As if reading his mind, the car began to slow down, the growl of the engine deepening as the revs lowered. Andrew gripped the knife tightly.
The car came to a full stop and jolted as the handbrake was applied by its operator. Andrew’s body tensed like a coiled spring as he listened to the driver open his door and step out. The weight of the car shifted, rocking back and forth before settling again. The ground crunched beneath the feet of the driver. The footsteps approached the boot.
Andrew waited.
Seconds passed by.
The boot did not open.
His nose picked up the scent of something – something acrid, gaseous. His ears picked up the sound of liquid, splashing and pouring.
His mind put the two things together.
Petrol.
Mortal fear seized Andrew. He had resigned himself to the possibility of dying tonight, but being burned alive was not something he could bear.
He kicked out at the boot’s lid and screamed out, trying to reason with the person attempting to burn him alive. It was no use; the petrol continued to pour, seeping through the gaps in the vehicle’s bodywork and onto Andrew’s clothing. His eyes began to sting. He tried to figure a way out before it was too late, frantically clawing at his surroundings. Each of the four walls was flat and featureless – nothing to grab hold of – but eventually his hands caught against something above. It was the locking mechanism for the boot. He fiddled with the contraption but could make no sense of it in the dark. All he could think to do was stab at it with his knife. The blade lodged into the plastic covering and stuck. He pulled it out and stabbed again. Again.
Petrol continued to soak through into the boot.
Andrew kept on stabbing, harder and harder.
Eventually, part of the casing began to come away, revealing the lock fittings inside. Andrew reached his frantic fingers into the gap and snatched at anything he could find in the dark. He pulled and prodded hoping beyond all hope to find a way out.
Something clicked.
A sliver of light entered the boot space and Andrew felt his heart leap into his chest. The person outside was still busy pouring petrol and didn’t seem to notice that the boot lid had opened a couple of inches.
Warily, Andrew edged the boot open further. He could see someone’s legs through the widening gap, lit by the car’s headlamps. With a depp breath, held long enough to make his lungs ache, Andrew unleashed himself, uncoiling out of the boot like a striking cobra. His head and shoulders hit the lid and forced it open while his legs sprung and launched him into the air. He came down on his attacker and the two of them tumbled to the floor. Andrew lost his knife in the scuffle, but wasn’t deterred. He kicked out at his attacker, which did turn out to be Dom. The teenager rolled over onto his side, cursing in pain and anger.
Andrew glanced around and considered making a run for it. They were in a wood, and the cold rain mixed with the late hour made the area seem menacing. If he ran, he would probably end up lost and he couldn’t afford for that to happen. Bex might still need him – there was still Davie and Frankie to think about. Dom could be intending to keep Andrew away.
“I’m going to kill you,” said Dom, rising to his feet, jeans covered in mud.
Andrew snarled. “Going to have to disagree with you there, blud.”
Dom rushed forward like a wild bull, and even snorted like one. Andrew met the charge head on and the two collided in a brawl, fists flying. Dom landed a couple of blows on Andrew’s chin, but Andrew was too determined, and prepared to fight dirty. He jammed his thumb into Dom’s eye.
Dom reeled backwards, swiping out blindly with both hands. Andrew seized the advantage and advanced, grabbing the youth around the throat and kicking the legs out from under him. Dom hit the dirt on his back, twigs snapping beneath him, and Andrew followed him right down to the floor, still squeezing at his throat, bearing down with all of his weight.
Dom struggled and clawed, but it was useless. The fear in his eyes dulled as his cheeks swelled and seemed to turn purple in the harsh glare of the car’s headlights, just seconds away from passing on to the next life.
A knife appeared and embedded itself in Andrew’s face. The blade entered his cheek and protruded into his mouth, slicing his tongue. He released his grip on Dom’s throat and grabbed the blade’s handle hysterically. He yanked it back out of his face and screamed. Blood filled his mouth and made him choke.
Dom made it up to his knees, wheezing and spluttering as his windpipe recovered from being constricted to the point of near-asphyxia.
Andrew was in no state to launch another attack. Shudders wracked his body and his mind kept trying to spin into unconsciousness. If that happened he was as good as dead – Dom would slit his throat while he was sleeping. Yet, even with his face torn up and bleeding, Andrew was still the one with the upper hand. He had Dom’s knife now. The small rubber handle gripped tightly in his hand.
But Andrew couldn’t get to his feet. He crawled forwards on his hands and knees, attempting to reach Dom before the boy managed to recover.
When Dom saw Andrew approaching with the knife, he scrambled to his feet and took off in a panic. Andrew gave all that he had and managed to get up and take off after him.
Dom was quick, but he was winded and half-blind from a gouged eye. He had to feel his way through the trees in the dark. Every now and then, he would stumble against a branch or trip over a root. Andrew was closing the distance. The deciding factor now would be stamina. Andrew’s lungs were burning and his stomach was paving the way for an onslaught of retching. He wasn’t cut out for so much exertion on a good day, let alone with a stab wound in his face, calf, and ribs.
But he couldn’t quit. As long as he had control over his legs he was going to keep going. He dodged between skeletal trees and fallen logs. His legs pumped like pistons; his breath came out in gasps. Dom was losing steam, legs getting heavier, strides shortening. The gap between them quickly decreased.
Dom was only an arm’s reach away. Just a few more steps. Andrew timed his strides and prepared to pounce. He sprung forward and managed to grab hold of the boy’s sweatshirt. Dom’s legs tangled together and he tripped onto his face, sliding in the dirt. Andrew hopped aside and came to a stop beside him. Standing over the boy, he readied himself to use the knife and finish the job.
He pointed the knife at Dom’s throat. “Where’s Frankie?” His words were slurred, mouth still full of blood. “Where is he?”
“Fuck you man,” Dom spat, but he made no attempt to fight. He was beaten.
Andrew could hear the fear in the boy’s voice. “Do you want to die, Dom? Do you want me to gut you like your brother?”
“Shut up. Go…go to hell.” He was sobbing now.
Andrew exhaled. His lust for blood deflated as he saw the childish mess at his feet. “Look. I don’t need to hurt you, Dom. I’ve already taken what you’ve taken from me, so we’re even. I just want Frankie. Where is he?”
Dom sneered and seemed to get back some of his swagger. “He at the hospital, doing yo daughter like yo did my bro.”
Thinking about it filled Andrew with more terror than he could hold inside of himself, but he couldn’t afford to lose control. He had to remain focused. “Do you have a mobile phone on you, Dom?”
“Course I do.”
“Then use it,” Andrew swiped the knife and cut a furrow in the boy’s cheek making him hiss. “Make a call or I’ll open you up and leave you to bleed to death.”
“A call to who?”
Andrew booted Dom in his side. “Who do you think, idiot? Frankie. Call him and say that if he doesn’t leave the hospital right now to meet me, I’ll slice your throat like a chicken.”
“Okay, okay.” Dom made the call on a small black phone that he plucked from his jean pockets. He waited a few moments until someone on the other end answered. “Hey, man. You gotta come get me. That motherfucking psycho has got me at knifepoint, yo. I’m lying in the mud like a sucker and he’s
gunna slice me like he did Jordan if you don’t come get me.”
There was silence in the woods for almost a full minute while Dom listened to Frankie’s reply. The whole time Andrew stood and watched Dom’s face. It seemed to grow grimmer with each passing second. Eventually Dom finished the call and put the phone away, then looked up at Andrew. “Bitch put the phone down on me.”
Andrew had a bad feeling. Why wouldn’t Frankie help his friend? “What did he say?”
Dom shook his head and seemed mortified. “He said, I should deal with my own shit, and if I was a man I should take you out for what you done to my bro.”
Andrew sniffed. “Want to try it, homie?”
Dom put his hands up. “No man, enough.”
“Did Frankie say where he is?”
Dom nodded but seemed like he didn’t want to answer. “The hospital. Apparently there’re pigs about, so he’s lying low, waiting for the coast to clear”
The barmaid must have done as I asked her and called the hospital. Thank you, Steph.
The police would buy Andrew some time. He could still make it to the hospital if he hurried back to his car, but first he needed to find out exactly where he was.
“What is this place?” he asked Dom.
“The woods at the back of Brockhill Farm.”
Andrew knew it. It was a rural plot of fields and woodland on the edge of town; a mile away from the nearest built-up area. Great place to murder someone.
“I ought to leave you here to die,” said Andrew. “But you’re too pathetic to waste my time on.”
Dom seemed to recover some of his lost confidence. Obviously he’d been expecting Andrew to kill him and was relieved to hear otherwise. “This shit ain’t over, man. I respect you letting me live right now, but if Frankie doesn’t finish you then I will.”
“Please try. Then I’ll have an excuse to send you to your brother.”
It was likely to be a very bad idea leaving Dom alive, but Andrew would be in jail soon and unreachable for quests of revenge. Besides, he couldn’t kill someone cowering at his feet – he wasn’t that man, even after what he had become. Dom’s brother was dead and hopefully that was enough retribution to allow Andrew to sleep at night.
He left Dom lying in the dirt and crunched his way back through the gloomy wood, trying to get his bearings. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before he saw the headlights of his car, lighting up the rain as it fell in thick sheets.
With the engine still running, the keys would be inside, so Andrew wasted no time in heading for the driver’s side and hopping in. He slammed the door shut and glanced out of the windscreen. Dom was back on his feet, but made no attempt to stop Andrew.
It wasn’t clear which direction the road was, so Andrew decided to manoeuvre the car around, between the trees, until he was facing in the opposite direction, then set off in a straight line, hoping that it would turn out to be the route Dom had taken them in on.
The automatic wipers came on and Andrew had to squint to see. There were trees everywhere and it was a real effort to avoid them all in the darkness and rain. Several times Andrew had to brake sharply and make erratic steering movements. The uneven, bumpy ground didn’t help much either and the tyres barely kept their grip in the sliding mud.
Eventually the trees began to thin in number and opened out into a clearing. The car hit a water-logged field and the steering got even heavier. Andrew clutched the steering wheel tighter and leant forward to examine his surroundings. The field stretched down a hill and was lined on all sides by a wooden beamed fence. In the distance was the easily distinguishable lights of a house.
Most likely the Brockhill estate.
Andrew knew that the large Manor on the edge of town was roadside. If he headed for the building and it did turn out to be Brockhill Estate then he could get back onto a main road and head back into town. He would reach the hospital in fifteen minutes.
Andrew put his foot down and the car careened down the hill. As the house below became clearer into view, it revealed itself to be just the building he was hoping for. Andrew wouldn’t have to cover the entire distance to Brockhill Manor because there was a steel gate about fifty-metres up from it at the edge of the field. The gate was hanging open, obviously left that way by Dom. Beyond it: the main road.
Andrew gripped the steering wheel tighter and sped up. I’m coming, Bex. Just hold on.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Davie tried calling his brother several times but there was no answer. Same thing when he made a call to Dom. He began to worry. Frankie had been unstable before all this shit that had happened, but now he was borderline insane. Still, Davie forgave his brother’s faults now, even if he couldn’t come fully to terms with them. He was determined to put a stop to the situation before it could escalate further. There was still a chance for Frankie to retain some shred of humanity – if he were to just stop now.
No more people needed to get hurt.
Davie’s biggest concern right now was that Frankie would try and finish what he’d started by going after Andrew and his family again. He’d already made suggestions that he needed to deal with any loose ends.
The first place Davie tried was Andrew’s home – it was a possibility that Frankie would return there to resume his beef with the man – but as he rounded the corner, Davie saw that the house’s lights were out and that – even more tellingly – Andrew’s Mercedes was gone from its space at the side of the road. No one was home. Davie started thinking about Plan B.
If Frankie were still looking for trouble, he’d be headed wherever Andrew was. So where was Andrew?
There was, of course, only one place Andrew would be. Davie had seen how much the man loved his family and there was no doubt that he would be at his daughter’s bedside.
Which meat Frankie as probably at the hospital.
Davie jingled with the change in his pocket. There was a bus stop nearby that went not too far from the hospital. If a bus came soon then Davie could be there within the next half an hour. He just hoped it would be soon enough.
He reached the bus stop at the end of the road and waited. The act of doing nothing was frustrating. Every part of his body urged for action but, with no other way of getting to the hospital, Davie had no choice but to wait. He concentrated on the noise of the heavy rain hitting the curved tin roof of the shelter before sliding off in sheets. Somehow, the sound managed to calm him slightly – enough that when the bus finally arrived, Davie didn’t notice at first.
“You getting in or what?” asked the bus driver, snapping Davie out of his daze.
Davie looked up, startled, and then nodded. “Sorry. Had my mind on other things.”
“Nothing bad I hope?”
Davie stepped onto the bus and gave the driver his change. “I would settle for bad, right now. Things are way beyond that.”
The driver frowned at him. “Well, keep your chin up lad. Got your whole life ahead of you.”
Davie moved to take a seat as the hydraulic doors pumped closed behind him. He sat down and waited. He would be at the hospital soon. He just hoped it would be in time.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Andrew parked his car at the rear of the hospital. It meant it would take longer to reach Bex, but he couldn’t risk running into any police that might be at the entrance. Wardsley and Dalton may have been on his side, but they were not the only officers likely to be at the hospital and, as a man wanted for murder, he was certain that a description of both him and his car would have been issued to the entire local force.
Andrew moved between cars, glancing forward, left and right for any law enforcement. Sure enough, there was a plain-clothes officer at the entrance to A and E. Andrew could tell the man was with the police by the stiff way he was standing and by the regular tilts of his head. The man was speaking into a microphone on his collar.
Andrew stayed to the edge of the car park and headed around the side of the hospital to look for a less conspicuous entrance. Ther
e was a fire exit near the rear of the building and it was open – a member of staff standing in front of it with a cigarette. Andrew approached with his head down, not wanting to draw attention.
“Hey, man, you can’t come through here. Use the front.”
Andrew looked up and smiled. The man was wearing chef’s whites and obviously worked in the hospital’s canteen. Bex’s room wasn’t far from the canteen.
“You mind if I just sneak through? I won’t tell anybody.”
The man shook his head. “You need to use the front entrance. What you doing around here anyway? And what the hell is with your face?”
Andrew had to think fast. He’d totally forgotten that half his face was ripped to pieces. He must look like an extra from a zombie-movie. “Trying to avoid my mother-in-law,” he said out of nowhere. “My wife and I have been in a car accident. Her mother just turned up to see her. I was out the front having a fag when I saw her heading my way. I dashed around the back because I don’t want to have to deal with her right now. She’s a total bitch and I know she’ll blame me for the crash. In fact I blame myself.”
The chef stared Andrew in the face, trying to work him out. Andrew stared right back, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Okay,” the man said eventually. “I hear you. My mother-in-law is a dragon too.”
Andrew thanked the man and went to walk past, but didn’t make it through without being stopped first. “There a problem?” he asked.
The chef shook his head. “Just wondered if you had a spare cigarette. This is my last one.”
Of course Andrew didn’t. He didn’t really smoke…but that’s was what he had told the chef he was doing there.
Andrew shook his head. “Sorry, mate. I just smoked my last as well. Need to go the gift shop soon as the old witch leaves.”
The chef nodded and laughed. “No worries, man. Hope your wife recovers.”
Andrew patted the man on the back. “Thanks. Guess I’ll go get my face stitched up while she’s with her mum.”
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