Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

  Davie nodded. He tried to swallow but found himself unable.

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” Frankie continued. “I got my shit tight–wrapped up solid.”

  Davie turned and looked at Andrew in the armchair. “They’ll go to the cops as soon as you let them go. You’ll end up back inside.”

  Frankie smirked. “You see? That’s where you underestimate me, little bro. Who said I’m going to let them go?”

  Frankie moved away from the window, leaving Davie to think about what his brother intended. He looked around the living room at Andrew and his family: Bex unconscious and her mother taped up and frightened. Then he looked at Michelle, the twins, and his brother. He knew right then that he was different to them all–the odd one out. Unlike them, he was not enjoying any of this. Not enjoying it at all.

  12

  Andrew looked down at his daughter and fought the urge to cry. He would not give these thugs the satisfaction. He knew now that he had indeed heard something snap as his precious child had been callously pushed down the stairs. Her left wrist was purple from the subdural bleeding almost certainly caused by a broken bone. Agony would consume her when she awoke, and Andrew hoped with all his heart that she slept till this was all over.

  But when would that be, and what will have happened in the meantime?

  Andrew watched Frankie, who was kneeling beside the coffee table and emptying a small plastic bag onto the glass surface. A small pile of fine white powder began building up. Frankie’s girlfriend–Michelle–was kneeling beside him with a small makeup mirror and using it to sweep the substance into several parallel lines. The twins stood watching nearby like baying dogs, almost drooling at the sight of the powder in front of them.

  Then there was Davie, Frankie’s younger brother. Andrew watched the boy sitting beside Pen and couldn’t work him out. He was as complicit in this as the rest of them, but something about the expression on his face expressed that he was not enjoying himself.

  While everyone was busy doing other things, Andrew took the opportunity to test his bonds. He wriggled side to side, trying to loosen the adhesion of the duct tape that bound him to the chair. At first, the tape started to give a little, but then the plastic bunched up and became unbreakable. There was no chance of getting free.

  Which meant he was fucked.

  Frankie and his entourage began snorting the lines of white powder off the coffee table, their noses twitching frantically as the substance entered their bodies. Frankie’s regular twitch had now gone into overdrive.

  “That’s good shit,” said one of the twins, either Dom or Jordan. “Buzzin’.”

  “Innit,” said Michelle. “Fuckin’ heaven.”

  “Not too much,” Frankie told them. “We can’t zone out when there’s shit to be taken care of.”

  Michelle cackled maliciously, then sauntered over towards Andrew. She patted him on the cheek hard enough that it was almost a slap. “You ready to party, old man? You want some of this?” She rubbed her fingers against Andrew’s lips and forced past to his gums. He tasted the powder on her fingernails and then suddenly his entire mouth went numb. He spat.

  Michelle removed her hand from his mouth and stared him dead in the eye, but Andrew said nothing. There was no telling how far these messed-up teenagers were prepared to go, so best not to provoke them. Andrew looked across at Pen. She had the same anxious expression on her face that he no doubt wore on his, but there was something else in her expression that spoke of a steely determination to not give in to these thugs.

  Our home, thought Andrew. The place we’re supposed to feel safe. I won’t let a bunch of uncontrollable kids take that away from us.

  Frankie switched the television on and turned up the volume, gave Andrew a catlike grin. “Don’t want people hearing the screams, do we?”

  Andrew swallowed a lump in his throat. Things were about to begin, he could feel it, like sitting on a rollercoaster about to take that first horrifying plunge.

  Michelle clapped her hands together. “Sweet! Friends has just started. That shit is so funny.”

  Frankie pulled Michelle’s arm so that she spun to face him. “We’re not here to watch Ross bloody shag that skank, Rachel.”

  Michelle’s smile slunk away, and she nodded like a chastised child.

  Frankie really had a hold on these kids. What a difference a few years of age made. They almost seemed to look up to him like a father.

  “You guys keep an eye on things,” Frankie said. “I’m going to check out the kitchen.”

  “What for?” Davie asked him, an apprehensive tone to his voice.

  Frankie ruffled his brother’s hair. “Just going to look for some munchies.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen, and somehow the room felt empty without him, like an atmosphere of oppression and danger had left the room. Andrew took the opportunity to speak without his presence. “Davie, you have to stop this. We’ve done nothing to you.”

  Davie shook his head and didn’t reply–his expression was tormented.

  “Davie!” Andrew repeated.

  A slap stung his cheek, rattling his entire face. It was one of the twins who hit him. “Shut the fuck up, bitch, or I’ll mess you up bad.”

  “Nice one, Dom,” said the other twin. Andrew noticed a slight difference between them now. The other twin, Jordan, had a wispy goatee growing on his chin, whilst Dom was clean-shaven. Dom also wore a sovereign ring, which had been attached to the hand that had slapped Andrew. He could feel a throbbing bruise forming already.

  “What do you get out of this?” Andrew directed the question to all of them.

  “Shits-n-giggles,” Dom replied. “Now shut it, or else.”

  “Or else what? You’re going to do what you want to do anyway.”

  “Yeah, but we can make it hurt a lot worse,” said Frankie re-entering the room. “So don’t get on our tits.” He was clasping a pair of scissors that he must’ve gotten from one of the kitchen drawers. The blades were long and glinted under the soft light of the living room. “Before the party starts, we need to get everyone looking presentable.” He pointed the scissors at Pen. “And I think this old bag is in serious need of a haircut.”

  The teenagers cheered, except for Davie who seemed like he was trying to force a smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

  “Leave my wife alone,” Andrew shouted.

  Frankie ignored the outburst and grabbed ahold of Pen’s hair. She squealed, making a tormented sound that Andrew had not heard from her before and would be happy to never hear again. He screamed again at Frankie, ordering him to get out of his home, but the demands fell on deaf ears. Frankie dragged Pen down onto the floor and snatched a thick bushel of her hair. Then he cut it with the scissors.

  Pen began to weep as strands of her soft brown hair fell to the carpet in front of her.

  Less than ten minutes later, Frankie had hacked every last hair from Pen’s head, leaving her bald. She looked like a different person now, face stained black with mascara. Andrew’s heart hurt so badly that for a moment he thought he was having a heart attack.

  Frankie was grinning. “She looks much hotter now, don’t ya think?”

  Andrew spat. “Fuck you!”

  Frankie rushed forward and struck Andrew across his face. Stars invaded his vision, and he wondered if the blow had broken his jaw. He moved it left and right, sparking extra pain.

  “Come on, Frankie,” said Davie. “You’ve made your point. They’re both in tears. Let’s go.”

  Frankie turned and pointed the scissors at Davie and shook his head. “I ain’t even started yet, little bro.”

  “What did this guy do to you?” Davie asked.

  Frankie’s lip twitched as his anger seemed to rise. “Why do you care so much, man? He’s just some stuck-up cunt with a flash car that thinks his shit don’t stink.”

  Is that it? Andrew thought desperately. Is this whole thing just because I have a nice car? This whole nightmare is down to s
ome insecure thug resenting me, jealous of what I have?

  “What’s your problem, D,” asked Michelle. “Just chill your beans. You’re acting like a prick.”

  “Hey,” said Frankie, pointing the scissors at his girlfriend. “Don’t talk to him like that. Davie’s just sensitive. He don’t mean no harm.”

  Davie nodded. “I just don’t like any of this. It’s going to end badly.”

  “Yeah, for him,” said Dom, pointing at Andrew.

  Andrew sat silently, bewildered by what was becoming some sort of surreal soap opera: people bickering casually in front of him whilst he was held captive in his own living room.

  Davie helped Pen back onto the sofa, pulling her up by a handful of duct tape at her back. Then he sat back down beside her. For some reason, Davie was protective over Pen, and Andrew wondered if it stemmed from issues he had with his own mother.

  Andrew turned his head to the floor as a noise alerted him. When he saw who was making it, he felt nauseous. Things were about to get worse.

  Frankie looked down at Bex, who was now stirring on the floor, and grinned. “Well, lookey here. Little miss fine-ass is finally joining us. Now we can really step things up. Let’s see how much of a party-girl she is, dad.”

  Andrew watched Frankie approach his daughter, and for the first time in his life, he prayed to God.

  13

  Andrew had never seen a person wake up screaming before, but that’s just what Bex did. As soon as she regained consciousness, the agony of her broken wrist kicked in, and she bellowed. Frankie marched forward and kicked her in the ribs, knocking loose every last ounce of breath she had in her lungs. “Keep it the fuck down!”

  Bex’s screams turned to inward gasping, and the hissing sound she made was like the venting air brakes of a bus.

  “Please,” said Andrew. “Please, just leave my family alone. Do what you want to me…”

  Frankie winked at Andrew as if they were old buddies. “I’m going to do that anyway, mate, so what exactly are you trying to negotiate with?”

  “For God’s sake, Frankie, have some decency. My family has done nothing to you.”

  Frankie strolled over to Andrew and perched himself on the armrest of the chair. “I say otherwise. People like you look down their noses at people like me; think you can treat us like dirt. Doesn’t matter if it’s you or your women, you all think you’re better.”

  “We are better,” Pen hissed from behind him.

  Frankie clicked his fingers. “There, you see? You’re wife thinks I’m a piece of shit.”

  Andrew huffed. “Can you blame her?”

  “Maybe not,” Frankie allowed, “but there’s a war going on. Survival of the fittest. You might have your nice house and your Mercedes, but when it comes right down to it, you’re weak. When it comes down to you and me, face to face, you’re the one shitting himself–not me. I’m the one with the control.”

  “We’re not cavemen, Frankie. Life isn’t decided by who has the biggest club anymore.”

  “If prison taught me anything, it’s that we’re as much like cavemen as we’ve ever been.”

  Andrew looked at the boy–for that was all he was–and couldn’t figure out what was going on behind those narrow, twitching eyes. Did he really believe he was vindicated in doing this? That he was just fighting a war against people like Andrew? A war against the middle-class. The more he listened to Frankie, the more he was sure the kid wasn’t stupid, but something disturbed him all the way down to the core.

  “Look,” said Andrew. “I can help you. Whatever’s made you this way, we can sort it out. There’s no need for any of this.”

  Frankie’s lips quivered, not because of his usual twitch, but because he looked like he might break into tears. “Really? You can help me?”

  Andrew nodded.

  Frankie released a sudden gout of laughter. “You fuckin’ nonce. Is that what you say to little kids right before you snatch ‘em up in your white van?” He drove a fist into Andrew’s stomach and made him gasp, then leaned forward, closer. “You fuckin’ pedo!”

  Bex finally managed to catch her breath and started whining in pain again, writhing back and forth on the carpet. She was trying to keep her agony as quiet as possible, not wanting to draw any further reprisals from Frankie, but was failing badly. Andrew wished more than anything that he could help his daughter and take her pain unto him.

  But he couldn’t. Because an immoral thug wouldn’t let him. Frankie had control over the welfare of them all now. Knowing that chilled Andrew to his bones.

  The 10pm news came on the television, and for a moment, Andrew had the crazy notion that he would appear on it. Family man found dead in home. Wife and daughter murdered. His skin seemed to vibrate at the thought, the fear and panic threatening to burst through his skin. He needed to get free. He needed to save his family.

  Frankie grabbed Rebecca by the hair and hoisted her up to her feet, then examined her up and down. She was wearing her nightdress and was totally bare from just above the knee downwards. Andrew wished she’d listened to him about covering up.

  “You going to give the bitch a haircut like her old lady?” Michelle asked, thick dollops of spite in her voice. Andrew bet the girl was jealous of his daughter. In a beauty contest, Bex would win, hands-down. In a situation like this, however, her beauty could be a danger. There were few things nastier than a jealous girl.

  “Come on,” Michelle urged. “Shave the slut.”

  Frankie shook his head. “Be quiet, Shell. I make the decisions here.” He turned Bex to face him and smiled at her almost tenderly. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Rebecca.”

  “Okay, Rebecca. I’m going to do you a favour because you’re so goddamn fine. If you promise to sit by your mom and behave, I won’t hurt you or even tape you up. Agreed?”

  Bex whimpered slightly, likely due to the pain she was in, but managed to nod and say, “Yes.”

  “Good girl.” Frankie kissed her on the cheek and pushed her down on the sofa. “Davie, you watch the both of ‘em, okay? No fuck ups, you get me?”

  Michelle screeched. “What? You’re just going to leave her alone? Why?”

  “Because that’s what I decided to do,” said Frankie. “Now shut the hell up before I bounce your ass.”

  Michelle shut up but did not look happy. Andrew sat and enjoyed the relief that Bex might not be in any immediate danger. Frankie’s apparent attraction to her had ensured her safety for now. He just hoped that attraction didn’t lead to something worse.

  “So what we going to do instead, Frankie?” Jordan asked.

  “We’re going to do some more blow. Except, I don’t want to do it on that coffee table anymore. It looks dirty.”

  “Where then?” Dom asked.

  “Grab the old lady.”

  Dom and Jordan looked at each other and shrugged, seeming not to understand the request but happy to follow it all the same. They headed over to the sofa and grabbed one of Pen’s arms each, before lifting her to her feet.

  “Now what?” asked Dom.

  Frankie smirked. He picked up the scissors from the coffee table and waved them back and forth in front of his face. Andrew held his breath and waited for whatever fate was about to befall his wife. He wanted to close his eyes but couldn’t. He owed Pen more than that.

  Frankie thrust the scissors at Pen, but didn’t stab her. Instead he began cutting her blouse through the middle, starting at the neckline. She didn’t struggle, her fight was gone, and her face lacked expression. The bindings around her wrists made escape impossible. It didn’t take long for Frankie to cut the blouse free, letting it fall to the floor in tatters. Pen stood there rigidly, topless except for her purple cotton bra–Andrew’s favourite.

  “Lay her across the table,” said Frankie. “Face up.”

  It was then that Pen found her instincts–struggling to break free of her captors and lashing out with the only weapon she had: her teeth. Dom hollered in pa
in as she bit him and leapt back. He slapped her across the face. “Fuckin’ bitch!”

  The twins forced Pen down onto the table and held her there, arms above her head so that her midriff was exposed.

  “Leave her alone,” Andrew screamed. “Leave her alone, leave her alone, leave her alone!”

  Frankie leapt across the room and punched Andrew in his nose, spreading it across his face and unleashing a torrent of blood. Then he grabbed the tape and wrapped several layers around Andrew’s head, covering his mouth–and almost, too, his nose. Through teary eyes, he was forced to watch and breathe through his damaged sinuses.

  Frankie went back to Pen, pulled a baggie from his pocket and bit a hole into it. Then he upturned it and sprinkled the contents onto her exposed stomach. It was more cocaine. Frankie used the edge of the kitchen scissors to separate the pile into several messy lines on Pen’s stomach.

  “Dig in, gangsters.”

  Andrew watched helplessly as the teenagers took turns snorting coke from his wife’s belly, holding her down by the feet and wrists to keep her from squirming. After a while, she just gave up struggling all together and let them have their way.

  14

  Almost unbelievably, Frankie, the twins, and Michelle had all sat down in a huddle on the carpet to watch television. Davie remained on the sofa, watching over the women like he’d been told to. Unlike the others, he’d not snorted any coke and was completely sober. Watching them now, half-passed out on the floor and transfixed by a documentary about increasing climate change, he was glad about that.

  Davie did drugs sometimes, just weed mostly, but he had always stayed away from the hard stuff. Fortunately, Frankie never tried to force it on him; otherwise, he would probably have been persuaded by now. Even his mother did it during the times when she and Frankie got on.

  “Let us go,” Rebecca said.

  Davie looked at her and got caught in the stare of her soulful dark eyes.