Vengeance List

by Gary Gregor

  He glanced back to the main room he first entered, mentally familiarising himself with an escape route should he need it. Slowly, tentatively, he slid along the wall towards the distant, dim light. The silence within these walls, like the darkness, engulfed him, and only the hollow, punctuated sound of his breathing accompanied him as he moved painstakingly slowly along the wall. Slowly, ever so slowly, he edged his way closer to the soft, flickering glow emanating from under the door ahead.

  Then he was there, outside the door. In the dark, he looked at its shape. He reached out and touched it lightly, feeling its damp surface under his fingers. This door was smaller, but like the main door, was also made of steel-encased concrete. It would be heavy, and he wondered how to enter, as he knew he must. He ran his fingers over the door until he felt a hole where there should be a handle. He probed the hole with his fingers and found the lock was also missing. He paused and wondered which way the door would swing when he did go in.

  25

  Ann Curtis was conscious again, and was terrified. Her captor had returned, and she was strangely grateful to see him. She hated it when he left her alone in this awful, dark, frightening place.

  Stringer stood behind her; very close behind her. Suddenly, he grabbed her roughly by the hair, and pulled her head back hard against his chest. Ann felt his warm, sour breath on her neck and face. Under her chin, resting against her exposed neck, she felt the blade of the long knife she had earlier watched him sharpening. She was afraid to move or struggle against his hold on her. If she did, she knew the knife would bite deep into her throat. She could only moan softly in stark terror as she anticipated a horrible, impending death.

  “Shut up!” Stringer whispered into her ear. “Shut the fuck up, or I will take your pretty head off, right now, right here.”

  Stringer stared at the door. In the hole where there used to be a door handle, he had inserted a piece of metal he found amid the rubbish outside. It served as a lever, making it easier to pull the door open from inside. As a precautionary measure, lest someone who had no right to be there should accidentally lock themselves inside any of the rooms, the door handles and locking mechanisms on the doors in the bunker were long ago removed. It was a precautionary measure on the part of the authorities, when the place was first abandoned. Inside the bunker, all the internal doors opened inwards, as the access corridor outside was too narrow, and an outward opening door impeded freedom of movement to and from the complex. When he left the bunker to observe Rose’s arrival, he pulled the door closed behind him, taking the makeshift door handle with him. This way Ann Curtis could not escape, even if she were able to free herself from her bonds, which he seriously doubted. He had tied her up too well, and in the unlikely event she did manage to get loose, the door would be heavy and difficult for her to open, making it easy for him to hear her efforts.

  He stared at the lever, anticipating, watching and waiting for it to move. He had some light in here, but it was dim, and he believed he would see the lever move before he saw the heavy, bulky door move. Rose was here, inside the bunker. He heard the squeaking of the heavy main door leading to the outside. Rose had taken the bait, and entered the trap. But, where was he? He was taking his bloody time! Had he heard the woman whining? Jesus, he hated bloody whining! The bitch would keep her mouth shut now, though, if she knew what was good for her.

  Stringer perspired heavily, not from the oppressive heat in the bunker, but from the buzz of anticipation humming through his body, like a low wattage electric charge. He was close now. Oh, so close. How he had waited for this moment. As the days turned into nights, and then back into days. As the days and nights evolved into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years, in that stinking, fucking prison cell, he dreamt of nothing else but this day. His planning was thorough, and he believed, foolproof. Right now, it was all about to culminate in the death of Sam Rose. It all ended today. He found it difficult to contain the pleasure he felt, and he bit down hard on his lip to suppress a pleasurable moan deep within his being. Soon, very soon, he would set the moan free, and he would be free, free at last; soon, very soon.

  Distracted momentarily by the comforting, warm feelings of anticipation, he almost missed it. There! Yes! The lever in the door was moving. Almost imperceptible at first, but yes, it was moving. The door was opening! Rose was coming in. He put his lips against Ann’s ear and whispered almost inaudibly. “He’s here my pretty. He’s here.”

  Ann wanted to scream. Sam was here! He was coming to save her. She wanted to scream a warning to him, but didn’t dare. If she did, Stringer would kill her. He was mad, truly mad. He would cut her throat without a moment's thought. Her heart began pounding faster in her chest as she fought with every being in her body to remain silent.

  Outside, in the dark corridor, Sam pushed lightly against the door. It refused to budge, and he paused, not wanting to advertise his arrival, although he knew Stringer was expecting him and was probably on the other side of the door at this very moment. Was Ann in there with him? Was she alive? He leaned his head close to the door, listening for sound within.

  Hearing nothing, he leaned his shoulder against the door and pushed again, harder this time. Still it would not budge. Panic flashed briefly, and then disappeared; perhaps he should be pulling on the door, not pushing. No, he remembered all the doors in the bunker opened into the corresponding rooms beyond. He increased the pressure against the door. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the door began to move. Keeping its bulk protectively in front of him, he pushed harder. He froze when he heard the voice from inside.

  “Come in, Sam. Join us,” the voice invited.

  Sam recognised Stringer’s voice at once. He stayed motionless.

  “Don’t be shy, Sam, please come in.”

  Then Sam heard another voice, a soft, broken, pleading voice. It was Ann’s voice, and his breath caught in his throat at the sound of it.

  “Sam. Sam. Oh, Sam, please help me.”

  Fury and venomous hate flooded Sam's senses, and the urge to react instinctively was all-powerful. He slumped against the door, now slightly ajar, and struggled to bring his emotions under control, forcing himself to concentrate on quieting his breathing and focus on what he might find on the other side. Thank God she was alive! He must not lose it now. He must stay in control. It was not the time to turn gung-ho and risk the unthinkable. Ann’s life depended on it. Driven by a single-mindedness, motivated by his desire to get to Stringer, he fought against the rising urge to charge headlong into the room. Getting to Stringer before he hurt Ann offered a slim chance at best; close to impossible, he figured. He had no way of knowing where either Ann or Stringer were in the room. To charge in blind would be a mistake, almost certainly a fatal one for Ann, and probably himself. As his mind raced to formulate a plan, he heard Stringer’s voice again.

  “I asked you to join us, Rose. Please do as I ask.”

  “Let her go, Stringer!” Sam called. “It’s me you want. Let her go!”

  “That’s true,” Stringer confirmed. “It is you I want. And it’s you I will have. However, you seem to have overlooked one very important point. If I let the pretty professor walk out of here, I lose you both. I’ve waited too long for that to happen. Now, I’m going to say this just one more time. Get your fucking arse in here now, or I swear, I will cut this bitch’s head off and toss it out there so you can kiss her goodbye!”

  “Oh God, Sam,” he heard Ann cry. “He means it. He’s got a knife at my throat. He’s hurting me, Sam.”

  “Okay! Okay!” Sam yelled. “Okay, Stringer. You win. I’m coming in. Don’t hurt her. Just don’t hurt her.”

  “Now, that’s much better,” Stringer said. “It’s so much nicer when we can all cooperate like this. Step slowly into the room. Slowly and carefully. Remember what the professor said, I have a knife at her throat. If you fancy your chances at heroics, by all means give it your best shot. She’ll be dead before you get all the way into the room. Do you
hear me?”

  “I hear you.”

  “Good. Now, let’s see you.”

  Sam leaned into the door and slowly pushed. The door opened wider. When the gap was wide enough to edge through, he stepped cautiously from behind the door, into the room, and stopped.

  He was looking directly into Ann's terrified eyes. Behind her, Stringer stood close, pressed up against her back. He had her hair wrapped tightly around one hand, and her head pulled back into his chest. In his free hand, he held a long-bladed knife pressed against her throat.

  Sam saw a thin, pencil line of red under the blade of the knife, and knew instantly one wrong move on his part and Stringer would cut her throat in a heartbeat.

  “Sam, oh Sam,” Ann whimpered.

  “It’s okay, Ann,” Sam said. “It’s okay.”

  Never in his life had words seemed as useless, and lacking in both substance and sincerity.

  “Okay, Stringer, I’m here. Let her go,” he said. He lifted his eyes to meet the killer’s.

  “There’s the little matter of the gun,” Stringer said. “Drop it on the floor at your feet. Don’t try to argue or reason with me. Just drop it on the floor and kick it over here."

  Sam hesitated, and the hesitation was not lost on Stringer.

  “I’ll kill her, Rose,” he promised. “Right here in front of your eyes.”

  Sam leaned forward and placed the revolver on the floor at his feet.

  “Kick it over here,” Stringer insisted.

  Sam drew his foot back, kicked at the weapon, and watched it slide across the dirty floor. It hit Ann’s foot and came to rest between her legs. He realised, without the gun, both he and Ann could well be doomed. For her sake, he tried hard not to display his fears; she would see it in his eyes.

  “Well done, thank you,” Stringer smiled. “Do you have another one on you, somewhere?”

  “No,” Sam answered.

  “Lift both trouser legs and turn around,” Stringer ordered. “I need to be sure. You can understand that.”

  Sam did as he was told. He slowly turned completely around. Stringer appeared satisfied when all he saw was an empty ankle holster.

  Sam looked at Ann. She stared wide-eyed and terrified, silently pleading for him to save her. He saw desperation in her eyes, making him want to rush to her, hold her, and tell her it was going to be alright. He couldn’t do that without putting her in grave danger. Even if he could, he didn’t want to lie to her. He forced himself to look away from her, and he turned his attention to Stringer.

  “Can we talk?”

  “Talk, you want to talk? Okay, I don’t suppose a friendly chat can hurt. It will be your last after all. What would you like to talk about?”

  “Anything, anything you like. But first, how about taking the knife away from Ann’s neck? You’ve got her tied up. She can’t hurt you. You can stand there, where you are. I give you my word I won’t try anything."

  Stringer remained silent, and Sam waited. Did he dare hope Stringer might be considering his request? No, Stringer didn't have a compassionate bone in his body. He was a ruthless, cold-hearted killer. He was not going to take the knife from Ann's neck.

  Finally, Stringer spoke.

  “Okay, I’m a fair man. He moved the knife away from Ann’s throat and held it loosely at his side. “There, how about that, are you happy now?”

  Surprised, Sam looked at Stringer.

  "Thank you," he said.

  Stringer let go of Ann’s hair, and her head fell forward onto her chest. “I’m not moving from here,” he said, “so don’t try anything stupid. You so much as think of jumping me, and she’s a dead professor. You get me?”

  “I get you. Thanks for moving the knife,” Sam answered.

  “You’re welcome,” Stringer smiled. “Anything for you, Sammy, old boy. Now, what was it you wanted to talk about? Make it quick, though, I have a very short attention span these days.”

  “What about the people you killed?” Sam said, getting straight to the point.

  “What about them?” Stringer shrugged. “They’re dead. They needed to be dead, now they are. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Why? Why did they need to be dead?”

  Stringer’s eyes flew wide. “You know why, you bastard!” he screamed across the space between them, making Ann flinch with the sudden volume of his voice. “You fuckin’ well know why! They were all responsible for sending me to prison. I spent too many years in that hell-hole because of them, and you! Mostly because of you! They all had to pay for it, and now it’s your turn. It’s debt collection time, Rose! You, that fat pig you used to work with, the judge, the lawyer, all of them! That stupid Irishman, O’Reily! That bastard lied his arse off about me he did! Wrote all those lies in his fuckin’ paper! I gave him hours of my time while I was in gaol so he could tell my story. My story! Not the lies he wrote! Stupid old prick said I was crazy. Well, I showed him crazy. The arsehole doesn’t think I’m crazy now, does he? How did you like what I did to him? Bet only the maggots were holding him together when you found him. Ha… ha… ha! They might never find you here, in this place,” he added, almost as an afterthought. He glanced quickly around the room. “The flies and maggots are going to think Christmas came early.”

  “Why don’t you let the lady go?” Sam asked again, trying a different approach. Stalling, trying to formulate a plan. “She’s of no benefit to you. I’m here now, and that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “Oh yes,” Stringer nodded. “Oh yes, that’s what I wanted alright. But you see, you miss the point. I have come to the realisation the professor here is of great benefit to me. Firstly, you are here now because of her, and that benefits me. Secondly, you have to suffer for your part in this, and your suffering has to be greater than all the others. You are the last one, don’t you see? It’s only right that you suffer the most.”

  “Surely you don’t think you can get away with this?” Sam said.

  “That doesn’t matter now,” Stringer explained. “Oh, it did at first. At first, I intended to kill you all and then simply disappear, interstate, Queensland maybe. I’ve always liked Queensland.”

  “What happened to change your mind?”

  “The fuckin’ incompetence of the police,” Stringer answered. “It’s that simple. They were so far off catching me it was all too easy. I decided to make it a bit more interesting for them. That’s why I sent you the list. I knew you. I remembered you from all those years ago. I never forgot you. Even read about you at different times in the paper while I was in gaol. I knew you were good at your job, and I wanted you to suspect me. Then I wanted you to discover that I was dead and couldn’t possibly have committed these horrible crimes. I was looking forward to watching you all scratching you heads, and your arses, as you tried to figure it out.”

  “And in the meantime, you just kept on killing,” Sam interrupted.

  “Yes, but I didn’t count on you figuring out the Bert Ulstrom bit. In the end, you did prove to be smarter than I gave you credit for. You are to be congratulated. None of it matters, though,” he added. “I’ll still be long gone before the stupid cops find your bodies.”

  “You’ll never get away with it,” Sam pushed.

  “Yes… I… Will!” Stringer screamed. “I have, and I will! You’re here aren’t you?”

  “So, what happens now?” Sam asked.

  “Now,” Stringer said, his voice calmer, “Now the fun starts. I’m sick of talking.”

  Ann Sobbed. “What…what are you going to do?”

  “For a start!” Stringer started screaming again. “For a start you are going to shut your whining mouth! I’ve told you about that before! I hate fuckin’ whining women! So, just shut the fuck up!”

  Without taking his eyes off Sam, Stringer stooped down and picked up the revolver at Ann’s feet. He stepped to one side of Ann, and aimed the weapon at Sam.

  “Close the door,” he ordered.

  Sam turned his head and looked at t
he door. He immediately noticed the lever protruding from the hole where a handle used to be. Could he grab it, remove it and get to Stringer with it before he pulled the trigger? No, he decided, it would be suicide.

  “Push the door shut,” Stringer instructed.

  Sam stepped to the door, pushed against it until it closed, and then turned back to face Stringer.

  “Over there,” Stringer indicated. “See those two rings bolts fixed into the wall?”

  Sam looked across at the wall Stringer indicated, and saw two metal rings, high up and about three feet apart, firmly fixed into the concrete,

  “Yes,” he confirmed, “I see them.”

  “Move over there. Slowly,” Stringer ordered.

  Sam hesitated. “Just a minute…”

  Stringer reached out, grabbed a handful of Ann’s hair and yanked her head hard back against his chest. He raised the knife and positioned the blade, this time under her chin.

  “Just do it, Rose. It’s time. Just do it,” he hissed.

  Sam raised his hands in surrender.

  “Okay, okay. Just relax. I’m moving.” He began to cross slowly to the wall, never taking his eyes off Stringer, not for a moment.

  “What now?” he asked as he reached the wall and stood under, and between, the two ring bolts. He was directly in front of, and a few feet from Ann. So near, yet so far. He looked into her eyes and hoped his gaze would reassure her. From the corner of her eye, a tear trickled down her face.

  Until now, Sam had not noticed the sports bag on the floor, behind where Ann and Stringer stood. He watched Stringer let go of Ann's hair, shove the revolver into the waistband of his trousers, and bend down and reach into the bag. When he stood, he held two pairs of handcuffs. He switched one pair to the hand that still held the knife, and flicked the other pair across to Sam.