In Too Deep

by Bradd Chambers

  Even as the picture starts to build, it sends Ava’s mind into overdrive. How has she become involved in this? This is something you see in action or mystery films, not in the tiny city of Derry.

  “Why don’t we get in touch with the lads that are looking for him? Maybe they can take him off our hands?”

  Ava can’t believe the words that are coming out of her mouth. She sounds like a gangster. Fiona shakes her head anyway.

  “I couldn’t tell you who they are. He never said. Clearly, in retrospect, I’ve realised that it mustn’t be false identity, that he had been dabbling in similar things here, and got involved with the wrong crowd. Or pissed off the wrong people.”

  “Then what should we do, Mum?” Ava pleas.

  It’s the first time she’s called her mum all afternoon, making her feel like a teenager again. The loose connection starts to stutter back to life as the two stare into one another’s eyes.

  “I don’t know, pet. But I’ll sort it. Don’t worry. In the meantime, you best get back to work. It’s nearly time you closed up. We can’t have anyone asking questions, and I think this goes without saying, but please don’t tell anyone about me.”

  Ava turns to Robyn.

  “What about Dermott? He could help?”

  Robyn shakes her head.

  “We can’t risk it, pet.”

  Ava nods, picking herself up off the sofa and coming face to face with Fiona as she blocks the exit, her arms outstretched. Awkwardly, Ava allows herself to be enveloped in them. Suddenly, the tension in her body evaporates as the familiar feelings creep back, running through her arteries, circulating them around her body from her heart. She’s shocked to find her own arms wrapping around her mother.

  After several moments, she pulls away as she feels tears prick at her eyes once more.

  “Are you safe here?” she coughs.

  Fiona and Robyn share a split-second glance of worry before nodding and doing a terrible job of reassuring her they’ll be fine.

  “Just look out for his car,” Fiona walks her to the door. “It’s a black BMW. 520S or something like that,”

  Emmet’s choice of e-mail now makes sense, Ava thinks. And that must’ve been the car outside her house the other day. She crosses the threshold, her mother hidden in the shadows of the door

  “Take care of yourself, love. And stay in touch through Robyn. Or Twitter.”

  Ava turns around confused, before a lightbulb moment.

  “’heathermoore71?’”

  Her mother beams.

  “Yeah. My middle name, Grandma’s maiden name and the year I was born. Was it not obvious?” she chuckles.

  “Not even a little bit,” Ava smiles before waving at the closing door and crossing the grass once more to her car.

  Strapping herself in, it takes her a few minutes to start the car as she thinks back on the events of the past few hours. She’s being hunted down by a violent criminal. Her life and those of her loved ones are in danger. But, most importantly, her mum is back. She’s alive. However, it came at a cost.

  Chapter Seventy-One:

  Despite knowing that the coast is clear, Ava still creeps into every room. Leaving no wardrobe door unopened. No under bed unchecked. Unlocking and relocking the doors several times like some form of OCD. Everything is just how she left it this morning. When she’s convinced she’s alone and safe, only then does she run the bath. The warm soapy water feels good on her tired skin as she soaks into the tub. What. A. Day.

  The guys at the office didn’t even ask how Robyn was or what had happened. Either getting used to it now or just beyond caring, Ava didn’t mind. Hopefully soon it will all be out in the open and she won’t have to sneak around anymore. She’d found it hard to concentrate when she sat back down at her desk for the last 20 minutes of the day. Still staring at the same letting agency website. Turning things over in her head. She barely heard the volunteers call out their goodbyes and didn’t realise she was last in the office. Deciding she’d not get any work done even if she stayed there all night, she thought a bath and some alone time with her thoughts was just what she needed.

  She tries to ignore the negative probing at the side of her head, wondering what she’s going to do about Emmet. He could be walking behind her in the street and she wouldn’t have the first clue. She has no idea what he looks like. She tries to focus on the fact that her mother is alive and well… But when you’re getting targeted by a lunatic with a history of violence, it’s hard to do. She decided against contacting Dermott about the vandalism, whilst she washed the graffiti off her patio doors. He’d ask too many questions. And she never had the best poker face. Couldn’t lie to save her life.

  Her mum personal messaged her on Twitter under her pseudonym telling her to take care and she loved her. She felt weird leaving her on read, but she needs to ease back into it. Finding it hard to forget that they’re not talking from beyond the grave. It has been a long three years, and a lot to take in over the space of a few hours.

  The ping of her phone bounces off the tiles and around the bathroom. Squelching an arm out of the bath, she dries it indolently on a towel before reaching for her phone. Intent on just glancing at the message and returning to her bath, she gasps as she jolts upright, her body squeaking off the tub.

  ‘bulls horn now no cops if u want ur ma and ant alive.’

  ****

  We’re sitting on the sofa watching Coronation Street when it happens. The shadow passes the blinds, making me jump. Robyn’s head shoots in my direction as she mutes the TV. I dive for the light, although it’s too late. We huddle behind the sofa, the only place clear of view from the back-door window. The only way to see in. We clutch each other’s hands concerningly as we imagine him trudging across the stones and opening the gate. Feet falling on gravel as he makes his way to the back door. Key in hand.

  Almost as if on cue, we hear the subtle sound of a key entering a lock. Moaning slightly, Robyn covers her mouth with her jumper, like that will stifle her sounds, before nestling further into me. The new lock blocks the key’s interactions. The old handle shakes. I can almost picture it. Refusing to give way. Protecting us. Still it rattles on. We hear the effort being put into it, and the bangs as his body weight is slammed against the door.

  This goes on for several moments, before, startling us, Robyn’s house phone goes. Piercing the air. That same old school ring. The kind people put as their ringtone on their mobiles for a laugh. The rings penetrate the living room, the next one coming before the echo from the original stops.

  Like the door, he won’t budge. He won’t take no for an answer. I’ve learned that about him. Once he wants something, he gets it. But he isn’t getting into this house. He’s not getting my family. Or me. Does he know I’m here? Teasing and toying with me? Or does he still have no clue?

  The phone finally stops just to blare out a split second later. Someone really wants to get in touch with Robyn. Maybe it’s Damien? Or maybe it’s Ava? I pray she’s okay, as I clutch Robyn close to me. They’re all I have left. How could I have ever left them? Especially for the monster still trying to break down the kitchen door? I’ll make it up to them. I have to. He won’t get the better of me.

  Chapter Seventy-Two:

  She curses Emmet as she throws herself across the grass towards her car. Starting the engine, she tries again, but her attempts must be in double figures. Still neither of them will answer. What has the bastard done to them?

  Ava makes it to the Bull’s Horn in just under five minutes. She bursts in the door, scraping her wet hair out of her face as she gets boisterous jeers from the lads at the bar. Ignoring them, she thunders over and slams her fist on the sticky bar top.

  “Where’s Emmet?”

  Macka smirks at her.

  “Emmet?”

  She groans in frustration.

  “Don’t be a dick. You know full well who I’m talking about.”

  Macka sniggers, before lifting the top of the bar and nodding
his head towards the back door. She follows him on in, despite the feet stomping and cheers from the locals, out into a tiny corridor with barrels of booze. Macka unlocks the rickety back door and stands back to let her through.

  She finds herself in a thin alleyway overtaken with huge dumpsters full of broken glass. The dimmed street light flickers an eerie light through the huge metal gate. Why is she here? She’s about to ask Macka when he snaps the door behind her. The hairs stand up on the back of her neck as she shivers. Is she trapped? Is there a way out? She turns around to see if there’s any means of escape to come face to hood with a lonely figure. Just about making out a snarled expression and bad breath. She goes to scream but a cloth is pushed against her face and an arm around her head. She’s pulled down to knee height and receives one dig to the head. Then… Blackness.

  Chapter Seventy-Three:

  Jesus, her head’s splitting. She moans as she turns her head to the side. What was she drinking last night? Wine, she guesses. That’s the only drink that leaves her feeling like this the next day. She wonders if Mark will be making his traditional hangover fry. A runny egg would help. And some paracetamol. She can’t even remember last night. None of it. What the hell is that digging into her leg? She twists her arm from underneath her and goes to investigate. She’s shocked to feel a hard spring sticking out of her mattress. For fuck sake, she only got this recently.

  She chances her arm with the light of the room, opening one eye delicately. Darkness. Opening both. Still… Darkness. That’s when she realises. She isn’t in her bed. She isn’t at home. Where is she? She goes to lift her head and it bounces off something solid, jolting her head back down again. As if the throbbing in her head couldn’t get any worse. She screws up her eyes against the pain. White light. Her hands snap to her face, pushing her fingers into her eyes to distract herself.

  When the majority of it has subsided, she opens her eyes again. She feels around for some familiarity, but she’s so confined, at first, she thinks she’s in a coffin. She fights down panic. Buried alive. Her biggest fear. But no, it’s too tight, too circular. And it’s too soft beneath her. She feels around some more, before her hand rests on what she thought was the broken spring. Turns out it’s something sticking out of the carpet-like ground. She massages it frantically. It feels like… A jack. A car jack. That’s it! She’s in a boot. She has to be. Why is she in the boot of a car?

  Then, it all comes crashing back to her. Her mum. Emmet. The Bull’s Horn. She takes a sharp intake of breath, fear rising. Where is she? What is he going to do with her? And what has he done to her mum? To Robyn? She begins to scream for help, hammering her hands on the roof above her. But she quickly becomes exhausted, her efforts futile. She knows it. If he’s taken her somewhere in the boot of his car, she’ll hardly be sitting in the middle of Shipquay Street. No, she’ll be out somewhere where no one will hear her. Be able to help her. She thinks of her phone sitting on the passenger seat of her car and curses herself for her stupidity. Out here, wherever she is. And with no means of escape… She’s a sitting duck.

  Chapter Seventy-Four:

  It’s been hours since she gave up trying. Desperately kicking and battering everything around her in an attempt to free herself. Her body aches, her knuckles cut and bruising. Her feet not much better. She drifts in and out of fitful sleep, her body still yearning it for recovery, her adrenaline coming in short bursts. Claustrophobia dispersing as fast as it came.

  She tries and fails to calculate a plan. The sharpest thing in here is the jack, and she hasn’t the energy, nor the room, to pull up the boot cover to get to it. She’s too weak to fight him off right now. She’s gone so long without food the mere thought of her favourite dish makes her gag. Nothing comes up. Her throat feels blistered. Yearning for some liquid. She thinks about those documentaries and films she’s watched where people drink their own urine to survive. There would be no form of container to collect it, and she can’t bring herself to even attempt it. Her adult brain still telling her that she isn’t on a toilet. Not that she needs to go anyway. She sucked the last strands of moisture from her shampoo-tasting hair hours ago.

  What’s made worse is what started just over an hour ago now… It must be. She can only guess. She felt like someone was attacking the car. Loud bursts that made her jump. She wondered if she was in a breaker’s yard. In a machine that was going to crush her at any minute. But after she stopped flinching and realised that nothing was coming down on her, she guessed it was rain. She listens to it now, thundering down on top of her. Wishing there was a crack in the boot where she could steal some drips of water. Her cheeks sticking together inside her mouth and lips cracked. She doesn’t even think she’ll be able to scream now even if she did hear someone coming to help.

  As she thinks this, she’s startled as the car bursts to life. She gets battered about the boot as the vehicle starts its journey. What’s happening? Where is he taking her? She tries to muster all her energy for a fight as she feels the rough terrain under her smooth out and the car building speed.

  ****

  He hiccups as he raises his hands to Jordy, his request for another whiskey. He usually doesn’t drink whiskey. It sends him over the edge of drunk. He’s pissed Ava’s bed on occasion. And he blacks out. Ava telling him things the next day that he’s said and done that doesn’t sound anything like him, and he can’t piece the puzzle of the night before back together no matter how much time passes. Mark thanks Jordy as he swigs another drink of the harsh liquid. His throat burning, not yet accustom to the drink he’s been off for so long.

  He thinks about Ava. How he wouldn’t be drinking this if they hadn’t broken up. Just to spite her without her knowledge, he thinks. Stupid really. Juvenile. Nothing like him. What is he without her? The past few days he knows he’s been a mess. Spitting requests at people and returning one-word answers. Finding the leak in the roof today didn’t help his mood. He called his friend Steven, who isn’t sure whether the damage has always been there, or whether the torrential rain had caused it. Either way, it needs fixed. Which requires money and man power. Pushing the opening of his business back a few more days, or maybe weeks. No one brave enough to climb onto the roof to investigate in the storm, he had bitterly sent them home before driving over to the Icon.

  Now, here he sits. Contemplating what he’s going to do. He doesn’t want anyone else. He just wants Ava. He really thought that he was going to spend the rest of his life with her, as cliché as that sounds. When he saw her at the party, he just knew instantly. An initial attraction. Even when he found out she was still only 17, he knew it was just a speed bump. Then, everything that happened within her family… It just brought them closer together. He half tried to talk it out with Paul, who just kept bringing it back to her age.

  “She was too young to start going steady,” he’d said last night over the phone. “She’s obviously looking back on it now and wondering where her wild years went, mate. You remember being that age, don’t you?”

  Mark had agreed. He had went to university in Birmingham and was constantly out partying and womanizing. But now as he thinks back on it… Ava was different. Is different. He hadn’t a care in the world except for his next looming essay. She had suffered, making her more mature. She didn’t care about parties and socialising. It was him who had to drag her to events to help with her business. And it was just weeks ago that she was thinking he was going to ask her to move in with him.

  Maybe that’s what started her off? Thinking things weren’t going anywhere, and so she started seeing that lad. But no… That’s not right. That was the night with the red shoes. Signed from ‘M.’ Did she lie about the note too? After all, his name doesn’t start with an ‘M,’ doesn’t it not? What was his name again? Cathal, or something? He pictures him in his mind, his grasp tightening on the whiskey glass. What an asshole. Does he know about Mark? Do they laugh about him? Oh, he’s working tonight so they can get together. Have sex in the bed he sleeps in every few
nights. He doesn’t want to even humour the idea.

  A tap on his shoulder breaks his thoughts.

  “Mark, isn’t it?”

  Mark’s mouth falls open. It’s him. Cathal. What is he doing here? He’s got some balls, he’ll give him that. Mark turns back towards the bar, reigning in his temper.

  “Look, my name’s Cathal.”

  Little known fact, Mark thinks.

  “I’m a friend of Ava’s.”

  Friend? Don’t make me laugh, he almost says out loud.

  “Look… I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot.”

  Mark can’t help himself. He stands up, squaring up to him. Cathal’s just over five foot with weedy arms and thick glasses. Mark must look like a giant towering over him.

  “Are you fuckin’ serious, lad?” Mark laughs in his face. “Fuck off, now.”

  “Look, it’s not what you think.”

  “I don’t want to hear it, man. So get out now. My family has done business with the manager here. I could get you thrown out in a heartbeat. But I’m giving you one more chance to save yourself the embarrassment. Something you never done for me, but hey… Maybe I’m the nice guy after all. No matter what Ava told y-“