Catalyst
"Chas..."
Where is that bitch? I had her. I had her right there and she ran away. She ran away like so many others. I don't blame her. Not really.
Carl King lay on the gravel, bloodied by a stray brick
When you have a tosser for an older brother...it becomes natural to lie, to manipulate.
He moved slightly, the insistent stinging behind his ear, the pounding at the base of his skull always apparent. It was the worst pain he had ever felt.
Chas, that heartless bitch. The slut. The gypsy wannabe. The woman I want. The Dingle.
Carl moved ever so slightly again, claret covered hands pressing into crimson covered temples.
"Fuck..." he cursed, breathing louder and louder. "...fuck."
She hadn't the guts to kill me. She tried, but she didn't try hard enough. She could have tried harder, she could have done it. A brick to the head, how original, how...Chas.
The second youngest King lay still once more and gazed skyward, hoping to see a bright, white light and the sound of his father's voice, forgiving him. Nothing. No bright light, no voice inside his head. Just total silence.
"Sh-shut it..." he called out lamely, his 'shouts' directed towards the more expensive of the wedding receptions happening tonight. He could hear the band, the non-stop chattering of the village residents, the laughter, giggling, and he swore he could even hear people smiling, if that were possible. He had never hated everybody in Emmerdale as much as he did that moment.
Cameron...that southern bastard...thinks he's hard, thinks he knows everything. I'll wipe the floor with the prick.
Carl tried to stand up, but failed, his head span around, desperate for air and desperate for time to adjust to the pain. The stars shone on him, in this nondescript yet volatile village, the village where people killed, lied, had affairs, were arsonists, stole, blackmailed and eventually died. Many had left but the ones who stayed had power. Carl knew he should have left years ago, after his dad died, after his brothers had died, after his women left him, he knew he should have gone.
Jimmy...you arsehole, you utter doormat...taking orders from that gobby cow. You were better than that. No...you are better than that, yet you swing for me like we're kids again. 'Childish Jimmy', the one the girls ran away from whilst I shagged them after school. Felicity Anderson...I could do with your mouth around me again.
He laughed to himself.
She's probably a gut buster now. Women always get fat when they get comfortable, but not Chas.
Carl turned to his side to try and push himself up again.
I'd still show her a good time if she asked.
He laughed as he pushed himself up.
Fat bitch.
A car drove past but the driver didn't see him. Carl spat blood, tasting the copper, sniffing the stone and dirt below, he wanted to be sick.
No. No, no, no. You're not chucking up before Chas gets here. She won't want you then. She'll be repulsed, she won't want you to take your clothes off and worship you when she can smell vomit.
Carl had been to a nearby gym on the outskirts of Leeds every night for the past three months, he had trained and trained until he got the right shape, the right cuts in the right places. Whenever he walked down the streets, whether it be Emmerdale, or London, if a woman walked past him, he could feel them running their eyes up and down his body, turning around as he passed them to check his rear. That was what he liked to think anyway. In reality, they glanced at him, saw the sneer as he noticed them, and ignored him, taken aback by his expression. He wore the tightest t-shirts possible, the tightest jeans possible, all at the expense of the company. Carl would buy Armani to wind his older brother up, pretending it was a knock off, or that he had saved a little collection of money to pay for it. He would then wait until the family sat down and had a nice dinner before revealing he had taken money from the safe to buy one pair of shoes or a jacket. He revelled in the chaos that followed.
Jimmy...I'm still alive...don't get your hopes up yet.
All he could do was think, he could barely move and an eternity had passed.
Chas, where are you?
It had only been a few minutes.
We're supposed to be leaving this godforsaken village. Leave the nosy villagers and their jumped up opinions to themselves. Their wrong opinions. They were usually wrong. Leave Dan and his ugly face to see red, to feel the embarrassment of being stood up half an hour after your wedding. I hope he's miserable.
Another car drove through and ignored him, thinking he was a drunk.
The Dingle's will have their bastard child born, the Sharma's will have their kid and it'll live here for the rest of it's life. Poor kid. They deserve more than what their parents can offer them.
He could hear footsteps approaching rapidly.
I might as well die, but I can't. I can't die because I'm cursed to watch others die. No. No, maybe it's a good thing. Maybe I am God. I can control the village just by sending out that picture of Chas and Cameron to Debbie and watch from the sidelines with a pint. They would have a field day. It'll be the end of the Dingle's, they'll fight until they split apart their merry band of inbred twats. Still, it matters little to me, as I'll be off with Chas in Spain.
The footsteps grew louder and Carl was helped to his feet by a furious Cameron, only to be thrown to the ground again. They argued at full volume, the music from the reception blared in their ears as they shoved each other, that was, until Carl claimed he was 'indestructible' in his fit of madness. Cameron smashed the King brother with the brick Chas had used ten minutes prior and watched him drop heavily. Debbie had given birth and he wasn't at her side, and little did he know Carl had sent the image of the convincing liar and Chas naked, in their hotel bedroom. Pandemonium in this town was infinite.
I love you Chastity Dingle, I will always love you.
Author's Note: I hope this one-shot brought Carl across as slowly descending into madness, he was a great character, it was a shame to see him go. Thanks for reading, from a first time Emmerdale writer!