ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror (23 page)

“Not anymore,” Andrew replied, “but, yeah.  Do you know him?”

“Not really but I’ve seen him and his brother in here on the few odd occasions.  Played a game of pool with him once before the old table got smashed up in a fight.

“Has he been here tonight?”

The old man shrugged.  “I’ve only just got here, pal.”

“He left about ten minutes ago,” said the barmaid, coming back with the second pint Andrew had ordered from her.  “Hit the booze pretty hard for an hour or so and then went on his way.”

“Do you know where he went?”

Steph shook her head.  “Never said more than a couple words to me the whole time he was here.  What you want with him anyway?”

“I’m going to kill him.”  Andrew said bluntly.  He let the words linger in the air for a moment and realised that he had shocked the others into silence.  Maybe they didn’t think he was serious, so he elaborated.  “And I’m going to do it tonight.”

“What for?” the barmaid asked in a way that seemed like she was merely humouring him.

Andrew was happy to tell her the truth, though, despite her lack of belief.  “Because last night Dom helped murder my wife and put my daughter in hospital.  He did it for kicks.”

Steph stared at him hard.  She was trying to work him out, to see if he was serious or just one of the regular whackjobs that were par for the course of a barmaid’s job.

“You really don’t know where he went?” Andrew said.

Steph shook her head.  “I’m sorry.  Even if I did know, I wouldn’t help you commit murder.”

Andrew understood and thanked her anyway, got off his stool and begun to walk away.  He stopped when Old Graham reached out and touched him.

“Are you telling the truth?” the old man asked him.

Andrew nodded.

“What are you doing, Graham?” Steph grunted from behind the bar.

The old man sighed back at her, but continued speaking to Andrew.  “I don’t know where he was heading, pal, but he took a phone call just before he left.”

Andrew nodded.  “And?”

“I didn’t hear most of what he was saying – he was upset and angry – but I did hear him say something about a hospital.”

Andrew’s stomach boiled hot with acidic fear and threatened to expel its contents all over the worn carpet.  Jordan was dead, which meant that his brother, Dom, would have only one reason to revisit the hospital and only one thing on his mind.

He’s going to go after Bex; pay me back for what I did to his brother.  The person on the phone was probably Frankie, egging him on – eager to have a potential witness dealt with.  I have to get there first.

Andrew turned and addressed the barmaid.  “He’s going after my daughter.  Please, call the hospital and tell them that Rebecca Goodman is in danger. 
Rebecca Goodman
, you got that?”

The barmaid just stood there, befuddled.

Andrew shouted at her.  “Just do it!”  Then he turned and fled, barging through the pub’s main door without stopping to acknowledge the pain that shot through his ribs.  The rain had gotten ferocious in the short time he was in the pub and it now hit Andrew’s skin with enough force to sting.

Andrew stopped at the bottom of the pub’s steps and allowed himself a brief second to consider his options.  He needed to get to the hospital as quickly as possible, but he was at least three miles away, with no car.  There was a bus route nearby but Andrew had no idea how regular it was or even where it went to.

What do I do?  What do I do?

A taxi would be the quickest option but he’d still have to wait for it to arrive.  He couldn’t take the risk of it turning up late.  There was only one solution that seemed viable right now: Andrew would have to race back home and get to his car.

He started to run, dodging over rain-filled divots and cracked paving stones.  Breathlessness came quickly, forcing a stitch into his side that merged with the pain of his stab wound, but he had to keep going.  Each second he took was a second that his daughter might not have.

He ran as fast as his legs would take him.

He ran until his chest was near-bursting, his wounded side bleeding.

But he kept going; not slowing down for even a single second.  He ran like Bex’s life depended on it, because it did.

One street away from his own, Andrew was forced to slow down to a jog, the pain in his ribs growing to a point where it threatened to drop him to the floor unconscious.  When he placed a hand against his side, Andrew discovered sticky blood seeping from the shallow knife wound.  It felt hot as it trickled down his skin.

But there was no time to wallow in agony.  Andrew put aside the pain and drew from reserves he never knew he had; he managed to round the final corner at full speed.  His car was right in front of him, exactly where he had left it on the curb beside his house.  For some irrational reason he had dreaded it would not be there.  Thank God that it was.

Don’t worry, Bex.  I’m coming.

Andrew reached the Mercedes and skidded to a halt beside the driver’s side.  He fumbled in his pocket for the keys.

“What’s up, motherfucker?”

Andrew turned around just in time to see a fist coming towards him.  It connected with his jaw and sent his eyes rolling back in his head.

When he came to, Andrew found himself in the dark.

***

There was no space for him to move.  Each time Andrew tried to straighten out an arm or a leg he hit against the walls of his confinement.  His head was spinning and a wicked lump throbbed on the side of his head, making it extremely hard to think.  It wasn’t until after several minutes of being curled up in the dark, listening to a nearby mechanical humming, that he realised he was inside a car.

I’m locked in the boot.

Andrew could tell by the sound of the engine that it was his own car.  Dom must have grabbed the keys from him after throwing his knockout punch.  Now Andrew was a hostage on his way to God knows where.  He felt about himself for a solution to his predicament but struggled to find any.  Bex still needed him and while he was trapped in the boot Frankie could have been on his way to the hospital.

If he’s not there already.

If Andrew remembered correctly, the only things inside the boot was a jacket that had belonged to Pen and a handheld vacuum – neither would do anything to help him escape.  He knew there was a tool kit somewhere in there, too, but it was hidden in a compartment beneath the shelf.  There was no way to get to it while lying on top of it.  Andrew did the only thing he could think of:  he kicked out with both legs as hard as he could.

The plastic mouldings of the car’s luggage compartment bent under the assault, but behind it was the unmovable steel of the vehicle’s chassis.  Andrew had nowhere near enough strength to kick his way out.  Something else suddenly occurred to him, though: He still had his knife, could feel it digging into his side.  He yanked it free of his waistband and unrolled it from the tea towel.  He may have had no way to escape the boot, but at least he had a weapon to use when Dom finally opened it.  If it was, in fact, Dom that was driving the car.

As if reading his mind, the car began to slow down, the growl of the engine deepening as the revs lowered.  Andrew gripped the knife tighter, his only hope of salvation.

The car came to a full stop and jolted as the handbrake was applied by its operator.  Andrew didn’t know for sure that it was Dom driving the car, but he couldn’t see it being anybody else.

Andrew’s body tensed like a coiled spring as the driver’s door opened and someone stepped out.  The weight of the car shifted, rocking back and forth before settling again.  The ground crunched beneath the feet of the driver and Andrew could sense the footsteps approaching the boot.

Andrew held the knife out in front of him and waited.

Seconds passed by.

The boot did not open.

Andrew’s nose picked up the scent of something – something acrid, gaseous.

His ears picked up the sound of liquid, splashing and pouring.

His mind put the two things together.

Petrol.  The psychopath is going to burn me alive.  He can’t do this!

Of course he can.  I stabbed his brother to death.

Mortal fear seized Andrew in a grip so fierce that it may have belonged to the Grim Reaper himself.  Some part of him had already resigned himself to the possibility of dying tonight, but being burned alive was something else entirely.

He kicked out at the boot lid and yelled, trying to reason with the person about to burn him alive.  It was no use, though, and the petrol continued to pour, seeping through the gaps in the vehicle’s bodywork and finding its way onto Andrew’s clothing and making his eyes sting.  He tried to figure a way out before it was too late, frantically clawing at his surroundings.  Each of the four walls was flat and featureless – nothing to grab hold of – but eventually Andrew’s hands caught against something above him.  It was the locking mechanism for the boot.  He fiddled with the contraption but could make no sense of it in the dark.  All he could think to do was stab at it with his knife.  The blade lodged into the plastic covering and stuck.  Andrew pulled it out and stabbed again.  And again.

Again.

Again.

Petrol continued to soak through into the boot.

He stabbed again, this time harder.

Eventually, part of the casing began to come away, revealing the lock fittings inside.  Andrew reached his frantic fingers into the gap and snatched at anything he could find in the dark.  He pulled and prodded, hoping beyond all hope to find a way out.

Something clicked.

A sliver of light entered the boot space and Andrew felt his heart leap into his chest.  The person outside was still busy pouring petrol and didn’t seem to notice that the boot lid had opened a couple of inches.

Warily, Andrew edged the bonnet open further.  He could see someone’s legs through the widening gap; they were lit by the car’s headlamps.  Andrew took a deep breath and held it in his lungs until they began to ache.  Then he unleashed his entire body, uncoiling like a striking cobra.  His head and shoulders hit the boot lid and forced it open while his legs sprung out and launched him away from the car.  He barrelled into his attacker and the two of them tumbled to the floor, landing in a heap.  At some point during the fall, Andrew lost his knife, but he wasn’t deterred by the lack of a weapon.  He shot up to his feet and managed to kick out at his attacker before they got a chance to reach their own feet.  It was Dom, as he’d suspected.  The teenager rolled over onto his side, cursing in pain and anger.

Andrew looked around and considered making a run for it.  They seemed to be in a wood someplace.  The cold rain, mixed with the late hour, made the whole area menacing like a scene from a horror film.  If Andrew ran, he would probably end up lost and he couldn’t afford for that to happen.  Besides, the time for running was over.  Andrew had wanted Dom and now here he was.

“I’m going to kill you,” said Dom, rising to his feet, his jeans covered by mud.

Andrew shook his head.  “Going to have to disagree with you there,
blud
.”

Dom rushed forward like a wild bull, even snorting like one.  Andrew met the charge head on and the two collided in a brawl, fists flying back and forth.  Dom got in a couple of crushing blows to Andrew’s chin, but Andrew was prepared to fight dirty and jammed a thumb into his opponent’s eye feeling it squelch.

Dom reeled backwards, swiping out blindly with both hands.  Andrew seized the advantage and advanced forward.  He grabbed the youth around the throat and kicked his legs out from under him.  Dom hit the dirt on his back, twigs snapping beneath him.  Andrew followed him down to the floor and continued to squeeze at his throat, throttling and choking while bearing down with all of his weight.

Dom struggled and clawed beneath Andrew’s weight, but it was useless.  The electric fear in Dom’s eyes changed to a dull, far-off focus as his cheeks swelled and turned purple in the harsh glare of the car’s headlights.

Andrew was sure Dom was only seconds away from passing on to his next life – to burn in the fires of hell with his brother – but something happened.  A knife appeared and embedded itself into Andrew’s face.  The blade entered his cheek and protruded into his mouth, pressing against his tongue.

Andrew released his grip on Dom’s throat and seized the handle of the blade. He yanked it quickly, not wanting to prolong the experience of pulling a knife out of his face for a millisecond longer than necessary.  Blood immediately filled his mouth, coppery and sweet.  Dom hadn’t managed to capitalise on his reprieve yet and was still on his knees, wheezing and spluttering as his windpipe recovered from being constricted to the point of near-asphyxia.

Andrew was in no state to launch another attack of his own either.  Feverish shudders wracked his body and threatened to send him spinning into unconsciousness.  If that happened he was as good as dead – Dom would slit his throat while he slept.  Yet, even with his face torn up and bleeding, Andrew was still the one with the upper hand.  He had Dom’s knife now – just like he had possessed Jordan’s.  The small rubber handle felt good in his hand.

Andrew didn’t get to his feet – was unable to in fact.  Instead he crawled forwards on his hands and knees, attempting to reach Dom before the lad regained his focus. 

He wasn’t quick enough.

Dom saw Andrew approaching with the knife and his eyes went wide, glowing white in the darkness beyond the car’s lights.  He managed to get to his feet quickly and immediately took off.  Andrew was surprised and it took him a couple of beats to stumble to his own feet and give chase.

Dom was young and quick, but he was also winded and half-blind from a gouged eye.  Andrew struggled to keep pace but, every few metres, Dom would stumble against a tree or trip over a root and Andrew would close the distance.  The deciding factor now was stamina.  Andrew’s lungs were already burning and his stomach was paving the way for an onslaught of retching.  He wasn’t cut out for so much exertion on a good day, let alone with a stab wound in both his face and ribs.