This is a story involving love between an adult man and a boy. There will be sexually explicit parts in places, though sex is not the central theme. It also explores themes that some may find disturbing. Nobody is forcing you to read anything that you dislike, or to continue reading about matters that upset you. While the story is complete fiction, it is not written in a vacuum.

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By villager@hushmail.me

Abuse – Part 3

Continued from Part 2 ...

The doorbell rang.

Puzzled, John started to get up to answer it, but Gareth waved him back, “Don't worry, I'm closest,” he announced. As soon as Gareth opened the door, the caller pushed past him roughly and walked into the living room uninvited.

John looked up from where he was sitting to see a heavily built man well over 6 feet tall. The stranger spotted Matthew and his mouth turned into an ugly snarl as he strode toward the boy.

“Dad!” cried out Matthew in fright.

Two years previously, Matthew's father Jake had been a gentle, easygoing chap who hardly ever got annoyed, let alone angry. Big and as strong as an ox, he was known to all and sundry as “the gentle giant.” But then business began going badly for the company he worked for and there was the constant worry of redundancy for Jake. His boss always seemed to find any little excuse to have a go at Jake, unfairly blaming him for things which were not his fault, and Jake felt he was being set up. But then a few weeks later his wife had been diagnosed with cancer, and suddenly all his other worries paled into insignificance. Jake could not afford private medical care, and he became frustrated with the bureaucracy of Britain's national health service, feeling that his wife was not getting the care and attention her condition merited. Jake took the burdens hard, finding that he was unable to concentrate on anything, and his work suffered. He found himself repeating tasks because he forgot what he had done just a short time before – he would frequently add sugar to his coffee twice, for example. One day his manager had accused him of being drunk, which was absurd, because Jake did not drink. He had however had to stay up all night because his wife had had a particularly bad spell, and that probably accounted for his slightly slurred speech and unsteady gait. In uncharacteristic anger and frustration at the unfair accusation he had thrown a coffee cup against a wall, smashing it. It was to prove not the last time he lost control. Jake started adopting a devil-may-care attitude to life. His pounding headaches had not helped either – those had been something else new for Jake which he attributed to his constant state of tension, and he took copious amounts of aspirin.

His sudden but brief bouts of anger became more frequent, but it was only inanimate objects that suffered. One day a woman cheekily drove into a parking space that he had quite obviously been in the process of reversing into, and he had angrily continued to reverse, deliberately hitting her car. He managed to convince the police officer that it was an accident, and the policeman was quite happy to leave the two drivers to sort it out with their insurance companies. After that Jake became more cunning, making sure that he hid his outbursts from others.

He had always been a fiercely independent person, and the thought of seeking help for his increasing anger management problem never occurred to him. He tried to deflect his anger by devoting his time to the care and treatment of his wife, who he loved deeply. When a new cancer drug came on the market, he grasped at its possibilities like a drowning man clutching at straws, and when he lost his fight to try to get it supplied on the NHS, he stormed off and spent 20 minutes in a deserted public toilet, first ripping a sink off the wall with his bare hands, and then using that sink as a club to destroy everything else in the facility. But it wasn't enough – Jake realised that he would only feel satisfied if he hurt a person. He knew that it was terribly wrong to have such urges, so he suppressed them as much as he could. He financed the new drug treatment by taking out a second mortgage on his house.

One day at work his immediate boss started berating him about some petty thing, and Jake picked him up and threw him hard to the floor. The police were not called, but his company told Jake that his services were no longer required.

Sadly the new treatment was no more effective than the treatment his wife had been on already. He took her death very badly indeed.

When he gave Matthew the news about his mother's death, Matthew had gone into mild shock and just stared blankly. The fact that Matthew had not appeared to Jake to be showing grief made Jake extremely angry, and he punched his son hard in the side of his face. Jake was immediately horrified about what he had done, and told Matthew that it was an accident and he was terribly sorry. Matthew, being in a state of shock over the news really hadn't known what was going on, and accepted the unlikely explanation. Jake was also very concerned at what other people might think when they saw the very visible bruise that developed above Matthew's cheek, but at the same time realised that he had 'got away with it'.

Jake became angry more and more often at the slightest provocation, real or imaginary, and if Matthew was around Jake would hit him. Matthew started to avoid his father, which made Jake more angry. One part of Jake was absolutely horrified – he really did love his son, and he could not explain why he was doing it, but it was as if Jake had lost the ability for rational thought. When Matthew had run away from him that morning, Jake had been absolutely seething and started to chase him down. He was however so blinded by rage that he had tripped over a footstool in his living room and must have hit his head, because the next he knew was getting up off the carpet an hour later. He searched for Matthew most of the morning, and eventually started going house-to-house asking if anyone had seen his son. One person told him that he had seen John carrying a child into his house, which is why Jake had gone there where he discovered Matthew and was now striding toward him, so enraged that he did not register the presence of anyone else in the room.

John had already been in the process of standing as Jake entered the room, and he quickly moved between Jake and Matthew. Jake pushed against John with his shoulder, and with Jake's enormous bulk he would have brushed most people to one side as easily as swatting a fly. John however had anticipated Jake's action, and he grabbed his arm and used Jake's own momentum to pull him to one side, off balance. Facing him, John then began to reach around the back of Jake's shoulder, and as soon as Jake instinctively turned his head to follow that movement, John stepped back one step and his other arm shot out toward Jake's exposed neck, and the heel of John's hand made solid contact with the carefully selected place John had aimed for.

Jake immediately became unconscious, and as his legs buckled, John moved around behind him, and holding him under his armpits lowered him to the carpet.

Matthew looked at John's back, awestruck, then at his father lying motionless on his back on the carpet. “Is dad dead?” he asked.

John looked around at Matthew and smiled. “No, he's just asleep for a very short while – he should wake up in about 10 seconds, hopefully with the wind taken out of his sails so we can have a little chat.” Then John turned back to face Jake again, keeping between him and Matthew.

“If not, you could use this,” said Joan, handing John a small spray can.

John took the can and looked at it, puzzled.

“Don't take any notice of the label,” Joan informed him, “It's pepper spray.”

Pepper spray is illegal in the UK, whilst breath freshener, which is what the can's label announced it to be, was a perfectly acceptable and quite common product to find in a woman's handbag.

“Matthew, let's go into the other room,” Joan suggested.

“No, I have to stay with John,” Matthew insisted. Joan didn't object.

Matthew stood up, went over to John and held his hand.

“I think dad was coming to kill me,” Matthew shuddered as he thought of his father advancing on him menacingly. “But you stopped him just like that – I didn't think anyone could win a fight with dad.”

“It was just a trick I learned a while ago.”

“In the army?” Gareth asked. John nodded.

“You were in the army?” Matthew exclaimed.

John nodded again. “It was a mistake.” he stated.

“So how does the trick work,” asked Matthew, curious. He no longer seemed at all concerned about his father.

Gareth spoke before John could reply. “It's quite interesting,” Gareth said to Matthew. “This is the first time I have actually seen it done, but it involves some interesting aspects of neurology. John used a blow from his hand to exert a sudden pressure to your father's carotid artery. The hydrostatic pulse fooled its baroreceptors into signalling a false condition of hypertension to the autonomous section of your father's brain, triggering a baroreflex of vasodilation that momentarily creates a condition of cranial hypotension, causing immediate syncope. Actually there are other theories, but I am pretty certain that is the correct explanation. The thing is that there really was no hypertension, so no serious damage occurs, though mild seizures have occasionally been observed. It was probably the least harmful way of stopping your father, though John would know the other available methods far better than I.”

Matthew looked blankly at Gareth.

“Have you ever watched Spock on Startrek?” John asked Matthew. Matthew nodded. “Well, what I did was similar to a Vulcan nerve-pinch,” John explained.

“Oh, right,” Matthew said with understanding, giving Gareth a disdainful look that said, “You obviously don't know what you're talking about.”

“Gareth!” Joan gave a brief laugh, “Matthew is in high school, he is not one of your unfortunate junior doctors.”

Gareth smiled, then started to look concerned, and kneeling down beside Jake, placed two fingers on his neck. “He should have come round by now,” Gareth observed, “His pulse is strong.”

As if on cue, Jake's body gave a convulsive twitch, and his eyelids began to flutter. Then his face contorted just on one side, and his feet began drumming rapidly on the carpet.

Gareth reached for his bag. “John, try to hold the palm of his hand still on the floor.”

John pressed Jake's wrist hard against the carpet, while Gareth rapidly pushed a hypodermic needle into a vein on the back of Jake's hand. The drumming diminished, and Jake's body began to relax, twitching spasmodically. Gareth produced a small torch from his bag, and lifting Jake's left eyelid, shone the light into his eye. He then lifted Jake's right eyelid, took one look and said, “Mum, call for an ambulance, stat – erm - quickly.”

But Joan already had a phone to her ear before Gareth had spoken. “ETA ten minutes,” she announced a short while later, “I've told them you are in attendance.”

Gareth took out his mobile phone, and after a while spoke rapidly in a clipped voice to the person who replied to his call, mostly medical jargon.

The doorbell eventually rang, and Joan quickly let in two paramedics. Gareth spoke to them as they fitted an oxygen mask to Jake and placed him on a wheeled stretcher, Gareth explaining that they must take Jake to a specific hospital because he had arranged for a team to be there and the local hospital did not have an MRI scanner. The paramedics called Gareth, “Sir,” and agreed to undertake the much longer journey with no objections. Gareth quickly said goodbye to everyone and left with Jake in the ambulance, its siren could be heard wailing as it turned onto the main road.

John then turned to Joan. “Auntie Joan, I suppose you had better call the police – if you haven't already?”

“Don't be so daft, John,” Joan admonished, “You'll be no good to Matthew sat in a police station all night, will you? You have done nothing wrong – Gareth has said that what you did was harmless, it was perfectly justified defence, and it won't hurt to leave any police investigation until later.”

“But Gareth might be wrong,” John worried.

Joan looked miffed, “My son is an extremely experienced and respected neurosurgeon,” she said haughtily, “He saw the whole thing and is unlikely to be mistaken! Now just you wait for the results of his medical assessment before leaping to conclusions and blaming yourself for anything.”

“I don't care if dad dies,” Matthew announced flatly. “You'll look after me John, won't you?” he added uncertainly.

John hugged the boy tightly, forgetting Matthew's injuries. Matthew didn't appear to feel them, and hugged John back. “Matthew, whatever happens I will look after you, I promise.”

Joan smiled at John and Matthew locked in their tight hug. “Now,” she said, “Our tea is stone cold, I'm going to make us some fresh cups, and then you are going to show me what you have to eat – I missed out on Christmas dinner.”

Much later Joan declared that it was too late for her to go home, and besides, she wanted to wait for Gareth who had said he would return to John's house.

“I'll sleep on the sofa,” John said, “You and Matthew take my bed.”

Matthew immediately objected.

“We will all sleep on your bed tonight,” declared Joan, “It's plenty big enough.”

“How do you know how big my bed is?” John asked.

“I ordered it and arranged for its delivery two years ago,” Joan reminded John.

It did indeed prove to be an adequate size. As prepared as usual, Joan had brought her nightdress, Matthew changed back into his pyjamas, and John managed to find a pair of his own pyjamas, which he normally never used, usually preferring to sleep naked.

The three lay side by side in the large bed, Matthew between John and Joan. Matthew had curled up facing John, with his head snuggled against John's shoulder, and John was facing Matthew with his arm under Matthew's neck.

“What was your Mum like before she got ill?” John spoke softly to Matthew.

“She was the best Mum in the World,” Matthew answered with conviction.

“So was mine,” John said unexpectedly and illogically, “She used to bake a cake every Saturday.”

“My mum let me eat the mix in the bowl when she made cakes,” Matthew said, “And once I ate almost all of it and there wasn't enough for the cake – but Mum wasn't cross, she just made some more.” Matthew's eyes filled with tears. “I really miss Mum.”

“So do I,” said John, and started sobbing silently. Then he gave a little laugh, “But she was really scared of spiders – she wouldn't go into a room if there was even a tiny spider in it, I had to get rid of it first!”

“Hey, my Mum was the same,” Matthew said, “Once there was this really big spider in the sink that Mum didn't know was there, and when she saw it she dropped a whole stack of plates on the floor!”

Joan was both sad and happy as she listened to the two swapping anecdotes about their mothers. It was the first time that John had really even acknowledged the death of his parents, let alone spoken about it. There were several times that John and Matthew were in floods of tears, hugging each other as they cried together, but other occasions when they were laughing at some memory or other. They all eventually drifted off to sleep, Matthew and John completely entwined with each other, both had contented smiles on their tear-stained faces.

The doorbell roused them at 5 in the morning. Joan was padding barefoot to the door before John or Matthew were fully awake. Parked outside was a green and white chequered “doctor on call” car that her son had borrowed from the hospital car pool. Gareth entered the house looking haggard and dishevelled, and Joan made cups of coffee as Gareth collapsed wearily onto the sofa.

As soon as all four of them were in the room with hot cups in their hands, Gareth spoke.

“My team and I have been working on Matthew's father all night,” he said, “And I am afraid the news is not very good ...”

To be continued …

Feedback appreciated villager@hushmail.me