Nature of the Witch

Chapter Two

Chapter TwoThere was the sound of voices somewhere above him. He tried to climb to his feet but his head was spinning so much he wasn't sure if he'd landed on his back or his front. He waited to feel more blows; after all, they seemed the type who wouldn't miss an opportunity to kick a man while he was down, but none came. He kept his eyes closed, partly because when he tried to open them it felt like someone was hitting him with a hammer and partly because he was trying to compose himself.

He took some deep breaths but it didn't help. His head was throbbing and he could feel the anger starting to simmer gently inside. His temper was a strange thing. He had been an angry and resentful teenager which had resulted in a few scrapes. But in those days his temper had been like an explosion that came from nowhere. He had spent years learning to control it and now his anger didn't present itself as a mad rage anymore. Now it was more like a mist that fuzzed his thoughts so that he couldn't think straight. He took another deep breath and looked up. It wasn't working. The mist was descending.

The reason they had left him alone after he fell was that they had found fresh prey. In front of him two leant nonchalantly against a car, relaxed, laughing, their faces hidden beneath their baseball caps. One, who was covered in pimples, gripped the arms of a terrified young woman. The fourth lad was tipping the contents of her handbag on the floor.

The woman, who looked to be in her early thirties, implored them feebly, “Please leave me alone.”

The lads were out of it, possibly drunk but in his opinion they'd taken something. Their eyes were wide and bloodshot, their movements were clumsy and the laughter was slightly manic.

But this didn't excuse their behaviour. He knew their type, had grown up with them in the children's home, and they were just bullies who picked on people they thought were weaker to make themselves feel better about their own miserable lives. They were young and thought they were invincible.

But they had definitely picked on the wrong guy. He rose unsteadily to his feet. One of the lads noticed and prodded his friends until they were all staring at him in a bemused manner.

“Man, you're stupid,” said pimples, letting go of the woman's arms, “you should've stayed down.”

“Yer,” joined in one of the baseball caps, “what's your problem? You like pain? You probably get off on weird stuff like that.”

The other lads laughed raucously, as though he'd said something hilarious.

“My problem,” Jack said calmly, “is that I live in this neighbourhood, and you're really lowering the tone.”

“Lowering the tone?” Pimples repeated. He stared at Jack, trying to work out whether Jack was serious or whether it was conceivable that someone could be poking fun at him.

“Yes,” Jack continued , even managing a wry smile, “and I can't abide behaviour that might impact my house value.”

When no one answered, and they all stared at him as though he'd grown an extra head he added, “I might be looking to sell this year you see.”

Pimples swaggered over indignantly, “What the f…”

But he didn't get to finish the sentence because Jack's fist smashed straight into his cheekbone. It opened up instantly, and as he toppled backwards the blood was already pouring down his face. His friends, although startled, jumped straight into action. The two wearing baseball caps charged at him, shouting and swinging. He gave the first one an easy hand-off, batting him away as though he were a pesky fly, and landing him hard on his back-side. The second one he stopped with a punch that snapped his head back violently and toppled him onto his back. He landed on a kerb and it knocked the wind out of him so that he lay there, gasping and squirming.

And that left one. The last lad came at him but, after seeing what had happened to his friends, looked as though he was regretting it. He half-heartedly swung at Jack in a manner that suggested he had decided to back-out a little too late. Jack dodged the punch with ease and brought his knee up until it collided with the guy's chest with a crunch. Then as the lad doubled over Jack brought it up again with another crunch.

He could've walked away at that point. He had obviously won, but his adversaries were down, not out. A couple were even trying to stagger back to their feet and besides, the mist was down. This nasty, cowardly, arrogant bunch of dim-wits needed to learn a lesson, and one they wouldn't forget; one that would make them think twice about picking on other people.

Pimples was the first to his feet. He had started to move away, perhaps hoping to leave.

“Man, you're stupid,” Jack mimicked, “you should've stayed down.”

As Pimples turned towards him Jack punched him again, catching the opposite eye and cheekbone and guaranteeing that his face would be pretty colours in the morning. The other lad climbing to his feet was one of the baseball caps, the one who'd landed on his bum. He was rubbing it and looking at Jack in wide-eyed fear.

Jack grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, causing the lad to scream.

“So you enjoy hurting other people? Think it's funny? How does it feel when the boot is on the other foot? Why aren't you laughing now?”

“I'm sorry!” The lad cried out. “Please, you'll break my arm!”

Jack could hear the lad's shrieks growing louder and knew the arm was close to breaking, and yet his brain wasn't telling him to stop. He carried on pushing until he heard a woman's voice behind him, “Stop! Let go of him!”

It was as though he had been woken from a dream; he dropped the boy's arm and turned around. The woman he was supposed to be saving was staring at him as though he was the criminal.

The lads took the opportunity and bolted, practically climbing over each other to get away in an 'every man for himself' kind of fashion.

No honour amongst thieves, he thought as he watched them.

The woman was hurriedly trying to scrape the contents of her handbag off the floor. He bent down to help but she backed away, and when he held out her brush she snatched it off him as though he might consider beating her with it if he held it for too long.

“I'm sorry…” Jack faltered, “…they just erm…made me angry…”

The woman didn't answer; she was visibly shaking and a tear rolled down her cheek. She rose to her feet.

“You looked like you were going to kill them,” she said, her voice quivering as more tears escaped, “I know what they did but…but I mean, they're just kids.”

She turned and ran in the direction of the flats.

“Didn't feel like a kid when he smashed a bottle over my head,” Jack grumbled.

In her hurry she'd left a couple of things behind, eye-shadow and some mints, but Jack didn't think she'd appreciate him running after her with them. He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. She was right and he felt bad. He'd let his anger control him and instead of helping the poor woman he'd scared her half to death. As he slowly turned towards home he heard a cough.

He suddenly remembered the reason he'd got involved in the first place; he'd seen them kicking someone on the floor. Watching him quietly was a guy who looked to be in his late sixties, although the bruising to his face made it hard to be sure. His hair hung down past his ears and looked untamed and a little frizzy. It was light brown in places and grey in others. He had a matching beard and he was watching Jack with intelligent, blue eyes. A strangely amused expression adorned his face, a bemused smile playing on his lips, as though he was at home watching a sitcom on the telly, rather than a man who had just been beaten up.

“Are you okay mate?” Jack hurried over. “Can you stand?”

“Why are you calling me mate?” The man asked in genuine confusion. “We've only just met.”

“It's just an expression.”

“Ah,” said the man nodding, “you're being friendly.”

“I guess. Look, I can phone an ambulance from my flat. Do you think you can walk there? It's just around the corner.”

“I don't need an ambulance,” the man pulled himself to his feet, refusing Jack's offer of help, “however, I will come back to your flat.”

Jack hesitated, “I've only really got a couple of plasters. You could do with a doctor looking you over.”

The man shook his head adamantly. Then he stepped closer and, to Jack's astonishment, he took hold of Jack's head in his hands and, leaning in so that their faces were almost touching (which made Jack feel very uncomfortable) he said quietly, “You have a great skill. You just need to learn how to channel it properly, how to control it.” After a pause he smiled, let go of Jack's head and said loudly, “Now, where's your flat?”

“Right,” Jack said slowly, “so how many times did they hit your head?”

“A fair few,” the man replied pleasantly, “now, your flat?”

Jack held out his arm but the man refused and gestured for Jack to lead the way. Reluctantly, Jack did as he was told. The man stayed a step behind him and started to hum softly.

Jack shook his head in bewilderment. The guy seemed completely unfazed by the night's events.

I don't know if you were crazy before they attacked you, but I'm definitely calling you an ambulance when we get in, he thought.