“Shit,” the man said. I heard him telling emergency services that a girl was trapped inside the burning house as I plunged headfirst through the window.
Chapter Twenty-One
You know in all the movies how the hero makes the grand entrance to the scene of danger, rescues the damsel in distress then carries her to safety cradled in his arms?
Yeah, that’s not how I roll.
Haste and my too-large frame for a too-slim window did not make for a graceful entrance. Wiggling through the window on my side, my arse and legs hanging out, I wormed my way in further whilst holding my arms out in case I slipped. Kicking my legs, I worked my way in further until I fell headfirst to the floor.
Grunting, I rolled over and got to my feet, squinting as the smoke stung my eyes.
“Hello?” I yelled before yanking my T-Shirt up and covering my mouth and nose. “Can you hear me?” I made my way into the hallway and gasped. Thick black smoke hung in the air, toxic and heavy as if trying to block my way. I stumbled forward and looked left to right, straining to hear any sounds that resembled a bound young woman.
It was no use.
The roar of the fire was so loud I wondered whether one of the rooms upstairs were engulfed in flames. In addition to the fire, I heard glass breaking and the thuds and bangs of falling furniture as it succumbed to the fire that mercilessly fed on it. The upstairs hallway wasn’t large and of the four doors I could see, only one was closed.
A memory of a door slamming shut after the killer had struck and taunted the young woman came to me so I hurried to that door. Throwing myself against it, I tugged it open and hurried inside―where I froze.
I’d known there was a girl; the killer had proven it when he’d hit her to make her scream, yet the sight stunned me anyway.
The girl was exactly as the killer had said she would be: tied spread-eagled by her wrists and ankles to her bed. Her mouth was gagged with something white and air hissed in and out of her nose as she stared at me with wide terrified eyes.
Snap out of it or you’ll both die!
“It’s okay,” I blurted, rushing forward. “I’ll get you out of here.”
I immediately began tugging at the rope binding her right wrist. The killer hadn’t been joking when he said the rope was good and tight; there was no slack to the rope and I could see the ugly red colour her hands had become as the circulation had been cut off. The girl began shaking her head, trying to say something around the gag.
Of course, I realised then that I should have removed the gag first. I tugged it out of her mouth and down past her chin.
“A knife,” she blurted. “He left a knife. Over there.” She jerked her head to the left. “He said you’ll never get me free without it.”
I turned and the girl began to cough and cry at the same time as I rushed to the large chest of drawers located to the left of the girl’s position. Sure enough, there was a large knife standing upright on top of the wooden chest, its tip embedded in the scratched oak. I yanked it free and rushed back to the girl, who was frantic by now as she struggled helplessly.
“Please,” she sobbed, “I don’t wanna die.”
“It’s gonna be okay,” I told her as I began to saw at her ropes. Taking no comfort from my words, she continued to cry as I sawed harder. I can’t say that I blamed her. She was tied to a bed with only me standing in the way of a sure death by smoke inhalation or burning alive. I can’t say I’d have been filled with hope and joy in her shoes either.
The rope at her wrist cut, I moved down to her righr ankle and cut the rope there.
The ladders, the open window, the knife to cut the ropes― all left by the killer to make the rescue easier. Judging by the angry roar of the fire downstairs, it was a hungry one. Without the ladders and open window, getting inside the house would have been impossible. Without the knife, untying the ropes would have taken far longer than needed in order to escape the house alive. Obviously, though the killer had set all this up, he clearly wanted to make things easier for me too. It followed that he didn’t really want me, or the girl, to die.
Trying not to wonder and keep my mind on the job at hand, I moved back to the girl’s side and cut through the rope binding her left wrist once her legs were free. One slice and a tug and her arm came free. I immediately tugged her to her feet and began to turn, intending to lead the way out when the girl gasped and wrapped her arms around me. “My feet,” she sobbed, “I can’t feel my feet.” The tight ropes had cut off her circulation. Though I understood her discomfort, now was no time to sit down and wait for the pins and needles sensation to indicate proper blood circulation.
“Come on,” I told her harshly. “The house is on fire; we have to go!”
I held her to my side and rushed for the bedroom door. Though crying and hobbling, she stayed with me, clutching my waist in a grip tight enough to rival a boa constrictor.
As we stumbled from her bedroom together, we both instinctively shrank back as flames danced their way up the stairs. Though there was more than enough room to get by the approaching flames and into the master bedroom to the waiting ladders, the girl, understandably I suppose, freaked out.
“I can’t,” she shrieked, trying to get out of my grip and run back into her room. Gripping her arm so tightly I’ll bet I left bruises, I yelled back: “Yes you can! But we have to leave. Now!”
It was no use. Terror had the girl firmly in its grip and was not letting go. So I carried her in a bear-hug grip past the stairs and into the master bedroom whilst she screamed, pleaded and beat at me with her fists and slapped me in the face the whole way.
I was trapped in a burning house, sent in by a killer who had threatened members of my family and I was getting beat on by a girl.
It was not one of my better moments.
Reaching the master bedroom window, I placed the girl down on her unsteady legs and leaned out. Quite a crowd had gathered outside and the man wearing the dressing gown still stood at the foot of the ladder with his mobile held to his ear. “He’s here now,” I heard him say into the phone.
“Help me get her down,” I shouted. Coughing, I turned back to the girl who stood shaking and sobbing behind me. I gripped her shoulders and shook her gently but firmly. “You have to go down the ladders now― do you understand?”
“No,” she wailed. She gripped the front of my T-Shirt in her fists. I shook her again, harder this time. “Listen to me: If we don’t go―now―we’re gonna die here. It’s not that far down and help is on the way. All we have to do is climb down now and this is all over.”
The girl shook her head and sobbed. In the state she was in I think she’d have struggled to walk down a flight of stairs, never mind tall ladders. I leaned out of the window again.
“Hey,” I yelled at the man stood at the bottom of the ladders. “Help me get the girl down; she won’t move.” The man turned and handed his phone to a woman who had rushed forward as soon as my last word was out of my mouth. Without hesitation, he began to climb the ladder. “Someone’s coming to help you down,” I told the girl. Though shaking and crying, she allowed me to push her towards the window. It seemed that the smoke in the room had tripled in the last few seconds. Both the girl and I coughed uncontrollably as my stinging eyes misted over constantly with tears.
The girl leaned out of the window, her sobbing reaching a pitch. The man reached the top of the ladder and squinted at us. “Jesus,” he gasped, covering his nose and mouth with his left hand. Extending his right one, he leaned forward and grabbed the girl’s wrist. “Rachel,” he told the sobbing girl. “It’s Mr. Morrison, come on down this ladder with me.”
The girl shook her head and tried to tug her wrist out of his grip. I began to push her, urging her forward. I have to be honest, at that point I was trying to resist pushing her out of the damn window.
Smoke now engulfed the room and I coughed and spluttered in my effort to breath.
“Now listen here, young lady,” Mr. Morrison snapped.
“You will stop this silliness and climb down this ladder right this instant.”
The girl shook her head, her legs nearly giving way.
“Now,” he yelled in her face.
Perhaps the tone of his voice snapped her of it, or perhaps she finally decided that climbing down a ladder was far less scary than burning to death; I don’t know. But, whatever it was, it got her moving. “Go,” I shouted in her ear.
Thankfully, she hurled herself at the window and swung one leg over the sill. Turning, she pulled her other leg out as the man gripped her by the waist. I rested my head against the windowsill as I watched their heads disappear as they ascended the ladder―and I suddenly became tired.
My mission had been to get the girl out, and now she was out. With the realisation that I’d saved the girl’s life came a tiredness I’d never felt before and I fell to my knees. All I wanted to do, was sleep.
Buried somewhere deep beneath the heavy lethargy, real terror stirred. I knew I was suffocating on the toxic smoke, that the tiredness I felt likely came from lack of oxygen, but right then, the urge to lay down and sleep smothered my will to live.
Did I want to die?
No.
Did I want to live?
No.
I just wanted to be done with everything: the self-doubt that tormented me daily; the nightmares that tormented me nearly every night; the self-loathing and the feeling of belonging nowhere and of being no importance to anyone―I was sick and tired of all of it.
I wasn’t that far out of it that I didn’t wonder how my mother would feel when learning of my death. Would she care? Would she cry?
I was floating on a sea of darkness, gratefully giving myself to it completely when rough hands suddenly grabbed me. “Hey! Come on, man.” The man spluttered and coughed as he tugged at me. “Jesus, man, you gotta get up or you’ll gonna die.”
Die? As in―dead?
A surge of adrenaline hit me. I didn’t want to dieRIGHT SQUARE BRACKETI didn’t deserve to die! My saviour helped me stagger to the window where another pair of hands grabbed meRIGHT SQUARE BRACKETand then I go blank. The next thing I remember is sitting in an ambulance with an oxygen mask on.
People scurried left, right and centre. Lights flashed, then dimmed, flashed, then dimmed. Voices, so many voices. Some shouted, some talked, some cried. some were calm. All these noises blurred together into one continuous hum.
I don’t know how long I sat there in my confused haze, but I snapped out of it when Jackson and Dobson appeared in front of me.
“Danny,” Jackson said.
What the hell are they doing here?
It was an overload on my already frazzled emotions.
I passed out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rage, a rage so fierce it consumed him and made him shudder. He had started doing this work on account of the many self-centred, uncaring wastes of human lives that assaulted his morals and principles everyday. He stared at the picture before him: a young dirty boy, his hair greasy and flat to his scalp; the dark bruises that decorated his skinny arms; the ribs that poked through the skin accompanied by a ghastly pale reflection.
The next picture showed the same young boy, this time from behind. Old and new scars criss-crossed over his back, the marks obviously having been caused by a belt, and others that looked like deep burn marks. In a couple of places, the shape of the belt-buckle was imprinted on the boy’s skin.
He became angrier as he read the report: Malnourishment, neglect, physical abuse and emotional trauma. The authorities had seen the injuries, they’d even documented them, yet, Daniel Rivers’ mother had never been charged. After she had recovered from her attack, she had been issued with papers to say her son would not be returned to her, that her sister had taken him in, and that she could attend court if she wished to get her son back.
She hadn’t attended court and had seemed to go back to her everyday life.
Where was the justice?
It was looking as though he’d made a very big mistake. His job was to punish the guilty, teach them a lesson that would last a lifetime and change them into better people. Danny didn’t need the lesson; he never had. Danny had passed his test, and was now in hospital recovering from smoke inhalation as a result of passing his exam. He could have died tonight, yet he’d selflessly saved the life of a girl he didn’t know.
He sat back in his chair. This had never happened before, Danny was the first. He shuffled the papers in his hands, searching for the report on Danny’s mother. He settled back to read it fully, becoming more and more enraged with every word. He’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.
This was going to take some thinking. He had to get Danny out of trouble, lead the police in another direction and make out as though Danny was also a victim. At the same time, he had to free Danny of this foul woman who never deserved to have children of her own.
And he thought he knew just what to do. It wasn’t really difficult; it was just a matter of angles.
Chapter Twenty-Three
My stay in hospital was marked mainly by nightmares. I didn’t stay for too long; just overnight and I was allowed home early the next morning. Jackson and Dobson didn’t come to see me, which I thought very strange and somewhat troubling. Though they were homicide detectives and their presence at the house fire had seemed out of place, I’d since learnt that the girl’s parents’ had been dragged out of the house, bound together and locked in the garage prior to the fire.
The officer who had taken my statement was definitely clued up to the situation regarding me because he watched me closely with suspicion shadowing his already dark eyes.
And that’s all that I knew.
I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn’t been arrested right there and was allowed to go home, but I worried too. Perhaps they were building their case, gathering evidence and witnesses’ before coming to arrest me. I’d saved a girl’s life, but I was also connected to a brutal double murder and the violent attack on George, these two incidents also linked by the bloody overalls found in the storage cupboard on my floor.
I rode the taxi home in silence, wishing this whole thing could be over and that I could just go back to my normal mundane life. I entered my flat and went straight to my bedroom. I collapsed face first onto my bed. Nervous exhaustion caused me to fall asleep within two seconds.
***
I awoke a few hours later feeling terrible. My dreams, though I couldn’t actually remember them properly, had been awful. I remembered running, running as fast as I could, but whatever chased me always caught me. Before anything terrible could happen to me, I’d dream of running again, running until whatever was chasing me caught me again.
I did remember waking up once, shouting something and flopping back onto my pillow as I panted for air. Deciding to stay awake since I was allowed no peace even in sleep, I began to think about Becky.
I slept again without realising I was falling asleep and the shadows continued their torment.
I was absolutely exhausted and a glimpse of my reflection in my bathroom mirror confirmed I looked every bit as terrible as I felt.
I headed into the kitchen to make coffee ; then realised that I hadn’t bought a kettle or a toaster when I’d specifically headed into to work to buy them the day before.
It may sound silly considering my other problems that were far bigger, but I sat at the kitchen table and rested my head in my arms, the tears stinging my eyelids. I’m ashamed to admit that I had a little cry, more out of frustration than anything, then I put the water pan on and wandered into the living room. Seeing Samson curled up on the windowsill right where I expected to find him, I went to him and checked his food and water bowl. Some of the water appeared to have gone, but the food remained untouched. The heat from the radiator had turned the top of the gravy covered meat hard and crusty looking. I took the bowl into the kitchen, emptied the spoiled cat food into the bin, washed the bowl then filled it with fresh food.
Think
ing that cat food fresh from the can smelled somewhat appetizing, though it looked disgusting, I carried the plate back to Samson. Checking the litter tray as I placed the food bowl beside him, I noticed it was wet in one area.
So he was drinking and urinating, but not eating. Trying to decide if I should panic yet since I knew that drinking was far more important than eating, I whistled quietly to wake Samson, who was either in a deep sleep or pretending to be.
“Hey bud,” I said softly. “Breakfast time.”
When Samson opened his eyes and looked at me, I realised he had been sleeping for he seemed a little lost, as if he couldn’t understand why I was bending over him. He looked around my flat then back to me. Evidently, he had remembered something bad had happened. Until that moment, I would never have believed that a cat could look so sad.
“Here mate, you need to eat something.”
Samson stood and stretched before sniffing the food I had placed beside him. Turning away, he sat down and his gaze once again settled on the area he had watched George disappear into an ambulance.
His demeanour got me to thinking about George. I was desperate to go and see him, not just because his well-being would help my situation, but because I missed and rather liked the old man. I had considered calling on him while I was in hospital, but I decided against it. I was a person of interest in George’s attack, so what would happen if I were to turn up at his bedside? I felt like I couldn’t win either way: if I appeared by his bedside they may worry for George’s welfare in my presence and if I didn’t go that would look suspicious.
I sighed. “I miss him too,” I told Samson and we stared out of the window together. And surprisingly, I really did. After what I’d gone through the night before, I’d realised I didn’t have many people in my life; I wanted to keep the people I did have.
Around 40 minutes later, my mobile rang. Not recognizing the number, my stomach flopped and I answered warily.
“Danny?” the female voice asked. “It’s Evie.”
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