Son of a Bitch

SON OF A BITCH

There he walked, straight past without so much as a glance. He had walked past his killer and had not even noticed him. Too busy feeling sorry for himself to notice anyone else, let alone care what was approaching.
It had happened by chance. His whore of a mother had died and he had come back for the funeral. It was her funeral but he refused to acknowledge it as her funeral, just a funeral. Things needed to be cleared up and he was her only family. She had no friends, that was evident from the five people at the funeral. Three nurses from the home, the vicar and her son, William Bailey.

He had not seen his mother for fifteen years. She was an alcoholic and a whore who only really lived to drink. One night she had left three hundred pounds on the kitchen table and collapsed on the floor, smashed out of her fragile mind. That night he had really wanted to talk to her. He had just got his A level results and had scored four straights A’s. He wanted to share the moment with her, make her proud of him and share his joy with someone. In that moment he could forgive all of her failings and all those times she had let him down, embarrassed and humiliated him and beaten him for asking ‘where’s my daddy’. But the slut was passed out. So he had packed what few possessions he owned, taken the money from the table and left.

The money paid two months rent and he took the first job he could find. But it did not last long, in less then a year he had built up his own business and in less than five years he had earned enough money to retire on. That was another moment he wanted to share with his mother. But since no one had come looking for him he assumed she had not even reported him missing. So why bother?

After the funeral he headed back to the train station and that was where he had seen him. The captain of the rugby team, Charles Whitmore the fucking golden boy. He was the school bully and had made Williams life even more miserable than his mother had. Whitmore was the one who had come up with the name; bastard son of a whore. Where’s your daddy whoreson, don’t you know? Where’s your mummy, on her back, dontcha know. How many uncles have you got? You must be the only male in a ten mile radius who hasn’t had sex with Miss Bailey, or is she Mrs Bailey. It seemed he came up with another insult to beat William down with everyday. But the insults were nothing compared to what he had done in the changing rooms, him and the rest of the rugby team. The whole school knew what had happened and it still haunted him to this day. Money, success, love, marriage, the birth of his beloved children could not take the pain of what happened away.

His mother had been to blame. But she was an alcoholic and her life was a nightmare. He wished he had bothered to find her and help her, but it was too late.
Then he saw him. He was a lot fatter, a lot balder but William recognised him. The captain of the rugby had lost it all. His job, his wife and his children. Even his mates had moved on and forgotten him.

At school he always had plenty of girlfriends, but they were always several years younger. They seemed like puppets on his arm. He had even married one of them and she had divorced him. Left him for a younger man and taken his two daughters with her. Amazing what gossip you could pick up in the local pub. The same shitty pub the rugby team used to stand outside because no one would serve them inside. Whitmore was still there, he had not moved on since school. And now he was going to die. William hoped it would wash away the memories of school, of what had happened in the changing rooms on that fateful day.

Baggy tracksuit trousers, a designer shirt and cheap sunglasses. The fat, balding tosser still dressed the same way as he had in school. He was heading into the pub. Time for a meeting.
Sitting in the corner William can see Charles counting his change, a concerned look on his face. He puts a pile of coins on the bar and shouts.

“Barman, another pint of the same, again,” he counts some more change and shouts again, “ and a packet of crisps.”

The sad bastard can barely scrape together beer money anymore, William thought as he smiled to himself.

“There is your reward my good man,” Charles said as he pushed the coins towards the barman.

The barman did not reply, he put drink and crisps on the bar and walked back to the till, counting the money as he walked.

“Time to reacquaint myself,” William whispers.

He stood nervously, pausing for a moment. The fat tosser at the bar was not the same golden boy who made my life hell at school, William thought. But he felt nervous all the same. He rubbed his hands together, realising he had broken out into a cold sweat. Wiping them on his trousers and taking a deep breath, he walked over.

Charles raised the glass to his lips and began to drink as William shoved into him, causing the lager to spill all down his cheap designer shirt.
Charles spun round furiously, his face a scowling mask of anger. All of Williams’ nerves vanished, replaced by a smile that beamed on the inside as well as the outside.

“Ever so sorry, slim,” William said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Your lucky I don’t smash your face in, boy. You owe me a pint and a shirt.”

“How do you figure that, slim?”

“What did you call me?” Charles said menacingly.

“I called you slim, you flabby failure.”

Each time William spoke his confidence seemed to grow.

“No one speaks to me like that. Your dead,” Charles said as he stood up.

Reaching out his hands Charles tries to push William, but William pushes his arms aside, grabs hold of his forearms and pulls him forward. Williams’ forehead lands directly on Charles’ nose, sending him crashing to the floor as William lets go.

“Sorry for the trouble, mate,” William hands the barman a fifty pound note, turns and leaves the pub.

“You alright, Chaz?” The barman asks, trying not to smile.

A hand appears on the bar as Charles pulls himself shakily to his feet, holding his bloody nose.

“If I see that bloke again I’ll do ‘im.”

He heads for the door as the rest of the pub watch him leave in a happy silence. They turn and smile at one another, raising their glasses.
After a few minutes one old man shouts.

“If I see that bloke again I’ll buy him a double.”

The rest of the pub laughs, except the barman. He can still remember the bruises on the woman who used to call herself Mrs Charles Whitmore.

William stood in a shop doorway opposite the pub, waiting for the fat failure to show himself.
He did not have to wait long. The beer soaked, bloodied yob staggered out with tears streaming down his face.
William kept on the other side of the road, at a discreet distance and followed him.
He knew his old enemy lived in a dingy tower block somewhere nearby, probably like the one he used to live in. If he lived on the top floor he might be skydiving without a parachute very soon.

They had been walking for a few minutes when Charles crossed the road and headed towards a depressing looking tower block. It looked like a concrete pillar with pieces of glass randomly stuck in it. William ducked down behind a car and watched Charles disappear through a doorway. When Charles had vanished from site he ran across the road and in through the entrance, pausing when he saw his old enemy thumping the lift buttons.

“What have I done to deserve this? Three flights up,” Charles mumbled to himself.

He began to drag his already tired body up the stairs while William peered round the corner. He smiled to himself as his old school friend pulled himself up the steep concrete staircase. William followed when the builders bum had disappeared from sight.

After what seemed like an eternity Charles eventually reached his door. He leant against the door, wheezing and out of breath, desperately trying to find his key. William waited round the corner, ready to strike. Would a three story skydive be enough to kill fat boy? He hoped it would.

He heard the door open and ran round the corner to see the body disappearing into his flat. As the door swung shut William kicked it sending it crashing into Charles’ back, sending him hurtling forward and tripping over as William swept his legs from under him. The door slammed as Charles groaned in agony. He fallen flat on his face.

“My, my. How the mighty have fallen. This place smells worse than the piss stained corridors. I thought you’d live in a penthouse by now, not a shithouse.”

“What do you want. My ex wife didn’t send you did she?”

“No she did not. No one sent me, I just arrived.”

“Who are you?”

“I think we should talk in the lounge. There is a lounge in this shit box, I take it.”

Charles staggered to his feet and lumbered into a filthy room straight ahead. William put his hand over his nose and opened a window. Leaning out he gulps in some fresh air until he stops retching.

“Who are you?”

“How can you live like this? Look at the state of this place. The street is cleaner than this place.” William points to the empty lager cans, pizza boxes and chips wrappers strewn on the surfaces and floor.

“I’ve been busy. Who are you?”

“You don’t recognise me?”

“No I don’t. Who are you and what do you want?”

“You don’t remember me from school then?”

“No.”

“I can forgive you for that. I wasn’t in the rugby team and I’m not a twelve year old girl.”

“What do you mean, twelve year old girl?”

“When you were in the sixth form you went out with twelve and thirteen year olds.”

“I did not.”

“You even married one. When you left school you carried on seeing one of them and married her. A little bird tells me you used to beat her. She didn’t press charges and you gave her everything. Am I right?”

“She’s lying slag.”

“You may remember the name you gave me; bastard son of a whore.”

Charles’ mouth fell open and his lips began to tremble as his eyes widened. He tried to swallow as his gaze fell to the floor.
William stared at him until he lifted his head.

“Of course I remember you, mate. We had some laughs. You were a clever guy, top of the class. I was jealous of you.”

“Admit what you did to me.”

“What?”

“Admit what you did to me. Before rugby practice, when I fought back, admit it.”

“I can’t remember school, it was nearly twenty years ago.”

“Admit it, you piece of shit,” William screamed as he leapt on his tormentor. He did not even realize he was strangling him until he noticed Charles’ face change colour. He stood up, his hands trembling as thoughts of murder raced through his troubled mind.

“You’re mad,” Charles whispered as he rubbed his throat.

“Admit what you did to me. You remember it, you never let me forget it at school and you told everyone. Everyday I think about what you did. Some days I see my children smile at me and I think of what you did. Sometimes I can’t kiss my wife because I can still taste it in my mouth. Admit what you did, or you will die.”

“We were kids, come on.”

“Last chance.”

“Ok, we stuffed your head down a toilet, so what. Kids do things. I’m really sorry.”

“You and your rugby mates left something in there for me though, didn’t you? Then you all pissed on me. What did you make me to after that?”

“Lick the floor.”

William grabs hold of Charles’ nose and pulls him up. Tears run down his flabby face, but he does not struggle. He is led into the bathroom, William can barely stand the stench.

“No, no please don’t,” Charles mumbles through pain and tears.

William elbows him in the back of the head and Charles falls to his knees.
William feels as if he is having an out of body experience and he shoves the captain’s head down the rancid toilet. Everything feels like it is happening in slow motion. His school memories seem somehow brighter. Glowing school reports and lunch hours spent in the library reading Dickens, Bronte and Wilde. The small egg cup he was awarded for winning the school chess tournament. He remembers the girl who spoke to him in the library and got thrown out for breaking the no speaking rule. His first kiss with her as they walked home.

Then a noise disturbs his thoughts and brings him back to the present. He pulls Charles up and throws him to the ground. Seeing his old enemy lying at his feet brings him an enormous feeling of release.

“When I first saw you I planned to kill. I fantasized how I would do it. But standing here now its really not worth it. I’ve got everything I need. Love, friends and success. You’ve got nothing, fuck you.”

Sometimes, life is worse than death, William thought as he left the flat.
He looked up at the sky as he exited the dingy flats. The sun seemed somehow brighter. Maybe he should spend some time at the cemetery.
Forgiveness flowed through his veins and he liked the feeling.