One by One: A brutal, gritty revenge thriller that you won't be able to put down.

by Robert Enright

  Lucas shook his head, raising his eyebrows at her. She knew he knew. Her head dropped, realisation setting in. The street below the window alternated from dark to bright blue, the sirens screaming up at them from the pavement below.

  “Harry told me everything.”

  She looked at him, tears splashing down to her blouse with black spatters. Lucas leant forward, meeting her stare full on.

  “Everything.”

  “That's all I did, I swear.”

  “It was enough.”

  Lucas reached the end of the cable wire and then bent it over on itself. Creating a hoop, he then tied a loose knot where the wire connected with itself.

  “Mary told me that her friend was coming down for the weekend.” Ashley stared ahead, almost confessing out loud, more to herself than Lucas. 'She said she was excited that you weren't going. Not because she didn't like you, but because she was going to have a girl’s night in. I've known Mary for a few years, I know where she lives. So I passed it on to Curtis and he made the boys make the arrangements.

  “Mary had told me that Ashley was staying at the Hilton and I asked her how far it was. ‘Just a little walk through Russell Square’ she told me. I guess that was enough.”

  Lucas stood patiently, waiting for more. Ashley took a few deep breathes.

  “I spoke with Curtis this afternoon and he’s scared. You have done something I’ve never seen anyone do and that is to make him panic. I've seen how much this has ruined your life.”

  “My life is not important. It was Helen's life that I cared about and your family ended that. So no amount of apology or begging will change what has to happen.”

  Ashley nodded, her face scrunching up as the tears returned. Her mind wandered to her boyfriend and whether he would ever have loved her like Lucas had his wife. Lucas dropped the hoop of wire on the desk and then, carrying the long stretch of cable with him, approached a metal filing cabinet. He knelt down and fed the cable through the hinge hole on the side. As he pulled it through and began to tightly fasten the cable together, Ashley watched two more dark tears fall onto her shirt.

  Sgt. Bailey stepped out of the car as it came to a stop, the rain bulleting into his face with a freezing welcome. Lowton Road was frantic with activity. Five police cars had parked up outside of the building, blue lights flashing wildly. A fire engine had also made its way to the scene, fire fighters tending to the flaming car, the fire having spread to the interior. Two paramedics, their ambulance parked across the alleyway were tending to the burns of an unconscious man in the middle of the road.

  It was pandemonium, and Bailey shook his head as he witnessed it.

  Police officers were out in full force, their high-vis coats protecting them from the torrential downpour. Two of them directing traffic to turn around as the road was not open for business. Three officers were searching for Patriski, his car abandoned outside the building. He noticed Officer Hatton talking to a rather panicked group of office workers, one of them with his arm draped over his colleague and looking in a sizeable amount of pain.

  “Is he in there?”

  Bailey turned as Starling strode purposefully towards him, trying to figure out if the young officer was trying to provoke a response.

  “We don't know yet.”

  “Sir, permission to go in and see?”

  “Not until the Armed Response unit gets here.”

  “But what if it’s too late?”

  “Remember your rank, constable!”

  Starling gritted his teeth and took a few steps to the side, not even the cold drops of rain being enough to calm him down. Officer Hatton motioned to a paramedic who’d arrived in a second ambulance. Immediately, the young medic approached the office worker in agony. The pretty officer hurried over.

  “What's the news?”

  “It's Lucas Cole, sir. And judging by what they’ve told us, he is really pissed off.”

  Bailey flashed a look at Starling, who stared back with a willingness to act. Bailey turned back to Officer Hatton. A few officers had gathered around for an update, their uniforms and coats dripping wet.

  “We wait until the Armed Response get here. Until then, I want every fucking exit of this building covered.”

  A few of them dispersed, rushing down the side alley of the building, past the fire escape. A radio message was struggling to be heard over the noise, requesting a paramedic in the adjacent alleyway for Officer Patriski.

  Bailey looked at Starling, with a victorious smirk on his seasoned face.

  “The bastard has nowhere to go now.”

  Susan sat across from Fletcher, wearing the beautiful summer dress that was archived in his memories. She reached out to stroke his hand, telling him he’d made the right decision. None of this was his fault.

  He looked at her, asking her what he should do.

  “No one enters the building until Armed Response arrive. ETA two minutes.”

  He looked at her, puzzled.

  “Cover the exits and wait for further orders.”

  Suddenly, the entire image of Susan sitting at the table, the sun beaming behind her, was pulled away and Fletcher sat up straight on his sofa.

  His shirt was damp, the upturned glass of Jack Daniels he had fallen asleep holding was empty. The room stank of cigarettes.

  The police radio crackled again. It was Sgt. Bailey’s voice.

  “Get Patriski in a goddamn ambulance. What’s the location of my response unit?”

  Fletcher dropped the glass and began to wrestle his arms into his jacket, the raw burn on his forearm shooting out a painful reminder that he ignored.

  “Currently on Harper Lane. ETA at Lowton Road, one minute.”

  Fletcher's keys rattled in his hand as he raced through the front door, the rain pelting around him as he dashed to his car.

  Lucas strode back across the office, running his hand on the cable, following it back to the desk. He peeked out of the window to the street below, the frantic activity illuminated in bursts by blue lights.

  Ashley was sobbing quietly, her head hanging as far as her neck would allow. Her blonde hair reminded him of Helen, the way it sat neatly on her head. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out her wedding ring. He looked down at it, remembering his hand shaking as he’d slid it onto Helen’s finger, a smile of pure love radiating from her as he did so. All doubts that he had of going through with this, of avenging her were quashed by that smile.

  He closed his eyes and clenched his hand into a fist, refusing to let go of that wonderful memory.

  “I have to, Helen.”

  Ashley looked up, her face evidently tired, the skin hanging from her skull, exhausted. She looked at the man before her, his face pain-stricken as he squeezed his fist harder. The grief that had been caused by her.

  The grief that had led to this moment.

  “You don't have to, Lucas.”

  His eyes opened and he turned to Ashley, a renewed hope on her weary face.

  “You could let me go and we could work this out.”

  Lucas closed his eyes again, slowly returned the ring to his pocket and he shook his head.

  “Please, I am begging you not to do this.”

  “Begging?”

  Ashley nodded enthusiastically.

  “The police are downstairs and there’s no way out if you do what you came here to do. But together, we can talk to them. Try and help you.”

  Lucas looked away, his eyes peering through the speckled window at the skyline of London. Bright lights all the way to the horizon. Blue lights flashing with boring repetition below.

  He looked back at Ashley.

  “Did my wife beg?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My wife. Helen. When your brothers were chasing her, did she beg them to stop?”

  “I don't know.'

  “Or when Tommy lured her into the false safety of a cab, locking her in and attacking her. Did she beg then?”

  Lucas's voice became strained
with emotion, the words slightly breaking as he recounted the horrors his wife had suffered. Ashley teared up again, shaking her head hopelessly.

  “When Curtis raped her and then had Tommy push a blade through her stomach and through my unborn child. Did she beg then?”

  Ashley looked around the room, everything blurring behind her veil of tears.

  “I don't know, Lucas. I don't.”

  Lucas's face tightened into a scowl of pure hatred.

  “If you hadn't said anything, my wife would still be alive. I wouldn't be here. This all started with you.”

  Lucas hoisted up the hooped end of the cable and draped it over Ashley’s head so it hung around her neck. She tried to struggle, but it made no difference. Lucas returned to the loose knot he had tied earlier and tightened it until was almost pressing into the skin of her neck. He lowered himself down to her face, their eyes both rich with pain and regret.

  “It's your fault my wife is dead.”

  Ashley sobbed a few more times, her stained cheeks plastered in more tears. Metres of the cable lay loosely on the floor, like a meandering scribble between the filing cabinet and Ashley's neck. Lucas stared out to the world one more time and then hauled Ashley out of her chair, holding her by the collar of her blouse. Her eyes widened with fear. Urine ran down the inside of her leg. She somehow coaxed the courage to speak.

  “Would it make any difference if I told you that I hated myself? That I am so sorry?”

  Lucas stopped for a moment, realising the terror that encased this young woman was his doing. A flash of Helen lying on the bed, moments after she’d passed away, hit him, a large bloodstained sheet covering her stomach and the baby he would never hold.

  His face wrenched into a painful snarl.

  “None.”

  With all of his might, Lucas took a step to the window and with both arms he lifted Ashley off of the ground. His arms violently swung to the side and he hurled her against the large pane of glass.

  Thousands of shards joined the downpour of rain as her tiny frame clattered through it, the flashing lights illuminating all of them as they sparkled and fell hurriedly to the ground. Ashley saw the bright lights of London one last time as she flew out into the night sky, feeling the calming cold of the rain. The ground below rushed up towards her at a thunderous pace.

  The cable followed her out of the window, the pile diminishing as it whizzed by Lucas's feet. Eventually the file cabinet shunted slightly and the cable snapped tight.

  Ashley hung from the side of the building, her feet swinging as she died instantly.

  The rain and wind shook her body as it swung in the night sky.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Thousands of shards of glass twinkled in the glowing blue flashes of the police lights as they hurtled towards Lowton Road, like a thousand fireflies losing their fight with gravity. Officers and civilians ran for cover, as they crashed against the pavement, exploding into thousands more pieces that threw themselves around with reckless abandon.

  Voices of despair rang out; horrified gasps of disbelief and cries of terror drowned out the sirens, as all eyes were transfixed to the side of the building.

  Ashley’s body hung motionless, gently swaying in the bullying shove of the wind.

  A large van with the words 'POLICE' skidded to a stop near the cars and out stopped Sargent Marshall, a burly man who carried himself with genuine threat. He was wearing a bulletproof vest, a thick, navy helmet and held in his arms the police authorised MP5SFA3 semi-automatic carbine rifle. He scouted the area, raindrops sticking to his visor until he saw Sgt. Bailey.

  “Bailey.”

  “Marshall.”

  “This is turning into a goddamn war zone. He’s just thrown that woman out a window.'

  Marshall followed Bailey’s meaty finger pointing to the building; the sight of a woman, hanging from her neck at someone’s barbaric will, caused his eyes to thin with rage. He reached to the radio on his vest, his deep voice booming into it.

  “Everyone get ready. We’re going in. Locked and loaded boys.”

  Marshall nodded confidently at Bailey, before turning on his heels and stomping back through the chaotic street to his van. He thumped a powerful forearm against the side of the truck, which rocked slightly as the team inside readied themselves to breach the building. The Police Officers watched with intrigue, many of them caught up with the excitement of the evening. Others looked genuinely mortified at what was unfolding before their eyes.

  Bailey stood in his usual stance, his hands on his hips as he watched the preparation, already playing out the conversation he would have with the Chief Inspector about why Lucas Cole was shot dead on this very evening.

  Starling stood a few feet behind him, the rain dripping from his hair and into his dishevelled face.

  Bailey spoke into his radio.

  “I want two paramedics in behind the response team. We need to bring that poor girl in from the cold as soon as possible.” He turned his head, his eyes meeting Starling's. “This ends now.”

  “Will they shoot him?” Starling asked, peering up at the building.

  “If they have to. My money is on he won't come quietly.”

  “But he should be arrested for the crimes he has committed.”

  “And he will. But these boys won't mess about.”

  Starling looked over at the van; its doors were pulled open and twelve armed and ready officers jumped out in twos, their uniforms padded and their rifles at the ready.

  “He needs to be arrested. Not killed.”

  Bailey turned furiously.

  “HE JUST NEEDS TO BE STOPPED!”

  Starling shook his head in disgust.

  “Fuck this!”

  Starling shot past the Sergeant with an impressive pace, darting past the armed team and crunching over the glass covering the ground like glittering pebbles. He heard Sergeant shouting his name, cursing it to high heaven as he burst through the door and into the foyer of the Hamden building.

  Lucas felt the time stop as Ashley crashed through the window. He saw her collide with the glass, the cable flicking behind her like a cruel dog lead. As she connected with the glass, every tiny crack became apparent, spiralling out from her like a thick, white spider’s web. As she smashed through, the wind swept in, surrounding Lucas with a chill that was as cold as his actions. She disappeared out of sight, followed by droplets of flashing blue glass.

  When the cable tightened, he turned and marched back towards the double doors that he’d burst through earlier.

  “It's over, Lucas.”

  The voice ghosted through to him, drowning out the wails of sirens and screams of panic from the broken window. He continued walking, stopping by the door and turning his head back to see her.

  She floated a few feet away, eyes burning like two blue flames.

  “Not yet.”

  He clenched his dangerous fist and then thumped the small pane of glass covering the fire alarm. The shrill, clanging of the alarm engulfed the building, ringing wildly through the corridors on all of the empty floors.

  “They’re coming for you, baby.”

  He knew she was right. With the amount of officers there were at the front of the building, it made sense they would have the back covered. They may have even run into problems with the occupants of the black van.

  “It's over.”

  Lucas turned and took a few commanding steps, his face a mere few inches from the glowing apparition of his wife's.

  “No. Not while there’s still breath in my body.”

  Her face begged him to stop, the blue eyes pleading with him to give in. He took a final glance at her and then stormed out into the corridor. The screen above the elevator side scrolled the words 'Not in Service – Fire Emergency'. It would inconvenience the police, although he could hear the faint clambering of footsteps on the first few floors as he opened the door to the stairwell. He jogged down the corridor, past the toilets, past a small, quaint kitchen and pushed o
pen the Fire Exit door.

  As he did, a gun was pointed straight into his chest.

  Starling raced to the lifts as he ran past the deserted desk in the centre of the lobby, his fingers inches away when the fire alarm rang out above him. He silently cursed, knowing he had to keep moving before he was hoisted back by the Armed Squadron who were scuttling towards the main doors. Behind them, standing in the street, he knew Bailey was already writing his obituary.

  He scanned the large room until he saw the stairwell door, kicked it open and then began climbing the mammoth amount of stairs, knowing full well his protective vest, utility belt and rain-drenched clothes were only going to make it harder.

  He climbed as quickly as he was able to.

  Shane had been waiting on the thirteenth floor of the rickety, metal fire escape for a few moments, the gun hanging loosely in his hand. Finch stood just to his right, leaning against the wall with a garrotte wire in his hand. Stan stood on the other side of the door, a pocket knife shimmering in the rain as it twitched in his fingers. Tyrell was a few steps behind Shane, standing further down the wet, metal staircase so he couldn't push past. The small walkway could barely hold all three of them and should Lucas try to run, Shane knew he wouldn't have the space to be able to get through them all.

  Tommy had been very strict with his words.

  “Do not kill him. But feel free to hurt the bastard.”

  Shane wasn't going to pass up the chance of scoring some brownie points with Curtis and he was sure delivering the murderous little prick with a few broken bones and a couple less pints of blood would do just that.

  The narrow alleyway that they stood in was encased in shadow, the only lights those glowing from the windows on the building opposite. A similar fire escape hung crudely from that building also, wet and rattling in the wind.

  There were no armed men on that one, however.

  Suddenly, Shane heard footsteps approaching at an alarming rate and he took a step back from the door and held the gun up.