The stumpy man pointed his trembling finger. “That door, there. It leads outside.”
Damien backed up against the door and shoved it open. It led to a small waiting area lit by the growing light of dawn. Everything outside the windows was dark blue, heralding the imminent arrival of the sun.
“What will I find out there?”
“Staff vehicles. That’s all.”
“That’s all I need.”
Damien kicked out and slammed the door he had come through closed. It hit one of the guards and sent the group of them back into the corridor. Damien used the brief advantage to slip out of the reception room and out onto the hard concrete outside.
It felt surreal to finally be out of the facility, away from the house. He felt like a caged sparrow suddenly being released. But he also knew that he was far from free.
The guards flooded out behind Damien and begun ordering him to give himself up. Instead, Damien searched around for another option. Up ahead was a long bus, perhaps the one that had brought him there to begin with. It was full of people who looked all ready to set off.
“Who are all those people?” Damien asked his hostage while pointing at the bus.
“The benefactors.”
“You mean the people who paid for us all to be here?”
“They just wanted to see justice served.”
“So you gave them a front row seat?”
Damien thought about all the videos he had seen; all of the broken and damaged people looking for a way to ease their pain. As much anger as he felt, it was not directed at the people on the bus. They were victims, too, and could perhaps be excused for their bad judgement. They were not the cause of all this. They were being used no differently to the housemates. Their pain was being used as a way to profiteer. The people responsible were the ones who had turned suffering into a business.
“Where are they heading?” Damien asked.
“The ferry.”
“Then I hope they go back to their lives and manage to find some peace, because this shit is over.”
“Sir, I need you to release Mr Hammond and put down the axe,” said one of the guards.
Damien smirked. “Mr Hammond, huh? Nice to put a name with the face.”
“I’m just a technician,” he said. “Let me go.”
“But we’re just getting to know each other.”
“What would your friend, Harry, think about all of this, Damien? He would never condone you taking a man hostage, or cutting off a woman’s hand.”
“Danni is a lot of things, but a woman isn’t one of them, and if you mention Harry’s name again I’ll cut you.”
“Just let go of me and we can work something out, son. You can take the prize money and go and help your friend.”
Damien hesitated for a second as something became clear. “You’re not a technician are you? You know too much about me.”
The stumpy man used Damien’s lapse in concentration to drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes and escape his grasp.
The guards were on Damien immediately. An elbow caught him in the chin and made him see stars. He tried to hold onto the axe, but before he knew it, it had already dropped to the ground as half a dozen bodies piled on top of him.
If it were not for the whiskey dulling his senses, Damien would have probably lost consciousness; especially when his skull hit the pavement with a clonk!
“Get him up!” said the stumpy man who Damien now knew was The Landlord.
The guards dragged Damien up off the ground and held him in front of their boss.
“You really should have bled to death.” He sneered. “It would have been easier on you.”
Damien spat a mouthful at blood. “Piss off!”
The stumpy man wound up a punch and landed it against Damien’s ribs. The air rushed out of him.
Two hundred yards away the bus full of ‘benefactors’ departed for the docks. Damien wished he were with them.
Least I got some payback against Danni. If nothing else, there’s that.
“How on earth did you get into this?” Damien said. “How do you sleep at night?”
The Landlord smirked. “How do you think I got into this? Money. As for how well I sleep, well, let’s just say I’ve never been one for sleeping anyway. It’s overrated.”
“So, what now? You kill me in cold blood? You got the stones for it, you fat fuck?”
“I never get my hands dirty. I just give my word and things get done. Allow me to demonstrate.”
The Landlord leant in to one of his guards and whispered something. The guard nodded and then headed off. While that was happening, the other guards moved Damien further away from the building. The Landlord followed them.
Two minutes later the facility blew up.
The force of the blast was like a gale force wind. The flames lit up the dawn sky and plumes of smoke twirled in the air like billowy dancers. The air filled with ash and debris.
Damien choked and spluttered. “Jesus! Weren’t your people in there?”
The Landlord shrugged. “A few. All of my permanent staff are out of the way. Those left inside were expendable. Better just to part ways with them. New project, new staff. That’s the way we do things around here.”
Damien huffed. “Beats severance pay, I guess.”
The Landlord waved a hand dismissively. “Take him somewhere private. Bury the body.”
A guard grabbed Damien from either side and dragged him along the concrete. They steered him towards a patch of scrubland at the edge of the car park. The sun lay on the horizon ahead.
“So you couldn’t just get a job at a supermarket like everybody else,” Damien said as the two men dragged him by his arms.
“Shut up,” said the guard on his left.
“No, seriously. Why do this?”
“Because it pays better than working at a supermarket.”
Damien’s feet left the concrete as it gave way to mud and grass. He knew there were only seconds left until the two men killed him.
But he wasn’t out of ideas yet.
For the last few yards, Damien had gone limp and weak, acting as if he were already a beaten man. The guards either side of him held on to him tightly. Too tightly.
Suddenly, Damien sprung backwards on his heels and broke free of the men’s grasp. Immediately they spun around and came after him.
Damien was ready with the chef’s knife hidden behind his belt. He slid it out and pointed it forward. The nearest guard ran right into it.
Damien pushed the knife deeper into the guard’s belly and pulled him into a tight hug, using the man’s body as a shield against his colleague. Then Damien pushed the wounded guard backwards and sent him colliding into his friend.
The two guards fell to the floor, one bleeding on top of the other. Damien swung his leg and kicked the uninjured man in the face, cleaning his clock and knocking him cold. The other guard bled out on top of him.
Damien knelt down and wiped the bloody knife against the dead guard’s jumper. Then he stood up, turned around, and stared back at the flaming remains of the facility.
With the sun behind him, Damien was hidden in shadow. He used that fact to his advantage as he studied his surroundings. There were still a few handfuls of personnel loitering around the area, but most were getting into a fleet of black Range Rovers and driving away, completing their mass exodus. The Landlord was amongst them, talking on a phone and ordering people around.
Damien cut a wide arc, heading as close to the flaming remains of the facility as he could stand. The very air itself was heated and it was like walking through a sauna. Hopefully the constant shifting of the fires would mask his own movement, but he kept low and moved quickly.
Once he made it over to the nearest Range Rover, Damien crouched down beside one of the large 21” rims. He peered around the back of the vehicle and watched as more personnel departed. As each one left, Damien’s odds increased.
They’re making the mistake of assumi
ng I’m dead again. They really need to get better at this.
Somebody was coming.
Damien looked left and right and saw nowhere to go that would not leave him exposed. He reached up and grabbed at the handle of the Range Rover’s rear passenger door. It was unlocked.
He pulled the door ajar and slid inside the vehicle, squeezing down into the spacious foot well and making sure he was out of sight. Then he hooked his trainer inside the door’s armrest and pulled it shut again.
Two seconds later, the driver’s door opened and a body jumped behind the wheel. The vehicle rocked back and forth on its springs and then settled.
The front passenger door opened and somebody had brief conversation with whoever was in driver’s seat. They spoke about ‘cases’ and the driver said to ‘leave them with me.’
Then the engine grumbled to life.
Then the Range Rover started moving.
Lying in the foot well, Damien had a seductive desire to go to sleep. He had been through so much and his body was wrecked and his mind was begging for downtime. What he wanted more than anything else in the world right now was a soft bed someplace safe.
But not just yet.
Damien sprang up from the foot well and sat up on the back seat. He quickly leant forward and placed his knife against the driver’s throat. When he saw it was The Landlord, he could not believe his luck.
“Well well well, looks like I caught the right taxi.”
The Landlord’s eyes went wide and then settled on the rear view mirror. The fear in his expression was clear and it gave Damien a satisfied grin.
The Range Rover started to slow down. Damien dug the knife into The Landlord’s throat. “Slow down and you die.”
“What are you going to do?”
Damien eyed the two suitcases on the front passenger seat and saw what was inside them. “I’m going to have a little revenge of my own,” he said, staring down at the millions in cash. “Then I’m going to take my winnings. Just keep driving.”
The Range Rover switched off its lights and cut through the hills, heading in the opposite direction to the other vehicles. Damien kept smiling at all the money on the front seat and then at the terrified expression on The Landlord’s face. Maybe things were going to work out after all. Harry was going to get his procedure…
And The Landlord is going to get what’s coming to him.
Looks like I win, thought Damien as he watched the sun rise beyond the hills.
One Week Later…
“We still can’t get a fix on The Landlord, Mr Raymeady. It looks like maybe he went off the grid with the money instead of giving everybody their cut.”
Samuel Raymeady looked up from his mahogany desk and studied his employee with his dark, smouldering eyes. “No matter,” he said. “In a few days, the money won’t even matter. There are much greater things ahead of us. It’s time to see some real change in the world. The time for punishing worthless sinners, one soul at a time, is over. It’s time to take a larger approach.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
Samuel smiled, his snake-like incisors glinting in the orange glow of his office lamp. On his desk lay a vast sheet of paper. It was the blueprint for a cruise liner that his company, Black Remedy, owned: The Spirit of Kirkpatrick. “You’ll see,” he said, folding his hands on top of his desk. “You’ll see very soon.”
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Iain Rob Wright is one of the UK's most successful horror and suspense writers, with novels including the critically acclaimed, THE FINAL WINTER; the disturbing bestseller, ASBO; and the wicked screamfest, THE HOUSEMATES.
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Copyright © 2016 by Iain Rob Wright
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