Suffer the Children by Adam Creed

here,’ says Guy, into the wool of his balaclava. After he has said it, he moves swiftly to his left so she follows the sound of his voice towards an empty place. As he stalks, he removes a drugged rag from a sealed plastic envelope.
    She moves awkwardly between the branches. Guy is behind her now.
    ‘I can’t see you, Alex.’
    Montefiore holds his breath and takes a silent, final stride – barely able to move. His legs are jelly and his heart beats double time. He is ecstatic. He is sad. He reaches out, taps her on the shoulder, watches her turn slowly. Her eyes go wide and a scream gets stuck in her throat.
    He feels as happy as he ever has in all his life. He moves swiftly forward and places one hand on the back of her head as if he is going to slowly, softly pull her towards him for a first kiss. Her mouth does open and, rather than put his mouth on hers, he reaches up with his other, gloved hand and he silences her with the soaked rag. He can smell the chloroform as he watches her wide eyes lid down in fine spasms, like butterfly wings.
    Her hair is softer than you could ever dream and she’s light in his grasp. He pulls the rag away quickly, wanting her to come round before he is done. He needs a response. He lays her down, easily; then lies alongside, looking around, beneath the canopy. He smiles to himself, happy to be alone with his love.
    He pulls his balaclava off, nestles his face into the well of her jaw and neck. He inhales her, runs his hand along her thin, soft skin. He moves his head, kisses her jaw, kisses her closed eyes, kisses her closed mouth, makes it open by kissing her harder. He feels the soft cotton at the top of her legs and pushes her legs apart. He unzips himself and takes hold of her bottom. He feels a shadow on the back of his neck. He turns cold.
    Guy twists to look up but he can’t believe what he sees. At first he thinks it’s a warped mirror, but then the mouth and eyes inside the balaclava shape a smile, and the figure talks.
    ‘You’re done, Guy.’
    ‘It’s not what …’
    The man gives him a kick to his open flies and Montefiore squeals with pain.
    ‘Don’t hurt me,’ says Montefiore, looking at the weapon in the man’s hand. The blade glints.
    ‘You’re not in charge now, Guy. Put a foot wrong, and it will be Thomasina’s turn.’
    ‘No!’
    And as if it were a full stop, the man kicks Montefiore again. While Montefiore writhes around in agony, the man says, ‘You think I’m going to kill you?’ And before Guy can respond, he puts the sole of his shoe on Guy’s balls. Leans forward. ‘But you’d be wrong. You might even say I’m going to do the opposite. But first, I’m coming to see you. Soon. And if you say a single word to anybody, fucking anybody! You’ll look your daughter in the eye from the dock and then you’ll die in prison. But not until she has. And you want to know how she’ll die?’
    ‘No!’ says Guy, sobbing. ‘I’ll do it. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.’
    The man takes his foot off Guy, takes a step back and Guy zips up, gets to his feet. He looks down at Tanya. He loves her, still. She’s the only one. All the others turned out to be tainted in the end. Dirty. Whores.
    *******
     
    Staffe winces as he applies a dash of iodine to his wound. He presses a fresh dressing to the cut and slides between the sheets of the first bed he ever bought. He stares at the ceiling and an image of his mother and father comes to him, waving from on deck in Portsmouth harbour on their way to Spain. His father had taken early retirement after a life of nothing but work and they were going to walk in the Picos de Europa, after first going to visit Bilbao and Guernica. Young Will couldn’t see the back of them quick enough.
    He had smoked a joint on the drive back to their house in Thames Ditton, and when he had got home he went straight to the Angel and bought two grams of coke. At the end of the night he went back to his parents’ house with his