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“Mama, it burns,” the boy cries as she drags him.
She slaps him across the face. “I said shut up, boy. You’ll be fine.”
She’s wearing a pair of blue jean shorts that are cut so short, they leave nothing to the imagination. The bikini top she’s wearing is at least two sizes too small,and the cigarette hanging from her lips has nothing left to smoke.
“His feet are burning,” I say to her, interrupting her trek.
“Mind your own business, bitch,” she warns. “He’smyson.”
“Yourson’s feet are burning,” I repeat. “He needs shoes.” I slide my cheap jelly sandals off my feet and hand them to the boy.
“My son isn’t wearing girl shoes. He’s not a homo.” She slaps the sandals from his hand.
“I don’t think your son wearing a girl’s sandal classifies him as a homo.”
“Fuck off,” the woman retorts, dragging the poor child with her.
“Where’s your dad?” I ask the boy.
“Home,” he cries.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Don’t talk to my son.” She continues dragging him across the parking lot toward the beach. “His dad is good for nothing. He won’t let me see my son. All he does is sleep with whores. He deserved what I did and what I’m going to do.”
“Did you take him?”
The woman doesn’t answer. I turn my attention toward the boy again. “Did she take you from your dad?”
“Shut up, bitch!” she yells, dragging him off of the concrete onto the sand.
“She killed my dad,” the boy whispers just loud enough for my hearing. “She’s going to do the same to me.”
Large blue eyes look into mine as he pleads for help. I move in front of her, blocking her path. “You’re not going to hurt him,” I warn.
“Get out of my way!”
I wrap my hand around the arm holding the boy in place, squeezing tight enough that she’s forced to release her hold. She screams as the bones in her wrist begin to crack. “Go,” I tell the boy.
He doesn’t waste time. He turns, running to a small gas station not far away. “No!” she screams. “He has to die! We both do!”
I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close to me. This woman is in pain. She’s a murderer, but then, so am I.
Moving faster than human eyes can track, I carry her to a parked police car with two officers inside. “This woman murdered her husband.”
A young officer exits the car. “Did I understand you correctly?” he asks.
“Let me go!” the woman continues screaming.
“Look in her purse. You’ll find her ID. She murdered her husband and was going to do the same to her son.” I nod toward the gas station the boy took refuge inside. “He’s in there. He’ll corroborate the story.”
The officer grabs her unbroken wrist, looking between the two of us. “Who areyou?”
“A concerned citizen,” I answer, sounding more like a superhero than the killer I am.
The second officer exits the car, heading straight toward me. I don’t wait for more questions or interrogations. I move faster than they can track, disappearing before their eyes.
Crail, Scotland
2024
