“Darren is lying,” Wayne said adamantly, not caring if he was rude or not. “He hates me, and he is just trying to get me in trouble.” In a flash, Wayne was knelt at the feet of his mother, a searing pain in his left cheek. The tears began again.
“And there is more where that came from if you EVER talk badly about your father again!”
Wayne said nothing, and just like the little bird he had seen earlier, lay motionless on the floor. It was a moment of realisation for Wayne, as he thought to himself, “I must not be hunted. I must be the hunter”
-
“Someone make a toast!” the fat man shouted, obviously inebriated, not unlike everyone else in The Quivering Jackass pub that night. “To the Birthday Boy!” There was loud music, and the sudden cheering and hollering added to the sounds, and made it the perfect birthday atmosphere.
In the darkest corner of the room, by the scarcely used dartboard, sat Wayne. It had been his 29th birthday last week, but he didn’t have a party like this one. He had spent it in his dilapidated apartment, by himself, doing his weights.
“Hey buddy!” the fat man shouted to Wayne, “raise your glass a minute for the toast!”
“I’m not really in the mood,” Wayne said, his voice hoarse.
“Fine!” the fat man said indignantly, “I wouldn’t want to interrupt all the fun you are having over there! But let me guess… Your date is in the bathroom right?”
The crowd of men burst into a mocking uproar. Each of them making their own jokes, and pointing in Wayne’s direction. Wayne rose, causing the room to fall silent. But in an anti-climax, Wayne simply threw his glass to the floor, and left.
The street, on which the pub was situated, was silent. That silence was broken, however, when the group of men left the pub, after a rowdy night. It was after mid-night and the street lamps provided inadequate lighting for the drunken men to easily navigate their way home.
“Man, I’m dying for a pee,” the fat man said childishly, holding his groin.
“Just go in the alley,” another man said, dismissively, rubbing his temples. The fat man walked around the corner, and started to undo the zip on his trousers, his eyes half closed. He didn’t notice the lone figure come out of the shadows behind him. Within one minute, the fat man was lying on the ground, his trousers round his ankles, as Wayne quickly made his escape through the back streets.
Wayne was calm now; he harboured no guilt about the deed he had just committed. Killing, or at least wanting to kill, had become normal for Wayne now. He couldn’t let people get him; he had to get them first. All of the shops were closed, as Wayne expected, but he couldn’t help himself from sneaking a peek into the bakery window. To his disappointment, the curtains were drawn, so he could not see the tantalising cakes he loved so much. In the glass, he could however see his reflection. He never liked looking at himself, in photos, or in mirrors. The person he saw was not who he wanted to be. He slowly cast his eyes over the image of himself. His haircut was cheap, and his greasy black hair was almost at his shoulders. He had not shaved for a few days, and as such, he looked like a tramp on the street, dirty. His eyes frightened him. They seemed hollow, with no soul behind them. They were wide, and seemed to be crying for help. Wayne had worn the same clothes for the whole week; he didn’t have much else. The green shirt, brown corduroy trousers, and black moccasins were badly worn. He was not tall, but he was incredibly strong, due to all of his weight training. His shoulders were hunched, his back awkwardly bent over, twisted. Shaped from his childhood. The left side of his mouth was paralysed, giving him a frightening smile. Maybe it was because of this that he never smiled, but maybe he just never smiled, so it didn’t matter. His hands were curled up, seeming always to grasping for an imaginary item; a beer bottle, a knife handle, someone’s neck. This person was a failure, a victim Wayne thought. He dismissed these thoughts, but he was well aware of the truth. He was a monster. He had no friends; no one would even want to get to know him. He wanted to be loved so badly, but he didn’t want to become hurt. This caused him to repel anyone who showed the slightest bit of affection towards him. Not being able to bear looking at himself any longer, he continued on his way home.
The next morning was Sunday. Wayne got up early and quickly made his way to the bakery. Every Sunday Wayne went there, with the some of the money he had stolen during the week. The fat man had had almost £10 on him the night before, so Wayne was quite well off for his standards. On Sundays the bakery cooked fresh cakes, all of which delighted Wayne. He especially liked the coconut cream cakes, with strawberry jam in the middle. Another quite significant reason Wayne went to the bakery so often was for Joan. Joan was 22 years old, and Wayne was crazy about her. He had watched her walk home, and knew where she lived. Sometimes he waited outside her house in the mornings and watched her walk to work. She only worked on Sundays, so Wayne made sure he always went and bought something from the shop.
Joan knew that this man liked her, and the idea made her sick. She was certain that there was something wrong with him. She could tell by the look in his eye. So when he entered the shop on this Sunday morning, Joan sighed with frustration.
“Hello,” Wayne said, pretending to be looking at the selection of cakes, but his eyes really focused on the young woman’s cleavage.
“So what will it be today then sir?” Joan said, forcing a smile, as she was required to do for work. The clouds over Wayne’s heart cleared. That smile made him feel special, and he could have stood there all day just staring. But he didn’t.
“I would like two of those coconut cream cakes,” he started, “and one of those large lemon cakes.” Embarrassed, Wayne rubbed away the spit that had flown onto the sneeze guard when he said ‘cakes’. He prayed that Joan had not noticed. She had noticed, and she was struggling not to wretch as the smell of this man surrounded her.
“Ok then, will there be anything else I can help you with?”
“Not for now,” Wayne said with a wink, trying desperately to chat her up.
“Ok then one minute,” Joan said, and turned to get a bag, her eyes rolling up in the back of her head in disgust. She wrapped and packaged the goods, and put them on the counter, before pressing some buttons on the cash register, and pulling out the bill. “That will be £9.75 please,” she said in a typical way.
Wayne reached into his pocket and felt around for his money. He scooped up all of the change he could find, and placed each coin on the counter in turn, counting as he went. He reached £9.40 and paused, finding he had no money left.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking great care not to spit when he pronounced the ‘s’, “but I don’t have any money left.”
“Well,” started Joan, removing one of the coconut cream cakes from the bag, “without this it only comes to £7.25. Is that ok?”
“Couldn’t you please let me off the last 35pence,” he said. Surely she would allow him 35pence off.
“I’m sorry too. But all of the other customers are paying for theirs, and you are no different to any of them. So either I remove an item from the bag, or you pay me £9.75. Its your choice.”
Those words cut through Wayne like a serrated knife. ‘No different to any of the other customers’ What was she saying? He had never felt so strongly about anyone before. Without saying anything, Wayne left the shop, his money, and his cakes still on the counter.
9 hours later, Joan was preparing to leave work. She took off her apron and hung it on the hook. She took an angel cake as a snack, and left. It was 15 minutes walk to her house from the bakery, but Joan didn’t even think as she walked, the journey had become so routine. She took out her key, and was about to push it into the lock when she noticed that the door was already open. There were some odd scratch marks on the door frame, where it appeared the door had been forced open.
Cautiously she stepped inside, and was greeted with silence. The eerie, unnerving sound of nothing. She took one step, then one more, until she turned to enter the lounge. She stumbled backwards
