Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

  “You really don’t have to take me, Mr…”

  “I do,” he said firmly, “and you can call me Andrew. You’re my responsibility until I get you home. Still fancy that McDonalds?”

  Davie thought about the recurring sickness that constantly rose in his tummy and shook his head. “Thanks all the same, but I think it will just make me feel worse. I just want to go home to bed.”

  “No probs. I’m parked right outside, so I’ll have you there in ten.”

  The two of them set off through the bleak corridors of the hospital, the silence growing more awkward with each passing step. Davie considered making a run for it, but knew he wouldn’t make it more than a few yards without having to throw up. Just strolling along like this took effort.

  “This way,” said Andrew, just as Davie was about to make a turn into the reception area. “I came in through the A&E, not General Admissions.”

  Davie followed Andrew into a waiting room that was empty except for a young lad with a thick clump of glass sticking out of a bleeding head wound. He was sobbing to himself quietly as he sat there alone.

  Someone’s bottled him, Davie thought to himself, knowing the type of injury well from experience. The scars never completely go away.

  Davie and Andrew exited the hospital and stepped into the cold breeze of the car park. There was a bright red Mercedes parked askew across several parking bays, and as Davie got closer, he could see that the vehicle was plastered in graffiti–the words Pedo, Pedo, Pedo written all over it. Davie glanced at Andrew uncertainly.

  Andrew seemed to realise the situation and immediately became flustered, waving his hands and shaking his head defensively. “No, no, no, you don’t need to worry. That’s just the work of some idiot that’s been terrorising the neighbourhood. His idea of a joke!”

  “Ha ha,” said Davie without inflection; secretly thinking that Frankie had a weird sense of humour. “You must have laughed all night?”

  Andrew looked at Davie and then suddenly broke into laughter. “Yeah, I had an absolute hoot. Now, come on, get yourself inside the pedo-wagon. I want to take you home and show you my basement.”

  Davie joined in the laughter and pulled open the passenger door once Andrew had disengaged the automatic locks. Despite the spoiled paintwork, it was the poshest car he’d ever been in. The seats were soft, stitched from leather, and the dashboard had a sleek metallic sheen that was peppered with chrome-plated dials and switches.

  “Nice motor,” he commented.

  “Thanks,” said Andrew, sliding into the driver’s seat and strapping himself in. “I only just got it, but I think it’s nice too. Obviously, someone felt it needed some custom paintwork.”

  “Will it cost a lot to repair?”

  Andrew started the engine and looked forward. He shrugged. “I imagine so. Hopefully my insurance will cover it, but then they charge you more every month to make up for it.”

  “That sucks,” said Davie, not really understanding the ins and outs of motor insurance, but assuming it was a big rip-off like everything else. “You know who did it?”

  Andrew nodded but said nothing.

  Davie shifted slightly in his seat as the car began moving out of the hospital car park. “You going to do anything about it? To the person that did it, I mean?”

  “Don’t know,” said Andrew. “Don’t know if there’s anything I can do.”

  Davie frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I’m a good man. I look after my family and go to work so that I can give them a good life, but what can I do if someone decides to make my life hell? The police won’t help me, and I don’t know how to fight worth a damn. Seems to me that it’s all too easy to be a thug nowadays.”

  The car pulled onto a main road and picked up speed. The powerful engine purred proudly. There was no other traffic that Davie could see. The dashboard’s digital clock said that it was a little after nine at night, which explained the empty roads.

  “Maybe he’ll leave you alone once he’s had his fun?” Davie proposed.

  “Sounds like you know something about it? You don’t go around terrorising people do you?”

  Davie shook his head without even thinking about it. You always pled innocent, no matter what. “No, I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he said, “but I’ve known people who do.”

  The car sped up as it entered a slip road to a carriageway. “Really? Like who?”

  Davie shrugged, wondering to himself why exactly he had even instigated this conversation in the first place. “Just kids I’ve hung around with,” he said. “At school and that, you know?”

  Andrew nodded as if he understood. “You enjoy school?”

  “Hate it, but I try my best anyway. I promised my mum I would get a job and not end up like my brother.

  Oh shit, why did I say that?

  “You have a brother?”

  Davie swallowed what felt like a huge lump in his throat. “Yeah. He… moved away, years ago now, but he was always up to no good.”

  “Hurting people?” said Andrew.

  Davie thought about how loud Charlie had screamed when Frankie held her arm in the chip fat. It was the hottest thing Davie had ever seen, bubbling and spitting like molten agony. The young girl cried out so loudly when her hand had touched it that something must have given way inside her throat. The tone of her voice changed pitch mid-scream. Frankie had broken his own rule about never hurting a woman, and the whole incident had sent Davie’s world spiralling. The violence made him feel woozy, so he ran. Ran away from the chip shop as fast as he could. Then something had hit him like a ton of bricks. Next thing he knew, he was waking up in a hospital with a nurse bandaging his head.

  Even now, Davie had a hard time accepting what had happened in the chip shop. The old Frankie he had grown up with would never have hurt a defenceless girl like that. The old Frankie he grew up with would not have done a lot of the things he had been doing lately.

  “...kay?”

  Davie looked up from his thoughts. “Huh?”

  “I said, are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Davie nodded. “Just feel a bit sick.”

  Andrew turned to him and smiled. “We’re almost there now. Hold on.”

  Davie decided not to participate in any further conversation. The less Andrew knew about him–and his blood relatives–the better. In fact, too much had been said already.

  The speeding car took a road on the left and started slowing down. It entered into a residential area that Davie did not recognise.

  “I think you’ve gone the wrong way.”

  Andrew shook his head, but kept his eyes forward. “No, I haven’t”

  “Yeah, you have,” Davie argued. “You should have kept on the main road for a little while longer, I think.”

  “We’re making a little detour first.”

  Davie felt sick. “What?”

  Andrew smiled at Davie for a moment, then looked back at the road. “I have someone I want you to meet. Then I will take you home, alright?”

  “Okay,” Davie hesitated. “Who?”

  Andrew took a deep breath as if he was considering something. “I want you to meet my family, Davie. They were worried when I told them I hit you. I just want them to see that you’re okay. That cool, buddy?”

  Davie nodded. “Yeah, okay, but I really need to get home soon.”

  “No problem. Be five minutes. My wife will never get off my back until she knows you’re going to be okay.”

  Davie looked out of the window as the car parked up on the curb outside of a row of houses. He couldn’t help feeling like a rat caught in a trap. There was something off about the situation, and Andrew’s demeanour had suddenly changed, but Davie had nowhere to run. Couldn’t run.

  Andrew applied the parking brake and switched off the ignition. “Okay, get out.”

  Davie nodded in silence. He pushed open the door on his side and stepped out into the street. The air felt icy after leaving the stifling compart
ment of the car. It was a good sensation, though, and woke up his senses, easing the low-level headache that had been with him since the hospital.

  “Come on, inside,” said Andrew, walking up a path to one of the houses. There was a light on in the living room, mingling with the pulsing flash of a television.

  Davie followed obediently, wishing he was somewhere else–anywhere else–than the property of a man who most likely meant him harm.

  Andrew opened the front door with a key and stepped inside. Dave stepped inside too, stopping inside the porch.

  “Living room’s on the left, buddy. Go on through.”

  Davie entered the hallway and turned to the door on the left. It felt as though turning the handle would be the beginning of something he didn’t want to get into. He wanted to refuse to go in, to turn around and demand to be let out. But it was too late for that.

  He was already inside.

  Davie turned the handle and pushed open the door, then entered the living room. Inside, there was a mixture of smells that didn’t usually go together. It smelt like vinegar and… bleach? A moment later Davie saw the source of each odour. Two women–one young and one older–crawled on their hands and knees, scrubbing at the carpet with bleach-soaked cloths. The whole room seemed to be littered with mashed up potatoes and bits of fish.

  “My family,” said Andrew behind him.

  The women looked up and both seemed to receive a fright at Davie’s presence. Both of them stood up quickly.

  Andrew stepped through into the centre of the living room and stood in front of the women. “This is just one of the things Frankie has done to us for no reason, Davie. My wife and daughter have been scrubbing at these carpets all day, and the smell still hasn’t gone completely. You know all about the damage to my car.”

  Davie shook his head and wondered what to say. What words would make this situation end?

  The older woman’s eyes had gone wide and she looked at him, bewildered. “You know Frankie?”

  Davie said nothing. He didn’t want to admit to anything that could get him hurt.

  “This is Frankie’s brother,” said Andrew, “and he’s a good lad.”

  Davie raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

  Andrew shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think you enjoy hurting people like your brother does.”

  Davie still chose to say nothing. His thoughts were a muddle, perhaps from the concussion–perhaps not.

  “Sit down,” said the woman. “I’ll get us all some tea.”

  Davie hesitated. He still wanted out of there, but somehow felt his uneasiness going away at the thought of staying. A cup of tea sounded nice. They never had any milk at home.

  The younger girl stepped towards Davie and held out her hand. She was about his age and beautiful–like a younger version of her mother but with a lightness to her features that made her seem angelic. Davie could tell just by looking at her that she was a kind person. She continued to offer out her hand, and Davie finally took it, albeit reluctantly.

  “My name’s Rebecca,” she said, leading him towards the sofa. “Take a seat and we’ll talk things through. You look like you’ve been in the wars.”

  Davie sat down and nodded. “I got run over.”

  Rebecca sat beside him and looked shocked. “No way!”

  “Yes,” said Andrew, seating himself on a nearby armchair. “It was me who hit him.”

  The girl now seemed even more shocked.

  “Was an accident, Bex,” Andrew added. “Davie’s going to be just fine, so don’t worry.”

  “Thank god. This week’s been horrible enough without anything else happening.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Davie without realising the word was going to escape his lips.

  “It’s okay,” Rebecca told him. “We just want your brother to leave us alone.”

  “Yes,” said Andrew. “It all needs to stop, right now. We’re innocent people.”

  The older woman re-entered the room with a tray full of steaming mugs. The one she handed to Davie had a Bart Simpson design. “I added sugar. Is that okay?”

  Davie nodded and thanked her, but then said, “I need to go home.”

  “Okay,” Andrew nodded. “Just drink your tea and we’ll get going. I just wanted you to meet my girls first.”

  “Why?”

  “So that you can tell your brother that we’re real people he’s hurting.”

  “He knows that.”

  “Does he? Because maybe things don’t seem as real if you don’t know the person you’re having fun with.”

  Davie shrugged. “I know what you’re doing, but I don’t think it will work. I’m sorry.”

  “Can you not do anything at all, Davie?” asked the mother.

  Davie shook his head. “Frankie doesn’t listen to anyone, least of all me. I think… I think he enjoys hurting people.”

  Andrew nodded. “Like Charlie.”

  Davie looked down at the liquid in the mug and watched it steam. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to go home. If you take me now, I won’t tell Frankie about what happened.”

  Andrew raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you threatening me?”

  Davie shrugged. “Guess I am. Frankie has got it in for you. If he hears that you ran me over, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

  “So why would you want to tell him if it will cause more trouble?”

  Davie stood up, flinging his mug of steaming tea aside, adding to the stains on the carpet. “Because you won’t let me the fuck go. I’ve asked you nicely. Now let me fucking leave, right now, you get me?” Davie felt woozy, but continued anyway. “I’ll walk home from here and not say a thing, but if you keep me here any longer then you’ll pay.”

  Andrew’s eyes saddened as they looked at him. He stood up and nodded. “Okay, son. It’s a shame because I thought better of you. Guess I had it wrong. Maybe it’s the concussion talking.”

  Davie couldn’t understand why, but tears began to beat at the back of his eyelids. Andrew had been correct when he said knowing a victim makes things more real. It upset him to see the effects of Frankie’s behaviour, but it was none of his business. Frankie was family. Frankie was his brother. This man in front of him was just a stranger.

  Davie yanked open the door to the hallway and stepped outside, trying to control his breathing as it threatened to get out of control. He entered the porch and waited for Andrew to come and unlock the front door. It was not Andrew, however, who came to join him. It was Rebecca.

  “Hi,” she said to him.

  Davie gave a half-smile. “Hey,” he said back. “I’m sorry about all this shit my brother’s brought down on you, but it’s nothing to do with me.”

  Rebecca smiled at him and nodded, then reached out a hand and touched his shoulder. “It’s okay. I know you can’t do anything about it. It was shitty of my dad to corner you like that, but he’s just trying to protect us, you know?”

  Davie didn’t want to get into it anymore. He just wanted to leave. He found himself giving an answer, though. “I understand why he did it, and I’m not going to tell anyone. Just let me out, okay?”

  Rebecca obliged. She produced a key from her pocket and shimmied past him. Her body felt warm against his as she brushed past, and Davie felt dizzy again. She unlocked the door for him and stood aside.

  “Thanks,” he told her, taking one last look at her–sad that they would not speak again after this. Just as he stepped out onto the pathway, she put a hand out and stopped him. “It’s okay, you know?”

  “What’s okay?”

  “Being afraid of Frankie. I am too. I guess lots of people are.”

  Davie puffed up his shoulders. “I’m not afraid of anybody. Especially not my own brother.”

  Rebecca nodded and smiled at him, almost like she pitied him now. “If you’re not afraid, then why won’t you help us?”

  Davie was thinking of an answer when he heard someone shout from behind him. It was hi
s brother’s voice. Frankie was there.

  “Davie? The fuck are you doing here? Why the hell are you coming out of that fucker’s house?”

  10

  Andrew heard Bex scream and immediately panicked. His first thought was that he’d completely misjudged Davie and that the boy had done something to hurt her. He pushed past Pen and raced into the hallway. Bex was still crying when he got there, but she didn’t seem to be hurt. In fact, she was alone.

  “Bex, what the hell is going on?”

  She spun around. “It’s Frankie. He’s outside.”

  Andrew stepped up to the front door and looked out into the night. Davie was halfway down the path. Frankie was with him, and the two were arguing–both voices heated and angry, but the sound of Davie’s voice seemed to be more pleading than it was aggressive.

  “What the fuck happened to you, bro?” Frankie demanded, pointing to the bandage on Davie’s head. “Did that fuckin’ mug give you a kicking? He’s a dead man.”

  “No,” said Davie. “I got hit by a car. The guy who lives here was just helping me. He took me to the hospital and drove me back.”

  Frankie looked towards the house and spotted Andrew standing there. “Oh, did he? Is that what you do, old man? Give lifts to young boys?”

  Andrew moved Bex back and told her to go and join her mother in the living room. Then he looked back at Frankie. “He was injured. Would you have preferred I just left him there?”

  Frankie didn’t say anything, and Andrew hoped that he was getting through to him at last. When he eventually did speak, it was in a calmer tone than usual. “No, course not, but how the hell did you happen to be there anyway?”

  “Right time, right place,” said Davie.

  But Andrew owned up. He couldn’t rely on Davie to keep his secret. “Because it was me who hit him, Frankie. It was an accident, and that’s why I made sure he got to the hospital. I’m very sorry about it all, but your brother is a sweet boy, and I’m glad to have met him. Maybe we should all go inside and talk.”

  Frankie’s face dropped. “You mowed down my little brother? You’re a dead man.” He marched up the path, shoving aside his brother’s attempts to stop him. “A motherfuckin’ dead man.”