The Devil's Apprentice by Patrick Stewart (polar express read aloud TXT) 📕

Her name was Laura. She drove her little Nissan Micra like a complete maniac. She hit every red light and turned corners with wheels screeching and generally using road rage like it had an expiry date.

She was dropping him off to his dad, Andrew’s place. Alex had decided against the hospital. Aside from some back pain and a sore head, he didn’t feel too bad. Laura shrugged and commented on how she wasn’t his mother. If he thought it smart to skip the hospital, she wasn’t going to argue about it.

“I don’t always drive like this,” Laura said, as she turned another corner at speed.

“What did I do for this treat?”

“Your dad’s dying, and,” she shrugged. “You seem okay. Also,” she jabbed him on the arm. “Good job on not staring at my legs.”

Alex wasn’t going to admit it but it had taken some effort on his part to keep his eyes on the upper part of her body. “I don’t think my dad’s really dying,” he said.

“He’d make something like that up?” Laura asked.

Alex had a difficult relationship with his dad. His mum, Evelyn died during childbirth. A rare thing, but it still happened. Growing up, he only had pictures of her. The one memory he had of his mother, he feared it was an invented one. He was in a bright room. His mum was lying on the hospital bed. She held him in her arms and told him how much she loved him.

Sometimes he wondered if it was her death that tipped his dad over the edge and turned him into an alcoholic. His dad was a bit of a mystery. For as long as Alex could remember, the man never worked. But somehow, he had enough money for drinks, drugs and women.

Alex had been left a trust fund by his mum that matured on his eighteenth birthday. It was enough for him to put down a large deposit on a two-bedroom apartment. He covered the rest with a small mortgage. He moved out shortly after his eighteenth. Contact with his dad since was minimal.

His call an hour or so ago was strange. I’ve done something terrible, Alex. I’m going to die today. He seemed genuinely afraid. Was it some drug deal that had gone wrong? That had to be it, right? Being a drug dealer would explain how Andrew seemed to have so much money to fuck about with.

Laura pulled into Fennel Street. The houses were terraced. The front lawns were boxed in with hedges and low walls of concrete slabs. The door was painted a deep red. The iron wrought gate painted black hung loose from its hinges. The house of his childhood looked foreboding.

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

Alex shook his head. “He’s probably not dying, but if he is… I’ll call an ambulance.” Or the police, he thought.

“Well… good luck,” she gave him the thumbs up.

Alex watched her drive off, a strange tingling sensation crawling up his spine. He turned and walked down the narrow footpath. Weed grew on both sides. Alex recalled that one time his dad really got ill. He was twelve years old. Andrew was feverish, his face pale, he’d thrown up six times in an hour. That devil bitch, she lied to me. She tricked me. I don’t know what she wants with you, Alex, but don’t ever trust that bitch.

The front door was two inches ajar. A little cautious, Alex gently kicked the door fully open. The corridor light was switched on. The carpet was red. The wallpaper was too, though its edges had peeled to show yellow beneath. At the far end was the closed door to the kitchen. To the right was the door to the living room. It was open and noises emanated from within.

Alex tilted his ear. It was a strange grunting noise…

“Andrew?” Alex called out.

He’d stopped calling him dad at the age of thirteen. That was when Andrew came home drunk with a hooker, stormed into Alex’s bedroom and broke his cupboard. He was looking for money to pay the prostitute.

There was no response, but the grunting persisted. Alex searched for something to use as a weapon just in case. To the left of the door was an umbrella. On the floor beside it were Andrew’s worn out black shoes. Three pairs of muddy trainers and a single wellington boot.

Deciding his fists were probably more efficient, Alex walked towards the living room. He feigned a few boxing moves along the way, preparing to face any actual monsters. Monsters? Why did he think there might be a monster in there?

Alex knew why. The grunting sounded inhuman. And in the past week, he’d come across an angel and a demon.

His heart began to pound. He was close to deciding it wasn’t worth it when he reached the door. It was curiosity that made him look inside. He regretted it instantly.

The living room was as he remembered it. Sparsely filled, but somehow cluttered with crap. There was a two-seater sofa pressed against the wall with the window facing out onto the lawn, and a three-seater sofa opposite the door. That was it.

And the garbage. Mostly take away boxes. A lot of them were the green, red and white pizza boxes. They littered the room.

Amongst the litter on the three-seater sofa was Andrew.

Underneath him was a woman.

They were both naked.

Her legs open, the girl stared up at the ceiling, bored. Andrew… Andrew, the fat fucker, he gripped her large breasts like bike handles as he thumped, as he grunted with every thump.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Alex growled.

“Alex,” Andrew looked back at him. His fat round face was red from the effort. “You’re here.”

“You called and said you were dying?”

“Don’t remind me,” Andrew said darkly. He slid off the girl. Landing