Numb: A Dark Thriller

by Lee Stevens

  “... when Nash survived the shooting, we had to think of something else... I proposed that we kill Dainton’s nephew... we kill Dainton’s nephew... we kill Dainton’s nephew... I... I... I... proposed that we kill Dainton’s nephew...Rodgers told me about this big deal... said it would be a good place to take Dainton out...”

  The screen changed again and split in two. One side showed a picture of the house they were now in. The other showed Purvis, posing for a photograph. He was wearing the same clothes he had been at the motel last night. The picture had only been taken in the last twenty-four hours.

  “...when we find Purvis... Nash will get a bullet in the head...next week Dainton and his men will be arrested in a mass raid... by our good friend DS Davison...”

  McCabe’s eyes widened with shock as a picture of Davison appeared on the screen. She looked a few years younger and was dressed in uniform. The image had probably been ripped from the Thirnbridge force’s website or something. Her voice then took over from McCabe’s.

  “...Don’t hate me...I’m not like Thornton... I’m not in this for the money...I simply want to put Dainton away...”

  That was only a couple of hours ago! Davison had spoken those exact words only two hour ago! That sneaky fucker Riley must’ve been hiding a bug up his arse or something. And as for the footage, this was clearly Purvis’s work.

  Nash looked down at McCabe again, his face contorted with both shock and rage.

  “Turner’s in on it all... Turner’s in on it all...”

  Nash turned to his second man.

  “...he was just as fed up with Nash as I was... Turner was actually the one who asked me to contact Rodgers and set everything in motion...”

  Turner stared back at Nash. Didn’t know what to say. Behind them, the footage and audio kept playing, repeating words and images, blowing the whole plan wide open.

  “You,” Nash said slowly as he stared Turner down. “You... killed Michael.”

  Turner shrugged, as if he knew the game was up.

  “It wasn’t personal. It was-”

  Nash moved before Turner could finish the sentence. He raised the gun, no doubt aiming to put a bullet between his second man’s eyes, but either the drink had rendered him unable to shoot straight or the shock revelations had made him shake. Either way, the bullet tore through Turner’s throat, punching him backwards with such force it looked as though he’d been snapped in half.

  As Turner hit the floor, blood jetting from the torn artery, a hideous gargling cry escaping his mouth, Nash turned on Dainton. Aimed the gun.

  But the men behind him had already begun to shoot, and at such close range, Nash was probably dead after the first two or three bullets ploughed into his back on their deadly course towards his internal organs. The several after those were probably just to make sure. The one fired into his head as he lay sprawled out on the floor, eyes bulging and glassy, was simply overkill.

  McCabe still barely had any control of his body. All he could do was curl up like a frightened child as Dainton closed the laptop and walked up to him, his perfectly shined shoes squeaking with each step.

  Nash was dead, his body having leaked at least two thirds of his blood and part of his skull cracked and broken, allowing a small, pink and grey mess to slop out. Turner was writhing on the floor, his hands to his throat. Air was escaping through the hole in his voice-box in a blood-clogged whistle. McCabe guessed that the sound would probably stop in a few seconds or so.

  “It looks like it’s just you left,” Dainton told McCabe. Then he looked over his shoulder to Rodgers, helpless in the chair. “Well, and your friend over there.” He looked at Nash’s body and then at Turner, who finally stopped moving after one last, whistling breath. “They got off easily. You and Rodgers won’t.”

  As Dainton ordered his men closer, McCabe screamed.

  63

  Purvis carried Sandra outside and placed her gently in the back of the Clio next to Wendy. Still barely aware of what was happening, she kissed her daughter on the forehead and put an arm around her. Maybe it was instinctive, or maybe the kiss was too rough, but Wendy’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Mum,” she said, her voice thick and heavy with sleep.

  Sandra cried tears of relief and kissed and hugged her daughter more. Afterwards, Wendy smiled, closed her eyes and drifted off again, as if content that both of her parents were with her.

  Purvis helped Riley into the passenger seat.

  “What time is it?” he asked as Purvis jumped into the driving seat.

  “Almost ten,” Purvis said. “They should be there by now.”

  Riley looked at the phone he still held. Then he tossed it on the floor of the car. It wasn’t needed anymore.

  “DS Davison was in on it,” he said, shaking his head. “She was also seeing McCabe. Can you believe that?”

  “After tonight, I can believe anything.” Purvis looked at the blood seeping through Riley’s trousers and asked, “Are you telling me the truth? You really can’t feel anything?”

  Riley nodded. Last night, on the journey back to the city, he’d told Purvis everything; the train accident; what it had done to his body; how it had left him numb and unable to feel even the most extreme physical pain – the lot. When Riley explained what he had planned to get Sandra back Purvis had wanted nothing to do with it. Said it was outrageous. Insane! Riley had agreed but insisted that once they’d managed to record McCabe confessing everything he would have to give Purvis enough time to put a little film together and allowing McCabe to go to work on him was the easiest way. They had the footage from the club stashed at Purvis’s second home. That combined with the recording of McCabe and Rodgers’s meeting along with a verbal confession would be enough. They just had to buy some computer software, a couple of mobile phones (to use as a microphone and receiver once Purvis had fiddled with the settings) and a new (well - newish) car in order to leave the Merc at the house to make McCabe think that Purvis and Wendy were actually there. Yes, it was a stupid plan. An outrageous, insane, totally-out-of-this-world fucking crazy plan. But hopefully it had worked.

  Purvis fumbled with the car keys and found the ignition slot. Then, just as he was about to start the engine, he stopped dead and stared over at Riley.

  “What?” Riley asked. But then he heard it. A standard Nokia ringtone - one of the basic ones that are already programmed into all new phones.

  “Who else has your new number?” he asked as Purvis pulled out his own mobile.

  “Only one other person.”

  “Put it one speaker phone.”

  Purvis took a deep breath and did so.

  “Hello,” he said, nervously.

  There was a pause, then, through the hiss of white noise: “We got them.”

  “All three?” Purvis asked. “Nash, McCabe and Turner?”

  “Nash and Turner are dead,” Lenny Dainton said. “McCabe will join them soon.”

  Purvis sighed and Riley didn’t know if it was with relief, guilt or remorse. Maybe it was a combination of the three. He himself felt nothing on hearing the news.

  “As for you,” Dainton went on, “may I suggest you get as far away from Thirnbridge as possible and never come back.”

  “Don’t worry, I plan to,” Purvis said. “What about Davison?”

  “Detective Davison?”

  “What about her? She knew about all of this.”

  There was another pause on the line.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Dainton said. “Maybe she’ll get paid a little visit in the night. Or, then again, maybe I might offer her the chance to work for me. I could use a police officer on my side, seeing as how I have a feeling that my business interests are about to grow now I have no competition.”

  “Okay,” Purvis said. “So, that’s it then.”

  “For you, yes,” said Dainton. “Have a nice life, Mr Purvis. And thanks for the information.”

  Dainton hung up. Purvis just sat there, staring at the phone in his
hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Riley asked.

  “It’s finally over,” Purvis then said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  Riley looked down at his body, at the wounds hidden under his coat. Yes, it was over.

  “Come on,” he said. “Drive.”

  “Which hospital?” Purvis said as he started the engine.

  “It’s not a hospital,” Riley said. “I’ll tell you to stop when we’re there.”

  64

  “Stop here!”

  “But it’s the middle of nowhere,” Purvis said.

  “Just here. Pull over.”

  Purvis parked the Clio on the hard-shoulder. It had been almost half an hour since they’d left McCabe’s lock-up.

  “Riley you need a hospital-”

  “No,” he said, unbuckling he seatbelt. He felt like laughing as he did so. He’d put it on without thinking. Like it could save his life?

  “But where are you going?” Purvis asked.

  Riley ignored the question and looked in the back where Sandra and Wendy were both sleeping.

  “You just worry about them.” He pulled out his wallet and handed it to Purvis with one of his claws. Blood stained the leather, but Purvis took it anyway. “My bank card’s in there. The pin is 0209. Clean it out.”

  “Riley, I-”

  “Empty it. You left your money at the motel. You need it.”

  “What about you?”

  Riley giggled like a drunken man.

  “I don’t need money.” He looked at the girls in the back one last time. “You look after them.”

  “Always,” Purvis replied. “And you look after... you.” He offered a hand to Riley but Riley refused. His hands weren’t worth shaking and were better off hidden inside his coat pockets.

  “See you, mate,” Riley said.

  “Yeah. Thanks for everything,” Purvis said, his voice shaking.

  “Anytime.”

  He climbed from the car with great difficulty and closed the door. In front of him, traffic raced past in a steady stream. Behind him, the fields and trees bled into the thick darkness after only a few metres.

  Purvis wound the car window down, opened his mouth to speak but Riley shook his head.

  “Just go,” he said. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I can’t just leave you here-”

  “Just go. Please.”

  Purvis inhaled a long breath. He looked back at Sandra and his daughter asleep behind him. Then he looked back at the long and uncertain road ahead before winding the window up.

  A second later, the Clio pulled back onto the motorway.

  When it was out of sight, Riley began his trek across the field behind him.

  Every step was a chore, the ground pitted and uneven, and he stumbled and fell a half a dozen times on his fifteen minute trek through blackness to the four oak trees, the moon overhead the only light to guide him.

  Once there, he collapsed against the first of them and clung to its trunk with his broken hands. He looked down at its base, at the plaque glimmering in the dark like unearthed gold.

  A small droplet of his blood splashed against it, right after his mother’s name. It looked like a full stop. The end of a completed sentence.

  His energy now well spent, Riley didn’t so much as sit as he did sink, landing on his side on the soft earth. He rested his head on the plaque, like a sick child on their mother’s lap. It felt cold. He felt cold.

  This was where it had all begun on that spring day all those years ago. This was where he’d been born when he should’ve died. This was where all the pain had ended where it should have really started.

  He pulled his legs up to his stomach and bunched his shoulders. God, he was so cold now. He couldn’t stop himself from shaking. It had started not long after Purvis had arrived at the lock-up. Not just the cold but also... something else. It was strange. It was almost... nice. Little tingles at first. Sensations that could be aches. Throbbing – he could feel pulses in several places on his body where parts of him quivered and twitched. Steadily, the sensations had increased from a whisper to what was now a crescendo. He’d lied to Purvis when he’d asked about the pain. He’d said he could feel nothing but since leaving the lock-up he could feel everything; every cut, every burn, every broken bone...

  But none of it mattered now.

  All he wished was that Purvis and the girls would be okay. That everything would be okay, that even Dr Carter was happily living it up on some higher level, recently reunited with his loving wife. Nash was gone. So were Turner and McCabe and Howden. They’d gotten what they’d deserved - unlike Jamie Hudson and so many others. People were free of them now. Henry Moore wouldn’t fear a beating at the end of the month because what little money he had had been lost on the dead-cert at Kempton, and Terry Simpson would get a nice little surprise also when no one showed to collect the new monthly payment in a couple of weeks time. Yes, a lot of lives would be better now – until Dainton took over from where Nash had left off. And if it wasn’t Dainton then someone else would come along. The production line of criminals was always hard at work. But, for Riley at least, this was it.

  Finally...

  A groan escaped his lips along with a misty cloud of breath, as if his very spirit was leaving his body

  ....it’s over!

  Nearby, a train thundered across the viaduct towards an unknown destination and Riley watched it disappear between the hills in the distance.

  When it was gone, he allowed his eyes to close and enjoyed the pain.

  THE END

  “The pain of the mind is worse than the pain of the body.”

  Publilius Syrus