The police had left and Robert had only just begun to drift off, when he was woken by another knock on the door. What the fuck? He had nodded in the right places just to get them out the door quicker. Looking at the clock, he saw it was just after one-thirty in the morning. Now he was really pissed off. If this is those fucking coppers again I swear to God! He yanked the door open, ready to shout What? in their faces, but it wasn’t the coppers.
‘Who the fuck are you? Do you know what time it is?’ He began to shut the door, but a swift movement caught Robert’s eye. By the time he realized that a needle had been plunged into his neck, it was too late. He felt the sting of the injection, the burn of liquid flooding into his veins. He stumbled and almost fell. Tried to reach up and touch the spot on his neck where the needle had entered, but his limbs were like lead and he slipped down to his knees in the hallway. He heard the front door close but he couldn’t move. His eyes stared straight ahead and a mist clouded his vision as he collapsed onto the floor. A strange sensation took over, an aching and burning that twisted through his neck and down into his back. Looking up at the ceiling, Robert realized that nearly every muscle in his body was paralyzed. His blood ran cold.
What the fuck is happening?
He was fully awake and in his head he was screaming – but no sound escaped his lips. Robert felt his pulse rising as panic took hold. Swallowing and breathing became more difficult. It was then Robert realized the truth.
Oh, my god, I’m going to die.
The person stepped over him and pulled his arms up over his head, dragging him back into the tiny bedsit. Robert stared helplessly at the ceiling as he was left to lie between his bed and the black bin bags lined up against the cupboards. A noise made him look in the direction of the person and he saw more syringes being pulled from their pocket. He could still feel everything, time seemed to have slowed, and Robert was terrified.
The first hit to his face caught him off guard.
He was too preoccupied with the fact that he was completely helpless to notice the small wooden bat coming towards his face. A pool of urine lay beneath him, his tracksuit bottoms felt damp. A combat-style boot kicked him in his ribs and then landed right on his stomach, winding him.
Why is this happening?
Robert thought he’d endured as much pain as humanly possible, until he saw the knife and heard the laughter.
‘Ooooh, pissy pants. Let’s see how you like this.’ The voice was muffled, barely recognizable, and then Robert felt the edge of the cold blade prodding at his neck.
‘You like to rape and beat women. Don’t think that will be happening anymore now, do you?’
The blade sliced across his windpipe and a cold, wet sensation tickled his neck as the blood pooled beside him.
‘Lights out now, Robbie-boy. I’m sure your wife won’t even shed a tear when she finds out.’
Another kick to his side jarred him as the person walked out, closing the door behind them.
Robert Millard lay on the floor struggling to breathe. He felt a tingling sensation in his lower region. He began to cry as the blackness descended; and his final wish was that hell wasn’t as bad as they made it out to be.