Ahead of his Time, Adrian Cousins [short story to read .txt] 📗

tight black dress fell silent. Pushing his hand on the side of her face, he forced her head into the grass.

“Make a sound, bitch, and you’re dead.”

She didn’t move as her right eye swivelled around, trying to see him. He held his hand tight on her head and sat on her stomach, taking a moment to catch his breath. He had his prey. It was a secluded spot, and the air was warm. Perfect. He could have a play, take his time and savour the moment. He licked his lips.

“Please, please,” she whimpered.

He loved this. She scrunched her eyes closed and shook. Her whole body now trembling – even better, he thought.

This wasn’t the first time Sarah had suffered a sexual assault, and if they could be categorised, this was far worse than the last time all those years ago. Although her attacker had fled, Sarah wasn’t sure how long she’d lain sobbing in the foetal position. Whilst he raped her, he’d held her head tightly to the ground. Sarah had managed to swivel her eye and look at him and, although dark, she’d recognised the face – a face she knew – a face she’d never forget.

6

17th January 1977

Boycie

“Have you reached a verdict upon which you all agree?” The court clerk stood erect, a confident boom to his voice as he addressed the foreman of the jury. The court was deathly quiet as everyone awaited the verdict. However, everyone knew it was a foregone conclusion as the jury had filed back into the packed court after only retiring for two hours. This was a discouraging sign for the defence counsel who sat slumped on his bench, resigned to the inevitability of a lost case.

“Yes.” came the reply from the foreman, a gentleman in his late sixties, wearing a green knitted cardigan with only the bottom leather button fastened. His checked-shirted belly pushed through the gap, giving the appearance he was at least eight months pregnant.

“How do you find the defendant on the charge of attempted murder, contrary to common law under the Criminal Law Act 1967, guilty or not guilty?” the clerk asked.

“Guilty,” the foreman replied. Hands clasped behind his back and his chin in the air, now appearing pleased he’d conscientiously completed his civic duty.

The small gathering in the front row of the public gallery jumped for joy, cheering and hugging. Patrick Colney slouched in the dock, staring at the judge showing no emotion. His ‘brief’ had advised this was a likely verdict and had urged him to plead guilty, so he wasn’t surprised. He wouldn’t get long. He’d be out in eight, ten at worst, and his old man would protect him inside. Anyway, he had the ‘Colney’ name – no one messed with his family.

As he glanced up to the gallery, the cheering tossers calmed down. The family of Robert Moore he presumed – the bloke he’d stabbed. His twin brother, Paul, stood staring at him. Patrick winked back and mouthed, “It will be okay, look after Mum.” He continued to stare up at the public gallery as two prison officers re-applied the handcuffs in preparation to transport him back to prison. His girlfriend didn’t look at him as she sat with her head bowed below the railing, causing her mass of blonde hair to flop forward over her face.

Paul was seething. This was shaping up to be a really shit six months. His old man’s sentence extended by three years for a charge of actual bodily harm to a prison officer, then his younger brother, David, had fallen to his death last September. Now his twin brother was going to be banged up as well. It took all his self-control, and he didn’t have much, to not smash someone’s face in.

The Moore family filed out of the public gallery, all except one averted their eyes from Paul. The teenage girl who’d caused all the problems to start with raised her chin defiantly and looked straight into Paul’s eyes. Sarah Moore, that was her name. Someday, somehow, he’d deal with her. His now dead younger brother, David, had enjoyed a fumble with her. Well, he’d do more than a fumble, and he imagined strangling the life out of the pompous little cow or pumping her full of heroin as he had Carol Hall. Paul smirked as he remembered squeezing the syringe into Carol’s arm and watching her life drift away. Sarah Moore would get the same as no one got one-up on the Colneys.

Patrick's girlfriend stood and wiped her eyes on her coat’s sleeve and then glanced at Paul. Although he was Patrick's identical twin, he was evil and she hated him. She loved Patrick, but his family were hell. His mother terrified her, and she wished Paul would die like his younger brother David had last year. She’d seen two men drop David off the roof of Belfast house but had kept that information to herself. As far as she was concerned they were heroes, and no way was she going to rat them out. The only disappointment was she wished Paul had dropped to his death along with David.

She knew Patrick was different, although no angel as he’d stabbed that bloke, resulting in his appearance in court today. However, it was David’s fault in the first place for being such a pervert. If David hadn’t assaulted Sarah Moore, her father would never have bounded up to the Broxworth, and Patrick wouldn’t have had to get involved.

Paul grinned at her. “I’ll keep you warm at night while Patrick’s away,” he said, and then suggestively poked out his tongue whilst making a moaning sound.

“Piss off,” she threw at him, as she bolted for the exit door.

“Your loss, girlie.” Shame though, as Patrick would be banged-up for a while and she was hot with a nice tight arse. Maybe he’d take her anyway as there was nothing Patrick could do about it now. Paul stretched out his legs, propping them up on the