Compulsion

by Shaun Hutson

  The stairs were blocked by Fuller and Harry Holland.

  Brown hurtled down the corridor towards the window at the far end.

  Eva Cole was helping Helen Kennedy to her feet, the other residents were pursuing Brown.

  Fuller still clutched a pair of pliers.

  Tanner had snatched up the claw hammer

  Errington, squinting through his one remaining lens, bent to retrieve the secateurs.

  Holland was holding the bolt cutter

  Ronni saw Brown tug at several doors along the corridor.

  They were all locked.

  He looked back at the steadily advancing residents, then turned and glanced at the sash window again.

  The fury and bravado on his face had been replaced by fear and desperation.

  He struggled with the lock on the window, but it wouldn’t budge.

  The residents were close now.

  Less than ten yards from him.

  Ronni saw the realization in his eyes.

  There was only one hope and he knew it.

  BROWN DIDN’T HESITATE. He drove his fist through the glass and the entire pane disintegrated.

  Huge shards of crystal exploded into the night. Some of the lethal points cut his arm and hand. Blood spurted onto the white frame of the window.

  The youth hauled himself through the window, fragments of glass gouging the flesh of his back and legs.

  He struggled onto the outside sill and balanced precariously there before reaching up towards the guttering.

  “No.” screamed Ronni.

  Brown dug his fingers into the plastic piping and began to haul himself upwards, towards the roof.

  Harry Holland prepared to grab the boy, but Fuller held him back.

  Brown felt searing pain in both shoulders as he tried to support his weight on his arms.

  Ronni saw him trying to get a foothold on the brickwork.

  There was an ominous creak from above him and the guttering snapped under his grip.

  Brown tried to climb more quickly.

  He could feel the slates of the roof against his fingertips.

  If only he could pull himself up ... A portion of the guttering came free and fell to the ground twenty feet below.

  Brown shouted in fear, but clung on.

  “Pull him back in,” Ronni shouted frantically.

  “He’s going to fall.”

  “Leave him,” snarled Fuller.

  Brown felt the cold wind whipping around him.

  Felt his grip loosening.

  Felt the guttering split once again.

  Had he been stronger he may have been able to hold on, but Ronni doubted it.

  The guttering came away with a loud crack.

  Brown was still clutching it when he fell.

  He had time for one short scream, then he hit the ground with a sickening thud.

  Ronni pushed past Harry Holland and gazed down at the boy’s prone body.

  A steadily widening pool of blood was spreading around his head.

  For interminable seconds no one moved; then Fuller touched Colin Glazer on the shoulder.

  “Bring him back inside,” he said and Glazer hurried towards the stairs, accompanied by Donald Tanner.

  “He’s dead, Jack,” Ronni snarled.

  “Satisfied?”

  Fuller gazed down at the boy.

  THEY DIDN’T BOTHER trying to carry the body.

  They merely took a leg each and pulled.

  Colin Glazer and Donald Tanner dragged Graham Brown’s corpse across the wet grass towards the stone steps leading up to the main entrance of Shelby House.

  What was left of the head bumped against each of the stairs. Portions of shattered skull stuck on the stone. They left a trail of blood across the porch.

  Glazer thought that it would have to be cleaned up.

  There was lots of it.

  They pulled the dead youth into the corridor, careful not to step in the crimson fluid still pouring out from his pulverized cranium.

  Tanner locked the main door once again, then looked questioningly at his companion.

  They both heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Tut him in the basement with the others,” Jack Fuller called.

  “And what then, Jack?” Ronni demanded, watching as Brown’s body was dragged along the polished floor, the familiar crimson trail marking its passage.

  “We’ll bury him later,” Fuller said.

  “In the grounds.”

  Barbara Eustace appeared in the doorway of the day room. She manoeuvred her wheelchair so that she was close to Ronni, one of her tyres leaving a pattern on the floor as it rolled through the wide streak of blood. The older woman barely blinked as she watched Brown being hauled away in the direction of the basement.

  “What about the other one?” she asked.

  “We’ll deal with him next,” said Fuller.

  “It’ll be all over then.”

  “All over?” Ronni rasped.

  “It’s only just starting. You’ve killed someone. That boy is dead.”

  She jabbed a ringer in the direction of Brown’s corpse.

  “He died while trying to break in,” Fuller said, flatly.

  “Is that your story? Have you had it prepared from the beginning? Just in case?” She looked at the other faces too.

  “No one will know any different,” Harry Holland offered.

  “There’s no reason why he should ever be found,” George Errington added, squinting through the one remaining lens of his spectacles.

  Ronni ran a hand through her hair. She felt like tearing the brown strands from her scalp in frustration.

  Take the tools into the basement,” Fuller said, turning to his companions.

  “We’ll finish it there.”

  Harry Holland and Donald Tanner hurried upstairs to recover the items they needed.

  Fuller himself moved off towards his room and disappeared inside.

  Ronni looked around her helplessly.

  Colin Glazer nudged open the door of the basement and slapped on the lights, then he stepped inside and hauled Brown’s body in behind him. He pushed the dead youth and watched as the body tumbled down the stairs, landing heavily at the bottom.

  Carl Thompson looked up, his eyes wide.

  Beside him, tied to a chair once more, Donna Freeman was unconscious.

  Blood was still dribbling from her mouth and dripping from the stumps of her fingers.

  Ronni glanced down the corridor towards the main doors.

  The keys were still in the lock.

  If she could reach them she could slip out.

  As easy as that. Just run. Let yourself out, then lock the door from the outside. Go on. Do it.

  She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, avoiding the trail of blood that slicked the shining floor.

  Eva Cole shot out a hand to grab her, but missed.

  Ronni was already half-way down the corridor.

  She didn’t look back.

  She had her hand on the key.

  Just a quick turn and you’re free. Out of this madhouse.

  “Get away from the door.”

  She recognized Jack Fuller’s voice.

  Ronni turned the key.

  “Get away from there or I swear to God I’ll kill you,” he bellowed.

  Ronni glanced back in the direction of the shout.

  Fuller had the Smith &. Wesson .38 gripped in his fist.

  The weapon was aimed at Ronni.

  “LocK THE DOOR and step away from it.”

  Ronni looked first at the yawning barrel of the pistol, then at Fuller’s face.

  She thought about telling him that he was bluffing. That he wouldn’t shoot her.

  She remained motionless, her hand on the key.

  “Lock it,” Fuller shouted.

  Still Ronni hesitated.

  Fuller raised the weapon so that it was pointed at her head.

  Ronni could feel her heart thudding madly against he
r ribs.

  She held his gaze, her hand still on the key.

  Fuller thumbed back the hammer.

  “I won’t let you stop us now, Ronni,” he said quietly.

  She removed her hand slowly.

  “What would you have done if you’d got out?” he enquired.

  “Gone to the police? Told them what had happened here? I suppose you’d have said we were to blame. That you were no part of it. Do you think they’d have believed you? I told you before, you’re as guilty as we are in the eyes of the law.”

  Ronni stood gazing at the .38. She didn’t doubt for one second that, if he was forced to, Jack Fuller would use the gun.

  “Bring me the key,” he demanded and she took it from the lock without a second thought.

  Fuller accepted it and dropped it into his pocket.

  He pressed the gun against Ronni’s temple.

  As she felt the cold metal she almost screamed.

  “You could have made it so easy,” Fuller snarled.

  Ronni closed her eyes, her body shuddering.

  “Jack, please ‘ He cut her short.

  “Don’t beg like one of those little bastards,” he hissed, pushing the barrel harder against her head.

  She felt his hand on her shoulder, pushing her towards the basement.

  Apart from Barbara Eustace, the other residents were already gathered in the subterranean room.

  Waiting.

  “I thought you would have helped us, Veronica,” said Barbara, a note of disappointment in her voice.

  Ronni allowed herself to be shoved through the basement door.

  There was blood on the door frame and the stairs and as she looked down she could see Graham Brown’s body lying spreadeagled on the stone floor.

  “You’ll never get away with this, Jack,” Ronni said.

  “Please stop now.”

  “Why?” Fuller wanted to know.

  She had no answer.

  As they reached the top of the stairs she turned to face him.

  It was then that Fuller pushed her.

  Ronni clutched at empty air for a second, then fell. She screamed briefly before the sound subsided into a moan of pain as she tumbled down the stairs, her head connecting sharply with the steps, her shoes flying loose.

  She bounced off the last step and cracked her head hard against the stone floor, blacking out for several seconds.

  She was aware of something warm and wet running down the side of her face and she realized she’d cut her head open.

  As she tried to rise, she saw Brown’s battered face only inches from her.

  His eyes were still open, fixing her in a sightless stare.

  Again she tried to drag herself upright.

  She saw Fuller descending the stairs, the gun still in his hand.

  Several of the other residents were advancing towards her.

  Her head throbbed.

  She couldn’t focus.

  Nausea gripped her and she knew she was going to pass out.

  The floor felt cold beneath her.

  She hoped it might keep her conscious.

  It didn’t.

  WHY THE HELL were the lights out?

  Andy Porter peered through the Peugeot’s windscreen and wondered why Shelby House was in darkness.

  The tyres crunched gravel as he guided the car slowly up the long driveway towards the building, his headlights cutting through the blackness.

  It was late, but not one light anywhere, inside or out?

  Was something wrong?

  He glanced to his left and right, looking for any signs of movement in the tall bushes that flanked the driveway.

  If those kids had come back, there was no telling what had happened.

  Surely there should be some kind of security lighting.

  A room light or ... As he followed the gentle curve of the drive he finally spotted some lights inside the building.

  He assumed they were in residents’ rooms.

  One on the ground floor. One on the first floor.

  But that was it.

  Andy brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine. He swung himself out of the vehicle, struck immediately by the solitude.

  The building was further back from the road than he’d realized. What little traffic noise there was barely registered.

  Andy stood beside the car for a moment and lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag on it, then set off for the main doors of Shelby House.

  He saw the blood as he reached the steps.

  Lots of it.

  Was it blood?

  He knelt and slowly pushed one index finger into the crimson fluid.

  He rolled it between his fingertips. Sniffed it.

  It was blood. No mistake. No joke.

  Some had begun to congeal, but most of it was still glistening wetly.

  Andy could see the trail led right up to the doors.

  He wiped his fingertips on his jeans and glanced in the direction from which the trail had come.

  He saw more blood on the grass nearby.

  His heart began to thump a little quicker as he followed the crimson slick past several ground-floor windows.

  Past the makeshift bars that guarded them.

  Just what the hell had been going on here?

  There was a large puddle of fluid just ahead of him. It had sprayed out several feet in all directions and he could see splashes on the walls of the building.

  He heard a noise behind him.

  Andy spun round, his breath clouding in the air.

  Was someone watching him from the bushes?

  He squinted into the blackness, but could see nothing.

  There was a torch in the car. If only he’d brought it with him.

  He hurried back around to the front of the building, following the trail of blood onto the porch.

  Again he looked across the well-manicured lawns towards bushes and trees, but saw nothing.

  He took a final drag on his cigarette, then tossed the butt away.

  For fleeting seconds, he wondered if he should just get in his car and drive to the nearest phone box Get the police now.

  Show them what he’d found.

  Tell them he could get no answer from the phones at Shelby House.

  No. It could wait.

  He ran a hand through his hair and prepared to knock on the main doors.

  RONNI COULDN’T MOVE.

  At first she thought that the fall had paralysed her.

  That the bang on the head had affected the feeling in her arms and legs.

  She blinked hard, trying to clear her vision.

  Images swam into sharp focus, then drifted out again.

  Her head was throbbing, but when she flexed her fingers she realized that there was no paralysis in her limbs.

  She was tied to a chair.

  The body of Graham Brown had been wrapped in some sheets and rolled to one side of the basement.

  Ronni could see the blood soaking through the linen around his head. Towels had also been wound around the pulped skull, but they too were heavily stained with crimson.

  To her right, Donna Freeman was also bound securely to a chair, her head lolling onto her chest.

  Ronni wasn’t sure whether the girl was still unconscious or dead.

  Carl Thompson was seated opposite her.

  There was still tape across his mouth, muffling his grunts of anger and fear.

  Every now and then he would lurch violently against the rope that held him so firmly.

  Ronni watched him impassively.

  George Errington was standing behind him holding a pair of pliers.

  So too was Harry Holland.

  Jack Fuller gripped the .38 in his left hand and one of the chisels in his right hand.

  “All you needed to do was keep out of the way,” Fuller told her.

  Ronni looked briefly at him, then across at Thompson.

  “Well, now you can watch,” Fuller continued.

  He no
dded towards Thompson and George Errington slipped the pliers over his index finger as far as the second knuckle.

  Ronni shook her head.

  Errington pressed down on the pliers and severed the finger with ease.

  Ronni screamed.

  Thompson roared his agony into the gag.

  Harry Holland repeated the process with the youth’s other hand and two digits lay like bloated, bloodied worms on the stone floor beside him.

  Thompson strained against the ropes like a man in an electric chair. His eyes were bulging insanely in the sockets. The veins in his neck and temple throbbed so powerfully they threatened to burst.

  Ronni tried to turn her head, but Fuller gripped her hair and forced her to watch.

  “You should be thanking us, Ronni,” he hissed.

  “Remember who he is.” He nodded towards Thompson.

  “Remember who they all are. The ones who killed your father. Thank us.”

  Two more of Thompson’s fingers were cut off.

  Ronni wanted to scream, but all she could manage was a low whimper.

  Tears were coursing down her cheeks.

  “Why don’t you just kill him?” she shouted.

  “That’s not what we intended. I explained that.”

  Holland and Errington moved with disconcerting speed and efficiency.

  Just the little fingers and the thumbs now remained on Thompson’s hands. His struggles had become less frantic. It was as if the pain had sapped his strength. He only moved sporadically now, driven by the pain rather than anything else.

  His thumbs were cut off and Ronni saw the blood spurt furiously from the stumps.

  Thompson slumped backwards, seconds from oblivion.

  Harry Holland struck him hard across the face, shocking him back to consciousness.

  Thompson’s eyes rolled in the sockets, ‘;07-‘ but Holland hit him again.

  “Don’t pass out, you bastard,” the older man snarled.

  Donald Tanner stepped forward and, at first, Ronni couldn’t see what he held in his hand.

  Only when he lifted it before him did she realize it was an open razor.

  The fluorescents glinted coldly on the polished steel.

  “Blind him,” said Fuller quietly.

  Again Ronni screamed.

  Tanner raised the sharpened metal and moved closer to Thompson, who was frantically trying to jerk his head left and right.

  George Errington grabbed him and held him still.

  Tanner had the blade inches from the youth’s left eye.

  He rested the cutting edge against Thompson’s cheek.

  A single tear ran down his face and puddled on the blade.