Free Attrition of the Gods: Book 1 of the Mystery Thriller series Gods Toys. by P.G. Burns Page A

sister. Together they would spend most of the day out on the estate with Shane shoplifting any of the things he thought his sister needed. He would take her around to Fat Beryl’s, the local matriarch, who would let him hang out and get warm. Beryl knew Shane and his sister’s situation but still Shane would tell her, “Me Ma’s not well so school have given me time off. She will be better soon.”
    As Shane told these stories in prison, Leo’s eyes would widen in horror and pity but he really was a happy child back then, who loved looking after his baby sister.
    It was two days before Chloe’s third birthday that it all went wrong. Shane had nicked a small doll from the toy shop and was looking forward to seeing Chloe’s face when he gave it to her. The two of them left Fat Beryl’s at around 18:00. She had given Shane some tea and he had fed Chloe. They entered the lift, which took them up to their seventh-floor flat but as Shane pushed the buggy out Chloe had cried, “Don’t want to go home.”
    Shane understood what she meant; he always dreaded going home and just prayed his mum was straight and that Patrick was out in some pub. But on this day his mum was far from straight and Patrick was home and extremely drunk, even for him. Shane entered the flat and put Chloe safely into her room then sat on the torn settee praying that Patrick was Elvis tonight. He could hear him shouting at his mum.
    “You fucking whore, you spent all the money on that shit.”
    The sound of Patrick slapping his mum no longer startled him. However, this was particularly loud and he seemed to be smashing the room up as well. After what could have been half an hour of screaming and smashing, the room went silent. Ten minutes later Patrick came out wearing his tracky bottoms and Ainne’s kimono-style dressing gown. The bandanna wrapped around his head confirmed that tonight he was Bruce Lee.
    To see this man mimic Bruce Lee would be funny for an outside observer. He would mouth words then say them in a terrible attempt at a Chinese accent. Then he would go through his efforts at martial arts patterns, which bore no resemblance to any real kung fu. Most the time he would fall over as he tried his version of the crane or the crouching tiger. Regularly he would use Shane as his punch bag. “Here, stand up, ya wee cunt, ya.” Luckily Patrick was usually too pissed to actually hit him. When he did though, it was a fully grown man hitting a child and Shane had been knocked unconscious more times than he could remember. Still, not once did he cry or show the bastard any fear.
    On that particular day, Shane thought he might have escaped the punches and kicks as Patrick seemed even less lucid than normal and not very interested in their usual “game”. Instead he mumbled something under his breath and then went back into the bedroom. Shane didn’t know if he should sit back down. Was it over? Unfortunately it wasn’t. Patrick leaped out of the room shouting his version of Bruce Lee’s war cry, “aaaaayaaaay”, with some recently purchased nun-chucks. Shane thought of running out of the flat but that would have meant leaving Chloe. He stood there as the sticks whistled past his head.
    “Stop fucking moving, I won’t hit you, I’m a fucking master,” Patrick reassured him.
    Shane closed his eyes and prepared for the pain of the blunt sticks hitting him.
    “Stop it! Leave Shaney alone! Stop you, stop, bad daddy!”
    Shane immediately opened his eyes and panic swept over him. Chloe had got out of her room and was standing in front of Patrick, scolding her daddy. Shane had told Chloe never to get out of bed when Patrick was “playing”. He looked at Patrick and saw what was coming. Shane froze as Patrick quickly turned and smashed the heavy wooden staffs down on Chloe’s head, caving in her tiny fragile skull. Everything happened in slow motion in Shane’s eyes. He watched, frozen to the spot as Chloe’s head crumpled, blood spurting