“You sick fuck!” Andrew cursed him. “You sick sick fucker!”
“Those cuts are deep, bro,” said Dom. “They ain’t ever going to heal right. Scarred for life, bitch.”
Davie agreed. The cuts on both side of Penelope’s face were thick and ragged. But, along with her shaved head and the other abuses of the night, Davie knew that the deepest scars would be the ones inside the woman’s mind. Frankie had caused damage that no amount of therapy would ever cure.
“Can I cut someone now?” Michelle asked almost innocently, as if she was an eight-year old wanting to taste her daddy’s wine.
Frankie offered out the knife to her. “Sure thing, sweets.”
Michelle took the knife and immediately headed for Rebecca.
Frankie put a hand out and stopped her. “Not so fast, baby girl. No one touches the princess but me.”
Michelle’s entire face drooped. “Seriously? Come on! Just let me cut her a little bit. Slapper thinks she’s the shit. Needs bringing down a bit, if you ask me.”
Frankie didn’t speak. He just stared at Michelle, unblinking.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “I’ll slice her dad then.”
She took the knife over to Andrew who looked back at her defiantly. “How did a nice girl like Charlie ever have a friend like you?” he asked.
Michelle hissed at him. “I kicked that bitch to the curb long time ago. Thought she was better than me.”
“That’s because she is,” said Andrew. “A maggot is better than you.”
Michelle lashed out with the knife, hitting against Andrew’s ribs with an audible clank. The knife was small and could only have entered an inch or so, but it was more than enough to make Andrew growl in pain.
“Hey,” Frankie shouted. “Watch where you’re cutting. You’ll end up killing the geezer.”
Davie sat up straight, buoyed by his big brother’s comment. Maybe he doesn’t want to kill anyone after all. Why else would he have just told Shell to be careful?
“Isn’t that what you want?” Michelle asked Frankie.
“No,” Frankie replied. “Not yet, at least. Got to make him feel it first.”
Davie sighed. The brief glimmer of hope faded away. This couldn’t go on any longer, surely? What more damage could Frankie do? Penelope would never be the same again and most likely neither would Andrew. Rebecca still had a chance, though. She could still get through this in one piece if it all ended now. Davie closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and made a decision.
I’m sorry, Frankie, but it’s time to put a stop to this.
Chapter Eighteen
Andrew was afraid, he could not deny that, but there was strength inside him, too. Strength he’d never known existed. The pain he’d experienced, and was still yet to experience, was not enough to break him – in fact it had only made his resolve stronger. He wouldn’t beg, he would not plead. The hell Frankie had put him through had changed something in Andrew. He had seen into the depth of his own physical being – the deepness of his soul – and now knew that he would never stop fighting for his family. There was no pain great enough to break him.
But things changed when Frankie slashed Pen’s face. The agony of seeing his wife’s beautiful face disfigured found a way past Andrew’s barriers and struck right at his heart. A pressure grew inside his chest that threatened to explode his very being.
Frankie approached now with a new weapon – one he hadn’t yet used to torture anyone. He held the pair of pliers at arm’s length and snapped them open and shut menacingly. “Time for your dental appointment, sir.”
Andrew sighed and let his head drop to his chest, bracing himself for another endless bout of torture. He sent his mind to a meditative place, a sea of calm indifference that offered the merest sliver of emotional sanctuary. It was a place inside of himself that he’d not known existed before tonight. Pain and suffering had forced it into existence; rending itself into Andrew’s psyche out of necessity and survival.
“I’ve never done a root canal before,” said Frankie, “but I’m sure it’ll go alright. What do you think?”
Andrew said nothing. If he did then the animal might hurt his family some more. Whatever happened, he could take it – or at least tolerate it – so long as it was done only to him.
Frankie grabbed Andrew’s lower jaw with his grubby, coked-covered fingers and yanked it open. “Dear, oh, dear. That’s some very bad tooth decay you have there. I think we’re going to have to get those teeth out ASAP. Every single one of them.”
The twins and Michelle gave a cheer as if it was the most exciting thing they’d ever heard. Andrew wondered if it was the drugs that made them that way, or if they were just born wicked. They weren’t human beings; they were baying dogs – hyenas.
Frankie shushed everyone into silence and started his procedure. Andrew spluttered and coughed as the pliers entered his mouth. They scratched against his tongue and clinked against his teeth, sending aching shudders down to the roots. Suddenly, the steel tongs clamped down on either side of a molar and Andrew felt the tooth crack beneath the sudden pressure. Agony exploded thorough his lower jaw and travelled upwards to consume his entire face. His vision blurred as the pliers twisted, side to side, yanking and wrenching the tooth away from the gum, millimetre by excruciating millimetre. Despite coming extremely near, Andrew didn’t lose consciousness. He was still awake to see Frankie make a successful extraction, holding the broken shard of enamel out in front of him like a grizzly trophy.
Andrew’s mouth filled with hot, salty blood; so much so that he thought he might drown in it. He spat endlessly to keep his mouth clear and the sight of so much gore seemed to cause a massive grin across Frankie’s twitching face.
“That shit is gross,” said Dom from a couple of meters away. “I could puke!”
“Pull another one,” Michelle screeched. “Do another before he passes out.”
Frankie took the pointed piece of enamel from the pliers and examined it between his fingers. He showed it to Andrew, waving it a couple of inches in front of his nose. “Mind if I keep this?”
The question disturbed Andrew. It was the type of thing a serial killer would do; keep a memento of his victim’s bodies. The notion of dying tonight was becoming more and more a reality to Andrew, but so was something else: If Frankie was going to kill him, he wouldn’t just stop there – couldn’t stop there. Pen and Bex were witnesses that this thug could not afford to keep around. If Andrew didn’t get free, Frankie was going to kill them all.
“Time for the next tooth,” said Frankie clicking the bloody pliers open and shut.
“STOP IT! Stop it now.”
Andrew leant sideways to see around Frankie. What he saw was Davie standing beside the sofa, facing down his brother.
Frankie spun around. “What the fuck, Davie?”
Davie’s eyes narrowed beneath the bandage around his forehead; his slim shoulders were rigid and tense. “I’m done with this, Frankie! You’ve hurt these people enough and I can’t take any more of this sick crap.”
Andrew couldn’t see Frankie’s face anymore, his back was turned, but he could tell by the stiff body language that the drugged-up psychopath was dumbfounded by his little brother’s sudden outburst.
“What’s your problem, man? This goddamn pedo ran you the-fuck-over.”
“It was an accident,” said Davie, a single decibel below a shout, “and it happened because I was running away after what you did to that girl at the chip shop. If you hadn’t taken me along I wouldn’t have got hit by any car.”
“You keep your mouth shut about that. You want me to get pinched?”
“You’re already going to get pinched. You’re planning on killing people tonight.”
So I was right, Andrew thought grimly. The lunatic really does have it in him to commit murder.
“So what?” said Frankie. “Shit happens. Long as we’re smart about it, no one will pin a thing on us.”
Davie huffed and waved his
arms. “Us? Us? I want nothing to do with this whole mess. This is all down to you and your shit-faced mates.”
“Hey, man, that’s not cool,” said Jordan from the floor.
“No,” Frankie agreed. “Not cool at all, little bro.” He marched forward and prodded a finger into Davie’s chest. “Now you chill the fuck out, little bro, or things are going to end bad for you.”
Davie didn’t move an inch. “I love you, Frankie, but if you carry on hurting these people then I ain’t your bro anymore.”
Frankie was silent for a while as he seemed to consider his next words. “You sure you want things to go down like that?”
Davie nodded and stood firm, not breaking eye-contact for a second.
Andrew sat and watched from the armchair, hardly able to breathe as he waited for an outcome to this familial confrontation – it seemed his life might very well hang in the balance. At least he’d judged Davie correctly: the boy was nothing like his older brother.
“I let them go, and I go down,” said Frankie. “You want that?”
Davie sighed. “Course not. You’re my blood.”
“So, what then? What would you have me do, Davie? You seem to be the one with all of the goddamn answers, so please enlighten me.”
“Just leave. They won’t say anything.”
Frankie laughed his head off. “You’re shitting me? Course they will!”
“Not if you threaten to send someone round to finish the job. Just like the kid in the bathtub – nothing gets said to the police and everything stays cool.”
Everything will not be cool, thought Andrew as he looked across at his catatonic wife, bleeding from her butchered face beneath a bald head. This isn’t going to end with you just walking away scot free. No way in hell.
Frankie took some time to think about things. Andrew took the same time to do some thinking of his own. If Frankie did leave, then the first thing Andrew would do was call the police. But if Frankie stayed, then he most certainly intended to commit murder. If that was the outcome then Andrew wasn’t going to go down without a fight. The agony of his tooth extraction had reawakened his senses to the point that they were on high alert. If Andrew was going to save his family it would be now while everyone was distracted.
“I’m sorry,” Frankie told his brother earnestly. “I can’t leave things now. My business isn’t done. Got to ride this thing to the end.”
I’ll end it for you right now, you son of a bitch.
Andrew leapt from the armchair and barrelled into the back of Frankie as hard as he could. The body tackle sent Frankie forward with enough force that he flipped clear over the room’s coffee table and landed awkwardly on a shoulder. Like angry bees, the twins were on him in an instant.
Andrew lunged aside as Dom attempted to grab him. The teen missed and went tumbling into the TV stand headfirst. Without thinking, Andrew swung his leg and connected with the boy’s ribs, enjoying the crunching impact it made. Michelle attacked next. The wicked little harlot screeched at him like a medieval warmaiden. Andrew had no time to consider the ethics of hitting a girl and threw the hardest punch he could. Lips and teeth mushed beneath his colliding fist and Michelle flew backwards, already unconscious on her way down to the floor.
Next up was Jordan. He came at Andrew with his arms wide, embracing him in a crushing bearhug and ramming him into the nearest wall. Andrew lost his breath as his bruised ribs impacted against the hard plasterboard. Unable to free his arms, he did the only thing he could think of: he bit Jordan in the face as hard as he could. Andrew felt his teeth slice through the succulent flesh of the boy’s cheek and felt almost orgasmic as agonised screams – that for once were not his own – filled the living room. He bit down harder, not releasing his grip until a fatty chunk of flesh fell away in his mouth. Andrew spat the morsel onto the already ruined carpet and pushed the shuddering teen away.
Andrew felt as though he was outside of his body now, controlling his rage-infected limbs from far away as they rattled with murderous intent. After being captured and subdued like an animal, Andrew was finally free – and all he wanted now was to see the blood of his captors flowing as freely as his own.
But before Andrew had a chance to sow his vengeance and free his family, he found himself once again powerless. Frankie stood in front of the sofa, a knife around Bex’s throat. She was still bound and gagged but Andrew could tell by his daughter’s eyes that she was terrified.
“Just let her go, Frankie, and I’ll let you walk out of here alive.”
“You’ll let me walk out of here alive? It’s you that’s a dead man.”
Andrew shook his head. “Shoes on the other foot now. I’m going to rip you apart first opportunity I get. Best chance you’ve got is to run.”
“You for real? I’d kill you before you even got close to me. I’m Frankie-fuckin-Walker.”
“You’re just a sad little boy that probably got abused in prison. We should all feel sorry for you – but you made a huge mistake when you took it out on my family. I’m ready to die to protect them. Are you really ready to die to stop me?”
Davie stood between the both of them. Jordan was still screaming in pain and rushed into the kitchen to tend to the ripped-open wound on his face. His brother Dom lay on the floor, rubbing his shoulder. Michelle was still unconscious. Davie put a hand up to Andrew and Frankie, like a referee at an out-of-hand boxing match. “Let’s just keep things calm, okay? If you stay where you are, Andrew, we’ll all get out of your house right now.”
“Like fuck we will,” said Frankie, still holding Rebecca at knifepoint.
Davie turned to his brother. “This has gone tits-up, man. We need to leave.”
Frankie stared at his younger brother and eventually let out a sigh. “You’re right. This is an epic fail?”
Davie nodded. “Let’s not make it suck any worse.”
“Okay. Dom, get up off the floor and fetch your brother out the kitchen. Then the both of you get Michelle and carry her useless ass out of here.” Frankie looked at Andrew, narrowed his eyes. “You come after me, gangster, and I’ll put you down permanently. Then someone will come and sort your family out for good measure. Same thing will happen if you go to the police. You get me?”
Andrew said nothing. He didn’t need to involve himself in worthless banter with a degenerate like Frankie – he could see through it all now. The police would get a call the moment he left, and if anyone came after Andrew’s family afterwards, they would regret it.
“Let my daughter go!” It wasn’t Andrew who spoke. It was Pen. She’d stood up from the sofa and was clutching the scissors – the ones used to scalp her – in her hands. No one had seen her grab them, but in the earlier ruckus she would have had every opportunity to take them.
“Let her go,” Pen repeated, pointing the scissors at Frankie’s face to further her point.
Frankie sniggered. “Or else what, you bald bitch?”
“Let her go, now!”
Andrew called out to his wife and tried to calm her down. The situation was nearly over and she didn’t need to do this. “Honey, come over to me. Everything is going to be okay in just a minute.”
But she wasn’t listening.
“Listen to your husband, sweetheart. You ain’t gonna be doing nuffin.” Frankie spat across the room and hit her chest. “Now fuck off!”
Pen rushed at Frankie with the scissors, face contorted in a witch-like grimace of utter hatred and malevolence. Frankie spun to meet her head on, holding Bex in front of him as a shield. Their bodies collided and the scissors disappeared. Andrew’s heart froze, along with every other muscle of his body. The next several seconds passed like an eternity as Frankie and his family fumbled about in a flailing scuffle.
Frankie pushed Bex against her mother and stepped away from them both. Andrew saw the blood immediately. Then he saw the scissors jutting out from his daughter’s stomach as she fell to the floor in shock. Pen looked down at Bex and let out an inhuman wail. She lunged
at Frankie again, aiming her sharp fingernails at his remorseless eyes.
Frankie struck out with his flick knife. Pen stumbled right into it. There was no sound as the blade entered the soft tissue of her throat and for a moment Andrew wasn’t sure if the injury was as real as it looked. When blood spurted, high enough to coat the ceiling, the reality of the situation became undeniably real.
“Stupid bitch,” said Frankie, looking down at Pen as she slumped to the carpet. “Dom, Jordan, pick up Michelle. We’re leaving.”
Andrew dropped to his knees, oblivious to the fleeing youths who had made his life hell before finally destroying it completely. The only thing that existed in his life right now was Penelope and Rebecca, and both of them were dying on his living room floor.
Chapter Nineteen
“Shit man. This is bad. Why the hell did you do that, Frankie?” Davie struggled to keep up with the others as they ran deeper into the estate, passing by rows of houses that became progressively smaller and unkempt. Usually Davie would have been faster than the lot of them, but with his throbbing concussion he could manage no more than a lolloping jog.
Frankie slowed down and allowed Davie to catch up. “Bitch had it coming,” he said. “She came at me like a nutcase, you saw it.”
“I saw you drive a knife into her neck when you could have just as easily punched her out.”
Frankie shrugged. It was an awkward movement to make while running. “It’s done now. No point stressing about it.”
Davie reached out and grabbed his brother’s jacket, dragging them both to a stop. “You’re trippin’. The police will be after us all within the next two minutes. There’re two women bleeding to death because of you!”
“Because of us.”
Davie shook his head, dismayed by the suggestion that he was in any way to blame. “What the hell did I do?”
“You distracted me so that Andrew could take a shot at me. Everything went schitzo after that. If you’d just kept your gob shut then everything would have been okay. I was just about to let them go. Figured I’d scared them enough to get the message.”
ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror Page 13