“Because, last night, Dom helped murder my wife and put my daughter in the hospital. He did it for kicks.”
Steph stared at him hard. She was trying to work him out to see if he was serious or just one of the regular whackos who were par for the course of a barmaid’s job.
“You really don’t know where he went?” Andrew asked.
Steph shook her head. “I’m sorry. Even if I did know, I wouldn’t help you commit murder.”
Andrew understood and thanked her anyway, got off his stool and began to walk away. He stopped when Old Graham reached out and touched him.
“Are you telling the truth? He hurt your family?”
Andrew nodded.
“What are you doing, Graham?” Steph hissed from behind the bar.
The old man sighed back at her, but continued talking with Andrew. “I don’t know where he was heading, pal, but he took a phone call just before he left. I didn’t hear most of what he was saying–he was upset and angry–but I did hear him say something about a hospital.”
Andrew’s stomach turned. Jordan was dead, which meant his brother, Dom, would have only one reason to visit the hospital. He was going after Bex. Payback. The person on the phone had probably been Frankie, egging him on and eager to have a potential witness dealt with.
Andrew swallowed. He had to get there first.
He turned back to the bar and looked at Steph. “Dom’s going after my daughter. Please, call the hospital and tell them that Rebecca Goodman is in danger. Rebecca Goodman, okay?”
She just stood there, befuddled.
Andrew shouted at her. “Rebecca Goodman. Make the call.”
Then he turned and fled, barging through the pub’s main door. The rain had gotten ferocious in the short time he’d been inside the pub, and it hit his skin now with enough force to sting.
He stopped at the bottom of the pub’s steps and allowed himself a second to consider his options. He needed to get to the hospital as quickly as possible, but was at least two miles away with no car. There was a bus route nearby, but he had no idea how regular it was or even where it went. A taxi would be the quickest option, but he’d still have to wait for it to arrive, and he couldn’t take the risk of it turning up late. There was only one solution that seemed viable. He had to make it back home and get in his car.
He took off running. Breathlessness came quickly, forcing a stitch into his side that merged with the pain of the stab wound in his calf, but he had to keep going. Every second was a second that Bex might not have.
He ran as fast as his legs would take him, his chest near bursting.
But he kept going, never slowing down for a single second.
One street away from his own, and he was finally forced to slow down to a jog, the pain in his ribs growing to a point where it threatened to drop him to the floor unconscious. When he placed a hand against his side, he discovered blood seeping from the shallow knife wound where Michelle had stuck him. It was hot and sticky as it trickled down his skin.
But there was no time to wallow. He put aside the pain and drew from reserves he never knew he possessed and managed to round the final corner at full speed. His car was right in front of him, exactly where he had left it on the curb beside the house. For some irrational reason, he had dreaded it would not be there. Thank God that it was.
Don’t worry, Bex. I’m coming.
He reached the Mercedes and skidded to a halt beside the driver’s side, fumbling in his pocket for the keys.
“You’re dead, motherfucker.”
Andrew turned around just in time to see a fist coming at his face. It connected with his jaw and sent his eyes rolling back in his head, and when he came to, he found himself in the dark.
There was no space to move. Every time Andrew tried to straighten out an arm or leg, he hit against the walls of his confinement. His head was spinning, and a wicked lump throbbed on the side of his head, making it extremely hard to think. It wasn’t until after several minutes of being curled up in the dark, listening to a nearby mechanical humming, that he realised he was inside a car.
I’m locked in the boot.
Andrew could tell by the sound of the engine that it was his own car. Dom must have grabbed the keys from him after throwing his knockout punch. Now Andrew was a hostage on his way to God knows where.
He felt about himself for a solution, but struggled to find anything at all beside his own body. If he remembered correctly, the only things inside the boot was a jacket belonging to Pen and a handheld vacuum cleaner–neither would do anything to help him escape. There was a tool kit, too, but it was hidden in a compartment beneath the shelf he was lying on. He did the only thing he could think of, and kicked out with both legs as hard as he could.
The plastic mouldings of the car’s luggage compartment bent under the assault, but behind that was unmovable steel from the vehicle’s chassis. He had nowhere near enough strength to kick his way out, and every time he tried, his calf cried out in pain. His whole body cried out.
Something occurred to him then. He still had his kitchen knife—could feel it digging into his side. He pulled it free of his waistband and unrolled it from the tea towel. He may have had no way to escape, but at least he had a weapon to use when Dom opened the boot. If it was, in fact, Dom who was driving the car.
As if reading his mind, the car began to slow down, the growl of the engine deepening as the revs lowered. Andrew gripped the knife tightly.
The car came to a full stop and jolted as the handbrake was applied by its operator. Andrew’s body tensed like a coiled spring as he listened to the driver open his door and step out. The weight of the car shifted, rocking back and forth before settling again. The ground crunched beneath the feet of the driver. The footsteps approached the boot.
Andrew waited.
Seconds passed by.
The boot did not open.
His nose picked up the scent of something–something acrid, gaseous. His ears picked up the sound of liquid, splashing and pouring.
His mind put the two things together.
Petrol.
Mortal fear seized Andrew. He had resigned himself to the possibility of dying tonight, but being burned alive was not something he could bear.
He kicked out at the boot’s lid and screamed out, trying to reason with the person attempting to burn him alive. It was no use; the petrol continued to pour, seeping through the gaps in the vehicle’s bodywork and onto Andrew’s clothing. His eyes began to sting. He tried to figure a way out before it was too late, frantically clawing at his surroundings. Each of the four walls was flat and featureless–nothing to grab hold of–but eventually his hands caught against something above. It was the locking mechanism for the boot. He fiddled with the contraption but could make no sense of it in the dark. All he could think to do was stab at it with his knife. The blade lodged into the plastic covering and stuck. He pulled it out and stabbed again. Again.
Petrol continued to soak through into the boot.
Andrew kept on stabbing, harder and harder.
Eventually, part of the casing began to come away, revealing the lock fittings inside. Andrew reached his frantic fingers into the gap and snatched at anything he could find in the dark. He pulled and prodded hoping beyond all hope to find a way out.
Something clicked.
A sliver of light entered the boot space, and Andrew felt his heart leap into his chest. The person outside was still busy pouring petrol and didn’t seem to notice that the boot lid had opened a couple of inches.
Warily, Andrew edged the boot open further. He could see someone’s legs through the widening gap, lit by the car’s headlamps. With a deep breath, held long enough to make his lungs ache, Andrew unleashed himself, uncoiling out of the boot like a striking cobra. His head and shoulders hit the lid and forced it open while his legs sprung and launched him into the air. He came down on his attacker, and the two of them tumbled to the floor. Andrew lost his knife in the scuffle, but wasn’t deterred. He kicked out
at his attacker, which did turn out to be Dom. The teenager rolled over onto his side, cursing in pain and anger.
Andrew glanced around and considered making a run for it. They were in a wood, and the cold rain mixed with the late hour made the area seem menacing. If he ran, he would probably end up lost, and he couldn’t afford for that to happen. Bex might still need him–there was still Davie and Frankie to think about. Dom could be intending to keep Andrew away.
“I’m going to kill you,” said Dom, rising to his feet, jeans covered in mud.
Andrew snarled. “Going to have to disagree with you there, blud.”
Dom rushed forward like a wild bull, and even snorted like one. Andrew met the charge head on, and the two collided in a brawl, fists flying. Dom landed a couple of blows on Andrew’s chin, but Andrew was too determined, and prepared to fight dirty. He jammed his thumb into Dom’s eye.
Dom reeled backwards, swiping out blindly with both hands. Andrew seized the advantage and advanced, grabbing the youth around the throat and kicking the legs out from under him. Dom hit the dirt on his back, twigs snapping beneath him, and Andrew followed him right down to the floor, still squeezing at his throat, bearing down with all of his weight.
Dom struggled and clawed, but it was useless. The fear in his eyes dulled as his cheeks swelled and seemed to turn purple in the harsh glare of the car’s headlights, just seconds away from passing on to the next life.
A knife appeared and embedded itself in Andrew’s face. The blade entered his cheek and protruded into his mouth, slicing his tongue. He released his grip on Dom’s throat and grabbed the blade’s handle hysterically. He yanked it back out of his face and screamed. Blood filled his mouth and made him choke.
Dom made it up to his knees, wheezing and spluttering as his windpipe recovered from being constricted to the point of near-asphyxia.
Andrew was in no state to launch another attack. Shudders wracked his body, and his mind kept trying to spin into unconsciousness. If that happened he was as good as dead–Dom would slit his throat while he was sleeping. Yet, even with his face torn up and bleeding, Andrew was still the one with the upper hand. He had Dom’s knife now. The small rubber handle gripped tightly in his hand.
But Andrew couldn’t get to his feet. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, attempting to reach Dom before the boy managed to recover.
When Dom saw Andrew approaching with the knife, he scrambled to his feet and took off in a panic. Andrew gave all that he had and managed to get up and take off after him.
Dom was quick, but he was winded and half-blind from a gouged eye. He had to feel his way through the trees in the dark. Every now and then, he would stumble against a branch or trip over a root. Andrew was closing the distance. The deciding factor now would be stamina. Andrew’s lungs were burning, and his stomach was paving the way for an onslaught of retching. He wasn’t cut out for so much exertion on a good day, let alone with a stab wound in his face, calf, and ribs.
But he couldn’t quit. As long as he had control over his legs, he was going to keep going. He dodged between skeletal trees and fallen logs. His legs pumped like pistons; his breath came out in gasps. Dom was losing steam, legs getting heavier, strides shortening. The gap between them quickly decreased.
Dom was only an arm’s reach away. Just a few more steps. Andrew timed his strides and prepared to pounce. He sprung forward and managed to grab hold of the boy’s sweatshirt. Dom’s legs tangled together, and he tripped onto his face, sliding in the dirt. Andrew hopped aside and came to a stop beside him. Standing over the boy, he readied himself to use the knife and finish the job.
He pointed the knife at Dom’s throat. “Where’s Frankie?” His words were slurred, mouth still full of blood. “Where is he?”
“Fuck you man,” Dom spat, but he made no attempt to fight. He was beaten.
Andrew could hear the fear in the boy’s voice. “Do you want to die, Dom? Do you want me to gut you like your brother?”
“Shut up. Go… go to hell.” He was sobbing now.
Andrew exhaled. His lust for blood deflated as he saw the childish mess at his feet. “Look. I don’t need to hurt you, Dom. I’ve already taken what you’ve taken from me, so we’re even. I just want Frankie. Where is he?”
Dom sneered and seemed to get back some of his swagger. “He at the hospital, doing yo daughter like yo did my bro.”
Thinking about it filled Andrew with more terror than he could hold inside of himself, but he couldn’t afford to lose control. He had to remain focused. “Do you have a mobile phone on you, Dom?”
“Course I do.”
“Then use it,” Andrew swiped the knife and cut a furrow in the boy’s cheek making him hiss. “Make a call, or I’ll open you up and leave you to bleed to death.”
“A call to who?”
Andrew booted Dom in his side. “Who do you think, idiot? Frankie. Call him and say that if he doesn’t leave the hospital right now to meet me, I’ll slice your throat like a chicken.”
“Okay, okay.” Dom made the call on a small black phone that he plucked from his jean pocket. He waited a few moments until someone on the other end answered. “Hey, man. You gotta come get me. That motherfucking psycho has got me at knifepoint, yo. I’m lying in the mud like a sucker, and he’s gunna slice me like he did Jordan if you don’t come get me.”
There was silence in the woods for almost a full minute while Dom listened to Frankie’s reply. The whole time Andrew stood and watched Dom’s face. It seemed to grow grimmer with each passing second. Eventually, Dom finished the call and put the phone away, then looked up at Andrew. “Bitch put the phone down on me.”
Andrew had a bad feeling. Why wouldn’t Frankie help his friend? “What did he say?”
Dom shook his head and seemed mortified. “He said, I should deal with my own shit, and if I was a man I should take you out for what you done to my bro.”
Andrew sniffed. “Want to try it, homie?”
Dom put his hands up. “No man, enough.”
“Did Frankie say where he is?”
Dom nodded but seemed like he didn’t want to answer. “The hospital. Apparently there’re pigs about, so he’s lying low, waiting for the coast to clear”
The barmaid must have done as I asked her and called the hospital. Thank you, Steph.
The police would buy Andrew some time. He could still make it to the hospital if he hurried back to his car, but first he needed to find out exactly where he was.
“What is this place?” he asked Dom.
“The woods at the back of Brockhill Farm.”
Andrew knew it. It was a rural plot of fields and woodland on the edge of town—a mile away from the nearest built-up area. Great place to murder someone.
“I ought to leave you here to die,” said Andrew. “But you’re too pathetic to waste my time on.”
Dom seemed to recover some of his lost confidence. Obviously he’d been expecting Andrew to kill him and was relieved to hear otherwise. “This shit ain’t over, man. I respect you letting me live right now, but if Frankie doesn’t finish you, then I will.”
“Please try. Then I’ll have an excuse to send you to your brother.”
It was likely to be a very bad idea leaving Dom alive, but Andrew would be in jail soon and unreachable for quests of revenge. Besides, he couldn’t kill someone cowering at his feet–he wasn’t that man, even after what he had become. Dom’s brother was dead, and hopefully that was enough retribution to allow Andrew to sleep at night.
He left Dom lying in the dirt and crunched his way back through the gloomy wood, trying to get his bearings. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before he saw the headlights of his car, lighting up the rain as it fell in thick sheets.
With the engine still running, the keys would be inside, so Andrew wasted no time in heading for the driver’s side and hopping in. He slammed the door shut and glanced out of the windscreen. Dom was back on his feet, but made no attempt to stop Andrew.
&nb
sp; It wasn’t clear which direction the road was, so Andrew decided to manoeuvre the car around between the trees, until he was facing in the opposite direction, then set off in a straight line, hoping that it would turn out to be the route Dom had taken.
The automatic wipers came on, and Andrew had to squint to see. There were trees everywhere, and it was a real effort to avoid them all in the darkness and rain. Several times Andrew had to brake sharply and make erratic steering movements. The uneven, bumpy ground didn’t help much either, and the tyres barely kept their grip in the sliding mud.
Eventually the trees began to thin in number and opened out into a clearing. The car hit a water-logged field, and the steering got even heavier. Andrew clutched the steering wheel tighter and leant forward to examine his surroundings. The field stretched down a hill and was lined on all sides by a wooden beamed fence. In the distance was the easily distinguishable lights of a house.
Most likely the Brockhill estate.
Andrew knew that the large Manor on the edge of town was roadside. If he headed for the building and it did turn out to be Brockhill Estate, then he could get back onto a main road and head back into town. He would reach the hospital in fifteen minutes.
Andrew put his foot down and the car careened down the hill. As the house below became clearer into view, it revealed itself to be just the building he was hoping for. Andrew wouldn’t have to cover the entire distance to Brockhill Manor because there was a steel gate about fifty-metres up from it at the edge of the field. The gate was hanging open—obviously left that way by Dom. Beyond it: the main road.
Andrew gripped the steering wheel tighter and sped up. I’m coming, Bex. Just hold on.
28
Davie tried calling his brother several times but there was no answer. Same thing when he made a call to Dom. He began to worry. Frankie had been unstable before all this shit had happened, but now he was borderline insane. Still, Davie forgave his brother’s faults now, even if he couldn’t come fully to terms with them. He was determined to put a stop to the situation before it could escalate further. There was still a chance for Frankie to retain some shred of humanity–if he were to just stop now.
Gripping Thrillers Page 32
