Slayers (Jake Hawkins Book 1) Page 2

  Taking powerful strides forward, Mark grabbed a handful of his shirt and slammed him up against the drywall of the living room. Despite his musculature, his dad was still stronger. The man had enough power left over from his days as an infantryman to manhandle his son around.

  “What did you just say to me?” he spat. “Don’t you ever talk back to me again. I work seven days a week to keep us living under this roof and you think you can just prance around and disrespect me like that?”

  “I’m not disrespecting you, Dad. I’m just saying – you know – that I try to keep the house tidy.”

  “It’s my house. I do what I want with it – and guess what? I’ve had a change of heart about keeping you under this roof. I want you out by tomorrow night.”

  Jake didn’t respond.

  “Oh, you think I’m joking?” Mark said.

  He wasn’t joking; Jake knew that. In the rare occurrences in which they made conversation, he had come to learn that his dad never said anything he didn’t mean. Their relationship had been teetering on a cliff’s edge for as long as he could remember.

  Mark pulled him away from the wall and shoved him towards the door.

  “Get out of here,” he said. “I’ll give you tonight to pack your stuff.”

  Jake had to use all his willpower to resist losing control. He had made a single, justifiable outburst, and now he was being forcefully evicted.

  “Dad, I don’t have anywhere to go,” he said, struggling to keep calm.

  “Does it look like I care?” His dad turned and walked back towards the kitchen. “It’s your fault I’m living in a place like this anyway. If you hadn’t been born, she’d still be alive and I’d still be using her money.”

  And that was what did it.

  Something deep inside of Jake snapped, some nerve previously untouched. He usually took his dad’s words with a thick skin, a skin that had built up over the years, but now it fell away.

  Not once in the past few years had his dad ever brought up his mother. Now, when he did, it was in the most disrespectful way imaginable. Rage swelled up, coursing through Jake’s veins. He couldn’t stop himself from lashing out.

  When Mark turned away, he reached out and tugged the lamp off the hallway table. The power cord ripped out of the socket. It was thick and metal and weighed at least five kilograms. Still brimming with anger, he drew his arm back and threw the whole lamp across the room.

  His dad didn’t have time to turn around. The steel base of the lamp smashed into the back of his head with a resounding smack. He stumbled forward on rickety legs, once, twice, and then collapsed from the shock of the impact.

  Jake didn’t see him fall. He didn’t know whether he was unconscious or not. As soon as he threw the lamp, he thought better of hanging around and took off out the front door. By the time his father had hit the kitchen floor, he was already halfway down the driveway.

  There was no going back. His dad would never forgive him for what he had just done. As he ran, he gulped back a mixture of fear and uncertainty, contemplating just what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The journey took a little over half an hour.

  Jake kept a fast pace, sweating out the tension, but nothing was going to still his shaking limbs until he calmed down. The anxiety was eating him alive. His heart was pounding in his chest, and not from the running. With adrenaline coursing through him, he replayed the morning’s events.

  What had gone so horribly wrong?

  Every time, it came back to his mother.

  Elizabeth Hawkins: apparently, everyone had called her Liz. Jake never had. He had never even called her Mum. She had died in childbirth at the end of a long and difficult procedure, awash with complications.

  After her death, his dad had squandered the money she had left him on the gambling tables. Just like that, everything she had ever made was gone. With the scraps he had left, Mark rented the cramped two-bedroom flat in the outer suburbs of Melbourne, and he and Jake had been living there ever since.

  But Jake wasn’t living there anymore. He didn’t know what he was going to do now. Technically, he was homeless. He was still reeling from the shock of the morning’s events. His hands would not stop quivering. He understood he was the son his dad had never wanted, but he had never expected him to take it this far. Jake reflected on his actions. They had been entirely out of impulse, but he had no idea if he had caused any injury. What if his dad was still lying on the kitchen floor, alone, unconscious, in need of help?

  His thoughts were interrupted as he reached the school grounds. He vaulted over the low fence, breathless. The corridors were silent, with everyone already halfway into first period. He threw his backpack into his locker, grabbed his books and headed off to VCE Psychology.

  A substitute teacher answered the door. Jake silently thanked the heavens. Mr Bennett would have had him in the principal’s office before he could utter a word, but the elderly man taking the class headed straight back to the whiteboard, completely uninterested in why he was late.

  He sat down, still panting for air. It took him longer than it should have to realise Liam, his closest friend, was staring at him with his head cocked to one side.

  “Took you long enough,” he said.

  “Had a fight with my dad.” Jake said few words, hesitant to open up at the risk of admitting his guilt. Was being at school a good decision? His pulse quickened as he ran through the worst case scenarios in his head. Most of them consisted of an enraged Mark Hawkins storming into the classroom. Others showed the man bleeding out in the apartment, with no-one around to help. Jake bowed his head. As the anger subsided, he became more aware of what he had done.

  He didn’t speak for several minutes.

  “You okay, bro?” Liam said. “You seem quiet.”

  Liam had been Jake’s friend since primary school, and the two had gone through various youth development camps for up-and-coming athletes together – Jake for rugby and Liam for basketball. Liam was closer to him than anyone else in his life, but right now he could do nothing to aid the situation, so Jake said nothing. He stayed silent, staring into space, his mind a million miles away.

  “Jake,” Liam said, and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “What are you on about? What do you mean ya’ had a fight with your dad?”

  “I mean I had an argument with him,” Jake said. “Do you want me to explain every goddamn detail?”

  “You’ve never had an argument with your dad. I know your dad, bro. That would be suicide.”

  Jake paused. “It practically was.”

  “Come on. Tell me what happened.”

  So he did. He filled his friend in on the morning’s events, and when he was finished Liam’s jaw was almost touching the desk.

  “You threw a lamp at him?!” Liam yelled.

  The class, which was previously talkative, lapsed into silence. The sub glanced up at the commotion, before shrugging it off and returning to marking test papers. Liam expressed the look of a deer caught in headlights.

  He lowered his voice and continued. “You’re dead, man. He’s going to beat the crap out of you.”

  “If he can,” Jake said. “I have no idea how hard the lamp hit him. For all I know, he could press charges for god knows what.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “He would do anything, Liam. He insulted Mum this morning. That’s why I snapped.”

  “Jesus – so what are you going to do?”

  “I guess I should go back,” Jake said, somewhat half-heartedly. “I’ve got no money whatsoever. I don’t have a home. But … I don’t know. Maybe Dad will understand, right?”

  Liam cocked his head again. “You know that’s bull. He’ll go ballistic as soon as he sees you.”

  Jake banged his fist against the desk, drawing another curious look from the substitute teacher.

  “Look, I know, alright?” he said, exasperated. “I’m just trying to figure ou
t my options here.”

  “You can stay at my place for a while,” Liam offered. “Mum’s in Europe for the next few weeks, and Dad’s gullible enough to believe anything. I can tell him you’re staying at my house for a research assignment or whatever.”

  “And then when your mum comes back and your parents get fed up with me living in your house and they find out I assaulted my own father?” Jake said. “What then?”

  Liam sat in silence. It took him a while to find his voice. “It was only a suggestion. Just like yours.”

  “I know, man, I’m sorry,” Jake said. “This isn’t your fault. But if I can’t come up with a better alternative to living on the streets, I’m completely screwed.”

  A few minutes passed without conversation.

  “You’ll think of something,” Liam finally muttered. “Right?”

  “Right.”

  Reality was setting in as the adrenaline left over from the morning wore off. It was chilly inside the classroom, but beads of sweat ran down into Jake’s eyes. Cold sweat. He shifted uncomfortably as his stomach tightened. He had never felt so scared before.

  *

  The class barged outside the second the bell for recess sounded. Jake hung back, walking slowly, staring at the floor. His hands refused to stop shaking. He was plagued by the feeling that the worst was probably still to come.

  He had nothing. No home to return to. No money, no belongings. All his possessions now consisted of the kickboxing gear in his schoolbag and a twenty-dollar note in his pocket. He couldn’t pay for school. He couldn’t pay for a place to stay.

  The quadrangle outside the classroom was a bustling hive of activity. It was always the most chaotic at the beginning of recess. Hundreds of students shoved and pushed each other out of the way, all in an attempt to get to their lockers as quickly as possible.

  Liam promised to meet up later and turned left, following a path back to the locker bays. Jake didn’t have any books to drop off. He headed straight for the canteen, using his strength to his advantage to power his way through the quad.

  The canteen was packed with kids, gossiping and talking amongst themselves in the line. It would take at least half an hour to get food, which would ultimately end up being nothing more than an overpriced container of greasy chicken anyway.

  Jake sighed and headed back out into the sunshine. His insides were constricting. It had always been a dream to leave school and go on adventures, but his dreams had never materialised. Probably because they were ridiculous. Now, facing the idea of having to actually leave school early, Jake found it a daunting concept, one which was looking more and more likely with each passing moment.

  He started to make his way back the way he had come, along the twisting path. As he walked, he desperately tried to quash the pit of nervousness forming in his stomach.

  You have to go back.

  That’s what his brain was telling him. He had to see if his father was seriously hurt. It didn’t matter how he reacted – Jake had to do the right thing. If his dad was okay, the most likely outcome would be rejection. Jake knew Colonel Mark Hawkins wouldn’t bat an eyelid over throwing him out into the cold. But he had to try.

  There was a low rumble. A quick glance skyward revealed a cumulonimbus cloud snaking across the sky, black as night. There was a storm coming.

  A pair of hands came out of nowhere and grabbed the collar of his shirt. One hard shove, and they released him. Jake lost his footing and went sprawling into a path wedged between two blocks of classrooms.

  Now, he found himself out of sight from any passers-by. The path was deserted. There wasn’t a teacher or student in sight. He looked up and saw who had shoved him.

  Two older guys were moving in. Jake recognised one of them; Adrian was a Year 12 with anger management issues, infamous around the school for bullying the younger kids into submission, often forcing them to hand over lunch money in exchange for an absence of bruises. He had short black hair and an acne-ridden face, and walked with the strut of someone who thought they ran the place. The other guy was slim and wiry, sporting a fringe that stretched all the way down to his chin. He wore trainers instead of school shoes and sported a rat-like face. Both of them were dancing on the balls of their feet, high off the energy two thugs get before a fight.

  Jake didn’t have time for this. He gave a half-smile and strode towards them. When he reached the pair, he moved to walk straight past. The guy with the fringe tried to shoulder bump him, but Jake was stronger. Adrian grunted and grabbed a handful of Jake’s shirt, violently shoving him backwards. He didn’t have enough strength either, so his friend stepped in and gave a hard, double-handed push. Finally, it was enough to make Jake stumble.

  The guy with the fringe gave a cocky laugh, but Jake had assessed the competition.

  “What do you boys want?” he said.

  “How much money you got, kid?” Adrian said with a smirk.

  “Kid?” Jake said, smiling. “I’m taller than you, buddy.”

  Fear had suppressed his rage this morning, but he could feel it coming back.

  “I’m going to leave now,” he said, loud and clear as if he was talking to a pair of children. “Don’t push it.”

  The guy with the fringe cackled again. “The Year 11 thinks he’s tough? Listen, dickhead, hand over whatever money you’ve got or we’ll smash your face in and leave you here on the ground.”

  He advanced until they were almost nose-to-nose. Jake was burning inwardly.

  “Try, then,” he said.

  The invitation was enough. The guy swung a fist with the verve of a kid whose fight repertoire consisted of a couple of schoolyard punch-ons. Throw fast and hard, that was his plan. Jake had seen a million of these fights before. To a seasoned kickboxer, they were child’s play.

  He swung both elbows up and smashed the incoming punch away. The guy hesitated for a beat, stunned at his speed. It was all Jake needed. He leapt forwards and drove a fist hard into the guy’s stomach. It drove all the wind from his lungs. He doubled over, wheezing and coughing.

  Adrian was already sprinting to help his friend. He also swung a hard fist, straight at Jake’s face. It was actually going to make contact. Adrenaline kicked in and heightened Jake’s senses. He reached out and caught the fist in mid-air. Adrian was in a frenzy though, and attempted a punch with the opposite arm. Jake lashed out with his foot and caught Adrian in the ribs. The punch fell short and Adrian fell back, groaning in pain.

  Jake released his grip and stepped around the hunching figure, heading back to the path. On his way past, Adrian jumped up and punched him in the face. The blow caught him off-guard. He hadn’t had time to block it. There was a substantial amount of force behind it, but Jake had been kickboxing for eight years. He took harder hits every training session. It barely fazed him.

  In a split second he reacted, throwing a right-handed hook so fast Adrian didn’t even have time to raise his arms. His knuckles slammed against bone. It was a perfectly placed hit and it almost knocked the bully unconscious.

  Jake sprung forwards, enraged, and grabbed two handfuls of his shirt.

  “You shouldn’t do this to every kid you think you’re tougher than.”

  The headbutt landed squarely in the centre of Adrian’s nose. Jake felt his forehead slam against cartilage, at the same time letting go of his shirt. There was a brutal crack and Adrian went limp. He fell to the ground, sporting a broken nose and a bloody mouth.

  Jake stood there, panting with rage. The reality of what he had just done was dawning on him. The guy with the fringe had already picked himself up off the ground. He saw Adrian lying semi-conscious on the concrete, thought better of trying his luck again and abruptly ran off. Jake watched him go, his gut sinking lower and lower with each step the kid took.

  Now, he was completely screwed.

  *

  The rest of the day seemed to pass in slow motion. Jake spent the last two periods in anxiety, twitching in his seat as the minutes ticked away.
At any moment, he expected the door to burst open and either the principal or his dad to come storming in.

  When the final bell rang, the tension in his stomach unwound a little. For the moment, he was safe. Tonight, he could go anywhere. He had another day to think things through.

  “Jake?” a voice said.

  He looked up. The classroom was empty. Everyone had shuffled out while he had been staring into space. The teacher lingered by the door, waiting for him to move with a concerned look on his face.

  “Sorry, sir,” Jake said.

  He bustled out of the room and into the corridors, making sure to keep his head low. Anyone could be searching for him right now. He wanted to avoid a confrontation at all costs.

  The locker bay was a hive of activity. Almost a thousand students pushed past each other in an attempt to leave school the earliest. Jake savoured the chaos. There wasn’t much chance of getting spotted in here.

  He grabbed his backpack from his locker and slung it over one shoulder. As he did, he took a glance at the schoolbooks inside. Was it worth taking them home? Even if he fixed things with his dad, it was almost guaranteed he would be expelled because of what he did to Adrian. He was in a lose-lose situation. He slammed the locker door in frustration and headed off.

  Kickboxing training began in an hour. Jake had been pondering whether to go or not all day, but decided he might as well. Mark didn’t even know he took part in kickboxing lessons. Even if Jake told him, he wouldn’t care. He would be safe there.

  He had almost made it to the door before a voice cut through the crowd.

  “Jake Hawkins!”

  Surrounding students fell silent. Those nearest stared with unsuppressed interest, eyes boring into him. Jake despised the attention. A shiver crept up his spine. He looked over his shoulder to see the vice principal standing right behind him. Mrs Bensley was a craggy old lady, one of the strictest teachers in the school. Her face was displaying a death stare like nothing he had ever seen before.