Thank God, he’s not dead. What the fuck am I going to do?
She turned to face her nemesis, trying hard not to show fear, but she couldn’t stop herself from shaking. Her mind flashed back to the field when he’d tricked her, she recalled every little thing he’d done to her in the blink of an eye, and slowly she remembered something else.
Grace. I’m so glad she went away. She’ll never know about this. Ben felt a sudden rush of determination. Who the hell does this guy think he is, breaking into my house, hurting Jacob?
Stan saw the change in her. Her body language changed from terrified to more confident in the space of a few seconds. It threw him. He needed her to be afraid, she had to be afraid or she wouldn’t learn. He needed to get that back.
As he took a step towards her, he heard Jacob groan loudly. Damn it, he was supposed to be out longer than this.
Ben half turned and touched Jacob’s face softly, and Stan took advantage of her distraction. He crossed the space to the bed in a flash and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her hard towards the door.
She couldn’t help but let out a loud scream as her hands instinctively moved to his and she grabbed them, trying not to let him pull her, but she had no choice. He had complete control of her movements and he dragged her out onto the landing. He slammed his other fist into the side of her face with such force that she saw stars instantly. Her knees gave, and he let her fall, releasing her hair. He pulled the cable ties from his pocket and secured her hands together. Then he ripped a piece of silver gaffer tape off the roll and placed it over her mouth.
Leaning down to her ear, he said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take it off later. That pretty mouth was made to take a real man, not some cripple who didn’t even wake up when someone broke into the house.’
Stan was lucky, he didn’t know it, but usually Jacob would have woken at a mouse crossing the floor. The painkillers he’d taken earlier though were strong enough to keep him asleep.
Chapter Thirty-three
McKay Residence, Sunderland
Ali had finished work hours ago, been for a run and grabbed a takeout on his way back to the flat. He now sat on the couch flicking through the channels on the TV, but nothing grabbed his eye. The run and takeout food had done nothing for the gnawing stress monster in his gut, it had been growing since he’d left Clarice’s home earlier, and whatever was causing it was just on the verge of his thoughts. He knew whatever it was would be important and it had been bugging him all day that he couldn’t see it.
Flicking through the movie channels, he found a classic Stallone film and put the remote on the table in front of him, pulling his legs up to the couch and settling his head on a cushion. He barely even saw five minutes of the film before he was sound asleep.
He awoke sometime later, disorientated and with his neck aching. Light filtered through the window from the street lights outside and somewhere in the distance a siren wailed. He groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Reaching for his phone he checked the time, the illuminated screen told him it was twenty to two and he groaned again. Wish I hadn’t seen that.
He froze, contemplating his own thoughts. ‘Seen? What was seen? Clarice was seen by the killer because he’d planted a bloody camera. He’s gunning for Ben. That bloody bastard, he’s planted a camera there too!’
He jumped to his feet and grabbed his car keys. As he sped down the stairs, his phone started ringing. Hitting the right buttons on his mobile for once, he held it to his ear.
‘DI McKay, it’s Agnes Wright. You said to ring if I saw that man again. He was in their kitchen. Should I go around?’
Ali paled at her words, his feet pounding even faster. ‘No. I’m on my way. Stay inside.’
He ended the call without saying goodbye and quickly plugged the number in for his superintendent.
O’Byrne Residence, Sunderland
Jacob felt the pull of consciousness but tried to resist. He heard himself groan and then felt the explosion of pain in his head. Christ, that feels like I’ve been drinking for a solid weekend.
He went to lift a hand to his head and became fully conscious as he realised his hands were tied in front of him. He pulled himself round onto his back to check for Ben, but her side of the bed was empty.
He paled as he heard a scream from the hallway outside the bedroom.
Jacob took a breath to calm himself and reaching past the lamp on the bedside table he depressed the emergency button on the Tunstall alarm, knowing it would connect to the control room with an open line. He strained to listen to the call being answered, and then whispered, ‘I can’t speak louder. My name is Jacob Tulley. I work in the digital forensics lab. I’m at the house of Ben Cassidy. The killer is here. You need to ring Ali McKay.’
Jacob stood slowly, ignoring the wave of dizziness as his head wound protested.
Shuffling without his stick, he walked to the bedroom door.
O’Byrne Residence, Sunderland
When he’d hit Ben, she’d seen stars and fallen to her knees. Stan had taken advantage and grabbed her hands, securing them with more cable ties. What the hell is this guy’s obsession with cable ties? Can’t he just use rope like normal nut jobs? Ben felt a faint giggle try to escape at her thought – was there such a thing as a normal nut job?
She knew from experience it was pointless struggling against the plastic ties, without a blade they wouldn’t be stretched or loosened. She calmed her breathing, trying not to let the panic envelop her. Ben was afraid, but she found herself more afraid for Jacob than she was for herself this time round. No matter what happened, she had to survive and save him. He hadn’t asked to be a part of this messed up thing she called life. He’d come in charming her, accepting Grace, and protecting her and Aoife, and hadn’t asked a thing in return. It was no wonder Ben was falling for him.
When Stan suddenly appeared before her, she stopped herself from portraying her fear. What the hell did Ali say this guy’s name was?
‘Look, Mitchell, isn’t it? You don’t have to do this.’
Stan stilled, his face going pale. He knelt down beside her. ‘What did you call me?’
‘Mitchell. That’s your name isn’t it?’
Rage suddenly blinded him. How the hell did she know his given name? It had been so long since anyone had called him that, he’d all but forgotten it. Memories flooded his mind: his father sneering his name as he administered the latest beating, his brother screaming it as their dad beat them again – they’d only been four-year-olds that time and he could still smell the tobacco and whisky their dad had favoured. He remembered his dad shouting his name from the bottom of the stairs, and then eventually, how, after he’d killed his father, he’d finally decided to change his name. No one had known he existed back then, he vaguely remembered being sent to school on alternate days to his brother, never together. And then his dad had told him little John had died. And he became even more the secret, hidden in cupboard under the stairs.
He shook with anger. He’d done his best to bury those feelings and now here she was, this bitch, bringing all those memories back. His temper got the better of him, and he lost it completely, his fists flailing towards Ben’s face repeatedly.
He didn’t notice Jacob behind him until his tied hands appeared round his neck from behind and tightened, cutting off his air supply. He roared feebly, and pushed himself to his feet, throwing himself backwards. Jacob hit the wall behind with such force a crack appeared in the plaster. He tried to keep his hands taut, but Stan swivelled and pulled himself free.
Jacob had never seen such hate in anyone before. The killer stood before him with eyes sparkling with anger. He was getting off on the violence of it all, and Jacob just managed to raise his arms in time to block the first punch from the large man. Stan was stockier than he was, but Jacob had fought bigger. His military training kicked in, and he leaned on the wall while using his good leg to swipe Stan’s feet from under him, so he hit the deck with a curse.
Jacob didn�
��t want him to get back up though; pulling back he kicked Stan in the stomach with as much force as he could muster. He heard the man grunt as his breath left him.
The movement caused his bad leg to give way, and Jacob fell heavily, landing beside Stan. Jacob pulled himself to his knees, but Stan threw a punch, connecting hard with the side of Jacob’s nose which started pouring blood. While Jacob struggled to regain his feet, Stan connected another punch, and Jacob flew sideways, his head hitting the solid pine chest on the landing. Black curtains were closing in on his vision from both sides, but he knew if he passed out, he and Ben would be dead. He groaned, blinking rapidly as he tried to stay conscious.
Stan advanced again, and knowing how to incapacitate the man before him, he raised his leg high and slammed his boot down on to Jacob’s thigh. Jacob screamed, and unable to keep the darkness at bay, he passed out.
Stan turned back to Ben. She was still in the position he’d left her, her face bloodied and swollen from the rain of punches. How does she know my name?
He slapped her across the face hard, smiling as she moaned in response. He watched as she tried to open her eyes.
He wasn’t expecting her foot to hit his groin with such force.
Stan fell to his knees, his hands cupping his privates as pain coursed through him and he struggled to breathe.
Ben had got to her feet and now her training finally kicked in. She connected her foot with his jaw using a roundhouse kick, then kicked him again in the stomach.
She wanted to hurt him. Hell, she wanted to kill him for all he’d done to her. Her leg seemed to have a mind of its own as she kept kicking. She didn’t register the tears streaming down her face, the groan behind her, or even the sudden commotion on the stairs.
The first she knew of Ali’s presence was when he placed his arms around her and pulled her away from her task of destroying the man who had almost destroyed her. She felt herself go weightless as he lifted her and turned her from Stan’s inert body. Several officers squeezed past her and one held him immobile as another applied cuffs to his wrists and read him his rights.
Ben finally saw the uniforms, heard their chatter through the haze of her fear-fuelled rage, and slumped in Ali’s arms, her adrenaline finally spent.
‘It’s OK, Ben. I’ve got you,’ said Ali softly, turning her around to face him.
He watched her composure slip and instinctively knew she wouldn’t want Stan to see her cry. Leading her, he took her into the bedroom and sat her on the bed.
But Ben’s tears didn’t arrive. A look of horror flashed over her face. ‘Jacob!’ She got to her feet and tried to run past Ali onto the landing. He was going to stop her, but realising she needed to see Jacob for herself, he let her go. Stan had already been removed from the landing, and two officers were knelt beside Jacob. He’d woken moments ago, just in time to see them cuffing Stan, and his face was panicked as he looked around for Ben.
When his eyes finally settled on her face, his expression eased.
‘Help me up?’ he asked the man beside him.
Ben watched as he held the man’s shoulder and stood. She knew his leg would be agony, could still hear his scream in the back of her mind. She wasn’t surprised when he grimaced, leaning back against the wall, his face turning ashen.
‘Jesus,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Lean on me,’ she said softly, positioning her shoulder under his so she could take his weight. Her ribs were throbbing and when she took his weight they started pounding with pain. But she ignored it, she could check them later.
Ali followed them downstairs to the living room.
‘I’ve got an ambulance crew en route to check you both out. We can take your statements a little later.’
‘How did you know?’ asked Ben, suddenly curious.
‘Charlie found cameras in Clarice’s house and it came to me that he had to have placed cameras here, too. I didn’t know he was going to be here. I was coming to alert you to the cameras. Then Mrs Wright to the back of you phoned me to say he was in your kitchen.’
‘Mrs Wright? Oh, you mean Agnes? She had your number? I’ll pop over in a couple of days and thank her.’
The conversation was progressing with normalcy, something that both Ben and Jacob didn’t feel. She wanted to be alone with him and instinctively leaned into him for comfort. He placed his hand at the base of her spine and stroked lightly, picking up on how she felt.
Ali also noticed the movement. ‘I’ll let the crew check you out. If you don’t need to go to hospital, we’ll be booking a room in a hotel for you. This house is a crime scene, at least for now.’
Within an hour both Ben and Jacob were wearing hospital scrubs and had been allocated a private room together on the Trauma Ward. Jacob had phoned TJ and updated her, and despite her wanting to come straight down, he’d asked her to wait until the next day. Ben had decided not to wake Aoife and Grace, despite needing to hear their voices. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
For now, they both lay in separate beds, their wounds treated.
‘Hell of a night. It’s nice to finally have some peace and quiet.’
‘I miss Grace, but I’m so glad she wasn’t here. Remind me to get your friend the biggest bottle of whisky I can find for your friend as a thank you.’
Jacob smiled. ‘He’ll love that. This bed feels awfully big.’ He glanced at her hopefully.
She grinned back. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’
She got onto his bed and positioned herself in the crook of his shoulder, her head resting on him lightly. The only sound in the room was their breathing, at least until Ben gave a slight hiccup. Jacob had already felt her tears wetting the top of the scrubs he wore, and he pulled her tightly to him, kissed her on the head, and whispered, ‘It’s OK. We’re OK. You cry if you want to.’
He almost felt like crying himself to be fair, but he didn’t. He just held Ben with the silent promise that he’d never let her go.
Epilogue
Mitchell Brown lay in the small bed in a quiet corner of the hospital. It turned out the rumours that you hear about prisoners not liking rapists were true.
The attack had happened a couple of days previously, the fourth day since the trial ended and he’d been sent down for life. He’d kicked himself constantly for all the evidence the prosecution had used about him – DNA on Clarice’s cheek, evidence from the attack on Ben and Jacob, they’d even managed to trace his IP address back and seize his computers. That and his trophy box – his teeth gritted together as he thought of his precious trophies in someone else’s possession. All of it combined had been enough to allow the judge to give him the harshest sentence he could. Consecutive life sentences without the eligibility for parole. And it’s all her fault. Fucking Bree – I should have finished her off the first time round. Before she grew a set of balls.
He shook his head slightly, grimacing under the false lighting in the segregated hospital room. Even with all his fighting skills, he hadn’t stood a chance against the other prisoners. They’d pounded his ribs until one had splintered, puncturing his lung. His face was a mass of cuts and stitches, swollen and discoloured with bruising. And he could hardly see anything out of his left eye; the doctors had said they didn’t think his sight would recover. His right hand had been placed on a pillow, the pins sticking out at odd angles, after it had been mangled as one of the prisoners methodically broke every bone, the damage injuring the nerves in his hand.
He was in the room alone, staring at the grey walls and wondering how he could get out of this. He’d started refusing pain medication yesterday, wanting to be more alert in case an opportunity arose that he could take advantage of. Not that he really believed one would. The two prison guards outside the only entrance to the room would stop him if he tried and he was in no condition to take them on.
The doctor had made the decision not to allow him to be cuffed to the bed though, allowing him unrestricted movement, well, as unrestricted one could be with chest
injuries and a hand and eye that no longer worked.
Still, at least he was ready. At first the pain had been unbearable. He’d actually thought he was going to die as he was transported to the hospital, gasping for breath and in a sea of pain. He vaguely remembered being wheeled down to surgery, but when he’d awoken the pain had eased. The doctor had no idea of his childhood, didn’t know he could take a lot more pain than most people could. The doctor had been nice to him, she’d spoken to him like a human being, and he’d played the part well, a solitary tear confirming to her that he wasn’t strong enough to stroke a kitten, let alone escape.
Yesterday, he’d stood for a minute, feeling waves of pain and dizziness drift over him as he held the side of the bed for support. He needed to be able to handle it, able to react if an escape opportunity appeared. It was this hope that was keeping him strong. He’d stood several times after that, and today had walked round the entire room a few times.
He heard the door open with a click and closed his undamaged eye to a slit, watching as three people entered. The nurse checked his vitals then went to the chart at the end of the room. The prison guard was young, still green. He hadn’t been in the job two minutes and it showed. The older ones would have been stood next to Mitchell, not trusting that he looked asleep.
Mitchell felt a fold of hope unfurl.
The third person was a handyman of sorts. He was in his fifties with a paunch belly and was wearing overalls and carrying a toolbox. He set it down on the floor to Mitchell’s left and pulled the shelves apart, removed a wrench and spanner and set to work on the oxygen supply pipe in the next bay along. His back was turned, concentrating on the task at hand.
The guard was flirting with the nurse, and she was smiling back, both totally engrossed in each other.
Without a sound, Mitchell reached down into the toolbox and liberated a tool. He had no idea what it was when he grabbed it, but the metal was cold in his hand as he slid it underneath his body so it was hidden under the curve of his back. He gave a groan to cover any noise that might have been noticed, and the nurse hurried over in response.
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