Run!: He's coming for you

by K Leitch

  Carla reluctantly dragged her eyes away from the young man, ‘Who? Oh Frank…fuck knows, he seems to like her more than any of the others though, so maybe.’

  ‘Ooh I hope so,’ Tracy said soppily, ‘I love a good wedding, and Frank deserves some happiness, Linda too… don’t you think Carla?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Carla slurred, ‘but then don’t we all my darling…don’t we all? And what would make me happy right now is another drink…so whose round is it?’

  Much later, after helping a staggering Carla into her house and dropping Tracy home, Maggie spoke to Helen again about Carla.

  ‘She’s just so brittle Helen, I can’t see our girl in there anymore…it makes me want to cry.’

  Helen squeezed Maggie’s hand, ‘I know just what you mean, it feels like we’re losing her. But I don’t think there’s anything we can do until she asks for help love…and that may be a long time coming. Try not to worry Maggie,’ she said getting out of the car, ‘things have a way of sorting themselves out.’

  Maggie drove home in a sombre mood which not even Duncan’s smiling face could lift. She climbed into bed next to him and he pulled her close.

  ‘You okay sweetheart?’ he asked sleepily, sensing her distress.

  ‘No,’ Maggie said shakily, ‘I don’t think I am,’ she cried turning into his embrace, ‘everything’s changing, Duncan. I can feel it and I can do nothing to stop it happening… it scares me.’

  Duncan turned her onto her back and leaned over her kissing away her tears.

  ‘Things can’t help but change love, that’s the way it goes. We just have to move on with it, and as long as the important things in our lives remain constant, we’ll find a way to deal with whatever life has to throw at us.’

  Maggie sighed sadly knowing he was right. Then she pulled him down towards her, allowing his love and strength to comfort her.

  CHAPTER 3 - Ten months ago

  ‘Lucinda…Lucinda can you hear me sweetheart?’ Somewhere far in the distance, someone was calling her name, Lucinda tried to answer them…tried to open her eyes, but her mouth was so dry and her lids felt so very heavy. She tried again using all her will to force her eyelids apart, until at last squinting against the bright lights, she managed to open one of them at least, long enough to see a smiling face bending over her.

  ‘Well hello there,’ the face said, ‘how are you feeling?’

  ‘Feel sick,’ Lucinda said as a rush of hot bile came into the back of her throat making her gag, a paper bowl was thrust into her hands just in time as she retched into it over and over. A soothing hand rubbed her back until she settled.

  ‘That’ll be the anaesthetic sweetheart,’ the kindly voice said, ‘I’ll give you something to help with that.’ The voice belonged to a nurse, who proceeded to rub something cold and wet on her arm before sticking her with a needle, Lucinda flinched.

  ‘Sorry love,’ the nurse said pulling a face, ‘but that should help a little with the nausea.’ Lucinda tried to smile her thanks before drifting off again.

  The next thing she became aware of, was that the bed she was lying on was now moving and there was a porter walking behind her, pushing her along the long hospital corridors. She kept dozing in and out of consciousness, watching the hospital go by. She woke again with a shock a moment later to the noise of her trolley bashing through some double doors and realised she was now being “parked” up near a nurses’ station.

  ‘Where’s she going, Dot?’ her porter asked, handing over a sheaf of notes to the elderly staff nurse that was sitting at the desk.

  ‘Number three…oh hang on a minute Gus, I don’t know if they’ve moved that old bed yet,’ Dot said hauling herself out of her chair and starting off in the direction of the ward before turning back and saying, ‘Oh you know what, bring her in anyway; we’ll move her somewhere else if it’s a no go.’

  The trolley glided in through more double doors and soon Lucinda found herself in a darkened room full of sleeping patients attached to bleeping machines.

  With quiet efficiency, her bed was manoeuvred into the space available and once her drip was checked and her blood pressure and temperature taken, Lucinda was finally left to sleep in peace.

  She woke again some time later, completely panicked and disorientated…where the hell was she? She tried to move but she seemed to be attached to something, every movement sent searing pains through her skull, forcing her to lie still and calm down. Gradually the memories came flooding back…the ambulance, the emergency room, being wheeled into surgery… and before….

  Katy screaming…Trevor roaring at her, pursuing her, spittle flying from the corner of his mouth, his eyes wild and out of control as his fist flew connecting with her head, her face, her body. The blood, the smell, the chilling crack of her bone breaking and the awful pain. Skidding on the bloody floor as she tried to get to Katy…Katy screaming…Katy screaming… Lucinda sank back against the snowy white pillows, hot tears streaming down her face.

  Her arm was throbbing like crazy; she looked down at the plaster cast that covered most of the lower half of it. She could see her fingers sticking out of the bottom…she wiggled them, just to make sure she could.

  Tentatively she lifted her other hand to the dressing that was covering her eye, it felt huge. She gingerly felt along the bridge of her nose…oh God that hurt, she could feel how swollen it was, she checked her teeth, at least they all seemed to be intact but her mouth and gums felt sore and her lips were cracked.

  Lucinda sank back against her pillows, more tears trickled down from her one good eye, how had she come to this again…after the last time when he had almost blinded her. He had sworn then…sworn on Katy’s life that he would never hurt her again. He just loved her so much he said, he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else even looking at her. She had tried to hold firm against him she really had and she had managed it for a few months. She’d even gone back and lived with her mum for a while…how had he managed to persuade her to try again…why…why did she keep letting him back in?

  ‘Well never again,’ she thought with steely determination, she couldn’t keep doing this, next time she might end up dead. There mustn’t be a next time, she had to do something this time no matter how sorry he was, no matter how much he begged and pleaded…this had to stop… for Katy’s sake it had to stop NOW.

  CHAPTER 4 - PRESENT DAY

  Flora Metcalf sat shivering with fear in the darkness of her living room. She hadn’t been able to put the light on, she didn’t want them to know where she was. Her eyes were darting back and forth in panic as her head swivelled this way and that, following the sounds of footsteps and tappings that were coming from just outside her window. Oh no…surely that came from the kitchen window that time…oh my God, they were in the back garden now! Flora put a trembling hand over her mouth to smother her involuntary whimpering…she could hear them chortling and whispering outside, taking obvious pleasure as they imagined her fear. Flora held herself as still as a statue, holding her breath… the back door now was being shaken, almost from its hinges…still… she stayed still, if she ignored them maybe they’d leave her alone this time.

  BANG BANG BANG! Suddenly there came a pounding on the front door, making Flora jump in her seat. ‘Oh no, no, no,’ she whimpered and tried to sink even deeper back into the cushions of the armchair.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she whispered, ‘what do you want with me…why won’t you just leave me alone…please, please go away…iieeeek,’ she let out a squeal of terror and nearly jumped out of her skin, when a moment later something rubbed up against her leg. Oh thank God… it was only Mimski, her cat. Flora let out the breath that she’d been holding and pulled him up onto her lap, holding him close, taking comfort from the warmth of his little body.

  ‘It’s ok little boy,’ she cooed tearfully into his silky white fur, ‘just some silly noises…it’s ok, they’ll go in a minute,’ she added more to reassure herself than the cat.

  Mimski kn
eaded her with his claws, purring loudly and circling round before settling down on her lap.

  Suddenly her letter box began to rattle making her jump again; Flora held her breath and braced herself for whatever was to come next, holding onto Mimski so tightly that he began to squirm in her grasp.

  ‘Don’t close your eyes old lady,’ came the cruel whispering voice through the front door, ‘we’re watching you, remember…we’re always watching you,’ her tormenter finished with a mocking laugh.

  Tears streamed down Flora’s face, as she heard the now familiar rustling noises, before the letter box was slammed shut. A noxious smell wafted through from the hallway, eager to escape her tight grasp, Mimski jumped off her lap and padded out into the hall to investigate. Slowly and painfully Flora eased herself out of her chair and shuffled out after him towards the front door. A large pile of odorous dogs mess was sitting on her door mat, more of it was smeared around the inside of her letter box and on the inside of her door.

  Flora wailed with frustration, and rage. ‘Dirty, filthy little…..bastards,’ she said surprising herself at her profanity, although in truth sometimes only foul language would do. ‘Filthy, nasty little bastards,’ she muttered again as she went to get a cloth and bucket. ‘What sort of sick bugger even thinks about doing something so filthy,’ she went on ranting tearfully, as she began the disgusting process of cleaning up the mess.

  Once she’d finished cleaning, she went to her desk and took out her diary, the one that the police had told her to keep when she had first informed them that some kids in the neighbourhood were terrorising her.

  25th APRIL 9.40pm, she wrote, TAPPING ON THE WINDOWS, BANGING ON THE DOORS, THREATS AND DOG EXCREMENT THROUGH THE LETTER BOX.

  She looked back through the previous entries that she’d made over the last couple of months, things weren’t getting better with time, as the police officer had promised. They weren’t getting bored with her…in fact the attacks were escalating. Surely there was someone she could speak to, someone who would offer her practical help, instead of fobbing her off with platitudes and telling her to keep a record of everything. What good was a flaming record, the only people who would benefit from that was the police themselves, when they found her dead in her living room one day.

  More angry than frightened now, Flora made herself a cup of tea. She would go back to the police station tomorrow, take her diary with her. She’d make them listen this time, she had rights for God’s sake, she deserved protection…she’d make them take her seriously…tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 5 - CARLA

  ‘James I haven’t got time to talk about this now, I’m running late as it is,’ Carla said irritably, as she grabbed her bag and started hunting round the kitchen for her keys.

  ‘You never have time to talk about anything,’ James retorted, ‘that’s the point.’ He grabbed Carla by the arms forcing her to stop and look at him.

  ‘You promised me Carla, last year after that lunatic almost killed you…we discussed it, remember.’

  ‘I said I would think about it, and I have,’ Carla said crossly. ‘You always knew James, I never tried to pretend that I would suddenly give up my career and become some sort of domestic goddess so…’

  ‘Well I never imagined I would end up sitting at home wondering if my wife would come home in one piece, or if I would hear that she’d been shot or buried alive in some woods somewhere,’ James said walking over to the dresser, picking up Carla’s keys and holding them out to her. ‘If not for me, think about the kids, how do you think they would cope if they lost their mum?’

  Carla snatched the keys from James’s hand, ‘Oh no… don’t go there matey, don’t you bring the kids into this.’

  ‘How can I not Carla…don’t you see…’ James began.

  ‘Yes! Yes I do see, but not now James,’ Carla shouted, holding up a hand, ‘we’ll talk later…I’ve got to go,’ and with that she fled out of the kitchen, the front door slammed behind her a moment later.

  Detective Inspector Carla Right sighed as she climbed into her car and started the ignition. She rested her head back against the headrest and took a few deep breaths. Things were going from bad to worse with James and she really didn’t know how to deal with it. He had always had an issue with her unpredictable working hours and the amount of time she spent with the kids, or rather the lack of time she spent with them. But she had thought that they had put that argument behind them, and up until last year things had been great between them, never better in fact.

  It was nearly a year ago to the day that Carla had almost lost her life, she had been on the trail of the Sheenans, a brother and sister who had been committing the most awful acts of revenge on the people that they held responsible for the suicide of their mother. Carla had followed them as they had targeted their final victim, unfortunately she had been spotted and had ended up unconscious in a shallow grave, buried alive. If it hadn’t been for her sergeant’s quick thinking, she would have died that day. It had been the most terrifying ordeal of Carla’s life and if truth be told she was still feeling the effects of it, sometimes waking drenched in sweat after re-living the whole thing in her dreams. Worse than that however, was the effect it had had on James; he had become progressively more anxious… if she came home from work late, or if she didn’t ring him when she was working away and he was putting increasing pressure on her to give up her job.

  It didn’t help her argument that there was no real need for her to work anymore. James was earning a good whack at the charity, where he was a fundraiser and he had recently been promoted. Carla’s earnings weren’t to be sniffed at either and over the years the couple had saved enough so that they were financially secure, even managing to pay off the mortgage on their house. Carla though was proud of her achievements in the police force; she had worked her way up from a lowly WPC, to the impressive heights of Detective Inspector. She was realistic enough to know, that she probably wouldn’t get any higher; even she could admit that she wasn’t the best detective in the world and had made a few very silly errors over the years that would prevent her from achieving DCI status. It was more likely that DS Frank Hill would leap frog over her for that role. On the other hand she had worked long enough to qualify for a good pension… so what was it that was keeping her in the job? Carla sighed again, on mornings like this she really couldn’t answer that one, maybe she’d just become so pig headed that she didn’t want to give James the satisfaction of thinking he’d won!

  The station was quiet when she arrived fifteen minutes later, a young man was sitting with his belligerent looking mother in the waiting room, they both glared angrily at her as she walked past.

  Carla rolled her eyes at WPC Sheila White who was manning the desk, ‘What’s their problem?’ she asked jerking her head in the direction of the couple.

  ‘Sam’s just brought her husband in,’ Sheila said in a low voice, ‘seems like he’s our man, for the break-in on Partridge Drive. Sam and Midge caught him red handed in the Fox in Whitefield, trying to sell a Rolex, serial numbers match the one stolen in the robbery. They’re checking over his place as we speak, his missus over there has been creating merry hell… told her I’d be taking her in for obstruction if she didn’t shut up!’ she ended with a smirk looking over at the furious, but now silent, woman. Carla laughed and made her way upstairs to the CID offices.

  She nodded hello to the few people that were working at their desks as she went through to the little glass partitioned office at the end of the room, stopping off to get a coffee from the machine on the way.

  Carla sat down heavily at her desk and ran her hands through her shoulder length blond hair, she felt like she’d done a day’s work already and it wasn’t even nine yet. Taking a long drink of her coffee, she opened up her desk drawer and took out the file that she’d been reading the night before.

  The Twee family were the bane of Carla’s life at the moment. Herbert Twee was a petty criminal; he’d been in and out of prison since he was sixt
een, mainly for housebreaking and muggings. Skinny and bedraggled looking he had a sort of Fagin quality about him and, just like the Dickens' character, Carla was sure that he was running a group of youngsters who were snatching bags from cars. They would ride up on their bikes beside a car that had stopped at the lights and then either reach in through the window, or yank open the car door and take anything of any value that happened to be on the passenger seat, before riding away as quickly as possible. It was happening more and more frequently and was becoming a real pain in the backside for Carla and her team, as there were almost no reliable witnesses. It all happened so fast and although Carla was certain Twee was behind the robberies she had absolutely no proof to back her up.

  Herbert’s wife Jane, a thirty stone growler with a bleached blond frizz and tattooed arms, was also not someone to be messed with. She was simply a nasty, bigoted piece of work and like her husband she’d been in and out of prison for most of her life, but unlike her husband, hers were almost all crimes of violence. The last time was for breaking the jaw of the sixty year old Asian lady that ran her local convenience store, just because the woman wouldn’t change a ten pound note. Together the couple made quite a team, add to that their two teenage kids, Lola and Lewis, who were the nastiest little thugs that Carla had come across for many a year, and it was easy to see why she was determined to get them off the streets.

  Now though, a problem of another and potentially more worrying kind for Carla, had risen its ugly head. There seemed to be some sort of vigilante on the prowl in the Redbank/Kenley area, doling out his own violent sort of punishment on anyone that he deemed deserved it. Two young boys had fallen foul of this individual so far, both had been tied up and caned leaving them very shocked and covered in nasty welts. On both occasions an anonymous phone call to the police station had been made to tell of the boy’s whereabouts, and to explain why the boys had deserved their corporal punishment (one for littering, the other for bullying some children in a playground). The boys themselves had been of little help, describing their attacker as very tall and scary, with a strange screwed up face (from the boy’s descriptions Carla had soon deduced that the man had been wearing a stocking mask over his face). It was also pretty obvious that they were both terrified at the thought that they might be “punished” again if they talked, so Carla hadn’t got very far with either of them.