I’d better be fast. I can hear a siren near. This car is better than the van. I set off, thinking about how I can lose the police. Tunnels. I’ll have to go back on myself.
This is a nightmare. I think of Mum’s face, of how I’m doing this for her. I can’t kill the policeman. The good die young. This guy is bad. This guy needs to live, but he might wake up any minute. I drive and drive. I know this city well.
And then it happens. I drive through an estate. I drive through its underpass. Then I wait. The sirens are getting weaker.. I’ve lost them. I’ve actually lost them.
I drive out as if I’m a normal driver. I need to avoid the police. They could be hiding anywhere. But I’m not far now. I park in a dark street. I take off my number plates. I’ve got spares. I stick them on with ties. They’ll flap in the wind. That’s OK. And I drive off.
I hit Norbury at a good time. The streets are quiet and I go round and round the back streets and down an alley my van wouldn’t get through.
Here’s my lock up. No one’s going to find this. I drive the car right in. I shut the garage doors. Shit, there’s still no fucking lights. I turn on the car, hit the headlights. I can see my two dead ones. They look eerie in the bright light. I turn the lights off again. Don’t want to look at them.
I use the light of my phone to find my torch.
Next job is this policeman. I shine the light in his eyes. He’s gone. Unconscious I reckon because he’s breathing. I look at the wound. I’ve really gone for his head. He’ll most likely be a vegetable when he wakes up. That’s good. I’ve hit him right on the temple. Ha. I’d best tie him up in case he’s OK when he comes to.
I pull him out of the car by his legs. He hits his head on the floor. I drag him to the workbench. I try to pick him up like I did before but I can’t get the strength now. I try again. He’s got heavier. I look around to see what else I’ve got. I could tie him to the steel pillars at the side of the garage.
I pull him by his shoulders now. Some of his blood gets on my jeans. I heave him over the body of the old woman. She rolls onto her side, dead eyes wide open. Nasty shit.
I get him to the back. He’ll be out of the way here. I sit him up against the steel. I let go. His head goes to the side. I run and get the rope. I tie him. The rope goes round and round. It’s tight. This man will be strong. It needs to go round and round.
He looks like a barrel. Ha. I stand back and shine the torch at him. Blood is dripping on the floor. I’m going to be a nurse now. I’m going to save the bastard’s life, because he’s too young to die. I’ll keep him here until he grows old. I’ll feed him on chicken soup, I’ll get him well enough to live. Mum would want it that way.
I find a bandage from the first aid kit. I unroll it. It’s nice and long. It’ll do the job. I walk over to the policeman. I roll the bandage so that it goes over his blood and right around his head covering his eyes. He won’t know where he is. There. That’s a good job. He’s still breathing. He can’t get away.
I’m happy now. I’ve done a good job. I’ll need a new car now but the lock up is safe. I sit in the car and turn the engine and radio on. I’ll sleep here tonight.
I sit in the front seat and close my eyes. It’s really shitting uncomfortable. I look in the back. I’d have to lie on the blood but it would be comfier.
I get out and open the back door. I can see something on the back seat. What if the policeman is tagged? They might be waiting outside. I lean over and pick it up. I shine the torch. Pissing fuck. It’s the policeman’s badge. I open it up. Inside is a photograph. It’s him alright. It says, ‘Detective Inspector David McDonald.’ On the other side is a card with writing on. Ha. I’m going to arrest him.
I go over to his body. He’s still breathing alright. Pretty good going considering.
‘Detective David McDonald,’ I say. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of being a tosser, you do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not answer in question something you later rely in court – anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
I kick the bastard.
Shit he made a noise.
I kick him again.
He’s groaning. He’s waking up. I need to get out of here.
I find my suitcase on the shelf. I strip off my clothes. I put on a shirt, tie, and suit. I find the Bible and put it under my arm. They’ll never suspect me. I’d better be sure though. I put on my flat cap. I pull it down over my eyes. I look like a regular Jehovah’s Witness. Coming to an old people’s home near you.
Chapter 5
The first thing Dave realised was that he couldn’t see. He wondered if he was blind. He opened his eyes and closed them again. His eyelashes brushed against cloth. He must be under the covers. He tried to move his arms. He couldn’t move his arms. As he struggled, he realised what the noise was. The booming was coming from inside his head. The booming was pain. He wanted to cry out. He opened his mouth to moan, but something stopped him. He didn’t know where he was. It was cold, as if he were outdoors. He smelt the air. Not outside. It smelt familiar. It smelt like death, like dead bodies were rotting around him. Images of dead bodies came into his head. Where had he seen these bodies? He must be in a morgue. They must have him down as dead. He listened. There was no sound nearby. Then he heard a rumble. He was near a train track. That was a train going past. He focussed to hear more. The train passed and afterwards there was nothing. Was there anyone else in the morgue? Was he really alive? This might be what death is like. A sore head, no sight or movement, and no one else around. He pressed his nail against his hand. He could feel. He wondered if he should cry out for help.
‘Hello!’ he called.
His voice seemed to hit the walls and disappear.
‘Is anyone here?’ he said.
He listened. He could make out the sound of running water. Like a small stream or river. But that was outside the walls. He tried to move his arms again. He couldn’t.
Where was he? He could feel a cold floor beneath him. Perhaps it was concrete. He was in a sitting position. They don’t sit you up in a morgue. They lie you down. He smelt the air. Perhaps it was a dead animal. He ran through the possibilities. Butchers, abattoir, or something else.
‘Hello,’ he called.
There was no answer.
Then he got it. The eye bandage, the rope against his body, he had been kidnapped. So where was his captor?
‘Why am I tied up?’ he called.
‘Hey!’ he heard a voice whisper.
‘What?’ he whispered back.
‘Look brother,’ said the voice. ‘You’re in a cell.’
‘A cell? What did I do?’ said Dave.
‘I don’t know. I just know you’ll be here a very long time. Like me.’
‘Who are you?’ said Dave.
‘I’m your brother,’ said the voice.
‘Stephen?’ said Dave.
‘Yes.’
‘But...’
It seemed wrong. He couldn’t remember why.
‘But I died,’ said Stephen.
Dave remembered the phone call, that his brother had died of an overdose. He couldn’t remember. Had he seen the body? He hadn’t.
‘You hated me,’ said Stephen.
‘No,’ said Dave.
He struggled against the rope. It was tight. It was tied so that he couldn’t move anything except his legs. He kicked his feet. It made his head throb. He moaned. He wanted to cradle his head but his arms couldn’t move.
‘Help!’ he cried.
‘Shush,’ said Stephen. ‘Hear that?’
Dave heard the sound of a car engine. He heard it stop. He gulped. This would be his captor. He heard a noise, like shutters opening. Then behind his eye bandage the world went bright. He could see the white linen in front of his eyes. Then it went dark again.
He heard footsteps. They were coming towards him.
‘Stephen!’ he called.
There was no answer. The footsteps came faster
now. They reached him. He smelt smoky breath.
‘Who’s Stephen?’ said a voice.
Dave realised he needed to play this right. If the guy didn’t know Stephen’s name, he must have kept it from him.
‘Who are you?’ Dave asked.
‘I’m Richie.’
There was a pause. Dave didn’t know what to say. His captor had told him his name. That must mean he intended to kill him.
‘Am I a hostage?’ he asked.
‘Something like that,’ said Richie.
Dave heard a rustling.
‘Here, I brought you some food. Open your mouth.’
Dave kept his mouth firmly closed. His mouth felt dry. He needed water. He rubbed his tongue at the bottom of his mouth. He got some saliva and swilled it round his mouth. It disappeared, soaked up with no effect.
‘Hey,’ said Richie. ‘I said open your mouth.’
Richie pressed his hand against the sides of Dave’s jaw.
‘Ahh,’ he cried. It hurt his head. The pain was at the right side of his face, his temple. He groaned and felt crisps pushed into his mouth. They were sharp and dry. BBQ flavour. He tried to find saliva to suck them. They made his mouth feel furry. He chewed. He moaned in pain. Every movement of his jaw hurt his head. He tried to swallow. He couldn’t get them down.
‘Want a drink?’ asked Richie.
Dave nodded.
He heard a bottle top twist off, a plastic crunch. He felt the rim on his lips. The water ran down his chin. He sucked to get it in his mouth. Then the bottle was tipped and loads went in his mouth. He coughed as it hit his larynx. Then the water was gone. He had swallowed some but not enough.
‘How long have I been here?’ he said.
‘Not long,’ said Richie. ‘You woke up fast. Any concussion?’
‘What happened?’
‘You got in the way,’ said Richie.
‘Me?’ said Dave. ‘Why? What did I do?’
‘Don’t you remember?’ asked Richie.
‘I don’t know where I am and I don’t know how I got here,’ said Dave.
‘Who are you?’ asked Richie.
‘I don’t know,’ said Dave.
He heard great laughter come from the man. He felt ashamed. He tried to think. How did he get this sore on his head? And what was his name?
‘I don’t know who I am!’ said Dave.
‘Good,’ said Richie. ‘I like a bit of amnesia. Ha, you’ll have lots of time to remember all that. The rest of your life in fact.’
‘But what about Stephen?’ he said.
‘I don’t know any Stephen, mate. Sorry.’
Dave hung his head. There was no escape. He would live on crisps and gulps of water. Then he would die.
‘Do you know what I’m going to do now?’ said Richie.
Dave said nothing.
‘I’m going to play God,’ said Richie.
Dave heard his footsteps move away. The noise of the shutter came again and light poured in. There was a silhouette of a car. He tried to see Richie. There was a shadow moving. Then the shutters came down and he was in darkness again. It was quiet. The air from outside had made it colder but the smell was less.
Dave felt desperate.
‘Who am I?’ he said.
‘You’re my brother,’ said Stephen’s voice.
‘You’re Stephen. Who am I?’
‘Think,’ said Stephen.
Dave saw himself in a memory playing football. He was knocking the ball against the back wall. Then he heard a call. He looked round to see his mother standing at the kitchen door with her apron on. What was she saying? She was calling him for dinner. But he couldn’t hear his name.
‘Damn it!’ he cried. ‘Tell me Stephen.’
‘I can’t. You must remember.’
‘But you’re my brother. You must know my name. Please tell me. Who am I?’
There was silence.
Dave tried to think. He didn’t know how old he was. He didn’t know how long he’d been in this cell.
‘How long have you been here Stephen?’ Dave asked.
‘A very long time,’ he said.
‘Does he feed you too?’ said Dave.
There was a pause.
‘Does he?’ asked Dave.
‘No,’ came the answer.
Dave tried to puzzle it through. Stephen was here. He could hear his voice. But Richie didn’t know him. Richie didn’t see him or feed him.
‘How are you alive?’ Dave said.
‘I don’t know,’ said Stephen.
Dave didn’t want to probe any more. He could feel his heart racing. He was frightened. It felt like he hadn’t been frightened before. It felt new. He could smell the dead smell more now. He would smell like that soon. He wondered if he was surrounded by Richie’s victims. He had to escape but thinking about it made his head bang with pain.
‘Sleep now,’ said Stephen.
Dave felt pricks of tears coming. He put his head to one side. It was painful. He ached. He needed to move his body. He remembered his father telling him to count sheep. It never worked. If he wanted to fight this man, he’d need his strength. He breathed deeply and slowly.
Dave woke up with a cry. There was a squeaking rattling noise. Rats, he thought. There were rats here. But it was the shutters. He could tell from the light appearing, bottom to top. He felt groggy. He wanted to be alert but felt hazy and sleepy. He soon woke up.
‘Help!’ he heard.
It sounded like the cry of a frail cracked voice. An elderly lady perhaps.
The shutters came down.
‘Help me, please!’ came the voice.
‘Welcome to my church,’ said Richie. ‘I am the preacher. I send you to Hell.’
There was a spotlight. An orange light that swayed.
Dave heard a tiny terrified voice cry out, ‘Please don’t hurt me.’
‘Don’t hurt her!’ he shouted.
‘What can you do? You can’t save her. You’re practically dead, aren’t you. And anyway, if you knew what she’d done, if you’d witnessed her crimes, you’d be ready to shoot her yourself.’
Dave went quiet. He wondered what the woman had done.
‘I’m innocent,’ she cried. ‘I don’t know what you think I’ve done but I’ve never committed any crime. I’m innocent.’
Dave believed her. Richie might give him food and water but he wouldn’t be fooled. This man had serious problems.
He heard a thump. He heard a cry. Had he hit her?
‘Please!’ she said. ‘My wheelchair! I need it.’
‘Stephen!’ cried Dave. ‘You’ve got to help us.’
There was no answer.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Richie. ‘You won’t need your wheelchair where you’re going. Straight down the stairlift to a bottomless pit. I’m going to make sure of that.’
Dave heard a bang, a scream.
‘No,’ he called. ‘Don’t hurt her.’
He struggled against the rope. He kicked his legs. He couldn’t get away.
‘Help!’ she cried.
Something kicked in, some feeling inside him. She was going to die and there was nothing he could do. He pushed his body against the rope. He tried to shake the bandage off his eyes. Nothing. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t help.
He heard a dragging noise. The woman was moving towards him. He heard her pull herself along the floor.
‘You’re going nowhere,’ said Richie. ‘You need to suffer for your crimes.’
Dave heard a scream.
Then silence.
‘Are you OK?’ he called.
There was silence.
Then a thud of a kick against flesh.
‘Don’t you dare kick her,’ cried Dave.
‘Too late,’ said Richie. He sounded cheerful. ‘I just killed the bitch and there was nothing you could do. How do you like that?’
Dave felt shame rush across him. He had let the lady die. And so had Stephen.
‘Stephen!’
he cried.
‘There is no Stephen you nimpty.’
Footsteps came towards him. Dave felt himself sweating. He was warm now and shaking.
‘Like it?’ said Richie.
Dave groaned as a foot hit his side.
‘Will you kill me too?’ he said.
‘Not until you’re old,’ said Richie.
‘Old?’
‘The good die young? Ever heard of that? If you die young people will think you’re good, won’t they? And we all know you’re not, pig.’
Dave felt another kick.
‘How old am I?’ he asked.
‘Not old enough. I’m not having these shitting old people thinking they’re some kind of martyrs. You’re with me now. We’re in for the long haul.’
Dave could sense Richie was close. He pulled back his leg and kicked him hard.
Richie fell backwards.
Dave kicked his leg again but Richie was now out of reach.
‘You think you can fight me, do you?’ asked Richie.
He was coming from the side now. Dave kicked his legs to the side. He hit him but gently this time.
Richie moved.
Richie kicked Dave in the groin.
Pain spread through Dave’s body. He put his knees up to protect himself. He wanted to crouch on his side. The rope was stronger than him.
‘I’m not having this,’ said Richie. ‘Here I am, I’ve saved your life, I give you food and water, and this is how you thank me.’
‘You’re a killer. You’ll never win. You’ll be caught, banged up in jail forever. It’s just a matter of time.’
‘A matter of time, yes. And logistics,’ said Richie.
His voice was from the other side of the cell now.
‘What are you doing?’ said Dave.
‘Back in a second, don’t worry,’ said Richie.
Dave kept his knees up, waiting for the next attack. But when Richie came over, it wasn’t to hurt him. He took Dave’s kicking ankles firmly. He tied them with plastic ties.
‘It’s too tight,’ he said.
‘Yeah?’ said Richie.
He walked off.
Dave felt stupid. Why did he fight him when he knew there was no escape? If he’d killed Richie, he would still have been stuck here. He would have died quicker. He shivered. He must have been here for hours. It would become night again soon, and colder.
Only the Good Die Young Page 4
