Mick had spent the day drinking in his flat. The tag meant he couldn’t leave after 6 p.m., so he went out early, grabbed some lager and settled on his couch watching TV. He felt a breeze on the back of his neck and looked over his shoulder to the open window behind him. He pulled up the collar on his shirt. Couldn’t be arsed with getting up and closing it. Put his feet up on the table and cracked a can, flicked through the channels. Eventually sleep took over.
The crash on the floor woke him. What the fuck was that? Mick looked around but it was pitch-black. He had to wait as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He saw the ashtray from the windowsill smashed on the floor. The window was wide open and it was freezing cold. Mick got up to have a closer look and stepped carefully over the broken ashtray. He thought he heard a creaking floorboard, and turned towards the kitchen. Nothing. Probably just his neighbours. He closed the window and bent to pick up the larger pieces of glass. Something plunged into his neck.
He tried to scream but a gloved hand clamped his mouth shut from behind. Mick struggled to reach his neck, but his hand was too heavy. As the liquid surged through his veins, he felt his body crumple and he landed like a piece of lead on the floor, facedown.
‘Well we can’t have that, now, can we, Mick?’ He didn’t recognize the voice. ‘I need to see that pretty face of yours.’
The figure grunted as they turned him over. The shadowy figure was padded out in a black bomber jacket, black hoodie, a mask and combat boots. Mick felt sick to his stomach. He was afraid that if he puked, he would choke on his own vomit. He couldn’t move a single muscle, but could feel everything. His eyes darted around the room, afraid that if he lost sight of the person, they would land another kick in his side. His chest tightened with fear.
‘Think I’ll have a look around your flat, Mick. You don’t mind, do you?’ The hooded figure laughed. Mick was screaming inside, as loud as he could, but there was nothing … no sound left his body.
The shadow stepped over him, and Mick strained his eyes to watch them head towards his kitchen. He knew it was filthy, but now wasn’t the time to worry or care. His attacker didn’t stay in there long, before they went in the direction of the bedroom. He could feel a tingle in his foot.
A small yelp escaped his lips when the figure returned. They placed the lighter fluid from his dresser into their pocket. Then he noticed the wooden truncheon in their other hand. They began smacking their hand with the truncheon and Mick could see the glint of pleasure in their eye as they said, ‘Mick! You ready? I think we’re about to have some fun.’
His vision blurred as he thought about his children and how they would never know how much he missed them.