by Ivor B.

Created on: December 30, 2010

The pungent stench of blood and urine filled the atmosphere. Something had to: there was no light, no sound, and no soul. The faces that might have stared at the pair had they entered during the day would have thought that they were just there to judge them, to make fun of them, as they didn't understand what it was like to have no trust in their lives because everyone thought that they were crazy. Other patients would have probably been too self-obsessed to even notice that they entered. The walls seemed to be a canvas for very detailed drawings of cartoon and video games characters (the most popular seemed to be Bowser from Super Mario). In fact, it had seemed like a children's hospital rather than a psychiatric institute.

Normally Cathy would oppose such violence as she had already seen enough of it in her life, but what this man did to her younger brother was despicable and unforgivable. Their father, Tony, on the other hand, would gladly take his fists and cause a quake, shattering the offending person's skull. No one was to use their fists that night - instead Tony clutched the dirty, heavy, rusty blood coated wrench that Cathy had once used on him. He wasn't wearing a glove; he wasn't worried about leaving his or Cathy's DNA on anything. Neither of their hearts raced: they knew exactly what they were going to do, how they were going to do it and that no one could trace it back to them.
Heavy footsteps grew louder and echoed in the bare tunnel-like corridors. A rather tall and muscular black man with sunken panda eyes, a crooked nose, a deep red scar starting from his right eyebrow and ending at the corner of his mouth, black stubble all over his neck but a face like silk started to emerge from the shadow and approach Tony and Cathy. There was no mistake that it was him. Even before the incident with Craig, they watched over him like an eagle: they knew where he lived; his favourite food; favourite nightclub; favourite pub; how often he shaved properly; how often he used the toilet; how many affairs he was having; the fact that he'd make a human punch bag out of his wife if she was ever to confront him over the fact that he was seeing other women. He stopped in front of Cathy and stared at her. She stared back.
"If only I wasn't married.", he chuckled, "But then again, just because I'm not single, it doesn't mean I'm not available."
Cathy's lip curled and tears fell from her eyes, causing a flood. She hung her head and let her dyed, greasy fringe fall over

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