Revenge Runs Deep

by Pat Young

  ‘Marty, we talked about this. You said you didn’t want him to think he’s in hell, with no chance of redemption. But, here’s a thing. Has it occurred to you that Smeaton might be thinking this is heaven?’

  Marty looked at him as if he’d gone mad.

  ‘If he sees himself as a righteous man, it might never cross his mind that he wouldn’t automatically go to heaven.’

  ‘Take a look at that screen,’ said Marty. ‘How could anyone believe they’d died and gone to heaven if they woke up in a place as bleak as the black hole we’ve dumped him in?’

  ‘See what you mean.’

  ‘Hopefully, if we give him time, the penny will drop. And if it doesn’t, remember we have more we can play him than white noise.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a nasty man but he’s not a stupid man. He’ll work it out for himself eventually.’

  Marty said, ‘Cup of tea?’

  ‘I know this might sound a bit odd, but I’m starving. Any chance of a fry-up?’

  ‘Joe, it’s one am. This isn’t an all-night café on the M6. You’ll have a buttered roll and be grateful.’

  ‘You certainly know how to spoil a guy. Any chance of a bit of jam?’

  Tea and rolls scoffed, they settled down to keep watch. Smeaton seemed to have gone back to sleep. Every so often he would roll over or move a limb, enough to reassure them he was alive.

  They were reminiscing about schooldays when Marty stopped Joe mid-sentence. She pointed to the screen. Smeaton had sat up, unnoticed, and was looking straight at the camera.

  ‘He’s looking at us,’ she whispered.

  ‘He can’t be. He doesn’t know we’re here.’

  They moved to the remote that operated the camera and Joe zoomed in on Smeaton’s face. The light was muted but clear enough to make out the familiar supercilious expression. It was one they had seen all too often in the past.

  ‘This is giving me the heebie-jeebies,’ Marty said, shivering to prove how unnerved she was. ‘Even shut in there, he’s still got the power to make me feel on edge.’

  ***

  CHAPTER 61

  Thomas Smeaton woke to the sound of his guts churning. Then his mouth filled with a warm saliva that instinct told him not to swallow. He must hold it in his mouth as long as he could, or he’d be sick.

  A warning gurgle, low in his stomach, made him clench his bum cheeks, knowing it was only a matter of time till he’d lose control of his bowels.

  A toilet! He needed a toilet. Or a bedpan.

  ‘Help! Nurse!’

  When no nurse came, he scrambled to his feet and looked around. This was no hospital. There was no toilet.

  As he stumbled back and forth in the gloom, a spurt of warmth sprayed his legs. The smell of it hit his nostrils with a force that opened his mouth and he dropped to his knees, vomiting.

  He was nothing but muscles in spasm. Wave after wave made his stomach heave and his bowels gush. Suddenly - blessed relief! It all stopped. Moments later he was back, miserable as before, knowing it hadn’t stopped at all; he’d simply blacked out for a few seconds. He lay amidst his own waste, his stomach still heaving even though nothing was coming up. He retched and gagged, long after his stomach was empty. Willing his mouth to fill with fresh saliva, he spat and spat.

  Eventually he crawled away from the mess, wishing desperately to be clean. He wiped the vomit from his lips, smearing it with excrement instead. He tried to find clean skin on his inner arm so he could dab his mouth. He tried his other arm, contorting himself in an effort to rid his face and mouth of defilement. Spitting till there was no saliva left, he waited for moisture to cleanse his teeth and tongue. None came.

  On all fours he panted, wretched as a sick dog, until his arms and legs gave way and he collapsed, exhausted.

  Lucid thoughts were hard to catch and string together, but this much he knew. He was in no hospital. And no coma. Whatever this was, it was much worse than any car crash he could imagine.

  How could he possibly have gone from driving a brand-new car to lunch at Trump Turnberry to lying in darkness surrounded by his own shit and vomit? Something horrendous had happened to him in that blank bit in the middle. If only he could work out what.

  Feeling as if he was crawling a marathon, he dragged his poor body as far from the mess as he could. The smell lessened a little and the ground underneath him was undefiled. It would do for now. He lay down and closed his eyes, yearning for the oblivion of sleep.

  ***

  CHAPTER 62

  He woke to the sound of water, shushing in waves. The sea must be nearby. Had he crashed off the road and been thrown onto the rocky shore? He moved slightly, felt the smooth stone on his bare skin and remembered his nakedness, his wretchedness.

  He listened to the water, longing to submerge himself in it, craving the chance to be clean again.

  It was rushing but not in regular waves like the ocean. A river then. He was in some sort of cave, perhaps, by a river. No, the sound was too regular, filling his ears with a low but persistent whooshing that made no sense. None of this made any sense.

  If he’d come here under his own steam, he would remember something, surely. And if he was brought here by someone else … Why didn’t he think of it before? He’d been kidnapped. They wanted money.

  Once he understood what was going on he felt a little better. At least now he knew what he was dealing with. Some small-time criminals who saw the big car and thought they’d extort a few quid from a soft touch.

  They were wrong and he was about to show them. Scrambling on to his feet, he made an effort to stand tall and told himself it was important to sound in control. His head spun and he felt faint but he daren’t show any sign of weakness. Or they’d think they’d won.

  ***

  CHAPTER 63

  Joe said, ‘You can stop worrying, Marty. It looks like he’s back in the land of the living.’

  Together they watched Smeaton stagger a little then, righting himself, plant his feet to keep himself stable. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Listen to me, whoever you are.’ His voice was surprisingly calm and clear. ‘I don’t know what you want from me, but if it’s money, you can forget it. I’m not prepared to deal with you. Now, I’d like to go home.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Marty, ‘he’s worked us out. This is not how it was meant to go.’

  She looked at Joe for reassurance but his brow was furrowed. ‘Let’s have a close up,’ he said, zooming in on their prisoner.

  On screen Smeaton’s face was larger than life and twice as intimidating. When he spoke, it was with the confidence of a man who was used to getting his own way. ‘You should be aware that I have an elderly mother at home, not in the best of health. I need to go to her.’

  Marty blurted, ‘Liar.’

  ‘My mother needs medication and will become very distressed if I don’t go home. You have to release me.’

  Marty whispered to Joe, ‘This is not going according to plan. He knows he’s been abducted.’

  After another pause, Smeaton got to his feet and added, ‘She will also call the police if I don’t return before dark. They will come looking for me quite soon.’

  When his appeal was met with nothing but white noise, his voice became higher and louder. ‘Furthermore, if anything should happen to my poor mother, I will hold you responsible. You will be made to pay.’

  ‘This is the Smeaton we know and love,’ said Joe, as they watched his face contort with rage.

  He started to scream, this time with his back turned to them. ‘Let me out of here.’

  Joe zoomed out again, revealing Smeaton’s bare bottom. Marty tried not to look.

  ‘See, Marty? He’s facing the wrong way now,’ said Joe. ‘He doesn’t know where we are.’

  Smeaton turned another ninety degrees and spoke in his normal voice again, as if he had told himself that screaming would get him nowhere. ‘Please, leave my clothes where I can find them and let me out. You can keep the car. I won’t
even report it missing. Surely that’s enough for you. Anyway, I don’t have any more. I spent it all on the car. Take it, but please, I beg you, let me out of here.’

  He waited for a reaction then like a child losing its temper he started to shout, his voice rising to the falsetto they’d both heard many times before, ‘I’m an extremely important man. People will be looking for me. You’d better let me out before the police get involved. My absence will not go unnoticed. I have a lot of friends.’

  Joe muttered, ‘Aye right. Now we know the drug has affected his memory.’

  ***

  CHAPTER 64

  It had all made sense to him earlier. He was sure he’d been kidnapped. No idea why. He was a powerful man, but hardly an influential political figure. He was fairly-well off, but far from rich. What would be the point of kidnapping him? He didn’t know anyone rich enough to pay ransom money.

  What if he’d been abducted and then abandoned when the kidnappers found out there would be no payoff? He could be left to rot in this hole, wherever it was. What if he was left here to die? He listened again for any sound that might help him work out where he’d been taken. Nothing but that shooshy watery sound. It was starting to get on his nerves. Apart from that, everything was completely silent, as if he were deep underground. Hairs rose on the back of his neck. Maybe he was at the foot of a mine shaft. He’d been driving through Ayrshire. It was full of pits and collieries. He might never be found, not even his remains. He had to get out of here, somehow. There must be a way in, and that meant a way out. He stood and walked the perimeter of his prison, touching the black walls that surrounded him. They were soft, not hard like stone or concrete, impossible to climb or dig under. He tried to rip through the barrier that held him, clawing ineffectually at blackness till his nails felt like they were tearing off.

  ‘Help!’

  He waited, listening for the multiple echo that would reply if he was in a pit.

  ‘Somebody help me.’

  No one answered, not even an echo. No kidnapper with demands. No rescuer coming to his aid. He screamed in frustration and hurled himself at the blackness but it simply flipped him back like a kid on a bouncy castle. He sat down to work out his next step. ‘Dear God,’ he asked the darkness, ‘what’s happening to me?’

  ***

  CHAPTER 65

  Smeaton lay curled up on the floor. He’d muttered away to himself earlier, too incoherently for them to hear, and now he appeared to be sleeping again.

  Joe walked away from the screen and joined Marty at the beat-up, old wooden table that dominated the space. There had always been a dozen or more chairs in this room, but Joe had left only four.

  ‘Joe?’ said Marty, twirling her wedding ring. ‘You know that call you made earlier? When we were waiting to hear from Sheila? Well, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing.’

  She left a gap which Joe did not hurry to fill. He was too busy trying to work out what she might have overheard. He decided to play for time. ‘And?’ he said, forcing his face into a smile.

  ‘You sounded stressed.’

  She had no idea how right she was. Stressed didn’t begin to cover it.

  ‘Did I?’ He ran his hand through his hair, combing it back off his face.

  ‘I thought so.’

  Joe dropped his head, allowing a curtain of hair to swing across his face and give it some privacy. He heard her seat move then felt her hands on his shoulders. He needed to say something but was at a loss for words.

  ‘You’re right. I’m stressed.’

  ‘I guess you’ve got a lot on your mind right now. We all have.’

  Joe knew he was meant to unburden himself at this point.

  ‘Are you in some kind of bad financial trouble, Joe? Is someone after you for money?’

  Cursing his carelessness, Joe tried to figure out what she might have overheard. He’d thought she was too focussed on her own phone, willing Sheila to call.

  ‘Is that why you had to sell your flat? To clear a massive debt? Has Smeaton ruined you financially as well as everything else?’

  Joe shook his head slowly, all the time wondering how much he could tell her. She kept on talking, as if she couldn’t stop, now she’d started.

  ‘I’m sorry to ask this.’

  Oh hell, what was coming next?

  ‘Did paying for your wife’s treatment bankrupt you?’

  Joe allowed himself a chuckle. He took her hand, ‘No Marty. Sally was looked after, right to the end, by the wonderful NHS, and then the even more wonderful hospice, God bless them. They’re the only ones I owe anything to, those gifted doctors and nurses, but that’s a debt I’ll never be able to repay.’

  ‘It’s because you’ve lost your job, isn’t it? You’re worried about money and had to sell up.’

  ‘Marty, slow down.’ He patted her hand as he spoke. ‘I didn’t lose my job. I resigned, remember?’

  ‘What happened between you and him, Joe?’ She pointed to the screen. ‘You’ve got history with him, don’t you? This is about more than Smeaton closing the bothy, isn’t it?’

  ***

  CHAPTER 66

  Joe excused himself and went to the toilet. When he came back, Marty had made him a cup of tea and Smeaton was lying on his side, back to the camera.

  ‘Look at him. Sleeping like a baby. Seems harmless, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah, but we know better, don’t we? To our cost. So tell me, Joe, what’s the full story?’

  ‘Ach, me and Smeaton go way back. He was Depute Director of Education where I worked before I came to Logiemuir. Everybody could see he was ruthlessly ambitious. He had fingers in many pies and was cultivating friends in high places. I was unfortunate enough to cross him.’

  ‘How?’

  Joe shrugged. ‘When I started my career, PE teachers had to be seen to be macho. It was a common occurrence for a boy to get a bit of a slap to remind him who was in charge.’

  ‘I remember. When I was at school, the PE teacher used to take the bad boys into the apparatus cupboard and “knock some sense into them”. Everyone knew he did it, but nobody ever complained.’

  ‘They didn’t in those days.’

  ‘I had a PE guy like that, when I took over as head teacher at Moorcroft. A walking relic. Bane of my life. Fortunately, he was only a few months short of retirement. That sort of thing isn’t tolerated nowadays. Rightly so.’

  ‘I agree, but I’m putting you in the picture. Anyway, I joined a PE department where that was not only acceptable, it was an approved form of discipline. I remember being told, “Don’t waste your time giving out punishment exercises or detentions. Most boys would rather have a quick kick up the arse and get it over with. A lot less hassle for all concerned.” That was the prevailing attitude.’

  ‘So, what happened?’

  ‘I picked the wrong boy. When I gave him a shove he shoved me back then swung a punch at my face. This was a big lad, Marty and, I found out later, a bit of a back-street brawler. Anyway, he had plenty of witnesses willing to say I had laid hands on him. I admitted I was at fault and apologised to the boy and his family. They were okay with it, knew the boy was a hothead, and the matter was closed. But not for Smeaton. He got wind of it and wanted to make an example of me.’

  ‘That sounds like the man we know and hate.’

  ‘The school and my Union were right behind me, prepared to fight him all the way. Smeaton’s boss told him to drop it. Didn’t want it in the papers.’

  ‘Joe, this must have been years ago.’

  ‘It was. But remember they only banned corporal punishment in 1987. I swear to you, I never touched another pupil, but it went on my record and stayed there. And Smeaton never forgave me for winning.’ Joe took a drink of the sweet, milky tea and warmed his hands on the mug.

  ‘Is that the reason you moved over to outdoor education?’

  ‘No, not really. I was so disgusted by the whole thing that I walked away from teaching for a
while. Then this outdoor education post came up and I loved every minute of it. Until Smeaton got the top job at Logiemuir and came back into my life.’

  ‘What went wrong?’ Marty’s voice was gentle, encouraging him to share his troubles.

  ‘Nothing, at first. Life was great. Until Sally became ill. I needed to take quite a lot of time off for her chemo sessions and so forth. Eventually, we discovered it was terminal.’

  ‘Most bosses would understand that, and cut you some slack.’

  ‘Maybe most bosses would, but I didn’t have most bosses. I had Thomas Smeaton. It was okay at first. There seemed to be some sympathy for my situation. But that didn’t last. Maybe he worked out who I was, hell, I don’t know. Anyway, I could have done with some support when the going got very bad. There was none. I was at the worst point in my life and instead of focussing all my attention on Sally, I was worrying about work. And she was worrying about me. That’s the part I can’t forget and I’ll never forgive him for.’

  Joe stopped and took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from shaking. ‘And then, when Sally died, it all got out of hand.’

  ‘What did?’

  ‘Everything. I couldn’t face life without her, Marty. I was wrecked. I started drinking.’

  ‘Oh Joe,’ said Marty, grabbing his arm, ‘please tell me you didn’t get some kid hurt because you were drunk.’

  Joe shrugged out of her grip and said, ‘Of course I didn’t. What do you take me for?’

  Marty looked stricken. ‘Sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘I never drank at work or turned up drunk. Ever.’ He emphasized the last word. It was important she thought well of him.

  ‘Go on then,’ she said, quietly.