Holy Island Trilogy 03 - The Final Countdown (3 page)

‘OK, sit,’ she said, after putting her call through.

His jaw dropped, and he blinked repeatedly as he said, ‘Aren’t you even going to phone a fucking ambulance for me, you stupid fucking ginger cow?’

‘Nice! There’s an ambulance on the way, prick, you heard me ask for one. Though I doubt you would have phoned one for me if things had turned out the way you expected them to.’ She waved the gun again. ‘Now fucking do as you’re told, and friggin' well sit down now before I lose it altogether.’

The man, who had made no attempt to remove any more of his clothing, sat down quickly, swearing under his breath.

Heart pounding, wondering if she was doing the right thing, Kristina put the gun on the table beside the phone. She hurried over and pulled his belt from his trousers, watching him closely and praying he wouldn’t suddenly make a move.

‘At least light me a cigarette up, they’re just in my top pocket.’

 ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

He frowned at her as she went on with a slightly shaking hand. ‘Hold your hands up.’

The frown turned to a smirk as he sensed that she wasn’t quite as in control as she’d have him believe. He raised his hands little more than an inch, and spat at her contemptuously, ’I can take you any time, bitch.’

‘Move them now, or else,’ Kristina yelled. Trying to convince herself that she was in charge, she was thinking, if you coulda, you woulda, mate!

She noticed that he was using his left hand as a tourniquet for his missing thumb, not that it was doing much good the blood was running fast. Staring at her with more than a touch of hate in his eyes, he raised his hands another six or seven inches. Quickly she wrapped the belt around his wrists, and pulled tight, knowing that she really should have tied his hands behind his back, but fearing he might bleed to death. And this bastard needed to be brought to justice. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the belt even tighter, helping to slow the blood flow to his hands.

 As she leaned in closer, he moved his head forward, trying to nut her between her eyes and just missing her nose.

‘Bastard,’ he snarled.

Kristina jumped out of his reach, and back-pedalling to the table she grabbed the gun.

‘Try that again, mister.’ She waved the gun at him. Wiping the blood off her own hands with his trousers, she flung them to the far corner of the room, then picked his underpants up and threw them into the opposite corner, figuring that if he did manage to escape, every second taken up would be a bonus.

‘I’ll look forward to cutting your tongue out, woman,’ he said, as Kristina headed for the door.

Intent on getting away, she grabbed her black coat and her handbag from the coat stand and went quickly through the door, She was shrugging into her coat as she reached the car, and Cox.  She shoved the gun quickly into her pocket as fearing the worst, her heart pounding, she opened the car door.

Cox, who had been leaning on the door, slumped to the side and was in danger of falling out. He was either unconscious or dead, she didn’t know which, but his face was covered in blood. Slowly, as if in slow motion, his body slipped further out of the car.

‘Cox! Cox, wake up. Please wake up.’

Kristina gave a small sob, although the thought that Cox might be dead, killed by the semi-naked man in her house, had crossed her mind. Facing with the truth of what she had feared rocked her to the core. A moment later she froze, when she heard the sound of sirens in the distance.

‘What the--’ She had been adamant, when she’d phoned in, that under no circumstances at all were there to be any sirens - not even from the ambulance, in case they alerted anyone who was with the gunman, hiding in the area.

Quickly, aware that every second counted, she pulled Cox from the car, and placed him in the recovery position. His mobile phone fell out with him and hit the side of the kerb. Kristina picked it up and shoved it into her pocket, alongside the gun, figuring that he must have been using the mobile when he’d been shot.

If only he hadn’t sat outside for those precious minutes to talk to whoever he’d phoned, he might be alive now.

She was muttering over and over, ‘Sorry, Cox, sorry.’ As gently as she could, she kissed her middle and forefingers and placed the kiss on his cheek. Thanking God that the keys were in the ignition, she jumped in the car and, engine screaming, reversed up the street in the opposite direction to the sirens.

It killed her to leave Cox without knowing if he was alive or dead, even though she strongly suspected the latter, but she had to get away, and quickly. And she had to find Mike.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mr Brodzinski starred in horror as Kristina screeched up the road in Cox’s car. He’d watched Cox come out of the house and get in his car, and had been about to cross over the road, cursing himself for not going over sooner - he’d really wanted to catch them both together, and get a solemn promise from both of them. Then just as he’d been about to step off the path, another man had approached the car. He and Cox seemed to be talking for a moment or two, but Brodzinski's eyesight was not what it had once been. He’d seen the man in the thick rimmed glasses point at Cox with a newspaper draped over his hand, then jumped a second later when he’d heard the muffled bang. He'd frowned in puzzlement when the man dropped the paper, but was still holding something in his hand as he ran up the half-dozen steps to the house.

Brodzinski strongly suspected it was a gun, but shied away from the fact. That sort of thing only happens in films, or books! Besides, if he believed what his eyes were telling him, it meant that the man had shot his friend. Cox might even be dead!

Staring over at Cox in the car, Brodzinski didn’t know what to do. He was still debating with himself when Kristina had burst out of the house as if all the devils in hell were pursuing her.

And now Cox was lying on the ground across the street. This time he was faced with no choices. For some reason, his friend was lying there, and there was only one thing he could do. He stepped into the road just as the first police car came flying round the corner. Quickly he put his foot back on the path and quietly stepped back into the shadows, trying to ease his conscience with the thought that the professionals would know better what to do than he ever would.

Something strange was going on, though, he knew that much. Another police car, followed by an ambulance, came round the corner, and the scene was lit up with red and blue flashing lights. But it was something he certainly didn’t want to get involved in. His first duty was to his grand-daughter. He stepped further back until he was hidden from the road by the hedge.

He really hoped his friend was all right. Cox was a good man, and a good friend but his time was precious. He needed every minute for Annya, and getting mixed up with whatever this business was, would be no help to her.

Unless it was all connected?

He watched silently as Cox, who hadn’t moved, was put onto a stretcher, and the ambulance pulled quickly away. He breathed a sigh of relief and tried to shrug the guilty feeling away. Though if Cox was dead, he would feel guilty that he had not done his bit to help, for the rest of his life.

 Then the man in the thick glasses, who had been talking to Cox before he went into the policewoman’s house, was helped by a policeman, with his hand on his arm, down the steps and into a police car which took off with all lights flashing.

Was that blood all over his clothes?

Puzzled as to what he’d witnessed, and knowing it hadn’t made much sense - the man, Brodzinski was sure now, had definitely been bleeding heavily - he hung around for another fifteen minutes, just in case the man with the glasses had a friend come looking for him and pounced on anyone around.

Finally satisfied that no one else was coming, he left his hiding place and headed home.

LONDON

CHAPTER FIVE

Two hours had passed since Smiler had run from the safe house, two gruelling hours in which he had endured pure torment. With the gait of an old man, shoulders hunched, head dropped, and heart aching so bad it was a real physical pain in his chest, he’d stumbled past houses, shops, parks, and ended up in this draught-ridden doorway. He’d tried to piece together everything Rita had told him. And he still couldn’t get his head around most of it. 

Jesus! It was stupid to think that anyone could get away with that sort of thing now.

Perhaps thirty centuries ago!

But now?

Impossible!

‘Impossible, to think that the whole fucking world was…Is, living a lie,’ he muttered, shaking his head slowly and watching a large spider scuttle away when he moved his foot.

Rita had told him so much he still couldn’t get his head round most of it. He knew that he felt angry, very angry, and that made him understand the need for secrecy. Anger is deadly. If everyone suddenly found out, then the world as we all know it would no longer exist. The transition had to be smooth, and certain people had been working towards this for years.

Having taken refuge from the relentless drizzle which had started not long after he’d run, he now sat huddled in the shop doorway, his knees up to his chest and his head tucked in, his arms wrapped around his legs as he rocked from side to side, a harsh sob escaping every few minutes from his burning lungs.

When he’d heard the full horrendous truth from Rita, he’d been unable to take it. He’d taken flight, pushing everyone and everything out of his way. He’d run as fast as he could away from them all, and ended up here. Just where 'here' was, though, he had no idea.

He’d passed a few other dingy shops before he practically collapsed in this doorway. He knew it was a rough place by the smell of piss, the fag ends and litter lying about, and the paint peeling off the dirty red paint-work he could see peeping out from behind the metal shutters on the door and window, which were covered in graffiti. There were countless spiders scurrying around, and the odd adventurous beetle. He guessed that it was close to one o'clock in the morning, but where the hell was he?

He lifted his head when he heard shouting coming from what he thought was a flat above the shop, and sighed. He’d heard plenty of shouting in his life, a harsh raised voice was nothing new, and he doubted strongly if anyone could come up with something he’d never heard before.

His mother used to shout at him all the time - well, when she was actually conscious, and not in negotiations with some creep or another, haggling over the price of her, or his body. For years he had hated her for the life she’d given him. Not once had he seen the inside of a school. His reading skills had been taught to him by her, and that was only because she used books to escape her own dreary existence. But now he finally knew the reason why she’d been the way she had.

He tried as hard as he could to find some pity for her, but the wounds were still too raw. He shuddered. No one should ever be allowed the life he’d lived.

He’d spent most of that life hating everything and everybody, mostly for no reason, just the fact that they, and he, existed. And then for a short time he’d thought his life was changing. Meeting Mike Yorke had opened his eyes to a different life altogether, to real people, to kindness, to unselfishness, and then to Aunt May.

 Living on Holy Island with Aunt May had been a dream come true. At last he’d felt as if life was worth living. He was finally free. Free from the absolute horror of just existing, of being a complete nobody that nobody cared about, just another waif and stray on the streets.

But that bubble had soon burst. Shame on me for thinking it could go on forever. And now Mike Yorke was missing, and a whole new can of worms had opened up. Light filtered down from the flat upstairs, making it quite easy to see. He flicked a tear off his cheek, and rubbed the wetness between his finger and thumb. Then he took his cigarettes out and fumbled in his pocket for his lighter, slightly worried for a moment in case he’d lost it. Then his fingers closed around it, and, pulling the lighter out, he lit up.

He took a huge drag and filled his lungs, holding it for a moment before realising it into the dark sky. A few seconds later, he gasped and his body jumped in shock as the upstairs window exploded outwards, showering glass all around. In the middle of the shower, just a foot from where he was sitting, lay the shattered remains of a heavy crystal flower vase, some of the pieces still trembling. The yellow roses that the vase had held were crushed and scattered. For a moment, he was hypnotised by a large piece of the broken glass as it caught the light. His hand reached out, as his tongue quickly ran across his dry lips.

There was a certain release in the glass, release in the blood that would flow from his body with the aid of that single shiny piece of glass, taking the pain inside away. All he had to do was pick it up. That’s all. Just reach out.

Now…Do it!

Easy!

He sighed. His need was huge.

His longing was huge.

Aching inside with the need, and hearing the glass call to him, he stretched out his arm.

His fingers touched the glass. Gently, with his other hand, he brushed a spider away then, with the same finger and thumb that had rubbed the tear off his cheek, he caressed the piece of glass, a small smile on his face.

So easy!

His fingers closed around the glass, and he brought it close to his smiling face. ‘So, so easy.

‘End it all now, the way out!’

NORWICH

CHAPTER SIX

At the same time as Smiler was contemplating ending it all, a girl he had never met, but who was just as much a victim of the families as he was, woke up.

Shelly Monroe lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. There was a gap in the curtain and the full moon spilled into the room. Tears ran down her face and she didn’t have the energy or the strength to wipe them away. Not for the first time, she’d been crying in her sleep.

Everything is such a mess, and it’s mostly my own fault, she thought, thinking back to over a year ago when she’d first been introduced to drugs via her friend Alicia and the Leader.