Less than half a mile from where John Watson lay on his bed
contemplating the events of the day another teenage boy lay on a
bed thinking about what was happening to him. His head hurting
from the mixture of booze and drugs that the had forced him to
drink. His body aching from the abuse in had received.
He shivered from the cold as the only protection his naked body
had was a thin worn blanket.
He could hear the sound of crying coming from the room next door,
mixed with this was the sound of men cheering and clapping. There
had been another boy at the farmhouse when they bought him there.
He knew that the would be coming for him soon. that was the world
that he was part off, but this was different, violence and pain
wasn't part of what he had been part off. The people at the home
had said it would be like the other times and that he would have
money for it like all the other times and live would go on like
the other times and he would still be the same person like all
the other times.
He pulled himself out of the bed and shakily stood on his feet.
The shivered as the cold air hit his skin. The weakness in his
kneesthe pain inside his stomach, something warm and wet ran down
the back of his legs. He touched the back of his leg and recoiled
in horror as he saw the dark red blood drip from between his
fingers.He knew that he had to get out of this place. His life
depended on it. There was an old tee shirt lying on the paper
strewn floor. It was covered in oil stains and was three sizes
too big for him but it would offer some protection against the
He walked as quietly as he could over to the bedroom window he
opened it as quietly and peered out into the cold black night.
The ground was about six feet away, not too far to lower himself
down. Once there he could get lost in the darkness find another
farm house or make it to a road and make it to safety. He didn't
even know where he was. When the men in the car had picked him up
from the home the had put a blindfold over his eyes so he
couldn't see when he was going. The car had smelt of stale beer
He opened the window as far as it would go and pulled himself up
on to the ledge. He looked down at the ground. From this position
it looked even further away. He would count to three and then
jump down, at that moment he head the bedroom door open and
someone let go a surprised cry of anger. He quickly lowered
himself forward and fell downwards. He heard the sound of ripping
material as the baggy tee shirt caught on a hook hanging from the
wall and was Instantly ripped from his body. He landed naked on
the soft wet ground with a resounding thump. He felt pain shoot
from his ankle and travel up his leg. He cried out in pain but he
knew that he had to get up and try to keep moving. He ran as fast
as he could, pain shooting through his body. The key was to keep
moving and given the cold muddy ground this would be difficult.
The farmhouse door banged open and the men stormed out. He heard
the sound of raised voice as he made it to the open field.He
could see the lights of an estate in the distance ahead down the
slopping field, no more that five hundred yards away. He was
moving faster now, the pain in his ankle had turned into a mild
throbbingache.The voices were further behind him now growing
softer and softer. Perhaps they had decided to let him go. This
though ran through his brain with a kaleidoscopic swiftness,
perhaps some one had been looking out for him after all. Perhaps
there was a God after all.
He heard a bang behind him and felt something wiz past his left
ear. What was that, A shot? Were they so angry that they wanted
to shoot him….
He was getting close to the end of the field, not far to go now
just a few more yards and he was safe.
He heard another bang and felt a sudden sharp pain strike him in
the small of his back . He fell forward and struck the ground and
flipped over and started to role down the riverbank. He cried out
as he hit the freezing cold water. Another bolt of pain shot
through his entire body. He cried out in the vain hope that
someone might hear him and come to his rescue. He could see dark
figures standing at the top of the riverbank. They were looking
down at him. Immobile, waiting for him to try and move. All
physical strength had left his body and he had lost the will to
try and fight the desire to fall asleep. He thought that if he
could just make it up to his feet he might be able to walk.
Some people in the Downshire estate have heard the two shots ring
out. Like two muffled sounds cutting through the night sky. No
one called the police. In Fact the police hardly ever came into
the estate and if they did it was in great numbers. Four or five
paddy wagons were needed. If fact crime on the estate was almost
non existent, for it was known that if you engaged in anti social
behaviour the local boot boys would put a bullet in your kneecaps
or you would be told to move to another town. They were judge and
Jury. No one crossed them. To cross them would mean death.
Curtains remained closed and no one went outside to investigate
the sound. This was the way things were. This was the way it
would always be.