‘I have to do this.’

Christine breaks down fully, head bowed, shoulders shaking with each so. ‘How did we get to this?’

PART TWO: BEFORE

5.

Christine had my laptop in front of her. Emails loaded up on the screen. Tears ran down her cheeks from red-raw eyes. I already knew what she had seen. An email I thought I had deleted. I sat down next to her. I didn’t say anything. Not sure what I could say, other than the fact I had been an idiot. We sat there with the silence broken only by her frequent sobs.

‘I’m sorry,’ I told her. I was sorry too. It wasn’t just a line. I felt like an asshole. I was an asshole. I never set out to intentionally hurt her.

‘How did it happen?’ she asked.

*

It has been six hours now. They’ll be cold now. I stared down to the remnants of the whiskey in my glass. To Mum and Dad. I downed it and slammed the empty glass down on the stained bar top. The barman took my not so subtle hint and walked over.

‘Get you another?’

I nodded.

‘Same glass cool?’

Another nod.

He took the glass to the spirits along the back wall of the bar and poured me another double. It took my third double to finally feel the benefits: a numbness spreading through me, taking away the pain of what happened and the stress of home. The arguments with Christine. The ever increasing bills and ever shrinking wages… The bartender handed me the drink.

‘Just go easy, yeah?’

I knocked it back.

‘Another.’ I pushed the glass towards him. He stood there a moment unsure of what to do. Finally, he shook his head, grabbed the glass and refilled it. He put it back down in front of me and walked away before I could pull the same stunt again.

‘Someone’s having a bad day,’ a woman said as she sidled up to me.

‘Could say that.’ I sipped the drink this time as she sat on the stool next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her long brunette hair, shining under the bar lights. I could see that her whole body was twisted towards me. She wanted to engage in conversation. Maybe it would be good to talk? A welcome relief to my own thoughts. I turned to her. Green, intense eyes staring at me. Perfect white teeth framed with plump lips. Cleavage on full display.

‘Want to talk about it?’ she asked. There was a twinkle in her eye. Not an inquisitive look but… The devil. I couldn’t help but smile. A naughty girl.

‘Not really.’

She shrugged. ‘Okay.’ She swivelled around so that her body faced forward. There was a slight pause. ‘Want to buy me a drink at least?’ There was something about her which made it hard to look away from. Could have been the alcohol in my system but… Fuck it.

‘What are you drinking?’ I asked.

‘Vodka and Lemonade.’

I nodded and signalled the bartender over. He finished pouring another customer’s drink and then came back over to where I was sitting with my new companion. I watched as she placed the orders - a drink for her and a drink for me. Then, when they were poured, I paid the man. In that time, I had already mentally fucked the stranger a handful of times. Don’t even know her name.

‘I’m Aimee.’

And then I did.

‘Hello, Aimee.’ I said. I smiled at her, not because I wanted to but because it was the polite thing to do.

‘You have a cute smile. You should smile more often.’

‘My parents died today.’

‘Ah.’

‘Yeah. Ah.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Yeah.’ There was a long enough pause for me to know she wanted some more details. ‘They were holidaying in Greece. On one of those excursion trips where you get picked up by coach. Something happened and the coach went off the road they were travelling on.’ I didn’t explain anything else. It didn’t need explaining. She didn’t say anything, just took a sip on her drink. She looked as though she pitied me. I continued, ‘That’s why I’m in here drinking and why I’m not really in a smiley mood.’

She suddenly smiled. ‘I bet I can make you smile.’

‘Really?’

She leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. I flinched and pulled away.

‘I’m sorry,’ I told her. ‘I’m married.’

She smiled again. ‘Me too.’

*

I leaned forward and closed the laptop lid. I pushed the computer away from where we were sitting. I knew the questions were coming. They were questions I didn’t necessarily want to answer but… She had every right to ask them. She’s going to get angry when I talk to her, when I give her the details. I just need to stay calm.

‘So she kissed you and you told her you were married.’

I nodded.

‘Yet…’ She looked to the laptop. I could see her mentally recapping what the email said. ‘You ended up sleeping together.’

‘Yes.’ I tried to make an excuse even though I knew it was lame, ‘I was in a bad place. I had just lost my parents. We were arguing all the time and she made me feel special. She made me feel wanted.’ I quickly added, ‘I know it’s not right but…’ I stopped talking. The silence filled the room again.

‘What was it like?’ The one question I was expecting above all over questions. The one question I wished I could just skip straight over.

6.

It wasn’t the nicest of hotels but neither of us cared. It was a reasonable rate and it had a bed along with a door that locked allowing privacy where neither of us were known. It was good enough for us.

I came out of the bathroom, having had a quick wash, and was surprised to see her sitting at the small table in the corner of the room cutting up a bag of cocaine into narrow, long lines. Drugs don’t bother me. People can do to their own body as they see fit so long as they aren’t hurting anyone else, but I still felt a little shocked at the sight. Probably more so because I hadn’t been expecting it.

She set her credit card to one side and picked up a twenty pound note. Using both hands she rolled the note into a cylinder shape before putting one end to the first line and the other to her nose as she leaned her head closer. I watched with fascination as the first line disappeared in a long, quiet sniff. She pulled her head back, tilting it right back, and sniffed for a second time - harder this time in an effort to stop any of the fine powder coming back out. Another sniff. She looked at me and held out the bank note.

‘Did you want some?’

I hesitated. I’ve never tried weed, let alone this. Images of a girl on the front page of The Daily Echo back when I was growing up had put me off. This girl was in her late teens and the picture was of her in a hospital bed with pipes and tubes going into various parts of her body. She had taken one ecstasy tablet and landed up in that state. I don’t recall the girl’s name but do remember the fact she never left the hospital. But that was ecstasy. This was cocaine.

Aimee tried to convince me. ‘Have you ever fucked on coke?’ she asked.

‘Can’t say I have.’

‘It’s amazing…’

Any other day I would have turned it down. But then, saying that, any other day I would never have brought this stranger to a hotel room. Fuck it. I walked over to her and took the bank note.

‘What do I do?’ I asked. It was a stupid question. I had just watched her. How hard could it be?

‘Put the note up one nostril and just sniff it up. If it is easier, you can use your other hand to press in the nostril you’re not using… I don’t bother but some people like to do that. Or you can rub it into your gums. I personally don’t recommend it because it is bad for your teeth but…’ As she was talking I leaned down to the nearest line and snorted up the powder with a heavy sniff. The rush was immediate.

‘That’s it!’ she spoke like a proud parent. ‘Honestly, I get so horny on this… Few more lines and I’ll let you fuck my arse.’ She winked.

I was already semi-erect at the thought of it.

*

‘It was… different, I guess. I don’t really know. I was pretty drunk.’

‘That’s your excuse? You were drunk?’

‘No. I didn’t say that. You asked what it was like and I told you I don’t really remember. I didn’t try and excuse my actions because of the drink did I?’

‘Oh that’s right - yes - you were in a bad place.’ Christine got up and walked from the room. Knowing the conversation was far from done, I followed her through to the kitchen where I watched as she poured herself a glass of water. Before she drank it, she grabbed a couple of paracetamol from one of the cupboards.

‘You okay?’ I asked - not with what she had read. I knew she wasn’t okay with that but… because of the pills.

‘I have a headache.’

She put the two pills in her mouth and washed them down her throat with a swig of water. She leaned back against the kitchen counter. I remember all of the details from that night. I remember this girl begging me to fuck her arse. I remember how she sucked my cock. I remember the look in her eye as she rode me. I remember snorting line after line with her and seemingly not being able to ejaculate - not that I wanted to. I wanted the night to last forever. Even recall when she asked if I had ever pissed on anyone before. Up until that night, the question would have been answered with a resounding “no”. She took that cherry from me and - as I laid in a bath of warm water - she returned the favour. I was surprised that I liked it considering bedroom antics with Christine were more vanilla. I put it down to the drugs.

‘So you don’t remember a thing about it?’ Christine asked.

‘I told you - no.’

Christine laughed, ‘So you threw your marriage away and don’t even have any memories of that night to take away with you? That’s priceless.’ She shook her head. She was disgusted with me. I was disgusted with myself too and had been that night even though it wasn’t a one off.

*

I gripped the steering wheel tighter with both hands as I felt a tingle in my testicles and inner thigh - the old buzz of an impending orgasm. I tried to concentrate on the road, the passing cars, my speed - all of it - as I shot my load into Aimee’s mouth. She stayed there, gently sucking and wanking my cock until every last drop of semen was drained from it and then she sat back up in the passenger seat and put her seat-belt on once more. I glanced at her, still trying to catch my breath. She had a naughty smile on her face as she licked her lips. Every drop swallowed.

‘Well that was a first,’ I admitted.

She just laughed. ‘We’ll see what other firsts I can get out of you when we get to the hotel,’ she teased.

I had told Christine I had to work away. I had bought myself three days of a break from my marriage. Three days of no arguments, just filthy sex on tap with a girl who was more addictive than the drugs she carried with her. I knew this wasn’t me. I had never been this sort of person and yet I couldn’t help myself. I smiled. I am hooked.

*

‘I don’t want my marriage to be over.’

‘You want to have your cake and eat it?’

‘It was a mistake. It was a stupid mistake and I’m sorry but… I won’t lose you over this. I’ll fight for you. I’ll prove to you how much I love you and…’

‘What if I don’t want you to?’

‘What?’

‘What if I don’t want you to fight for me? What if I want a divorce? What could you possibly say, or do, that would make me want to change my mind?’ She paused a moment. ‘You cheated on me!’

‘And I’m sorry…’

‘Yet sorry doesn’t take away the pain, does it?’

‘We can work this through. Counselling… We could get counselling.’

‘Let someone else listen to all of our problems? It’s embarrassing enough she is running around out there knowing what a mug I am. I don’t need anyone else knowing too.’

‘You’re not a mug.’

‘Of course I am.’ She sighed. ‘You’ve been off with me for ages. I should have seen it.’

‘You’re not a mug,’ I reiterated.

‘What if I hadn’t seen the email?’

‘What?’

‘What if I hadn’t discovered your dirty little secret? What would you have done then? Would you still be planning to meet up with her?’

I didn’t say anything.

7.

I hated the goodbyes and so did she. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her applying her make-up after her quick shower. Another twenty minutes and we needed to check-out. Twenty minutes. I wonder if that is enough time to fuck for a third time this morning? Don’t want to end up not climaxing. Don’t want to end up leaving her feeling frustrated, especially when I’m not sure when we would be seeing each other again or even if we’d be seeing each other again.

‘So am I going to rebook the hotel?’ I asked. Next weekend Christine was going out and about for the night. I could book the room again and come for a few blissful hours before leaving. So long as I got home before Christine, all would be good. And it meant Aimee could spend the night, unless of course she wanted to get home too. Or needed to. Aimee smiled at me via the mirror’s reflection.

‘When did you want to rebook?’ she asked.

‘Next weekend?’

‘Sorry. Busy. Marcus is taking me out for a birthday meal.’ I presumed Marcus was her other half but didn’t bother asking. ‘Same thing every year. It was nice the first time but… He needs to think outside of the box.’

‘Well I’m glad he doesn’t because, if he did, you might not have come over and said hello back in the bar that night.’

‘For that you need to thank my friend Baylie Poller. Had she not hooked up with some guy there… I wouldn’t have been bored enough to come and say hello.’ She laughed.

‘Well “Thank you” Baylie Poller and… Bored?’ As much as I loved the back and forth we had - the fun banter - I wanted to get another hook-up organised so turned the conversation back again. ‘So when are you free?’ I asked.

She stopped what she was doing and sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Did you want to meet up again?’ My heart raced as I waited for her answer.

‘Of course I want to meet up again. Given half a chance, I’d leave him for you.’

‘You would?’

She turned to me on the little seat she was sitting on. There was a sudden look of guilt on her face as though she realised the weight of her statement. This was no longer a fling, a little bit of fun… To her, this was evolving into something more serious. The scary thing is, it was the same for me too. She wanted to be with me and I wanted to be with her. I loved Christine initially but things had become stale for the both of us. We used to fuck all the time: Anywhere, anyplace. Now, though, we rarely touched - let alone anything else. Could this woman be the fresh start with life that I was looking for? Looking? I wasn’t looking. It found me.

‘You make me happy,’ she said after a couple more seconds silence.

I smiled. It was nice to hear that from a woman. Especially given the troubles I had in my own relationship back home with Christine. A woman who appreciates me.

*

‘Well?’ Christine pushed me for an answer. ‘Would you still be seeing her? Would you be arranging another meeting with her? She seems keen enough for it. What about you?’ She didn’t stop for a breath. ‘Are you saying you’re sorry because I found the emails or because you are genuinely sorry?’

‘It happened. I was in a bad place. We were having troubles and….’

‘If we were having troubles then you should have talked to me.’

‘I tried. Remember? And every time we started talking about it - we ended up shouting at each other. We never got anywhere, just kept cementing in the resentment our relationship was harbouring.’

‘So… You’re sorry. Where does this leave us?’

Seeing her vulnerable like this. Seeing her crying. Seeing the upset I had caused and the pain - I felt guilty. More than that I felt like I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn’t want to lose her. I couldn’t lose her. The affair was a mistake. A bit of fun in my darkest hours. Perhaps it is better that she knows? We can move on - just the two of us. Forget about Aimee. We can move on and fix this as a couple. We’ll end up being stronger for it. I mean, it will take a lot of work but…

‘I found her on Facebook.’

‘What?’

‘I found her on Facebook. Clicked on her profile… Married to a man called Marcus…’ She looked sheepish. A horrible sinking feeling set in.

‘What have you done?’ I didn’t need her to answer me. I knew what she had done.

‘I sent him a message.’

And there it was. My heart dipped. I didn’t want the other woman. Having my relationship hanging in the balance made me realise this more than anything else. I wanted Christine but it didn’t mean I wanted Aimee’s relationship with her partner to be ruined. But then would it be ruined? If she was that unhappy - maybe it would be better that he knew? But… God dammit, it wasn’t Christine’s decision to make. She should have just left it. Instead, she has just stoked the fire. No good could possibly come from contacting Aimee’s husband and yet I couldn’t shout at her. I had slept with another woman. Christine had messaged someone. I’m not in a position to tell her off for anything.

Another question I didn’t want the answer to: ‘Did he answer?’

*

Four calls now and all of them have been ignored. Where the hell is she? I wanted to call her last night, as soon as I had finished talking with Christine - convincing her not to leave me and to give me another chance to be the husband I had promised to be on our wedding day. She didn’t leave my side though - not properly… Not so that I could make a phone call to Aimee to warn her that Christine had phoned her husband. Just call her in the morning, I had thought to myself. I called her when I had driven around the corner from the house, headed for work. I called her when I got to work. I called her from the staff room when it had emptied of my other colleagues - all of whom headed for their desks to start a day of figures. I had called her on my lunch hour. These were all times we had spoken on the phone before. so I knew it was safe to do so. The fact she wasn’t answering though started to get me worried. Maybe I was too late and he had gotten the message and caught up with her? Maybe he had hurt her? Hit her perhaps? A fifth call.

I rang the number until her answering machine kicked in, telling me to leave a message and that she would return my call as soon as she could. We had a rule not to leave messages, just in case the other half picked it up but… I really need to know that she was okay. Even if she was in the same boat as me, trying to patch up a broken message. I just wanted one last call to hear from her to know that she is okay. And then I would leave her alone. I would concentrate on my marriage and she would do the same.

‘Hi, it’s me. Just thought you might want to know that I’ll be walking Ringo tonight. The usual place. It would be nice if you could join me.’ I didn’t tell her to call me, I didn’t ask for a text, just a little message asking for one final face to face in a place we had been to on numerous occasions when neither of us could sneak out for long: the local park. Every night I went there to walk Ringo. Christine walked him in the morning and I walked him in the evening, that was the deal we had and it worked well. When Aimee met me on those walks, she said hello to the dog and we would chat, walking side by side. Nothing untoward happened there but it was nice, just enjoying her company and putting the world to rights.

That night would be the same, we would meet and we would talk about what had happened with the email and the Facebook message. By the end of the chat maybe we would have one last kiss goodbye before wishing each other well with our lives. Part of me felt sad about it, but it was necessary for two reasons. The first being that I need to know she is okay and the second being… I needed closure. I needed the goodbye.

I hung the phone up and slid it into my trouser pocket with a sigh. I would have preferred to have her answer and agree to the meet up. Now I’d have to work the rest of the day without knowing whether she would even show up. The afternoon was going to drag, of that I was sure.

PART THREE: NOW

A GUIDED TOUR

8.

‘How did we get to this?’ Christine asked. She wipes another tear from her eye before it has a chance to spill down her cheek. She glances back to the warehouse.

‘Did you want to see inside?’ I ask.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Did you know that pigs have their tails cut off shortly after birth?’

‘What?’

‘It’s to stop tails being mutilated or bitten off due to overcrowding in the pen… When it is done, it is usually done without anaesthesia. They’re just cut off.’

‘That’s horrible.’

‘At the same time, piglets have their teeth ripped out. Stops them from harming each other, or themselves.’ Pause. ‘Not just pigs that get a hard time. Factory farmed animals are often kept in cages that are so small, they don’t have space to turn around or move. Take the production of veal for example. The calves are often forced into a pen that is so small they’re forced to lay down in their own shit and piss.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Calves are taken from their mothers the moment they’re born. Immediate emotional distress and a lack of necessary milk… Geese… In order to ensure they’re nice and fat they’re force fed huge volumes of corn slop through a tube straight down their throats. And force feeding? How about force feeding them drugs and antibiotics to make them grow faster? Your chickens are forced to grow so big that many suffer from broken legs or joint troubles.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Even ones which aren’t put through that - animals still get tagged and branded. They use a hot iron. Can you imagine the pain and discomfort from that? That’s for the ones that get to roam outside mainly though. The ones that don’t get to roam outside - tagged and in pain… The animals left inside. They tend to be deprived from sunlight. Sometimes they’ll go their whole lives without seeing sunlight.’ I pause. She looks suitably horrified. My point has been made; this - what I am setting up here - needs to be done. ‘I mean it’s okay though because this is for our benefit, right? This is to ensure supermarkets have food for the consumer. So - when you think like that, it’s okay what we put these animals through…’

‘It’s not okay.’

‘And then you have the people who don’t work in that industry yet still find themselves capable of such cruelty to animals. They film themselves committing various atrocities and the videos end up on social media sites being shared all over the place - not by people who like the clips but people who want to shame the original posters…’

‘I know this… We’ve spoken about it before…’

‘These people don’t give a fuck though. They’re happy their videos are getting shared around. They’re famous in their heads. They’re sick fucks who get off on hurting animals… Of course they don’t give a shit if their video is seen. Why else did they film it and upload it?’

‘You could leave Facebook.’

She had left Facebook after what happened between us and… I refuse to leave it. People just need to either stop sharing that kind of shit or stop making it. If the people making it need to be taught a lesson - well - I’m fine with that.

‘They upload the videos and friends of friends see it and share it and more people share it and then - before you know it - your own friends are sharing it. Christine Feldon, Frank Meyers and Colleen Cassidy… All sharing the fucking video meaning we have to see it too and still the people in the video don’t give a fuck.’ I pause and try to calm myself as the anger continues to rise. ‘This needs to be done. What I am doing here. It needs to happen.’

‘And spend the rest of your life in prison?’

‘If I were to be caught, but I won’t be. I’ve planned this through. Besides - who really gives a fuck about these cunts? No one. If they found out what I am going to do - the authorities and other members of society I mean - they’d probably thank me. They’d be grateful. One less asshole in the world.’ I open the car door and climb out. Christine doesn’t follow me. I lean down, peering back into the car. ‘You coming then?’ She pauses for a moment then she opens the passenger door. She still looks reluctant but it doesn’t matter. She's coming.

I walke to the side-door and she follows slowly. By the time she reaches me I have the door unlocked. She takes a nervous step back as I turn the handle and pull the door open.

‘After you.’ I gesture for her to step into the building. She looks at me nervously. ‘It’s okay.’ I gesture again.

Nervously, Christine steps into the building. I follow and let the door shut behind us. I flick the light switch on the wall next to me and waited as the lights flicker on around the building. ‘So,’ I ask, ‘where do you want to start?’

She shrugged.

‘Well, might as well start here,’ I say, I pointing towards the first - and closest - room.

9.

Room One.

The room is nearly empty other than a row of cages along the far wall, stacked up on top of each other. The cage doors are open, ready for the cages to be filled, and there’s a bed of straw in each one. In the furthest corner of the room, away from the door, is a constant dripping noise from a hole in the roof-top. Given the fact it hasn’t rained for some time, it’s fair to assume the old building has a problem with the pipes. There are twenty cages in total.

Room Two.

Room two is small. Had the warehouse been operational, it would most likely have been used as an office for a staff member in a low-end management position. In the centre of the room is a plastic chair. Surrounding the chair, on a metal rigging system, are five chainsaws. A couple are aimed upwards and a couple are aimed down. One is fairly central with its positioning. There is a wooden frame set up around the chainsaws. Press one button, by pushing this piece of wood, and it activates the buttons on all the other chainsaws too.

Room Three.

A garage area. A dirty white van is parked up. The number plates have been removed, thrown to the corner of the room. There is a large crack in the middle of the windscreen which reaches to the top left side. On the floor - unseen - beneath the van is an oil leak. It’s not major but the vehicle will need to be repaired if it is to go on much longer. I don’t need it for much longer though. I only need it for a maximum of a week and then it will be torched.

Room Four.

There are chains hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the mid-sized room. Next to the doorway, leaning on the wall, is a baseball bat.

‘I want to go home,’ Christine says as soon as her eyes fix upon the bat.

‘But there are other rooms to show you. There’s the whole of the upstairs.'

Christine storms from the room and down the long corridor towards the side-door we had initially entered through. I follow a few steps behind and I can hear that she's crying. I knew it isn’t the warehouse that has brought about the reaction. It's the bat and the memories associated with it.

‘Wait,’ I call out, but she ignores me, leaving the warehouse. I follow. Outside, she hurries over to our waiting car as I lock the warehouse up. By the time the key is in my pocket, Christine is already sitting in the car, waiting for me to take her back home. I walked around to the driver’s side and get in, closing the door behind me. Without a word, I put the key in the ignition and twist it. The engine coughs into life with a splutter. I don’t drive off though. Don’t even choose a gear. I just sit back in the seat with my hands in my lap.

‘There’s loads more upstairs that you didn’t see,’ I say eventually. She doesn’t react to my words. Not even sure that she heard me. She just sits there, staring dead ahead out of the windscreen and towards the industrial park’s exit. ‘Did you hear me?’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Because someone has to. Because otherwise people like Marcus will always get away with it and we’ll always be subjected to videos on the Internet rubbing it in our faces that they’re getting away with it.’

‘It’s not your place to…’

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. ‘No, it’s not my place to get involved. It is the government’s place but all they do is issue suspended sentences, ban people from owning animals and issue ridiculous fines. They’re not doing enough to stop this problem so… I don’t have a choice.’ I change tact. ‘When we went to court - were you happy with the outcome?’

Again, she remains quiet but, for that matter, she doesn’t need to answer. Neither of us were happy with the judge’s ruling. It was an insult, just as it was in all cases similar to this, but it was also clear that it wasn’t going to change. Nothing will ever be done for the animals unless someone like me steps in.

‘I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve through all of this,’ she says eventually.

‘I thought it would be obvious.’

‘It’s not.’

I explain, ‘Maybe - if I do this - people will think before taking a job in one of these death houses or uploading some fucked up video of their friend tormenting…’

‘But why you? Why do you have to do this?’

‘Because someone has to!’ I sigh heavily. ‘This is pointless. We’re just going round in circles.’

‘And we’ll keep doing so until you see sense.’

‘I’m not the one who needs to see some sense. What is it? Don’t you care about the animals? Don’t you care what happened to…’

‘Don’t you dare!’

I go quiet.

‘We need to go home,’ Christine says. ‘Concentrate on picking the pieces up of our relationship and moving forward - if that’s what you still want to do.’

‘Of course it is.’

I select the first gear and release the handbrake. Working the clutch gently, the car rolls from where I had parked it. The conversation isn’t over. My plans for the warehouse will still go ahead. But, for now, I need to fix my relationship. I need to put Aimee out of mind and him, Marcus. I need to put him to the back of my mind. Him and what he did.

*

As we walk into the house, Christine disappears straight up the stairs. No sooner is she out of sight, our bedroom door slams. Before we had parked up, she’d said she had a headache and needed a lie down. I offered to join her. No funny business. Perhaps a soothing back and neck massage to help her drift off? She declined without hesitation.

Standing with my back to the front door, I glance down the hallway towards the kitchen. The door is wide open and I can see the water bowl on the floor, next to the wall. Still can’t move it. Still can’t empty it. Still can’t bring myself to say goodbye. Not until justice is served.

What, you think you can fuck my bitch and everything will be okay? You just walk away and carry on playing happy fucking families with your wife? Marcus’ voice plays in my head and not for the first time. It always echoes there when I remember the bowl. An unwelcome playback. I know it would probably stop if I were to move the bowl but - I can’t. Not yet. Not until I’ve followed through with my plans. Then - and only then - will I move the bowl.

I glance back towards the top of the stairs. I picture Christine in bed and imagine the gentle snoring from the deep sleep she has slipped into more or less as soon as her head hit the pillow. Clearly we’re not concentrating on our relationship now so…

I turn to the front door, open it and step out, quietly closing it behind me. As I walk towards the car, I fish the keys from my pocket. A press of the thumb and the car unlocks with a flash of the headlights. Without even a glance back to the house, I climb in and start the car up. If she asks, I had to go to the shop.

PART FOUR: BEFORE

A WALK IN THE PARK

10.

Sat on the bench, nervously looking from side to side - up and down the path. Aimee hadn’t replied to my text message and I had no idea whether she was coming but I remained hopeful. Ringo waited patiently with me; the occasional whine, let me know that he was both still there and getting bored. Only so many times could he find interest in fetching the stick I’d thrown for him.

The sound of someone approaching from my right distracted me from the dog. I turned, hoping to see Aimee coming down the path. No such luck. A man.

‘Evening,’ I said.

‘That your dog?’ the man asked as he neared.

‘Yep. Ringo,’ I replied, presuming he was a dog-owner. I looked from side to side half-expecting to see a dog come bounding from the surrounding bushes lining the path. Nothing.

‘Good,’ the man said abruptly. ‘You fuck my bitch and I fuck yours…’ From behind his back he swung a baseball bat into view. My heart skipped a beat as he raised it in the air but everything else happened so fast that I had no time to do anything that could have helped. The bat came crashing down on Ringo’s head, slamming him flat to the floor. I screamed out as I jumped up from the bench only to stop dead in my tracks when the man pointed the bat towards me.

‘Don’t fucking think about it,’ he warned me. Before I could say anything, he continued. ‘You stay the fuck away from Aimee. You hear me, cunt? Or next time - it won’t be your pet fucking dog that gets a batting.’

I had already turned away from the man and was on my knees, holding Ringo’s body close as I fought back the tears. The man - Marcus - didn’t say anything else. With the bat close to his side, he carried on up the path towards the park’s exit.

I screamed for somebody to help me but no one came.

Looking down to Ringo, unconscious in a heap, I noticed a pool of blood forming on the concrete path beneath his head. Panicked, I lifted him from the floor and with him draped in my arms seemingly lifeless. I staggered towards the gate, hoping, praying,  they I didn’t bump into the man again.

By the time I left the park, the previously held tears streamed down my face as my mind continued playing through the worst case scenario - that my dog was dead. All the time, over and over again, I could just hear the sound of bat connecting with skull. A sickening thud that I’d never forget. Only occasionally did I hear the strained whines of Ringo.

‘Please - can you help me? I called out to a woman at the far end of the car park as I staggered towards my car.

‘Oh my God! What happened?’ I had caught them loading their own pet into the rear of their car. They slammed the boot shut, closing their dog in, and hurried over. The expression on their face reminded me how bad Ringo was.

‘Please… My keys are in my back pocket. Can you get them for me? I can’t put him down…’

‘Of course…’

I turned my back to the stranger to make it easier for them to reach the keys. They pulled them out and quickly unlocked the car.

‘Can I call anyone for you?’

‘Please - can you just…’ I didn’t need to finish the sentence as they had already opened the back of the car up for me. Carefully, with them holding the door open, I leaned in and placed Ringo down - stretched out across the seat. ‘It’s okay, boy…’

He whined. He was still conscious, but barely.

‘What happened?’ the stranger asked again, genuine concern across his face and in his voice.

‘I’m sorry - I have to go… Thank you for helping…’ I took the keys from them before closing the back door and jumping in the front. They just stood there, watching - worried, as I started the engine up. I put the car in reverse, backed out of the parking space and wheel spun from the space. As I pulled away from the car park, I glanced in my rear-view mirror. The woman, who’d been good enough to help, was still standing where I had left her…

*

‘You fuck my bitch and I’ll fuck yours.’ That was what the man had said in the park. I had only just realised the significance of it. I fuck his bitch, he fucked mine - even though Ringo was a boy, the point was made loud and clear. It wasn’t a random attack. It was targeted. Marcus.

A van pulled into the car park with a sense of urgency. The driver parked up next to my vehicle. He quickly got out. The out-of-services vet I had been forced to call.

‘Thank you for coming,’ I said as I climbed from my car.

The vet hurried over to the surgery’s office. Using a large silver key, he undid the Yale lock and opened the door. ‘Bring him through,’ he said.

I wasn’t sure if the man was just in a hurry to help or irritated at being called out but - not important. I opened the rear of my car and leaned in. Ringo didn’t even look at me. Worse yet - he had gone quiet. I didn’t like hearing him in pain but - at least I knew he was alive.

‘Come on, boy…’ I pulled him out, cradling him in both arms. ‘It’s okay. The vet will fix you up. Good as new. And - then - when we get home… There’s some cooked chicken in the fridge specially for you!’

Carefully, I carried him into the surgery.

The vet was already in his office, waiting for me. The door was open so I hurried through.

‘Put him on the table,’ the vet ordered me.

I didn’t need to be told twice. Still not a peep from Ringo.

Don’t you give up, boy.

The vet checked out the crack in Ringo’s head first. Second, he forced his closed eyes open. Nothing but white. The eyes had rolled to the back of his head… A quick glance up to me, then back to the dog and I knew…

My eyes welled up. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

PART FIVE: NOW

A STEP TOWARDS JUSTICE

11.

Marcus falls to the hard floor just beneath where the chains hung from the ceiling. I close the door and lock it with the master key which I then slip into my pocket. I turn in time to see Marcus struggling to get up from where he landed. He's on all fours, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. He reaches up to one of the chains with his left hand; a little extra support to help his weak legs. Before he has a chance to pull himself up to his feet, I run at him and kick him hard in the gut. Immediately he releases the chain and drops back to the floor, gasping for air.

‘What’s the matter? Finding it hard to breathe?’

‘Fuck you,’ he wheezes.

It had been more or less all he had said since I made an impromptu stop off to his house. Knowing Aimee’s working schedule, I knew she’d be out and had just hoped he’d be home. My lucky fucking day.

Not so lucky for him.

I kick him in the gut for a second time. Just as satisfying as the first.

‘I’ll be honest,’ I tell him, leaning down so that my mouth is close to his ear, ‘I wanted a little practise before bringing you here. I mean, there are so many more people to teach lessons to but none of them are quite as personal. They’re bad people and deserve all the hell I can give them, but…’ I pause a moment and hold back some unwanted, burning tears as memories of Ringo come flooding back.

Ringo lying on the vet’s table.

Ringo’s eyes closed. An eternal sleep.

Ringo’s skull cracked open.

Ringo’s fur matted with red.

‘You know, the fucked up thing is that - had you given me the beaten instead… I would have just put it down to deserving it. As you said, I did fuck your bitch. Want to give me a kicking? I would have deserved it. Put it down to Karma. But you didn’t, did you? You fucking killed my dog…’

He laughs. I stop talking, bemused by his reaction.

‘What’s funny?’ I ask him.

He doesn’t answer, so - frustrated - I kick him again.

‘I said, what’s so funny?’

‘I was only there because of your wife,’ he said, gasping for air.

‘What?’

He rolls onto his back. A second later, he sits up - clutching his bruised stomach.

‘What did you fucking say?’ I ask again, pushing for an answer. ‘You were there because you got the message I left Aimee, asking to meet up. You know what, though, it wasn’t for anything other than to say goodbye. It was over… I wanted to save my…’

‘You didn’t phone my wife.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

Marcus started to laugh. ‘Your wife is a piece of work; you know that, right?’

I walk to collect the baseball bat leaning on the wall and grasp it with my left hand. My strong hand. My strong arm. I turn back to Marcus still sitting on the floor. I hold the bat above my shoulder, ready to swing at his head.

‘What are you talking about?’

He laughs in my face. It's taking all of my willpower not to take a swing at his temple right now. I can’t, though. I need to know what the fuck he is talking about.

‘She messaged me on Facebook and told me you’d be at the park. You know she actually asked me to go down there to talk to you.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘Am I?’

‘She had no reason. She knew about the affair. She knew that…’

‘It was over? Is that what she knew?’

I touch the side of his head with the end of the bat. He flinches before pushing it away.

‘You’d better start making some sense,’ I warn him. ‘Why would she get in touch with you asking to come down and see me.’

‘She wanted me to scare you away from my wife. I didn’t need her asking to want to do that. But - she even wanted me to go further than that and rough you up a little. A lesson, she said.’

‘My wife wanted you to beat me up? Like I’m supposed to believe that?’

‘I don’t give a fuck what you believe or don’t believe, you fucking cocksucker. You realise all of this is happening because you couldn’t keep your fucking dick in your pants, right?’

Rage.

I swing the bat down. It connects to his kneecap. He screams in pain. I bring the tip of the bat back up to head level.

‘I was going to as well. But then I realised - I do that, I go to jail,’ he continues when the pain subsides. ‘I watched you with your dog though, saw how much you loved it. Nearly as much as I loved my wife… I hit the dog, the law doesn’t give a fuck. I might get a fine, a slap on the wrist but I don’t get a prison sentence like I’d have gotten had I hit you…’

‘My wife knew it was over. There’s no reason why…’

‘A woman scorned,’ Marcus says. ‘And she didn’t know it was over…’

‘I told her…’

‘And then you phoned my wife and left a message.’

‘But Christine didn’t know…’

‘Check Aimee’s number in your phone,’ Marcus says, a shit-eating grin on his face. ‘Then check your wife’s number…’

‘Aimee’s number isn’t listed as “Aimee” on my phone.’

‘Then check all the women’s numbers you have stored…’ Reacting to a shooting pain in his knee, Marcus stands up. ‘I promise I won’t move.’ He nods towards me. ‘Check the numbers.’

‘You’re saying my wife went through my phone when I was asleep and put her number in place of all the other women’s numbers?’

‘You tell me.’

Without a second thought, I swing the bat again. It connects to his stomach and drops him gasping to the floor for a third time.

‘You fucking stay down there, you piece of shit!’ I warn him. While he frantically gulps in air, I reach into my pocket and pull my phone out. I scroll through the contacts to each of the women’s numbers. True enough, each one appears to be the same. I feel sick to the pit of my stomach as I realise what had happened. That’s why Aimee wasn’t answering her phone. That’s why Christine had been quiet about that night - not wanting to talk about it. She feels guilty about Ringo because she had sent the man down in the first place.

‘Well?’ he moans.

‘Fuck you.’

‘She changed the numbers around?’

‘Fuck you, I said!’ I raise the bat. He falls silent. ‘Stand up.’

‘Fuck you,’ he hisses.

I threaten him with the bat by his head again. ‘I said stand up.’

Slowly, he stands up. I notice he can’t put his full weight on his leg, a fact that makes me smile.

‘I might have hit your dog but I’ve already faced the law…’

‘And now you’re going to face me!’ I shift my weight to swing the bat again. He cowers behind his hands, and then lowers them when he realises I am not going to hit him.

‘What about your wife? Who does she face?’

I ignore his inflammatory question. ‘Put your hands in the restraints.’ I nod towards the chains dangling from the ceiling.

‘I’m not…’

I snap, ‘Put your fucking hands in the fucking restraints, you fucking cunt!’ I am not in the mood to play games. He either does this my way or… Or I beat him to death where he stands. Either way - he’s a dead man.

Slowly - reluctantly - he puts his hands into the restraints. He is just standing there now, his arms above his head, locked in position.

‘What now then?’ he asks.

12.

I haven’t thought this through. I just went round to Aimee’s house and knocked on the door. When he answered I… I don’t know what I was thinking. I just hit him square in the jaw. He fell backwards, I followed it through with another punch before he could balance himself. Then he was on the floor. I hit him again - straight in the mouth. A fourth hit and he knocked his head on the wooden floor of his hallway.

All the anger had come from remembering Ringo and what he had done to him. I wanted to hurt him. He deserved to be hurt. He deserves to be hurt. I only drove round there because I worried that Christine would wake up and try and talk me out of continuing with the plans for the warehouse. One thing to give up on them, cut my losses and sell the building… Quite another thing to forgive the man who beat my dog to death. He can’t be forgiven.

‘What? Is this meant to fucking scare me?!’ Marcus calls from the other room. I look towards the closed door that blocks the line of sight between us as I sit slumped against the wall in the hallway. ‘You still there?!’ he calls again. ‘You can’t keep me here! You know that, right? Aimee will expect to see me when she gets back from work. She’ll see the car in the driveway… The fact I’ve gone without my house-keys and wallet… She’ll phone the authorities…’

He's right. She will call for help. But they won’t do anything for twenty four hours. That’s the time they normally give for missing adults to suddenly reappear. I have time to think this through.

‘You’re a fucking pussy, mate! You know Aimee was laughing about you, right? When your wife confronted me, I asked Aimee what the hell was going on. Blind drunk. That’s why she went with you that night. Because she was one fucking drink away from her being unconscious and you up on charges of rape.’

He's trying to get a reaction from me. He wants to see if I'm still out here, waiting, or whether he's alone. He's good at it, too. A quick thinker for a man in his position.

I bite my tongue. Even if she had been that drunk the first time we got together, there were other times when not a drop of booze passed her lips.

‘She was embarrassed when we spoke about it. She was sorry and fucking embarrassed. Even started showing me your pictures over on Facebook… Fucking geek, mate.’

I block his ranting out and focus on what I am to do with Christine. There's no saving this marriage now. I have damaged the relationship - potentially beyond repair - I’ll admit that. But… she tried to get me beaten up. That’s one thing but, by pushing for that, she got our dog killed. Our fucking dog…

‘You often go to bars and look for drunk women? That the way you get them? You’re pathetic, mate. It’s no fucking wonder your missus wanted you beaten.’ He starts to laugh. ‘Kind of wish I had now. Now I know what a fucking chicken shit coward you are. Should have just fucking done you…’ He pauses. ‘And your pretty little dog.’

Rage.

I spring up from the floor and storm through the door to where he hangs from the ceiling, baseball bat in my hand.

‘Oh look here he is. The fucking pussy.’

‘You want to shut your fucking mouth.’

‘Called your wife yet?’ he taunts. ‘Which number did you use?’

‘I said, shut your fucking mouth…’

I swing the bat into his stomach. His body curles around it as he yelps out in pain. I pull the bat away from him and get ready for a second swing. To my surprise, he starts laughing. I don’t have to ask him why.

‘Only took one swing for me to kill your dog.’

Another smack to the gut and another bout of gasping for air. A dribble of blood from his mouth. Something inside him is damaged, I note with a pang of satisfaction.

‘What? You going to kill me?’ he asks, coughing. ‘Spend the rest of your life in prison… You don’t have the fucking balls.’

I smile. He knows nothing about me. Nothing about what I want to do to him. Not just him. Others like him too. ‘You know what this warehouse was bought for? It was bought for people like you.’

‘Husbands who have cheating wives for partners?’ He spits a mouthful of blood on the floor. ‘People being held against their will by some kind of cunt?’

Big man. Big words.

‘You brought this on yourself.’

‘You’re right. It was bad of me to go to work and try and earn some money to pay my bills… All the time my wife was there riding your pathetic little prick… Oh yeah. She told me that too.’

I smile. ‘Of course she did. And you didn’t - for one minute - think she’d be saying all this stuff to try and make it less serious… The affair that we’d had? I mean, you do know we met up way more times than the once, yeah? We fucked all over the place. Cars. Hotels.’ I smile again. ‘Your bed.’

‘Fuck you.’ He spits some more blood before quickly composing himself - clearly not wanting to rise to my comments. ‘Yet I’m still the bad guy? You fucked my wife yet I’m the one hanging here being smacked with a bat by some fucking chicken shit.’

‘Chicken shit? I don’t think so.’

‘No? Then let me down from these chains.’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’

I prepare the bat for another swing.

Quickly, he says, ‘At the end of the day, if you had kept it in your pants… We wouldn’t be here. If your wife hadn’t told me you were still trying to meet my wife…’

‘To tell her it was over….’

He ignores me. ‘If your wife hadn’t told me you were still trying to meet my wife, none of us would be here now. Yet - somehow - in your head, this is all down to me. Well - whatever - do what you got to do… Or keep threatening it at least until you finally cave and let me go. Fair warning, though, when you let me down… You’re a fucking dead man.’

‘I was telling you about this warehouse,’ I say, remembering an earlier conversation about why he was here and what it was for.

‘Honestly, mate, I don’t give a fuck.’

‘It was bought for people like you. Cunts who hurt animals.’

‘Animal cruelty wrong. Fucking another man’s wife acceptable. Your moral compass is fucked, mate.’

‘Little men - and women - pretending to be hard and hurting innocent animals.’ I wait for a comeback. There is nothing. ‘See, I was going to round some of you fucks up and bring you here. In each room, I’ve set it up so I can teach a lesson. Take this, for example… In here there is a bat. Nothing more and nothing less, I mean other than the restraints. This was your room. Nothing fancy for you. Just the same treatment you gave my dog. A baseball bat to the head until you die. The other rooms are different. I mean, not everyone kills dogs with bats, like you. There are people out there who skin animals so there’s a room with chainsaws. They skin animals, this chair is rigged with the chainsaws all around it - a contraption which helps me slowly move the chainsaws closer to whoever sits on the chair until the spinning blades barely touch the flesh. Chainsaws on and - you got it - skinned nice and slowly. I mean it won’t be a perfect skinning but - to be honest - I don’t give a fuck about that. So long as it’s painful I’m good.’

‘You’ve lost your mind.’

And… there it is. Now there's fear.

‘Maybe I have. Maybe I’m just sick of fucks like you getting away with slapped wrists and fines? Maybe you all had this coming and - actually - there are more people like me out there willing to do this to you? Who fucking knows… The only thing I know is that, I’m not sure what will happen to those other rooms now my wife knows about this place. I’m not sure if she will try and shut it down. Maybe, with me out of the house, she's already phoned the police to tell them about this place? I mean she contacted you - Facebook I presume - so it’s entirely possible… I’m not sure what will happen to those rooms, just as I’m not sure what will happen to my relationship when I get back home. To be honest, knowing my wife was instrumental in my dog dying… I’m not entirely sure I want to bother trying to work things through… The only thing I know for certain… is that you won’t be leaving this room alive.’

I swing the bat….

‘Wait!’

I stop mid-swing. Last words. Make them good. Not that it really matters. No one else will get to know them. Just me and him. He won't be able to tell anyone and my memory is shit when it comes to remembering what people said.

‘This isn’t fair!’ he says.

‘It’s not? How’s it not fair?’

‘If it wasn’t for you fucking my wife. If it wasn’t for you getting caught. If it wasn’t for your wife getting in touch with me - first to tell me about the affair and then to tell me where you’d be that night. None of this is my fault…’

‘How so?’ I ask as I raise an eyebrow. ‘You swung the bat.’

‘Okay, okay so… We’re all guilty of something. It’s not fair that only I suffer. I’m sorry about the dog, okay? I’m sorry…’

‘You said it’s not fair…?’

‘It’s not.’

‘You know what else isn’t fair? The fine you got for killing my dog. A fucking fine…’

‘I didn’t ask for a fine. I didn’t know that was going to happen!’

‘You said earlier. You hit me - prison time. You hit the dog… Judges are more lenient. Not the exact words but something like that. Oh and as for us all being guilty….’ I pause for just a moment. Dramatic effect. ‘My dog wasn’t. Ringo wasn’t guilty of anything.’

I swing again. This time I'm going for a home run.

PART SIX: NOW

ULTRA-VIOLENCE

13.

The bat connects with his face. Jaw-line. An almighty crack. His head snaps across to the right, following the motion of the bat with a shower of blood and teeth.

I switch hands, moving the bat to the other side of my body, and give it a hard swing from the opposite direction. Another crack. Thanks to the positioning of his head, from the first swing - it was his nose this time. Full-on hit. The nose shatters and his eyes roll back in his head with the force of the blow.

Not done yet. I raise the bat high above my head and swing in a downward motion. Crack. His head jerks down. Whiplash injury. I imagine his brain smashing against his skull, his brain stem jangling, transmitting agony through his nerves to every part of his body. Blood from the first two swings gushes down, transforming the colour of his clothes a heavy, dark red.

He doesn’t look up. He's done. I'm not. I lower the bat to my side and swing upwards. Crack. Straight to the face. His head snaps back - definite whiplash - before falling forward once more.  Not done. Not done by a long shot. Fuck him. Fuck him and his protest of innocence. He swung the bat first. He isn’t innocent. He’s far from it.

I let the bat slip from my fingers and it clatters against the floor. It rolls a few inches and comes to a rest as I walk over to where the cunt hangs unconscious. Fishing in my pockets for the key to his shackles, I reach up and release each wrist-clasp in turn. As the second one came away, his body slumps to the floor, landing with a heavy thud. He lies motionless, and I wonder if he's dead. I hope not though. I hope it’s only consciousness that he has lost. And - furthermore - I hope he still feels all of this.

I pick the bat up from the floor and raise it up in the air above my head. I pause a moment. My eyes fix on the target. His fucked-up head. A few deep breaths. I close my eyes. A few deep breaths. I see Ringo. I see him sitting in the kitchen, next to his food bowl. He isn’t barking. He is just watching me, patiently waiting for me to feed him. I see Ringo. We’re on the beach. The sun is shining high above. People are laughing. I feel the heat pleasantly warming my face. Ringo is playing in shallow water as the tide gently laps against the grainy sand of the beach, darkening the golden colour. He stops momentarily when I call his name. We hold eye contact. It’s time to go, but I feel cruel. I don’t call him to my side and he goes back to enjoying the water. Young pup so full of life. I see Ringo stretched out on the living room floor in front of the fire place. Flames licking up towards the chimney. Ringo snoring soundly as an old black and white film plays out quietly on the TV in the background. I see Ringo. Lying on the table in the vet’s surgery. I see the vet’s face. Sorrow in his eyes. Nothing we can do. The kindest thing… I open my eyes. I see the Grim Reaper. The monster who took my dog. I bring the bat down hard.

I continue to rain heavy blows down, smashing repeatedly into the cunt’s face until it is nothing more than broken skull and bloody mush. Not done yet though and the blows continue up until the bat breaks; the thick wood splintering as the end of the weapon cracked away. I’m still not done though. Days, nights, weeks of rage spilling out from every pore, every cell in my body, as tears streak my face. I lift my foot and stamp it down into the bloody pulp I’d already created. Splatters of red and pinkish matter stick to my shoes which effectively ruins them and yet I don’t care. It’s now that I realise I’m screaming out loud; no words in particular - just blind rage and furious hate.

The thing lying on the floor no longer resembles a man and yet I still don’t stop - stamping down with so much force it sends pained shockwaves up through my leg and straight to my brain, causing my head to pound in an uncomfortable ache.

I collapse to the floor next to the corpse, out of breath and too exhausted to continue.

‘Fuck you,’ I mutter, my voice going unheard. ‘Fuck you.’

14.

I hadn’t thought things through properly. Hardly surprising given the emotions flowing through my body right now. Regardless of those though, as a result I hadn't known what to do with Marcus, or what's left of him. With few options, I had left him in the pool of blood, rotting in that room with the broken bat discarded next to him.

Now, sitting in the car, I find myself staring at my tired reflection in the rear-view mirror wondering when the exact point was that I had lost my mind.

Was it in that bar, when I first started talking to Aimee?  I had never strayed before that moment. I blame the timing, having lost my parents and the arguments I had been having with Christine but… Maybe I was fine then and just weak minded? My mind fractured when I first cheated? The moment my cock penetrated Aimee’s tight cunt? The moment of climax, powerful and satisfying as I stared into her eyes. Did I shoot my load and my sanity? I’m not sure. I’ll never be sure.

For all I know it could have been when I made the decision to have Ringo… The court ruling? Perhaps my mind went when the sentence was handed down? But then… Maybe I’m just looking for excuses and this is the real me - unearthed after years of being hidden. No. This wasn’t me. That couldn’t be right. I’m definitely out of character… The spending of the inheritance, the warehouse, the plans for the interior - the dreams of killing people I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near and - even if I could - I wouldn’t know how to pull them away from their lives unnoticed. All a result of a mind lost to a deep, all-consuming kind of madness.

I wipe away a blood splatter from my cheek with the back of my hand and feel solid grains in the pulpy mass. I inspect the back of my hand and see the sharp little white fragments that I know to be pieces of shattered skull. A second later and I'm leaning out of the car door, vomiting uncontrollably.

*

No matter how many mints I crunch up and swish around my mouth on the drive home, by the time I pull up outside of my house the foul, bitter taste of vomit still lingers in my mouth. The back of my throat burns from the acidic bile heaved up from my gut.

I turn the engine off and sit for a moment, staring up at our bedroom window. A small part of me is wondering whether she is still up there, sleeping off the sudden headache she said she had.

I feel lost, unsure as to what to do. Do I go in there, pretending I went for a drive – try to change clothes and clean myself up before she sees me? But then - the way she has been recently - will she even notice the splatters of Marcus tainting my clothes? I’m not so sure. Regardless, can I really go in there and pretend I’d only gone for a drive? Can I forget what Marcus told me? She was as much to blame for Ringo's death as Marcus was. Can I forgive that? She’s hurting as much as I am, she loved that damned dog, but… She did this.

Will she confess to me? I wonder.

My darling wife.

Christine Trafan-Wickham.

She murdered our dog.

My dog.

I pull the car key from the ignition and hold it in my shaking hand a moment. Then I open the car door and pause there - one leg out of the car, my foot on the driveway. Baby steps. I take a deep breath and climb from the vehicle. Baby steps. Close the car door.

Could I sell the warehouse? Could I try and recoup some of the money invested? Put the whole plan of punishing those who hurt animals behind me and move forward? A future where Christine and I can live happily ever after? I can’t do it. I can’t pretend nothing happened. I can’t ignore the fact she wanted me hurt and - as a result - got our dog killed. That’s not something you can forget… Nor can I ignore the fact there’s a man lying dead in my newly-purchased warehouse. There is no moving forward, there’s only the possibility of a slight change in direction.

Revenge.

I walk towards the house and reach for the door handle. I hadn’t locked it as I left. No need given the fact Christine was home. I pull the handle down and open the door.

‘Where have you been?’ Christine immediately asks. She is standing in the doorway to the living room. Bags under her eyes, hair dishevelled from where she’d been laying down, pale face… ‘I was worried.’

I turn to her. ‘What happened? What have you done?’ I didn’t say anything. I just stand there, looking at her. Hating her. This woman I had once loved so much had betrayed me. ‘Talk to me! What have you done?’ she pushes for an answer.

Looking at her now, seeing her standing here. I realise there is nothing in me but hatred for her now and that there is no going back for us. As far as I am concerned, we’re done. It’s over.

‘What have you done?’ she asks again. Her eyes dart from blood splatter to blood splatter. Evidently, I look worse than I thought I did.

‘I went to the park and beat someone up,’ I say. Of course it wasn’t what happened but I wanted to see her reaction. I wanted to see if there was another flash of guilt behind those eyes that once looked at me lovingly. There’s nothing.

‘What?’

‘I said, I went to the park. Beat someone up. Got a problem with that?’

‘What are you talking about? Who did you beat up? What have you done?’

‘I’m telling you,’ I say, ‘if you’ll listen. I went to the park and I attacked a man. I gave him a right good kicking. The blood on my shoes? That’s from his face…’

‘Why are you saying this?’

She's panicking. I’m not sure if she has a clue that I know what she did or whether she’s worried that I’ll be going to prison.

‘Because you asked me what I did. I told you the other day now that - from here on in - there’ll be no secrets. No lies… Just the truth. Well, this is the truth.’

‘Who did you hurt?’

‘This woman messaged me on Facebook. She asked me to go to the park and beat her husband up. So I said okay. While you were sleeping, I got in my car and I headed down to the park. When I got there - I saw the man walking his dog and I ran up to him… Before he had any idea what was happening - I hit him. And - you know what? - I didn’t stop hitting him.’

Christine was crying.

‘Why would you do that?’

‘I told you, I received a message on Facebook telling me to do it. She told me where he would be, what time he would be there… She told me everything that I needed to know… I just needed to head on down and lash out.’ I purposefully said all this in a relaxed, casual manner, implying what I had done was perfectly acceptable. I mean - why wouldn’t it be? What I mentioned was no different to what she had told someone to do… ‘For the record, I just want to point out that the dog was okay. He slipped the lead and disappeared into the bushes. I’m sure someone will find him and take him in, he looked like a good old boy. You know, like Ringo.’

Her face drops again and - there it is - the guilt in her eyes is evident.

‘I don’t know why I did it,’ she says quietly.

15.

She didn’t know why she had done it. That’s all she said and yet it was enough to confirm what Marcus had told me, even though I’d already seen she had changed the numbers in my phone so they were all directed to her own mobile. I take a step back, unsure of how to proceed. On the one hand, I can understand why she would change the numbers but - on the other hand… To ask another man - a stranger - to beat me up… I can’t understand that. I know I had hurt her but…

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, her voice still quiet.

‘Sorry for what?’

She doesn’t say anything. She just stands there, looking down at the floor, weighed down with guilt.

‘Sorry for what?’ I ask again. When she doesn't answer me for a second time, I continue, ‘Sorry for deceiving me? Sorry for messaging Marcus in the first place to tell him what had happened? Sorry for messaging him again to tell him that I’d be at the park? Sorry for telling him to beat me up? Sorry for him deciding to go against your instructions and killing Ringo instead? Which bit - exactly - are you sorry for?’

‘I didn’t know he’d kill the dog.’

‘Ah. Okay. Sorry for the dog. Everything else is fine but you’re sorry about the dog. Ringo. That was his name, by the way. Not dog. Say it…’

‘What?’

‘Say his fucking name?’

‘Ringo,’ she sobs.

‘You love animals as much as me. You visibly get upset when you read reports of people hurting animals… Yobs shooting cats with pellet guns, people beating their dogs in public, the guy in the papers killing the ducks down the local pond… Well, you killed our dog. Had it not been for you he would still be here.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Why not? It’s the truth.’ I shake my head. ‘I said I was sorry for what I did. I apologised to you. We were going to move on and we were going to fix things… All of that - that was a lie…’

‘You phoned her again! You wanted to meet her again!’

I shake my head again. ‘Closure. I wanted closure. I was going to meet her in the park, tell her it was over. Tell her goodbye but you got him involved. You got him to come down to beat me up…’

‘I thought you were still seeing her…’

‘So that excuses having me beaten up?’

She falls silent before eventually replying, ‘You hurt me.’ She looks me over again and – once more – takes in all the blood. ‘What did you really do?’

I don’t answer her. She doesn’t need to know. We have more pressing issues to deal with.

‘I’m not sure we’re going to make it through this,’ I tell her.

She doesn’t say anything. She just stands there crying.

‘He’s dead, you know.’

She looks up, tears streaming down her cheeks.

‘Marcus,’ I continue. ‘He’s dead. I beat him to death with a baseball bat. The blood on my face… My clothes… It’s his.’ She looks shocked. ‘You killed him by getting him involved. Two deaths down to you.’

‘I didn’t want any of this,’ she sobs. ‘You cheated on me!’

‘You did this. We had talked about it. It was over. We were going to move forward. We were going to fix things but you fucking ruined it. You should have just left it. You should have just trusted me but instead - like a cunt - you went behind my back… You went running to him - a stranger. Even asked him to beat me up and what did that get for you? He’s dead. Ringo is dead… Our marriage… Our relationship… Dead.’

‘I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t ask you to cheat on me… I…’

‘There’s always an excuse. You need to stand up and take responsibility… Own up to the fact that you killed our dog.’

‘No! I didn’t! I didn’t want that!’

I take a moment to calm down as I feel my rage bubble up within.

‘All those times you cried, after the court ruling and the vet appointment… It was because of the guilt you felt because you knew - deep down - it was your fault.’

‘It wasn’t.’

‘Admit it and we can move on…’

‘It wasn’t my fault!’ She starts to get fiery as she swallows back the tears. ‘It’s because you fucked someone else. It’s because you went out and you slept with another woman. Had you not done so, I wouldn’t have found out, I wouldn’t have got in touch with the woman’s husband, he wouldn’t have come to the park, he wouldn’t have killed the dog… You might not have even bought the warehouse… You only did that because of the court ruling! You said you were fed up with people getting away with hurting animals and that you were taking a stand. It all stems from that one night in the bar… The butterfly effect!’

I shake my head from side to side slowly. ‘No, no, no…’

‘Yes!’

‘NO!’ I shout and then immediately suck in a deep breath. ‘I was wrong to cheat on you. I told you the reasons I did. They do not excuse the fact it happened but it should have given you insight. We spoke about moving forward and working things through. It was done. I had trust to rebuild but it was done. You didn’t have to tell him. It was a spiteful move on your part. You wanted to ruin her relationship with her husband and make them hurt just as you did… But you didn’t have to. You chose to escalate it. You chose to make it worse - and again when you got in touch telling him to come and sort me out… You did all of that. You, not me. In my eyes everything was dealt with, with the exception of rebuilding our relationship…’

‘I was angry! You hurt me! I wanted to hurt you!’

‘And there it is! So you do accept some responsibility!’

‘I never meant for Ringo…’

I cut her off, we're finally getting somewhere and I need us to stay on track, ‘It doesn’t matter what you meant… What matters is that you admit you caused it.’

She starts crying again. ‘I blame myself for what happened to Ringo.’

And there it is.

‘Because you were to blame!’

‘Yes! I felt like I was to blame…’ She's bawling now, like a broken child.

I nod and smile.

‘Because you are to blame,’ I say, quiet, driving the point home. ‘Well… Just as you forgave me for what happened with Aimee… I forgive you for what happened to Ringo…’

She looks at me, eyes red and watery.

‘Really?’

I smile and nod.

‘I forgive you,’ I say again.

I open my arms up, inviting her in for a hug.

PART SIX: BEFORE

RINGO

16.

I had wanted a dog all my life, certainly as long as I can remember from growing up anyway. I was never allowed though, for various reasons which - now I’m older - I can see were fair enough. Growing up, children don’t understand the reasons. They just hear the word no and go into a melt-down over it. Still - I’m grown up now and don’t have people telling me no. I mean, Christine was a little concerned to start off with - given the fact she’d be looking after it a lot, but she was easy enough to talk around. Especially when I took her to see the puppies.

‘If we did have a dog,’ I had asked her, about a week before she saw the pups, ‘out of curiosity - what would you call it?’ I had gone to see the little pups already at this point. I had told Christine how cute they were but she didn’t sound convinced.

‘I don’t really know,’ she said.

‘Come on, think. You must have a name?’

We didn’t have children thanks to problems with the plumbing. It wasn’t a surprise to us, discovered only after we had started trying; we knew beforehand.  After all, had everything been fine… The amount of accidents I had had in the past… I would have been a father by now somewhere along the line. The problem was with me, not her and she still stuck with me - even though she desperately wanted children. It was that fact which surprised me when she said she didn’t have any names lined-up. I imagined there would have been a list of possibilities for boys and girls, tucked away in a disappointed corner of her mind.

‘I really don’t know,’ she said again.

A few hours later a text pinged through on my phone.

Ringo?

I smiled when I saw it. She always did have a thing for The Beatles - one of the many little snippets of information that surprised me when I discovered it.

lol nice.

The next weekend, I took her to see the puppies. I handed her one of the smallest little boys and watched as she cradled him in her arms. He was so young his little eyes weren’t even open. He didn’t see the joy in Christine’s face as she held him close to her. He didn’t see her eyes light up. He didn’t see the smile on her face. I did though.

‘Meet Ringo,’ I’d told her.

She had the pup and she had the name. There was no way she wasn’t going to want to get him - and I knew that, which is why I’d taken the deposit with me in mixed notes of tens and twenties. A two hundred and fifty pounds deposit and then - in four weeks, when we collected the dog to take him home, another grand.

‘Worth every penny,’ I whispered to him. It was his first night in the house with us and he hadn’t woken up from the car journey yet to notice a change in scenery. I was grinning like an idiot as I held him in my arms. He’d rolled onto his back and had his little paws stretched upwards as though playing dead.

I leaned down and gave him a little sniff. Something about the smell of puppies. Then, I turned to Christine who sat next to me on the sofa. She was desperate to hold him, I could tell by her face, but he’d fallen asleep in my arms on the drive home and it had felt cruel to wake him. Given the fact he seemed dead to the world now, though, I turned to her and asked, ‘Did you want a cuddle?’

‘We can’t. We’ll wake him.’

‘It’s fine. Anyway, he has to wake up at some point.’

Carefully I passed him over to her as though he were a human baby. She took him and laid back, carefully in the sofa. He stirred but didn’t wake. I moved closer to her. If only someone were here to take a picture right now: Our little family unit.

*

A year older and still in need of training. He has the basics down like sitting, waiting and laying down but - truth be told - it’s only when he feels like doing them. The times where he doesn’t feel like playing ball well - yeah - might as well be asking a brick wall to move. Still love him though, which is good really, considering how much he has chewed in the house. Sofa, ruined. Kitchen table, ruined. Dining room chairs, two out of four - ruined. Various clothes, chewed up. Shoes, replaced time and time again. I love him though, we both do. Wouldn’t change him for love nor money.

*

Four years old. He sits when told and comes when called. He sleeps more but is still playful when he is awake. He’s well behaved and can be trusted off the lead, which I’m grateful for. When he was younger, I lost count the number of times I had to chase after him as he bolted off with another dog we encountered on one of our many walks. Those days I cursed him but - those days are gone and he was only young. Now he’s our perfect little gentleman.

*

Six years old and he is lying on the vet’s table. His tongue is hanging from his mouth. His eyes are at the back of his skull, showing us only the whites. Blood comes from his cranium and my eyes well up as the vet prepares the injection.

Goodnight, boy.

PART SIX: NOW

IN MEMORY OF RINGO

17.

Christine approaches, eyes streaming as she openly weeps. It's clear that her admission is a weight off her shoulders.

‘We can fix things, can’t we?’ she asks as she comes towards my waiting embrace. I smile at her. Looking at her now, she looks as mentally broken as I feel. Proof in the pudding that, through the tears and obvious pain and guilt, she’d put aside the fact that I had killed someone. ‘Everything will be okay, won’t it?’ she asks again.

I killed Marcus for my own selfish reasons. To alleviate some of the pain he had caused me. This…

I punch Christine directly in the face, dropping her to the floor.

… This isn’t for me. I don’t want to hurt my wife. I don’t want to kill her. On some deep, buried level, I love her. But, this is for Ringo. This is what Ringo would have wanted.

I look down at her. Blood streams from her cracked nose. I take no pleasure in seeing her like this. But Ringo does and I know he is looking down upon us.

‘What are you doing?’ she screams through intense pain.

‘It’s not for me,’ I tell her. ‘It’s for Ringo.’

I lean down and punch her again. The force of the impact knocks her head back against the wooden floor with a heavy thud.

‘I have to do this,’ I tell her.

She isn’t saying anything. Her head rocks from side to side as she lies dazed, clinging to consciousness.

‘This isn’t my fault,’ I tell her. ‘If you had just left things… Everything could have been okay but… No.’ I hit her again. Her eye socket cracks and her left eye turns bloodshot almost immediately. ‘Now Ringo wants me to do this to you… He wants me to hurt you, just as you hurt him… Just as the other animals want me to hurt people who hurt them. It’s for the animals…’ I hit her again. Her lips split and her upper front teeth crack as they are forced back over their counterparts below.

She is motionless now, moving only when my fist connects which it does - again - directly in her mouth. A cracked tooth snaps out completely, broken off further down in the root as her gum pisses blood.

Ringo tells me to stop and I stop.

‘I don’t know. I don’t think she is,’ I say to Ringo. I lean down and check for a pulse. It's there. She isn’t dead, just unconscious. ‘No. She’s not. Just sleeping,’ I reassure him. ‘She’ll wake up soon and - when she does - I’ll fix my relationship. Okay?’ I pause a moment. ‘I miss you, boy.’ I smile as he tells me he misses me too. ‘I’m sorry for what happened to you. I wish I could take it back but - it wasn’t my fault. I had no control over it. If she hadn’t messaged him - he wouldn’t be dead either.’ I laugh. ‘No, I know you don’t give a fuck about him. He deserved it. I did that for me as much as for you, boy. He definitely deserved it. Anyone who hurts animals… They all deserve what they inflict to come back on them ten-fold.’ I listen. ‘It would be a shame to waste the warehouse, you’re right… After all that trouble of buying it and setting it up… Anyone. I’ll take anyone there… Anyone who hurts animals.’ I look down at Christine’s bloody face. ‘The two of us. We’ll do it together. Something to move forward with. Something that will bring us closer together… Something to heal our relationship.’

I look up at the kitchen doorway, where Ringo’s voice comes from. His food bowl is there, waiting to be filled. I smile.

After these last few weeks, and today especially… I’m glad you decided to come back.

THE END.

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