The Book of Revenge

by Linda Dunscombe

  Melissa was face down on the filthy floor with Kevin pushing her head into the ground. She could hardly breathe, let alone scream as Kevin took her from behind.

  Andrew leant down close to Liz’s face. ‘Scream and I’ll hurt her.’ He paused to make sure that she understood. The terror in her eyes all the confirmation he needed. Then he smiled. A horrible, creepy smile. ‘Now be a good girl and we can all have some fun.’

  Tears streamed down Liz’s cheeks. But she didn’t close her eyes. She looked defiantly into her attackers face imprinting him with hatred into her soul.

  Kevin stood up and zipped his flies. He kept a foot on Melissa’s back to keep her down. Sobbing into the dust, she tried to reach around and pull her skirt down to cover herself. But he kicked her hand away and pushed her skirt higher. Her face burned with pain, shame and humiliation.

  Kevin looked around the group. ‘Who’s next?’

  Kevin grinned victoriously and looked at the lad nearest to him, it was Adam. Nobody moved. Kevin grabbed him and shoved him towards Melissa. The lad tripped and fell down beside her. Melissa closed her eyes and turned her head away.

  ‘Come on Adam, what are you? Man or a virgin?’ Kevin taunted.

  The group of youths laughed nervously.

  ‘You are...’ he pointed at Adam, ‘he is. He’s a fucking virgin!’

  Adam was on the floor being laughed at by his peers. He didn’t like it. He did what was expected of him.

  Kevin led the group as they chanted his name ‘A-dam. A-dam...’

  The sound hammered into Liz’s brain as Andrew hammered into her. Hate, fury and anger blunted the pain. Finally finished, Andrew stood up and punched the air, like he’d just achieved something amazing. Kevin grabbed the next lad and thrust him forward to Andrew. Andrew smiled at the lad and pointed down at Liz. ‘This one loves to party.’

  Liz was cold sober now and quickly calculated her options. She had none. Even if she managed to get up and run, she couldn’t leave her sister to endure alone. A gang of fit young rugby players stood between her and the pub. She didn’t stand a chance, she couldn’t fight them and no one was close enough to hear her scream.

  The lads were enthused and excited. Kevin’s taunts and chanting had worked them into frenzy. Both the silence and the reticence had gone. Mob mentality had taken over.

  Andrew leant down, his face inches from Liz. He grabbed her chin and turned her head to look at Melissa. Her sister was still and pale like a statue as the assault on her body continued. Andrew looked menacingly into her eyes. ‘You won’t be any trouble at all, will you sweetie?’

  Liz slowed down; tears were rolling down her face. She was driving way too fast, and was afraid she would attract attention. A police car, siren on, sped past in the opposite direction; maybe someone did see her after all. It annoyed and upset her that the men seemed to have buried their guilty pasts. It was as if that night had been erased from their minds. Surely they all know that the day of reckoning would come? Liz wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, she had a job to finish, and she had to concentrate.

  Matt banged impatiently on her door. No answer. He hurried around the back of the house and tried the back door. Locked. He quickly removed his jacket and wrapped it around his hand then he smashed a window.

  Inside, he headed straight for the study. Again it was locked. He gritted his teeth, squared his shoulders and rammed the door. It stayed solidly closed. He concentrated all his anger and frustration into his attack and launched himself at the wood again. This time the door creaked and groaned and splintered. Encouraged he did it again and this time he smashed his way into the study.

  He pulled open drawers and searched the contents. The largest one at the bottom was locked. He pulled and pushed and in sheer frustration kicked at it. But it resisted his anger and held onto the secrets within.

  Matt ran back downstairs and retrieved his jacket from the floor. He shook of the shards of glass and dug into his pocket for a penknife.

  Back in the study he set to work on the drawer again.

  Liz parked the car and climbed out. It was an unassuming street. Terraced houses, each one, tall and narrow like shoe boxes lined up in a row. It was still light and a few people were around. A little girl was skipping on her lawn and a man was washing his car. Liz walked casually along the street. Her balaclava was in her pocket. She fingered it impatiently. A woman called the little girl indoors for her tea. Liz kept on walking.

  Looking in the wing mirror of a parked car, she saw the man pick up his bucket and go inside. Liz took her chance. She walked confidently, like she belonged, and headed down a drive, to a front door. She pulled a key from her pocket and put it into the lock.

  The key didn’t turn. The door didn’t open.

  Shocked, Liz checked the key. It had a tiny label on with the letter C. C for Cane. Edward Cane. There was no mistake. She tried again, the door would not open. She looked at it. The door itself was several years old. She didn’t need to look at it to know that her husband had fitted it. But the lock itself was shiny and new. She hesitated, unsure what to do next. Time was running out. Did she go straight on to the next one and let Mr Cane escape with his life? No. He had to pay. She rang the doorbell.

  Edward smiled at her uncertainly when he opened it and saw an attractive female on his doorstep. But the smile soon slipped when the gun was shoved into his stomach.

  Finally the lock on the drawer gave way to the pressure from Matt’s pen knife. He found what he was looking for, but hoped he wouldn’t find. Until that moment he’d prayed that by some miracle he had it wrong. He lifted out a book and laid it onto the desk.

  He stared at it. THE BOOK OF REVENGE written in capital letters across the front.

  Matt slumped down into the desk chair; all his nightmares had come alive. ‘Oh Liz, what have you done?’

  He touched it as though afraid it would burn his fingers, Matt opened up the manuscript book. It was full of clippings and a journal.

  He started to read aloud, ‘If you are reading this book then I assume I have finished my task and handed myself in for punishment. I know what I have done is terrible. I’m not criminally insane, I know exactly what I’ve done and why. I hope this book will explain....’

  Matt turned the page and continued to read. ‘Our lives were normal, almost perfect until the night my sister and I were viciously and repeatedly raped....’

  Matt didn’t need to read on for the details of that night. They were locked away in his head, like a stalker hiding in the shadows. He’d spent twenty years running away from the memories. Now he had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  A young Matt was singing and chanting along with the rest of the victorious Rugby team. Up ahead was the pub, Matt ran on and ducked inside to use the gents. As he entered the pub, two pretty girls were coming out. It was Melissa supporting a drunken Liz. He grinned at them and moved aside to let them pass.

  When Matt came out of the toilets the rest of the youths were out of view. He couldn’t see them but he could hear them. He followed the noise around the corner and caught up with them at the bus stop. He was very drunk and he staggered a bit, he wasn’t used to drinking.

  Matt joined the crowd; he couldn’t immediately comprehend what was happening. Kevin was taunting Adam; he seemed to want Adam to have sex with a girl who was face down on the floor. Andrew was with another girl on the bench. When Andrew finished, Kevin shoved James forward.

  James was struggling to perform as the girls eyes burned with hatred. ‘Make her look away.’ James pleaded.

  Andrew yanked her top up exposing her breasts and covering her face.

  Matt staggered forward, still slow to grasp the reality of what he was witnessing. He pointed to the girl on the floor. ‘Is she alright?’

  Kevin span around and punched Matt hard in the stomach. He dropped to his knees and threw up. Kevin leant down beside him and whispered menacingly into his ear. ‘She’s
having the time of her life.’

  Matt was hauled to his feet by Brian Chard and then shoved forward by Kevin, towards the girl on the bench. Matt couldn’t see her face; Andrew was still holding the top up.

  Kevin pushed Matt from behind. The lads were chanting his name. Kevin leant forward, ‘we’re a team. We won together, we celebrate together...’ Kevin paused, then raised his voice and looked around the group. ‘We are all in this together.’

  The next morning Matt woke up in a state of confusion. He was still dressed from the night before, his clothes are crumpled and dirty and his head was pounding so hard he had to hold it for fear of it falling off. He stood up a little unsteadily and tried to re-orientate himself. Then the realisation and the memory hit him. He dashed to the bathroom and threw up. He splashed his face with water and cleaned his teeth with a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking. He looked at himself in the small mirror that stood on the window sill. The face that stared back at him could belong to a stranger. Hope and innocence had been ripped away, unable to bear the image any longer; he picked up the mirror and launched it against the door shattering it into tiny splintered pieces.

  Matt ran down the stairs, stepped into his shoes and out of the house. He didn’t stop running until he reached Bidbury police station. He paused, just briefly, before hurrying up the steps and into the building.

  ‘Well that’s quite a story, lad,’ the detective opposite him said, ‘are you sure you didn’t imagine it?’

  ‘No, Sir,’ Matt said seriously. He was in an interview room sat across the table from the detective and a younger uniformed policeman. The detective had a comb over and a wispy moustache. He seemed very old to the young Matt, but was probably only in his late forties.

  The detective looked at Matt’s crumpled clothing. ‘Easy to get it wrong after a heavy night out.’

  ‘It happened.’ Matt didn’t sound or look any more convinced than the Detective was, could he have imagined it all? He had been very drunk.

  ‘You wait outside; I'll call in the other lads, see if anyone supports the story. But we haven’t had any reports of the crime come in...’

  Matt sat in the station reception area and waited. One by one his Rugby mates filed past him in and out of the interview room. As Andrew passed by he clenched his fist in a threatening gesture making sure that only Matt could see. Andrew was followed out by Kevin who paused in front of him and turned his head to speak to the detective.

  ‘He’s a piss poor drinker; he’d already had a belly full. We tried to stop him, but...’ Kevin shrugged his shoulders in a what can you do type way and glanced from the detective to Matt. ‘Guess it was a bad trip.’

  ‘You’re a liar!’ Matt said, jumping to his feet.

  Kevin walked away with a satisfied smirk on his face.

  The detective looked at Matt. ‘I should caution you for wasting police time.’ He said sternly, his moustache twitching. ‘Now sod off. You’re lucky I didn’t call your parents in. Lay off the drink and stay away from ecstasy, it addles the brain…’

  Matt stared at the man, he felt totally confused.

  ‘Might already be too late in your case.’ The detective added, chuckling to himself as he walked back into the interview room, slamming the door.

  In the days following the attack Matt tried to justify his actions, he was drunk, he was young, he was threatened. He even tried to kid himself that the girls had been willing participants. But he knew it was all nonsense and there was no excuse, no justification and no forgiving his actions. So somehow he’d had to learn to live with the knowledge.

  He expected to be arrested. Once the smug detective heard from the girls then he would know the truth. But the police never came, and there was no report in the paper of the rape. He tried to find the girls; he went back to the pub and hung around, night after night, for weeks. But he never saw them again.

  His shame and self-loathing grew until one day he realised that the only way for him to stay alive and find some normality was to join the police force. At least then he could lock away his shame and spend every day trying to rid the streets of scum like him. So that’s what he did, and in the early days he had been vigilant and enthusiastic. Until cynicism and disappointment took over and he realised that the likes of Andrew, Kevin and Brian still walked the streets, cocky and cunning and free to bully and abuse again.

  Matt looked at the book, he wanted to read on, but he realised he had no time. He had to stop her, save her from the consequences of her actions. He flicked on through the book, past her journal which gave an account of each hit. There was a newspaper cutting which showed the victorious rugby team with an editorial that listed each of their names. Another newspaper cutting was a small piece about the tragic suicide of a local girl. Matt didn’t need to be a genius to guess that must have been Liz’s sister.

  At the back of the book were files. A separate one for each hit, names, photos, addresses, life style the attention to detail was incredible. It must have taken years to plan. He stared at a picture of himself, at his life under the microscope, even a photo of Avril standing outside their house. All their habits were detailed, the times he usually went to the gym, the restaurants they ate in, the hours they worked, the details of his wife’s affair with Brian Chard. So Liz knew more about his marriage than he did himself!

  Right at the back of the book were pockets with keys. Several were missing. He pulled out the list of names from his pocket and started looking down.

  Suddenly Sam and Craig busted through the door, he’d been so engrossed he hadn’t heard them get home.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Sam demanded. ‘I thought we had burglars.’ She took in his grave expression. ‘What is it? Is it mum? Is she alright?’ Sam looked at the book and the cuttings and steps closer. ‘What is all this?’

  Matt looked at her sadly. ‘I can’t explain now.’

  ‘Is it mum? Is she alright?’ She repeated.

  ‘Probably not. I need to find her… fast.’

  He stood up and quickly checked down the list against the keys. He ignored the houses that he had crossed off hoping that the occupants had taken his advice and changed the locks. His key was still in the pocket, so was James's. It left him with four possible targets.

  His mobile phone rang and he quickly answered it. ‘What is it Jen?’

  He listened while Jen told him about the latest victim. He didn’t care about the details. ‘Who is it?’ he asked, cutting her off.

  He crossed another name of his list. Just three options left.

  ‘Where’s mum?’ Sam demanded.

  Matt stared at the three remaining names. He had to make a decision and hope it was the right one. ‘I think I might know.’ He said, as he picked up the book and all its accompanying bits. He hurried to the door. ‘No time to explain now.’

  ‘I’m coming.’ Sam said, rushing after him.

  He ran out of the house and into his car. ‘No, stay here’ he said ‘I’ll deal with it.’

  ‘Like hell’ Sam replied, putting on her crash helmet.

  ‘What’s going on?’ a bewildered Craig asked.

  ‘Follow that car.’ Sam said.

  Liz parked her blue mini and walked slowly down the street. This time, instead of heading for the front door, she walked past and keeps going until she reached the end of the row of terraces. She ducked down an ally at the end and followed it round to the back of the houses. She counted her way along the rear garden gates until she found the target house, then she slipped into the garden closing the gate behind her and hurried to the back door.

  Matt saw Liz’s car and slammed to a stop beside it. He was barely out the door before Sam and Craig pulled up alongside him. He adopted his sternest police inspector pose and voice and addressed the pair of them. ‘You must wait here.’ He looked at Craig, ‘keep her safe.’

  Craig nodded his head in understanding. Matt ignored the protests and questions coming from a confused and panicking Sam. He ran to the end of the ter
races and into the alley. As soon as he was in the garden he saw that the back door glass was smashed and it was slightly open. He pushed it forward and entered cautiously through the kitchen. He stopped to listen but heard no sound, so he crept forward carefully into the hall and from there into the lounge. As he stepped into the room he was relieved to see clear carpet without a dead body. But the relief was short lived as a gun was shoved into the side of his head.

  ‘How did you know?’ Liz said from behind him.

  ‘Are you going to shoot me?

  ‘When did you know?’

  ‘Not until today,’ he said, turning slowly around to face her. He looked into her eyes; the gun was still pointed directly at him. ‘Liz, let me help you.’

  ‘You can’t,’ she replied, ‘I have to do this.’

  ‘You don’t, it can end now. I’ll cover it up, make it go away.’

  He could see the pain in her eyes and it tore at his insides, surely she wanted it to end?

  ‘I have to do this,’ she said, shaking her head sadly. ‘Steve tried so hard to do it legitimately. He built files on everyone, he followed them, gathered evidence and every time one of them stepped over the line he ‘helped’ the police. He would send in anonymous evidence, find witnesses…’ she fought back the tears, ‘but the bastards kept getting off. What is it they say? The devil looks after his own?’

  Matt took a small step closer, but despite her despair the gun stayed pointed at his head.

  ‘How can I live and love while the bastards who killed my sister and my husband walk free? Do you know Steve spent two years building a dossier against Trevor Neam?’

  Matt knew that Trevor Neam had been Hillard back then, the team called him Hithard because once he’d smashed into another player on the field and the guy had gone down so hard he had to be carried off the field. Matt hadn’t known him well but knew that his parents divorced and Trevor changed to Neam to take his mother’s maiden name. Then he left Bidbury and moved to London.