15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  They were keeping her alive. But she didn’t know why. She attempted to speak to the mysterious person who kept leaving her bowls of food and water, but her vocal chords were strained and paralyzed after not being used for such a long time.

  The hours and days soon turned into something more. A week? Maybe two? She wasn’t sure. But by the time they opened the door one last time, they were greeted with the foul smell of faeces and urine. She had soiled herself in that room. She hadn’t even noticed.

  A light came on and blinded her. A shadowy figure stood in the doorway. It didn’t move, it just remained there, still and silent until it spoke. She recognized the voice. It belonged to the driver who’d brought her to this place.

  “It’s time,” he said, moving in and dragging her out of the room by force.

  Eleven

  Demi was disorientated by the transition from darkness to light. Her eyeballs felt as if they were about to pop. She could feel the surface of her eye whites stretching, as if they were being strained by the light. She blinked a few times and the pain eased, but the smell didn’t. Demi could smell the foulness coming off her. She looked down at her front and saw smear marks of God knows what. She knew what it could be, but she dreaded to think that it actually was what she thought it might be.

  The man was dragging her toward a new room. They were in a narrow hallway. The walls were metal and looked rusted. Specks of brown and yellow stained the wall. She could tell that the walls were once metallic and shone. Every few meters or so, the rust got worse, and the metal shine that once covered the walls dissolved into a derelict mesh of melted metal. The door they were approaching was large and made of steel. For the first time since she had set foot in that place, she was able to get a feel for where she was. She figured that they had taken her to an abandoned warehouse, and she was right. The place was full of warehouse paraphernalia, if there is such a thing. For instance, right next to the door was a trollies dolly. It had a box on it, half open, half shut. On the side of the box, the word “ammunition” was tattooed in big black bold letters.

  “The arms warehouse,” she whispered under her breath, immediately realizing that she was audible.

  The man dragging her to the room smiled at her. She looked at him and then looked back at the ground.

  “Clever girl. You catch on fast. But I’m afraid it doesn’t really matter what you know now. Knowledge tends to die with the people who possess it,” the guy said, both of them reaching the big steel door.

  He knocked on it and waited a second or two. A muffled voiced beckoned them inside. He held her with one arm and opened the door with the other. It creaked and protested as it swung open. A bright light blinded Demi in the face. She attempted to shield her eyes, but it was no use. She was limp and had no energy. It was a good job that the man escorting her to the bright room was holding on to her, or she feared she would have collapsed because she had no energy.

  “Welcome,” a voice said from within the room. Her eyes were attempting to adjust to the light, but it was no use. They were tired and lazy. They weren’t willing to put in the work required for them to function properly.

  The man shoved her into the room and closed the door. He stood next to the door, behind her, breathing heavily. He must have been a little unfit or was excited. She couldn’t work out whether he was panting for breath after dragging her to this new place or if he was reeling in excitement, like he knew something she didn’t.

  “Sit down,” the voice said, emanating from a shadowy figure that was being blackened and blocked by a bright light in the middle of what looked like a desk to Demi.

  She couldn’t quite see any chairs, so she sat on the floor.

  “No, not on the floor. Come closer. Sit down on a chair. What are you? A kid?” the voice said.

  Suddenly the man behind her picked her up with ease and shoved her forward. She nearly fell across the desk in front of her. It was large and made out of wood. It had a kerosene lamp in the middle that was blazing a hot white light into Demi’s face. But now that she was closer, she could see who was sitting behind the desk. It was Donny. For some reason, she hadn’t recognized his voice. She put it down to being in captivity for so long.

  “Sit the fuck down!” Donny said.

  Now she recognized his voice. It had that flair for aggression he was so well known for. She did as she was told. Felt around for a chair and found one. She plonked herself down. It was wooden and uncomfortable, but she welcomed the new sensation. It sure beat lying on a concrete floor for however long she’d done so.

  “You know why you’re here?” Donny asked. His face was still partially obscured by the bright light coming from the old-style kerosene lamp that sat in the middle of the desk.

  “I know you want to punish me for killing your brother,” she said, finding the sound of her voice strange. It had been a while since she’d last heard it.

  “Exactly. I’m punishing you for your disloyalty,” he said, edging forward, his face that little bit more visible the closer he got to the lamp.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him,” she said.

  “Accidents happen, I guess,” Donny replied, moving the flaming lamp to his right. In doing so, the light and ambiance in the room shifted dramatically. Shadows moved across the room, and the whole place went a little dimmer. She could now see her boss’s face. He wasn’t sporting a very readable expression. It was blank and without emotion, which was strange, considering the situation.

  “He tried to rape me,” Demi said.

  He looked at her from across the desk and remained emotionless. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there and waited. Demi realized that this was her chance to explain herself. He was giving her a street-style trial. This was unheard of for him, but she knew that there was still a chance. A tiny chance, if that, but still a chance nonetheless that she would walk out of there.

  Hope is a strange thing. It can spur a person to achieve the impossible, but it can also destroy a person’s ability of rational thinking. Demi was hopeful, and that meant one of two things: She’d either achieve the impossible, or she wasn’t thinking straight. It soon became clear which one applied to her.

  Twelve

  After thirty minutes of Demi explaining herself and Donny not saying one word, he finally spoke.

  “So let me get this straight. You killed my brother, and, to top it all off, you decide to smear his name…our family name at that, and call him a rapist?”

  Demi swallowed hard. By now her vision was becoming clearer, and she was feeling a bit better. Her eyes still felt strained, but she didn’t feel as close to passing out as she did before.

  “I’m telling you the truth, Donny. At first I was okay with sleeping with him — I mean, that’s why we left together. He’s a good-looking guy, but then he turned nasty in the car outside my place, and I didn’t know what to do. Before I knew it, he was punching me. And then it got out of hand. I had to defend myself. Surely you understand?”

  Donny got up abruptly, and his voice exploded into a high-pitched rage.

  “NO, I DON’T FUCKING UNDERSTAND!” he screamed, immediately lowering his voice and saying, “You expect me to understand? You think that I’ll just forget about it and let you go on your merry way? Who do you think you are? The goddamn queen? You want a fucking royal pardon?”

  Demi began to shake a little. It wasn’t going her way. She could tell things were going to turn nasty if she wasn’t careful.

  “I didn’t know he was your brother, Donny!” she exclaimed, feeling as if her whole body was shaking in terror.

  “It doesn’t matter what you thought! He’s dead now. Can you bring him back? Will that change the fact that his kids won’t ever see him again? That Christmas is around the corner and there won’t be any presents from Dad?”

  Demi shook her head and said, “No.”

  “Exactly,” Donny said, sitting back down and tapping his fingers on the desk. Both hands were overly animated. It was like they were it
ching to explode out at her and squeeze her neck. She could tell that Donny was ready to make her pay for what she had done. She could feel it deep down in the pit of her stomach. That sensation people get when they know all is lost and no matter how hard they try, they won’t be getting out of a situation anytime soon.

  “He tried to rape me,” Demi said under her breath. “What was I supposed to do, let him rape me?”

  “No. That’s not why I’m doing this to you. You see, I’d understand perfectly if you killed him defending yourself, and then came running to me and told me it was an accident. But you see, Demi, this is where it all falls apart. You didn’t come running to me. In fact, you hid. You hid away in your flat, hoping that I wouldn’t find out. But I did. And the worst part of it is that you didn’t just murder my brother, but you mangled him. You smashed his skull open and then burned him to a crisp in his car. You destroyed him and his legacy. You scorched our family’s ties and burned our memories. You didn’t just kill my brother, you killed my reputation.”

  Donny stood up and made his way around the desk. He approached Demi and knelt down on one knee. His eyes were firmly locked on hers, and he had an expression on his face that Demi had never seen before. It was downright terrifying how angry he was. She knew hope was lost at that very moment. She knew she was never going to see daylight again.

  “Do you actually think that I’m going to let you out of here today?” he asked, still on one knee, still staring at her, still wearing that expression on his face.

  “No,” she replied plainly, trying to cover up the fear in her voice but failing.

  “Well, you could have fooled me. You act like this is some sort of confessional. Like what you say will have a bearing on what I do with you. But you’re wrong, Demi. There is nothing that you could say that would stop me from hurting you. Nothing you could say to keep me from enjoying it. I’m going to make you pay dearly for what you did. I’m going to make you cry, Demi. I’m going to make you scream. Maybe even vomit. But I know one thing for certain: You’re going to die a very slow death.”

  Demi looked at her boss’s eyes and saw him snap. She knew what was coming next, but she just didn’t know how much it would hurt. He balled his fist up and punched her three times on the face. Her teeth cracked and her jaw ached. He didn’t stop at three, though. He smacked her again and again and again.

  Before she knew it, she was out cold.

  Thirteen

  “That’s right, leave her like that. I almost forgot,” Demi heard a voice say. She didn’t know where she was. Everything was dark, but suddenly there was light. A great big beam of it. And the sound of something sliding open. Then she saw three sets of faces staring down at her. They were smiling. One of the faces belonged to Donny. He had the biggest smile out of the lot of them.

  “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of this,” Donny said, still smiling, still looking down at her. He chucked a walkie-talkie at her. It landed on her chest. She was lying down. It was then that she noticed she was in a confined space. Walls on either side. Made out of wood. It encased her. It entombed her.

  “If it gets a little hard to breathe in there, use this,” Donny said, chucking something else onto her chest. It weighed quite a bit. At least a kilo, maybe two. She tilted her head and noticed her hands were tied. She tried to move her feet, but they were also bound. Her mouth was the only thing that worked normally. She opened it and gasped, realizing what was happening.

  “What are you doing?” she managed to say, her breath still stuttering like there wasn’t enough air.

  “Burying you alive,” Donny said plainly. The other two faces next to him nodded. They belonged to the driver and the passenger. It was then that she came to the realization that those three men were going to be the last people she’d ever see.

  “Please, don’t do it!” she screamed.

  But it was too late. The light disappeared, and the sliding noise returned. Darkness engulfed her. She tried to move, but her restraints were tight and unforgiving. Every time she attempted to move, the restraints dug deep lacerations into her skin. She could feel the air stinging at her wounds. Sweat was starting to drip down her brow, and her eyes were adjusting to the pitch blackness that surrounded her. The outline of what looked like the interior of a coffin was visible to Demi. She couldn’t be quite too sure, but she knew she was in some sort of box. It was made out of wood and was very uncomfortable. Her back was lying on bare wood. It felt smooth but abrasive at the same time. The walkie-talkie and oxygen cylinder were weighing down on her chest. She was about to push them off when the sound of a drill above her went off.

  “Please!” she screamed.

  But the drill continued. It started on her left, next to her head. A few specks of sawdust landed on her face. For a second or two there was a slim streak of light that shone through the minute hole. But it was soon replaced by the sound of something slotting into place, and the light disappeared. Then came the sound of a hammer. The walls beside her began to vibrate a little. She could hear the wooden structure she was in protest under the strain of the hammering. After a few seconds of silence, the sound of the drill came back. This time it was to her right, just above her head. Then the sliver of light returned. More sawdust. Then some more hammering.

  Demi remained quiet. She realized it was useless making noise. Her fate was sealed. The only thing left to do was die. She came to terms with her fate rather quickly. It was one thing she’d learned in her business. The need to come to terms with death was vital. She’d seen too many of her hits crying before they were killed. Too many men turning into quivering children. It was something that really bothered her. She promised herself that if she ever found herself in the same situation, she wouldn’t break down into tears. She’d be strong.

  But it’s amazing how hard a feat it is to do so. Crying seemed as if it was the only thing to do. Her emotions were bearing down on her like a ton of bricks. But she remained stern. She just lay there, motionless, breathing. She waited as the sound of the drill returned. This time it was near the end, right above her feet and to the right a little. A sliver of light came through once again. A few dust particles hung in the air as the light disappeared as quickly as it came. More hammering. Then more silence.

  Finally the last bit of drilling. Four holes in total. Three of them filled with what sounded like nine-inch nails. Obviously, one cannot hear what size nails they may be, but to Demi, nine-inch nails were the only plausible way to go. Especially with the drilling. Needing a hole that big and deep could only mean big iron nails. And the fact that they were drilling the holes and then hammering the nails in meant that they didn’t want the coffin opened again. The nails wouldn’t be coming out easily. They wouldn’t be coming out at all.

  The drilling stopped. Another sliver of light. It was likely the last bit of light she’d see. She hung on to it for a long while. It illuminated her left trainer. It shone bright white. She could feel the slight heat coming through the tiny beam. But then it was gone, and darkness returned. Another lot of hammering. She could hear the nail going in. The walls beside her were creaking and moaning, but then silence was all that followed.

  No more hammering. No more drilling. No more creaking.

  The final nail in the coffin was in.

  Fourteen

  The alarm clock read 8:15 a.m. Hamish got up and stretched. He was a big man. He had big arms and a big head. So getting out of bed in his small bedroom was a challenging experience. The challenge in it was attempting to leave the room without knocking anything over. On many an occasion, Hamish managed to do just that. But today was different. Today, Hamish found himself knocking into almost everything. The bedside table. The dresser drawer. The mirror and the pile of clothes his mother put out for him a week ago.

  As he stumbled out of his small and cosy bedroom into the hallway, he even managed to knock one of his mother’s owl paintings off the wall. It slipped out of the bracket and rattled on the floor. Luckily for him, the fall
was broken by a pile of towels outside the bathroom. He held his breath and waited for the inevitable cry from his mother.

  “Hamish! Stop bumbling around up there and come down for your breakfast!” he heard his mother say. She must have been in the kitchen. He would always find her there. Cooking. Listening to the radio. Usually BBC Radio 2. She wasn’t into the more catchy and poppy stations.

  “I’ll be there in a jiffy, Mother,” he found himself saying, forcing the words out in tiredness. He was always like that in the morning. Hard to communicate with. He was the sort of fellow that enjoyed waking up at two o’clock in the afternoon. But unfortunately for him, today was a work day, and his boss, Donny the Hat, wouldn’t appreciate him strolling in at two in the afternoon. He touched his face as he walked into the bathroom and started to pee. The sound of his urine hitting the water always made him smile. He was a gentle beast, although when provoked could be as mean as the rest of them. But Hamish differed from the rest. He was a forgiving soul. Too forgiving, as his boss would usually tell him. Maybe they were right. Hamish caught himself looking at his reflection in the mirror. He had flushed the water and was now washing his hands. But his reflection was what he was most interested in. The scar on his face was still there. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he wished it away, it would only get more purple and foreboding as the days went on.

  He forgave his boss for hurting him. His mother didn’t. But he understood that sometimes he was clumsy and needed a telling-off. He was a big buffoon, at least that’s what he was used to hearing.

  He stopped staring at himself in the mirror and got to drying his hands. He made his way out of the bathroom and back into the hallway. He noticed that he was in his pyjamas, so he was safe to go downstairs and confront his mother. He once forgot and went down in his boxers. No top, just boxers. His mother didn’t find it acceptable, and made him go upstairs and change into something more befitting a breakfast occasion with his elderly mother.