Adam threw his entire weight on top of Costa’s rifle, trapping it against the window ledge. Costa’s grip on it had loosened, but it was attached to him via a neck strap.
Damn it, no! I need to get this rifle away from him.
He was desperate, and knowing that once Costa recovered he would probably knock Adam out cold and shoot him, he did what he always did in a panic – whatever he could think of.
He gouged at Costa’s eyes with his thumbs.
Costa screamed and tried to retreat, but he was caught in the strap of his rifle. Adam continued pushing with his thumbs, trying to blind the young man who had earlier been just another drunk in the group with a sad story.
With no other way to keep his eyesight, Costa had no choice but to drop to the floor and roll away. His head slipped free of the strap, allowing Adam to yank the rifle inside the hall. Having never held a firearm before, he pointed it awkwardly out of the window and pulled the trigger.
Thunder boomed.
Adam staggered backwards, trying to stay on his feet but losing his balance and falling onto his backside. He kept hold of the rifle, but the stock hit him in the mouth, cracking against his upper teeth. He felt something come loose and spat a small amount of grit onto the floor. His shoulder felt like he had just been playfully punched by Mike Tyson.
But I still have the rifle.
And Costa is gone.
The broken window was empty. Perhaps Adam had managed to shoot Costa, or just scared him into running.
Please let this finally be over.
Patrick had stopped beating on Tasha, jolted by the loud gunshot that was still echoing off the rafters. He looked around now in confusion, then back down at Tasha, who was out cold on the floor. Finally, his eyes settled on Adam. “My God, are you all right?”
“I think I broke my goddamn shoulder. Help me up.”
Patrick hurried over and pulled Adam to his feet. “You did it! You finally put a stop to—”
Adam lifted the rifle and smashed the stock into the side of Patrick’s head, knocking him cold. Then he stood over the fallen counsellor, a sneer across his lips. “Some people never change, sober or not.”
“He’s going to feel that in the morning,” said John quietly.
Adam reached down to Tasha and tried to stir her. “Hey, are you okay? It’s over.”
For now, at least.
Every one of them was a broken mess. Patrick had dragged himself over to the wall and now clutched his head in silence. John lay in the middle of the hall, unable to get up. Tasha was slumped over a chair, trying to recuperate from her vicious assault. Finally, Adam was in the kitchenette, searching for the first aid kit Costa had mentioned. He found it on top of the fridge, a small green box packed with bandages, plasters, and little else.
I still can’t believe I have not one but two gunshot wounds.
The first gunshot had nicked the back of his calf, slicing a V-shaped divot in his muscle. The second had embedded in the back of his arm, causing him agony every time he moved. The only way to cope was to let his arm dangle like a hunk of meat.
I have to be dying. I’m bleeding all over.
If not for adrenaline, I think I would be unconscious.
Katy had a brother she never even knew about. James had an uncle.
Costa is my family.
Adam pulled some bandages from the first aid kit in the kitchenette and began wrapping his various wounds. By the time he was done, it looked like he was transitioning into becoming a mummy. He took the remaining bandages out to use on the others, as well as some tape and gauze.
Back in the hall, John was miraculously still awake. “Seems our pasts never stop haunting us,” he mumbled.
Adam huffed. “I think mine will follow me to the ends of the Earth. I deserve it.”
John nodded. “Probably. Still, I quite like you, despite your personal issues getting me killed.”
“You’re not dead.”
“Not yet. Has Costa gone? You have his rifle, I see.”
Adam had the firearm in his right hand. “Yeah, I got it, but that doesn’t mean Costa’s gone. He’s ex-special forces. I don’t think we’re safe yet.”
John smiled weakly. His face had gone completely white, like the one that had been stalking them earlier. “You know one of the ways I became successful?”
Adam shook his head.
“I refuse to dwell on a problem. I only ever think about solutions and ways forward. Every time a delivery gets lost or a large customer closes their account, I only focus on what I can control and how I might improve the situation. We’re alive, so let’s be appreciative of that and find a way to make use of it. Also, keep Patrick away from that poor girl.”
Adam glanced over at Tasha. She was sitting up now on one of the chairs, but her face was swollen on one side. Patrick was huddled in the corner, glancing over at her guiltily.
Screw that bastard.
Adam ripped a packet of gauze with his teeth and looked at John. “I’m going to patch you up.”
“Righto.”
Adam pulled up John’s shirt, revealing the gunshot wound. It was a dark red line surrounded by pinkish blood. It looked like the type of injury that could kill a man. Adam pressed the gauze against the wound, letting the blood soak in and seal it. Then he used the roll of tape to secure it. “There, you okay?”
“Yes, go check on Tasha.”
Adam did just that, heading over and taking the seat beside the young woman. He was about to apologise to her when she beat him to it. “I’m sorry. I came here to spy on you and it’s wrong. I had no right to invade your privacy.”
“Was any of it true, about your own drinking?”
She looked at him, her one eye swollen but both of them teary. “Every word. That’s the irony; I didn’t even have to make up a story to come here. I drink every night and it’s making me ill. I’ve known I needed to stop for a while.”
Adam put a hand on her knee and smiled. “Then welcome to our group. We’re here for you. Well, what’s left of us.”
Tasha grunted. “Yeah, I think I might try and find a new group. The leader of this one is a little too hands-on.”
Adam glanced back at Patrick. When he had struck the man with the rifle, he had shattered his spectacles. Now, Patrick had them in his hands, twirling them between his fingers. He looked odd without them, like he was his own brother or another similar-looking relation. Personality-wise, he was a stranger too. Patrick was such a mild-mannered, compassionate man, but tonight he had – what? – had a breakdown? He had flown at Tasha with unbridled fury, losing complete control of himself. Whatever anger had possessed him during his first marriage was still inside him, and he apparently didn’t need alcohol to bring it forth. Tonight, Patrick had lost a decade’s worth of self-control.
I feel sorry for him. Adam looked at Tasha. But he’s not the victim here. If he comes near Tasha again, I’ll break his face.
“I’m heading out,” said Patrick, rising to his feet. The bridge of his nose had widened and turned purple – possibly broken – and it made him look strangely feline. “There’s nothing to fear now, so I’ll go and get help. I’ll go tell the police” – he looked at Tasha – “everything that’s happened.”
Adam swallowed a lump in his throat and considered allowing the man to go right ahead. But he couldn’t do that. “It’s still too dangerous, Patrick. We’re on our last legs and Costa is probably still out there. He could have a knife or another gun on him. In fact, my father-in-law had a revolver. It must still be out there.”
Patrick sighed. “Or he could have finally left. His plan is ruined.”
“Is it? We’re still trapped, it’s the middle of the night, and no one is coming for us. If he walks away now, he’ll spend the rest of his life in prison.”
“Just let me go find help,” said Patrick. “I… I can’t stay here.” He looked again at Tasha before sheepishly looking away.
Tasha waved a hand and then let it fall in her lap. “Sit
the fuck down, won’t you! You’re a piece of shit, but you don’t need to commit suicide. Come near me again, though, and I’ll fucking kill you.”
“I won’t, I promise. I can’t apologise enough for what I did. It was just the shock of hearing… of hearing that you were spying on us.”
“It’s in the past,” said Adam, placing Costa’s rifle underneath the chairs so it couldn’t hurt anybody. “We’re not going to revisit it right now. What you did was fucked up, Patrick. Really fucked up.”
Patrick turned away, facing the wall. The torch – now their only light along with Tasha’s phone – hung limply in his hand. Soon it would need rewinding.
Tasha turned to Adam and sighed. Her breath misted in the air. “Thanks for understanding.”
Adam shrugged. “Hey, you’re a drunk. Most of us are degenerates who lie and cheat. It really doesn’t matter anyway, does it?”
“Because we’re not getting out of here?”
“That’s the most likely outcome.”
Tasha nodded and said nothing else. What could she say? Even now, after hours of torment, it still seemed like a nightmare or an acid trip.
Facing impending death is worse than it actually happening.
Let me get hit by a bus while crossing the street any day.
“I don’t want to die,” he said to himself.
Tasha raised an eyebrow. “Me neither.”
Adam nodded. “John, how about you? Reckon you can hold on and live a while longer?”
“I’ll keep going until God himself reaches down and snatches me away.”
“Patrick? What do you say?”
“I say that giving in to my temper is not how I want to end my time here on Earth.”
Tasha rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue. Could she ever forgive Patrick for what he had done? Did the extreme circumstances make it any less despicable?
Adam stood up. “Okay, I’m going to take a leaf out of John’s book and focus on solutions. Let’s figure out a way not to die.”
Adam and Tasha poured themselves coffee, which was the only thing in the building that wasn’t cold. It was no longer hot, but the lukewarm liquid was enough to provide a little relief. Adam’s watch told him it was half past five. Could it get any colder? Or would it start to get warmer as daylight spun back around?
After fetching themselves drinks, Adam and Tasha went into the kitchenette. It was the only place inside the community centre that they hadn’t thoroughly searched – just another of their earlier bad decisions. Adam found himself a decent knife while Tasha discovered a rolling pin that had been abandoned in the stainless steel sink, but there was a lack of any real equipment other than cheap cutlery and rudimentary odds and ends.
“You and I are going to stick together like last time,” said Adam, nodding at Tasha. “When we were trapped in Margaret’s car, we worked together and got out of there. Tell you the truth, with John down, you’re the only other person I can trust. Patrick has… lost it a bit.”
Tasha leant over the worktop and took a breather. “He’s a maniac and should be locked up, but I’m trying my best to give him a pass.”
“Why? You don’t owe him anything.”
“No, I don’t, but we’re all under a lot of stress. The real people to blame are Costa and… your father-in-law, right?”
“Yeah. I’m still getting my head around it. He never really took to me when I first met Katy. He was always a real man’s man, you know? He must have sensed how weak I was right at the start. Who can blame him for not approving of me? He was bang on the money. I was the worst thing that ever happened to his daughter.”
Tasha sipped her coffee. She kept it in her hand as she turned to face him. “I remember when I reported on the fire. I thought you deserved hanging from the nearest lamppost. That some guy could get so drunk that he set a fire and let his family burn.”
Adam shuddered and wondered how much longer his knees would hold. “Yeah…”
“But now that I’ve met you, I don’t hate you. I see you’re a good person deep down. Your pain is obvious. If you had killed them and gone on with your life, it would be worse somehow. It counts for something that you’re a straggly-haired wreck. The pain you’re in is because you made a mistake and understand the damage it caused. You hate yourself – and you should – because that’s the punishment, I guess.”
“What’s your point? If it’s just to remind me how much of a scumbag I am, that’s okay, but we should really hurry it up.”
“My point is that you never meant to hurt anyone. There are people in this world like Costa who want to hurt people. They’re the real scumbags, not you. It’s not much, but remember there are worse people than you.”
Yeah, the serial killers and rapists make me look angelic.
I understand what she means though.
“It does make me feel a little better. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I like your knife.”
Adam held up the eight-inch blade and waved it back and forth, getting a feel for the weight of it. It was hefty enough to make him feel confident and long enough to make him feel dangerous. He could kill a man with this knife. “Pity there was only the one.”
“Health and safety, I suppose. There’s not even an oven in here, just a fridge and a microwave.”
“Any ideas of how to weaponise a microwave?”
“Slam Costa’s nuts in the door.”
Adam chuckled. “It’s worth a shot.”
Patrick entered the room, not stepping further than the inside of the door. “H-How are we doing?”
Adam sighed and held up his knife. “I might actually be ready to kill a man. That’s not what I expected from tonight.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his one-year sobriety chip. “For the last year, I’ve been torturing myself not to have a drink, all so I can hate myself a little less. Costa can fuck right off if he thinks I’m going to stand around and let him demand justice for my wife and my son. He never even knew them. I lost them, not him. Even though it was my fault, I lost them. I’m the one in pain.”
Tasha reached out and rubbed his back. “Sucks being human.”
“Yeah, it really does.”
“I’m still willing to go out for help,” said Patrick. “I’d like to.”
Tasha whirled on him. “No, you’re not going to put that on us. You go out there and get killed then we have to live with the fact that we let you. You want to unburden yourself for beating the shit out of me, find a better way. Being a martyr isn’t okay.”
Patrick nodded, his cheeks quivering in the glow of his wind-up torch. On the worktop, Tasha’s phone shut off. Now the torch was the only light they had left. “I guess that makes me the torchbearer,” said Patrick. “Shall we go now?”
Adam nodded. “I don’t see a reason to delay. If Costa is still out there, then we make life hard for him. Patrick, you attacked Tasha because you thought she violated the privacy of our group, but Costa is the one who has been coming here for six whole months in order to plan our deaths. Screw him. Whether you’re irredeemable like me, or just in a bad place like Tasha, our meetings are the one place where we can take a breath for one single hour a week and not be judged. He took that away from us. He took Betty and Kevin from us.”
“And Margaret,” said Patrick. “She was a good woman.”
“Okay, let’s get out there and make sure he pays. Watch each other’s backs, because we’re all we’ve got. I’m going to go first because I have our only weapon.”
Tasha held up her rolling pin. “Not quite, but I’m right behind you.”
They headed back out into the hall and Adam’s nostrils detected a stale odour. A moment was all it took for him to realise it was coming from the two corpses in the room. Urine, gas, and other things. Adam cleared his throat and made sure to breathe through his mouth.
Patrick looked down solemnly at the bodies as they passed, but he kept silent, making whatever peace he needed to inside his head. Adam knew the m
an cared. He had devoted years of his life to helping addicts. What he had done tonight – hurting Tasha – it would take a while for him to come back from that. If ever.
What will he say to his wife?
Not my problem.
But should it be? Should I be there for him like he’s been there for me this last year? Can you be there for a violent misogynist? As much as you can be for a man who murders his family, I guess.
It was an accident.
Is it okay to forgive myself? Ever? Even just a little?
“If you people are popping down the shops,” said John, remarkably awake but still lying on his back in the exact same position, “can you get me some pork scratchings. I would never usually admit it, but I’m quite partial to a greasy pub snack.”
Tasha chuckled, and it echoed in the cold hall. “I’ll bring you some in hospital. Try not to die in the meantime.”
“Shouldn’t someone wait with him?” asked Patrick.
John managed to lift an arm. “More of you out there running for help, the better. Don’t worry about me, I’ll play dead.”
“Long as you don’t do too good a job.” Tasha grabbed the blanket and placed it over him. “We’ll be back, okay? With help, I promise.”
John only gave a grunt in reply. Perhaps he didn’t believe her. He was a man to whom a doctor had recently given a death sentence, so maybe he had already begun to make his peace with death.
Adam made it up to the double doors of the front entrance. Every time they had been opened tonight, something bad had happened.
Do I really want to open these doors again?
What other choice is there?
Despite his many, many injuries, Adam was able to lift his leg and kick the doors.
They were locked.
“They won’t open.” Adam thrust his shoulder against the door and moaned miserably as his elbow rattled. He’d broken something for sure, but that didn’t concern him right now. “Did any of us lock these?”
“I have the keys,” said Patrick, “and they haven’t left my pocket all night.”
“Then how…?”
Tasha grabbed Adam’s arm, tweaking his elbow once more. He tried not to bite her head off for it. “Wait,” she said. “I smell something.”
Gripping Thrillers Page 12
