No Way Out: an edge of your seat crime thriller

by DC Brockwell

  So far, not being at work was working out great…

  “Good! you’re finally awake,” said Beattie, observing Danny’s rolling eyes. “Focus, Danny, focus!”

  She watched until they stopped rolling and she realised he could see her. She’d been waiting for him to wake for hours, and it was now 18:15. He’d lost more blood than she had thought. It didn’t matter; he was alive, so she could administer his punishment.

  Danny didn’t say anything; he just stood there with his arms up in the air, tightly chained to the ceiling cuffs, his ankles chained to the floor.

  When she walked around him, she could see his back was still bleeding, although mostly scabbing over. “You’ve really gone and done it this time, haven’t you? Because you know I’ve got to punish you, and it won’t be like before, Danny. No, this time I’m going to give you the real dregs of society.”

  One of her guards stood in front of Danny and punched him in the gut. She heard him groan in pain, which made her smile. That was just for starters. “Again!”

  The guard punched him hard on the left cheek and Danny’s head snapped left.

  “Not in the face, please,” Beattie told the guard. “We can still get decent money for him, but not if his face is pulp.”

  “Is slapping okay?” The guard looked at her for confirmation.

  “I don’t see why not,” she replied, then the guard slapped Danny hard.

  She imagined his ears would be ringing, and his face was turning redder by the second. She walked up to him and grabbed his chin, shouting, “Look at me!” When she saw his eyes focus, she added, “You’re in hell now.”

  Beattie listened as he tried to speak. It came out all garbled. “What was that, sweetie? Speak up! We can’t hear you.”

  When she pulled her hand away, his head fell; he was unconscious again.

  The second guard approached Danny, poured some liquid on a handkerchief, and smothered his face with it. She watched as Danny woke up again, startled.

  “You’re back with us then? Good.”

  She stood back and let the guards take it in turns punching him in the stomach, and after five turns each, she signalled for them to stop. “You see, Danny, this is what you get for trying to escape. Do you understand now?” she asked. “You’re never leaving here. The only way out is death, and I’m not forgiving enough to give you that; I’ll keep you alive for as long as I want you to be alive, and you’re going to suffer along the way, you can believe that.”

  She nodded at the guards, who carried out five more turns of stomach punches.

  “This is just the start of your punishment,” she said. “I’m going to leave you in a minute in the care of my guards, who are going to see to it that you behave in the future. It won’t be pleasant.” She grinned. “And after you’ve convalesced for a bit, you’re going to be servicing the vilest creatures known to man, but don’t worry – if he,” Beattie pointed to Danny’s groin, “doesn’t want to work, I’ll fill you with Viagra to make sure he does.” She paused for a moment before adding, “Believe me when I say you’ve made the worst mistake of your life today.”

  Feeling the rage inside her taking over, Beattie excused herself, and as she left the room, she heard the guards beating Danny. They were well trained, and they enjoyed their jobs. She smiled as she closed the door behind her…

  Nasreen opened Mina’s bedroom door a crack to check she was asleep, and when she heard her daughter’s heavy breathing she smiled, thinking it would probably turn into full-blown snoring as she got older – that was, if her dad was anything to go by.

  Nasreen left the door ajar, as Mina liked, and walked along the landing to her bedroom. Inside, she took off her salwar kameez and changed into her satin pyjamas; she loved the feel of the fabric, and although they were expensive, she thought they were well worth the money.

  Once in bed, she lay awake, looking up at the ceiling. The television was on in the background. She could hear the news presenter talking about Brexit, the usual nonsense with politicians from both sides arguing about how the country would fare once the UK had left Europe. It bored her; the whole thing was a farce and had been handled astonishingly badly by both sides – the UK government and the rest of Europe.

  It was on nights like these that she most missed Ashraf. Had he been alive today, she’d have chewed his ear off about how she’d been suspended, and he would’ve had her back all the way; he wouldn’t have played devil’s advocate, he’d have been shouting about suing the police force. She loved him so much.

  A tear rolled down her cheek as she thought back to when Mina was born. Ashraf had just arrived home from work that fateful night to find her on the lounge floor, in labour, her contractions two minutes apart. He’d panicked so much she’d had to calm him down and tell him to phone for an ambulance. Because they were in the middle of nowhere, however, the ambulance hadn’t arrived in time, and she’d given birth to Mina in their lounge, Ashraf encouraging her as he delivered their daughter with his own two hands. He was amazing – as good as any doctor or midwife.

  And she so loved this house too. It was a white painted country cottage with half an acre of land, which should’ve been awesome to behold, but neither she nor Ashraf were keen gardeners, so it was just a big back garden and a huge driveway and lawn. She wished she had time to get her fingers green – her job wouldn’t allow it.

  It was the shock of Ashraf’s death that had been the hardest part. One day he was going about his daily routine – as normal as anyone else’s – and the next he was dead, and she was being asked to identify him at the morgue. If only she’d had time to say I love you, or even just goodbye… It wasn’t fair!

  Nasreen had already endured enough heartache, what with the deaths of both her parents six months apart; her mother had died from a heart attack when she was twenty-eight and her father was going through chemotherapy for prostate cancer, and six months later, he passed away from the disease. That had been a horrible time in her life.

  Now all she had left – apart from Mina, of course – was Ashraf’s mother, Yasmin. She was really great and understanding about her career. It wasn’t the same as having her parents to talk to and confide in. Although she had rebelled in her late teens and early twenties – which was how she’d got together with Danny – she’d found her way back and married a true Pakistani man, which had thrilled both her parents. She knew they were proud of the person she’d become.

  She sat up, hearing a strange sound, like something clanking.

  It sounded like it came from the kitchen.

  Using the remote, she switched the television off and listened again.

  Another loud clank.

  It could have been Hugo, their cat, jumping on the kitchen counter and knocking things off as he walked by.

  Nasreen’s adrenaline told her differently.

  She got out of bed, and crept over to her bedroom door, opening it a crack and listening.

  There was no one outside the bedrooms, so it hadn’t woken Mina, or Katerina, if her nanny was back from her night out.

  Shit! What was it?

  Slowly, Nasreen opened her door and edged her way along the wall to Mina’s bedroom, sneaking inside and waking her daughter. She put a finger against Mina’s lips and whispered, “Shhh! We’re going to play a little game, sweetheart. I want you to lock your door after me and I want you to stay really, really–”

  There was another bang, louder this time.

  “Quiet!” She put her finger against her lips. “Stay really quiet. In fact, put your fingers in your ears and count to a hundred in your head, okay? Mummy will be right back.”

  Her daughter did as she was told; she heard the bolt as her daughter locked herself in. “Good girl,” she whispered, as she crept along the hallway.

  It wasn’t pitch black in her house, but it was dark enough, and as she crept through to the lounge, she saw nothing untoward. She walked through to the dining room, finding nothing, then continued. It was the kitche
n she was more interested in.

  When she reached the kitchen, the door was closed. Ever so slowly, she opened it, the wood creaking under her weight. She made a note to get the flooring fixed.

  Her breath came out in rasps.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw their cat, Hugo, on the countertop. It was exactly like she’d said to herself.

  Smiling, she went and picked up Hugo, giving him a kiss on the head. “You scared the shit out of me, little man,” she said, kissing him again.

  It was only when she put Hugo down on the floor and looked up that she noticed the back door was open.

  As she stood there, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

  There was someone behind her – she could feel it.

  A sudden burst of adrenaline gave her the boost she needed to spin round and attack whoever it was, her fist connecting with a black mask.

  The man wearing it was big and broad-shouldered. She was no match for him.

  The masked man groaned in pain for a brief second before countering her punch and rushing forwards, pushing her backwards until her head hit the bottom of a kitchen cupboard.

  She heard a ringing sound as the wind got pushed out of her, the pain in the back of her head immense.

  Next, the masked man grabbed her by the neck and threw her across the room until the top of her head smacked against one of the lower cupboards.

  Slightly dazed, she rolled onto her back, as the man reached her, and she kicked upwards at the right time for her bare foot to strike him in the face.

  She needed a weapon!

  Using the time she’d gained by kicking him, Nasreen pulled herself up enough to grab a saucepan she’d washed earlier.

  As she went to pull it back, however, she felt his powerful hand around her wrist, and when he squeezed, she involuntarily let go of the pan.

  He was behind her, and he had the advantage; she knew this because she felt his other hand as he placed it around her neck.

  Finding energy from wherever she could find it, she put her spare arm around his leg and pushed back as hard as she could. His leg straightened, his kneecap locking, and he yelled in pain before throwing her sideways, away from his leg.

  She utilised the space and ran through to the dining room.

  He was limping – right behind her.

  Before she could move out of his way, he pushed her into the dining room table.

  When she was on the floor, he stooped down, grabbed her by the collar, and lifted her up and onto the table with such ease that she was momentarily awed by his power.

  A second later, she kicked him in the face again and rolled to the other side of the two-foot wide table. She had a barrier between them, and she utilised it by switching one way, then the other.

  He moved every time she moved.

  She had to jump back when he yelled in frustration, grabbed the table, and upended it, almost throwing it on top of her.

  Making her first mistake, she saw a space and tried running past him.

  He easily reached out and grabbed her by the neck.

  She found she couldn’t breathe as he lifted her up off the ground, her legs flailing in the air and her head almost reaching the dining room light.

  “Daniel Rose is dead,” the man said, his accent unusual. She couldn’t place it.

  The pressure in her head was truly intense, but with all the force she could muster, Nasreen kicked him in the groin. It was such a hard kick that the man instantly dropped her, bending over in agony while she lay on the floor, trying to get her breath back.

  “Ahhh, fucking bitch!” he yelled.

  Nasreen still couldn’t catch her breath; all she could do was crawl away from him while he stumbled after her, letting her crawl as far as the middle of the lounge. When she gave up crawling, he bent down and turned her onto her back.

  He sat down on top of her, then with a groan of pain, pinned her wrists down with his powerful, slab hands. “I like it when they fight,” he said, wincing. “Feisty ones are the best.”

  She strained to get him off, but it was no use; he was too strong.

  “Mummy?”

  Nasreen’s heart stopped for what felt like eternity. She felt her head tilt backwards. She wasn’t doing it herself, and the next thing she saw was the silhouette of her daughter, upside down.

  “She is beautiful,” she heard him say.

  While looking at her upside-down daughter, Nasreen rasped, “You remember what Mummy said? Go back and lock your bedroom door, sweetheart.” She tried to keep her voice level, though there was such rage inside her. How dare this man do this to her, to her daughter!

  Nasreen watched Mina run away, then she pulled her head back so she could see the man’s eyes and smile through the mouth hole in the mask. He had dead eyes.

  “I’ll have to make acquaintance with little girl,” he said smugly.

  “You touch her, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

  The masked man’s laugh was twisted, powerful.

  “I came to give you message,” he said, no smile this time. “Daniel Rose is dead. Don’t keep looking him, or I come back for little girl. Understand, bitch?”

  He made a horrible grating sound with his throat, before slowly letting a big goblet of saliva ooze out of his mouth and drop down onto her face. She tried to get away from it – the speed was so slow, it would have been possible. He kept matching his pace with hers, mirroring her actions. Finally, it landed on her cheek.

  “I go now, but remember what I say,” he said, easing the pressure off her body. “I come back and kill you both if you continue; I be watching.”

  Groaning, he picked himself up and Nasreen watched as he hobbled out of the living room. She heard him in the kitchen, and then nothing.

  She lay there on the living room carpet for several moments, feeling his warm saliva dripping – sliming – down her cheek. There was something stopping her, however, from instinctively wiping it off and washing her face; she had the masked man’s DNA…

  41

  Day 29

  Thursday, 8th February

  Beattie yawned and stretched. The PC monitor told her it was 12:32. She’d been in the office all night, partly because she had paperwork to catch up on, mostly because she’d been waiting for Lennox to arrive. He hadn’t, so her dad had sent some other associate to come and pick up the day’s takings.

  Disappointed was an understatement; she’d really wanted to see him.

  “Hi! How’ve you been, honey?”

  She turned around to find Alan leaning against the wall by the door. “How long’ve you been standing there?”

  “A couple of minutes. I think we need to talk.”

  She groaned inwardly. It was the last thing she needed. She sighed. “Not now, Alan. I’m really tired; I was just about to turn everything off and go to bed.”

  “We need to clear the air.”

  “You mean you need to clear your conscience.”

  Alan frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What do you think it means? You’re going to tell me how sorry you are about being away for so long, and I’m supposed to just say, ‘Ah, Alan, that’s okay,’ but the truth is, it’s not okay. You’re out there fucking who knows what every n–”

  “Hold it,” he interrupted, “wait. Back up a bit, honey. I haven’t been fucking anyone,” he insisted.

  “Of course you have,” she replied, confusion etched in her brow. “Haven’t you?”

  “No! I haven’t fucked anyone while I’ve been away.”

  “Then where have you been all this time?”

  Alan stepped forward, then crouched so his eyes were on the same level as hers. He reached out, taking her hand in his. “I’ve been trying to find the right moment to tell you this for a while, but there never seemed to be the right time… So, here goes…”

  Beattie waited for what felt like forever, and she was about to say, “Come on, spit it out, I haven’t got all night,” when h
e announced, “I’ve got a daughter.”

  What the actual f…? No, she meant what the fuck? Was he admitting now that he had cheated on her? Her brow furrowed even more. “I’m confused, what do you mean?”

  “You’re confused?” He shook his head. “Try getting a text from a girl you had sex with at school, saying you have a daughter, and that she’s thirty. That’ll confuse you.”

  “Wait, if she’s thirty, then you mean her mum is…”

  “Someone I went to school with, yes. I didn’t cheat on you, if that’s what you thought I was going to say.”

  Her head was spinning; this was definitely not how she saw her day going.

  She was too confused to speak.

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything sooner,” Alan said eventually, breaking the awkward silence.

  “Yes, you shit, why didn’t you?” Beattie spat. “You should’ve told me the moment you found out! I mean, you could’ve told me; I’m understanding, aren’t I?”

  He smiled at her. “Honey, of course you’re understanding… and beautiful… and intelligent.”

  “Keep going,” she said. A smile crept over her.

  He almost laughed at that, but stopped himself at the last second, shaking his head. “If I’m honest, I didn’t want to tell you until I found out if it was genuine or not.”

  “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t it be genuine?”

  “Well, look at what we’ve got: the wealth, the power… Hannah could’ve been lying about Samantha being my daughter. She could’ve been trying to get money from me.”

  “So, your daughter’s name is Samantha?”

  He nodded. “Yep, Samantha Browne.”

  “Samantha Brown,” Beattie said out loud, trying it for herself.

  “With an E,” he added.

  “Samantha Brown with an E. It’s very pretty, Alan.”

  His smile got wider. “You should see her, Bea. She’s gorgeous. Looks a bit like me too – well, as much as a daughter can look like their dad, I guess. But you know what I mean.”