Dead Broken - Psychological Thriller / Horror

by Gerard Gray

  My eyes fell upon the silent line once more. I turned around to see if I could see anything else, but all I could see was that thin white line.

  I carefully got to my feet, wobbling slightly. I had to get out of there. No matter what horrors lay beyond that line, I had to at least try to escape. The police station was only a couple of streets away. I could quietly make my way to the door, tip toeing so as not to alert whoever was on the other side, ease it open, and if all was clear… run like the wind. I stumbled, my head spinning. I steadied myself, got my balance and started to move towards the light once more.

  My foot kicked something, but nothing dragged me back this time.

  As I got closer to the line I could see that it was indeed a door. From the position I’d been sitting in, the bottom of the door had almost been pointing right at me. The light lengthened to reveal the slightest of gaps. The door was halfway up the wall so there had to be steps.

  My probing hands settled on what felt like a banister. Good. I used my other hand to feel for a step. After a couple of tries I found it. I stood up, paused, and then gingerly stepped forward.

  I froze.

  I had heard something.

  I could still remember the screams from earlier.

  Get a grip. Screams or no screams I had to get home to my family. I started to move again, slowly, carefully, but my chest was racing. The stairs didn’t creak so I quickened my pace. I was at the door within seconds.

  I stopped.

  I had to think.

  OK. The station was my best bet. I had to run for the police station. I reached for the handle but misjudged the distance. The door painfully began to swing open, light flooding into the darkness, my eyes drowning in the sun. I staggered backwards, back into the dark, just managing to stop myself before reaching the stairs.

  I listened hard.

  I couldn’t hear a thing.

  OK. Let’s get out of here. I covered my eyes with my arm and tentatively moved into the light.

  And there, sitting waiting for me… was the priest’s brother.

  *

  Bright sunlight streamed through an open window down into the centre of a rustic kitchen. I attempted to remove my hand from my eyes but the glare was too bright. I could just make out my attacker, sitting somewhat nonchalantly at a table reading a newspaper.

  “Good morning.”

  I shifted uncomfortably, my heart beating fast.

  “I thought you were going to sleep for a week.”

  Fear clawed at my insides as my stomach rallied against me. I darted my eyes about the room, searching for the nearest exit. This man had attacked me. I had to get to the police station.

  “Have a seat.” The priest’s brother pulled out a chair from the other side of the table and turned it to face me.

  I was momentarily thrown. What was happening? The whole scene felt incongruous. This man had attacked me only a day or two ago, hadn’t he? But here he was acting like he was my friend or something. This didn’t make sense. None of this made any sense.

  The priest’s brother clasped his hands together and leaned across the table. He smiled at me. His eyes looked squinty through his thick specks. I glanced down at the chair and then I darted my eyes to the side. There was a door to my immediate right.

  I decided my next move in the blink of an eye: I was going to make a run for it. My captor didn’t look like he was worried about me attempting this in the slightest, which unnerved me greatly. Perhaps the door was locked. It would take him a couple of seconds to catch me from where he was sitting. Providing the door was open, that is.

  One… two… three…

  In less than a second I had managed to reach the door. I hastily turned the handle and pushed. It didn’t budge. Fuck. Pull, pull it. I quickly pulled it back into the kitchen and this time it gave. It only took me a couple of seconds to get it open. I caught a glimpse of the priest’s brother as I did this; he hadn’t budged an inch. What the fuck? I didn’t care. Next stop the police station. I pulled the door open and ran.

  I stopped almost immediately. I didn’t even bother to turn around to see if my assailant was following me. There was no point. I now knew why he wasn’t in a hurry to get up. I was standing in the middle of nowhere.

  *

  The world opened up before me, but I didn’t have a clue where to run to. It was like a scene from Wuthering Heights or The Hounds of the Baskervilles. The sun was shining relentlessly down into a small courtyard, but I could feel a slight October nip in the air. I turned around to stare at the building behind me. It looked like a farm.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it.”

  I spun around to catch the priest’s brother smiling out towards the open countryside. My eyes moved involuntarily from his face to his side. Resting quietly on his arm was a shotgun.

  “Where am I?”

  The priest’s brother smiled back at me, but he didn’t answer the question.

  I suddenly felt light headed. The world began to spin and I started to fall.

  Next thing I knew I was being helped back into the house.

  “Why? Why are you doing this to me? Why have you brought me here?” I threw one last glance towards the open moors, just as my captor edged me through the open doorway.

  “Come inside and have something to eat. You’re almost dropping.”

  “I’m not taking one more step inside that house.”

  He led my weakened frame over to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair and sat me down. I could barely stand.

  “Look. Let’s start again, shall we? My name is Steven.”

  “Start again?”

  “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here. I think you think I’m going to hurt you – but I’m not. That’s not why we’re here. This weekend is all for you. I’m doing this for you.”

  I stared at him hard.

  Steven walked over to a frying pan, struck a match and lit one of the rings on a large hob. He then cracked an egg with one hand and dropped it into a pan. I found my eyes drifting down to the gun hanging by his side.

  Steven nodded over his shoulder to a pint of water. “Drink?” On clocking the glass my subconscious took over. Before I knew what was happening I had downed half the jug. I started to choke, the water spurting out my nose.

  “Thirsty?”

  I lowered the vessel, spluttering and coughing.

  “How long have I been here?” I asked, my anger returning.

  Steven laughed out loud.

  I placed the glass onto the table and looked about the room for a phone. “My family are going to be worried sick about me. I need to get home. I need to let my family know where I am. If you mean me no harm then can I call my family?”

  “Calm down, calm down,” he said, scooping the contents of the pan onto a couple of slices of bread. “Eat this. You like eggs, don’t you?”

  He placed the plate down on the table in front of me. I stared at the egg sandwich. I didn’t have time for this; I had to contact my family. I suddenly remembered my burning stomach. I picked up the sandwich and reluctantly began to eat. Steven pointed his shotgun towards a dish containing several unbroken eggs. “Good eggs. They came from the chickens out back. Now that’s free range for you.”

  I didn’t answer him; I was staring at the gun.

  “Feeling better?”

  “You have a gun?”

  “This?” Steven paused to look at the firearm in question. “Most farms have guns. You don’t need to worry about this.” He moved the barrel until it was pointing directly at my face. I flinched, but he quickly moved it away.

  “You’ve nothing to fear from me, Peter. In fact, this is going to be the best weekend of your life.”

  I tried to look him straight in the eye, but like all the times before my gaze simply slid to the side.

  *

  Steven placed a newspaper in front of me and told me to read. If the date on the paper were current then it meant that I’d been in the cellar for two days. St
even placed a cup of tea down in front of me along with two small biscuits. My head felt utterly numb.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to read.”

  I didn’t have the energy to read anything. I shook my head. I didn’t understand. None of this made any sense. I had to get home, but I had a horrible feeling that I was never going to see my home again.

  “Read,” he reiterated, his gun moving once more towards my head.

  I reluctantly picked up the paper and started to read. It was an article about his brother. I only had to read a couple of paragraphs to get the general idea behind the story. The priest had been charged with the murders, but a new slant to the case had emerged. The victims weren’t being portrayed as innocent children anymore, rather teenage thugs who had been tormenting both him and the village.

  I read on.

  Ten pages in all were dedicated to the priest and his victims. One of the articles focussed on the kid who had escaped from the priest. It seemed to be criticising another well-known paper for initially running the story on him. The berated article had published a photograph of the boy in his school uniform, taken two years previous, an innocent angel. The story I was reading now had printed a more up to date photo of him: a police mug shot. He looked like a right nasty piece of work.

  It was clear from the stories that the media’s tone had changed. They still believed the priest had murdered the kids, but the papers were now holding him up as a victim, as an example of all that was wrong with our society. “What a society we must live in if even a priest is forced into this position,” one journalist wrote.

  I only read the first three articles, but no matter who the victims were, it was clear that the priest had indeed murdered the three youths.

  One picture in particular stuck in my mind. It had been taken on a windy day, making him look like a paedophile.

  All the while Steven sat at the far end of the table, his gun by his side, smiling like an imbecile. I finally closed the paper. He nodded, indicating to me that I had read enough.

  “He’s your brother?” I said, not really knowing what to say.

  Steven nodded.

  “Did you know?”

  “Did I know?”

  I squirmed beneath his stare. I didn’t have time for this. I had to get away. I had to get to a phone or something. What the fuck did he want with me anyway? I forced myself to ask the question again, not really caring about the answer. “Did you know that your brother had killed all those kids?”

  “Let’s put it this way. I know more than those papers do. What do you think?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Do you think he did it?”

  My thoughts came to a precarious halt. I had to be careful here. I was sitting across the table from a man with a gun. The last thing I wanted to do was comment on his brother being a murderer.

  “I don’t understand the question?”

  Steven suddenly looked angry. “Let’s get one thing straight, before we begin. Don’t ever take me for a fool. Do you understand me?”

  I sat back in my chair, terrified.

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “I don’t… know… The paper says that he’s confessed, so....”

  Steven’s anger grew. “Do you believe everything the papers tell you?”

  I shook my head, a fear clambering over my bones. “I’m not saying…’

  “You’re not saying what?”

  I shut up. The man sounded like he was looking for a fight.

  “Shall I let you into a secret?” Steven leaned in closer, his hands clasped out in front of him. “They’re liars.”

  “OK.”

  “Or idiots – but if they’re idiots then they’re dangerous idiots. They know nothing, and yet they’re willing to burn my brother at the stake. He hasn’t even had a trial yet. He hasn’t even had a fucking trial. Do you believe that? On the flimsiest of evidence they’re willing to drag this good man through the mud, and the problem with mud is, no matter how clean you are on falling in it, you always come out the other end stinking of shit. He’s a good man. Do you believe me when I say he’s a good man?” Steven was getting more aggressive by the second.

  “Please let me go,” I begged. “I have two beautiful children. I don’t want them to grow up without a dad. Please let me go.”

  Steven swatted away my pleading as though it were an irritating fly. “Don’t beg. Please don’t beg.”

  I started to cry.

  Steven shook his head in disgust. “Stop with the fucking tears.” And then he burst out laughing. “You don’t even know why I’ve brought you here, and here you are blubbing like a baby. I’ve already told you – you have nothing to fear from me. I’m not going to touch you. I promise. I swear it on your mother and father’s grave.”

  “Then please let me go.”

  “Look, I’ll let you go soon enough. I promise you that. And not one hair on your head will I’ve touched.” He smiled at his little joke. “Now stop crying. Here.” Steven leaned over, reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He looked at it for a second and then threw it over the table towards me. “It’s clean.”

  I picked it up, but I didn’t use it.

  “I’m still waiting for an answer,” he said, not looking at me. “I want you to tell me what you think, what your gut instinct tells you.”

  “Sorry?”

  Steven’s eyes pounced on me like a cat. “Do you think he did it?”

  I cast my gaze back down at the paper. I didn’t have a clue what he was looking for. “What do you want me to say? The paper… says he did it.”

  “But do you say he did it?”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “I’m beginning to lose my patience. And I don’t want to lose my patience with you, Peter. I want you to tell me, after having read that newspaper, after having listened to all the news articles on the TV, if you think he did it or not? Your gut instinct. Yes or no? Is he guilty?”

  I barely had the courage to whisper the word: “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Steven sat back in his chair and stared out of the window. A cold silence descended over the room, a dark cloud blocking out the sun. It didn’t last, though. I smarted as rays of sunshine poured into the room, blinding my eyes. The sun was low in the sky, dangerously low.

  I balked on remembering the previous night, a fear gripping my arm. The colour drained from my face. I had just remembered the screams.

  Steven turned to face me. Had he read my mind? I held his gaze for a second before returning my eyes to the table. I had the strangest feeling that he knew what I was thinking?

  You heard the screams, didn’t you?

  The room drifted into silence. A solitary crow could be heard somewhere far off in the distance, a clarion carrion caw.

  Yes, I heard the screams.

  How unfortunate.

  Steven’s hands were flat on the table, his posture slumped and relaxed. And then like a blast of icy wind he threw himself forward and slapped the wood hard. I darted backwards in my seat, terror-stricken. He didn’t look angry, though, he looked excited, ebullient. “I have something to show you, Peter.”

  I shook my head, terrified and confused.

  “A surprise, if you like. The trouble I’ve gone to for you. But I think you’ll be worth it… in the end.” Steven gestured excitedly over towards the corner of the room. I peered over my shoulder, but all I could see was what looked like an open larder. I turned back around to face him, confused.

  “Well? What’re you waiting for? Get up. Over there.”

  I got to my feet. Steven picked up his shotgun and gestured the barrel in the direction of the larder. I did as I was asked. I didn’t really have a say in the matter.

  Chapter 16

  Fridge

  The larder was quite big, despite being tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. It had a little round window high in one of the walls, but hardly any light was getting thr
ough. Rustic cobwebs hung from all four corners as an army of spider sacks marched along the intersections. There were appliances: a washing machine and a tumble dryer pushed up against one of the walls, a tall fridge sitting beside a squat freezer by the other.

  Steven briskly walked over to the fridge, reached out to grab the handle, but then seemed to change his mind. “Open it.”

  “You want me to open the fridge?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  Steven wasn’t pointing the gun directly at me, but it felt like it was staring at me none the less.

  I suddenly thought of my children, and the fear that I would never see them again passed over me like a ghost. Numb, I moved forward, reaching for the handle. My mouth was dry, my heart throbbing painfully. I hesitated, taking a deep breath to calm myself down. I didn’t want to look inside that fridge.

  “Open it.”

  “No.”

  “Look, I’ve gone to a lot of trouble for you. Don’t spoil things before they’ve begun. Open the door, there’s a good lad.” Steven sounded indignant. “You don’t even know what’s in there.”

  I tried to look him in the eye, but still I couldn’t; more than ever his eyes intimidated me. I returned my attention to the fridge. I was determined that I wasn’t opening any presents, but a taciturn nod of his shotgun was all that was required to change my mind.

  I reached out reluctantly for the handle, hesitated for a second, and then slowly tugged it open. It took a bit of effort before it decided to give, but boy did it give.

  Steven’s face lit up with the contents of the fridge.

  “Am I good to you, or am I good to you?”

  It only took me a couple of seconds to take in the whole scene. I moved backwards, a shotgun of revulsion exploding in my chest. I staggered, struck something with my foot and fell back onto the floor. I turned my head away from the horrific scene to find the smug bastard grinning manically back at me.