Dead Broken - Psychological Thriller / Horror

by Gerard Gray

  Now, you would have thought that I would’ve been crapping myself at this point, but I wasn’t, in fact, quite the contrary. At that precise moment, a debate was raging in my head, a debate I was losing hands down.

  He was waiting for my reply. What was I going to do about it?

  “Nothing,” I said, my voice as impotent as an old man’s pecker. “I’m going to do nothing.” Despite his height, he was still a boy. If I laid one finger on him he would have me arrested and sent to prison quicker than I could say: “please don’t make me bend down for the soap!” It didn’t matter that this kid was attacking me, threatening my life. I was the adult here. I was the one who would get charged.

  “Nothing,” I repeated.

  “Thought so,” he replied, sneering.

  It was then that I realised he had company. A girl and a boy were standing on the far pavement. Well, I use the word boy loosely – he was the size of a German tank. The strange thing, though, was that neither of them had noticed a thing. They were hovering by the side of the road like a pair of Glaswegian ghosts, staring at a bush or something. It was surreal.

  I got back into my car, shattered and confused. I stared at the wing mirror that was now hanging by a cable, and then I stared at the steering wheel. All was quiet. I looked in the mirror to see the three of them standing by a bush. The lout who had initially attacked me was back to his old zombified self.

  Why were they just standing like that? Why weren’t they running away? They were acting like nothing had happened. Had anything happened?

  SMACK! £200. That’s what had happened. Oh fuck, I was going to have to fork out another 200 quid.

  A thought suddenly occurred to me. My phone had a camera on it. I might be able to get something out of this after all. I picked up the phone, switched on the camera and pointed it in their general direction. Shit, they were too far away, the image blurry. I took the pictures anyway.

  The blonde one suddenly caught sight of what I was doing, and before I knew what was happening he was running over towards me.

  I quickly fumbled for the global lock beside the steering wheel, but it was gone – that was the old car. I turned around just in time to see the boy darting for the door. In all the commotion I had forgotten how to lock the doors from the inside. I never locked the doors from the inside; how the fuck did you lock the doors from the inside?

  Just when I thought all was lost my hand moved, my brain finally kicking into motion. I twisted round and slammed my hand down onto a button. The ned pulled on the handle. Nothing, just the sound of all the snibs in the car descending – a mechanical click.

  I looked into the ned’s face, my hands shaking, my head buzzing like a dentist’s drill. He was palpably furious; I could almost taste the Buckfast boiling away in his empty head. I was momentarily confused by the situation. What the hell had I done to make him hate me like this?

  The ned rattled the handle. Nothing. He wasn’t getting in that way. He whacked his hand several times off the roof of my car and spat on the window. “Am gonnae fuckin well stab you, ya dafty. Think you’re safe in there? You’re a fuckin dead man, that’s what you are.” And with that he stood back from the car and started to kick the door with all his might.

  I just sat in my seat staring back at him. It was as though I were in some sort of perverse dream. Was he getting mad at me? How odd. And then, just like before, silence fell.

  Where had he gone?

  I spun myself around to see if he was behind me, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. I turned back around and stared at the steering wheel. A voice in the back of my head was saying something, but I couldn’t make out what.

  I jumped, the boy’s face appearing at the window. He quickly stood back, a crooked smile staggering across his drunken face. He appeared to have something in his hands. I stared at his clenched fists: in his left hand was what looked like a brick, and in his right… oh dear God no… a knife! The bastard wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to stab me. It was a large Swiss army knife, not quite your Ghurkha’s style machete, but it was still big enough to kill me. My inner voice screamed once again, and this time I heard it loud and clear: Start the car; start the fucking car now!

  I shook myself out of my frozen stupor and reached for the key, but I wasn’t quick enough. A brick came crashing through the window. A couple of pieces of glass flew into the car, hitting me in the face, but for the most part the window remained intact. I fumbled, turning the key; I was running on adrenalin. The engine ground into action just as the little bastard forced the brick through the window for a second time. I slammed my foot down on the gas as the boy clambered through the hole.

  The car spluttered to a halt.

  Fuck! I didn’t have time to start it again. I scrambled and grappled as the feral teenager pushed himself though the gap. He was trying to get the knife through the hole and around the steering wheel. He made a number of jabbing motions in a bid to stab me, but he was finding it difficult to move his arm past the steering wheel.

  “You’re a fuckin dead man, ya daft bastard!”

  I watched the motion of his arm as it finally bypassed the obstacle barring its way. I watched the blade slip into my clothes, deep into the fabric. I stared motionless. He was mechanically pulling his arm back and jabbing, pulling his arm back and jabbing. The knife disappeared each time, but it felt like it was barely touching me. Thank God, the attacks weren’t getting through; my thick layer of clothes had managed to save me, just like the proverbial bible had saved the soldier from the enemy’s bullet.

  Within seconds of smashing through the window the other two neds had joined in, a girl and a boy. They were all reaching into the window grabbing at me like rabid zombies. My head jerked back and forth a couple of times as one of them punched me, but I didn’t feel the impact for some reason. I just closed my eyes.

  On finally opening them again, I blearily caught sight of the three of them running away. The fat one stumbled. “Rambo, get tae yer fucking feet,” I heard the girl say, just as the blonde one ran back to help him up. That’s nice, I thought to myself. And then I remembered what had just happened. Thank God. For a minute there I thought they were going to kill me. If that kid had only had a little bit more room to swing his knife, he might have managed to get through my clothes.

  What’s this, though? I feel all wet – wet and warm. I looked down. It took me a couple of seconds to process what I was seeing. I was finding it difficult to keep my eyes open. Everything was black. All of my bright clothes were warm and black.

  *

  The pub was almost empty. It must have been close to five in the afternoon. The priest’s brother had barely uttered a word during the telling of my tale.

  “How long were you in hospital?” he asked.

  “Three weeks.”

  “You almost died, you say?”

  “Yes. He just missed an artery. I was only saved by the fact that someone had witnessed the attack. It was the same person who called the ambulance. They didn’t leave their name, though.”

  Steven stared back at me hard for a couple of seconds. “They left you there to die,” he said quietly.

  “Yes.” I picked up my drink. Steven had finished his, but I still had about half of mine left. He raised his empty pint and gestured towards my glass.

  “No, no,” I replied. “I need to go home. My wife’s going to kill me for staying away this long.”

  “Well do you mind if I get one more in? That’ll give you time to finish yours. I’m a fast drinker.” I hadn’t intended on finishing my drink, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I said OK.

  Steven got himself another pint of Guinness from the bar. But instead of sitting back down in his chair, he walked around to where I was sitting and plonked himself down onto the sofa beside me. WHACK! I almost jumped a foot in the air; the bastard had slapped me hard on the thigh.

  “I understand why it was so hard to talk about this, believe me. The mind is a strange and mysterious lan
d, even to its own subjects. But tell me something. You must have been pissed off, right? How did you deal with it?

  “Deal with it?” I spluttered. “I didn’t, other than accuse every Tom, Dick and Jimmy with a tracksuit of being my attacker. It got so bad that Karen – my wife – refused to listen to me anymore.”

  Talk to me.

  “No, that’s not right. I think she just got tired of me not wanting to talk. Does that make sense? Och, it doesn’t matter. And then there was the police…’

  “The police?”

  “Oh, the police were pissed off. In the end, the detective dealing with my case told me, in as polite a way as possible, that I had to let it go. He told me that even if we did find them, due to the fact that I had no witnesses, it would be difficult to make anything stick.”

  “Fucking useless bunch of fuckers, the police,” Steven slapped my thigh again, sending me halfway to the moon. “No wonder they’re getting away with murder when they know the police have an attitude like that.”

  I nodded my head, but Steven’s close proximity was unnerving me.

  “How did you feel about this?”

  I could smell his breath, and it wasn’t good. “Sorry?”

  “I take it you were angry – angry with the police, angry with your wife, and most of all angry with the little bastards for doing this to you?”

  “Of course I was angry.” I tried my best not to breathe in.

  “Angry enough to kill the little buggers, I bet.”

  “That’s an understatement.” His breath was stinking.

  Steven stared back at me. I looked at him for a couple of seconds before relocating my gaze to the drink in front of me. I shifted in my seat in a pitiful attempt to make some space between us, but I had nowhere to go.

  “I’m interested to know if you actually meant that… or was it just a figure of speech.”

  “Sorry?”

  “If you had the opportunity to be locked in a room with one of them – let’s say he’s tied to a chair – all bars were off and no one would ever find out. What would you do to him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I stared into the dark swirling drink before me.

  “Let’s say no one would ever find out either.”

  I tightened my grasp around the glass.

  “No one would ever find out?”

  “Not a soul.”

  Silence.

  “I’d murder the little bastard.”

  Steven nodded. “You’re that angry?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “So you’re angry enough to actually kill him?”

  I stared back at the stranger before me. The pub was quiet, the clock ticking steadily somewhere in the background. I slowly shook my head on realising what I had just said. “No. No, I wouldn’t. That would make me no better than him. I’m angry, yes. But I don’t want to be angry anymore. I’m tired of being angry, so very tired. If I‘d never seen that little shit again then it would have suited me just fine.”

  “But you did, today, unless you were mistaken. Were you mistaken?”

  “No. It was him.”

  “But what makes this any different from all the times you accused kids before. Sorry, but you did say that you had accused kids before, did you not?”

  “This time was different. Not only did I see him but I saw them – all of them. It was them alright. I’ll never forget that name either: Rambo, fucking Rambo.” I stared hard into what was left of my drink. I still had half a pint left.

  Fuck! I almost hit the ceiling. He had done it again. His hand had punctured the silence by coming down hard on my thigh. He was acting like we were a couple of long lost buddies or something.

  “Well,” he declared. “I think I’ve kept you quite long enough from your family.” And on saying this he abruptly stood up. He then picked up his full pint of Guinness and drank it until every last drop was gone.

  “You know what?” he said, placing his glass back down onto the table. “I like you, Peter.”

  “Thanks,” I said, slightly bemused.

  “Yes sir, I like you. I think you and I are going to get along just grand.”

  And without even saying goodbye, he about turned and strolled out of the pub.

  Chapter 10

  Black Dots On The Bones

  I stopped short of my front door. The idea of getting into the car and driving back home to my mum crossed my mind. This wasn’t my home anymore. Had it ever been? I could see myself sitting in my parents’ living room, the dog at my feet. I could see my mum walking in with a steaming bowl of chilli on a tray, “I hope it’s not too hot,” she would say to me. “I added extra chilli.”

  I reached out for the door-handle, pausing, smiling. How many times had she said that to me? And my answer was always the same: “Mum, you could never make it too hot for me. I’m addicted to chillies. Don’t you remember?”

  She would smile at this, handing me the tray. On the tray would be a plateful of the best chilli you had ever tasted, and beside it a bottle of beer, probably Leffe. I suddenly missed her, like she was the one who was no longer with me.

  Go home, Pete.

  “Is that you, dad?”

  Yes.

  “Where are you dad? Are you still looking after us?”

  Always.

  “I miss you... Things are a bit of a mess, dad. Things aren’t going too well with Karen… I think I killed a cat.”

  You killed nothing.

  “I think I did. Do you forgive me? I didn’t mean to do it.”

  I forgive you.

  I smiled, rain clouds gathering on the horizon. Was I putting the tears on, though? Were they merely crocodile tears to impress my dad, to con him into thinking that I still missed him, to con him into helping me?

  “I miss you dad; I always will. You know I love you, don’t you?”

  Yes.

  “Dad, I have a favour to ask. Could you please look after mum? Please let her be all right. I don’t think she’s too well. Could you talk to someone up there?”

  No reply. My dad had gone eerily quiet.

  OK, I know this might sound a bit mad, but I actually did believe that I was talking to my dad back then. Strange things had happened after my dad had died, things that had convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was still with me. In short, he had left me a gift. Do you want to know what that gift was? Whenever someone at work pissed me off, I would ask my dad to get rid of them. And do you know what, on every single occasion, the next day, the person would be gone. This is true. It was uncanny.

  These incidents were spread out over a two-month period. All I had to do was ask and the deed was done. And the way he did it never failed to impress. He always did something nice for the person, be it letting them work from home or finding them a new job, he always did it in the nicest possible way. That’s why I didn’t mind asking him. But did I actually believe he was listening to me now?

  I am a practicing Catholic, so you would probably think I believed in an afterlife, yes? This may sound like a given, but nothing could be further from the truth. Do I even believe in the church? I would have to say, in truth, no. I believe Catholicism has a fundamental truth to it, but I don’t think it is the one true religion. I don’t think there is a one true religion. In saying that, I believe Catholicism has instilled me with good morals, morals that will serve my children well.

  The serial killer’s brother walked into my mind. I’ll find his book, phone him back and then be done with it. The door opened just before I turned the handle. I was greeted by Karen holding a phone next to her ear. I was instantly worried. Something was wrong.

  “It’s your mum,” she whispered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Karen handed the phone to me without saying another word.

  “Mum? Are you OK?”

  All I could hear on the other end of the line were sobs. No, sobs don’t sum this noise up. She sounded lik
e she was being tortured. Panic rose in my throat. “What’s wrong mum?”

  “I’m in so much pain; I can’t get out of bed.”

  “What?”

  “I’m frightened, Pete, I’m frightened.”

  Frightened? What the… “Hang on mum.”

  I turned to face Karen. “I need to pick up Depp.”

  “I’ll get Depp,” Karen replied.

  I nodded my thanks. “I’m coming mum. I’ll be with you as fast as I can. Can you hold on until I get there? Have you called the doctor?”

  “No, I don’t want to bother him.”

  “Mum!” I snapped. I paused to rein my temper back in before it had a chance to attack her again. “Mum, that’s what they’re there for. Call the doctor. If you’re in that much pain then you need to call him.”

  “I’m in so much pain,” she said, crying into the phone.

  “I’m on my way, now. Phone him, will you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Give me an hour and I’ll be there. I’m on my way. Just give me an hour.”

  *

  I found my mum lying on her bed in her nightgown. She attempted to raise her head off the pillow to greet me, but was thrown back by the pain.

  “Mum?” I mumbled as the poor woman began to sob. I rushed to the side of the bed to help her.

  “Don’t touch me,” she screamed.

  I stood back, petrified.

  “Please, don’t touch me. I’ll be OK… in a second.”

  Silence crept into the room. My mind was attempting to make sense of what I was seeing. For a second I was about to tell her that she looked terrible, but then thought better of it. I didn’t think confirming the obvious was going to help matters.

  “How long have you been like this?”

  “The pain only comes when I move.”

  “Oh that’s OK, then, if it only comes when you move.” I let out a burst of nervous laughter. My mum smiled back at my joke, but the smile only lasted a second before dissolving back into pain.

  “I thought you were feeling better. If I’d known you were like this then… God, I would never have left you on your own for one.”