A dip in the moonlight

The rope was beginning to tear into his flesh, having all but worn away at the tender skin of his wrists, his ankles. He always knew he'd get got one day, but this? Bound to an armchair in a soon-to-be-flooded sewer? No. This was not the way he'd planned to go. Not that he'd actually planned his demise per se, but had he, there would be decidedly fewer faeces and rats.

Blinking away the blood and sweat that had trickled into his eyes, he tried to focus on the area around him, his vision still blurry from the pistol-whipping he'd received only minutes ago. They'd hit him hard enough to make him see stars, and yet he'd managed to cling to consciousness; this wasn't his first time seeing the butt end of a gun up close. 

"We was tryin' to do ya a favour," one had said, gently patting him on the cheek, "'s not our fault ya skulls made o' brick."

Those were the last words spoken before they made their remorseless exit. He didn't even know which of the two men he had once called family did it, his head had been rattled so much. He supposed it didn't really matter. Not anymore.

It wouldn't be long now, before they opened the floodgates. These sorts of things were often timed quite unfortunately you see. Long enough to realise exactly how awful your departure is about to be, but not long enough to do anything about it. And yet, he thought to himself, determination clearing his mind, he had to try.

It was at this moment a horse and carriage trundled overhead, blocking out what little moonlight trickled in through the grate. Once it passed, and the passage was once again gently illuminated with soft light, a small something glinted on the ground a mere few feet to his left, just barely managing to catch his eye.

A razor blade.

He almost sobbed in relief at the sight of it, not hesitating to throw his body to the side, bracing his shoulder as best he could before crashing into the ground. Somewhat upsettingly, the thick layer of filth considerably softened the impact. He grimaced, looking around once again for his only chance of salvation. There! And so close to his outstretched hand! He flopped and wriggled his body, the grime squelching underneath as he inched his way closer. In less time than he thought, the blade was in his grasp and he got to work. His fingers were numb, his movements slow and clumsy. There was a moment where he feared the flimsy blade might snap, but he did not stop sawing away at the thick rope.

He choked out a horse cry of victory when his arm finally broke free, his cheer spluttering into the muck pressed against his face. He made quick work of the other bindings, and was on unsteady feet in less than a minute. He stood, silent, looking down at his quivering hands in utter disbelief. He loosed a breathless laugh, tears welling in his eyes. One more day. The Gods had seen fit to grant him one more day. He was tenderly rubbing his soiled hand over the red raw skin of his wrist when the slow trickle of water beneath his feet began to pick up the pace.

A dribble, a stream, and then a gushing torrent of murky water was pushing him back, away from the only exit in sight. He started to run, leaping, bounding over the water as fast as his aching body allowed against the rushing tide. He was only a few meters from the ladder when he was wading chest-deep in the murk, fighting, fighting so damn hard not to be swept away with it. 

"One more day," he grunted, using his arms now to help propel himself against the current. "One. More. DAY!" He shouted, risking it all as he lunged for the ladder, just barely managing to make contact. He grabbed on, clinging desperately to the ice-cold metal. His legs were kicked out behind him now, being tugged back by the ripping tide and he stole one last gulping breath before he was completely submerged.

He tried not to think about the disgusting matter of waste that was running over his face, and pulled his body closer to the ladder, hauling himself up, up to his second chance at life. 

***

On his knees, he coughed and spluttered, expelling the noxious water that made its way into his stomach, his lungs. Rolling flat onto his back, he embraced the welcome kiss of rain, washing away the grime that clung to him like a second skin. He wondered if he would ever be clean again. Probably not, he mused. He was wet, cold and the sewerage had seeped into his very pores, but he was alive. By God’s grace, he was alive. No- no, he was more than that. He was invincible. Untouchable. No one could hurt him. He rolled to his side and looked across the road. Two familiar figures sat on a park bench, a few meters off the roadside facing the ocean. One held a black umbrella, shielding the two of them from the torrential downpour. The other was hunched over, face buried in his hands. A crowbar was discarded behind them, pinging as the rain glanced off its polished metal surface. No, no one could touch him. Not even you. 

He forced his feet under him, straining to stand. A strange calm passed over him as he strolled towards that park bench.

They didn't notice the man's steady approach. They didn't hear the slight scraping of the crowbar against the concrete as it was picked up. And they certainly didn’t see the soft shadow that fell over them, as someone blocked out the moon's glow.

"'S alright mate. 'S done with. He can't hurt ya family no more." The man with the umbrella said gently. "Ya kids are safe now." The second man shuddered at that, his sobs of both relief and regret wracking through his body.

"Don't be so sure." Was all he said, before bringing the crowbar down against the back of their heads with a sickening crack.

***

The hatch juddered across the cobblestone as he slid it back over the manhole. Tilting his head back, he embraced the rain with arms outstretched and an unnaturally wide grin. He had a family to visit.

As he began to step back onto the path, his head started to throb with an intensity that matched its abruptness. An impossible to ignore headache that was pounding harder and harder by the second. He supposed that pistol-whipping from what felt like a lifetime ago was finally catching up with him. A concussion for sure. He started again to take a step, but found his legs wouldn't move, nor his arms. His heart was pounding harder now, a thumping to rival that of his headache and he felt his throat starting to close in terror. He screamed. Was it that he made no sound? Or could he just not hear it over the deafening roaring in his ears. He scrunched his eyes shut, then opened them again.

Rank water had reached his chin and was quickly rising as it thundered past. A clobbering ache radiated from his temple. His arms and legs, still bound. The only light, the gentle moon shining in through the grate above. He took two quick, shallow breaths, and closed his eyes one final time.