Part 1 can be found HERE and should be read first.
I didn’t believe her at first when she told me, but that was guilt suppressing her words. I knew, I think. I mean, it is fucking obvious when you play the record backwards; you can hear the sound of the devil emanating from the vinyl.
I looked up the old newspaper records at the library. Vast numbers of microfiche, slipped under a light, seeking out the confirming article. It took time, but I found it. A tiny box, hidden away at the bottom of page eight.
“In [withheld] Court, yesterday, Charles Hamilton Grant, was sentenced to prison for eight years on the charge of Paedophilia. His child abuse history had gone back five years, starting when his wife died. His known victims numbered six during this period. Families of the abused shouted as the Judge read the sentencing.”
Six. Six that came forward, anyway. My Sister was a seventh. She pleaded with me not to tell my parents, or anyone. I could see the shame etched on her face. I only felt anger. Once again, I didn’t understand her emotion.
It was easy to track him down. A run down flat on an estate, built on the edge of the spreading town. The door gave easy enough, cheap wood splintering as the sturdy lock remained intact. I stepped inside and the smell of cheap aftershave took me back through the years.
He had grown old, and frail. The eight years inside had not been kind to the man. He didn’t recognise me at first. When I told him my name, his eyes widened, then a strange calm fell across him. He was compliant when I asked him to sit down. I took the bulb from my bag and held it out to him. He frowned as he did my bidding, reading aloud the etching upon the bulb. All throughout, he was calm, accepting. Right up to the point when I forced the bulb into the socket of his eye.