by Rick Wood
He hung up.
For some reason, Amber was watching him with her mouth agape. It looked rather odd. Like she was trying to open her mouth as wide as she could or something.
Catching flies – another of his grandmother’s sayings.
The coffee maker finished. He took his cup, sipped on it, and relished it.
Bad coffee tastes like horseshit.
But good coffee tastes like heaven.
He sipped another sip.
Now that was heaven.
“Just… Just get on with it…”
He placed the cup on the side.
If he was going to manage to clean up all three of them in the time he had, he had little choice. He was going to have to get to it.
“Okay, Amber,” he said. “How shall we do this?”
48
He looks at her like the last slice of pie.
Like a cream cake on sale.
Like butter slathered and melted over a warm slice of bread.
She feels nervous and giddy, like she’s on a first date. The fear is now buried, a strange excitement overcomes her, as she knows what is about to happen.
Is this what it’s like to die?
Being honest, her life wasn’t much to live, was it?
Straying from one anxiety to the next, dedicating every day to earning money and taking care of her mum, despite never earning much money and her mum still deteriorating by the minute.
She tries to stop being scared.
She starts to accept her inevitable fate.
She welcomes death like an old friend, a sweet release she would enter confident that Mum would be okay.
She’d have no children, and she’d be devastated – but she’d be okay.
She knew of Gerald Brittle’s willingness to help. The charitable reputation of a wonderful businessman precedes the name, and she could die happy knowing that everything would be okay.
She smiles at him, which she finds strange, but he smiles back and suddenly everything feels okay.
His terrifying eyes are warm.
His hostile hands are soft.
Her death will be sweet and he will relish it and she will hope that it’s over quickly.
He doesn’t waste any more time. He charges at her with something he takes from a kitchen draw that she can’t quite make out, but it’s big and it’s metal and maybe it’s her salvation.
Gerald strikes her over the head with it and the impact turns the room to an underwater haze. Her chair topples over and she smacks her cheek on the cold kitchen floor.
She doesn’t struggle against the ropes.
Why bother?
She wouldn’t get out.
The morning sun shines in her eyes but it’s an amber blur. An orange glow she can just about deduce.
Gerald screams as he strikes again.
This time it’s on her cranium and this time it really hurts and this time the room disappears to a melancholy soundtrack of the most emotional part of a film.
Like Finding Nemo. Her mum’s favourite film.
What a strange film to be a middle-aged business woman’s favourite.
Amber closes her eyes, waiting for the next impact, and it arrives on time just like she knew it would.
Then the next comes and she disappears.
She listens to the strikes hit her, but she doesn’t feel them anymore.
She’s empty.
A vessel.
The broken words of a soon-to-be-forgotten mind.
How long will this last?
She hears the strikes becoming more frequent, harder, burying her head that she somehow knows has caved in.
The side of her head is indented into her brain.
Her fingers twitch.
She feels nothing else, but she feels that.
She misses her mum.
She misses her brothers.
But she’s had enough.
She tries to cry but she’s no longer able.
She tries to laugh but the chuckles are stifled.
She tries to thank Gerald, to tell him not to stop, to tell him that he did the right thing in the end.
But even his grunts grow distant.
In the end she’s just lying there, knowing she’s dying but not caring or doing anything about it.
And then she has her final thought.
It’s a memory, as most final thoughts are.
She’s nine again.
It’s not her birthday, it’s a few weeks later.
They are in the park. Gray is too old for it so he’s in the adjacent skate park, trying to do tricks with his BMX that don’t quite come off and all the other teenagers laugh at him.
Luke is standing coolly at the side, just watching her.
Elsie Michaels stands behind her, pushing her on the swing, pushing her hard so she can fly high.
She always pushed hard, and Amber always flew high.
Amber is giggling. Her mum is laughing too.
It’s the kind of image you’d hang on your wall.
Her mum slows down.
Amber doesn’t look around, she just shouts, “More! More!”
But there is no more.
Luke is behind her.
Somehow, Gray is behind her.
They’ve both rushed over.
Amber puts her feet on the ground and stops the swing and she turns and there is her mum her mum her mum just lying on the floor just lying and she’s hurt and she’s seizing and there’s foam coming out of her mouth and what’s happening what’s happening what’s going on with her please mum be okay please mum please mum please…
But she isn’t okay.
She won’t be okay for a long time.
Not until some wealthy businessman steps in and saves her.
And the memory ended.
She was back in the room.
Except, she wasn’t.
Her mind shut down.
And she ended.
Part VI
THE MOST GENEROUS MAN IN THE WORLD
49
Detective Constable John Daniels finished off his conversation with Elsie Michaels, feeling annoyed that he hadn’t really made any progress, and feeling annoyed for feeling that way.
She was desperately ill, there were no qualms about it. Unfortunately, this meant that getting much conversation out of her was proving difficult, and he was forced to end his questions as she fell asleep.
He wondered how long she had left.
He promised her they would do all they could do find her daughter and two sons, but he wasn’t sure she understood or heard him.
Then again, he had an aunt who was sick once. He’d spoken to her despite her looking like she wasn’t listening. He’d given a full monologue beside her death bed about the troubles he was having at school.
Then, on the day she died, her eyes woke and declared that he should stand up to the bullies then she faded away again.
You never know what they hear.
A Mercedes pulled up outside the house and Daniels couldn’t help but smile.
Any time there was a sick person in such desperate need and that car pulled up, he felt like jumping for joy.
The door opened and out he stepped. Rich philanthropist and modern-day saint, Gerald Brittle.
“Morning, Detective,” he said, nodding his head toward Daniels.
Daniels couldn’t help but gush. It was bizarre, really – this was just a man. But it was just what this man had done for society, it was…
Overwhelming.
That was the only word for it.
“Good morning, Mr Brittle.”
“Please,” Gerald said, smoothing down the sleeves of his pristine suit and flashing his bright, white teeth in a charming, suave smile. “Call me Gerald.”
Daniels was so pleased he got to call him Gerald.
“Where is Miss Michaels?” Gerald asked. “Is she in here?”
Daniels shook his head in astonishment.
“God bless you, Mr Brittle. I mean, Ger
ald.” He held his hand out to direct Gerald toward the house. “Right in there.”
“Thank you,” Gerald said, flashing that millionaire smile again.
“Let me get the door for you,” Daniels insisted, and rushed to the door, opening it.
Gerald nodded at him and he gushed again.
Then Daniels stood in the doorway, just at the right angle to see through the crack of the living room door, so he could see the marvellous exchange that was about to happen.
Gerald stepped into the living room and paused. Looked at Elsie Michaels and held his hands out wide.
“Well, Miss Michaels,” he exclaimed, loud enough and joyous enough to prompt her to lift her head from her impenetrable snooze. “It is lovely to see you.”
Elsie managed a slight frown, a moment of confusion, but Gerald let it pass. He walked up to her and crouched before her, taking her cold hands in his.
“And how are you?” Gerald asked.
Elsie just stared back at him.
“Don’t worry, that was a stupid question,” Gerald admitted. “And you’re right not to have the energy to answer it. Listen, Elsie – can I call you Elsie?”
She faintly nodded her head.
This woman who couldn’t react to any of Daniels’ officers was somehow responding to this man.
How did he do it?
“My name is Gerald Brittle, have you heard of me?”
She didn’t move, but her eyes said yes.
“Perfect. I heard about your case and I just had to help. I had to. How could I not?”
He smiled at her so smoothly Daniels almost gushed on Elsie’s behalf.
“And there is a drug trial I want to enter you in. And I am not only going to pay for the trial, I am going to pay for whatever home or aftercare you need afterwards. I am going to pay whatever is needed to help you feel better, is that all right?”
A small tear trickling down her cheek was his answer.
“Oh, come on,” Gerald said, wrapping his arms around her – not so tight as to hurt her, but close enough that she would know he was there.
Daniels wished he could do what Gerald did.
He rued his wage, and his limited means of helping.
If only all the rich were like Gerald, this world would be a much better place.
“I will help you Elsie,” Gerald said. “No matter what.”
Daniels had to wipe his own tear away.
What a wonderful man.
God bless this man.
God bless Gerald Brittle.
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Also by Rick Wood
The Edward King Series:
Book One – I Have the Sight
Book Two – Descendant of Hell
Book Three – An Exorcist Possessed
Book Four – Blood of Hope
Book Five – The World Ends Tonight
The Sensitives:
Book One – The Sensitives
Book Two – My Exorcism Killed Me
Book Three – Close to Death
Book Four – Demon’s Daughter
Book Five – Questions for the Devil
Book Six - Repent
Chronicles of the Infected
Book One – Finding Her
Book Two – Finding Hope
Book Three – Finding Home
Cia Rose:
Book One – After the Devil Has Won
Book Two – After the End Has Begun
Book Three – After the Living Have Lost
Standalones:
When Liberty Dies
I Do Not Belong
Death of the Honeymoon
Shutter House
Sean Mallon:
Book One – The Art of Murder
Book Two – Redemption of the Hopeless
About the Author
Rick Wood is a British writer born in Cheltenham.
His love for writing came at an early age, as did his battle with mental health. After defeating his demons, he grew up and became a stand-up comedian, then a drama and English teacher, before giving it all up to become a full-time author.
He now lives in Loughborough, where he divides his time between watching horror, reading horror, and writing horror.
© Copyright Rick Wood 2019
Cover design by rickwoodswritersroom.com
With thanks to my Street Team.
No part of this book may be reproduced without express permission from the author.
Contents
Part I
Chapter 1
Part II
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Part III
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part IV
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Part V
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Part VI
Chapter 49
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After the Devil Has Won
Also by Rick Wood
About the Author