Out of Control – Case Notes - Subject #8
Ryan Spencer scratched behind his left ear and took another pull from his can of lager. He belched quietly. ‘Pardon me!’ he said to nobody and lifted the can to his thin lips again. He drained it in one long swig, bent the empty can in half and threw it into a mesh basket four metres away on the other side of the path. The can joined the two others he had discarded earlier. ---He shoots, he scores. He raised a fist in the air to milk the non-existent applause.
He sat cross-legged on the slatted park bench. His handsome face wore a contented smile. He reached into the plastic bag at his side and retrieved another can and noted that only one more remained.
His gaze scanned the other park visitors. On a bench three down from his an old couple sat in silence; on a football pitch to his left some lads kicked a football around a muddy goal area; elsewhere parents pushed offspring in buggies.
In the distance a young couple caught his attention as they wandered through the trees. He smiled again to himself and placed his hand on his heart, ‘Ah, young love.’
Then, in a sudden burst of activity, he sprung up in a smooth, easy movement and stood on the bench seat. In a booming mellow voice he called out,
‘How sweet the love that first blooms in youth,
It speaks not of heartbreak but unyielding truth’
Still standing, he opened the can and threw the ring-pull into the litter basket to join the others. He raised the open can above his head in a salute to the oblivious lovers, bowed grandly then drained half its contents in a single satisfying gulp. He belched into the back of his hand.
Ryan slowly and Gracefully lowered himself back into the cross-legged position and began a tuneful humming. He paused occasionally to sip from the remains of the can.
The lovers continued their slow progress towards him; Ryan never removed his gaze from the girl. She wore loose summer shorts and a tight fitting yellow blouse, tied at the waist to expose a wonderful flat midriff. Her legs were strong and tanned, the exposed thighs brown and smooth.
He drained the rest of the can in his hand, then crushed and tossed it towards the waiting basket but his eyes never strayed from the girl. This time the crushed can hit the rim of the basket and bounced back to rock gently on the concrete path below. Sighing at his miss, Ryan retrieved the can and deposited it into the awaiting receptacle; Ryan Spencer was no litter lout.
He retrieved the remaining full can and put the plastic bag in the bin before walking towards the girl and her partner.
The gap between Ryan and the couple was now less than thirty metres and he could see her more clearly.
She laughed at something her partner said and her head tilted back to expose a silky smooth neck and throat; flawless. Her long dark hair flowed down her back, the flecks of red in it glinted in the sun.
Ryans' throat was dry again and he drew deeply on his final can of lager.
Before he reached the couple, they turned down a path towards the duck pond.
They walked close together, bodies touching. The boy’s left arm was draped across her shoulder. The girl's right arm curled around his back, her was hooked into a the top of his jeans. Then they stopped. He bent towards her, and the girl’s head tilted upwards in acceptance of his intimate advance. They kissed.
Ryan gritted his teeth, lucky bastard!.
He drained the last of his lager and threw the empty can angrily at one of the rhododendron bushes that guarded the path. It bounced off a thin branch and fell to the ground at his feet. He immediately regretted his act of vandalism and crushed the can under his boot. He picked it up, folded it in half and stuffed it into his jacket pocket to dispose of later.
The couple were leaning on the wrought-iron railings that guarded the pond. They studied a pair of ducks that bobbed for tasty pond morsels. Ryan leaned against railings less than five metres away from the girl. The boy was on the other side, but Ryan only had eyes for the girl.
He listened intently to the overheard conversation, waiting for an easy opening; a way to break the ice. The girl giggled at something the boy said about the smaller of the two ducks. Ryan remembered a snippet he'd read on a website.
He turned to the beauty and fixed her with a winning smile. ‘The males are called ‘drakes’ and females are ‘hens’. Drakes have the bright and colourful plumage.’ Ryan pointed toward the birds, ‘As you can see,’ he continued, ‘hens have more subtle dull plumage. This is to provide camouflage during the nesting season.’
Ryan could see that the girl was interested in his words; the boy didn't matter.
Ryan looked deeply into her eyes and noted the light orange flecks that highlighted edges of her dark brown irises; gorgeous. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. She smiled at him. He smiled back as warmly as he could; she was his. All he needed now was to rid her of the irritating boy at her side.
The boy suddenly placed himself between Ryan and the girl, ‘Thanks for the info Mr Attenborough, but if you don’t mind, Ella and me just want to be on us own. So, ‘tra then, OK?’ He leaned close to Ryan; menacing.
Ella, Ryan repeated the name to himself, Ella. It suits her.
With Ella partially obscured from his view Ryan finally turned his full attention to the boy. Big. The boy was big. The shoulders were heavily muscled. The arms that protruded from the sleeves of a tight fitting t-shirt looked strong and powerful. He was taller than Ryan by at least two centimetres but Ryan was faster and better prepared.
Before the boy could attack, and he was going to attack, Ryan could sense it, Ryan reached into his jacket pocket for a something to use in his own defence. His hand fastened on something.
In one fast flowing movement the hand whipped out of his pocket and swing upwards towards the young man’s throat.
The boy had no chance. Unprepared, he didn't see the object in Ryan’s hand as it swept upwards and bit into the soft tissue of his throat. He fell backwards against the girl and they both collapsed to the ground and the foot of the railings.
Her dishevelled hair clung to the railing of the fence, a dark halo around her stunning face. Her dark eyes were wide in shock and terror; she continued to scream.
Ryan wanted to go to her, comfort her, to tell her that she was OK now, she was safe. But all he could see was the blood oozing through the boy's fingers as he clutched at the gash to his throat. The boy’s mouth opened and closed, silently gasping for air like fish out of water, drowning.
Ryan tore his eyes away from the blood and looked again at Ella, still screaming for help. Small sprays of arterial blood had splattered her face and hair and clothes. It spoiled her natural beauty. It was the first flaw he'd seen in her.
Ryan shook his head and snapped out of his stunned reverie. God! What have I done? He looked down at the object he still held in his left fist. The crushed beer can, bent double. A wicked point where the crease had torn the metal was covered in bright red blood.
Jesus! Lord! What have I done?.
Subject #8: Suitable for study - YES