Page 42 of Locke 2

And yet he had visions of the mother coming at a little boy, screaming at him to get out of her fucking way. He imagined the little boy hiding. He would have found a spot in this tiny little home to call his own, and then he would spend it silently lost inside his own head.

He thought of Dominic just then, and an overwhelming feeling of despair drenched him. Dominic always brought out Locke’s protective side. When he looked at Dom, he saw the little boy within who grew up in rags. Long before prison, Dom’s body was riddled with cigarette burns and bruises that turned black inside his soul.

Dom deserved his happy ending, but that wasn’t going to happen. Dom was altered. There would be no bringing him back. There truly was a line that, once crossed, could erase all that was and could have been.

Locke left the bedroom and went to the last one at the end. This would be the boy’s room. He clasped the knob and went to open the door when the light caught something metallic, and he paused. His brows furrowed as he aimed the light halfway up the door at shoulder height.

At the metal contraption.

He recognised what he was staring at, though it took him a few seconds to accept it. He brushed his fingers along the cool surface.

A heavy padlock hasp.

No padlock dangled from it though.

She had locked her boy in here?

The question was obvious. Locke jolted back a moment, blinking rapidly as he accepted the answer repeatedly.

Yes.

Yes.

She would lock her boy in this bedroom.

Sudden dread formed at the pit of him. He waited for anger to follow.

Instead, it was misery.

He slowly turned the knob and opened the door to the little boy’s room. It swung away, slamming gently into the wall. He didn’t move. He shined the light in front of him, running his eyes along the room he no longer wanted to step into.

A story was about to be told.

And all he could think about was a black hole and three other little boys and rough hands.

Locke gritted his teeth and stepped inside the tiny room.

The House

“Where is she?” he bellowed out.

He sounded wretched.

He stomped around, tearing through the house, screaming curses. His rage drowned my ears. Made me press my hands over them.

Please, don’t find us.

He went room to room, his screams turning to sobs.

Dad fell apart, leaving destruction in his wake, uncaring of the consequences.

He was a broken man, and he was determined to break us too.

I was under my bed. The bedroom door was open. My eyes never strayed from the bedroom where she was. Her body folded inside the wooden toy chest I gently fitted her into. Probably shaking like a leaf. Mere feet from the teacup party we were in the middle of.

Don’t find her.

Find me instead.

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