by Max China
‘Tell me about it,’ Kotlas said. ‘I’ve seen a few make that mistake.’
‘So you’ve worked with people like these before? Where have you come from?’
‘Ashmore.’
‘Christ,’ Edwards said, ‘that is a rough place.’
You do realise that we’re damned whatever we do.’
‘I know,’ Edwards said, ‘but I’ve made up my mind.’
‘So have I.’ Kotlas was grim-faced. ‘Couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try.’
A heart-rending scream, muted, unmistakably female, pierced the silence. The men looked at each other in dismay and then rushed down the stairs.
Chapter 14
Copse Hall. 9:46 a.m.
Crazed laughter reaching fever pitch, spurred the two men on towards the door at the foot of the stairs, a portal into a world of insanity.
A look of consternation appeared on Kotlas’ face. ‘Why has she stopped screaming?’
‘Fleur,’ Edwards said, ‘her name is Fleur.’ His hands trembling, haste, not fear caused Edwards to miss the keyhole. One hand steadying the other, he guided the key home and opened the first air-locked door, and secured it after they’d stepped into the space between.
‘I know you could point them out to me, but I want to do it this way. As soon as we go through, I’ll say Vanner’s name,’ Kotlas said, dry-mouthed. ‘Then, I’ll know which one he is. Fisher, if he still has the screwdriver, will be obvious.’
‘As soon as we go in, I’m busting heads,’ the guard said, his eyes scanned the monitor out of habit, despite it being blank. He drew his baton, and pressing close to the vision panel, checked that no inmates were lurking immediately on the other side. The key slid home. He twisted it and took a deep breath. ‘Remember, don’t give them a chance. Fight dirty.’ His fingers wrapped around the door handle.
Kotlas grabbed his wrist. ‘We agreed I’m going in first. You open it, but fall in behind me.’
‘Are you fucking mad?’ Edwards said, glaring, surprised at the strength of the smaller man’s grip. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said just now? What do you think you’re going to do? Talk them out of it? They’ll tear you apart—’
Calm and self-assured, the psychiatrist returned his gaze. ‘No time to explain. Give me a few seconds before you go wading in. Do I have your agreement?’
‘If it was just your funeral, I wouldn’t care. Now, take your hand off me.’
‘Your way is suicide. You said it yourself.’
‘At least I’ll go down fighting.’
The younger man didn’t waver. His confidence and resolve unmistakable, he convinced Edwards, who looked down at the hand restraining his wrist. ‘All right. Let’s try it your way.’
Kotlas released him.
‘You ready?’ the guard said, turning the handle. The heavy-duty lock drew back with an ominous clunk.
Kotlas stepped through the open door.
Naked, spread-eagled on top of a table-tennis table, her limbs tied to its legs, the Frenchwoman lay motionless, either dead or passed out. Like doctors in conference around an operating table, four inmates in varying stages of undress, two of them barefoot, were too busy molesting her to notice the intrusion. Fisher – trouserless, crazed, his tongue protruding – withdrew a long, flat-headed screwdriver from her body. Fluid, predominantly blood, smeared its otherwise shiny length. ‘Mmm,’ he crooned, licking it.
Kotlas, sideways on and without a clear view of Fleur, hardly dared imagine the tortures inflicted to make her scream the way she had. One man, Kotlas saw, wore an officer’s trousers. The fly gaped open, revealing a semi-flaccid penis. Semen stained the fabric of the upper left thigh.
‘Vanner?’ he said, loud enough to get their attention without alerting the inmates in the basement.
A head shot up. Wild-eyed, his face remarkably lined for an eighteen-year-old, Vanner wiped saliva from his chin. ‘Who’s asking?’
‘My name is Kotlas. I’m a doctor.’ Eye contact established, he continued, ‘I’m new. We haven’t met. I’ve just been running through Dr Rubenstein’s notes with him, and I have to say, I’m pleased you and Fisher are getting along.’
‘Been talking to Rubenstein?’ Fisher said, measuring him. ‘Where is he? And where the fuck is Bales?’ He levelled the screwdriver at Edwards, and jerking his head, signalled the two men adjacent to him. ‘Bring that fucker over here. To me.’
Grim-faced, but with laughter dancing in their eyes, they separated and moved towards the guard. Nonchalant grins on their faces, they manoeuvred themselves instinctively, angling wide, then coming in left and right, knowing the officer would be hard-pushed to counter a simultaneous attack.
Edwards’ feet moved apart. His stance lowering, the baton rested on his shoulder, ready to strike.
‘You know, Vanner,’ Kotlas said, without taking his eyes from him. ‘I thought there might have been some animosity between the two of you, especially after Fisher told Rubenstein that he knew why you banned your mother from visiting.’
The youth stared, his silence inviting the psychiatrist to continue.
‘He told him that once you heard about starfishing, you fantasized about doing it to her with him.’ Kotlas jabbed an accusing finger in the other man’s direction. ‘Isn’t that right, Fisher?’
Vanner spun around. ‘What’s this, you two-faced cunt?’
‘He’s lying. Can’t you see?’ Fisher said, waggling the glistening steel shaft. ‘Get him over here and we’ll soon have him squealing the truth. I’ll screw it out of him with this.’
‘How did he know about that, then, if you never said it?’ Vanner raged, pointing at the woman on the table-tennis table. ‘You’ve just fuckin’ done it to her.’
‘So did you,’ Fisher sneered.
Vanner lunged at him.
Distracted by the confrontation, the bare-footed men closing on Edwards hesitated.
The guard seized his chance. Exploding into action, he brought his baton down with great force onto the skull of the patient to his left. The man dropped, as instantly as if the tendons behind his knees had been severed. Spinning to face the second assailant, the guard raised his weapon to deliver another blow. Fuelled by desperation, the second man snatched at Edwards’ wrist with his right hand, and catching it, yanked down, his left elbow driving into the hapless officer’s face.
Kotlas shot forward, pushing the inmate sharply, causing his follow-up blow to miss. At the sound of footsteps thundering along the corridor downstairs, he spun on his heels. In seconds, he realised, reinforcements from the basement would arrive. Heart thumping, he swept his gaze around the room, taking in Fisher and the teenager locked in combat and grappling at arm’s length. Vanner held the screwdriver at bay, his fist wrapped around the fluid-slicked shaft. Fisher wrenched it left and right in a vain attempt to snatch it away from him. He saw Edwards, down on one knee, lashing out with his baton, ineffectively, struggling under a rain of blows as he fought to stand up.
Kotlas thought quickly. He had to even the odds. The rings of the cuffs given him earlier grasped in both fists, he rushed at the fallen guard’s attacker. In one fluid move, he dropped both hands over the inmate’s head, yanking the chain back, strangling him.
Edwards lurched to his feet.
‘Quick,’ Kotlas cried, ‘get the door!’ The patient’s hands found his, struggling to relieve the pressure on his airway. They shuffled around full-circle, grunting with exertion. Saliva bubbled from the man’s lips, his head thrashing from side to side, desperately trying to escape the metal links crushing his windpipe. The psychiatrist tightened his grip, and forcing the man to his knees, finished him.
Fisher bit down into Vanner’s wrist. The youth screamed.
Edwards reached the door. The first inmate slammed into it, driving him back. The guard, off-balance for an instant, regained his footing and used his superior bulk to narrow the gap. If I can just get it shut, the latch will secure it – unless they have keys. Brac
ing himself, he shifted his weight and rammed forwards with both hands.
Fisher’s teeth tore through flesh; blood flowed. Vanner relinquished the tenuous hold he had on the slippery steel spike and clawed at the other man’s face. Triumphant, the implement free, Fisher drove it into his opponent’s belly, forcing it upwards. Vanner’s eyes bulged. His hands flying downwards, he made a futile effort to prevent the steel from going deeper. He gasped and slid sideways, crumpling to the floor.
Fisher circled the table with blood dripping from the carpenter’s flat-headed tool. ‘Don’t matter what you do. You two are fucked when Brody gets here.’
‘Kotlas, quick,’ Edwards yelled, leaning back. He lowered himself, and bending his knees for more leverage, desperately tried to hold his position.
‘One more move,’ Fisher yelled, ‘and she’s dead.’ The tip of the screwdriver touched Fleur’s closed eyelid.
‘If you’ve not killed her already, she’d probably welcome it,’ Kotlas said.
‘Rawrrr!’ A deep-throated bellow filled the room.
Edwards’ feet scrabbled for purchase, sliding backwards across the floor as the movement of the door began to reverse.
Fisher howled with delight. ‘Now you’re really fucked.’
Chapter 15
Copse Hall. 9:51 a.m.
Brody forced his hand through the gap and gripped the edge of the door. From the size of the fist, and the meaty forearm now visible, Kotlas judged its owner had a bull-like physique. Only moments remained before he barged his way in, and once that happened, he knew, with the two men following behind, and Fisher, he’d be unstoppable.
Kotlas eyed the door leading to the stairs. It was ajar. Had Edwards been thinking about a quick getaway when he left it like that? With Fleur dead and the situation deteriorating fast, their efforts had been in vain. He gauged the distance. Fifteen paces. If he and the guard bolted for it now, could they make it?
‘Quick, grab my baton!’ Edwards yelled, shrinking away from Brody’s fingers. ‘Come on. Use it to smash his hand away from the door. If he gets through, we’re dead.’
Kotlas dashed forward, but Fisher cut him off, manoeuvring into a point midway between the guard and psychiatrist. ‘Not so fast,’ he said, adopting the engarde position, the tip of his screwdriver cutting small circles in the air. His gaze fixed first on Kotlas’ chest, and then flicked between the two men, the flat-headed tool conducting a silent eeny-meeny-miny-moe. It was obvious who he’d attack first. Edwards was a sitting target.
Kotlas, knew he had to do something. He attacked. The unexpected move wrong-footed the madman, who struck out with the weapon an instant too late.
Handcuffs flashed with blinding speed. Adrenaline raced as Kotlas, his body a blur, parried the blow with the cuff in his right hand. Striking bone, the force of impact so fierce, the sudden inertia snapped the metal jaws shut around Fisher’s wrist. The doctor shifted grip, his thumb digging into the back of the captive hand, turning it up, twisting and locking it back against itself. Fisher’s mouth gaped, at first in silent agony, then he screamed pain as Kotlas, applying more pressure, rendered him helpless. His left hand reaching over the immobilized inmate, he plucked the weapon from Fisher and dropped it. Fluid, without relinquishing the controlling hold, he sidestepped, kicked the back of Fisher’s knee, and took him down.
Edwards, red-faced with exertion, his feet skidding backwards inch by inch, lowered his stance, struggling for purchase. He glanced at Kotlas, unmasked desperation in his eyes. ‘Leave him,’ he shouted. ‘Get back upstairs. Save yourself!’
Kotlas didn’t speak. His expression was grim; both hands clamped around those of his prisoner, his fingers knotted and tightening, applying tendon-tearing force to ensure continued compliance. He had no need for words as he steered Fisher, who, cursing and growling, could do nothing but follow meekly where he was led.
Now only two feet from his objective, Kotlas jerked him closer to the door. Brody wedged his arm and shoulder into the growing gap, forcing them through.
Drained by his efforts, and with sweat pouring down his face, Edwards avoided eye contact with the young doctor. ‘Go,’ he said, through gritted teeth. ‘I can’t hold on any longer—’
Kotlas responded swiftly. Fisher’s hands yanked up; he released his grip. The free end of the cuff struck Brody’s exposed arm. For an awful moment, the doctor thought the serrated teeth of the steel ring wouldn’t catch.
Brody roared outrage.
Edwards released the door, scrambling clear.
The sudden action caught the giant unaware. He hurtled forwards, the other two inmates stumbled in close behind. Brody took several steps before regaining his balance.
Kotlas weighed the odds. The guard was exhausted and vulnerable. He doubted he could make it to the door in time and secure it behind them.
Brody stood erect, puffed out his barrel chest, and looked in disgust at the metal bracelet linking him to the trouserless Fisher. His tattooed face quivered with rage. ‘Get this piece of shit away from me. Right now. Unlock these,’ he snarled, jerking the cuffs, ‘or I’ll tear his fuckin’ arm off.’
‘Wait, wait,’ Fisher begged, cringing. ‘The key’s over there, on the floor by the table.’
Brody scowled at the blood-soaked body of the naked Frenchwoman. ‘Did you do that? You sick fuck.’
‘I swear it wasn’t me,’ Fisher whimpered. ‘It was the others.’
‘And you just watched?’
‘They made me do it; I had no choice—’
‘That why you got no trousers on, is it?’ Brody spat, jerking the cuffs with such force, he swung Fisher off his feet. Oblivious to his own pain, the Goliath snapped back on the links coupling them together. Fisher’s shoulder popped. ‘Fuck,’ he cried, sprawling to the ground. ‘Why would you do that? Aren’t I the one who let you out?’ Breathing heavily, he struggled to his knees and wheedled, ‘The others didn’t want to—’
Brody, placing a foot on his chest, slammed him to the floor.
His calves trapped beneath him, Fisher could do nothing as his fellow inmate twisted and wrenched, pulling his arm upwards. The veins in his neck standing out, his eyes wide with terror, he screamed, ‘Don’t! Please, Brody, don’t.’
In awe of the hulking brute’s strength, no one did a thing to help his victim. ‘Go on, Brody,’ one of his companions yelled, ‘pull that fucker off.’
Sinew tore like rotting fabric. Fisher writhed from side to side trying to hook Brody with a leg; his eyes bulged with horror while pain screwed his features. ‘Not my arm’’ he sobbed. ‘No. Please, they made me do it. I’m sorry.’
A bloodcurdling scream pierced the room.
The harrowing sound pinned everyone in place. It hadn’t come from Fisher. Kotlas swivelled in the direction of the table-tennis table. ‘Fleur’s alive,’ he bellowed.
‘Now we’ll find out who did what to who,’ Brody growled. ‘We’ll ask her.’ He dragged Fisher over to the violated woman. His voice almost tender, he said, ‘Stop that crying. It’s all right, luv, it’s gonna get sorted.’
‘I need a doctor,’ Fleur whimpered.
Brody glowered at Kotlas. ‘Get me the keys, you skinny fuck, or I swear I’ll finish the job and batter you with the stump, woman or no woman present.’
‘She needs treatment, Brody,’ Kotlas said.
‘Somebody get me the keys before I lose my fuckin’ rag.’
The other two inmates exchanged glances and spread out. The doctor edged nearer to Edwards.
The tallest inmate stepped forward. A guard’s baton slapped against his palm and he sneered, ‘Do as he says, skinny fuck.’
Kotlas scooped up the screwdriver.
‘Don’t make me laugh. You’re a doctor,’ he scoffed. ‘There’s no way you’ll use that. Hippo-somebody’s oath. You ain’t allowed.’
‘Stop fuckin’ about. Do him,’ Brody yelled.
‘You’re right,’ Kotlas said, discarding the tool. ‘I don’t need it
.’ He tilted his head at Brody. ‘Won’t be long and there’s only going to be three of you.’
‘Three? You mean four. I might be crazy, but I can add up,’ the other man said, inching closer.
Kotlas snatched at the baton, grabbing it. Meeting resistance, he stepped in close, his other hand sliding up the man’s elbow. Raising the arm as if to pirouette, he ducked beneath it, and whipped the limb round in a short arc, causing his adversary’s feet to leave the ground, his body spinning in a compact somersault. He seized the weapon, and clubbed the man behind the ear as he hit the ground.
‘You wait till I get hold of you. I’ll tear you apart,’ Brody raged, resuming his murderous attack on Fisher.
Brody’s shoulders hunched. He wrapped his hands around the cuff on Fisher’s wrist, and jamming his foot into the other man’s armpit, dropped into a half-crouch. Bending his arms at the elbows, he took up the slack on the chain and then with a roar, exploded upright. Fisher’s arm, already dislocated, stretched, brute force tearing sinew and skin. Brody ripped it off. Blood sprayed, spattering across the room. His mouth twisted in shock, Fisher howled agony and writhed on the ground.
Freed from his encumbrance, Brody examined the dripping end of the disembodied arm. ‘Didn’t I fuckin’ tell you,’ he said, eyes bulging, triumphant. He loomed over his stricken victim. ‘What’s all that noise, you piece of shit?’ He stamped hard on Fisher’s anguished face, caving in flesh and bone. ‘You hear that, boys? Sounded like a fuckin’ dropped melon, didn’t it?’ In the deathly silence, Brody grinned, fascinated by the dark halo spreading around the dead man’s head.
‘Then there were three,’ Kotlas said.
Brody glared from Kotlas to Edwards, and wielding the bloodied appendage, growled, ‘Like predictions, do you? Well, how about this?’ A curt nod to his cronies a cue to attack, he stormed forwards. ‘Then there was none.’
‘Wait!’ Kotlas held his hands up, making eye contact with the other two inmates. ‘All of you. What about poor Fleur? She’s in a bad way.’ Blood oozed from the table, pooling on the floor underneath. ‘Fisher’s done something to her insides.’
