by Bill Ward
“You’ll regret that, bitch. I was just going to play with you a bit but not now. Not after that.”
She thought about screaming but knew it wasn’t an option. She’d brought this on herself and was just going to have to get through it. He wouldn’t enjoy it. She wouldn’t fight him. She’d just lie and do nothing like a statue. She closed her eyes to avoid looking at him and felt his hand crushing her left breast. The other hand was already roughly pulling open the buttons on her jeans.
Her own hands were now free but she was resigned to the inevitable. There was no point in fighting and provoking him further. He pushed his hand up under her T-shirt and freed one breast. His lips covered her nipple and she hated the way it responded of its own accord by becoming hard and erect. She was just grateful he wasn’t trying to kiss her on the lips anymore. If he put his fucking tongue in her mouth she was going to bite it off. He had his hand between her thighs and her dryness made her cry out when he tried to thrust two fingers inside her.
“Wait,” she pleaded. “Not like this. You’re hurting. You can have me properly if you take it slowly.”
He looked into her eyes. “No games,” he said hoarsely. “Or I swear I’ll kill you.”
“Take my trousers off,” she said quietly. She’d never felt so degraded in her life but her only thought was of the revenge she’d extract. For now she had to get through this with the minimum damage. She doubted it would take long for him to finish. In five minutes it will all be over. Then she would make him pay for a very long time, for his few minutes of pleasure.
He climbed off the bed and standing at her feet pulled her jeans down off her ankles. She pushed her knickers halfway down her legs and he finished the job. She didn’t bother removing her top.
He was already erect and to Sam he looked absurd standing there, still wearing his shirt and socks but she didn’t feel like laughing.
“On your hands and knees,” he commanded. He undid his shirt buttons and removed it while leering at her.
So you like it doggy style Sam thought. That suits me. I won’t have to look at your bastard leering face. She did as instructed but he didn’t move behind her as she had expected. Instead he moved in front of her. The truth dawned on her what he wanted. She wasn’t as tough as she liked to pretend. She couldn’t go through with this. Anything was suddenly preferable.
“Please don’t,” she begged. “I can’t...” Her voice tailed off. She could see the anger in his face.
She sat back on her hips before turning away to try and clamber from the bed. He grabbed for her hips and pulled her back toward him. She tried to break his grip but he was too strong and she heard him utter a sound between laughter and a snort of derision.
She fought to control her fear and distaste for him. She knew the more she resisted he was likely to enjoy forcing her and the end result would in any case be the same. Anyway, she’d lost the strength to continue fighting. She just wanted this over. She felt her arse being raised off the bed and realised he did after all intend to take her doggy style, while he remained standing at the end of the bed. She could cope with that. It was impersonal. It was what she had been ready to accept originally. She fought unsuccessfully to stem the tears and assumed the position he wanted. She felt his hand on her breasts again and then it was stroking her face. Suddenly his hand covered her mouth and she felt at the same instant the pressure from the arm around her middle, pulling her back onto him.
“This will teach you not to fuck with me,” he whispered, leaning forward against her ear.
For a second she was filled with panic he intended to try and fuck her in the arse. It was something she had only experienced a couple of times but it was sufficient experience to understand the potential it offered him to hurt her.
She relaxed a fraction when she realized it wasn’t his intention but she still didn’t want him and her body didn’t want him. He took several stabs before he pushed his way into her. Her dryness made it hurt like hell. After the initial shock, followed wave upon wave of further pain and indignation as he cruelly and relentlessly assaulted her body. She emitted muffled sobs and grunts each time he buried himself to the hilt inside her. When finally he’d finished he withdrew and she sank to the bed.
“Like that, did you?” he said grinning.
She rolled onto her side, tucked into a foetal position and cried like she’d never cried before in her life.
After a couple of minutes, somewhere in a corner of her mind she registered the sound of running water. It was a bath filling up. She opened her eyes and saw with great clarity what she must do. She heard the taps turned off, followed by the sound of a large body entering the bath. She forced herself to get up off the bed, although her legs almost buckled under her when she tried to stand.
She moved weakly to the cupboard and took out her small suitcase. She quickly threw her few clothes inside. Feeling nauseous she sat herself down once more on the edge of the bed. She took a few large breaths. She could hear Connor splashing around in the bath. She dressed in the clothes he’d made her remove.
She was feeling stronger. A wry smile crossed her lips. It was over. Practically speaking it hadn’t been a much different physical experience to some others in her past. Fortunately on this occasion, he was as crap and quick as other men she had known. But she had offered those other men her body. This evil bastard was going to pay for taking her uninvited.
“We’ll have some more in the morning,” he shouted from the bath.
“Fuck off,” she answered, just so he knew she was still there.
“Thanks but I’ve done enough fucking for a while,” he laughed at his own joke.
After a moment’s silence she moved quietly to the door. She was out the room and hurrying down the wooden stairs half expecting him to give chase. But she heard no sound of Connor behind her. He was both arrogant and stupid. Had he really expected her to stay in the room to be abused again, whenever he felt like it?
As she reached her car, she remembered he would be naked when he came out the bathroom and that would give her a few extra minutes to escape, while he dressed. She drove away uncertain which direction to head and then settled for the one route she knew, which was towards the centre of town. There wasn’t much traffic and she felt conspicuous. She didn’t fancy being stopped by the police, even though she hadn’t been drinking or directly committed any crime.
She drove for ten minutes to put distance between herself and Connor, then turned into a side street with cars parked down each side. She found what she wanted halfway along the street and spotted a small parking space just a few feet further up the road. She hurried to the telephone box, wishing she had worn more than the flimsy jacket that did little to keep out the cold weather. The door was heavy and stuck but she forced it open with her shoulder. The stench of urine was foul and she was careful where she stood. She gingerly lifted the receiver with little expectation of it working but at least with this small matter, luck was on her side tonight. She dialled 999.
Tom arrived at the hospital and introduced himself at the Accident and Emergency department. He was asked to take a seat and sat alone away from the handful of others that were waiting their turn for treatment to a variety of injuries. He stared at the large Christmas tree stood in one corner, which seemed an inappropriate reminder of what should be a season of celebration. Not many visitors to an Accident and Emergency department had much cause for rejoicing.
Tom had been a patient in this very department a couple of times in the distant past. Both times as a result of running injuries. An ankle with badly torn ligaments had needed bandaging and a cut lip had needed a couple of stitches. Nothing serious, certainly nothing to compare with being shot but he’d been well treated.
It was a teaching hospital with a good reputation but how many gunshot wounds would they see in a year? Would they have anyone with the experience needed to save Colin’s life? He knew he must call Liz and let her know what had happened but first he wanted to estab
lish Colin’s condition. He would have liked to accept the policeman’s offer to call her but it wouldn’t have been right, just personally easier. She was family after all and deserved to hear from him not a stranger. It was going to be bad enough having to wake her in the middle of the night to tell her Colin had been shot but he was desperately hoping he was also going to be able to tell her not to worry and that her husband would live. Whatever he said though she was going to suffer a terrible shock.
Unfortunately, Janet Harding already had to face up to the rest of her life without her husband. Why had John been so reckless as to interfere? Why hadn’t he just waited for the police to arrive and do their job? Then again, hadn’t he been guilty of exactly the same foolish behaviour when he went to Melanie’s aid. He’d probably saved her life and maybe John had saved Colin’s.
Tom knew he didn’t just want Colin to survive because he felt like he’d only just found his brother. The truth was he didn’t fancy spending the rest of his life blaming himself for his brother’s death. He should have known better. Life always had a habit of kicking you back down just when things seemed on an upward path.
After ten minutes of recriminating with himself, he returned to the reception desk to remind them he was still waiting to hear news. The nurse gave him a sour look and informed him someone would be there as soon as possible. Then she quickly went back to the papers on her desk, signalling their conversation was over. What did as soon as possible mean? It was a meaningless answer. It could be minutes or hours. He stood for a few seconds hoping his presence might elicit further information from the nurse but she didn’t even bother looking up.
He went back to his seat and decided to give them a further ten minutes and then he would simply have to call Liz. She would never forgive him if she found out he hadn’t bothered calling immediately even if his intentions were sound. Then again she was never going to forgive him either way.
He picked up an old magazine from the table in front of him and leafed through a few pages without really focusing on the contents. His mind was jumping all over the place but his thoughts were all linked by what had happened to his brother. He glanced around and noticed the sign on the wall forbidding the use of mobile phones. He was going to get cold when it came to making the call.
Tom was getting restless in his chair and repeatedly looking at his watch. It had been nearly fifteen minutes since his last confrontation with the nurse. He had been more firm in his request for information but had met the same brick wall response. He noticed a rather distinguished looking man walk up to nurse no information, exchange a few words and then she pointed in Tom’s direction.
“Mr Ashdown?” the man asked as he came near. He was in his early fifties and the stethoscope around his neck identified him as a doctor. Now he was closer Tom could see the dark bags under his eyes that spoke of too many long hours. The fact he was wearing a suit rather than a gown suggested he would be a consultant.
“I’m John Seymour,” the man said. Tom jumped to his feet and shook the outstretched hand. “I’m about to operate on your brother.”
“How is he?”
“I’m afraid it’s too early to say. He’s lost a lot of blood but the x-rays show the bullet has missed his heart. We’ve spent the last half an hour stabilizing him. Until I open him up I can’t see the full extent of the damage. Does he have any medical history I should be aware of?”
Tom looked at him blankly.
“Is he allergic to anything?” Seymour prompted.
“No nothing as far as I know. I don’t remember him ever being in hospital before.”
“Good. I’ll come back soon as I’ve finished operating.” He turned to leave.
“What are his chances?” Tom persisted.
The consultant turned back and looked Tom straight in the eye. “As I said, until I open him up I can’t be sure of anything. His vital signs are very weak but he has a fighting chance. I can’t say better than that. Now I must be going.”
Tom breathed a sigh of relief. They didn’t sound like the best odds but what was a fighting chance. Was it thirty percent; forty percent? The doctor would surely have erred on the side of caution not wanting to build his hopes too high in case it all went pear shaped. At least Colin was alive and there was real hope. He had to trust in the doctors.
Tom glanced around and located a coffee machine. He helped himself to a disgusting tasting very sweet cappuccino and went outside to telephone Liz. He shivered from the change of temperature. He wished it could be Melanie he was calling but she would undoubtedly be asleep and it didn’t seem fair to wake her. He really wanted to talk to her right now and hear what he knew for certain would be a supportive voice. He was equally as certain as he pressed the buttons for Liz’s number that she would blame him for Colin’s situation and perhaps fairly so. At least he could confirm Colin was alive and in good hands. It was going to be a long night.
Miller was woken from his bed by the call to inform him firstly of the shootings in Brighton and then of the anonymous tip off that had led them to a hotel room but no killer. He had only had a couple of hours sleep, as the earlier murder of Lord Bancroft had led to a large number of politicians running around like headless chickens, demanding answers without even yet really knowing the questions.
Miller was confused as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. He had a sudden spate of terrorist murders to contend with and he wasn’t entirely sure if they were linked or not. There were superficial reasons to connect the shootings, namely the Irish link they shared but he was still far from certain that was the only significant factor at play.
He recalled the line from Goldfinger; Once is happenstance, Twice is coincidence, Three times is enemy action. Was there a bigger picture he couldn’t see? The IRA was extremely unlikely to be responsible for Bancroft’s death, given the current political climate and Sinn Fein’s increased respectability. In the past all former Ministers for Northern Ireland would have been considered fair game for the rest of their lives but not any longer.
Since the IRA had decommissioned their weapons, and Sinn Fein shared government, the outlook for long-term peace in Ireland had never been more optimistic, despite the recent increase in violence from dissident groups. The optimism came more from the reactions of all politicians condemning the violence than actually solving the crimes. Sinn Fein had stood side by side with the Chief Constable and Unionists to demand an end to sectarian murders and attacks on the British army.
If the Irish link was important, as realistically it surely had to be, then it probably meant it was a renegade faction operating independently but so far no one had claimed responsibility, which was highly unusual. There was little point in carrying out these acts of violence to highlight a cause but then not linking the act to the cause. Miller preferred to know who he was dealing with. Then he could react and plan accordingly. An unknown enemy willing to create mayhem was very scary.
The security services were being of no help. Their focus on Irish terrorism was a fraction of what it had once been. Simpson was probably telling the truth when he said they had no leads. The proverbial was going to hit the fan if they didn’t all come up with some answers fairly soon. And why this unknown enemy would choose to go after Ashdown was still a mystery. It seemed almost an act of personal revenge but Maguire was dead and Murphy locked up.
There were still more questions than answers but he suspected this probably wouldn’t be the end of the trouble and that meant he better get used to not having much sleep. He would stop by the office for the latest news and then he really would have to head to Brighton and meet Ashdown. It had gone from an excuse to get out the office to essential. He’d also get the team to run a full background check on Ashdown. He seemed genuine enough but nothing could be left to chance.
It was about two hours after Tom phoned Liz that she came hurrying into the hospital. She spotted Tom and came towards him with an expression that to Tom defined the saying ‘if looks could kill.’ Tom had no doubt s
he was capable of doing him harm, should she have a weapon to hand.
“What have you done to my Colin?” she demanded. “Where are the police? Why haven’t they arrested you?”
Sergeant Grant had made a visit to the hospital about an hour earlier and informed Tom he would be close at hand, as he was keen to question Colin as soon as he was awake. However, having spoken to the nurse on reception he had not been seen since. Tom assumed she had informed him there was little likelihood of questioning Colin any time in the near future.
Tom was keen not to fan the flames of Liz’s anger further so he ignored her questions. “There’s no news I’m afraid,” he said gently. “The doctor is still operating.”
She fell into the chair beside Tom’s. She was a robust woman but she looked as if she was struggling to hold onto her emotions. The dam burst and she started to cry. She was not a woman Tom imagined who cried very often.
“What am I going to do if he doesn’t recover?” she asked after a minute, without looking at Tom. She was dabbing at her eyes and nose with a handkerchief.
“Let’s be positive,” Tom replied, though he had been asking himself the very same question. By nature he was ever the optimist but that was being sorely tested and he wasn’t truly convinced Colin would survive.
“It’s all your fault,” Liz said with renewed strength. “I always knew you’d lead him into trouble.”
Tom had led one or two astray over the years but never his brother. There wasn’t much point in putting up a defence. Liz had her mind made up and she wasn’t someone he would ever be able to go to for a character reference. She had labelled him a long time ago as trouble and she was probably correct, whatever the rights and wrongs of her current assertion, he was responsible for Colin ending up in this hospital.
