by Ryan Casey
The cold wind blew in through the smashed window behind her. She could feel the blood of the woman she’d killed crisping up her back. Smell its rusty, metallic stench cutting through the air.
But all she could see was this poor dog, Rex.
The dog she’d saved.
The dog she felt like she’d been through so much with in such a short time.
Tight collar around his neck.
Metal chain leash pulling him back, restraining him.
Muzzle over his mouth as he kicked and thrashed and tried to break free.
And the people around him, holding him back.
The leader of the group holding the knife—the one who’d been talking—stared right at Aoife. “Don’t even think about jumping. You won’t make it. And if you try anything—anything—I’ll kill your dog. I don’t want to do it. I love animals. Really. But you’ve killed one of our people. You’ve killed one of our people, and your lot killed one of our kids, too. So the way I see it, the time for diplomacy’s over, missy.”
Aoife stood there, speechless. She genuinely didn’t know what to say or what to do.
Only that there was no way she was jumping out of this window.
There was no way she was leaving Rex behind.
“You could’ve just complied,” the man said. “You could’ve just complied, and we were gonna trade you and James’ boy. But now—”
“She tried to kill me,” Aoife said.
The man didn’t seem to hear her. Or maybe he didn’t want to hear her. “When James gets back here… he ain’t gonna be happy. Kelly’s fella, Harry, poor bloke. He ain’t gonna be happy either. You lot were already on thin ice after what happened with Sam. But now… God, you’d better pray for yourselves Cody is okay, or James is gonna flip.”
Aoife wanted to protest, wanted to stand her ground, wanted to fight. But as she stood there, staring into Rex’s big brown eyes, she felt weak. She felt defeated.
And she knew that fighting wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Not anymore.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” Aoife said. “But I know why I did what I did. I fought her off. I didn’t mean to… to kill her. She tried to kill me, and I had to fight. For my life. That’s why I did what I did.”
The man stared back at Aoife. It was like he was torn. Like on a deep level, he could sense what Aoife was saying had logic and truth to it.
But at the same time, it just wasn’t going to cut it—and Aoife knew it.
“What’s happened between us both. The people I know and your community. It’s—it’s all something that has got out of hand.”
“You can say that again,” one of the blokes said with a grunt.
“But at the end of the day, we have a choice. We can fight; we can turn into the savages this world seems destined to turn us into. Or we can… we can learn from this. We can be better from this. Because if the power isn’t coming back on, and if nobody’s coming to help, then we’re going to have to learn to work together.”
“You really think we can work together?” the bloke with the knife to Rex’s neck said. “Like, after everything that’s happened? Really?”
“I want to believe we can be better than we have been,” Aoife said. “Harold, the man who killed Sam. He made a mistake. A horrible mistake. But I’m not going to stand here and lie. He was intimidated. He was provoked.”
“Sam wouldn’t hurt a fly!” another guy shouted.
“And this is what happens when we don’t communicate. When we don’t pull together. I’m not even from around here. You keep calling me a posh bitch and treating me like I’m from some high tower looking down. Truth is, I’m a woman in my thirties whose career went to shit and ended up leaving their job and trying to go back to university. I’m broke. And sure, I can be a bit stubborn I’ve been told. But I’m not here to look down on anyone. And neither is Max. Neither is Moira. Neither is Nathan. And neither was… neither was Harold. We’re all just in shock right now. All of us. No power. And it’s going to get worse. So we can stand here, and we can fight. Or we can actually reach some kind of solution.”
Silence followed. For the first time, Aoife sensed she was finally getting through to them.
“I’ll pay for what I’ve done,” she said. “I’ll accept my punishment. I’ve killed someone, and I’ll pay in some way for that. I know that’s justice. And I will pay for it. I’m not going to run from that. I’m not going to hide from it. I accept it. But right now… right now, I have a friend whose life needs saving. And I’d really, really appreciate it if you can look past everything that’s happened between us all, just for one minute, and let me get him the antibiotics he needs.”
More silence.
More staring.
Rex whining but not struggling. Not anymore.
The man’s knife slipping from his neck.
“Please,” Aoife said. “All I’m asking is for you to allow me to let the law decide my fate. And not to tarnish us all with the same brush. Please.”
The man pulled his knife away from Rex.
Kept his grip on the leash tight.
And then he lowered the knife, and he sighed.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said. “But that’s not up to us.”
He walked over to her.
Grabbed her.
And then he yanked her away, over towards the exit of the bathroom, her escape route disappearing before her eyes.
“We’re all going on a trip up the hills,” he said. “Time to see if James is still so keen on exchanging when he finds out what you’ve done.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
When James stepped into the kitchen and found his son lying on the table, his whole world stood still.
All he could see was the boy.
The boy he’d brought into the world. Sure, he never wanted Candice to have a kid. Tried to encourage her to give it up. Have an abortion. Tried to make her drink a bit too much, and even slipped some broken-up pills into her wine once to try and make her OD.
But she kept on going. She had the kid.
And ever since then…
Well, James would be lying if he said he’d loved having a kid. Raising a son. Truth be told, he found it hard work. Cody was a little shit, and he always had been. And when Candice died and with no family to help support him, he’d been left with a burden he wasn’t sure he could handle.
And sure. He knew he hadn’t been the best dad in the world. He’d sometimes not fed Cody on time. He got pissed off with him when he interrupted him watching the football and shit. And if anyone thought he was doing his homework with him or any of that crap, they were mistaken. James never got any help with his homework when he was younger. All he got was a beating. Time and time again.
Besides, school was bullshit anyway. Cody could learn to grow up in the real world.
That’s why he was happy to let him go out with the other kids. Find his way in the world for himself.
But standing here right now, staring at the pale face of his boy and the blood all over the place, James felt something he’d never felt before.
Grief.
Pure, unwavering grief.
Because Cody was his son.
Cody was his boy.
And Cody was lying dead and alone on this table while the people who’d claimed they knew about him—claimed they were going to exchange him—stood there in the other room.
He went over to Cody’s side. Saw his pale face. His wide, haunted eyes. The bloodied wound on his leg, clearly a gunshot. He shook. He could hear shouting and scrapping in the lounge. Some kind of stand-off. And he wanted to go back in there. He wanted to get things back under control if that’s what he needed to do.
But all he could do was stand here.
All he could do was stare at his boy lying across this kitchen table.
Left alone in here to rot.
He reached for his son’s little hand. Felt his cold fingers against his. And then he felt a huge lump swell in hi
s throat. He let out a cry. He had no control over himself. No control over his emotions. No control over his actions. No control over anything.
He just felt this total sense of loss, stronger than he’d ever felt in his entire life, like his world was ending right here.
He fell to the table. Rested his head on Cody’s limp body. He wanted to keep his eyes shut. Wanted to keep on holding Cody’s hand. Because if he kept on holding his hand, then maybe he’d get back up. Maybe if he stayed here, kept his eyes shut, eventually, the life would return to his boy.
Because as much as it pained James to admit it to himself, he couldn’t bear the thought of a life without Cody.
A life without the very kid he’d thought had ruined his life.
A life without the son he’d never wanted.
He tightened his fingers around Cody’s hand.
Tightened them so hard he felt the bones in his son’s dead hand crack under the pressure.
And then he lifted his head.
He turned around.
Walked over to the kitchen door.
Over the trail of blood.
He pulled the kitchen door open.
And when he saw them both—the old bitch, the butch guy—he felt nothing but pure hatred.
The way they looked back at him. Like they already knew, all along.
“My son,” James said.
The woman struggled, held back by Gary, one of his men. The other bloke, Marcus, held on to this “Max” prick. “We tried to save—”
James smacked the woman across the face, knocking her back in an instant.
Max tried to drag himself forward, then fell down in a heap in an instant.
“You don’t say a word,” James said. “None of you say a fucking word.”
He stood there in the middle of this lounge, and all he could think about was killing them.
Butchering them all.
Making them pay for what they’d done to his son.
He walked over to the woman.
Stood over her as she lay on the floor now, bleeding from her nose.
And then he pressed his Dr Marten boot against her skull.
“You’ll pay,” he said. “All of you will pay. For what you’ve done. For what you’ve–”
“James?” A voice. Right by the door.
He looked around, and he saw something that made him smile.
Despite the pain.
Despite the rage.
At the door, he saw the girl. Aoife. A little bruised. Covered in blood. Being held back by a couple of people from the estate.
They had the dog with them. Muzzled and chained.
And then behind them, someone else. A young lad.
“Nathan,” the woman on the floor said.
“Mum!”
The guy tried to run into the house, but Luke, another decent bloke from the estate, yanked him back, held him. “I don’t think so, pal. Not with the trick you tried to pull.”
James looked down at Moira. Then up at the lad, Nathan. At the man, Max. The woman, Aoife. The mutt.
He looked at the whole scene before him, and in his pain, in his grief, he tightened his fists.
“My son,” he said, pressing his foot against the old woman’s head. “I want to know what happened to my son. Right this second. Or the bitch loses her skull.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“My boy. Tell me what the fuck happened to my boy, right this second, or she’s dead. You’re all fucking dead.”
Max stood in the middle of Moira’s lounge and stared across the room at James. He had his foot to Moira’s head. She lay there on the floor, tears rolling down her face, but a look of defiance to her. Staring over at Nathan, her son, who was being held back by one of the bald thugs in the room.
And then there was Aoife.
Aoife and Rex.
All of them surrounded by people from the estate down below.
It felt like a nightmare. Because now more than ever, Max felt trapped.
He didn’t see any way out of this.
He didn’t know what he could possibly say.
Because he could see the rage in James’ eyes.
He knew what it was like to lose a son. And for all intents and purposes, Cody had been murdered, too. At least that’s how James would see it. That’s how it looked.
“Tell me!” James shouted. Pushing down harder on Moira’s head. “Tell me what the fuck happened to Cody. Now!”
“I tried to save him,” Nathan shouted.
“Bullshit,” James said, spitting on the floor. “The gunshot wound. That doesn’t just come out of nowhere.”
“He threatened Mum,” Nathan said, still struggling against the man holding onto him. “He threatened to kill her. He threatened to kill her, and I had to do something. I just… I had to do something.”
He looked at the floor, and in that instant, Max saw the realisation sinking in on Nathan’s face.
“I shot him,” he said. “I didn’t think. I just… I just shot him. I tried to save him. I’m a doctor, see. I know… I know how to deal with this sort of thing. I tried to save him. But…”
He stopped again. And it was like once again, it was hitting him. Catching up with him.
“Clearly, you didn’t try hard enough, did you?” James said. “Because he’s dead. My son is dead. My son. Frank’s son. Two kids, dead. All because of you lot.”
“Please,” Moira begged. “My son. Please don’t hurt my son.”
James looked down at her and pushed his boot down harder against her head. “You don’t get to make the orders here. You don’t get to make the commands. None of you do. You’ve killed two of our children. Children, for fuck’s sakes.”
“Nobody meant for things to go this way,” Aoife shouted.
“But that’s bollocks,” one of the men behind Aoife said. “Because you killed Kelly. Didn’t you?”
Aoife shook her head. “She tried to kill me.”
“Wow,” James said. “Another of our people? Good of you not to murder another child. Seems like you’ve all got a taste for it.”
“What’s happened is horrible,” Aoife shouted. “And—and I’ll live with the guilt of what I’ve done for the rest of my life. I know the rest of us will, too. But more killing isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
James narrowed his eyes. “You have a nerve.”
He walked over to her, finally moving his foot from Moira’s head. Stepped right up to Aoife. Scanned her, head to toe.
“I would kill you right now if you weren’t so pretty,” James said. “But I figure we can have some fun with you instead.”
“Leave her alone,” Max said.
James turned.
“Quiet guy? Nice of you to chip in.”
He walked up to Max. Stood right opposite him. Looked him right in the eye.
“Want to repeat that? Or is speaking a one-time event for you?”
Max stared back at James. Kept his composure. Kept his calm as best as he could. “Leave her alone. Leave all of us alone. What happened is fucking shit. Really. But this doesn’t have to get any nastier than it’s already got.”
James stood there a few seconds. Staring right at Max. Silent.
And then he shook his head and laughed.
“You murder Frank’s boy. You murder my son. And then your girl here murders one of our people. And you expect us to just let that go?”
“Your kids provoked us. The gunshot was an accident. And your son butchered one of ours in retaliation.”
“And you know what? I’m proud of him for it. Really fucking proud of it. I… I never told him enough. But I’ll make sure he hasn’t died for nothing.”
He walked around the room. Circled it. Like he was lost in thought. He sounded possessed. Like he was torn between despair and rage. A feeling Max knew all too well.
Max wasn’t sure how long passed before James finally spoke again.
“The old dude. Harold. He killed Sam. He died. Even.”
Looked right into her eyes.
“You killed Kelly. Which means you have to die. Even.”
Max tried to break free of the man restraining him, but he was too weak. “No.”
And then James turned around and looked right into Nathan’s eyes.
“And you…”
“No!” Moira shouted. “Please no!”
“You killed my son,” James said. “And for that, we’ll never be even. You deserve worse than death. And I’ll make sure you get that.”
He pulled back his fist and cracked Nathan right across the face.
Blood splattered out of his mouth.
And then he reached down. Picked Nathan up by the collar. Tossed him out of the house with an immense strength he didn’t look capable of.
Then, he looked back at Max and Moira.
“Take him back to the estate. Take her back, too. Lock ’em in my loft. We’ll make an example of them for anyone who thinks to cross us.”
“What about you?” one of the blokes asked.
James stared right into Max’s eyes.
“I’m gonna figure out what to do with the rest of ’em.”
And for a moment, for just a split second, Max swore he saw a smile.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Max stood in the middle of Moira’s lounge and stared at James standing over him.
They were silent. Him. James. Moira. All of them silent. The only movement came when James went over to the front door and closed it to the outsiders. It was just the three of them now. No Aoife. No Nathan. No Rex.
Just the three of them.
And Cody’s body in the back.
“You looked me in the eye,” James said. “That’s what I just don’t get. I came to the door, and you looked me in the eye, and you agreed to the trade. You said it was a good idea. When you knew my son was already dead. Why?”
Max stayed completely still. Just stared over at James. His head was banging. He was beginning to feel shivery again. The infection, whatever it was, was taking a turn again.
Or maybe he was just noticing how rough he felt now the heat of the moment had cooled.
