The next few weeks were torture. Full of self hatred I kept myself away from everyone scared I would fill with that same horrid power urge. I would avoid people's eyes and never put my hand up in lessons. It was sort of like I was on a horrible lonely island all by myself and no one could reach me across the sea I had made myself. My friends tried to ask me what was wrong but I just pushed past them mumbling,
"I'm fine just busy" In a low voice till they didn't bother me anymore.
I told them I had to walk home quickly so I didn't have to walk with them. Really I'd go and sit in a park on the old mossy bench that looked as if it was something from ancient history and some strange magic was holding the splintered wood together. I think I chose that park because of it echoed my mood. It was clearly never tended for and was covered in weeds. The path in was hardly noticeable because of this, and stinging nettle and brambles reached in from either side to snare your clothes or skin. The climbing frames on the crumbly tarmac (that look like it would seriously hurt you if you fell on it.) looked as if their rusty iron poles might fall down if a feather landed on them (though no birds would dare to fly over such a barren place). It was a dump of a park that looked as if it had come from hell and got ten times worse here on earth. The hoodies that sat in a corner by a fallen down wall just added to the sinister atmosphere of the place. Normally I would of left as soon as I saw them but I was to busy drowning in self hatred to care about them.
My mother must of fretted about me coming home hours late but she never showed after the first day, I love her for that, for letting me do my own thing. But maybe, just maybe, it would of stopped me doing what I did held me back...well I doubt it what happed was what happed and nothing is going to change it.
I not sure exactly how long this went on for because the days merged into each other for they were all so similar. But roughly 3 weeks later I was sitting there thinking of the poor man my father killed and how much they must hate me and my father. There was a slight rustle in the over grown bush behind me with what looked like poisonous bright red berries on looking as if they were saying go on eat me then. I hardly noticed so engrossed in my thoughts until there was a man standing right in front of me. When I saw him first out of the corner of my eye I thought he was one of the hoodies come to scare me of but in fact it was someone much, much worse.
He was tall and totally dressed in black. He had a rough black linen shirt not tucked all the way round into a pair of black jeans. He had smart black shoes that had been somewhat scuffed and dark shades pushed up over his hair. But I looked at none of this. I had literally frozen to my seat. I could recognize the man before me even though last time I saw him his hair was longer and now was stubble against his head and had had browner eyes, he was now wearing green contacts making his eyes hazel. Also he was more tanned. But all these changes did not disguise him from me. He had the same long strait nose and dark hair I had seen in the newspaper, that I had seen in myself so many times. He was my...my father.
"Hello Macey, thought I'd see you here." He said in a sly voice that made my blood turn cold.
"Its good to see you my girl, very good indeed."
God, I thought, goodbye world.
I really thought then that I was going to die. I thought my father was some sort of psychopath and had been searching for me for the one reason, to kill me. But it seems he wanted me for something entirely different,
"Well Maceianna. Or Macey as your mother calls you." His voice was strangely normal kind of conversational in fact. But there was something about it, a sort funny sneering edge to it that made my blood run cold.
"Well my girl, there is a lot, and I emphasize that, a lot for me to explain" He sneered as he said that then looked at me in a patronizing way.
"I know already." I muttered, "You're a murderer, a murderer and my... my father." I gulped scared that saying that might only bring on my death sooner.
"I see your mother has told you about me. I suppose it's a good thing, now I don't have to waste so much of my time." Then there was a long gap. The silence was so scary it made me feel like I couldn't breath, like there were solid chains strapping my arms to the bench and weighing me down. Finally when I could bear it no longer I whispered,
"Get it over with."
"Uh" he said looking confused.
"No, no of course I heard!" he said looking angry I at the thought I thought he couldn't hear what I was saying.
"I just don't follow...Oh I see!" He smiled a grim smile, "You think I'm going to murder you my dear girl." He leant closer to me and spoke in almost a whisper,
"Oh yes I have the power to do so, I mean naturally..." He leaned over behind me and closed his hand tight around an old battered lamppost and swiftly bent it backwards as easily and naturally as if he was just picking up a pencil till the light hit the bush behind us.
"But of course", He said standing up and dusting his hands,
"I would never dream of hurting you, my girl." The corner of his lip curled up in a sneer and revealed very sharp teeth that were almost unnatural. The way he said it implied there was certain rules that I would have to follow for that to be entirely true.