Pulled Apart by Spinning Force
By Harry Piacentino
When Charlie told me about the black hole in the farmer’s field, I didn’t believe him. But there it was, hidden in the copse, a silent, stirring mass. It pulled in the weak light through the bare branches of the bowed trees that hung over our heads.
We shuffled forwards and peered in. I felt it suck at my shoes, and stepped back, afraid a lace tugged loose would drag me down. I turned to Charlie. It can’t be real.
Charlie opened his backpack, took out a faded Action Man, and threw it into the darkness. Action Man swirled around the rim, stretching with the thin stream of light, his strong jaw pulled into a silent scream, eyes fixed on a point beyond us.
As we watched the black hole pull and crush Action Man to nothing, Charlie told me what he wanted to do. I didn’t ask why.
Charlie’s brother was a bully. He was the one you avoided in the playground and on the football pitch. I took my share of Bill’s kicks and punches. Charlie got more than his, hands always lined with scratches, bruises buried beneath thick jumpers.
Of course I told Charlie that I would help. It was only when he said we should practice with a log I knew he was serious.
I don’t want to kill him. He’s my brother, he said. I just don’t want him around any more.
Charlie had it all planned out.
And the plan worked perfectly—the sleeping pills crushed into Bill’s protein shake, the Scouts’ knots holding firm around his limp wrists, the shopping trolley in the driveway ready to go. We hauled Bill into the trolley and pushed it through the water-logged field to the copse. My arms burned as we dragged him between the trees and laid him at the hole’s edge.
Charlie dropped to one knee before his brother, his breathing heavy with effort. I looked him in the eyes, hoping he’d read my plea to stop. He took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly through pursed lips, as if forcing out the final doubts.
Bill began to stir and Charlie stood. Right, he said.
Then we pushed Bill in.
The duct tape over Bill’s mouth held as he was pulled apart by the spinning force. His eyes, shaken from sleep, darted between Charlie and me and the trees, the only sign of the terror he must have felt. Then he was gone.
We trudged back in darkness through the field and waited on the dripping swings in the park behind Charlie’s house. We watched the sun rise slowly in the puddles at our feet. Each drop that fell from our boots and disturbed the surface seemed to ripple and swirl endlessly. He’ll just be somewhere else, I said.
When they found us, Charlie’s quick nod told me to stay silent.
What have you done to my boy? Charlie’s dad pounded on the swing’s frame, water flying off. He told us all the things he’d do if we didn’t start talking. I’d never heard an adult talk like that, and I wrapped my arms more tightly around myself with each new threat. Charlie didn’t look up.
I jumped at the first slap of thick palm on Charlie’s bare skin. Charlie stared back at his dad, one cheek flushed red.
The second slap landed, and I shouted, Stop. Charlie’s hard look turned to me, telling me again to keep quiet. But when the third came, and Charlie let out a sharp cry, I couldn’t help myself. We threw him in a hole, I said. Charlie’s dad pulled me up by the front of my shirt. Show me.
Charlie was dragged all the way, his dad never letting go of his arm. His knees were torn and bloody by the time we reached the field.
In there. I pointed towards the copse. But don’t go in. It’s a black hole. Charlie’s dad stormed forwards.
Now it was Charlie who wouldn’t let go. He clung to his dad’s legs, digging his feet into the mud. Charlie pleaded through thick sobs. Just stay here. He’s gone. When a heavy boot connected with his chin, Charlie went sprawling.
I ran to Charlie as his dad disappeared among the trees. His chest rose and fell with regular rhythm. His eyes stared blindly into the grey sky. We lay side by side in the field for some time after the wavering cries from the copse fell silent. The sky darkened, and I tried pulling Charlie up, but he slumped straight back down into the mud. When the moon shone high above us, I walked home.
I only saw Charlie once after that.
He was sitting in the passenger seat of a car loaded with boxes. As the car passed in front of me, I raised my hand and offered a faint smile. Charlie’s glazed eyes looked beyond me, and soon the car passed into the distance.
Harry Piacentino lives with his partner and their little girl in Glasgow, Scotland.