by Jacob Rayne
His throat felt as though it had been raked with sandpaper as the air wheezed out of him in frantic gasps.
Then, despite his horror at the situation, he found himself enraged at their breaking into his home. Roaring like a Viking warrior, he ran down the corridor, the hammer in his right hand which was tensed and ready to explode into a strike.
The figure turned and slashed the knife, just as Clive’s hammer blow hit it full in the face. There was a sickly splintering sound and the lad fell back, a spray of blood following him.
‘Ya fucker,’ the lad grunted.
Before Clive had time to congratulate himself, the figure was standing straight again and slashing the knife at him, catching his forearm as he raised it to protect his throat.
The pain was unbelievable. Clive cried out in dismay as blood trickled down his arm, squidging against the handle of the hammer.
He swung again, catching the kid in the side of the head with a blow that reverberated round the passageway.
The kid fell to his knees, blood pouring down his face.
Clive gave him a solid kick to the jaw and the kid slumped facedown on the carpet.
‘You wanna get out before I come in there,’ he called to the unseen intruder in the living room. ‘Cos I’m pissed off now.’
He quickly checked the living room, making sure there was no one hiding behind the door.
His attention was fully taken up by the two youths in the living room, one of whom was climbing in through the window, while the other was pulling things off the mantelpiece, so he did not react until the youth he had decked turned and stuck the knife in the back of his calf.
Clive’s scream of agony convinced Debbie that it was time to leave.
Becki’s bedroom, being at the rear of the house, was built over the extension, so from her window it was possible to get onto the sloped roof and down to the ground.
The best thing to do here was to get to the car and get the hell out. There was a spare set of keys under the wheel arch on the driver’s side, so it was not going to be a problem.
She pulled the door open, already noting that one of the intruders was making their way up the stairs.
She wedged the closet door against the door handle to Becki’s room. The flimsy door wouldn’t last long, but it would hopefully provide enough of a delay that she and Becki could get to the car without being stopped.
The footsteps went into her room, so she carried Becki over to the window. Becki was looking worried, so she whispered soothing words to her. The words sounded empty to Debbie, but Becki seemed convinced.
Debbie winced at the creak the window made as it opened. Footsteps rushed across the landing then the door slammed back against the closet door.
‘Gonna gut you like a fish, you grassing bitch,’ came the voice of the girl she’d seen in the park.
The door jolted. Already cracks were appearing in the closet door. The girl was hurling herself at the wood as if she was possessed.
Debbie wrapped her arms tight around her daughter and climbed out into the cold night.
Clive’s scream of pain seemed to be the only thing he heard for a good few seconds.
He realised he was on the floor, being kicked by the two male youths, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it.
The hammer was too far from his hand, he noted with intense despair.
The smell and taste of blood seemed to be the overwhelming sensation in his life.
The youths stopped kicking him long enough to pull the knife from his leg.
‘You’re gonna regret hitting me with that hammer,’ said a gangly, grinning youth.
Clive smiled at the damage he’d done to the kid’s face. His left cheek was all caved in, a white shard of bone gleaming out of the bloody mass. The left side of his chest was slick with blood.
The kid lifted the hammer high and brought it down on Clive’s cheek.
The pain was intense.
Three of his teeth came loose in a rush of blood.
He felt a shard of bone sticking through into his mouth and coughed as a thick stream of blood ran down his throat.
The kid was one tough mother being able to stand and fight after that.
‘Now we’re even,’ the kid grinned, sending more blood spewing down his face.
‘The cops are on their way already,’ Clive tried. It was the best his agony-addled mind could come up with.
The kid laughed. ‘You wanna go, Budgie?’
The younger lad shook his head.
‘Just me then,’ Boxy said, putting the knife to Clive’s throat and pulling it across, cutting his throat so deep it exposed his trachea.
Thick gouts of blood sprayed from Clive’s neck as he twitched like a fish out of water.
Boxy was already bored of the twat, so he let him slump to the floor and went to see if the cops really were on the way.
The roof was only ten feet or so high, but Debbie’s head spun like she was washing the windows of the top floor of the Empire State Building.
The night air rushed to greet her, raising islands of gooseflesh on her bare arms.
Becki cried at the cold. Debbie whispered comforting words again, but these sounded even shallower than last time.
This theory was proven to be true when Becki continued to cry.
The girl’s twisted face appeared at the window, hatred etched into her grimace. She held a knife that looked very similar to the one that she had used on the dead woman in the park.
Debbie moved carefully, the wet tiles beneath her feet seemingly conspiring with her vertigo to get her captured and killed.
She wasn’t far from the ground when she noticed that next door’s house was in darkness.
She’d hoped that the screams would have woken Frank and sent him running with his shotgun, just like he had promised, but this didn’t seem to be the case.
It was tempting to call for them, but she figured there might be another of the kids on the ground.
She jolted as she saw one of the lads on the path at the side of the house. He wasn’t looking at her – seemed to be looking up the street, probably making sure the cops weren’t on the way – but she was easy to spot up here.
She rushed down the roof, noticing that the girl was running down the wet tiles behind her.
The girl slipped backwards and slammed the back of her head on the tiles. She slid down the roof and into Debbie, taking out the backs of her legs and sending her falling too.
Becki cried out at the sudden disorientation.
Debbie cried out too and tried to adjust her roll so she hit the ground before her daughter. Her leg hit first and her ankle twisted with a horrendous popping sound.
The girl landed next to her and didn’t get up.
Becki was crying and screaming fit to raise hell now. Debbie hurriedly shoved the dummy into her mouth in case the lad by the side of the house heard.
The girl was starting to stir a little, her eyes seeming to focus and remind her of why she was here.
Debbie tried to put her weight on her ankle and regretted it instantly. She dragged herself forward on her good leg.
Every step was an ordeal, making both legs cry out in pain, making her lungs blaze with the effort.
She crouched behind the car for a moment, looking for the lad, but he seemed to have gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, she moved round to the driver’s side wheel arch and gently laid Becki on the floor while she reached under the car for the keys.
They were not in their usual place.
She pulled air into her lungs while she frantically searched for the keys. Maybe they’ve moved somewhere when I’ve been driving, it is a long time since I’ve used the spare set.
Then her fingers hit the small square magnet she used to keep the keys attached to the metal frame.
Shit, they must have somehow fallen off, she thought.
It was so unfair.
After everything she had been through the keys weren’t there.
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And now she struggled to think of a way out of this.
That was when the grinning youth stood up from behind the car, saying, ‘Looking for these?’ and shaking the keys in his blood-smeared hand.
Five
Becki was crying her heart out. Debbie felt like joining her when she saw the lad with the keys, especially when he hurled them into Frank and Maggie’s garden.
Before she could pick herself up off her knees, he had grabbed her hair and slammed her face into the car door.
Her nose flared with pain and she sobbed as blood gouted down from her nostrils and into her mouth.
He pulled her head back and slammed it into the door again. She went limp for a second and he dropped her.
The girl shuffled round and sunk a heavy kick into Debbie’s ribs, making her breath rush out in a pained sob.
The lad spun fast as Frank and Maggie’s back door squealed open.
Frank was there, god bless him, in his dressing gown, the shotgun held in front of him.
The barrels spat fire and blood sprayed from the lad’s right side. He screamed, but not as much as Debbie would have thought or hoped, and gave her head another slam into the car door.
The world blackened at the edges and she was only dimly aware of what happened next.
Frank fired again, missing the lad and drawing sparks from the paintwork of Debbie’s car.
The girl ran forward and scooped up Becki.
Frank was reloading the gun with shells from his dressing gown pocket.
The lad ran down the path that led between the two houses, leaving a slick trail of blood in his wake.
Frank looked up to see the girl carrying Becki.
Debbie seemed to dimly realise what was happening and let out a blood-soaked sob as she watched her daughter being carried away by the scruffy girl.
Frank aimed the shotgun at the girl’s back, but couldn’t bring himself to fire in case he hit Becki. He’d never forgive himself if he hurt her.
He ran after the girl, but she had youth on her side and wasn’t carrying a heavy shotgun and arthritis in the knees.
‘You fucking bastards,’ Frank shouted. ‘You’ll pay for this.’
As the kids turned into the next street, mocking laughter drifted back on the wind.
Debbie’s world spun. Frank ran to her and asked if she was ok. The words were distorted and very hard to decipher. The image of him doubled and swam, as though she was watching him through a kaleidoscope.
‘Oh my fucking God, they took Becki,’ Debbie managed through a mouthful of broken teeth and blood.
Frank moved in to help her up, but she was already standing, swaying back and forth on her unsteady legs. She pushed a hand out against the car to stop herself from falling.
‘I know you want to find Becki, but you’re in no state to go anywhere,’ he said.
‘Gotta get her back,’ she sobbed, blood oozing out of her mouth.
She made it to the end of the drive in a shuffling half run, then her sprained ankle betrayed her and dumped her on the tarmac.
She voiced her frustration in a series of cries that made lights around the street illuminate.
Curtains twitched.
Concerned faces appeared at front doors.
‘Some thugs took Becki,’ Frank explained.
A couple of men ran in the direction that the youths had escaped, eager to catch them and give them the hiding they deserved.
Frank called the cops and told them what had happened. To their credit, they were straight round.
They explained that it had been the same kids who had killed the woman in the park. The cops suspected Boxy and his two friends, and set off for their houses.
Half an hour later, Officer Osbourne returned, his tail between his legs.
‘What happened?’ Debbie asked.
‘Boxy’s dad said he hasn’t seen his son in weeks. They’ve moved somewhere else.’
‘Check with the dole office,’ Frank said. ‘That fucker ain’t working.’
‘We’ll look into that,’ Osbourne said. ‘And we’ll do everything we can to get your daughter back.’
‘This is not good enough,’ Debbie said. ‘I need my daughter back now. God only knows what those animals will do to her.’
‘We’ll do everything we can,’ Osbourne assured her.
Frank had to stop Debbie getting out of her chair and lamping the copper.
They went back to the crime scene that Debbie’s house had become. Mercifully, Clive’s body had been moved, sparing her that unforgettable image.
‘I suggest you stay somewhere else, until these bastards are caught,’ Frank said.
‘I want to, but I refuse to let them drive me out of my home. Also, I need to be there in case anyone finds Becki and brings her back.’
Frank nodded. ‘If you like Maggie and I can stay here with you.’
‘No, that’s fine, thank you.’
‘We’ll at least help you to clean this mess up,’ he said, grimacing at his choice of words.
‘That’s very kind of you.’
It took them a good hour to clean the blood up. By that time it was almost light.
‘You should get some sleep,’ Frank said.
‘I know.’
‘Get some ice on that ankle too, it looks nasty, though it ain’t broken.’
‘Thank you for all of your help, Frank.’
‘No problem.’
She called for a glazier and a locksmith. All the work I’m giving them recently, I should be on bulk discount, she thought.
They promised to be there sometime that day.
She felt too amped up to sleep, so she poured a coffee and sat on the settee, staring at the wall.
Next thing she knew she was being woken by a knock at the door.
She was startled to see that two and a half hours had passed. The stone cold cup of coffee sat, untouched, by her feet.
The knocking continued so she shuffled to her feet, debating whether to take a weapon to the door or not.
She settled for her keys as a makeshift knuckleduster again. The door opened to reveal the postman.
‘Got a package I need you to sign for,’ he said.
Relief flooded into her. She quickly signed, eager to get back inside. Never know who’s watching.
She locked the door, making sure the deadbolt was drawn across.
After making a fresh cup of coffee, she sat down on the settee, staring at the brown envelope.
Feeling suddenly, inexplicably, nervous, she hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the edge of the package and tore it open.
Before she had time to think about it, she upended the envelope.
Two things thudded onto the leather settee.
One was a mobile phone very similar to the one she’d found on the dead woman in the park.
The other was something more familiar and it sent a shudder through her.
It was the onesie with the ducks and rabbits Becki had been wearing when she was taken.
Debbie stared at it in disbelief, then noticed a black mark on one of the sleeves.
She unfolded the onesie to see the message, ‘Turn on the phone,’ scrawled in permanent marker.
Her heart slamming its way out of her chest, she thumbed the power button and held it for a second.
The screen lit up.
The load bar appeared.
The longer it took, the faster Debbie’s heart raced.
The phone loaded up, a photo of Becki set as the screensaver. She looked distraught, tears and snot caked to her cheeks and nose.
Debbie felt like smashing the phone under her foot, but she knew that this had been sent to her for a reason.
As she stared at the phone in disbelief, it began to vibrate in her hand.
‘You have one new message,’ scrolled across the screen.
She clicked on it. The screen took a second to change, then it said, ‘We own you now, bitch. Do wot we say or ur baby will suffer.’
She texted back, ‘Please don’t hurt her.’
A few seconds later, a string of ‘Ha’s came back.
A second message followed immediately after: ‘Do as we say and u’ll get her back. 1st, we need three gr&, delivered by midnite 2moro, 2 the place u found the other bitch’s body.’
She quickly texted back, ‘I don’t have that kind of money.’
‘U’ll get it or ur daughter will suffer. And don’t even think about telling any1 about this or we’ll hurt both of u. Best get looking 4 the £.’
She cursed at the top of her voice, opened the back door and headed across towards Frank and Maggie’s house.
The phone vibrated in her pocket.
She quickly checked it. ‘I wudn’t do that if I were u,’ the anonymous sender said.
She turned away quickly and went back inside.
Her mind worked at an answer to the problem.
She went up to the bedroom and looked out of the window. Scanned the rear of the house but saw no one. They must have been watching her from somewhere, but she couldn’t tell where. Wherever they were they had concealed themselves well.
A quick check of her and Clive’s accounts confirmed that they had just under two grand saved up.
She’d not have enough to keep the mortgage company at bay, but the way things were going she had more pressing concerns.
She withdrew as much money as she could from the hole in the wall, then headed to the bank for the rest.
After an awkward conversation with the bank manager, she had the remaining cash in her handbag.
She felt strangely on show carrying that amount of money around, kind of like her purse was see through and everyone could see the money contained within.
When she got home, she put the cash together on her bed and counted it, just to be on the safe side. It was a couple of quid shy of two grand.
‘Shit,’ she muttered. Where the hell am I going to get the rest of the money from?
