Second Skin (A Short Story) - Fiction

Second Skin (c) 2008 - Richard Leon Jones

Roach was right; he knew it, always had been and always would be. As for the girl, she deserved it; otherwise he wouldn’t have had to teach her a lesson like he did. This time however he had gone further than ever before, the girl was now on a life support system, he’d beaten her to within an inch of her life. Now the Police would be pursuing him, his face was already on the nightly news all because she wouldn’t do as she was told.

His father had taught him how to handle women, ever since his mother had left the man she promised to honour and especially to obey, but she didn’t and she’d had to take many a beating to remind her. Roach knew it was the only way to keep the women in line, but this one, she hadn’t listened and she had to be made an example of. Even as he ran through the back streets he could hear her screams in his head, the begging for mercy. Mercy, why did she deserve any? She was just like the rest of them, not one among them who would be his equal now or ever.

Ahead of him Roach caught a glimpse of a torchlight scanning the pathway. Instinctively he pushed himself through a gap in the fence his escape was never in question, even as the boards in the fence panel cracked as he forced his way through.

Whilst quickly making his way through the garden on the other side of the fence, he tried to keep his breathing regular. It wasn’t easy, he’d been on the run now for two days and all because that stupid woman wouldn’t do as she was told.

Images flashed before him while he closed his eyes for a second to catch his breath. The sounds of her head hitting the door and his fist impacting her ribcage accompanied by the hellish screams that emanated from her battered and bruised face they brought a smile to his face. As he collected himself and readied his body for the next part of the run he smirked. Under his breath he began to mutter.

“The next one, she’ll know better.”

As he raised his arm he noticed a small cut which revealed skin beneath, yet no blood ran from it. He placed his finger on to the cut and found that he could move the skin quite easily; it was flexible, almost elastic.

A bottle dropped in the background and Roach realised it was time to get moving once more. Voices could now be heard, close enough to cause concern, but far enough to allow for escape.

Roach ran like the wind, he was in great shape, the steroids helped with that, but they never affected his temper. He knew better than these Doctors and so called Professionals, they made him better and he used them to be better, stronger, faster; aggression as side effect? Who were they trying to kid?

Hours must have passed as Roach finally lost his pursuers and sat himself down in an empty house. It was obviously in use normally, there was food on the table even a half empty bottle of red wine. Fate was obviously on Roach’s side, a banquet was waiting for him. For now he was safe, he had time to reflect on his current situation.

This wasn’t the first woman he’d beaten; she was also unlikely to be the last. His father had always been the master of the house and the son had learned the lessons well.

• If she doesn’t do as she is told, hit her, start with a small smack and work your way up.
• Don’t worry about being caught because she will lie for you.
• She won’t leave you if she knows what is good for her.
• Most accidents happen in the home.
• If she doesn’t learn her place then you will have trouble.
• Fear is control.
• She will never get anyone better than she has now.
• If she doesn’t give you what you want, then you take it.
• Questions are for you to ask and her to answer not the other way around.
• Makeup can cover a multitude of sins.

Ever since Roach had taken an interest in girls, he’d always kept his father’s rules in mind. After all they had served his father well and they would do the same for him. Taking a seat at the table, he reached over and picked up the carving knife. He took hold of and flipped the handle between his fingers, as he did so the blade darted from side to side, glinting with reflected light off one of the wall lights. Next he ran the point of the knife around the cut on his arm, gently teasing it he watched as a small pocket appeared. “This was odd” he thought to himself. Placing his finger on to the skin he began making a circling motion, the skin began to shift around, moved by the pressure he was applying.

From behind him came the sound of a plate toppling. Roach turned, knife at the ready, but all that met his stare was that of a cat who had perched himself on the edge of the worktop. Taking a deep breath Roach returned his attention to the feast at the table. Grabbing an empty plate he began to pile on the food, focusing mainly on the protein; after all he knew he’d need it for the next part of his journey.

Time passed, marked by the relentless ticking of the wall clock. Roach had eaten and drank his fill. Pushing all the crockery he had used to one side, he placed his hands on the table top and rose to his full height. As he did so, the skin on his arm began to wrinkle around the newly formed pocket as if it were loose skin forming ripples.

Walking toward the stairs that would take him to the bedrooms above Roach passed a number of photos carefully placed on the wall. A family unit, two happy parents and their children with them, smiling and being exactly what the world expected.

Roach knew how false all this was, he snarled at the photos before swiping them from the wall. Then he punched the wall, breaking through the plasterboard which lay behind the painted surface and in to the cavity beyond. When he withdrew his hand from the cavity he could see tears in the skin, yet as before with the cut on his arm, there was no blood.

Checking through the house he found other so called indicators of the nuclear family working as people would have you believe. Roach however knew the truth, that the wife and daughter in the photo both knew their place and didn’t try to be anything other that what they were told.

“Yeah, I bet you keep them in line don’t you?” A grin began to cross Roach’s face as he pressed his thumb against the glass that protected the photo beneath, he wasn’t concerned about leaving any prints; the police would have to find him first.

From the bowl on the coffee table that sat in the middle of the well ordered room in which he stood Roach took an apple. After rubbing it between his hands he lifted it to his mouth and took a deep bight out of it. Once more a grin began to creep across his face, he knew by how the house was kept just who was in charge here and that this man had what every right thinking man wanted.

The stairs to the upper rooms lay before Roach, who ran his fingers across the banister and then checked to see how much dust there was. When he saw none a laugh broke out followed by a few words of commendation “Well done, no dust you really know how to keep a house and your man obviously knew how to choose his woman.”

Taking hold of the banister Roach made his way up the stairs. In first room that greeted him were children’s toys all nicely stacked on shelves and the beds within nicely made, their corners folded neatly and not a wrinkle in the covers could be seen.

On one of the shelves were the toys belonging to the family’s daughter. Five dolls all sat in a neat little row; each dressed as fashionably as the collection’s accessories allowed for. On the desk below stood a practice makeup head; its long hair lay across the table top and alongside the brush was placed neatly. The makeup itself was in a closed box that sat under the chin of the head. Roach, opened the box and rubbed his finger over one of the eye shadow colours. He laughed as he drew a line across the nose of the dummy. Next he closed the box and cleaned his fingers on the flowing trestles of hair.

Roach walked out and made his way in to the next room. This was the bathroom which like every other room was perfect almost like a show-home would be. Even the taps were sparkling as Roach discovered when he turned them on to rinse his hands. He left the soap in the bowl along with scum. Taking the towel, he dried his hands and threw it on the rim of the sink.

“Well it’s nice to know somebody left you something to do.”

The final room that Roach opted to visit was in the attic. This had been laid out as a store room, but even here the items were neatly arranged. At the far side was a large item covered by a dust covered sheet. Reaching out Roach took hold and with a swift motion he pulled the sheet away revealing an antique full length mirror beneath. The mirror itself had a layer of dust on it, which did not please Roach. He removed his shirt, leaving the t-shirt beneath in place and his wiped away the dust.

“Stupid woman, you think just because it’s up here that it doesn’t need cleaning? Huh?”

Outside rain began to fall and there was a flash of lightning followed by a clap of thunder. Seconds later another roar echoed across the room. The sound brought back memories and Roach closed his eyes to picture the events.

A night out at the lake was the highlight of the week and Roach like many others would take his date out to get some action. Even now he could hear the words spoken between the two of them.

“So how about it baby?” Roach began.
“Look, I’m not ready…” Megan replied.
“Yes you are. You’ve been ready since the day I met you.”
“This isn’t right.”
“I didn’t bring you all the way out here to leave with no reward.”
“Roach, I want go home.”
“I want, I want, I want….. it’s always about what you want…. Well here is what I want… and if you don’t give it to me, you will be sorry…..”

The next sound that could be heard was the tearing of Megan’s clothes and her cries, but they didn’t bother Roach, he was taking his due. Megan took a beating that night, but she put it down to a fall when her father asked what happened. She claimed they’d been climbing to reach one of the caves above the lake and that she’d fallen and Roach had brought her back. Whether the story was believed or not Roach and Megan never got together again.

Roach’s breathing began to pick up speed and he fell to his knees in front of the mirror. As his hands hit the floor the skin on his arms slipped and gathered around his wrists where it almost pooled. A look of panic came over Roach’s face as he tried desperately to push the skin back in to place on his arms. It was all to no avail the skin just slipped back down. There were no rips in it, the skin was just baggy, more than it should be given the fact that Roach had never been in poor shape. Grabbing at the skin Roach pulled and it tore coming away from his arm in a large strip. The sounds of panic were obvious and Roach backed himself in to a corner as he held the almost sleeve like skin from his arm before his eyes. What surprised him more was when he held the arm from which the skin had come up for him to see there was no evidence of any blood and a new skin lay in it’s place. The skin was smoother and less haired than the piece that Roach was now dropping to the floor.

Quickly Roach raised his hands to cover his eyes and began chanting to himself. “This is not happening, this is not happening.”

Next a voice could be heard, it was that of another girl whom Roach had been with.

“You’re not right, this isn’t what I wanted.” Susie had met Roach at a bar and they’d decided to consummate their encounter in a nearby hotel.
“What you want isn’t what matters, what I want is what matters.” Again Roach’s voice was purposeful.
“How am I supposed to do this with you? You’re hardly built deliver on your promise.”
“It’s not what you got baby; it’s how you use it.”
“How are you going to use that with me?”
“Well how about I give you what you got coming?” The voice was now consumed with rage and the sounds of Roach’s fist beginning to impact with Susie’s body could clearly be heard followed by her mixed screams and tears.

Susie learned her lesson, Roach wasn’t sub-standard by anybody’s measure, and more than that they’d learn to appreciate just what this man could deliver.

As the storm rolled on more incidents returned to haunt Roach who was now rolling on the floor moaning with a mixture of rage and suffering. With each movement his skin distorted and stretched to insane levels, sometimes tearing, other times not. Strips of the skin came away and lay across the floor, but somewhat strangely for a man like Roach, there were no tattoos adorning it, he was otherwise unmarked. Finally the floor was covered with strips of skin and the storm ended. Within arm’s reach lay the discarded shirt and the cloth that had covered the mirror.

In the distance Police sirens could be heard moving ever closer with each passing second. Roach knew he’d have to run, but could not seem to get himself together. A number of times he attempted to lift himself up, but each time he fell back to the floor. The voices had finally got to him and he lay for sometime on the ground wailing in a mindless manner.
Outside the Police had arrived and were surrounding the house. There was now no escape it was only a matter of time before Roach would be caught. With all his might he lifted himself off the floor and looked toward the door through which he knew his future captors would come. This was it, time was up. For a few moments he reflected on his situation, he checked the window and considered jumping through it.

With no options left Roach, walked up to the mirror and looked on as the skin began to peel from across his body. Like a snake sloughing its skin Roach’s began to fall away. He could reach under his clothes and pull away large strips of the skin. As he did so he could hear the words of his father screaming once more at his mother. The violence that followed was disturbing to say the least, but it was the same as Roach was now dealing out to women himself. He hated everything about them, the way they’d made his father’s love hateful towards his only child. He’d wanted an army of sons to carry on his name. After the accident however, he could have no more and he so resented his wife, Roach’s mother for her ultimate crime against him. Those words which had been screamed a thousand times before echoed around the empty room and Roach looked once more in to the mirror. There was no five o’clock shadow; the hair was short and unkempt. Most surprisingly to Roach who had not looked at his own reflection for so long was the femininity of his features. His father’s words raged across the room and Roach sank in to a corner, taking an almost foetal position. Like a child hiding from an expected beating Roach began to cry and bemoan his circumstances. He grabbed at his leg and ran his hand through the hairs. Downstairs the Police were now searching. It wouldn’t be long before they found him and he’d be punished, like his mother had been punished for her crime against his father.

For a brief instant it wasn’t the adult Roach curled in the corner, but a child, wearing jeans and a t-shirt watching on in terror as his mother was beaten and his father railed at her….

“You were supposed to do one thing for me, one thing in your whole stinking, worthless life. I wanted a son, a son to carry on my name and my line… and what did you give me? A daughter..”

Suddenly the truth was revealed, it wasn’t a boy watching his father beating his mother for the right reasons.. there never were any right reasons. She was taking the blows to protect her daughter; who herself was a victim for no other reason than being born the wrong gender. Whether life would have been different if her father could have sired more children, even the son he’d wanted so badly didn’t matter. There was no way of knowing, he’d probably have found another excuse to carry out the unspeakable and unconscionable acts that he did. On that day, the day he finally beat Roach’s mother so badly that she didn’t recover, the day he took her body away and she never returned something deep inside Roach broke, something that couldn’t be fixed. The outcome was as bad as any crime she had witnessed; she had carried on her father’s legacy, even to the extent that she would only ever choose to be with women for her physical encounters.

Finally the Police entered the room.

“Rosella Harkem, I’m here to arrest you for the assault on Sally Mae Walker.” For the first time in more years than she could remember Roach Harkem once again saw Rosella the skin she had lived in for so long finally shed away, her crimes however would not go away the piper had finally come to claim his due and it would have to be paid.

Looking on the floor there was no evidence of the skin that she had left behind, instead were the bandages she’d used to bind her chest as flat as she could. The worst part of all was that she would now have not only to accept her crimes but come to terms with what she was and learn to deal with what had driven her to this point.

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