AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing. (This chapter starts at about the same time as the last one, then continues after it.)
It was a small bedroom, with a single ancient looking bed and a nasty smell. There were a few bits of old wooden furniture against the walls; a wardrobe, some draws, a rickety looking chair.
Paddy tried the door first, turning the handle any way it would move, pulling, pushing, then looking for anything pointy that might fit in the key hole. Not that he knew how to pick a lock. If he ever got out of here, that was the first thing he would look up on Youtube.
Then he looked at the window. They seemed to be painted shut. He pushed at the joins for a while, then saw his Grandfather pulling Ste from the car and letting him fall painfully to the ground. Paddy felt a sudden surge of fury at the sight, which only grew when the old man pushed Ste again and again into the house. He needed a release for that tension, for his anger. There was a chair close to him, so he picked it up and threw it against the wall with all the strength he could muster.
It did very little. One already loose looking leg broke off, and it made quite a satisfying noise (he'd shouted something too, which was almost as satisfying) but he was still locked in this ugly room, while God knew what was happening to Ste downstairs. He needed a better plan than anger and loud noises.
So, the door was not gonna happen. And, if Paddy was right, Granddad would be totally distracted by Ste for a while, and wasn't likely to come anywhere near opening the door in time. Even if he did, that wouldn't provide a way out.
That left the window, but he couldn't open it, and breaking it would be too noisy.
Except, would it be too noisy? He'd just thrown a chair against a wall and he couldn't hear anyone coming to check on him. But glass sounded completely different didn't it?
But the chair had been loud in this wooden, echoing house. How loud would the wardrobe be? Loud enough to stop them noticing another sound?
The wardrobe was about two feet from the window, big and oak. This might not even be possible.
He thought of Ste, bruised and crying underneath Granddad. He had to try.
He pulled the broken leg from the chair. It would do to break the glass, and then he could get out. He wondered if he would have to jump. That would be scary, it was a long way down. What if he broke his leg?
No, he couldn't think like that. It was up to Paddy now. He had to try.
He positioned himself between the window and the wardrobe, and pushed against the latter with all his might, left hand poised to smash the glass the moment it fell.
Except it barely moved.
He would have to try with both hands. No, that wouldn't work either. He wouldn't be able to smash the glass at the same time.
He would have to think again. The chest of draws. It was against the opposite wall, but much lighter than the wardrobe. But it was heavy too.
He moved it a draw at a time, until it was right in front of the window, the main body last. He shoved the draws back in, then shoved it with his foot. The dropped the draws as he was putting them back in but he thought quickly, and managed to smash the window while they dropped. Not enough, he wouldn't fit through. He threw the rest of the chest over, shouting and smashing the window at the same time, or as much as he could. Then he listened.
Shit, footsteps. Granddad was coming up. The window was broken. He would move Paddy if he saw, or beat him up enough that he'd never get away. Paddy threw the curtains closed, stood in front, then realised he had to have a good way to have made that noise when Granddad opened the door.
He was at the top of the stairs already.
Paddy picked up one of the drawers, and threw it at the door, then another and did the same, just in time to see Granddad opening it up.
Granddad stared at the drawers on the floor, then at Padraig.
"What the fuck do you think you're playing at?"
What now? Take his attention off the window.
He threw himself at his Granddad, hit him, kicked him, punched him. Hardly any of the blows landed, but that wasn't the point. Granddad's did. He felt it on his face, and flew backwards, thankfully landing on the bed rather than any of the furniture.
Granddad followed him, and punched him again, in the belly this time, then shouted. Paddy didn't really hear the words, but it was probably more of what he said earlier. Shut up, stop making a fuss, be a man, go to bed.
Go to bed in the middle of the day. How was that the same as being a man?
He lay still on the bed, hoping he looked like he'd given up. It was enough. Granddad stormed out, locking the door. Paddy waited, listening, hoping he wouldn't come back, that that was it.
No return of the footsteps, just low voices down stairs. He breathed and breathed, then stood up. His face was throbbing, his already bruised belly was almost enough to make him give up, but he knew he couldn't. He had to get help, he had to get out, and he couldn't get Ste out by himself.
There were sharp bits in the window still, but with the remaining chair in front, he managed to get out and onto the narrow ledge on the outside. He clung to the frame and looked for a way down.
He couldn't believe his luck. A drainpipe climbed the house just feet from the window. God he hoped it would hold his weight. He shimmied down, had a thought, and jumped the last six feet.
It was still light, and he was out. He knew the way to the village. He could get to Dad. Couldn't he?
Brady's hands were on Ste's waist had frozen.
"Is that…" Brady started, breathing deeply, holding in that furious anger by a thread, "is that coming from your foot, Steven?"
"I…"
But Brady was ahead of him. He shoved him forward, and he fell over the table. Brady grabbed his leg, pulled it up and pulled the phone out of the sock, then pushed Ste onto the floor.
As soon as he hit it, he jumped up again, ready to fight, ready to do whatever it took. Brady held the phone like it was a snake he'd grabbed found in the grass. Then he smashed it on the table, once, twice, again and again and again.
Ste clenched his fists anew. When Brady had calmed enough to turn to him, he started.
"What, did you expect me to just sit back and do nothing? Let you get away with it?"
Brady shook his head, but not in the way you would to say no. He shook it like he was clearing his head.
"You are a sick bastard," Ste continued, "beating up your Grandkid, shoving him in the boot of your car, taking him away from his Mam, never mind what you tried to do to me. You try coming near me, I will fight you off again and again. You are not gonna rape me. You are nothing but a pathetic, violent, disgusting old man!"
Brady glared at him, the ruins of the phone in hand still, and sized him up.
"Come on then!" Ste shouted, "Come and try it!"
Brady threw the first punch, which Ste dodged, and then they were both going. Whatever bit of each other they could hurt, they tried their hardest. Ste scrambled to punch, to kick, and so did Brady. They fell down, Brady on top, then Ste, then Brady again, then Ste managed to get out of that, and managed to get the table between them.
"You disgusting little queer," shouted Brady, nursing a split lip Ste didn't even remember causing.
"No, you're the disgusting one. We're both queer," shouted Ste back, and Brady went for him again. He tried to climb over the table, but Ste had run already, behind one of the chairs, which he picked up and wielded like a weapon.
Brady laughed at him, "What are you planning on doing with that?" he jeered.
"Whatever it takes," Ste replied, then got distracted.
Paddy was outside the window, running away from the house.
Paddy, who had been in the front seat. Paddy who might know the direction home. Paddy, for whom he had got into this mess.
If Paddy got away, he could just run. And the first person Paddy would go to would be Brendan. If Paddy got away, they were both saved.
But what did Brady say? Twenty miles? He didn't really think that was the truth, but it might take Paddy ages to get anywhere on foot. Much less for Brady in the car.
Paddy escaping was the only thing that mattered. If he could get out… well, that was worth any price wasn't it? But he needed to get away. He needed the time. If Brady got bored of fighting, he might decide to use Paddy as leverage again. He might just get fed up, and go to Paddy any moment, take him away again, leave Ste here. If he went to Paddy's room now, the boy would never get away. Ste had to keep him down here, focusing on him. All night if he had to.
Brady yanked the chair from his hands, but Ste didn't care. He knew what he had to do.
So Ste kissed him, hard on the mouth.
He knew just one way he could keep Brady busy all night.
