Jacqui Rose - Avenged

Patrick glanced at the other boys; up close for the first time. They were all dressed in the same dull clothing with the same dull look in their eyes. How long they’d been here, Patrick didn’t know, but it was clear it was every boy for himself.

There was no question of backing down from the challenger. It was obvious to Patrick the boy was looking for a fight whether he wanted one or not. Sighing with resignation and hoping it wouldn’t come to blows, Patrick squared up.

‘If I remember rightly, I was minding me own. It was you who called me first. I’m not looking for a tear, but mind, I’ll not walk away from one either. It’s down to you.’

The boy looked at Patrick, weighing him up in his disdain. He turned his sneer into a contemptuous smile and as Patrick continued to stand his ground, he noticed there was a look of uncertainty in the boy’s green eyes.

‘Well, ’tis lucky for you I’m in a good mood, new boy, otherwise you may well have felt a bunch of knuckles down your throat.’

Patrick didn’t say anything. He could tell the boy was going to leave it, and that suited him. He didn’t need trouble, not with the boys and certainly not with the priests. All he wanted to do was get out of the place and go back home. The only thing he hadn’t worked out was how the hell he was going to do that.

As the boy turned to go, he barked a warning to Patrick. ‘But let me make it clear to you, new boy. It’s me that runs this dormitory and I’ll not have any country rat coming in to try to take over. They call me Killer, and to be sure, I’m not called it for nothing. You’d do well to remember that.’

Patrick stayed silent. He stared, watching Killer – who couldn’t have been any older than he was – walk across to his area of the dorm.

Patrick was about to sit back down but, for no apparent reason, Killer struck out at another boy who’d been minding his own business lying on his bed. The kick was hard and cruel, carrying the weight of Killer’s heavy boots and hatred behind it. From across the dorm, Patrick listened as Killer taunted the younger boy.

‘ You grubby bleedin’ nigger, get out of me fecking sight. I can’t stand the sight of ye and the smell of ye is making me sick to my stomach.’

The boy scurried off his bunk bed, much to the amusement of Killer and his gang. Killer grabbed the boy by his shirt.

‘Knock into me, will you? What were you trying to do, nigger boy? Looking for a fight?’

The boy’s face was full of fear and his eyes darted about the room as Killer held him tightly. Patrick could see tears of terror rolling down his cheeks.

To the delight of the other boys, who cheered and bellowed and stamped their feet in encouragement, Killer’s fist smashed into the boy’s face, splitting open his lip.

The boy, his mouth covered in blood, began to talk, desperate to stop the unprovoked attack. He blubbed an apology to Killer, who stood with amusement on his face at the boy’s obvious terror. The boy trembled as he spoke.

‘Sorry, Killer … Sorry! I never meant to.’

‘You never meant to what? Be a nigger?’

The roars of laughter sounded around the dormitory and, egged on by the boys’ jeering, Killer slapped the small black boy around his face.

‘Leave him alone!’ It was Patrick who spoke. He walked up behind Killer, his fists clenched with anger.

‘I said leave him alone.’

Killer grabbed the boy around his neck, putting him in a headlock before turning round to look at the person who dared challenge him. He sneered. ‘I told you. I run this dorm; ’tis none of your business what I do to the nigger, but mark my words, you’ll be next.’

Undaunted by Killer’s threat, Patrick shouted. ‘Me name’s Patrick. Patrick Doyle, and I’ll tell you again; leave him alone .’

Killer looked around at the other boys who were all entertained by the confrontation. ‘And what are you going to do about it, new boy?’

‘I won’t have to do anything if you let him go. Pick on someone your own size, you bloody bollocks. Now leave him alone; otherwise ’tis you who’ll get it.’

Killer didn’t move. He grinned nastily and gripped the boy even harder so he squealed.

Patrick looked at the boy ensnared in the grip of this six-foot lanky boy. He saw the tears and the fear etched into his face.

‘Let him go, you bastard!’ Picking up a bible that lay on the small locker next to where he now stood, Patrick aimed and threw it with all his might, hitting Killer directly in the face.

The corner of the hardback bible caught Killer on his lip, squirting blood across and down his body. He yelled out, partly in surprise and partly in pain, cupping his hands over his mouth before unleashing his anger. His face was bright red and his eyes bulged as he screamed at Patrick.

‘Come here! Come back here!’

Killer dropped his grip on the boy, enabling the terrified child to wriggle free and scrabble to the safety of his bed. He then lunged at Patrick, taking a swing at his head. He missed; instead grabbing hold of Patrick’s top and causing it to rip.

Patrick allowed his natural gift for fighting and his survival instincts to take over. He turned and head-butted Killer, splitting open the boy’s forehead and causing a river of deep red blood to gush out.

Enraged, Killer swung at Patrick through searing pain to the soundtrack of cheering boys. His fist connected with Patrick’s nose with rifle-like precision.

The pain took under a second to hit him, but instead of it hampering his efforts it drove Patrick on. His eyes widened and his fists beat as he jumped on Killer, battering him in a blind rage.

The two boys’ blood and sweat combined together. Grappling arms, kicks and bites were all poured into the mix as they rolled on the floor, both determined to be the victor.

On the ground now, Patrick felt his sides being booted by the circle of other boys. He knew he had to get up if he were to stand a chance. With one huge effort and summoning the last of his strength, Patrick ground his elbow into Killer’s face, damaging his already broken nose.

With Killer swathed in agony, it allowed Patrick to get up from the concrete floor. He leant over him and began to finish off the fight. He gave a final kick to his opponent, making it clear he was the winner.

Panting and exhausted, blood running into his mouth, Patrick now pointed at the other boys. He stood firm in front of the petrified young black boy as he spoke.

‘This is to all of you. So listen carefully at what I’m saying. You leave him alone, do ye hear me? Any of you come near him again. Anyone. I’ll kill you, make no mistake.’

Patrick held the gazes of the other lads before turning round to look at the boy. He winked and got a grateful smile in return. The boy looked shyly at Patrick. He spoke quietly with a slight lisp. ‘My name’s Cabhan, but everyone calls me Cab.’

Patrick winced in pain as he wiped the running blood from his face. Putting out his hand he said, ‘Well, Cab, it’s good to meet you. My name’s Patrick.’

The boy grinned, relief and gratitude coming out in the form of tears. ‘Not as good as it is to meet you, Patrick. For sure, I’ll never forget what you’ve done. Not for the rest of me life.’

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