Rescued by the Beast

Five

Kian

At some point during the early morning, my exhausted mind succumbed to a dreamless slumber.

I didn't hear Dad calling me from the doorway, nor him stalking into my room to shake my shoulder. It was the shock of the cold liquid drenching me that ripped me from my serene-like state.

"Huh? Dad! What the hell?" I spluttered, aghast.

He gave a gruff hmph, scowling down at me, clutching an empty glass in his hand. "I've been calling you for the past twenty minutes," he complained.

"Sorry," I grumbled, rolling out of bed.

"We leave in ten minutes," he mentioned, widening his eyes seriously before stalking out of the room.

I rolled to sit on the edge of my bed, hearing the front door open and Dad's Jeep engine roar to life. The guy had zero patience, and I knew better than to keep him waiting. After hurrying into the bathroom to do my business, I washed, scrubbed my teeth, then dressed quickly. Mom was still sound asleep when we left.

"First things first," Dad mumbled as we were nearing the center of town. "You need fuel in that belly of yours." He glanced down at me. "Have you been skipping meals? You're skin and bones, boy."

It took me a while to figure out what to say to him. As I thought about what to tell him, my eyes fixated on the passing scenery. One side of town was being restored back to its former glory and resembled a construction site. The old town hall was having a major overhaul. There was scaffolding all around the clock tower. Workers were shoveling sand and cement into big yellow mixers, making the necessary preparations before they began repainting all the century-old brickwork.

The skilled craftsmanship of our community was out on display in both bricks and mortar and the wooden structures that had been expertly carved and constructed by hand. My eyes flared wide with all the wonder and intrigue of a child's ambition. All I ever wanted was to use these hands to create something extraordinary, not to cause pain and destruction. I wish Dad could see that.

"A boy your age should be cleaning out the kitchen. I was twice your build at your age. You sure as hell don't look like much," he continued the lecture in his usual gruff tone.

This time, I answered. "There's never anything in the kitchen, Dad. Mrs. Banks knows, and she's been feeding me. She started making me breakfast and packing my lunch for school," I told him all he ought to know. I saw how his fingers gripped the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. He was the provider of the family. It was only right that he knew just how far his hard-earned money went.

Dad had side lines to pay for his drinking habit. Whether it be from gambling or busting it out in the Cage. As far as he knew, the full paychecks he was sending home every month were being used to run the household. It mitigated some of the guilt he felt for all the time he spent away from home.

"What?" He sounded almost disgusted, but the shock in his voice masked it.

He glanced back down at me, horrified. "Your mom hasn't been feeding you?"

When I shook my head, a series of profanities spewed from his mouth.

"I didn't know that, son," Dad spoke in all honesty. "Rest assured, things are gonna start changing, or so help me, Goddess!"

"It's better when you're home," I told him. "Mom's different when you're around."

Dad's shoulders drooped with a heavy sigh. "Your momma's complicated, son. She's fine for a week or two, but then she's climbing the walls." He shook whatever thoughts away, then shot me a rueful smile. Those were rare. It meant he was sorry. I knew that. But it also meant he would be leaving again soon, and that sucked.

"You know I have to go to work." He spared me the sugar-coated version he used to give to me when I was a little younger. Now he chose to cut straight to the point. "The bills don't pay themselves. I gotta keep a roof over our heads, and by Christ, I ought to be putting food in your belly. It f***s me off to high heaven, hearing that my own boy isn’t being taken care of. This is why I have to train you well. You gotta hold the fort while I'm gone. In my absence, you're the man of the house. You need to put your momma straight and take none of her s**t, do you hear?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, relieved that he cared so much. It was all the reassurance I needed to hear.

"Let me worry about fixing all of your momma's mess before I leave. We'll go eat breakfast first, then we'll begin your training." He sounded exhausted, like this was a huge dent in his pride.

Telling Dad was the right thing to do, even though he would probably drink himself into a coma later tonight. Better he heard it now than when our house got repossessed. At least he could set right any damage that may have incurred through Mom not paying bills. It might mean a few extra nights in the Cage, but I knew I could count on Dad to pull us straight.

We got breakfast to go, then drove into Lakewell, straight to the Cage. Everything looked different in broad daylight. Less intimidating and much more relaxed. We left the Jeep parked up by the marina, then headed through the back streets of town.

Even in the picturesque lakeside town of Lakewell, there were sketchy areas hidden from view. Beyond the cute little tea rooms and quaint boutiques was the underbelly of Satan himself. Rundown buildings stood side by side like a mouth full of broken teeth. Garbage cans overflowed onto the sidewalks, and gangs stood around menacingly, looking to start trouble.

Dad steered me through the narrow streets, down a flight of uneven concrete steps with graffitied walls on either side. The scent of stale piss carried on the air, making it unpleasant to inhale. The grim sight of hypodermic needles laying on the ground brought a whole other level of unsanitary. We were walking among the filth. This was the smell of desperation and hopelessness. No place for anyone to be. Let alone me.

"Stay close to me, Kian," Dad warned as we came out onto a low-level street. Rough-looking guys wearing leather waistcoats, jeans, and heavy boots stood around a row of parked motorcycles. The ink up their arms could rival the tags along the walls, leaving not a trace of bare skin to be seen.

They turned in our direction as we approached, ending their conversation abruptly. Dad flicked the butt of his cigarette, then gripped the top of my arm, pulling me along to match his strides. I saw for myself the dangers all around us, but next to him, I knew I was safe.