Bastard.

I couldn't move. The creak on the top of the stairs announced his nearing presence. He roared my name knowing that no one would hear his cry. No retribution for his evil actions.

He sniffed the air, taking in the pleasure of knowing my impending torment. He knew I was nearby. The haze of alcohol was impeding his judgement though.

I tried to stifle everything - breathing, movement and voice. I wanted to scream out but knew no one would hear my cries of desperation.

I swallowed hard. He paused on the second to last step.

He consulted his phone. He flicked a few numbers and slipped it back into his torn jeans breast pocket. I could see his wobbliness through the crack of the door.

Then it came. It assaulted my nostrils with an acrid venom. The stench of a man who hasn't washed in many days. Mix in rolled up cigarettes, physical labour and bourbon whiskey. And a fascination with eating fish.

I brought my knees up to bury my head between. I tried to muffle my gag reflex.

I breathed in the remaining embers of fabric softener that still clung to my dress. It took me away from the moment. To a time when my mother sang in the kitchen and cooked apple pies. His deepened roar brought me back to the present.

I could tell that he was getting impatient.

This happened nearly every Sunday evening. He would fall out of his truck, stumble up the two wooden steps on the porch and come looking for me. He would raid the few last pieces of food from the fridge and then come charging. He was predictable.

I was getting to the point where I no longer cared. I wouldn't fight back like I used to. I think I had no fight left in me. I lifted my head out of the scrunch from underneath the stairs. I opened the latch and expected to hear him shout at me.

But all I heard was a dull thud. No shouting.

Then I heard wheezing.

I walked into the back porch to see my prick of an abusive father clutching his chest.

His left hand grabbed at his food stained shirt. His right hand clutched a chicken drumstick hung near the carpet. His eyes wavered in desperation at me.

I slowly approached him and was amazed at how calm I was. He was gasping for air. His wheezing asked me to call for an ambulance.

I shushed him and rubbed the damp sweaty hair out of his eyes. My reassurance seemed to settle him for a second or two.

Then I picked up the chicken leg and sat on the opposite couch.

Then I watched the bastard die.

Tom, Peeping.

The coffee cup was drained of its last dregs. Tom sucked on the polystyrene, leaving teeth marks on the edge. He cast it aside onto the floor of the back seat. He couldn’t risk pissing in public in the alleyway adjacent to his car. The foot traffic was heavy and this neighbourhood was respectable.

Bella was due home anyhow. He would have to leak into a large empty two litre bottle and concentrate on the job at hand. As Tom fished around the floor underneath the drivers’ seat, he heard the distinctive click of her heels on the pavement.

His window was ajar and the waft of garlic and rosemary from nearby Italian restaurants filled the air. A light breeze tickled the branches on the trees, now fully in peak summer’s bloom.

He checked the battery on the long lens. It was full. The short range handheld was three quarters full. His notepad and pen sat on the passenger seat, on top of the greasy wrapper from the local sandwich delicatessen. Tom pulled his glasses from the top of his head and placed them over his eyes. It was time for work.

He first noted the time of Bella's arrival. She was on time, as per usual. Her long, slender legs climbed the eleven steps to her front door. Her navy blue suit and three inch heels complimented her fine shapely figure. Her jacket was unbuttoned at the front.

Tom clicked away on his camera, catching a brief glimpse of her torso through her fluttering blouse as she turned the key in the front door of the brownstone. She held the door open while she disabled the alarm system.

Her dark brown hair was released from the tight grasp of her clip as she entered the front living room. She stood for a moment in front of the window, running her fingers through her tousled, wavy locks. Tom continued to click away, revelling in the fact that this was easily the most satisfying stakeout he ever had. Her husband obviously had his reasons for suspecting her of infidelity.

She left the living room and her shadow informed him that she was venturing upstairs. Curtains were drawn in the bedroom, leaving the imagination to wonder in the world of silhouettes. Slowly, she undressed.

The extractor fan began to spew out steam from the master suite. Almost ten minutes later, her shape reappeared. Tom was sure he could make out her brushing her hair, sitting at her bureau.

Tom continued to make notes. After almost one hour upstairs, she returned downstairs to the kitchen. She poured a large glass of red wine and proceeded to make some phone calls.

A delivery boy from one of the local restaurants skipped up the steps at a little before 10pm. She answered the door in a plain white silk dressing gown, which continued to accentuate her ample bosom. The delivery boy noticed it too, tipping his hat in the air as he descended the steps.

Tom noted the constant flicker of a television screen as the night began to draw in. Bella walked around switching off lights, before retiring to bed just at 11.30pm. She then reset the internal alarm. A nearby car slammed shut, stirring Tom as he himself began to think about drifting off.

Bella wandered around her bedroom for approximately five minutes before finally extinguishing the her bedside lamp. Tom took one final picture with his time stamp before turning the key in the ignition of his beat up Toyota.

Then he heard a scream come from the direction of her bedroom.

Then he saw the briefest flash of light. It then flashed twice more.

Muzzle flashes. But no sound of gunfire.

Tom scooted down in his seat and angled his long lens on the house. He shot a rapid burst from the camera.

He captured the shot of the man who had employed him in the first place.

He was briskly walking directly toward Tom’s car.

Tom’s foot suddenly searched for the gas pedal.

Intrusion.

I bolted upright. The apartment buzzer rang long and loud. I glanced quickly at my watch which read 3.27am. I moved deftly toward the front door. Living on the ground floor, I could hear whomever was pressing the buzzer was mumbling - something very incoherent. And they weren't alone.

Staying within the confines of my own apartment, I listened intently. All six apartments were buzzed in the hope that someone would release the lock on the communal door. I hoped everyone like myself would ignore it. Then the lock disengaged.

I checked the panel display on the alarm system - it was still armed. I heard shuffling on the carpet as they entered. I couldn't make out the accents or what was being said. Then I heard a dull thud. And whispered voices.

I walked to my bedroom window to peer out. A taxi hadn't dropped off our two intruders. They had come on foot. I picked up my phone and scrolled down to the number of the local Garda station. Then the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

The rattle of keys only inches from my front door.

My keys were already in the lock - they fell to the floor as the key entered from the far side. I dialled the number on my phone and picked up my keys.

"Hello? This is not your apartment! You will set off the alarm if you enter! You have the wrong apartment!"

"Open the fucking door! NOW!"

"I am ringing the Gardai right now. You are trying to enter a private residence!"

"Open the fucking door Marie!"

"Marie does not live here - you have the wrong door and wrong apartment!"

"You have two seconds to unlock this door before I kick it in Marie!"

"I don't know who Marie is! No one by that name has ever lived here!"

"Don't try to bullshit me! I know she has a new fella! What's your fucking name?"

"I repeat - I do NOT know a Marie. Marie has NEVER lived here! You have the wrong apartment! This is apartment 6B!"

"Open the fucking door asshole!"

I knock his key from the door and reinsert my own. I turn the key to prevent it being knocked out again. Then the attack begins. It near knocks me from my crouched position as I try to peer out of the keyhole. All I see is a boot coming toward the keyhole. Two grown men trying to kick the door down.

I get through to the Gardai. An officer, sounding very groggy, answers. I state the facts clearly and concisely. He takes a moment to write down the details. He can clearly hear the commotion going on in the background. The noise is deafening and the lock is loosening.

The Gardai won't get to me in time.

I have to make a decision to fight or flight. Putting on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and slipping into my runners I grab the spare set of keys. I hear wood splintering with drive of shoe leather. I lock the bathroom door and slip the key into my pants pocket.

I guess I have about ten seconds left. I grab my hurley from the coat cupboard.

Running from the bedroom through the hall and past the front door I open the window to the living room. The alarm goes off immediately as I open it ajar. Adrenaline fuels my every sinew. I leap out the window as I hear the door giving way. I close the window over and hop over the banister. I hear loud shouting amongst a wailing alarm as the two men enter.

It takes me only fifteen or twenty seconds to run around the apartment block. A small crowd of neighbours and semi-sober Saturday night clubbers are just passing and wonder what the commotion is all about.

I have the element of surprise.

My neighbour upstairs peers cautiously out from her front door. I wave her back indoors. The constant hammering of boots on wood has made utter smithereens of the four inch thick wooden front door.

I grab my hurley at the midpoint and take a deep breath. The two men are now kicking intently at the bathroom door. My plan is working. The alarm screams and muffles my approach.

I am less than five feet away and they do not turn around. The smell of alcohol is almost overpowering.

Their gait and stances are faltering. They are tired from pummelling the front door.

I have the legal right to defend myself against unwanted intruders.

I will defend my castle.