by Ryan Casey
She got up off the chair.
Rushed over to the door.
“Who is it?” Max asked.
“Shit.”
“Moira?”
She looked around at him. Pale-faced.
“It’s them,” she said. “The ones from the estate. They… they’re here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The woman flew at Aoife with the knife raised, and Aoife didn’t have much time to think, much time to react.
She tumbled back. Banged her back really badly. The pain was stifling. Excruciating.
And yet, she didn’t even have time to process it because the woman threw herself into the cupboard under the stairs and swung her knife at Aoife.
Aoife acted on instincts. She kicked her back, right in the stomach, winding her, making her heave.
“Bitch!” the woman shouted. “You murderous bitch!”
Aoife saw the opening of the door behind her.
She saw her chance to get away.
Her chance to escape.
“I don’t think so,” the woman snarled, clutching her knife with one hand and her stomach with the other. “You’re not going fucking anywhere.”
She came at Aoife again, and all Aoife could do was hold her hand up.
All she could do was push back as the woman collapsed onto her.
As she pushed that knife so close to her it was almost touching her throat.
“Please,” Aoife said.
She didn’t like begging. Didn’t like feeling powerless or vulnerable or beholden to anybody else.
But right now, it was life and death.
And lying here on the floor of this cupboard under the stairs, she knew she didn’t have much choice.
The woman stared down at her. Wide-eyed. Snarling. Saliva trickling down her chin. She looked rough. Like she came from a rough upbringing. Not a judgement. Aoife wasn’t like that. But it was just an observation. She was the kind of person who probably hadn’t been blessed with the best education, and she was the kind of person who got caught up in this whole mob mentality shit that often went down in tight-knit communities like this estate.
Aoife wanted to appeal to her better nature. She wanted to try and reach out to her.
But as this woman pushed the knife closer and closer towards her, she realised there was no appealing to this woman’s better nature.
In her eyes, she was a child killer.
She was a murderer.
And it didn’t matter what Aoife said. There was no winning here.
“I don’t owe you a fucking thing,” the woman spat. “You killed Frank’s kid. And he was such a good lad. Harmless. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“I didn’t touch him.”
“Shut up,” she said, pushing the knife closer. “I know what you did. I know what you are. We all know what you are. But now James has got on it, he’ll make sure you regret it. The whole lot of you, however many of you there are. You’ll regret it. And you’ll wish you never came sauntering back here, you stuck up bitch. You’ll wish you stayed well away.”
The knife hovered inches from Aoife’s neck.
No, closer than that.
Centimetres.
She held it up to Aoife’s neck. So close that the sharp end was touching now.
And as Aoife stared up into this woman’s bloodshot eyes, she had this shocking sense of realisation, perhaps now more than ever before, that she was going to die.
She wasn’t going to make it.
This was the end.
She squeezed her eyes shut, dug her nails into the ground, and she braced herself.
“No,” the woman shouted. “You’ll open your eyes. You’ll look at me. You’ll watch.”
Aoife opened her watering eyes.
She stared up into this woman’s eyes.
At the look of delight on her face.
Like Aoife was less than human to her now, somehow.
“That’s it,” she said. “That’s exactly it. Right into my eyes. Give up, and it’ll go a lot easier for you, you child-killing bitch. Give up, and you’ll suffer less.”
And that’s when another instinct kicked in.
A surge of energy.
A sheer will to live.
Her nails.
The same nails she’d scratched Harry with just a day before.
She wasn’t giving up.
She was going to fight.
She felt the knife pushing down on her and held back against it.
And then she let go and scratched her, right in her eyes.
The woman slipped just a little. Stumbled back. Loosened her grip on the knife and moved.
Enough.
Just enough.
And that’s all Aoife needed.
She punched the woman across the face. Hard.
Even though it went against all her instincts.
Totally against her nature.
She punched her, and she pushed her off.
And then she bolted towards the door.
“I don’t fucking think so.”
The woman’s hand grabbed her right ankle.
Aoife tumbled back down, smacking her chin against the floor.
She turned around, looked back up at the woman as she stood over her.
Blood tricking down her scratched face.
One of her eyes bloodshot.
Animalistic.
“I told you to give up,” she said. “It would’ve been easier for you that way. But now… ahh well. Your loss.”
She pulled back her knife again.
And again, Aoife felt her life slipping before her.
She felt herself losing control.
And then she found that strength, again.
She booted the woman in the stomach before she could reach her again.
And then she stood up and pushed the woman back as hard as she could.
The woman tumbled back.
Lost her balance.
Cracked her head against the solid wall, then hit the floor.
She let out a whimper. Just a slight whimper and a whine, and then this horrible moan, choking on saliva.
Manic eyes staring up at Aoife.
And then she went still, and the knife slipped from her fingers.
And as Aoife stood there staring at the body of this woman, as blood pooled out beneath her head like the dark jam from the middle of a donut, she didn’t know if she was alive. Didn’t know if she was dead. She didn’t know, and quite frankly, she wasn’t sure she cared.
She just stood there, shaking a little, and took a deep breath.
She had to leave this place.
She had to get away.
Right now.
She grabbed the knife.
And then she went to head through the back door, where she could flee this place.
That’s when she heard footsteps at the front door.
Voices at the front door.
And that’s when she knew she wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“It’s the people from the estate, Max. The—the kids’ parents. What’re we going to do?”
Max stood there in the middle of the room, a little shaky, a little dizzy, his head still aching like mad. He felt weak and like he didn’t have much strength and energy left in him.
And yet, he was on his feet. Which meant he must have improved, even if just slightly.
Maybe this wasn’t as bad as he thought. Maybe he was going to be okay.
Maybe.
Although the way he felt right now was really at the back of his mind.
Because the people from the estate were here.
“How many?”
“Seven. Eight. More. I don’t know. But they’re—they’re coming this way.”
Max walked over to the door. The second he saw them, the hairs on his neck stood on end.
The guy leading the way. Big guy. Looked tough.
And the main thing that struck him was that this guy looked familiar.
&
nbsp; He looked just like someone he’d seen before.
He looked just like…
“Shit,” Max said. “That’s the kid’s dad.”
“What?”
“Cody’s dad. And… oh shit.”
He saw one of the other blokes walking this way.
Looking totally distraught.
Distraught in the way only a father who’d lost his child could look.
“That’s got to be the other dad,” Max said. “The other kid’s dad. Fuck.”
Moira stepped back, eyes wide. Max could see her shaking quite visibly. “What’re we going to do?” she said. “What’re we going to do?”
Max tensed his fists, but he couldn’t do it very tightly. “There isn’t a lot we can do. Not now they’re here. But Cody…”
“Oh God,” Moira said. “His body. Nathan didn’t have time to… to… He’s still in the kitchen.”
Max’s mouth went dry. “They can’t find him.”
“But—”
“We know nothing about him, okay?”
Moira shook her head. “I’m not sure about—”
“We know nothing about him. We deal with this. We deal with it as diplomatically as we can. We tell our side of the story. Tell our truth. Because I don’t think we’ve got much of a choice. But whatever happens… we keep them away from that kitchen.”
Moira lowered her head. “I’m just so glad Nathan isn’t here.”
Max looked outside and thought about Nathan. Wherever he was, he hoped he didn’t come back here—as much as he knew he needed his medical assistance right now.
He needed to stay away from here. Especially after what he’d done to Cody.
He needed to stay away, and he needed to make sure he didn’t come back here.
Because coming back here was danger right now.
“Hey,” Max said. Shaking. Dizzy. Weak. Unsure if he could even stay on his feet. “We’ll be okay. We’ve got this. Okay? We’ve got this.”
And Moira looked back at Max with a look of faith. He felt bad for her. So fucking bad. Because she looked battered. She looked worn down. She looked like she was in a total state of crisis right now.
And yet, she still stood strong.
“We’ve got this,” he said. “Okay? We’ve got this. Trust me.”
She took a deep breath.
And then she turned to the door.
Max walked up to the door, too.
Right by her side.
Both of them stood there.
Both of them watched the mob, about fifteen strong, approach.
Both of them stared at the man leading the way, shoulders back, head high.
A weird smile on his face.
They stood there and waited until eventually, just a few metres from the house, the man stopped, as did the mob behind him.
Max couldn’t believe how much this guy looked like his son. Older, sure. Bit more battered and bruised. Slight cauliflower ears. And definitely more of a swagger about him. A charm about him.
He stood there, looked into Max’s eyes, and he nodded.
“You know why we’re here, huh?”
Max nodded. No point bullshitting. “Know exactly why you’re here.”
The man, Cody’s dad, nodded back. He looked composed amongst this angry crowd. “Then you’ll know you have a lot of explaining to do. The whole damned lot of you.”
Max took a deep breath. He was shaky. Dizzy.
“You okay there? Looking a bit weak on your feet, buddy.”
“I’m… I’m not well.”
“You deserve to drop dead,” one of the crowd muttered.
“Yeah,” the man said, ignoring the heckler. “That much is clear.” He looked at the woman, then. “We got a visit from a friend of yours. Young woman. Nice big rotty with her.”
“Aoife,” Max said, his heart rate picking up.
“That’s the one,” the man said, smirking. “Looks like she means something to you.”
“You better not have touched her,” he said, shaking more than ever.
“Ha,” the man said. “I’m not sure you’re really in any position to be saying crap like that, are you?”
Max gritted his teeth. His racing heartbeat was making him feel all the more weak, all the more sick.
“But no. For what it’s worth, no. We haven’t touched her. We’re not savages. We don’t go around killing people. Especially not kids.”
“What happened was a mistake,” Moira shouted. “But what—what your boys did to my husband. That was evil. Pure evil.”
The man nodded. Sighed. “Look, I am sorry for what happened. But you have to understand. Tensions were frayed. But I’m not here to continue this war. I’m not here for revenge. What’s happened has happened. And now we have a chance to end all this. The man who killed Sam, he’s gone. He’s been punished. He’s paid for what he’s done. And so you’ll all pay for what you’ve done.”
“James?” the other man said. The distraught one. The one who must be Sam’s dad.
“Frank,” James said. “Trust me. I know you’re in pain right now. And in time, they’ll pay. They’ve got to live with what they’ve done. All of them have. But let’s say… well. If the police were to come knocking. If the power were to come back on, and they were to find out about all this. How about we come to a kind of agreement?”
“What sort of agreement?”
“You don’t grass on our boys. And we don’t grass on you lot. We leave you alone. We keep our distance. And all of us move on from this.”
Max’s heart raced even more. A few of the crowd didn’t seem content with that. Seemed a little pissed.
But James seemed composed. He seemed in control of this situation.
“What’s the catch?” Max said.
“No catch. Just our people. An exchange.”
Max’s stomach sank.
“An exchange?”
“We’ve got your girl. And you’ve got my lad, Cody. Don’t kid me. I found his hoodie just out here. Found his knife just outside, too, little shit. Well, one of his knives, anyway. Boys and their toys, eh? I know he’s around here somewhere. I know you’ve probably got him. I’m not dumb, mate. He can be a little bastard, and I wouldn’t blame you for holding him or whatever. But it’s time we did a trade. You give me back my son, we give you back your girl. And then we move on from this. Once and for all.”
Max stood at the door.
He shook.
Cody.
Cody was gone.
He was dead.
He was lying on the kitchen table.
There was a chance for peace.
A chance for an exchange.
A chance for moving on from this.
But it was gone.
“Come on,” James said. “What’re you waiting for? My son. Give me back my son, and we’ll give you back the girl.”
“Your son is—” Moira started.
“We’ll give you back your son,” Max said. “If you show us evidence Aoife’s alive. That Rex is alive.”
James narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t really in a position to be making the demands here.”
“We’ve got your boy. And we’ll bring him out. If you bring Aoife up here. Until then… nothing changes. Bring her here, and then we’ll negotiate. Otherwise, we’re right at square one.”
James stood still. A few mutters from the crowd. A few shouts.
“Well, you have some guts; I’ll give you that.”
He turned around to the crowd. Looked at a couple of them. Said something, nodded at them.
And then he looked back at Max and Moira.
“We’ll get Aoife right back up here for you.”
And then he walked right up towards the house.
Stopped, right at the front door.
Two big blokes by his side.
“But while my friends go get her, I’ll be keeping you company.”
Max stood there.
Blocking the door.
Not wa
nting to let James in.
Not wanting to let him anywhere near this house.
Or that kitchen.
And yet caught at the same time.
Trapped.
“Come on,” James said. “Aren’t you going to invite us inside?”
Max looked at Moira.
She stared back at him with a look of horror on her face.
Then Max sighed, looked around at James, and stepped aside.
“Good,” James said, smiling. “No reason to be at each other’s throats here, eh? You got a kettle, anyway? I take a tea, black, no sugar. Why don’t you get the kettle on, love? We might be here a while.”
Max turned around to the door leading to the kitchen.
He saw the specks of blood on the floor.
Cody’s blood.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Nathan saw the stand-off at his home, and he couldn’t move.
He just stood there, staring at the lot of them—staring at Max and Mum standing at the doorway and speaking with these people—and wondering what the fuck he was going to do.
He couldn’t hear what they were saying. Couldn’t hear a thing. Just that these people had to be from the estates down below.
They were here for revenge after what’d happened to the kid Dad killed.
And they were going to find out about the other kid, Cody…
They were going to find Cody.
But as Nathan stood there, crouched behind a tree, it wasn’t fear he felt.
It was anger.
Anger at these people for what they’d done to his dad.
Anger at the kids for even coming up here and causing trouble in the first place—trouble that led to the accident that cost the kid his life.
He saw them standing here, this bullying mob, and he wanted to go down there and scream at every single one of them to stay away from his home, away from his mum. To leave them all alone.
But he couldn’t do a thing but stand here and watch.
He watched as the mob’s leader turned around. As he said something to a few of his people.
And then he watched as they walked away, and then three of them walked up to the door, right up to Mum. Right up to Max.
His heart rate picked up. Sure, he wanted to get the medical supplies down to Max because he needed help right now. He might well be on his feet and looking a little better. But it wasn’t going to last for long if he didn’t have a steady supply of antibiotics. Infection could be unpredictable like that.