Roadrage

by M J Johnson

  Rain was never more glorious.

  He spent the next two minutes on his hands and knees coughing, gasping to get his breath back. Once he'd recovered enough to stand, he saw Sally's eyes were wide open; for a second he thought the worst. He was relieved to see her cough.

  "You're safe now, Sal," he assured.

  The glass in the cottage's windows had begun to shatter from the heat. The downstairs curtains were now ablaze as the fire completely took hold.

  For the first time Gil remembered Spike.

  He knew there was nothing he could do; that he had been incredibly lucky to reach Sally. He would find a moment to grieve for his old pal later.

  "Sal, you okay?" he gasped.

  There was no reply, just the same fixed expression and staring eyes as before.

  Gil remembered the gas bottles in the kitchen.

  There was a lot of heat coming from the cottage now. He dragged Sally into a sitting position and after a struggle levered her up onto his shoulder again. They were still coughing and spluttering as Gil staggered down the steps. There was a loud blast from the direction of the cottage as they reached the car; presumably the gas bottles. Gil leaned Sally against the passenger door, supporting her with his free arm while he fumbled for the keys in his jeans pocket.

  He was horrified to discover that his keys were missing.

  "Shit!" he cried.

  Without really thinking, he tried the car door, found it was open and peering into the illuminated cab saw the keys on the passenger seat. Gil grabbed them without caring to consider how they'd got there.

  He manoeuvred Sally round into a good position to get her seated. Her trance-like state was disconcerting, and if she was able to speak, so far she hadn't attempted to.

  Gil noticed something register in her eye: a flicker, apprehension perhaps.

  He turned just in time to side-step the length of scaffold pipe coming at his skull. But for Sally's signal, it would have been all over. Gil swerved, saving his head, however, the pipe still had momentum behind it and smacked into his left arm. There was a sharp explosion of pain, and Gil fell to his knees.

  His attacker, overbalanced by the unexpected change of direction, hurtled forward. Gil, without giving it any thought, used the bunch of keys protruding from his fist as a weapon. The punch landed on his assailant's cheek and was accompanied by a squeal of pain. The man let the pipe fall as his hands flew up to protect his wounded face.

  Gil, clambering to his feet, hurled himself at his enemy. They fell together onto the track, locked in bitter struggle. Not much advantage was gained by either man as they rolled about in the freezing mud. However, when Gil's hand probed the shoulder wound where he'd stabbed his attacker in the car, he did a thing that under normal circumstances would have appalled him; he inserted a finger into the wound and thrust. His enemy screamed.

  Gil may have thought he was gaining the upper hand at this stage; but he'd already learnt he daren't let up. He smashed his forehead into his assailant's nose and blood tainted black with muddy water streamed down onto the man's teeth. Both men were very much weakened but Gil's attacker seemed so far to have come off worse. Gil knew that under normal conditions he would never have stood a chance.

  The two men were almost exhausted by the combination of physical exertion and icy rain. Any blows that landed had lost almost all their power and it cost nearly as much in expended energy to give a blow as to receive it. Gil took a stomach punch and found himself gasping for breath. His assailant stood, dragging Gil up to a seated position, getting ready to strike again.

  Gil's hand trailing through the mud caught hold of something thick and metallic, the scaffold pipe, and swung it in an arc at the other man's legs. The force behind the blow was comparatively weak; however, its effect was amplified because it met the leg already injured in the door. The assailant yelped as he stumbled forward but incredibly retained his hold on Gil who unfortunately lost his grip on the pipe. The two men went tumbling over the last few yards of track, before careering across what remained of the fence and down the bank. They landed with some force on the path below.

  Gil had been in the most disadvantaged position on impact and was severely winded. He struggled for breath and tried to stand. His arms and legs had lost all power. He floundered about, punch-drunk, slipping and sliding like a child before it can walk.

  His assailant was reeling and swaying too but managed to get to his feet. He spat a tooth from his blood-covered mouth before saying, "See, I did warn you … could've saved yourself a heap of trouble. Now I'm going to kill you … then I'm going to perform an emergency abortion on your girlfriend."

  Gil cried out in agony as the man's boot connected with his injured arm. Then there came another kick, this time aimed at his stomach but which fortunately only made contact with his hip. He was unable to prevent himself from rolling towards the cliff edge.

  Again Gil tried to stagger to his feet, only to collapse again when his attacker clubbed him with a fist. Gil was finished and he knew it. He was almost at the edge; what was coming seemed inevitable. However much he wanted to save Sally and himself, it was no good; he had tried, but now he had nothing left.

  Gil's assailant pulled him to his knees, victory was plainly written on the man's face. The edge was so near, it would take only a small push to send Gil plummeting to his death.

  The attacker drew back an arm.

  Gil was vaguely aware of a shape flying down the slope through the darkness towards them. This unidentified form suddenly materialised between his attacker's legs with a flash of white. A terrible scream rang out across the cliff top, which for a moment seemed to top the howling squall of the wind and rain.

  Gil, encouraged by the small dog's tenacity, somehow found the strength to scramble to his feet and stagger away from the cliff edge. He had to watch helplessly as his assailant viciously brought his fist down on Spike, who let out a yelp before falling to the ground. The punch was followed by a kick; after this Spike didn't move again.

  By now, Gil had rekindled enough strength and loathing to throw a punch at his enemy's face. It was a feeble effort, and under normal circumstances it would have done little damage. However his assailant was much weakened too and it sent him floundering back, a couple of feet from the cliff edge.

  Both men reeled about for the next few seconds, eyes fixed on the other trying to find the strength to stay standing.

  Then Gil's assailant suddenly dropped to his knees. He looked up and grinned at Gil through bloodied teeth, "Stalemate," he panted.

  Using the terminology of chess made Gil's anger flare up into an incandescent rage.

  "Not a game!" he screamed, lunging forward with a punch that contained every remaining ounce of strength in his body; for Felix and Kate, the much-wronged Geoff Owens, PC Davies, even Michael Chilvers, and particularly for Spike.

  The killer's arms flailed as he attempted to check his balance and save himself from falling.

  Gil identified the problem and stepping forward applied a well placed shove to his assailant's chest, "Check-fucking-mate!" he said.

  There was an expression of incredulity on the killer's face as he fell, arms floundering, trying to grasp thin air. This time there was no ledge directly below to save him.

  Gil heard a dull thud as the man's body hit a rocky outcrop on its way down; swiftly followed by a more muted and distant thud as it reached the rocks at the base of the cliff; hurled, pummelled, regurgitated and then swallowed whole by the ferocious sea.

  17

  The small army of Welsh sheepdogs announced the Skoda's arrival as it juddered to a stop. The journey had been made without any gear changes because Gil's left arm was far too painful to use. He remembered Siriol and Emrys coming from the house as he staggered out of the car thinking, 'Thank God.' Beyond this he had a vague recollection of his legs turning to rubber but no memory of striking his head on the car door as he fell.

  By the time he came round he'd been carried inside a
nd Gwyneth was holding a pad against the free-flowing wound on his forehead.

  "Sally?" he asked anxiously.

  "She's calm," Gwyneth replied pointing to the sofa where Sally lay asleep under a blanket. "An ambulance is on its way, and a vet's coming out to see to your little dog. Take it easy. Rest now, Gil."

  As he closed his eyes, he thought, 'She called me Gil … I must be in a bad way.'

  The ambulance took them north to the Bronglais General Hospital in Aberystwyth. Upon arrival, they were wheeled off to be treated separately, and Gil didn't see Sally again for almost two days.

  Quite soon after they were admitted, the Dyfed-Powys police arrived, eager for information. Gil managed to give them the bare details of what had occurred that evening. A police constable was assigned to him.

  The first whole account he made was to Mullings and PC Shaw. They had reached the hospital about 1 am.

  Gil told exactly how he remembered the events unfolding. He concluded his account by saying, "I pushed him off the cliff. After all the things he'd done, I just wanted him dead."

  DCI Mullings glanced across at PC Shaw.

  The three of them were alone in the hospital room. The local constable had only moments earlier been called away to the telephone.

  Mullings peered steadily at Gil and said, "You mean he somehow got pushed from the cliff during the fight … an end he clearly intended for you."

  "No, I …" began Gil, concussed and slow on the uptake.

  "Clearly it was self-defence …" interrupted PC Shaw, as she paused in her note-taking.

  Gil looked at them uncertainly. The penny dropped. He nodded.

  "… those cliffs must have been awfully slippery on a night like this."

  "Quite treacherous," added Mullings.

  Gil was kept in the hospital for observation for thirty-six hours. During which time he appeared to possess an inexhaustible appetite for sleep. DCI Mullings and PC Shaw called in to see how he was progressing from time to time and kept him up to date with the inquiry.

  "The Ceredigion division recovered the real PC Davies' body this morning. He was in the car, exactly as you described," informed Mullings.

  "Poor chap," said Gil.

  "He was a family man," added Shaw.

  "Tragic," said Gil.

  They all nodded in agreement.

  Gil was understandably concerned about Sally. Mullings and Shaw made every effort to find out what they could and relayed this back to him. Unfortunately, there was little to tell, other than that her condition was stable. The hospital was not allowing visitors in to see her yet.

  "She can't still be unconscious?" Gil asked, his face expressing deep concern.

  "We really don't know," shrugged PC Shaw, "They've been running lots of tests on her … monitoring the effect of the Rohypnol perhaps?"

  Mullings changed the subject. "The weather is set to remain fine. They hope to bring the police car up in the morning … tricky operation I'd imagine."

  "And him?" asked Gil.

  Mullings shook his head. "Still nothing … looks like the storm took the body out to sea …"

  It seemed a cruel quirk of fate to think there might possibly be no body; no absolute finality to this matter after all.

  "I'm sure he'll turn up. Bodies generally do," Mullings paused for a moment. "An exercise book containing his notes was discovered in your car, by the way."

  "In my car?"

  "He planned using it to get away from the crime scene," explained Shaw.

  "Of course," said Gil, "Why it was unlocked and the keys were sitting on the seat."

  18

  Next morning, an uncommonly excited Mullings visited Gil with fresh information. A corpse had been retrieved from the sea, seven miles off the Ceredigion coast. The body was minus its head. It was believed this had become separated from its torso as it struck a rock on the way down the cliff. The corpse was wearing waterproof clothing and bore injuries consistent with those inflicted by Gil Harper: a knife wound in the left shoulder, contusions on the left calf, and puncture marks made by teeth to the right wrist. Most importantly, the hands were intact and exactly matched the prints the police had on file.

  19

  When Gil entered her hospital room, Sally's eyes were closed. He crept over to the bed and observed her face in repose for a few moments. He felt a mixture of emotions, but mostly a very deep sense of gratitude. His silent approach had left him with something of a quandary, and he considered exiting in order to re-enter the room more volubly, or emitting a gentle cough perhaps. These measures proved unnecessary, he'd been expected; Sally's eyes opened and her face lit up, expressing delight at seeing him. However, this first response almost immediately wavered as she took in Gil's injuries; the bruising and stitches on his face, his left arm in a sling. She couldn't hold back her tears.

  Gil stroked her hair and gently reassured, "It's finished. We're free of him."

  "You got hurt," she sobbed, reaching up to touch his face.

  "I'm fine," he said, "It looks worse than it is." This was an understatement of course. It was less than forty-eight hours since the events at the cottage, and although Gil had taken lots of rest, his body ached comprehensively. He felt like he'd doubled in age overnight.

  "How's Spike? The police weren't sure."

  "It was touch and go. He had a collapsed lung, but he's on the mend. PC Shaw drove me over to the vet's to see him this morning. He saved my life – our lives!"

  "Inspector Mullings said."

  "Of course, he'll be unbearable to live with after this!"

  "I can't wait to give him a hug," laughed Sally.

  "PC Shaw said he should be nominated for an animal of courage award."

  "I didn't know there was such a thing?"

  "Apparently so, I don't doubt he deserves one … it's just the effect it'll have on us lesser mortals … left to deal with the consequences of his celebrity ego."

  "I was told you were very brave too," said Sally.

  "Not really," shrugged Gil, "It isn't brave, is it … fighting, when you realise you're about to lose everything that really matters to you?"

  Sally wiped away a tear, "Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't leak," she said, tears streaming freely from her eyes. "I remember you carrying me downstairs and a lot of smoke. Sorry, I wasn't much use."

  "That wasn't your fault. You were totally out of it, in a trance or something. Anyway, you gave me the signal that he was coming up behind me. I don't know how you did it, but you got the message across."

  "We got through it. Thank God," replied Sally.

  "Yes, all four of us," replied Gil.

  Sally looked sheepish.

  "I wanted to tell you," she said.

  "Why didn't you?"

  "Because I knew you didn't want children."

  "What?"

  "You told me you no longer wanted to be a father. When I realised I was pregnant, I thought I'd better be sure … make up my own mind before I told you … I didn't want to blackmail you or anything."

  "Blackmail? I'd never have thought that," assured Gil. "Since you mention it, I remember saying something along those lines … about not wanting to be a father."

  He wanted to explain how everything was different now; how perception alters entirely once something becomes possible.

  "What did you decide?" he asked tentatively.

  Sally took a deep breath, "To have my baby," she replied uncertainly.

  Gil looked down at his trembling hand, "I'm very glad you decided that. I've had something on my mind too … ever since we arrived here. It's got nothing to do with the baby … well, what I mean is, that's not the reason. It's just, I really love you, and for days I've been trying to pluck up enough courage to ask if you'd consider marrying me?"

  Sally's eyes had started to leak again. She reached out and took Gil's hand.

  "Well?" he asked.

  "What do you think?" she said.

  THE END

  If you enjoyed r
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  About the Author

  M J Johnson (Martin Johnson) was born and brought up in South Wales. He trained at RADA and has worked fairly extensively in all areas of the acting business. He now spends most of his time writing. His first novel Niedermayer & Hart was published in 2012. He lives in Kent with his wife Judith. Their son, artist Tom Johnson, is responsible for the cover design. For more information about M J Johnson please visit his website:

  http://www.mj-johnson.com

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  Also by M J Johnson

  Niedermayer & Hart

  Jim Latimer reads of fellow photographer John Loxton's suicide in a daily newspaper. An old friend offers Jim an opportunity to take over Loxton's next assignment. He enters the orbit of Niedermayer & Hart, porcelain dealers with elegant headquarters in Hove. Jim's friends Ruth and Erich sense something isn't right and try to warn him. He is brought face to face with a terrifying manifestation of evil that had its inception in mediaeval Acre.

  Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Niedermayer-Hart-ebook/dp/B007BVA2AO

  Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/Niedermayer-Hart-ebook/dp/B007BVA2AO

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