by Shaun Hutson
What were they doing in that room across the corridor?
Again she looked at the severed telephone cable on the other side of the room.
And if it was connected, who would you ring?
Desperation. Anxiety. Anger.
Emotions whirled around inside her head until she felt her skull would explode.
And, strongest of all, was the crushing feeling of helplessness.
Ronni ran a hand through her hair and approached the door once more.
If you pound away long enough, they’ve got to come.
She began hammering on the door again.
DONNA FREEMAN FELT the pliers being slipped over her index finger and manoeuvred as far as the second knuckle. She sensed the pressure on the bone increasing and, with horror, realized what Errington was about to do.
The jaws of the pliers tightened.
Donna tried to scream through the gag and fresh tears began to drench her cheeks.
She tried desperately to pull her hands free, but her wrists were gripped too tightly.
“I-I’m not sure about this,” Glazer murmured.
“Look at her. Look at what we’re doing.”
“Just keep your fucking mouth shut and do what you’re told,” Fuller rasped, drawing glances from the other residents before returning their gaze to the girl squirming on the mattress.
“I won’t have anybody go weak on me now.”
Glazer gulped and nodded.
Errington adjusted his grip on the twin handles of the pliers and prepared to put all his weight into the cut.
It shouldn’t be too difficult.
The jaws were sharp and the girl’s fingers were slim.
The bone wouldn’t be too thick.
He pushed his glasses back on his nose with one finger, then used both hands on the pliers, increasing the pressure.
A thin trickle of blood dribbled from the split skin.
Donna continued to shriek in agony; it sounded like someone bellowing through a pillow.
Errington pressed down, his teeth gritted with the effort. He heard the crack of bone, then the jaws of the pliers cut almost effortlessly through the digit.
The severed end fell to the floor.
Errington completed his task, the middle fingers severed with similar speed, and was surprised at how much blood there was. They had come off with relative ease. Donna had blacked out by the time he had got to the third finger.
Blood jetted from the stump of the little finger and he moved back slightly as the crimson spurts almost splashed his trousers. The radial arteries spouted uncontrollably from the mutilated hands, some soaking into the mattress.
There was more on the floor on either side of the bed.
Helen Kennedy gathered the severed fingers and wrapped them in a towel.
Donna’s body was quivering slightly. Fuller thought it must be an unconscious state of shock.
He took the pliers from Errington and wiped them on the mattress, then reached for the gag that covered Donna’s mouth.
“We’ll do this while she’s out. It’ll be easier,” he said.
“We’d better sit her up.”
He tore the tape free while Donald Tanner and Eva Cole undid the straps that held Donna so securely to the bed.
Tanner slid his hands beneath her armpits and dragged her upright, her head lolling forward onto her chest, her dishwater-blonde hair spilling across her shoulders.
“Hold her head, Harry,” Fuller said.
Holland crouched beside the bed and did as he was instructed.
There was a thin ribbon of mucus trickling from one corner of Donna’s mouth, but Holland ignored it and prised open her mouth.
He gripped her hair tightly, holding her head immobile, then he used his thumb and index finger to reach into her mouth and pull her tongue into view.
Fuller nodded.
Eva Cole handed him the secateurs.
Ronni raised the chair above her head, then hurled it at the door with a furious grunt.
The wooden structure simply disintegrated under the impact.
Two of the legs came away, the seat splintered and the back broke up into half a dozen pieces of varying lengths and thicknesses.
Ronni surveyed the destruction, then picked up one of the chair legs, hefting it before her like a club. She began whacking the door handle with as much force as she could muster.
Perspiration beaded on her forehead and she could feel her blouse sticking to her back as she continued with her furious assault.
The handle bent under the sustained attack.
Inspired by her moment of triumph, Ronni redoubled her efforts.
Paint began to flake away as she battered the door, dents appearing in the partition as stray blows missed their target.
She couldn’t be sure how long she’d been smashing away at the handle when she heard someone in the corridor outside call her name.
Ronni struck the door two or three more times, then backed off, her breath coming in gasps.
“Open the door!” she shouted defiantly.
Silence.
“Let me out!” Ronni persisted.
She heard the unmistakable sound of the key turning in the lock and, a second later, the door opened.
Colin Glazer stood there, looking first at Ronni’s sweat-sheathed face, then at the lump of wood she held.
Donald Tanner was behind him.
“What are you going to do with that?” Glazer asked, nodding towards the chair leg.
Ronni sucked in a deep breath and dropped the wood.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“Who’s in that room?” She pointed past the two men towards the door opposite.
“The girl,” Tanner told her.
Ronni took a step towards the two men and was surprised when they both allowed her to pass.
“You should see, Ronni,” Tanner said flatly.
“What have you done to her?”
“What she deserved,” Glazer said softly, as if convincing himself.
“A punishment to fit her crimes,” Tanner added.
Ronni moved towards the door, listening for any sounds from within.
There were none.
Had they killed her?
One part of her wanted to rush into the room. The other was afraid to.
“Go in,” Tanner instructed. He pushed open the door and it swung lazily back on its hinges.
Ronni paused at the threshold. She could see Harry Holland, Helen Kennedy and George Errington standing in the dimly lit room peering in the direction of the bed.
“Come in, Ronni,” Jack Fuller called.
As she stepped inside she was aware of a powerful coppery odour.
There was something repulsively familiar about the stench.
As she moved into the room, she realized what it was.
She looked in the direction of the bed.
Then wished she hadn’t.
RONNI DIDN’T KNOW whether to scream or vomit.
She did neither.
She merely dropped to her knees, her eyes bulging madly in the sockets, transfixed by the sight before her.
At first she wondered if what she was staring at was some kind of bizarre joke.
The figure that was propped up on the bed didn’t look like a human being. It bore more resemblance to a blood-drenched mannequin.
The crimson fluid was smeared all over it.
The lank, dishwater-blonde hair was matted with it.
The bare mattress was sodden.
The pale flesh was spattered too.
The hands looked as if they’d been dipped in red paint.
When Ronni saw that the fingers and thumbs had been cut off she felt her stomach somersault.
The girl’s bra was soaked in blood, most of which seemed to have come from her face and head.
As her head lolled back against the wall, Ronni saw why.
Her mouth was open, but it resembled little more than an open w
ound, filled with dark clots of blood. Through the tumescent lumps, Ronni could see several cracked teeth. There was also a small cut on the bottom lip that was pumping out fresh crimson fluid.
The whites of Donna’s eyes were now pure red, gleaming in the half-light like some creature from a nightmare.
“What have you done to her eyes?” she gasped, barely able to force the words out.
There was blood and clear liquid running down Donna’s cheeks.
“What have you done?” Ronni repeated, her voice little more than a whisper.
“Punished her,” said Fuller flatly.
“She desecrated her own body,” Donald Tanner said.
“Abused it. Look at those marks on her arms she injected filth into her veins regularly.”
He indicated the track marks in the crook of her arms.
“Now she’s got some other piercings,” Tanner hissed.
“Oh my God,” Ronni murmured.
“You were right, Ronni,” Fuller admitted.
“If we’d released her she would have told the police what went on here. They all would. We’d have been the ones in trouble and that isn’t right.”
“Now she can’t tell anyone what happened,” George Errington added.
“You’ve killed her,” Ronni said, staring hypnotically at Donna’s ravaged body.
“She’s not dead,” Fuller assured her.
“We’ll release her soon. And the others when we’ve punished them too.”
“The police will come,” Ronni insisted.
“Why should they?” Fuller challenged.
“Why should they suspect us? And, as I said, no one will be able to say what happened here.”
Ronni felt a wave of nausea sweep over her and she took a step back.
Helen Kennedy put out a hand to steady her.
“We cut off her fingers so she couldn’t write down who had done this to her,” Fuller began.
“We cut out her tongue so she couldn’t tell anyone. We blinded her so she couldn’t find her way back here and identify us.”
Ronni finally managed to tear her horrified gaze from Donna’s immobile form. She put a hand over her mouth.
“We’ll do the same to the others,” Fuller continued.
“This is madness,” Ronni said, shaking her head.
“You’re all insane.”
The coppery stench of blood filled her nostrils and she gritted her teeth as she fought back the urge to vomit.
“We’ve finished with her now,” Fuller insisted, nodding towards the bed and its reeking, bloodied occupant.
Colin Glazer and Harry Holland crossed to Donna. One slid his hands beneath her armpits, the other grabbed her ankles and they carried her out of the room.
Ronni saw some drops of blood dripping onto the polished floor of the corridor.
“She’ll die,” snapped Ronni.
“No she won’t,” Fuller said with an air of certainty.
“Her wounds have been treated correctly. She’s lost some blood, but not enough to kill her.”
“And you’d know, wouldn’t you, Jack?”
“I was a medical orderly, Ronni.”
“You’re a butcher,” Ronni snarled angrily.
“If you don’t want to watch, I suggest you go back to your room,” Fuller told her.
“Who’s next?” she wanted to know.
“Brown. The youngest.”
“And you’re going to mutilate him the same way?”
“We’re going to punish him, yes.”
Ronni slumped back against the wall, her head spinning.
From below, she heard footsteps ascending.
ANDY PORTER GAZED at the television screen, but little of what he saw registered.
He reached for the mug of tea on the table beside him and took a sip.
Cold.
He winced.
He thought about making himself a hot one, but once he wandered out into the kitchen the idea didn’t seem so enticing.
Andy glanced across at the phone on the wall.
The list of numbers pinned next to it.
The doctor.
The emergency dentist.
The hospital.
Various friends.
Shelby House.
“Don’t ring here again, it disturbs the residents.”
Ronni’s words still echoed in his ears.
Andy crossed to the phone and ran his gaze down the list of numbers.
He paused when he reached that belonging to Alison Dean.
He picked up the receiver.
What are you doing? Why are you calling her?
He pressed down on the cradle.
Gordon Faulkner.
What’s the point in ringing him? He works with Ronni.
Andy had met him once or twice. He seemed a decent enough bloke.
He should be doing night shifts at Shelby House, not Ronni. Especially with what had been going on there lately. A woman shouldn’t be left alone there at night. Especially not his own wife.
He looked at Alison’s number again.
She and Ronni had been friends for years. Perhaps she’d know what was going on. Why Ronni hadn’t been home for two nights.
Again he pressed the handset to his ear and, this time, he jabbed the first three digits of the number. He hesitated a moment, then pressed the others.
At the other end it was ringing.
And ringing.
“Come on,” Andy murmured.
There was a connection.
He heard a voice.
Fuck it. Answering machine.
He put down the phone and turned away irritably.
As he did, the phone rang. Andy snatched it up.
“Hello?” he said, wondering if it might actually be Ronni.
He didn’t recognize the voice.
“Could I speak to Mrs. Veronica Porter, please?” it said.
“This is her husband. Can I take a message?”
“Yes. We’ve been trying to contact your wife ‘ “Who is this?” Andy asked, cutting the caller short.
“Doctor Greenwood. We met at the hospital when your father-in-law was admitted.”
“Right, sorry. Is he all right?”
“Yes, Mr. Porter, I’m delighted to say he’s woken from his coma. Obviously it’s still early days, but there seems to be definite progress.”
“And my wife doesn’t know that?”
“She asked me to call her at work if there were any developments, but I haven’t been able to reach her.”
“How long ago did you try?”
“I’ve tried several times in the last two hours, but there’s no answer.”
Andy frowned and glanced at his watch. 11.26 p.m.
“Mr. Porter?”
“Sorry. 1”U call her, Doctor, and thanks for ringing.”
He hung up.
Andy dialled the number of Shelby House and waited.
He gave it ten rings. He actually counted them. Then he hung up and tried again.
This time he waited even longer.
Nothing.
“Fuck this,” he rasped, hanging up.
He wandered through the living room and into the hall where he pulled on his leather jacket.
From his pocket he took his car keys.
RONNI STOOD MOTIONLESS as Graham Brown was led into the room.
Colin Glazer held one of his arms, Donald Tanner the other.
He was doing little to resist and, to Ronni, it looked as if the two older men were merely dragging him.
His head was bowed and Ronni thought she heard him whimpering quietly.
She wrinkled her nose slightly as she smelled the stench of excrement.
His underpants were smeared with it.
As he looked up, Brown saw the blood on the mattress and began to shudder. He strained against the strong hands that gripped him, then seemed to give up and allowed himself to be pushed towards the bed.
Ronni could hear him murmuring somet
hing under his breath.
It took her a moment or two to work out what it was.
“I’m sorry,” Brown whispered. The constant intonation sounding like a litany.
She saw him lay back on the bed.
Saw Harry Holland reach for one of the leather straps.
Saw the tears in Brown’s eyes.
“Please don’t do this,” Ronni said, looking at Jack Fuller.
“Call the police.”
Fuller looked straight through her.
“What’s the point?” he said flatly.
“I’m sorry,” Brown continued, looking around at the determined faces glaring at him.
He found he was sitting in a puddle of congealing blood.
There were small fragments of bone on one edge of the mattress.
He began to shudder even more uncontrollably.
George Errington reached for another of the straps.
“For God’s sake,” Ronni gasped.
Brown was sitting with his knees drawn up, his head resting on them. He glanced to his left and saw the low table and its selection of bloodied implements.
Fuller nodded and George Errington reached for one of the boy’s arms.
“Please don’t hurt me,” Brown groaned.
Errington prepared to fasten the strap in position.
“Don’t do this,” Ronni said breathlessly.
Fuller reached for a pair of the pliers.
“Strap him down,” the former medical orderly said.
Brown lashed out with a suddeness that caught everyone by surprise. He caught George Errington across the face with a blow that sent him reeling. One of the lenses was driven from the frames of his glasses. As he stepped back, the glass crunched beneath his foot.
Brown snatched up the secateurs and gripped them in one defiant fist. He struck out with the heavy blades and caught Donald Tanner across the back of one hand.
“You fucking cunts,” he snarled and sprung off the bed.
Ronni saw him lunge past Colin Glazer towards the door.
Helen Kennedy tried to grab him, but he pushed her aside with ease and a strength born of desperation. The older woman fell heavily against the door and Brown vaulted her body.
He was into the corridor now.
“Stop him!” shouted Fuller, hurrying out in pursuit.
Brown hurled the secateurs and they slammed into the wall close to Ronni’s head.
She saw him standing motionless in the corridor for long seconds, unsure of where to run.
Unsure of how to escape.