Ste: Part 8, a short story by Ax. Date added: 2012-06-24. Times viewed: 256.
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- Intro: [Ax]
Ste: Part VIII
If he was going to be attacked, it would be somewhere out of the way. Somewhere nobody would see him. Somewhere on the route to my house.
I rush to the canal and jog along hastily, but there is no sight of Ste. I notice the bridge under the main road. An old industrial revolution era bridge. It looks empty. Surely this would be the best place to attack Ste. As I approach the bridge, I find no sight of blood.
Just one single crutch lying on the floor.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial 999.
“Emergency services, what is your emergency?”
“I’m on Stockport canal, under the bridge where the A6 passes the factory.” I say clearly but quickly.
“I believe a friend of mine may have been attacked. He is on crutches, and I have found one single crutch here under the bridge.”
“Do you think he may have fallen in the canal?”
“No, I think he’s been tricked into coming here, and has been attacked. He could be in danger, please send help.”
Decapitated in Marbrook.
Smashed car. Smashed window.
Beaten black and blue.
Decapitated in Marbrook.
Suddenly it hits me. I know what I have to do. I hang up the phone and switch it off. I sprint as fast as I can back home. By the time I get to my back garden, my veins are pumping battery acid.
I notice the door is ajar, just a crack.
I creep in silently. I need some sort of weapon.
As I approach the kitchen, I notice a serrated kitchen knife lying on the table. I carefully and quietly pick it up and hold it in front of my face defensively. Silently, I move into the living room.
I quietly push the door open.
Ste is tied to a chair with electrical tape across his mouth.
He’s completely motionless. Is he dead?
I creep over to the chair, setting the knife down on the floor.
He has been beaten about the head with something, and succumbed to his bladder some time ago.
“Steven.” I whisper sharply in his ear.
“Steven!” I shout lightly gripping his face.
Warm. He is still alive.
He regains consciousness with a start. His eyes roll around wildly as his groans become loud and panicked.
“Shhh!” I whisper, knowing that the assailant could still be in the house.
“I’m gonna cut you free.” I say, pointing to the knife.
“But first, this might hurt a bit, alright?” I say, as I reach to his mouth and quickly pull the tape off. His mouth stuffed with a sock, which he quickly expels, along with a significant amount of saliva, and a small amount of vomit.
He coughs several times, takes a few deep breaths, then turns to me.
“It’s your brother. He’s gone insane. Get me out of here man, for god’s sake get me out of here!” He pleads.
I pick up the knife and begin to cut away at the ropes that bind his hands.
“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice comes from behind me.
It sounds like mine, only haunting. His voice has a chill to it that I cannot shake.
I turn around, grasping the knife tightly.
He stands there with a cruel looking snarl on his face. His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair unkempt.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, “What have you done?” I plead with him desperately.
“Why am I doing this?”
He strolls in front of Steven, who whimpers uncontrollably as tears roll down his cheeks.
“I’m doing this because you won’t.” He spits. He slams his fist into Ste’s chin, knocking him back in the chair, which crashes to the floor.
“Please, just stop it. Let’s just calm down, come on.” I plead shakily.
“What has he ever done to you?”
“What has he done to me?” He says, pointing to his chin.
“Nothing.” He replies.
“I’m doing this for you, my Brother.”
“You haven’t spoke to Heather in so long, she had no idea it was me on the phone. Even Ste couldn’t tell. Isn’t that something?” He spoke cruelly, “One of your oldest friends, and he doesn’t even know the sound of your voice.” He laughed maniacally.
“But what would you expect? This person is less than a maggot. He betrayed you, and you let him get away with it. How could you do that brother?”
“Please, you need to calm down. I’ve been angry at Ste, but this is too much. He doesn’t deserve this.” I say, desperately trying to make him see sense.
“No, I’d say he deserves much worse.”
“I mean it” I say, brandishing the knife, “You won’t come any closer, I will defend myself.”
“No you won’t.” He says confidently.
“Do you remember when we were children?” He asks, “Do you remember what life was like? The beatings, the taunting, the bullying. Do you remember when Dad beat you with a stick? Do you remember how much it hurt?” He asked.
“Yes, I remember, it was awful, but that’s all in the past now.”
“I remember the beating. Once from him, and the next day from you. You were always much bigger than me.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve said I’m sorry!” I continue to plead.
“No. You were right. You showed strength in a time of weakness, by exerting the authority from which all other authority is derived.” He states.
I remember beating him, as he curled up on the floor, yelping, as I had, every time the stick cracked at his skin.
“You were so strong, so brutal. You and dad, were my nightmares. You two became everything I wanted to be. Strong, powerful and indomitable.” He continued.
An image comes to me of dad in the hospital, his skin yellow and cracked.
“But what became of Dad? He died like the cowardly drunk he really was.” He spits angrily.
“And what became of you? Oh strong and powerful brother of mine?” He asks.
My eyes are fixed on him.
“You became a loser. Letting this pathetic, worthless piece of shit, betray you like that. I saw them that night at the queens. He knew what he was doing, feeding her compliments, buying her drinks.” My eyes flash red and I look down at Ste, who is still whimpering, as saliva pours from the corner of his mouth and down his face.
“I thought, my brother won’t stand for this. My brother will tear this man limb from limb.” He continued.
I looked back towards him.
“But you didn’t. You... Forgave him. You let him off.” He says in wonderment.
“You’re right, I did nothing. But I never forgave him.”
“Then here’s your chance. Take that knife, and do what you’ve got to do. Stand up for yourself, have some pride, hurt those who have hurt you.”
I kneel down on the floor, and hold the knife to Ste’s throat, as he desperately struggles to avoid the blade.
“Please don’t this. I’m begging you. Please, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to die.”
His desperate pleas are somewhat bitter sweet. Part of me feels so right. I am almost itching to make the first, slow cut.
“Cut him open.” My brother orders.
I look down at Ste.
Have some pride.
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