The Price

by Kerry Kaya

  Finally, and out of breath, he sat back on his hunches. It was clear to see that Billy was dead. One side of his face and skull had been caved in. Blood, bone, and brain matter seeped into the Chinese silk rug. Across the rich swirling tapestry, formed a scarlet puddle that spread out across the polished floorboards beneath.

  “What have you done?” Susan began to scream even louder. “You’ve … you’ve killed him.”

  Fletch got to his feet. He walked toward her and she backed away.

  “You’ve killed him.” Her eyes were wide and her hair array. “You’ve killed him,” she repeated.

  “I did what I had to do,” Fletch answered. He jerked a blood-stained hand behind him. “It was him or us, and I’ve got a kid to think about.”

  “No.” Susan glared as she shook her head so vigorously that her hair flew out in all directions.

  “It was him or us, Suze,” Fletch reaffirmed. “I had to do it. He was gonna kill us.” He glanced behind him, and his voice began to rise. “I did this for us. It was what you wanted. You said you wanted him to go away and never come back.”

  Susan’s eyes sprang wide open and her voice was high. “No,” she screamed. “I said that I wanted him to disappear, that I wanted him to go away, not this, not murder. I didn’t want him to die.” She looked around her for an escape route. “Dear God,” she cried. “What have you done?”

  “Do you think I actually wanted to do this? That I wanted to kill him? We had no other choice, darling. It was him or us.”

  “We could have talked to him,” she cried. “We could have made him see sense.”

  “And what exactly did you think was going to happen after we’d had this talk?” Fletch growled. “That I’d be able to send him away on a holiday, and tell him not to come back until me and you had fucked off some place?”

  She shook her head and began to cry.

  “Look, we can be together now.” His voice became gentle once more. “Just you and me, Suze. We can start over. We can be a proper couple.” He attempted to pull her into his arms. She roughly pushed him away from her and slid past him.

  “Don’t touch me,” she warned.

  He reached out a second time. “C’mon, babe, this is what we wanted.”

  “I told you not to fucking touch me,” she screamed. Her hands flew out to attack him, and her fingernails raked down his face and chest.

  “Enough.” Fletch’s heart plummeted. He caught hold of her wrists and pulled her toward him. “I did this for us,” he gently reminded her.

  “No,” she spat. “You did it for you.” She wriggled out of his arms, and turned her face away. She couldn’t look at him; she didn’t want to look at him. Walking across the lounge, she stood with her back to him, and took deep breaths, in an attempt to quash down the panic that was building inside of her. Billy was dead—over and over in her mind, she repeated those thoughts.

  “Suze, don’t.” There was desperation in Fletch’s voice. “Please don’t, babe,” he pleaded with her.

  “Don’t what?” Susan span around. “You can’t make this right, Fletch.” She looked down at her husband’s broken body and her voice cracked. “You can’t make this go away.”

  “I can.” Fletch leaped forward and hope filled him. “I can take care of this, I can.” He glanced behind him. “I can dispose of him. I’ve had to do it before. No one will ever find him. They won’t even realise that he’s dead. We could say he left you, and that he went to live at the villa in Marbella.”

  “Dispose of him? What, like he’s a piece of trash?” Susan’s eyes hardened, sickened by his words. “He was my husband, a human being, not something you carelessly dispose of.”

  Fletch swallowed deeply. He should have known better than to use those words. He looked around him at a loss. The bottom line was that she was right. He didn’t know how to make this better. He couldn’t make it right. Nothing he said or did was going to help matters. “Please, Suze.”

  His pleas fell on deaf ears, and with her back ram-rod straight, she refused to look at him. In that moment, he knew that he’d lost her. Even in death, Billy had won.

  “Fletch.” Waving the mobile phone in front of his face, Stevie burst through the lounge door. He took in the scene in front of him, and instantly recoiled backwards. “What the fuck happened in here?” he gasped.

  Fletch briefly closed his eyes. “It was him or us.” He saw Susan’s back stiffen and carried on regardless. “He was going to kill us, and I did what I had to do.”

  His eyes wide, Stevie could barely take it all in. He looked down at the phone in his hand, and recalling the reason why he had entered the house in the first place, he waved the device in the air. “Mate, your day is about to get so much worse.”

  Looking up, Fletch groaned. How could his day possibly get any worse than this?

  “It’s Spence.” Stevie quickly explained. “He just called back. He’s in a right fucking state. He’s been stabbed.”

  Fletch didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He massaged his temples. Stevie was right, his day was about to get so much worse.

  * * *

  Laying on his bed, Spencer writhed around, sweat glistened his forehead, and the pain in his side hurt so bad that it was making him feel weak and sick.

  In the kitchen below, he could hear his mum chattering away to his uncle. He needed help, and fast. It took all of his effort to swing his legs over the side of the bed, and as he stood up, he looked behind him. The patch of the bed sheet that he’d been laying on was stained red.

  “Mum,” he called out.

  When he received no reply, he staggered out of his bedroom, and gripping onto the bannister rail, he inched his way down the hallway. “Mum,” he called out a second time.

  Jenny was still talking over her shoulder as she walked across the downstairs hallway. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, she looked upwards. “What is it, Spence? I’m busy down here, darling.” Taking one look at her son, she screamed. Blood covered his T-shirt and jeans. “Oh my God,” she gasped, “what happened?”

  Spencer opened his mouth to speak. Before he could utter a word, everything around him turned black and he slid down the wall.

  Jenny raced up the stairs. “Frank,” she cried out, “phone for an ambulance, now.”

  Cradling her son’s head, tears filled Jenny’s eyes. “Wake up, my darling, help is on the way,” she promised him.

  Chapter 16

  Between them, Fletch and Stevie heaved Billy’s body out of the house and toward the car. Out of Susan’s earshot, Stevie rounded on his best friend. “I told you this would fucking happen.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Fletch groaned. “You said that Billy would kill me.”

  “Details, Fletch, fucking details.” Stevie rolled his eyes. All along, he’d said it was a bad idea and that Fletch needed to end the affair, before someone got hurt.

  Stripped of his clothing, Billy’s body had then been wrapped in the plastic sheeting and placed inside the boot of Fletch’s car. They looked down at their handiwork, turning their heads this way and that, as they inspected the body. It was a tight squeeze, but in the circumstances, it was their only option.

  “We’ll dump him in the same place that he dumped Joseph.”

  “We?” Stevie gave a hollow laugh. “Since when did this became we? This is your fucking mess.”

  “Don’t you think I already know that?” Fletch looked around the empty driveway, hoping more than anything they couldn’t be seen by any passing traffic on the lane. “You have to help me out, mate.”

  “I don’t have to do fuck all.” Even as he said the words, Stevie knew he wouldn’t abandon his mate, not like this, not when he needed him more than he’d ever needed him before. He let out a long sigh, and as he slammed down the boot, he stabbed his finger in Fletch’s direction. “If I go down for this, I’ll make sure you never know a day’s peace again.”

  “If we do exactly what we did with Hatton, then everything will be ok
ay.” He said the words more to reassure himself than anything else.

  “It’d better be.”

  “It will.” Tipping his head up, there was a determined glint in Fletch’s eyes. He glanced back toward the house. He needed to speak to Susan. He needed to make things right between them. “Just give me a minute, yeah?”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before, and look what fucking happened the last time you said you were only gonna be a minute? You ain’t planning to kill her an’ all, are you?”

  Fletch narrowed his eyes. Just the mere thought of hurting Susan made him feel physically sick. “Of course I’m fucking not.”

  “Just checking. Right well, hurry up then.” He gestured toward the car. “We’ve got more pressing issues, other than the state of your love life, in case it’s slipped your notice.”

  Narrowing his eyes for a second time, Fletch screwed up his face. As if he could easily forget about Billy trussed up like a chicken in the boot of the car, just yards from where he stood. “I won’t be long.”

  Inside the lounge, he found Susan on her hands and knees, scrubbing at the polished floorboards. She dipped the wire brush into a bucket of hot soapy water, tapped the bristles against the side, then resumed the task of cleaning up the blood.

  “Suze?”

  Her back stiffened, letting him know that she’d heard him.

  “I’m leaving now to dis …” He stopped himself and began again. “I’m leaving now to take care of everything.”

  Susan continued scrubbing.

  “Do you want me to come back after, I mean, after it’s done?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  She remained silent, and as he watched her back arch, and saw the muscles in her arms tighten, he took a step forward. “I could come back and make sure that there is no evidence left behind.”

  She shook her head.

  “You don’t want me to just come back and double check everything?”

  “I said, no.” Susan sat back on her hunches, refusing to look at him. “I want you to leave this house and never come back. I don’t want to know where you take him, how you …” A strangled sob escaped from her lips and she resumed scrubbing.

  Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Fletch turned to look at the front door. He knew he had to get a move on and fast, but he couldn’t leave without knowing what would become of them. “What about us?”

  At this, Susan turned her head. Her eyes were devoid of any emotion. It had to be the shock, he told himself, but it was her words that shocked him instead.

  “There is no us. There will never be an us, as you put it, ever again.”

  “But …”

  Susan snarled. “The mere thought of being near you, repulses me.” She screwed up her face in disgust. “Just thinking about you putting your hands on me, touching me, or even being in your presence, turns my stomach.” She nodded toward the front door. “Now, get out, before I call the police and tell them that you’re an intruder, that you attacked me, and that you killed my husband.”

  Fletch’s eyes widened. He could barely take in what she’d just said. He stood for a few moments, just looking down at her, unsure of where this was coming from. Surely she didn’t mean it?

  As if reading his mind, Susan sat back, reached for her mobile phone, and tapped out a series of digits.

  “Get out,” she warned.

  He didn’t need telling twice, and with as much dignity as he could muster, he walked from the room, gently pulled the lounge door closed, and then walked out of the house. Striding across the driveway, he kept his head down low. He still had some pride in him. He couldn’t allow Stevie to see him like this, and taking the cuff of his shirt sleeve, he hastily wiped it across his eyes. Without giving the house so much as a backward glance, he climbed into the car.

  “All sorted?” Stevie asked.

  “Yeah.” Fletch’s voice became instantly hard. He started the ignition and drove the car forward. Susan had more than made her feelings clear. He was beginning to think it had all been a sick game on her part, after all. “It’s fucking sorted out, all right.”

  * * *

  Jenny paced the length of the relatives’ room. In her hand, was her mobile phone. More than twenty desperate calls she had made to her eldest son, and each time, the call had rung off. As she watched doctors and nurses scurrying outside on the corridor, she decided that when she laid her eyes upon him, he was going to receive one of the biggest tongue lashings from her that he had ever had.

  Worry edged its way down her spine, and each time a figure rushed past the room, she snapped her head upwards, fully expecting someone to come in and bring her bad news. Tears filled her eyes. What, with Frank being slashed and now Spencer, her baby, being stabbed, she wondered how much more she could take, without breaking down.

  Her mobile phone rang, making her jump. Her eldest son’s name flashed up on the screen.

  “Fletch,” she shrieked. All thoughts of giving him a right telling off were gone from her mind. “It’s Spencer, darling, he was stabbed.” She listened to his reply. “We’re at the hospital, Newham General. Get here as fast as you can, my darling,” she urged him.

  * * *

  After disposing of Billy’s body off of the coast of Southend, Fletch had driven them at break-neck speed, straight to Stevie’s flat. It was early evening by the time he’d showered and changed into the jeans and sweater that Stevie hastily passed across. Thoughts of what had taken place just that afternoon rattled around inside his mind. Billy was gone. Susan wanted nothing more to do with him. And now Spencer had been stabbed. How the hell had all of this happened in the space of just twenty-four hours?

  “Here, put this on.” Stevie passed him one of his freshly cleaned trainers, and he slipped it on. As he took the second trainer, he paused. “Thanks, mate, for everything you did for me today.”

  Stevie batted him away.

  “I mean it,” Fletch told him, sincere. “I couldn’t have done it without your help. I owe you one.”

  “Yeah, you do an’ all.” Stevie watched as Fletch slipped on the second trainer and blew out his cheeks. “You know the worst part in all of this?”

  Fletch looked up.

  “The day ain’t even over yet.”

  Fletch nodded his head. Wasn’t that the truth.

  Thirty minutes later, they pulled up outside Newham General Hospital, raced inside, and found Jenny on the first floor in the relatives’ room adjacent to the operating theatre.

  “Mum, any news yet?” Fletch was still out of breath as she pulled him into her arms.

  Jenny nodded her head. Her face was pale, and underneath the bright lights, the wrinkles around her eyes seemed more prominent. “A nurse just this minute came in. She said the surgeon is going to come and talk to us.” Tears glistened her eyes. “That can’t be a good sign, can it?”

  “I dunno.” Fletch shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea if it was good or bad. Maybe it was protocol, at least that was what he hoped it was. Tearing his eyes away from her, he looked toward the door, expectantly, as a man whom he guessed correctly was the surgeon, walked in.

  Wearing blue cotton theatre scrubs, he gestured for them to take a seat.

  “How is he?” Before he had even sat down, the words were out of Fletch’s mouth.

  “The surgery was successful, and I’m hopeful that he will recover well.”

  Jenny gasped with relief. She clutched her hand across her heart. Her free hand found Fletch’s, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze. “So he’s going to be okay?” she tentatively asked. “Can we see him?”

  They were taken into the recovery area, and at the far end of the ward, Spencer began to stir as they approached.

  “Oh, you did worry us.” Jenny smiled down at her youngest son.

  “I’m sorry, Mum.”

  “No need to apologise, my darling, I’m just pleased that you’re okay now, and the doctor said you should be able to come home in a few days, if all goes well.�
��

  “Fletch.” Spencer turned his head.

  “Yeah I’m here, mate. How are you feeling?”

  Fletch gave his brother a wide smile, all the while, a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. How the hell had Spencer managed to get himself stabbed? Where had it taken place? Who was responsible? He narrowed his eyes, waiting for his mum to move away so he could grill his brother. He knew the old bill were bound to turn up at any moment, and wanted to get to the truth, before Spencer had the chance to make up some cock and bull version of events.

  “Mum, why don’t you go and get us all a cup of tea?”

  “What, right now, darling?” Jenny looked around her.

  “I could really do with one, Mum. I’ve had a bastard of a day.”

  “Language,” Jenny chastised him. She looked between her two sons and sighed. “I’ll go and ask if Spence is allowed to have anything to drink yet.” She patted her youngest son’s arm, then wandered off toward the nurses’ station.

  Once she was out of earshot, Fletch got down to business. “What the fuck happened, Spence?”

  Spencer averted his eyes.

  The hairs on the back of Fletch’s neck stood up on end. Please, not again, he said to himself. “Spence.”

  “I dunno.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Fletch lowered his voice. “What did you do, Spence? Why did someone stab you?”

  “It wasn’t meant to happen like that.”

  “What wasn’t?” Walking closer to the bed, Fletch was all ears. “What wasn’t supposed to happen?”

  “Bannerman’s man. He got to me before I got to him.”

  Fletch reared back. “Bannerman? Why the fuck would you be anywhere near one of Bannerman’s men?”