THE SECOND
SIGHT
Chapter 31
BREACH OF TRUST
Location: UNCLE SAMSON’S RESIDENCE
Yaw Boat speaks fiercely, his right hand raised, forefinger jabbing the air for emphasis, his heart beating with uncontrollable anger brou-ght on by the pain of Samson’s deceit.
Uncle Samson still looks greatly flustered and he ru-bs his furrowed brow absent-mindedly, his mind seemingly far off.
UNCLE SAMSON
(confused, agitated)
How can it be? I never thought that damn man could interfere, and his stupid little prophecy will come true. But that’s alright, I think. It’s too late for you now. You’ve come too far, and nothing will change now.
BOAT
(violently)
In your f*¢king dreams! My Dad is going to find out right now, and he’s going to put this right, and you’re going to regret to the skin of your ugly teeth! You’re going to wish you never f*¢ked with the son of Mr. Joe Boat!
Samson’s eyes are mean once again, his confusion quickly forgotten.
He looks like a mountain – a very impregnable one – and again that mark on his forehead blazes a sickening crimson.
UNCLE SAMSON
(savagely)
And who’s going to tell your faher, Ya? You? Your old man is going senile, don’t you know? And he eats out of my hand. The next time you set eyes on him it’ll be all over. You want to know what this is all about, right? Well, your wish will be granted. You’re going back to that room you so impudently entered, and boy, you’re going to find out all about your miserable life!
Boat takes a step back from him.
Suddenly his anger begins to dissipate, and in its shadow is the beginning of great panic.
Uncle Samson’s last words have not sounded right; it isn’t his voice at all, but it had come out in a rumble – a de-ep, blasting bas-s that reverberates round the room, filling it, crashing throu-ghBoat’s mind, making his nerves grate.
And something else too!
As he said the last words, something vile within him emerges, superimposing itself on Uncle Samson’s features!
For a brief second – a very brief second – his face has changes! He has sprouted a snout, pig-like but hairy, and his forehead has bulged, his eyes going a terrifying yellow, his jaw jutting out, his teeth a wild series of canines, top and bottom, ready to tear and maul.
Just for a brief moment, and then the man’s furious face emerges again.
It dawned on Boat then, finally, that he is not dealing with a human.
Uncle Samson is just another vessel, and it is that thing which dwells in him that is responsible for all the atrocities Boat has seen.
BOAT
You f*¢king bastard! You evil piece of dogpile! You’re also a vessel, aren’t you? You have been occu-pied, haven’t you?
UNCLE SAMSON
(calmly)
Yes. Satisfied? You’re going to be occu-pied by a more powerful demon, and you’re going to have powers you have never imagined before. Now one can help you now, Yaw. It might seem terrifying now, but when this is all over you’ll have the kind of power men have always dreamt about, the kind of power that will put the world at your feet. It is inevitable, and the sooner you accept and deal with it, the better it will be for you. Come along now, back to the chamber. Don’t let me hurt you.
So ominous, so startling.
Samson Basoah, a giant of a man who seemingly has no violence in him. That statement, coming from him, sounds as absurd as the Pope watching a stri-ptease in public.
But Boat knows it isn’t coming from him; it is The Thing speaking, warning him.
Desperately Boat’s mind races, searching for avenues of escape, and not finding any.
BOAT
My father will kill you for this!
UNCLE SAMSON
(calmly)
Your father can’t help you now, Yaw. This night you’ll spend with me. He will believe you didn’t show up. After all it won’t be the first time he demanded to see you failed to show up. By morning it will be all over. You’re going to be grateful for this, boy, believe me!
He reaches for Boat’s arm, but Boat steps away from him.
Boat’s face is desperate, his eyes wild.
BOAT
(wrathfully)
Don’t you dare touch me ever again!
UNCLE SAMSON
(snarling)
Get back into that room! Don’t let me repeat that, and don’t let me hurt you!
Once again he moves forward and reaches for Boat.
Boat’s br@in is in a turmoil, and his heartbeat has accelerated.
Of one thing he is extremely sure of is that he can’t allow himself to be taken!
He knows that if he falls into the hands of Uncle Samson and his dark for-ces it will be the end of him.
He has to get to his father, because only he can help him now.
Element of surprise.
That is a weapon, as his GojuFist trainer used to say, and when utilized right it can be the difference between life and death.
And that is why Boat launches himself at Samson, the fingers of both hands rigid, seeking his eyes and throat. They would have been paralysing blows that would have put an end to the whole thing.
If they have landed, that is.
Boat finds only empty space where Samson has been a second before.
Samson is quick, real quick, and as Boat tries to regain his balance Samson slams a fist into his stomach, causing him to gag immediately.
The pain explodes in Boat’s br@in – alive, paralysing!
He begins to double up, and Samson backhands him across the face, spinning his head back, almost tearing it off his ne-ck.
Boat sees only blackness as he lands on all fours, and he can feel warm blood running down his nostrils and forming a bitter tangy taste in his mouth.
The mere thought of it – that Uncle Samson and he can be engaged in such violence – is utterly obscene.
Somehow Boat is more sad than hurt by Samson’s as-sault on him. To think that all those years of loving care have been nothing but evil manipulation, that all Samson has done for him has been just a façade, a part of the overall program, a part of pure evil.
He had thought he was in control of his life, but all along he had been nothing but a puppet on a string, a piece of object that has been painstakingly controlled and driven toward a terrible agenda that means nothing but death to him.
Somehow he mourns that lost trust in that brief moment when blood drips down his nostrils and his tongue aches.
Such evil, such wickedness.
So unfair!
His anger is full, and suddenly he moves off the floor so quickly that Samson is caught unawares. Boat rushes him, his shoulder lowered, straight into Samson’s tummy.
The giant had no time to parry or sidestep, and he takes Boat’s tackle full blast. It should have sent them crashing to the floor with Samson M0-ning in agony, but apart from moving him back a step or two – and making him catch his breath sharply – the brutal hit has no effect on Samson, and Boat bounces off Samson’s ha-rd muscles as if he has run into a brick wall.
Samson is that strong …and he is that fit!
He slap-s Boat across the face, and he falls ha-rd, dazed by the blow.
Boat fights the darkness that threatens to swallow him. It is a most trying moment for him because all he wants to do is to give in and let sweet nothingness consume him. Emotionally he is sated, and physically he is a total wreck.
But he can’t give in, especially not when he knows the kind of terrible future Samson has in sto-re for him. He has no wish to be invaded like Ralph Stebbins, or Henry Didier!
With the strength ebbing rapidly out of him, Boat gathers his weight behind his ne-ck and lunges off the floor at Samson, swinging a fast left right combination from the wai-st, aiming for Samson’s jaw and throat, seeking to cause swift pain to slow down the giant and enable him get past him.
Once he has Samson behind him he the older man will never catch because Boat is a good fast runner.
With the grace of a matador Samson twists away effortlessly and swings at Boat, catching him cleanly on the jaw.
Boat drops, the wind totally knocked out of him. He falls on his face, his head bursting with pain and another spout of blood pouring out of his nostrils and split li-ps.
Boat is fully aware that Samson didn’t hit him with the full for-ce of his awesome power. If he had, split li-ps would’ve been Boat’s least worry; he would have fractured Boat’s jaw, and probably killed him in the process.
Slowly Boat turns over once and remains still, all the fight evaporating from me.
Sharp tears prick his eyes as it dawns on him that there is no way he is going to be able to beat Samson’s sheer fighting prowess; he is far too big, and far too strong. Worse, he is a capable fighter even for all that br@wn, and he moves with speed and precision, and Boat knows that GojuFist or not, Samson Basoah is a superior fighter, and he can never best him in hand-to-hand combat.
Boat’s helplessness is a sudden weight that almost crushes him. It makes his heart palpitate violently, and at that moment he wishes for death.
He has never felt so overwhelmed in his life.
UNCLE SAMSON
(softly)
Give it up, Yaw. Stand up now.
Boat ignores him, and lies absolutely still on the floor.
Throu-ghthe tiny slits of his eyes he sees the flash of sudden concern on Samson’s face. He thinks he has hit Boat too ha-rd, maybe hurt me bad in the process.
Boat is utterly taken aback by the look of fear that suddenly flashes across Samson’s scarred face.
Boat resolves then to make a last move.
Fear and concern can make a man careless and cause him to drop his guard for that fraction of a second that can make all the difference.
With a man like Samson, Boat will have only one chance, and that makes timing very essential.
He approaches Boat’s inert form rapidly and prods him with the tip of one expensive brown shoe.
UNCLE SAMSON
(anxiously)
Get up now, boy! Don’t be a sissy now.
Boat remains immobile.
Samson bends from the wai-st, just as Boat has hoped he would, intending to haul Boat into a sitting position.
Boat waits until Samson’s hands are grabbing the lapels of his shirt.
Samson’s legs are br@ced for the upward haul, offering a nice target between his thi-ghs. Boat rises with the momentum of Samson’s pull, and he gathers all his power into his right fist.
It was a masterpiece – a clas-sic by all standards!
He sinks fist to the last iota of intent into Samson’s balls.
Samson hasn’t been expecting the attack, and thus he didn’t tense or try to twist away, both actions capable of dulling the effects of the blow to some extent, but he is relaxed, and that makes the blow all the more powerful.
When God decided to put man’s most sen-sitive objects into a sac hanging outside his body, it enabled man to become vulnerable even if his whole body is armoured in muscles and bone.
Boat has never heard of any man who is so fit and so muscle-bound that his scrotal sac is like iron.
All male balls are soft balls!
A flash of agony creases that hu-ge face above Boat, and it is like a knife searing throu-ghBoat’s heart. To have done that to somebody he loves – still loves in an awful kind of way – is something Boat momentarily feels very sorry for.
Samson tries to stay erect, and he almost succeeds. However it is a losing battle; he feels the pain badly, real badly.
Samson’s body betrays him, lets the paralysing pain overcome his great resolve, but his eyes remain alive, full of a murderous loathing that once again tears into Boat’s heart, making him realize that no matter what happens, he will never be Uncle Samson again.
Just before he falls to his knees his great hands reach out, clawing for Boat’s ne-ck.
Boat jack-knifes away from him with panic; to let those hands get hold of him will mean doom, and even as he moves away Boat’s hand is thr-usting out, reaching for a low stool at the foot of the bed.
As Boat gains one knee his hand is firmly grasping one of the legs of the stool, and he brings it round in a vicious swipe.
Samson doesn’t see it coming until it is almost too late.
He tries to move his head back, and that is why the stool smashes against his jaw instead of the side of his head.
This time he Gr0-ns with the pain as the impact swings his head round on his thick ne-ck. The stool breaks to smithereens, and Boat lets go of the splintered leg as Samson falls on his side, unconscious
Tbc…