Richard Mason's daughter Rosalie was his life and world. His wife Holly had died during child birth. Richard had never taken a new wife, Instead devoting his world to Rosalie, she had kept him from insanity. 16 Years on and the glue that keeps Richard together, suddenly crumbles.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
Richard took a step closer, looking further into her deep crystal blue eyes. Behind the mask of make-up was an endless pit of insecurities, drawing her close as a single tear spilled from her chin. Holding her allowing her head to burrow in to his shoulder as she freely wept against the fabric of his shirt, Richard whispered softly into her ear. Comforting words spilled from his mouth as Richard held the girl securely telling her he would never let her go. Richard slowly reached down to the back of her knees and lifted her as if she were a china doll.
He carried her through the dark streets counting the pools of orange light cast by the street lamps that marked the trail back to their home.When we reached the door to our apartment, Richard gently placed her back on her own feet to unlocked the door, never fully letting go. Kicking the door open, he flicked on the lights and swept Rosalie back up in to his arms, taking her to her room and placed her upon her bed. She lay there crying in to her feather filled pillow. The sight made his stomach turn, how could such an innocent girl have been treated this way, be abused in such a despicable fashion?
His jaw clenched in rage as Richard thought about how he had found his child laying in a street, alone, bloody and humiliated beyond description. The torrent of vile emotions it wrought in him scared him. Richard sat down on her bed and drew Rosalie back in to his embrace, he stayed like this for an eternity until the sobs that wracked her fragile frame subsided, He was helpless to do anything but hold her close. Her breath had slowed to a slow juddering intake. She looked up at her father and whispered a single name “B...B...Brandon.” As soon as the name had left her lips the sobs returned tenfold.
Anger gripped Richard, he spoke into her hair whispering “Don’t worry, my little girl, I'll sort this, your going to be okay, just sleep. Daddy will fix this. I Promise.” With those words He lifted her up on a single arm as he had done when she was no more than a babe. Richard threw her duvet aside and lay her upon the silky bed sheet, covering her with the silk duvet he delicately tucked her in, gently singing to her “Hush now baby, baby, don’t you cry.” Before long she had cried herself to sleep, whimpering in her sleep at what must have been a nightmarish re-account of the previous events.
Richard walked towards the kitchen and poured a large glass of bourbon. Sitting on the couch opposite, He gulped at his drink as his mind churned in lividity before drifting off into a restless sleep. Richard awoke early as light crept through the cracks in the curtains to fall upon his face; he looked at his watch, 6:30, Great. he thought then rose off the couch and sneaked to Rosalie's room, peaking in through the door. She was curled up in a ball, both hands held a soft small doll as if she was finding comfort in an earlier and more innocent place. Ugly purple blushes were welling up on her wrists and neck marring the perfection of her beautiful skin. Richard could only imagine the ordeal she went through, he winced at the thought with nausea (and whisky) rising violently in his stomach, he dashed for the bathroom.
After showering roughly, he dressed in jeans and a suede jacket. Richard had a long day ahead of him, he just hoped Rosalie could stay sane for a day. after that his thoughts turned the way's he was going to hurt Brandon. He decided to let Rosalie sleep for as long as she could, hoping by some miracle she could find sanctuary in her dreams. He wrote a note telling Rosalie He had gone to the supermarket to buy some necessities, He hated lying to her but if She knew what he was planning to do, things could get a lot worse.
He grabbed his jacket and car keys and left Apartment No 22, Sandown building. Richard sat in the seat of his car, a boring beige Volkswagon Passat. His head drop in to his hands. A tear rolled through his fingers on to the steering wheel; He drew a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Regaining his composure he started the engine. Richard drove on auto pilot, ignoring most stop signs, his gear changes came as naturally as breathing. He raced through the small town of Northwood, he broke the speed limit and then some, but at half past seven on a Sunday morning, nobody was around. the only people who weren't at church were criminals, and they weren't on main roads. He broke out on to the duel carriageway the accelerator pedal hit the floor and the Passat shot off, half an hour of racing parallel to the M56 until the slip road appeared, then the seemingly endless bore of motorway almost driving set in, but Richard was consumed by a cool rage. Determination enveloped his face.
Junctions came and went. zipping past him at tremendous speed. when the slip road for the A5103 finally approached Richard, he switched lanes and dived off the motorway. He turned of the carriageway and on to a council estate built around the outskirts of Manchester. Moss side was rough. no denying that. he had to be careful. he pulled in to into a parking lot opposite nine houses. there was an alley between the buildings. he reached in to the compartment hidden beneath the floor mat and pulled out a heavy sap, made of leather and filled with sawdust. Richard waited... and waited after about 3 hours of sitting, eyes intently fixed upon No.209 Broadfield road. Then Richard saw him leave. A tall young man of seventeen. The collar of his polo shirt was flipped up, covering his neck. His futile attempt to cover the evidence of his vile crime had framed his handsome iniquitous face perfectly. Brandon takes a shifty look around, before fading in to the dark alley up the alley. Now is Richard's chance.
Richard left his car and casually walked toward the dank alley, the whole time gripping and releasing the sap he had concealed in his jacket pocket. The Alley entrance was narrow and covered by what must be flats. Richard ventured down, carefully, yet trying to look as casual as possible. The overwhelming smell of sewage slapped him in the face first, then he spotted the sewage manhole cover. His plan fell in to perfect place. About fifteen feet ahead of him, Brandon was stood in the centre of the alley his head bent over looking at something. Creeping closer toward his target, Richard removed the sap from his jacket. Drawing his arm back, deadly silent he swung for the centre of Brandon's head.
The crack was almighty, the sound resonated around the enclosed passage and ended with a dull thud as Brandon dropped to the floor. Richard waited for all the noise settle, then dragged the boy over to the manhole. Speedily opening the sewage entrance, he kicked Brandon's unconscious body and listened for the thud. Thankfully it came relatively quick, so Richard jumped in after him, pulling the hatch closed as he went.