by Ricki Thomas
The group obeyed the instructions, and Darren followed them out, leaving Sophie, just coming round, on the floor. Dragging herself up, her thoughts vague, she glanced around the kitchen, noting the steaming dishes on the table, the absence of her family except for Jaimee, gurgling in her highchair, and then she remembered: Darren. Darren Delaney was in her parent’s house. Darren Delaney had a gun. Darren Delaney wasn’t dead. Rapidly, she unfastened Jaimee, and belted for the stairs. “Where do you think you’re going?”
The gun was aimed at her face as Darren stood in the doorway, a vicious snarl reminding her how much he hated her. “I was just going to put Jaimee…”
“Get in the living room with the others.”
He had us all seated on the floor, and was comfortably flourishing the weapon, which Meena had already assessed to be a .357 Magnum. Wrapped around his waist he was wearing a tool belt, and from the bulges in two pockets she gathered he’d brought plenty of ammunition with him. From a further pocket, the ends of several handles, which she assumed to be knives or daggers, poked from the top.
Darren backed towards the familiar drinks cabinet, already open from the mornings appetisers. Keeping the gun pointed at the family, he poured a large brandy. “Corvoisier. You have good taste, Harold. I’ll enjoy this.” He took a swig, and moved to the sofa, sitting in front of the terrified faces, out of reach, but close enough to ensure he would hit the target if he needed to fire. “You thought I was dead, didn’t you?”
Sophie nodded lamely, Jaimee clutched tightly to her chest. He’d been so ill at the hospital, she’d been certain there was no way he could survive the appalling injuries. But here he was, not only alive, but threatening the family she adored.
Darren laughed wickedly. “You thought you’d killed me. Was it planned by all of you, my so called mugging, or just you, Soph?”
Her voice was trembling to match her shaking body. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, because you’re all going to pay for what you did to me.”
Always rational, even under stress, Harry deflected his attention in protection of his daughter. “Darren, I don’t know what’s brought you here, but surely we can sort whatever problem you have out without you waving that thing in our faces. Why don’t we just sit down like adults and discuss why you feel disgruntled?”
His ochre eyes glistened, pure evil, as he directed the gun at his father-in-law. “I am not disgruntled, Harold, I am here to get my revenge. You see my memory came back, or most of it, and I remember everything on the night you tried to kill me. I heard your voices, and I saw you when you were kicking me.” He aimed at me and I winced. “I saw you with the knife, you bitch. I saw you stabbing me. You thought I was going to die, but as my memory returned, I was determined not to, because I wanted to make sure this Christmas was going to be the best ever. And I’m pleased to say,” he let out another guttural laugh, “that so far it is.”
Without a further word he pulled the trigger, the bullet instantly burrowing into my brow, and I imagine that my dying expression one of stunned disbelief. From the ceiling of the room as my spirit fluttered from life to death, I saw my body topple over to the gasps and exclamations of the other five adults. Darren took another gulp of brandy, smirking, emotionless. “I always said she was a waste of space.” Jaimee began to wail, frightened by the colossal noise which was eerily echoing around the room, and shocked tears rolled down Sophie and Harry’s cheeks. He waved the gun from side to side. “Who’s next?” It was now directed at Steve. “You. Dear brother in law. Poor little unlucky in love Steve. Have you worked out you’re a gay boy yet? Hey? Have you ‘come out’ yet?”
Meena glanced at her boyfriend, who was shaking his head, terrified, but resigned to taking the next bullet. At least if he was going to die, it would be in love and loved. Darren continued his tirade. “I saw you, Steve. I saw your anger as you were kicking my head, and I smelt that sickening odour of what you call aftershave. Revolting. You should try another brand, no wonder you can’t get a girlfriend. Do you want to go next? Shall I pump a bullet into your brains?”
Steve swallowed hard, facing his aggressor bravely, wondering how many seconds he had left, but then Alan was suddenly the target. “And you, Mr Policeman, Mr Law and Order, protector of the citizens. Well, you didn’t protect me when you were kicking my head in and leaving me for dead, did you. Mind you, I guess right now you’re trying to work out a way to stop me, aren’t you. After all, being on the police force you’ll have been trained to fight, to self-defend, to disarm. You’ll be trying to work out which position to get into, where’s best to tackle me and be the hero, save the day. You are, aren’t you?”
Alan’s teeth were gritted, raging fire in his eyes at the man who’d just coldly killed his birth mother. Me. “And I will, too, you bastard.” Tugging the trigger, Alan’s body slumped over mine, blood spurting from the entry hole in his neck briefly, before becoming a slow trickle as his life expired.
Sophie couldn’t take any more, it was she who’d had a battle with Darren, not her family, and she couldn’t see any more of her loved ones wasted. Tears coursed down her reddened face as she stood up to face him. “Stop it Darren! You don’t know what you’re doing. Stop it now!”
He aimed at her, face stern, hatred emanating. “Sit down you silly bitch. I know exactly what I’m doing. Months of rehab. Learning to walk again, to talk again, to eat, dress, the whole caboodle. And with every new step I took, every new skill I relearned, I did it purely for this moment. And it’s all your fault, you selfish bitch, because you chose to have a girl. You knew I wanted a boy, so you went and had a girl to hurt me. But not only that, you planned to kill me. Were you there? Did you watch them doing it? Did it make you laugh?”
As Sophie sat back down, deflated, and totally confused by the vicious words gushing from Darren’s mouth, her tears uncontrollable, Meena placed a protective arm over her shoulders, enough movement to make herself the target of the weapon, and she winced. “Who’s the pakki?”
Meena was used to the racist name-calling, she heard it all the time. “A pakki is from Pakistan, I’m Indian. Get your terminology right, arsehole.”
Darren chuckled. “Get you! I like my girls feisty, fancy going upstairs for a quick shag after I’ve got rid of the company?” Steve went to jump up in her defence, but Meena grabbed him back. “Ahh, don’t tell me you finally have a girlfriend, gay boy? Makes a convenient front for your bum bashing, does it?”
“I’m not gay. Meena and I are getting married.”
Darren took another swig of the brandy, chuckling evilly. “Oh, you are, are you? Well, I’m not so sure.” A third explosion rocked the room, and Steve’s lifeless body slumped over, blood oozing from his pulped eye socket. “I mean, it won’t be much of a wedding without a groom, will it!”
The ringing doorbell halted the exchange, and for the first time Darren’s confidence appeared to wane. “Who’s that?”
The tiredness with life that Harry had been experiencing over the past year, now increased to fever pitch with the loss of his future wife and two sons, swept over him, and there was little emotion in his voice. “It’ll be Juan, I expect. He was coming over for the day.”
“Juan! Juan! Who the fuck is Juan?”
Sophie was the one with a dilemma now. Although she was stunned to realise that her parents had plotted to bring her and Juan back together, that was irrelevant now. All she knew was that she was glad he was there. But did she tell Darren the truth, or did she smooth over the fact that she’d met someone new. “He’s a doctor who treated me at the hospital, we made friends.”
Again, the wicked laugh. “So you found someone new to shag, then! Lets get him in here, see what my replacement looks like, shall we.” Darren stepped to the doorway, over his left shoulder he could see the front door, to his right were the diminished group of hostages, now seated in a pool of deathly red. He reached into his tool belt and pulled out
another Magnum, exactly the same as the one he was already brandishing. He pointed one at the door, and one at the group. “Right, Sophie, you go and answer the door. Try anything funny, any of you, and the baby gets it.”
Chapter 27
Help at Hand
Next door, in the semi attached to Harry’s pleasant home, the old couple had been enjoying a tame, lacklustre meal at the small table, watching the television as they ate, its frivolous topical programs full of excitement, and replacing the need to converse with each other. When they’d heard the first bang they’d assumed Harold and Mary, who they knew were having family over, had bought some heavy duty party poppers. The second bang had worried them a little, but not enough to talk to each other, but as the third explosion shook the picture on the party wall, Dora laid her cutlery down on the table. “Daniel. I think something might be wrong next door.”
“You and your imagination, woman.” He piled another forkful into his mouth.
“I think those might have been gunshots.”
“Don’t be daft. We’re in Derby, not Las Vegas.” Specks of food littered the table as he spoke, and he swallowed the half-chewed food.
“I’m going to phone the police.”
“You’ll do no such thing, woman.” Another mouthful.
Sedately, she rose and strolled to the phone, found the number of the local station in the telephone directory, and dialled. “Hello.”
Juan was shocked at the sight of Sophie, her face red and bloated, tears still glistening on her cheeks, and he instinctively reached over to hug her. “Get your bloody hands off my wife, you arsehole.” Juan jumped, not expecting to see Darren, and especially not expecting to see the weapon in his hand, aimed at Sophie’s head. “Get in the house and join the others.” Juan followed Sophie, completely confused, and Darren bolted the door. As he entered the living room and saw the bodies and blood, he raced over, he was trained to save lives and maybe he could do something to help. “Leave them. They’re dead.”
Juan, the severity of the situation dawning on him, sat beside Sophie on the floor. “What’s going on?”
Darren sneered, he hadn’t been expecting his replacement in Sophie’s affections to be so swarthy, and he had instantly hated him on sight. “We’re having a little Christmas party, what does it look like!”
Harry shifted, his aging joints beginning to seize uncomfortably. “Your glass is empty, Darren, why don’t you pour yourself another drink?”
“Yes, I think I will. I enjoyed that last glass, it’s good stuff, that. Oh, by the way, I know you’re thinking that if you get me drunk you’ll be able to overpower me, but rest assured that won’t happen. You’ll all be pumped full of lead before I lose control.” Darren seated himself on the sofa again, brandy in one hand, the gun in the other, having replaced the spare in the tool belt, and his temper began to fray with Jaimee’s incessant wailing. “For god’s sake, will you shut that little brat up. If it doesn’t stop that bloody noise soon I’m going to have to pop it.”
“No!” Sophie was surprised at how loud her shriek was, how overwhelming the urge to protect her baby was, and using any force needed. “She needs feeding, she’s hungry. And she’s your child too, you wouldn’t kill her, she’s your flesh and blood.”
“It’s no child of mine. In fact, looking at fuckwit next to you, I reckon he’s probably the father.”
“How can you say that? I was always faithful to you, you know I was!”
“So why is it, whore, that you’ve been getting laid by him when we’re still married? Wouldn’t you consider that to be adultery?” The doorbell halted the conversation again, and Darren rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, who is it this time?”
Harry Harry shook his head, resigned and forlorn. “I’ve no idea. We’re not expecting anyone else.” The visitor was hammering on the door now.
A movement in the garden turned Meena’s head, and, peering through the patio doors she saw a colleague she recognised enter through the back gate. Darren followed her glance, and snarled. “Who the fuck called the police? Who’s got a mobile phone?” The four adults glanced at each other, shrugging, shaking their heads. “Get up. Go upstairs. Leave the brat here, I can’t stand the fucking noise any more.”
“No! She’s terrified, I’m not leaving her.” Sophie clutched Jaimee tightly.
It was the first time he’d shouted since his arrival, and the tone was terrifying. “Drop the fucking brat or I pump it full of lead.” Fresh tears rolled to join the wet patches on her mottled cheeks and chin. She set Jaimee in the car seat, strapping her in, apologising quietly, and followed the others to the stairs.
The policeman had reached the patio and could see the screaming child, and he radioed the find through to his workmates. As he got their attention he moved slightly, and his stomach lurched when he spotted the three bodies behind the armchair, the blood all over the fireplace and carpet. He briefly managed to radio the scene before leaning over and retching up his lunch, heaving with disgust at the image.
The hostages reached the bedroom, the room that had been Sophie’s when she was growing up, and Darren forced them into a corner, positioning himself away from the window. He was intently listening to the noises outside, not interested in speaking until he assessed what the police presence was about. However, the two constables who’d responded to the call reporting possible gunfire had been instructed to find a place of safety and await the armed response team, who were suiting up in body armour as they travelled in the riot van towards the house, and they, and the patrol car, were nowhere to be seen.
Sophie could hear Jaimee’s frantic wailing from downstairs, and her heart reached out, a desperate urge to pacify her, cuddle her frightened tears away. But her own tears had ceased, dried up, her face tight from the salt, and she waited, nervous yet patient, for Darren’s next move.
It had been quiet for a while outside, and Darren carefully stepped to the edge of the window and peered through the net curtain, scanning the street, the paths, for any sign of a blue uniform. He couldn’t see a sign of anything untoward, no police, no squad cars, and he heaved a sigh of relief. The horrified group in the corner realised that their chance of help had gone, and they exchanged fearful glances, possibly their last ever alive. Darren stepped back to his place of safety, away from the window, and waved the gun. “You,” the question was directed at Meena, “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.” Meena, by far the tiniest of the four adults, was no doubt the strongest, professionally trained in martial arts, incredibly fit and agile, and an expert with guns, and she knew that her knowledge and ability was the best, if not the only, hope of survival for the hostages. But she also realised Darren was behaving erratically, that he could potentially take them all out on a whim, and she couldn’t risk their safety by making any sudden moves. She had to stay calm.
Darren was chuckling to himself. “You’re a cocky little bitch, aren’t you? I think we should play a little game, me and you. Get up. Stand up.”
“Why should I?” She couldn’t help herself, she hated these cowards with guns, high school shootings, street shootings. They were weak, take the gun away and they were nothing.
“Because I told you to.” Meena remained seated, confidently upright, not allowing her mind to wonder to Steve, his life expired, slumped downstairs, she had to remain in the moment, grieving could come later.
“You defiant bitch.” He spun the barrel of the gun, yellow eyes glinting with evil, aimed at her head, and cocked the hammer. She winced inwardly, not allowing her fear to show. “In that case, how do you fancy your chances today? This Magnum holds six bullets, I’ve shot three. So you now have a fifty percent chance if I pull this trigger.”
“Wow, you can count as well, you are a clever boy!” The other three looked at her in disbelief, and, angry, Darren fired. It was her lucky day, and she slowly, quietly, let her breath out.
Jaimee’s screaming had now reached fever pitch, and Sophie cou
ldn’t stand it any longer. “Darren, please let me get Jaimee, I’ll make sure she doesn’t cry, really, but she’s too young to be left on her own. Please.”
Darren briefly mulled the suggestion. “So you think I’m stupid enough to let you go downstairs on your own, try and get help, catch somebody’s attention, whatever scheme you’ve got going on in your head.”
“No, there’s no scheme, I’m just worried for her, she’s going to make herself sick if she keeps crying like that. Please.”
His rage erupted, saturating the cheerfully decorated room with hatred. “You always thought you were cleverer than me, made me out to be the dumb one. But you’re not, who’s the leader now, hey? Who’s in control now? I wish I’d finished off the job earlier this year, got rid of you for once and all. I hate you so much. Taking away my right to have a son, that was a cruel thing to do, Sophie, cruel.”
“It wasn’t my choice, it was nature, I would have liked a boy first too.”
“First! First!” He was incredulous. “You mean you honestly thought I’d have another child with you after presenting me with that dumb thing down there.” Meena could see he was losing his beloved control, his emotions were clouding his judgement, and she adjusted her position ready to pounce if the right opportunity arose.
But in an instant he’d restrained himself, and his cackle rang out. Meena sighed and relaxed back down. “”Oh, I see what you’re doing, trying to get me angry, that’s what. You were always good at that, you with your perfect vowels, and your arrogant way. Fuck off am I falling for that one. The fucking baby stays down there. If it chokes on its’ spit, then who gives a shit!”
Harry’s mind was in the same place as Meena’s, knowing his grief for me and his sons would have to wait, he had a daughter and a granddaughter to protect right now, somehow. He stepped in to the altercation, his tone peaceful. “Can I make a suggestion, that you go with Sophie to get Jaimee, then you’ll be able to watch her.”
