Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

  If the psychopath didn’t kill him altogether.

  Bex was screaming again, crying out for her father and begging for Frankie to leave them all alone.

  “I told you not to fuck with me,” Frankie screamed at Andrew on the floor. “I told you, didn’t I?”

  Andrew slid along on the floor like a wounded slug, leaving behind a trail of hot, sticky blood. He dragged himself over towards Dalton who was staring at him wide-eyed, no doubt wondering how the hell she had gotten herself into this situation. Andrew knew how she felt.

  Frankie marched forward and kicked Andrew’s wounded knee. The pain bloomed again like a nuclear explosion, sending away his vision in a cloud of agony.

  “Please,” Andrew cried out. “Haven’t you done enough? Please, just leave us alone. I’m begging you”

  “Why would I do that?” Frankie kicked Andrew again, this time in the side of the head, making him dizzy. “If I kill the three of you, who’s going to say I did anything?”

  “The police already have… Andrew’s… statements,” said Dalton in a half-conscious drawl. “We know all about you, Frankie. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”

  Frankie wasn’t happy, but it still wasn’t enough to deter him. “Well, it still won’t do any harm getting rid of the witnesses, will it?” He placed himself down on Bex’s bed, and she squirmed as he started to stroke her face. “Shall I leave you for last, princess? Let you watch all the fun before I put your lights out?”

  “Please,” she pleaded. “Just go. Me and my dad won’t say anything.”

  Frankie laughed. “Seriously? You’re going to go with that old chestnut? It doesn’t work in the movies and I can tell you right now that it doesn’t work in real life either, darling.”

  “Get away from her, you evil bastard.”

  Frankie looked down at Andrew across the room and laughed. “Or else what, you sad cripple? You couldn’t take me with both legs working, so what use are you now?” Frankie put a finger in his mouth and sucked it before holding it in the air. Andrew was forced to watch while he delved it beneath his daughter’s blankets.

  Bex struggled and squirmed while Frankie cackled almost uncontrollably. His laughter stopped when Rebecca struck his face with her hand. The slapping sound filled the room and was then followed by absolute silence.

  Frankie got up off the bed and yelled at her. “Stupid cow!” He lunged forward and punched her in the face. It wasn’t hard enough to knock her out cold, but it seemed to knock some of her senses loose, eyes rolling about in her head.

  Andrew couldn’t help but curse at Frankie, despite the fact it would probably lead to another gunshot. His hatred was too much to contain. “You pathetic cunt! Taking things out on a helpless girl, all because you got passed around jail like a television remote. I bet you’ve got an arsehole like a clown’s pocket.”

  Frankie pointed the gun at Andrew again, this time his hand was trembling. It was obvious the comments hurt him. But slowly, Frankie got ahold of himself. His hand stopped shaking. He lowered the gun away from Andrew, then pointed it at Bex.

  He pulled the trigger.

  31

  Davie got off at the bus stop nearest the hospital. It was only across the road, and in less than a minute he was walking through the car park and heading for the main building. He didn’t know exactly where inside he would find Andrew or Frankie, but he knew that asking a member of staff would probably be a bad idea. But when he saw the crowd gathering outside the hospital’s main entrance, accompanied by a shrill, ringing alarm, Davie knew that finding his brother might possibly be easier than he imagined. Something had happened, and it would be a pretty safe bet that Frankie would be involved somehow.

  There were hospital employees all over the road comforting patients on gurneys. There were also several police officers standing around grumpily. Davie would have to avoid them all if he had any chance of getting inside the hospital.

  He stepped behind a row of cars and made his way forward in a crouch. There didn’t seem any possible way to make it through the main entrance without someone stopping him, but there was no other obvious way in. Maybe there was a rear entrance.

  He snuck around the back of an ambulance and headed down the side of the hospital. There was a power generator inside a brick enclosure, and beyond that, a wall lined by many square windows. Even further ahead was something that was just what Davie needed: an open fire exit. Only trouble was that a hospital employee was standing there. He was wearing a chef’s uniform and puffing on a cigarette as though the ringing alarms were of no concern to him.

  “Hey,” said Davie, approaching the man nonchalantly. “Having a sneaky fag?”

  The man nodded. “I’d just finished my break when the fire alarm went off. Thought it was a good opportunity for another. Managed to buy another pack just as the gift shop was clearing out.”

  “Won’t they be doing a role call or something?”

  The man shrugged. “Probably. It’s just a false alarm. Do you see any fires?”

  Davie shook his head. “In that case, can I go through?”

  The man took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke in the air. “What is it tonight with people not using the main entrance?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just twenty minutes ago some dude was asking me the same question.”

  “Really? What did he look like?”

  The man narrowed his eyes. “Messed up. Face all ripped up and shit. What’s it to you, kid, anyway?”

  Davie thought of an answer. “I think it was err… my dad.”

  The man nodded. “What was he in for?”

  Davie continued the lie, seeing no other course of action now he’d started it. “He had an accident at the factory where he worked. That’s why his face was injured.”

  The man took another drag on his cigarette, and this time blew the smoke right into Davie’s face. “Really? You see that’s funny, because he told me he’d been in a car accident.”

  Davie was stuck for an answer. Making stuff up had never been one of his talents, and he’d obviously blown it this time. Before he even had a chance to attempt another bluff, the hospital employee had heard enough.

  “Just get out of here, kid. I don’t know what’s going on tonight, but I’m not getting involved. Piss off out of here.”

  Davie couldn’t afford to let the man go back inside and close the door. The hospital was currently deserted and would be the perfect time to reach his brother–if Frankie was indeed inside. It would also be the perfect time for his brother to kill Andrew and his family. Davie had to get through and keep that possibility from happening.

  He pulled out the revolver stuffed down his trousers and pointed it at the chef. “Move out the fuckin’ way.”

  The chef looked at Davie and laughed. “You a proper gangster, yeah? What is that, a water pistol?”

  Davie laughed back. “Yeah man, I’m a regular OG.” He smashed the gun against the man’s face and knocked him cold. His body sprawled back into the doorway and Davie wasted no time in stepping over him.

  He would have to find his way around the hospital without having a clue where he was going, but there were no other choices. Currently he stood by a cafeteria, but that didn’t help much. The hospital had three floors and dozens of departments. It wouldn’t be easy to find his brother in this maze. In fact, it could turn out to be nigh-impossible.

  But when a gunshot rang out, things got a whole lot easier.

  The short explosion had come from the same floor that Davie was already on—somewhere down the end of the long corridor in which he now stood. The signs above him pointing in that direction read WARDS 4-7. Davie ran as fast as his battered body could. He was still nowhere near recovered from his car accident, but he tried to put the discomfort aside for now. His trainers squeaked on the floor as he picked up speed.

  Davie didn’t know what the gunshot meant for certain, but he knew it couldn’t be anything good. The odds
that someone had just been killed were high, and the odds that it was Frankie behind the trigger were even higher.

  Either that or the police have just gunned down his crazy brother.

  Davie didn’t think that was true, though. The police didn’t carry guns as far as he knew. They used pepper sprays and batons and stuff. The only time Davie had seen Police with guns was when they shot some nutcase on TV about a year ago. Raul something-or-other. Other than that, the pigs in this country were harmless–nothing like the American cops he watched in the movies. Now they were badass.

  Davie reached the end of the corridor and found himself lost again as he faced several options to choose from. He could go left, right or straight on. He chose to stand still and listen, hoping to hear something that would make the decision easier. While he was not absolutely certain, he thought he could hear faint voices coming from a ward on the left: WARD 7.

  He headed there immediately and was relieved when he heard the voices again, more clearly. He soon reached a wide open nurse’s station and Davie clearly identified one of the voices as his brother’s. What was worrying however, was that all the other voices he could hear were ones of pleading.

  Turning a full circle, he tried to hone in on where the voices were coming from. Eventually he settled for a room off to the right. He could not see inside the windows because a curtain was pulled across them, but as he approached the door, he was certain that was where his brother was.

  “Frankie?” he shouted at the closed door.

  The voices inside the room stopped abruptly. Then Davie heard his brother’s voice reply from inside.

  “Davie? Is that you? Get your ass in here, little bro. You’re just in time.”

  32

  The bullet had hit only centimetres above Bex’s head. Andrew’s heart had leapt into his throat and stayed there. Now, as he tried to speak, his vocal cords were so restricted that his words came out choked and mumbled. “I can’t… b-believe you just… did that. You’re insane.”

  Frankie blew the end of the smoking revolver and then winked at Andrew. “Chill out, yo. I was just making a point, innit?”

  Bex had gone the colour of old chalk. The gunshot had been so close to her face that the plaster behind her had fallen away and crumbled into her hair. The smell of cordite filled the room and mingled with the odour of blood.

  Frankie strolled over to Andrew and crouched in front of him. “Hopefully I’ve got your full respect and attention now? I didn’t want to have to do that, but you gave me no choice, man.”

  Andrew was feeling weaker by the minute. His mind must have been shutting off to relieve some of the pain pulsing through his kneecap and ribs. “Just… please… enough. Enough.”

  “Begging again, Andrew? I thought you’d grown bigger balls than that.”

  “Frankie?”

  Everyone in the room looked towards the door. Someone was outside. If Andrew wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like Davie.

  Frankie edged over to the doorway and leant his head next to the wood. “Davie? Is that you? Get your ass in here, little bro. You’re just in time.”

  To Andrew’s surprise, it was indeed Davie who was entering the room cautiously. He’d thought that the boy wanted no part of his brother’s insanity, but the fact that he was here now suggested different. When it came right down to it, they were brothers–they stuck together.

  “Little bro, I thought you’d given up on me.”

  Davie shook his head. “I was wrong to say what I said. You’re my brother.”

  Andrew shook his weary head. I had hope for you, Davie, but it turns out that you’re no better than your brother. To hell with both of you.

  A whispered voice snapped him away from his thoughts. He turned his head sideways and saw that Dalton was trying to say something to him. She’d lost every hint of colour from her cheeks now and resembled a ghost more than she did a young woman.

  She placed a hand on his forearm. “Grab… my belt. The… canister.”

  Andrew tried to figure out what she meant. He looked down at her belt and saw a collection of evenly placed pouches. The one on the furthest-most right contained a small aluminium spray can with a bunch of writing on the side.

  Dalton nodded at him. “Grab… it.”

  Andrew nodded back, looked at Frankie and saw that he was distracted by a conversation with his brother, then started to creep a hand toward the canister. Inch by inch his fingers stretched towards it, until…

  Got it.

  He managed to get his hand around the can and started to pull it away from its pouch, but it was stuck on something and would not move. He quickly realised that there was a popper-button attaching a tongue across the top of the can. With his thumb, he unfastened it and started to pull again. The can slid out easily now, and his heart beat rapidly as he kept his eyes on Frankie. One false move and the psychopath would shoot him. He would have to keep his movements slow, gradual.

  Very, very careful.

  Inch by inch.

  Frankie turned to face Andrew, eyebrows raised.

  Andrew thanked God that he had already managed to slide the canister into the space beneath his armpit.

  “What you fuckin’ looking at?” Frankie asked him. “If your eyes were any wider, they would fall on the floor.”

  Andrew didn’t reply. What the hell did Frankie expect him to say? Instead, he looked down at the mangled wreck of his knee and thought about the small metal cylinder concealed beneath his armpit and whether he would get the chance to use it.

  “So what’s your plan?” Davie asked his brother. “You know there’s a bunch of police outside, right?”

  Frankie shrugged. “What the hell they gunna do? I already popped one of ‘em. They want to be the ones concerned about me.”

  “We should get out of here.”

  Frankie put a hand on Davie’s shoulder. “No way, little bro. This is my moment. The day the whole world learns not to fuck with Frankie Walker. The fact that my little brother is here to share it all with me just makes things even more perfect.”

  Davie looked confused. “Your moment? What are you talking about?”

  “Going to whack these bitches, just as soon as everyone comes back in from outside. No point doing it without an audience. Then I’m going to go out in a blaze of glory. Take a few pigs with me if I can. People will remember my name forever. People will have nightmares about me for years.”

  “You’re a fucking psycho,” Bex wailed from her bed. Andrew wished she would be quiet, but he assumed at this point it wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference. Frankie pointed the gun at her again, but this time she didn’t flinch. In fact, she seemed more composed and defiant than ever.

  “Don’t be a hater,” Frankie told her, “just because you can’t understand my greatness. You just don’t see the big picture like I do.”

  Rebecca cackled. It was a cruel sound, and Andrew never knew his daughter had such a sound in her. “You think a spree-killing is the big picture? I thought the point of you being here was to get rid of the witnesses, but now you’re talking about having an audience. You don’t know what you’re doing, do you? You’re just making it up as you go along, you silly dickhead.”

  “Plan changed, sweetheart. No shame in it. I figure that if I can’t get away with this, I might as well make it count. Gunna go down like a man–a genu-ine pig-killing hero. You think anyone will ever forget those kids in America that shot up that school? Or that dude last year that blinded that cop? No, they make films about people like that. People will make films about me one day, and the whole world will be sorry it ever got in my way.”

  “Who are you angry at?” Andrew managed to ask from the floor, fighting hard not to pass out.

  Surprisingly, Davie seemed to want to know the answer as well. “Yeah. What’s this really all about, Frankie? What happened to you?”

  “Nothing happened to me, little bro. I’m on top of the world.”

  Davie shook his head. “No, you’r
e not. You’re talking about killing innocent people just so people respect you. When did respect become so important?”

  Frankie pointed the gun at Andrew but kept facing his brother dead on. “Respect is the only thing there is. If people don’t respect you, then you’re nothing but their bitch…”

  Frankie trailed off slightly, and Davie seemed to sense something. “This is all because of what happened in the youth offender’s home, isn’t it? What the hell did they do to you?”

  “He got buggered by the bigger boys,” said Andrew, enjoying the sight of Frankie groaning. His face twisted up, and he twitched like a madman.

  “Shut the hell up, man, or I swear I’m going to make your death so slow it will feel like forever.”

  “He’s right, though, isn’t he?” said Davie. “Is that what this is all about? Did someone… hurt you?”

  Frankie still held the gun at Andrew, but his arm had began to shake visibly. “You’re chatting shit, little bro. You don’t know nothing, so just leave it, okay?”

  “I know that this whole situation is messed up,” said Davie. “Something happened to you inside that made you lose the plot, big time. Did Andrew have something to do with it?”

  “No way,” Andrew replied immediately. “I never even met the guy before all this.”

  Davie shrugged. “So what then? What is it about Andrew that made you go batshit crazy?”

  Frankie suddenly turned the gun on his little brother. “I thought you were here to support me, Davie. Stupid me, huh?”

  “Support you? This isn’t a job interview or a football match. I can’t support you murdering people.”

  “Then get the fuck out.”

  Davie folded his arms and shook his head. “Not going anywhere. You want me to leave you’ll have to shoot me.”

  Frankie cocked the gun. “Don’t think I won’t. I’m not afraid to kill anyone. Sick fuckers in the nick learned that shit soon enough. I showed ‘em all. Fuckin’ nonces.”

  Davie’s ears pricked up. “Who?”