Blood Lost

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  He made his way downstairs, forcing himself upright, pulling his hands inside his sleeves to hide the shaking. He did this, from time-to-time, anyway. They wouldn’t think it odd. And, if they asked? He’d tell them he was cold.

  His mum’s smile was full of love. He hated himself for betraying her, of risking letting her down in the worst way possible. She’d cooked a hearty meal, but he couldn't swallow it.

  He looked across at his father through semi-closed lids. Dad was quiet. Moody. Something was wrong. He was playing with his food and, although he had the paper open, Will could tell he wasn’t reading it.

  The clock on the wall clamoured through his head. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Why wasn’t there a switch to turn it off?

  “Eat up, Will. It’ll get cold, love.” There was that look again. Like he could do no wrong.

  He turned his head away.

  “What’s the matter, Will?” His dad enquired, putting the paper down and peering over of his glasses.

  “Why? Why are you asking me?” He asked, unaware his eyes were wide and staring.

  “Will?”

  “Do you need your tablets, love?” His mum placed a hand on his forehead.

  He shrugged her off. “I’m fine.” He cut a piece off his sausage. “I need the toilet…” He pushed his plate forward and his chair, back. “I’ll eat it in a minute.”

  He paused in the hallway, relieved at being out of the thick, cloying atmosphere of the kitchen. He listened for them, checking he wasn’t being followed, before opening the door to the lounge and ducking inside to the couch and the chest behind it. The room was warm from the fire his father had lit earlier that morning.

  Kneeling down, he fumbled the straps, hands still inside his sleeves, sweat dripping onto the top of the casket. He threw the lid back and held his breath, feeling inside. There it was, the reassuring crackle of the paper. He closed his eyes and breathed out the air he’d been holding in his lungs.

  “What are you doing? Are you all right?”

  He snapped the lid of the chest shut. “Dad. Yes. Yes.” He jumped up, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. “I’m fine.”

  “I thought you needed the toilet? What are you doing? What have you got in there?”

  “Nothing.” Will took a step towards his dad, who brushed him aside, heading for the chest.

  “Dad-”

  Michael yanked open the lid of the chest, feeling around until he pulled out the brown paper packages, holding them up to Will. “No. No, you wouldn’t. Please, William, tell me you wouldn’t bring drugs into our house. And, this? This much? What is it? Heroin?”

  “No.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it’s going down the toilet.” Michael took one package and headed for the door.

  “No, Dad, you can’t.” Will tried in vain to grab the stash, but Michael pulled away.

  “It’s going down the toilet and you’re grounded for a month. You told me you were off this stuff.”

  “I am. I am, you don’t understand.” Will moved to stop his father, but Michael handed him off, pushing him towards the wall.

  Will banged his head several times against it in frustration. They’d kill him, Scarface and Dreads. He’d be dead.

  He heard the toilet flushing and ran back into the hallway. “What have you done? What have you done?” he asked, desperate, as his dad came past with the screwed up paper.

  Michael made no answer, but threw the screwed top ball onto the fire. He made for the second package.

  Will saw the candlestick to his right and grabbed it with both sleeved hands. He smashed it against the side of his dad’s head. It connected with the gut-wrenching thud.

  Will dropped the candlestick to the floor.

  ❖

  “It’s empty.”

  “What d’you mean, it’s empty?”

  “There’s nothing in it. No names and no numbers.”

  “Let me see.” Scarface grabbed the phone from Dreads. He worked it with his thumb, tapping and swiping. “He’s wiped it. I should have broken his neck. The little snake’s wiped everything off.”

  “What do we do now?” Dreads pulled a face.

  “We go back and get him. We’ll make him tell us where he is.”

  Dreads fired the car back up.

  “Put your foot down.”

  Scarface banged on Ashley’s door, listening with his ear against it.

  “He’s not there.” Dreads looked up and down the street.

  “Either that, or he’s hiding from us.” Scarface reached inside his jacket for his wallet, pulling out a credit card. Pushing on the door, he slid the card in between the catch and the lock. With a click, the door fell open.

  “You check upstairs, I’ll search down here.”

  Inside the Audi, the tension was palpable, the two remaining gang members terrified the police might pull up and find the shotguns underneath their seats.

  “Come on. Come on,” one of them muttered under his breath, beeping the horn.

  Scarface ran to the window facing the road, holding up his fist, as though about to punch it. He drew his other hand across his throat. A signal for the boys to pack it in, or else.

  Dreads came back down the stairs. “He’s not up there, boss.”

  Scarface shot off several expletives. “Right, get back in the car. We must look for-”

  “Wait.” Dreads held up a hand, while his other one pulled out Ash’s mobile from his pocket. “The phone’s going.”

  “Don’t answer it, yet, it’s probably Harries. I need to think. Is it showing the number?”

  “Yeah, number’s coming up.”

  “Wait for it to stop ringing, yeah?”

  The phone continued vibrating for another several seconds. When it stopped, they were back inside the Audi.

  “Let’s send him a text from Ashley.”

  “And say what?”

  “I don’t know, yet. Let me think.”

  Dreads paused with his thumb above keypad.

  “Tell him you’re tied up, but you will see him. Ask him where’s best to meet.”

  Dreads fired off a text.

  As soon as the phone buzzed, he scoured the screen. “He says the usual place.”

  Scarface thumped the dash. “Tell him you’re rattling and your heads a mess. You can’t remember where to go.”

  “He won't fall for that.”

  “Yes, he will. He knows what Ash is like. Bloody useless. Can’t remember what day of the week it is, let alone what arrangements he makes with someone. Why d’you think I didn’t give the stuff to him in the first place?”

  Dreads clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Don’t blame me if he suspects something’s up-”

  Scarface snatched the phone. “Give it here, I’ll do it myself.”

  ❖

  “Oh, my God, Will. What have you done?” Kate had a tea-towel in her hand, she placed it to Michael’s head, applying as much pressure as she could. “Ring for an ambulance.”

  Her son didn’t move.

  “Now, Will. Ring for an ambulance, now.”

  “What? I… I can’t. We can’t-”

  "Will, you hurt your dad. We must get him to hospital. Here, hold this," she instructed. "I’ll ring them."

  “No, mum. Don’t, please.”

  “What?” She searched his face, her eyes round and unblinking.

  “Let’s get him into the pickup. We’ll drive him to a hospital. It’ll be quicker. An ambulance could take ages to arrive.”

  “What?” Kate shook her head. “Will, what are you talking about?” She realised there was something more, something he wasn’t telling her. “What the hell is going on?”

  “We can’t call an ambulance. There’ll be police and they'll ask questions.” Will let out a cry of angst. “And I’ve got this.”

  He held up the package. “They’ll put me inside and throw away the key.”

  “What? Where did you get that? I don’t understand. Are those drugs?”


  Will nodded. “There will be people after me. Bad people. If they don’t get this back, and if the police catch me with it, I’ll never get out.”

  “Oh, my God, Will, you stupid-”

  “Mum, not now. Let’s get him in the truck.”

  Michael groaned, consciousness, of a sort, returning.

  Kate tied the tea towel tight around her husband’s head. “Quick, help me get him to his feet. We’ve got to get him into the truck, now.”

  They propped him up, positioning themselves under each armpit. It took several attempts for them to hoist him. As they got him to the front door, Will grabbed the keys for the truck from the hall table.

  29

  Shifting sands

  Will drove as fast as he dared within the speed limit, heading through town. They had strapped Michael in between them, head lolling back. Kate tried to support him as best she could.

  “Why are we going this way?” His mum looked behind, in the direction she had expected to go.

  “We can’t take him to Shrewsbury, mum. There’s always police on that road. I can’t risk getting stopped. We’ll get him to Aberystwyth. It’s a good hospital. He’ll be okay, there.”

  Kate let out a sob. “How could you be so stupid?” Tears streamed down her face. “Can’t you throw that packet in a bin somewhere?”

  “No, mum, if I lose any more of their stuff, the gang will kill me.”

  “What are you doing, hanging around with gangs, I thought you’d left all that behind? You’ll get sick again.”

  “I have left it behind, mum. It's complicated, I should never have gotten mixed up in this. It's not how it looks and I'm not using again, I promise. I did it for Alex.” Hot tears fell down his cheeks. He felt worse than he ever had. He couldn’t bear seeing his mum in this state. She’d supported him through everything and he’d let her down in the worst way possible.

  He leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head. “It’ll be okay, mum. I promise. It’ll be okay.”

  Up ahead, ambling along New Road, looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world, was Ash.

  Will eased his foot on the brake, to pull over.

  “Why are we stopping?” Kate flicked a glance at her son.

  “It’s my mate. He might help us. If he can get the stuff back to them, it'll take the heat off.”

  He got out of the driver’s side and ran the couple of metres to his friend. “Ash.”

  “Will. Where’ve you been?”

  “At home.”

  “They’re looking for you.”

  “I know. I expected they would be. Listen, something’s happened. I’ve lost one package and I can’t get the other one back to them. I need you to do it for me.”

  “What? I can’t-”

  “What d’you mean, you can’t?” Will grabbed his friend by the arm pulling him closer. “Why not?”

  “Look at me, Will. I'm stopped and searched all the time. Police talk to me nearly every time they see me. I probably wouldn’t make it back home, let alone to the gang. Besides, Scarface gave it to you. He’d go ballistic if you gave it to anyone else to look after. He goes mental about that kind of thing.”

  “For God’s sake, Ash, my dad’s hurt. I've got to get him to a hospital. I’m taking him to Aber.”

  “What happened to him? Did Scarface do this?”

  “No, no. I hit him. I didn’t mean to…” Will ran his hand through his hair, the angst creasing his face.

  “How bad is he hurt?”

  “He’s groaning a lot. I don’t have time to talk. I’ve got to get him help.”

  “You take him to a hospital, they will ask questions. Perhaps, even, phone the police.”

  “What else can I do? I can’t leave him like that.” Will let out a sob. “It’s a mess.”

  “Will?” Kate Harries put her head out of the passenger window.

  “I’ve got to go. Can you take the package, or not?”

  Ash scratched his head. “I got friends out Aber way who might help you. They’re not afraid of the gangs and can hold their own. You could lie low for a few days, till your dad feels better and you can get the stuff back to Scarface.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah, I’ll ring them. Let them know you’re coming, tell them what’s happened.”

  “Who are we talking about?”

  “They’re travellers, up at Devil’s Bridge.”

  “What, the Irish lads?”

  “Yeah, they’ll help you out, at least until you can get your dad sorted and your head straight.”

  “Why would they help us?”

  “They’re good boys. They may ask a favour or two in return, but nothing you can’t handle. I’ve helped them out in the past and they’ve helped me.”

  “Ash…”

  “Well, what else you going to do? Eh?”

  “All right, let them know we’re coming. Tell them my dad needs help.”

  “Go. Have you got your phone.”

  “No, we left them at the house.”

  “I’ll sort something out, if I can. Maybe my friends can help get the stash back to Scarface. I’ll message you through them. Go.”

  Will ran back to the truck, wiping his face with his sleeve. As the engine revved, Ash telephoned his contacts.

  ❖

  As they drove through the gateway at the caravan park, Will could see two burly, red-haired men, one carrying a shovel and the other, a baseball bat. One appeared to be late twenties, the other, early thirties. Broad-shouldered and well-muscled, they looked like they could handle themselves.

  “Who are they?” Kate asked, a protective arm around her husband.

  “They’re the people we can stay with for a few days. They will help us.” Her son waved to the men, who didn’t wave back.

  “Did Ash Brennan contact you?” Will got out, staying near the driver’s door of the pickup, one hand on the handle.

  “Are you Will Harries?” The older of the two approached him.

  Will looked from one to the other. “Yeah.”

  “Is that your ma and da?”

  Will looked into the van, nodding. “Yes. My dad’s hurt. He needs help. We came here because Ashley Brennan said we could trust you.”

  “Ma?” the younger man shouted. “They’re here.”

  Behind them, a woman in her forties emerged from a caravan. Her curly, auburn hair held up with a butterfly clip, she wore a loose dress over her ample curves, wrists adorned with more than her fair share of jangling jewellery. “You’ve an injured man with you?” she called.

  From behind her, another woman emerged of a similar age, wearing a t-shirt and Jeans, her dark hair worn down to her shoulders. “Is that them, Kathleen?”

  “Yes.” Will called back. “My dad has hurt his head.”

  The older man, sporting the shovel, walked forward and offered Will his hand. “Patrick McKinnon. That, there, is my brother Sean and over there is our mother, Kathleen and her sister, Moira.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Will accepted Patrick’s firm handshake.

  “I’ll go get dad.” Sean McKinnon headed back along the row of caravans.

  “Are you coming out, or what?” Kathleen asked Kate, as she walked to the passenger side of the vehicle, followed by Moira. “We’ll help you get your man out. Is he hurt bad?”

  “He’s concussed. I don’t know how bad it is.” Kate put her husband’s arm around her shoulders and eased him along the seat.

  “Let me, mum.” Will positioned himself under his father's armpit.

  Sean McKinnon returned, followed by three more men. “This is our cousin, Kieron McKinnon.” He pointed to a dark-haired young man. “And, his dad, Michael McKinnon, and our dad, Danny McKinnon.” The latter men were both greying, to differing degrees, and wore their shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Danny McKinnon was mud-spattered.

  “Will harries.” Will extended his hand to them, fearing he would never remember the names of all these people. “This is my
mum, Kate Harries and my Dad,” he pointed to where his father stood, supported by his mum and Kathleen McKinnon, “Michael Harries.”

  “Let’s get him inside.” Kathleen presented as the person in charge. “I was a nurse, in my younger days, in Ireland. Before I met this oaf.” She laughed and pushed Michael McKinnon on the arm.

  Michael Harries groaned again and opened his eyes. He closed them as though wanting to sleep.

  After they had placed him on a bed, Kathleen lifted each eyelid, shining a torch into the eyes.

  “I think he’ll be all right. I’ll get the cut on his head cleaned up. His head will be sore. That's a nasty bump you gave him. We’ll give him some paracetamol and let him rest it off. I’ll bandage him up.”

  “Thank you.” Kate Harries’s face relaxed.

  “You running from Someone?” Kathleen asked Will, as she walked to her cupboards to get the supplies needed. She ran a glass of water and handed it, along with two tablets, to Kate.

  “I got myself into a sticky situation. I don’t really know how. It didn’t seem like I had much of a choice at the time.”

  Kathleen nodded. “Talk to the boys. Me and your ma will sort your da out. Tell the boys what happened. If they can think of a way out, they’ll sort it for you. If they can’t, they’ll tell you straight.”

  30

  A problem shared

  Patrick McKinnon caught up with Will, helping him replace the tarpaulin over the pickup.

  “I said I’d give this old battery to your brother, Sean. It’s got life left in it and we would only take it to the dumps.”

  “He’ll love that, so he will.” Patrick laughed. “He’s grateful for anything he can get for the old banger he’s doing up. I don’t understand why he loves it so much,” he said, referring to the bright yellow VW beetle. “It’s a girl’s car, eh? And it’s a rust bucket.”