Compulsion

by Shaun Hutson

  “But I don’t suppose that means anything to you, does it? You don’t care what we went through then and you don’t care what you’ve put us through either,” he continued conversationally.

  He ran one index finger along the barrel of the weapon.

  “It holds six rounds. One in each chamber. The bullet travels at roughly eight hundred feet a second. That means that if I pressed it against your head and pulled the trigger, it would blow away most of the back of your skull. Spread your brains across that wall. Perhaps even put some on the ceiling.”

  He gestured skyward with the revolver.

  Brown began to cry again.

  Thompson attempted to swallow, but his mouth, already parched, felt as if it had been filled with chalk.

  Donna closed her eyes so tightly that white stars swam behind the lids.

  Fuller pushed the cylinder-eject catch and flipped it free of the frame, then he upended the weapon and six brass-jacketed cartridges fell into his palm.

  As Thompson watched, he pushed one back into the cylinder, spun it, then snapped it shut.

  “When you started causing trouble here, the police said that whoever was responsible was treating it like a game. Well, now it’s time for us to play.”

  He pressed the barrel against Thompson’s forehead and thumbed back the hammer.

  Thompson’s eyes bulged in the sockets.

  “A one in six chance,” Fuller murmured.

  Thompson tried to pull his head away, his breathing frantic inside the gag.

  His stomach contracted.

  The barrel of the gun felt cold against his forehead.

  Fuller squeezed the trigger.

  The hammer slammed down on an empty chamber.

  The sound reverberated around the basement.

  Thompson began shaking even more violently.

  Fuller spun the cylinder again, then snapped it back into position.

  He held the gun by its barrel and handed it to George Errington.

  The older man took the .38 and pressed it against Donna’s forehead, just above her right eyebrow.

  She squeezed her eyelids together even more tightly. Deep in her throat she made a sound that reminded Errington of a noise he’d once heard on a farm in his youth. That of a pig about to be butchered. A high-pitched squeal of total despair.

  He pulled the trigger.

  There was a loud metallic snap as the hammer again found an empty chamber.

  Donna kept her eyes closed, her entire body now rigid.

  Errington performed the same ritual as Fuller before him, then passed the weapon to Harry Holland, who took it eagerly and jammed it into the left nostril of Graham Brown.

  “This is what my wife must have felt like before she died,” he said evenly.

  Brown began to sob.

  “Before you killed her,” Holland breathed, a tear now trickling down his own cheek. He thumbed back the hammer.

  “I hope she’s watching this,” he whispered, now pushing the barrel hard against the bridge of Brown’s nose.

  He gently squeezed the trigger.

  The only sound was the gush of excrement that burst from Brown’s bowels.

  He sat motionless in his own faeces for brief seconds, then passed out.

  Holland stepped back, wrinkling his nose at the stench.

  He handed the gun back to Fuller, who carefully cocked it, then allowed Eva Cole to take it from him.

  “Use both hands to hold it, Eva,” he told her helpfully.

  She banged it against Thompson’s head, steadied the weapon, then looked into his eyes and squeezed the trigger.

  Silence but for the crack of firing pin against cylinder.

  Colin Glazer took his turn. He looked indifferently down at Donna and saw how pale her face was, as if all the blood had been drained from her.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  She didn’t open her eyes.

  He pressed the barrel against her left eye.

  Pulled the trigger.

  Nothing.

  Donald Tanner didn’t wait for Brown to regain consciousness. He pulled the trigger anyway when it was his turn.

  Silence.

  As Helen Kennedy stepped forward to take her turn, Fuller looked at his watch.

  1.49 a.m.

  It was almost time.

  AT FIRST SHE thought she was dreaming.

  The hands that clutched at her belonged to phantoms.

  The voices that whispered in her ear came from spectres.

  Ronni tried to open her eyes, hoping that these intruders would vanish.

  She groaned and rolled over.

  The only light in the room was from the bedside lamp, but it felt as if someone had pointed a searchlight into her face.

  She blinked hard, shielding her eyes despite the fact that the bulb was only a sixty watt.

  Images swam before her, blurred and indistinct until they gradually cleared.

  She heard her name being whispered.

  Again she felt insistent hands on her shoulder, trying to rouse her more fully.

  She sat up and looked around her.

  On one side of the bed stood Helen Kennedy. On the other, Eva Cole, her white hair looking almost luminescent in the gloom.

  “What’s wrong?” Ronni said, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. She coughed, then repeated herself.

  “You must come with us, Ronni,” Helen said.

  Ronni rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock: 2.” a.m.

  It felt as if someone had stuffed her head full of cotton wool.

  “What’s wrong?” Ronni repeated. She swung her feet from beneath the covers and shivered.

  The sudden cold seemed to accelerate her waking.

  Thoughts began to form inside her head.

  “Quickly,” Eva insisted.

  Ronni reached for her housecoat and pulled it on over the long T-shirt she wore.

  Helen was already standing at the door, ushering her through.

  Tell me what’s going on,” Ronni said.

  “Is everyone all right?”

  “Come with us,” Eva urged.

  Ronni moved with as much speed as she could, her brain still fuzzy.

  As she passed Faulkner’s door she heard his snoring.

  Perhaps she should wake him too.

  The floor felt cold beneath her bare feet.

  “Is someone ill?” she wanted to know.

  The two women didn’t speak. They merely guided her down the stairs to the ground floor, supporting her when she looked as if she might stumble.

  Barbara Eustace was waiting at the foot of the stairs, seated in her wheelchair, eyes fixed on Ronni.

  “Have those kids come back?” Ronni said, suddenly afraid.

  At the bottom of the stairs they guided her along the corridor, past the day room.

  Towards the basement.

  “What’s happening?” Ronni asked, her head clearing somewhat.

  “There’s something you have to see,” Eva said.

  Tell me what it is.”

  “It’s simpler if you just look,” Helen assured her.

  Eva stepped in front of her and opened the basement door.

  As Ronni stepped inside, the stench hit her immediately. She recoiled, shielding her eyes from the glare of the fluorescents.

  “What’s going on?” she protested.

  Then she looked down the flight of stone steps.

  What she saw drove away the last vestiges of drowsiness as surely as if someone had stuck her with a cattle prod.

  “Oh my God,” she murmured.

  FOR FLEETING SECONDS, Ronni wondered if, indeed, she was still immersed in a nightmare.

  The three nearly naked figures tied to chairs, surrounded by pools of their own excreta.

  The blood.

  The looks of uncontrollable terror in the eyes of the trio.

  The awful pallor of their skin.

  The tape wound so tightly around their mouths.


  The rope that cut into their wrists and ankles.

  Surely, what she was looking at could only belong in the darkest recesses of her mind.

  The stench made her realize that wasn’t so.

  She took a step forward and the basement door was closed behind her.

  “Come in,” called Jack Fuller.

  “We wanted you to see this.”

  She swallowed hard and advanced, the smell growing stronger in her nostrils.

  To see them’ Harry Holland added.

  Ronni saw Donna turn to face her, tears rolling down her cheeks. She saw a glimmer of recognition in the girl’s eyes.

  Brown’s head was slumped on his chest, but his body was shuddering as he sobbed.

  Thompson looked at her blankly, his dead-eyed stare no different from when he defiantly stood before Andy’s car.

  Ronni wanted to ask what was happening. What were these kids doing here, tied up like this? She wanted to know why they bore cuts and bruises. Why were they soaked with sweat and blood?

  Why was there so much excrement around?

  She wanted to ask so much, but all she could do was stare at the three captives, her mouth slightly open in a combination of bewilderment and revulsion.

  They were the ones who broke in,” George Errington told her as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “The ones who sent the letters,” Donald Tanner offered.

  The ones who sprayed graffiti on the walls,” Colin Glazer told her.

  “And smashed the windows.”

  “They killed Janice,” said Harry Holland.

  “And Barbara’s dog,” Helen Kennedy muttered.

  They’re responsible for everything that’s been happening to us,” Eva Cole confirmed.

  Ronni stood motionless on the stone floor of the basement, barely noticing the cold beneath her feet.

  She couldn’t take her eyes from the three youngsters tied to the chairs.

  For interminable moments she remained transfixed. Finally, she raised a hand to her face in an effort to blot out the foul smell emanating from the three captives.

  She wished that by closing her eyes she could blot out their image too.

  Fuller walked behind them and pointed to each one in turn.

  “Carl Thompson, Donna Freeman and Graham Brown,” he announced.

  “We broke them. They’ll tell us anything we want.”

  Ronni ran a hand through her hair and wondered, for fleeting seconds, if she was hallucinating.

  “Look at them, Ronni,” Errington urged.

  She could do little else.

  “Who did this to them?” When she spoke, the words sounded as if they were coming from the other side of the room. As if someone else had said them.

  “We did,” Fuller announced.

  “All of us,” Holland added.

  “They had to be stopped,” Glazer insisted.

  “What they were doing was wrong,” Helen said softly.

  “They had to learn,” Eva offered.

  Ronni inhaled, her breath shaking.

  “How long have they been here?” she wanted to know, still unable to tear her eyes from the youths.

  “Nearly two days,” Fuller told her.

  “We knew we couldn’t keep it from you for ever,” Holland said.

  “It seemed the right thing to do, to let you know what was happening.”

  To let you see them,” Errington added.

  She looked at each of the pale, tear-stained faces in turn.

  “You know yourself the police wouldn’t have done anything to them, even if they’d been caught,” Fuller said.

  “They killed Janice,” Holland reminded her.

  Ronni felt light-headed, and wondered if she was going to faint. She stumbled backwards and Helen Kennedy put out an arm to steady her.

  The feeling passed.

  “How long did you plan to keep them here?” she said hoarsely.

  “Until they’d been punished,” Fuller told her.

  “You’ve got to let them go.”

  “Why? So they can come back and start all over again?”

  “What you’re doing is wrong.”

  Fuller laughed.

  “What we’re doing?” he hissed.

  “We’re simply giving them a taste of their own medicine. Showing them what it’s like to live in fear.”

  “Whose side are you on, Ronni?” Holland wanted to know.

  “It’s not a matter of sides.” She waved a hand in the direction of the youths.

  “This is...”

  She couldn’t find the words.

  “Wrong?” Fuller said challengingly.

  “Is that what you think, Ronni? What did you expect us to do? Sit around waiting until they killed us?”

  “Jack, you’ve got to let them go,” she said quietly.

  Fuller brought the gun into view. He pressed it against the back of Thompson’s head.

  Ronni took a step forward.

  “Jack, for God’s sake, don’t ‘ Fuller thumbed back the hammer.

  “You can’t kill him,” Ronni protested frantically.

  “Can’t I? I learned a long time ago that life’s cheap.”

  “Please, put the gun down. Please.”

  Thompson looked imploringly at her, his eyes filled with tears. Fuller had hold of his hair and was tugging gently on it.

  “Show her, Don,” Fuller said.

  Tanner crossed to the pile of clothes taken from the youngsters and retrieved something. He wandered across to Ronni and reached for her hand, pushing something into her palm.

  “Look at it,” Fuller instructed.

  Ronni opened her hand.

  Lying there was a gold wedding ring. A thick band. It bore an inscription on the inside.

  She felt her stomach contract.

  “That is your father’s, isn’t it?” Fuller said quietly.

  “ISN’T IT?

  Fuller’s voice echoed around the basement.

  Inside her head.

  Ronni looked dumbly at the ring.

  “That wedding ring belongs to your father, doesn’t it, Ronni?” he asserted.

  She felt the tears welling in her eyes.

  “Your father, who’s lying in a hospital waiting to die.”

  She nodded.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “From him.” Fuller pointed at Thompson.

  “It was in his pocket,” Holland added.

  “He stole it from your father,” said Fuller.

  Took it from him, then tried to kill him,” Holland insisted.

  Ronni glared at Thompson.

  “Where did you get this?” she said, quietly.

  Thompson looked at her.

  Fuller suddenly reached round and tore off the tape gag. Tell the lady where you got it,” he said evenly.

  Thompson sucked in a deep breath.

  “Did you get it from my father?” Ronni wanted to know.

  “I don’t know your old man,” Thompson informed her.

  “How did you get it?” Ronni snapped.

  Tell her,” insisted Fuller.

  Thompson hesitated.

  Tell her,” Glazer snarled.

  Fuller pressed the .38 to the back of the youngster’s head and thumbed back the hammer.

  “We broke into a house,” Thompson said breathlessly.

  “Who?”

  “The three of us.” He nodded towards his two captive companions.

  “There was nothing worth taking,” he continued.

  “How did you get the ring?” Ronni whispered.

  “The old bastard in the house attacked us. He went mental. We were defending ourselves.”

  Ronni took a step towards him.

  “He hit us with a cricket bat,” Thompson told her.

  The knot of muscles at the side of Ronni’s jaw throbbed angrily. She forgot the stench of excrement and stood only inches from Thompson.

  “What did the man look like?” she demanded
.

  “I can’t remember,” Thompson gasped.

  “But you took this ring from him?”

  Thompson nodded.

  “And you beat him up?”

  Again he nodded.

  Ronni looked down at the gold circlet in her hand, then at Thompson.

  “We were defending ourselves,” he said.

  “He started it. If he’d have kept out of the way ‘ Ronni struck him hard across the face, one of her nails tearing the flesh close to his right eye. Blood trickled from the cut.

  “Bastard!” she roared, clutching the ring in her free hand.

  She stepped towards Donna.

  “Were you there too?” Ronni demanded.

  Donna nodded.

  “And you?”

  Brown sniffed back tears and moved his head almost imperceptibly.

  “They’re all guilty, Ronni,” Fuller said flatly. He slowly pushed the .38 towards her.

  Ronni shook her head.

  “They stole the ring while your father was dying,” Fuller said.

  “We didn’t mean to kill him,” Thompson said.

  “He should have kept out of the way.”

  Ronni hit him again.

  Take the gun,” Fuller persisted, pushing the butt towards her.

  “Think about your father and take it.”

  She snatched it from the older man and felt its weight in her fist.

  “This is the only justice you’ll ever get, Ronni,” Holland insisted.

  “Use it,” Errington urged.

  Ronni raised the weapon.

  “Please don’t,” begged Thompson.

  She pressed the revolver to his forehead.

  Do it.

  Her hand was shaking.

  Blow his fucking head off. This is the kid that put your father in a coma.

  “He doesn’t deserve to live,” Holland chided.

  “None of them do,” added Tanner.

  Ronni tried to grip the .38 in both hands then realized she was still holding her father’s ring.

  Look at it. All you’ll have left of him.

  She gritted her teeth.

  Go on. Do it. Just a little more pressure on the trigger. These little bastards have torn your life apart for the sake of some sick game. They’re at your mercy. You decide whether they live or die. Feels good doesn’t it?

  “Pull the trigger, Ronni,” Fuller said.

  You heard him. These scumbags beat your father into a coma. Doesn’t he deserve some justice?