Sudden Death

by Phil Kurthausen

  Cat smiled. Her face seemed paler, more pointed. Maybe it was the hair colour, but she looked older, sharper.

  ‘You already know the answer to that question. If you do as I say I promise you that she will walk out of here unharmed, well, physically unharmed.’

  ‘I know who you are, Catherine. I know what happened to your sister.’

  Cat smiled, her lips stretching back almost unnaturally far, revealing her large white teeth.

  ‘You don’t know what happened to my sister and this witch – ’ she waved the gun towards the wardrobe ‘ – certainly never will, although she gets an insight today.’ She switched the guns aim back to Erasmus. ‘Stand on the stool and put the noose around your neck.’

  Erasmus stood his ground.

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  Cat frowned and let the gun drop to her side. Erasmus considered charging her but the distance between them, around fifteen feet, was too great. He would be dead before he was halfway across the room.

  Cat’s eyes seemed to glaze over slightly.

  ‘This gun was my father’s. He was an officer in the Duke of Westminster’s Cheshire Regiment. He was a strong man who had to deal with a lot when my mother ran off. He brought me and my sister up all by himself. After she died, we moved away. He was worried the same things might happen to me. He died last year. He waited until I had left university and then he died. They said it wasn’t suicide but it was. He didn’t want to live from the moment he discovered my sister swinging from the light fitting in her bedroom. He just had to wait for me to leave and then he died at his desk. He kept this revolver in his desk drawer. I know he would have blown his brains out but he couldn’t put me through that so he waited, and then I left and he drank himself to death. All thanks to your girlfriend and her evil friends. But now they all know what it is to lose someone, except this bitch.’

  Erasmus didn’t move.

  ‘I don’t believe you, Cat. You’re a good person, I know you. What they did when they were kids was wrong but this – ’ he waved his arms around ‘ – isn’t you.’

  ‘If you don’t do what I say she will die.’

  Cat took a step back and leaned against the window. From outside the dim glow of a sodium street lamp cast her shadow across the dark of the wardrobe.

  ‘When I saw you arrive, I texted you using her phone. The next thing I did was use a razor blade to sever her femoral artery. Only a slight tear, mind you, I would think she has twenty minutes to live. So if you want her to live, if you love her as you told me, you will do as I say. Or maybe I’m wrong. You do love her, don’t you, Erasmus?’

  Cat let the gun dangle from her finger.

  Erasmus looked at the bundle of clothes behind which Karen was packed. He could now see they were wet with her blood and there were tears in the eye.

  He knew the answer to Cat’s question, he had always known.

  Cat twirled the gun on her finger and then pointed it back at him.

  He stared for a second at Karen and then walked to the stool, stood up on it and placed the noose around his neck. Once he was on the stool Cat bent down and picked something up from behind the wardrobe. She took a step forward and then threw the object at him.

  ‘Catch.’

  He caught it. It was a plastic facemask, black with a fierce red grin.

  ‘Put it on. I want her to see what my sister saw when they tortured her. Now!’

  He slipped the elastic strap around his head and then pulled the plastic mask over his face. His vision was immediately reduced to the narrow tunnels offered by the roughly hewn eyeholes.

  ‘I thought we were friends, Cat?’

  She laughed and pointed the gun at him.

  ‘I assume you are referring to the fact that we fucked? Well, I can’t deny I didn’t enjoy it but then I think you did too, Erasmus. Oh, I can see by the look on your face that you didn’t want Karen to know about that, that’s too delightful. Do you hear that, Karen? Your lover was cheating on you with me! Leopards really can’t change their spots, so it would seem.’

  Erasmus focused on Karen. He didn’t look at Cat.

  ‘All too sweet. It meant a lot to me, it really did, but you still have to die. She needs to watch. If you love her you will do it. Step off the stool, Erasmus.’

  He could feel the knife jammed in the band of his jeans. It would be easy enough to reach around and grab it, but then what? Cat would shoot him and Karen would die.

  ‘How do I know you will let Karen live?’

  ‘You don’t but it’s her only chance. I didn’t kill Ella.’

  ‘You killed her daughter.’

  ‘She killed herself Erasmus. These bitches were never charged or even blamed when my sister killed herself. Now they know what it feels like to see those they love choose death because of the actions of others.’

  ‘Ella’s daughter was innocent, so was Rebecca, so am I. And I don’t get it, why kill Louise?’

  Cat’s face contorted into a twisted frown.

  ‘Louise wasn’t loved and loved no one but herself. She killed herself when she realised it was me, when she was given a choice between her dog and her life. She was miserable, she only needed a nudge. I did her a favour.’

  As Erasmus talked he moved his hands around his back and placed his right hand on the handle of the knife.

  ‘Did you put the doll in my car?’

  Cat started laughing.

  ‘Ah, my little joke. One good turn deserves another. You had used Rebecca’s computer to try and track me, I used mine to Google you. Turns out you were quite the badass. Dishonourably discharged for going on a kill crazy rampage because some local Taliban punish a class of girls for studying. They removed their eyes so they couldn’t study, cruel geniuses. We’re the same, Erasmus, you and I. Some people deserve to die for their crimes. I don’t blame you for what you did. I thought you needed reminding of it and, well, the thing with the eyes. Have you ever seen what happens to the eyeballs of a hanging person? I have.’ She was smiling, a wicked glint in her eyes. ‘She’s dying. You should step off now. Don’t think about it. It’ll be like falling asleep.’ Her tone was soft, like she was about to start singing him a lullaby.

  He needed to get her closer though so he could use the knife.

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ he whispered.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  ‘She has maybe eighteen minutes left, maybe less, it’s not precise, is it? Your choice, Erasmus, who lives, who dies? Jump and I’ll untie her, she will have a chance.’

  She turned and kneeled in front of the wardrobe, her face level with Karen’s bloodshot eye.

  ‘This is what I saw when Alison killed herself, Karen. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move and I watched her swinging back and forth, her tongue extended grotesquely out of her mouth. Do you know how that made me feel? Of course you don’t, you didn’t care, you just wanted your sport!’

  Erasmus placed his left hand on the plastic and started to move the noose over his face. Cat span around and pointed the gun at him again.

  ‘Jump or she dies. She could have only five minutes left. Your choice.’

  Erasmus shut his eyes.

  Choice, what choice? She might let Karen live. She wanted her to suffer the way that she had. And what were the options? He wouldn’t get two yards before he was gunned down and then the only revenge left to Cat would be the murder of Karen.

  If Karen could get to his telephone downstairs she might make it, if the ambulance was quick, and if she applied a tourniquet.

  Cat took another step back and leaned against the side of the wardrobe. She looked almost relaxed now, happy to watch this play out.

  He thought of his life: the time in Afghanistan and the happy times, and most of those times were a long time ago with Karen. He had hoped they could get them back, and maybe they would have done. But mostly he thought of Abby, how he should have tried more, how he had failed her and how he loved her. He had no choice.

&nb
sp; Erasmus closed his eyes and stepped off the stool.

  He dropped and then was jerked upwards by the bite of the plastic cord around his trachea catching his fall. His Adam’s apple was forced back against his windpipe and he gagged. The pain was overwhelming, beyond anything he had ever known. He brought his hands up to the cord but Cat shook her head. He lowered them, hung there, choking, as his legs kicked and twisted beneath him.

  It wasn’t going to be a quick death. He gasped for air and his tongue was forced out of his mouth. His jerking motion span him around so he was facing the door and for a second he thought he heard something above the roaring of blood in his ears. Footsteps? He span around again and saw that Cat had come closer, she was looking at him intently, an expression of sadness and pleasure on her face like the bitter sweetness of finding an old love letter.

  He tried to look at Karen but his eyesight, starved of oxygen, was blurring. The wardrobe was a dim brown mass. He tried to mouth the words ‘I love you’ but his mouth, gaping and almost biting the air, couldn’t respond.

  Suddenly, Cat turned her head and raised her gun.

  Erasmus’s motion turned him around again. He could dimly make out two figures standing at the door of the flat. The lead one had his hands raised.

  Cat had the gun pointed at this man’s head. There was shouting but the sounds seemed to be coming from another universe.

  He span around, facing Cat. He watched as she pulled the trigger of the gun, yellow flame spitting from the barrel and the noise deafening.

  Erasmus’s left hand went to the knife.

  There was another gunshot and a scream of pain. Erasmus saw the blurred motion of someone move in front of him. He grasped the knife and pulled it free from his jeans. He raised it and with a quick sawing motion sliced through the cord. He dropped and hit the floor hard. Training took over and despite the burning agony in his throat he rolled away and towards the wardrobe, trying to get any cover.

  When he looked up he saw that the figure he had seen by the door was now laying face down and dark red blood was pouring from a large exit wound in the back of the man’s head. Brain matter, blood and bone were splattered on the white wall.

  In the corner of the room Cat was wrestling with another man, trying to bring her gun to bear but the man was holding her wrist. Something about him seemed wrong, almost broken. Cat bit the man’s hand, sinking her teeth deep into the flesh. Erasmus could now see that it was Babak locked in a life and death struggle with Cat. He must have come here for more emergency dentistry, or worse, as punishment for Erasmus telling Wayne about his illness. Erasmus guessed the transfer was off. Babak screamed as Cat’s teeth cut through flesh and nerves and hit bone.

  Erasmus managed to get on all fours. The effort required was phenomenal, it took every ounce of will power he had left in him. His lungs felt like someone had placed paving stones on them, his throat felt like a million pieces of glass were lodged in there and his muscles were like jelly. But he knew he only had one chance.

  Babak smashed his other hand into the side of Cat’s head but she still kept her teeth lodged in his forearm. Babak had turned pale and now Erasmus could see why. There was blood pouring from a gunshot wound in his side. He hit her again but this time it was weaker. Cat relaxed her bite and pushed him hard in the chest. He staggered backwards and fell, slumped against the wall. Cat raised the gun.

  Erasmus had taken five agonising steps while Babak and Cat were fighting and now plunged the kitchen knife deep into Cat’s side.

  She didn’t scream but turned to face him with a wide-eyed look of surprise on her face. Her pale blue irises flowered with red flecks. She dropped the gun and sank to her knees. He also dropped to his knees beside her. It was like they were both kneeling for benediction. She looked directly at him and tried to say something but words didn’t come.

  Erasmus picked up the gun and then dragged himself across the floor back over to the wardrobe. He flung the door open and reached in to grab Karen from within the swaddling. His hands struggled to find a grip against the sticky, wet cloth but he just bundled her out onto the living room floor. Time, and not finesse, was of the essence.

  She had passed out and was pale. He lowered his head to her chest and was rewarded with a gentle yet barely perceptible movement.

  Her trousers had been removed and Erasmus could see the small nick at the top of her thigh where Cat had cut her. Deep, dark arterial blood pumped remorselessly from the cut. Erasmus pulled off his shirt and tore it into pieces. He fashioned a tourniquet and tied it tightly around her thigh above the wound. He then cut the plastic tie that held her wrists together behind her back. His mobile phone was still in his jeans pocket. He pulled it out and dialled 999.

  Only when he had confirmation an ambulance and the police were on the way did he let himself slump backwards with his back to the wardrobe. He became aware that he still had the plastic noose around his neck. He cut it free and let the knife fall to his side.

  In the distance he could hear the sound of sirens. He looked over at Babak. He couldn’t tell whether he was alive or dead. And then he noticed that Cat wasn’t there. A trail of blood led to the door. He looked around in panic but he couldn’t see her.

  A door banged open, there were many footsteps on the stairs and then a paramedic was leaning over him. He passed out.

  EPILOGUE

  From where they were sitting on Everton View they could see the city laid out below them as it tumbled down from the Victorian terraces and warehouses to the modern steel and glass towers that lay at the shore of the dark grey strip of the river. To the left you could see Paddy’s Wigwam, the Catholic cathedral, and then slightly to the right, linked by Hope Street, the towering gothic splendour of the Anglican cathedral. Erasmus loved this spot; it felt like the city belonged to him in this place.

  ‘Rebecca says hello. She thinks you’re a real hero.’

  He laughed and looked back towards the river.

  ‘We got lucky.’

  ‘We did, didn’t we?’

  ‘If Wayne hadn’t called Babak things could have been very different.’

  Somewhere out on the Mersey he could hear the sound of a buoy’s bell distantly clanging, warning sailors of the hidden hazards of the channels.

  ‘You know they’re catching salmon in the Mersey these days. It’s not like it used to be.’

  Karen smiled.

  ‘You wouldn’t eat them though, would you?’

  There was silence between them for a second.

  ‘I felt so ashamed about what I did when I was a teenager. We did torture poor Alison. But, and this isn’t an excuse, it just feels like it was a different person. If I could go back in time I would tell that stupid, insecure, mixed-up girl that the other girls felt like that too, that I didn’t need to pick on someone else to make myself feel better. Do you understand what I mean? It’s like someone else did it? Like it wasn’t me at all, just a version of me, unformed, unsure, but most of all frightened.’

  Erasmus nodded. He was thinking of Afghanistan and the faces of dead friends. Even now the memories of their faces were fading and the deeds he had committed seemed like memories of an old nightmare. But mostly he was thinking about Cat.

  ‘They still haven’t found the body yet,’ he said. ‘They followed the blood trail, it led down to the Mersey.’

  ‘If she went in there they will never find her.’

  Erasmus thought that was true. The current ran strong and swiftly to the Irish Sea and then onwards into the shipping lines that led to the new world. He didn’t think they would find her.

  The silence descended again.

  Karen stood up.

  ‘I’ve got to go. Rebecca gets home from school in an hour.’

  He looked up at her and felt the yearning and the insurmountable gulf at the same time. What she had done to Alison, not telling him, and his thing with Cat. It was just too much water pushing them further away. He could see that she felt the same.

&n
bsp; ‘Sure. It was good to catch up.’

  ‘I’ll see you around, Erasmus,’ there was a catch in her voice.

  ‘See you around.’

  He watched her go. A minute passed and then Erasmus lit a cigarette. He looked out over the Mersey again, breathing in the salty air. A flurry of wind carried some stinging, metallic particles and the deep, fleshy smell of the grain in off the docks.

  He pulled out his phone. There was a message on there from Abby. He read it again for the fourth time that day and smiled. It was all he needed at the moment. Sometimes you didn’t need to go back: ‘Sorry I missed all your calls. I love you, Daddy. Call me tonight! :-)Xxx’

  It was going dark now and The Three Graces laid long dark shadows over the steel grey Mersey. Erasmus stood up and pulled the collar of his jacket up against the cold. The buoy’s bell rang again somewhere unseen out in the river.

  It was time to go.

  Still on the edge of your seat? Keep reading for an excerpt from The Silent Pool, the addictive first book from Phil Kurthausen

  PROLOGUE

  ‘Do you believe?’

  In the cold of the early morning, the warmth of the man’s breath on Stephen’s neck, as he whispered those words, was almost comforting.

  Before he could consciously form an answer, a low ‘yes’ slipped from Stephen’s mouth.

  Stephen turned around to face his questioner but in the busy crowd of human traffic no one stood out among the dark eyes and downcast faces of his fellow wage slaves heading for the heart of Liverpool’s business district.

  Just a crank, he thought, a further sign of the decay of standards and moral decline of the city. At least it was metaphysical yobbery and not a punch in the face, yet the question had caused Stephen’s internal warning system to crank up and send a fizz of adrenaline through his bloodstream that left him feeling uneasy. It took him a second to work out why but when the realisation came it brought on a wave of instant nausea. He didn’t recognise the voice but he recognised the question.

  Stephen stood there for a moment, an obstacle in the path of the early morning commuters battling their way up the hill. Someone bumped into him and muttered ‘stupid wanker’. Stephen barely noticed the abuse, he was too busy trying to rationalise what he had just heard. It must be a coincidence. He had been suffering from a cold and work had been stressful recently, the councils’ cutbacks had hit the education department especially hard and his workload was becoming unmanageable. The city was in the seventh week of a teachers’ strike and every day brought fresh abuse from the pickets that Stephen had to pass by to get to the council offices. That sort of stress could lead to all sorts of things, maybe even hallucinations?