Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

  Those same eyes flickered as Costa suddenly transformed into a lost little boy. “I’m… going to kill you.”

  “What will it change? You’ll still be alone. She’ll still be gone.”

  “You deserve to die.”

  “You think I disagree? Of course I deserve it.”

  Costa was out of breath. He remained sitting on Adam, but he was just panting and glaring. But slowly the anger returned to his face. He would not be talked down. This had gone too far. “I’m done with this,” he said. “It’s over.”

  In case Adam got any idea that Costa might stop, Costa made it clear he would not. He wrapped both hands around Adam’s throat and began to squeeze. With only one weak and battered arm, Adam was powerless to fight. The only thing he could do was try to get the revolver up and pull the trigger. He let off a shot, more by accident than anything else, and it sounded like the bullet hit John’s Range Rover.

  Adam’s vision began to curl inwards at the edges, his consciousness fading. The closed-off tickle inside his throat was aggravating, like he needed to cough up a chestful of phlegm but couldn’t. Other than that, being throttled to death was not entirely unpleasant.

  Got to fight it.

  He gritted his teeth and strained to pull his arm free from beneath Costa’s knee. It started to move, the pressure tearing the flesh from his arm as he dragged it against the tarmac. But it was too slow. He would never get free in time. He couldn’t even beg.

  I nearly did it. I thought I’d shot him.

  Missed my chance.

  Adam tried to keep his eyes from rolling, but as they did, they caught sight of blood. Blood that was pouring out of Costa’s upper thigh.

  I did shoot the son-of-a-bitch. Right in the leg.

  He was too weak to fight, but he could move his one arm, so he jammed his thumb right into the centre of the bloody circle on Costa’s thigh. Costa reared back, again not crying out in pain, but obviously feeling it. Disastrously, he didn’t remove himself from Adam and remained on top of him, keeping him trapped.

  Adam continued pulling at his arm, trying to get it free so that he could aim the revolver. With Costa writhing in pain, his knee was moving back and forth. It allowed Adam some wriggle room.

  Yes! Come on.

  Costa recovered from the pain and glared at Adam. “I’m going to rip out your—”

  Adam brought the revolver up and pulled the trigger. Costa brought his arm up at the same time and grabbed his wrist, sending the shot up into the grey sky. Dawn was coming. Somehow it felt like a time limit for his survival.

  Costa began to laugh. “Why didn’t you fight that hard for them, Adam?”

  “Because he has a disease,” said Tasha, standing directly behind Costa. Adam saw she had picked up the ex-soldier’s knife, and he couldn’t help but grin maliciously as she buried it in Costa’s back.

  Costa reared up, clutching at his back and trying to remove the knife.

  Without a word, Adam lifted the revolver and placed it under Costa’s chin. He hesitated a single second and then pulled the trigger. Costa’s head changed shape and it began to rain again. This time, the moisture on Adam’s face wasn’t water, it was blood. Throwing Costa’s body aside, he stared up at the dawn sky.

  And placed the revolver against his temple.

  Tasha’s voice sounded. “Don’t, Adam. Don’t you dare.”

  Adam ran his fingertip along the metal trigger. “It’s all that’s left for me.”

  “No, it would just be another selfish act in a long line of selfish acts. Don’t be a bigger asshole than you already are.”

  Adam’s hand began to shake. He was so tired that even holding the revolver against his head was too much. “I’d be doing the world a favour.”

  Tasha pulled herself up alongside him and stared into his face. “You want to do the world a favour, then help out at a homeless shelter. Don’t do this. If you do this, then you’ll never get a chance to make up for anything. I know it hurts, Adam, but there’s still a chance for you to die an old man being proud of who you are. There’s time. There’s time to become someone that Katy and James would have been proud of.”

  Adam tossed the revolver aside. It skimmed across the wet tarmac.

  He began to sob. Then wail. Then scream.

  Tasha lay down next to him and did the same.

  Adam must have been asleep, because when he woke there was a fireman standing over him. The clean-shaven man looked bewildered, but when he knelt beside Adam his voice was soothing. Familiar? “My name is Mike,” he said. “There’s been a fire but you’re okay. An ambulance is going to be here any minute to take care of you. There are… There are bodies everywhere. Can you tell me what happened here?”

  “They died,” said Adam wearily. “They died because of me.”

  “Sir, I don’t understand. How is this all because of you?”

  “Because I got drunk. I fell asleep.”

  The firefighter frowned and seemed to grow concerned. “Okay, buddy. It’s all very confusing, but you just relax, okay?”

  Adam felt like he was dreaming, like he was floating above his body looking down. He was aware of burning, could smell it and feel it, and he was aware of the sun shining weakly in the grey sky. He was aware of pain all over his body.

  And something else…

  He sat up like a spring, agony trying to drag him back down but losing. “Tasha? Where is she?”

  “I’m over here.”

  Adam turned and saw Tasha being treated as she sat on the ground. A female firefighter was checking her over for injuries, but mostly urging her to remain still. Despite the horrible state of her face, and a glassy look in her eyes, Tasha managed to give him a smile. “I’m okay. John’s in bad shape though. I’m not sure if he…”

  Adam looked past her and saw a third firefighter leaning over what must have been John. He wasn’t moving.

  It can’t just be us. Not just me and Tasha.

  I hope you’re in Hell, Costa.

  Costa’s body was nearby, his handsome face now an uneven, bloody mess. Adam had killed a man. Did the firefighter trying to help him have any idea?

  I just told him they’re all dead because of me.

  He probably took that as a confession.

  It was, but not for Costa’s death. For Katy and James.

  “I’m glad you’re alive,” said Tasha. “You passed out and I couldn’t get you to wake back up. Then the fire brigade arrived.”

  Adam looked over at the community centre. A fire engine had parked alongside it and a pair of firefighters were hosing down the roof. A whirl of black smoke billowed towards the sky, and flames flickered in every window, but luckily there were no adjacent structures that could catch fire. A part of the village’s history was burning down in front of them though, and there was something tragic about that.

  Another death, in a way.

  Adam decided not to dwell on it. He was alive and so was Tasha. “I’m glad you’re okay too,” he told her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I need a drink.”

  Adam stared at her for a moment, and then exploded with laughter. Laughter that hurt his entire body as it rocked and heaved. He was still laughing when the ambulance and police cars turned up.

  There would be a lot of explaining to do.

  But it could wait.

  It had been two weeks since the fire, and Adam had answered so many questions for so many different organisations that his throat hurt. Of course, it could be the damage caused by smoke inhalation.

  The police had taken his statement several times over the last fortnight, mostly while he had lain in a hospital bed, and they always left a day or two between to see if his story changed. It didn’t. He told the truth the first time and stuck to it again and again until they stopped asking. Of course, he knew that Tasha would have given them the exact same narrative. They had been the victims of a psychotic spree killer, put to work by the father of Adam’s dead wife. It was the kind
of thing usually found in fiction, but this time it was true. Eventually, the police had seen that truth and they had declined to press any formal charges. Adam had shot a man in the head and wasn’t being prosecuted for it. There was an odd sense of power in that.

  Because I killed a man that was trying to kill others.

  The paper had even called Adam heroic. He didn’t like that.

  Tasha had declined to write any kind of story for the local – or national – papers but she said she would eventually write a book. She needed time to think first, to make sure she did the various characters justice. Adam could think of nothing worse than reliving it, so he had told her not to come to him for any interviews.

  Today was Kevin’s funeral. His autopsy had revealed some home-brewed chemical in his system that the army nicknamed Vlad. It was restricted, but somehow Costa had known how to create the substance from base components. His weaponry had come from Katy’s father, who had used his police connections to buy them off the black market. The rifle had been a vintage Westley Richards, reactivated and upgraded to take homemade ammunition. He had also managed to procure a radio-frequency scanner from a high profile car-theft gang with a signal spoofer that allowed him to disable their car alarms and remove the batteries.

  Once the police had made their investigations, Costa had been revealed to be a highly trained ex member of the Parachute Regiment and an expert marksman. He had applied for membership of the SAS but had been found mentally deficient when under extreme pressure. The rejection had caused his military career to deteriorate, resulting in a near fatal assault on a local civilian during weekend leave at home. He had been dishonourably discharged.

  Adam’s father-in-law had reportedly become more and more withdrawn after his daughter’s death. No one could shed any light on his state of mind.

  Sad. He was utterly and completely sad.

  Because of me.

  But there’s nothing I can do.

  Adam was now one year and two weeks sober. He needed to find another group, but he intended to do so soon. The delay was mostly down to his nine-day hospital stay, where he had needed regular treatment to keep his various wounds from turning bad. He hoped Tasha would come with him when he finally found somewhere.

  She was standing on the steps of the interment centre waiting for him as he exited the aisle. She was wearing a black dress, but her hair was down and she was wearing pink hoop earrings. There was bruising around her eye, but thanks to her dark skin, it was subtle. The depressed young woman he had met two weeks ago seemed to have gone, and she was smiling warmly at him. “That was a nice service, huh?”

  Adam nodded. “Kevin was a good guy. Thanks for waiting, I was just talking with his wife.”

  Tasha winced. “How is she?”

  “As can be expected. I told her we all loved Kevin, but I don’t think she really wanted to speak with me. I suppose I can’t blame her.”

  “I didn’t know if we should even have come today. I barely knew Kevin, but I was there at the end, you know? I wanted to say goodbye. Actually, that’s not true. I wanted to say sorry for not being able to help him.”

  Adam put a hand on her back and moved her down the steps as people began to congregate behind her. “I’m sorry too. We have to remind ourselves that Costa is the one to blame though. Nothing that happened that night was our fault.”

  Tasha nodded. They had met up a couple of times to talk during the last few days, mainly to unload on one another. They had gone for coffee each time, and the tone was friendly. Having gone through something terrible together, it had bonded them. Adam might even say they were friends.

  “So how are you doing at the moment?” she asked him.

  He shrugged and started limping towards the graveyard. “I’m not sleeping at night, and my stitches have started itching, but other than that I’m remarkably okay. I’m sad, obviously, but I feel stronger too. Glad to be alive, I suppose. That’s a new feeling for me.”

  “I know what you mean. After surviving what we did, everything else just seems… easy. I feel like nothing will ever phase me ever again. Maybe it’s part of the shock.”

  “Let’s just take it one day at a time. The doctors said it’s a miracle I’m still walking.”

  “Yeah, hey, speaking of which, do you need a lift home?”

  Adam hadn’t been able to drive since getting out of hospital. His left elbow and both knees were bruised and stiff. “That would be great. I just need to do something f— Hey, I don’t believe it.”

  John clacked along the path on a pair of crutches. Three beautiful blonde women walked with him, all wonderfully dressed. His wife and daughters, surely. When he saw Adam and Tasha, he lit up. “A sight for sore eyes.”

  Adam grinned. “You’re telling me. I didn’t think you’d ever wake up.”

  “I’ve been resting. I’ve earned it.”

  Adam chuckled. John had been in a coma for the first few days on account of blood loss, but the marvellous doctors had brought him back and stabilised him. It hadn’t prevented him from being asleep, though, every time Adam had tried to visit.

  “I’ve been battling with the surgeons to let me come home, but they won’t allow it yet. The best they agreed to was letting me out for a few hours each day. I’m sorry I missed this.”

  “Kevin would be grateful that you made it here at all. Are you okay?”

  “I’m in a maddening amount of pain, but hey, I don’t fancy a drink at all, so perhaps this will be a blessing.” His wife grunted and rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Oh, allow me to introduce you to my wonderful family.”

  They all exchanged names and handshakes, and chatted for several minutes. John’s family was as lovely as he had always said it was. It made Adam jealous, but also joyful. There was more to the world than misery, even if he could only watch it from afar.

  After the chatting faded, John used his crutches to stand directly in front of Adam. “We’re about to go and get lunch,” he said. “I would love the both of you to join us. My treat.”

  Adam went to be polite and say no, but then he realised something from the way John was looking at him. His friend was asking him to go to lunch because he wanted to, not out of courtesy. “I’d be delighted, John.”

  “Me too,” said Tasha.

  Adam put up a hand. “Can I join you in the car park in five minutes? I just have to do something first.”

  John nodded. “Of course.”

  Adam headed further into the graveyard while the others took the path leading to the car park. After about fifteen metres, Adam stepped onto the grass and cut between the various tombstones until he found the one he wanted.

  Katy & James French: Mother & Son

  TOGETHER FOR ALL ETERNITY

  PLACED HERE ON MARCH 3rd 2017

  Adam knelt down and smiled. “Hi, I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

  2. ASBO

  Anti-Social Behaviour Order (ASBO): issued in response to "conduct which caused or was likely to cause harm, harassment, alarm, or distress, to one or more persons not of the same household as him or herself and where an ASBO is seen as necessary to protect relevant persons from further anti-social acts by the Defendant.

  It is the failing of youth not to be able to restrain its own violence.

  - Lucius Annaeus Seneca

  Violence isn't always evil. What's evil is the infatuation with violence.

  - Jim Morrison

  1

  “Those trouble-makers are hanging around outside again. Must be ten of them now. Should we call the police?”

  Andrew turned to his wife, Penelope. She was peeking out of the living room window through a gap in the curtains. “They’re just harmless kids,” he told her. “We were young too, once upon a time. Not that I can remember that far back anymore.”

  Pen dragged herself away from the curtain and allowed herself to crack a smile. It was a rarity these days, which made the gesture all the more attractive. “You’re thirty-eight, Andrew,” she tol
d him, inflecting her words with a sarcastic tone. “I don’t think your memory is going just yet.”

  “Exactly, and I can remember being a sixteen-year-old with nothing to do. Me and my brother used to get up to all kinds of mischief. Didn’t mean we were out to hurt anyone. Just ignore them and they’ll ignore you.”

  “Isn’t that what they say about wasps?” Pen spoke without turning around, too busy resuming her spying through the curtains. She’d been doing it now, on and off, for the last ten minutes and didn’t seem able to pry herself away. Outside, the streetlamps had turned on with the arrival of dusk and were casting angular shadows over her face. She looked like a private detective out of one of those old Film Noirs.

  Andrew couldn’t help but giggle. “Wasps, snakes, rabid-dogs, whatever. I think it makes pretty good sense in most situations. In other words, stop being such a nosey-parker.”

  Pen let go of the curtain and let it sweep back into place. She padded towards him, barefoot, across the beige carpet of the living room and let out a deep sigh. “I know, I know. They just make me uncomfortable. Where’ve they come from all a sudden? Why do they have to be right outside my house?”

  Andrew wrapped his arms around his wife, enjoying the warm feeling of her hips through her blouse. The flesh there was softer now than it had been ten years ago when they’d married, but still trim for a woman of forty. Pen worked the rowing machine every Wednesday and Friday, and it showed. Andrew was a lucky man. He kissed her forehead.

  “I think you mean our house,” he told her. “Anyway, will you just stop worrying? The kids outside haven’t done anything wrong, have they?”

  Pen shook her head against his chest. “You’re right, I’m just being silly.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Now what’s for dinner, woman?”

  Pen slapped him on the arm with a stinging backhand. “You’ll get put to bed on an empty stomach if you call me woman again, cheeky sod.”