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“Get away from me!” Keyon yelled, his arm outstretched, waving the shard of glass at the men.
The men looked at each other, nodded, and left the room, closing the door behind them.
Did I win?Keyon blinked, unwilling to let go of the broken glass or lower his shaking hand. They’d left, but would they come back?
The left side of his face started stinging. He wiped the blood away, only to hiss from pain. He looked at his bloody hand, and tears slid down his face, mixing with the blood, stinging his skin. Keyon’s hands shook as he stood there in the middle of the room, blood dripping onto the floor.
He slowly walked to the corner and slid along the wall. He sat on the floor, his bottom still hurting from the treatment he’d received from one of the men a few hours earlier.
This was the last time, he vowed to himself. They would not hurt him any longer.
The door opened then and a tall man, wearing expensive clothing, a white wig, and a tricorn hat—similar to one the monster used to wear—entered the room.
“What have you done, you mongrel?” he growled at Keyon.
The man stepped closer and reached out a hand toward Keyon, but the latter hissed and outstretched his shaking hand, still holding the bloody shard.
“I told you he had gone insane,” said one of the guards.
The man in a tricorn hat spat at Keyon’s feet and looked at him in disgust. “Get rid of him then,” he said and walked away.
The guards entered the room, crowding Keyon. He tried to fight, waving the glass around, screaming at the top of his lungs, but the strength had abandoned him. The men lifted him by the arms, his legs dangling and kicking the air. They stuffed him inside a carriage and closed the door behind him.
Keyon struggled to get out, he yelled and screamed, but there was no use. The carriage swayed and started along the cobbled road. Keyon held the piece of glass in his hand, clutching it to his chest. If anyone came for him, he would fight. He would fight, and he would not let anyone touch him anymore.
The carriage rattled through the streets of London for a long time. Keyon fell in and out of dreams, his limbs heavy and his mind groggy. In his sleepy state, he could not fight or even protest when the door opened.
A pair of strong hands shoved him out of the carriage. A kick to the stomach followed, and then Keyon was left there, on the side of the road all alone.
Keyon watched the disappearing carriage through heavy-lidded eyes. His prayers had been answered, after all.
He was finally free.
The Highwayman
Thirteen years old
Keyon rode at a breakneck pace toward the hide-out. When he reached the hill, he jumped off the horse before it even stopped and ran to the side of the road, where his crew was waiting for him eagerly.
Their leader, a tall young man named Brock, stepped forward. “Well?”
“A very rich, black-lacquered carriage is coming up just behind the bend with four horses. Two outriders, a driver, and a servant at the back.”
“Great work, mate!” Brock shook him approvingly by the scruff. “Get ready, everyone! It is time for us to get wealthy.”
They all put their handkerchiefs over the lower part of their faces, mounted their horses, and sat in wait. The carriage trudged along unsuspectingly, getting closer and closer to the ambush spot.
“Now!” Brock yelled as the carriage passed their hiding place. The bandits jumped out and surrounded it, pistols ready. Every person had a job. One man held the driver at gunpoint, another two trained their guns on the outriders. Keyon kept close to Brock, ready to collect all the valuables the victims handed over while Brock threatened them.
The carriage door opened, and Brock aimed his gun at the occupants. “Stand and deliver! All your valuables for your life.” He said his usual line in a hoarse voice. There was a rustle of clothing and bags while people inside did as they were asked.
“Keyon, get the satchel,” Brock barked.
As Keyon walked over with a satchel, ready to collect the valuables, the man inside the carriage looked up sharply. Keyon froze, staring at the man—the monster—unable to move. He recognized the monster’s icy gray eyes immediately. He still saw those eyes in his nightmares even after all those years. How could he forget the monster who’d taken away his mother? Who’d doomed him to years in hell?
“Keyon! Get the valuables!” Brock barked again.
“Keyon?” the monster snarled in his hoarse, repugnant voice, and this was enough to shake Keyon from his stupor.
