Crash II: Highrise Hell (22 page)

Spinning around, Dean placed a hand on his own chest. "Oh, of course. Forgive me, George, where are my manners? I'm sure you've already guessed, but just for the sake of clarity, Ravi was the one who told me about your little love affair."

Staring at the Indian boy, adrenaline and fury galloping through him, George clenched his jaw. "Don't think your parents are safe now, boy. I'm going to gut them before morning."

After blowing him a kiss, Dean winked. "Night, night, Georgie." As he turned to walk away, he paused. "And if you try to come up in the night, I'll kill your girlfriend and your sister too. Also, Ravi and Si will be guarding my door with shotguns. Just saying."
 

The four of them walked into the block, Ravi glancing back at George.
 

"What about my parents, Dean?"

Stopping, Dean turned to the boy. "What about them?"

Ravi's shoulders slumped.

When the men loosened their grip, George spun around. The first person he saw was Ginge. Driving his fist across his chin, George watched him fold. The other two men fell into the pack. George couldn't take them all. Looking at the motley crew, he shook his head. "You fucking cowards." Turning his back on them, he walked towards the building, opening and closing his sore right hand as he went. It still hadn't been washed since he killed that man. It wouldn't be washed any time soon.

Between a Rock …

Looking up at the ceiling after another thud ran through it, George ground his jaw. They were three fucking floors above him, and it still shook his flat.
What are they doing to her
?
 

Returning his attention to his book, the small font hard to read under the flickering candlelight, George squinted and persevered.
 

Slap
!

Crack
!

Thud
!

Reading was tricky on a good night with no electricity. This was very fucking far from a good night. Rubbing his stinging eyes, George dragged his finger along the dry page to try and track the words as he read them.
 

Mouthing the sentences still didn't keep them in his head, but what other choice did he have? With the two sycophants standing guard at Dean's door with shotguns, he didn't have a prayer rescuing Liz with just a baseball bat and some DIY tools.
 

Sighing, he looked at the letter from Sally on his bedside table.
 

Slapping his book shut, George put it down and got to his feet. Extreme tiredness sent his head spinning, and he had to pause to get his bearings.
 

When a high-pitched scream shot down the stairwell, he sighed and looked at the floor.

Slap
!
 

Crunch
!
 

Silence again.

Walking to his front door, his fists clenched and his stomach tight, George bashed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Why did I trust that little cunt to keep his mouth shut? Why did I feed his fucking family? He ratted me out the first fucking chance he got."

The baseball bat was where he'd left it in the kitchen. Lifting it up and wrapping his grip around the handle, he then rested it on his shoulder. Twisting the lock, he popped the front door open, the smell of bleach, albeit more diluted than usual, rushing in. He liked Ravi's parents, but the boy needed to understand there were consequences for what he'd done. There were always consequences.

* * *

Click
.
 

The lock on George's front door slid into place as he returned to his flat. Holding his bat to his chest, he squeezed it until his forearms shook and his fingers hurt. He couldn't do it. It wasn't their fault their son was a cunt.
 

Another scream echoed through the stairwell, weakening George's legs. As he slid down the door, his lip bent out of shape. "I'm sorry, Liz. I'm truly fucking sorry."

Sitting on the hard floor for a time had turned George's bottom numb. With his back still pressed to the icy door, he sat there shivering. The only light in his cold and gloomy flat came from the moon through the slit in his bedroom curtains.

Crack
!

Bang
!

Crunch
!

Frowning so hard it had given him a headache, George rubbed his numbing face. When the smell of rot and dirt smothered him, he pulled his hands away.
 

Within the next day or two, Ravi's mates would storm the building again. Surely they would do it better this time? To plan for anything less than that would be foolish. In the time he had left, he'd try to get to Sally. If that didn't happen, he'd have to make sure he took Dean with him. Even if he had to knock the cunt out to get him into the pickup. The rest of the gang could go fuck themselves. Dean was the key to Sally.
 

When another throat-splitting scream shattered his nerves, George clenched his fists and released them. Repeating the process, he stared up at his ceiling. Once he'd been reunited with Sally, every bit of suffering dished out by Dean would come back to him tenfold.
 

Retribution would be sweet.

* * *

Holding his breath, George twisted the creaking lock on his front door again. Dean's flat was three stories above him. It was just far enough away that he could sneak out without being seen. Just.
 

Blinded by the darkness, he bent down and grasped fresh air once or twice before finding the holdall's handles.
 

When he lifted it slowly from the ground, the tools settled and shifted in the bag, a noise of rubbing steel whispering through the flat. Saws, hammers, pliers, screwdrivers, George had the lot. If Dean was going to be made to pay for his actions, George was going to be sure to do it right. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the door open again.
 

It was pitch black in the hallway, but it wasn't silent. The sound of Dean's filthy laugh came from above, accompanied by slapping flesh. Looking up, George couldn't see any further than a few inches in front of him.
 

Reaching out into the inky black, George stepped forwards. Despite knowing this corridor, a falling sensation dropped in his stomach every time he shifted towards the stairs in case he misjudged it.

When he finally found the railing, Ravi's loud voice filled the hallway, and he froze.
 

"You still awake, Si?"

"Yep."

"What do you think George will do?"

"Dunno."

"Surely he's going to do something."

"Dunno."

"Do you think he'll go for us too?"

"He might go for you. I ain't done nothing wrong."

The conversation ended.

It was a slow descent, but once George was at the bottom of the stairs, he pushed the door open a crack. Again, he heard Ravi's voice, and again, he froze.
 

"What was that?"

"What?" Si sounded like he'd just woken up.
 

"Didn't you just feel that gust of wind?"
 

A torch sprung to life at the top of the stairs and darted around.
 

"Fucking hell, son, you're paranoid. There's no one there. Just chill the fuck out, yeah? You're stressing me out."

The light went off.

Having kept the door open, George looked up at the top of the stairs for a few more seconds before he poked his head outside. The frozen wind burned his exposed face. The moon helped him see shapes, but none of them were human. Where the fuck were Ginge, Jason, and Warren? Drawing a deep breath, he pushed the door open further and slipped through the gap.
 

Shivering from the cold, George continued to scan the area, his heart pounding. Then he saw them. All three of them huddled together as one big shadow by the gate, steam rising into the air from their collective breaths.

Stepping in the other direction, George headed for the truck with the women.
 

In just three steps, he was behind it and hidden from view. As he walked along its side, he came face-to-face with the girls from the cul-de-sac. They stared at him through glassy eyes. George pushed his index finger across his lips. Their expressions remained unchanged. He would have got the same reaction from cattle.
 

Crossing the gap between the women's truck and his own, George then placed the holdall on the floor and slid it just underneath the driver's side of the cab. Removing the keys with shaking hands, he pressed the button, the hazard lights flaring up in the darkness.

"Oi," the inevitable call came out. "Who's there?"

"It's George."

"George?"

When the man got closer he saw it was Ginge. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"

"Keep your knickers on, I'm just getting another blanket from the truck."

The moonlight illuminated the greasy guard, who had his tennis racquet raised. "Do we have a problem, George?"

"I'm not the kid I used to be."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"As a younger man, I would have taken what you did to me personally. I would have waited until you were sleeping and cut your fucking throat. I can't be bothered with that bullshit anymore. Don't get me wrong. I still have my limits, and I still think you're a cunt, but I don't plan on attacking you if that's what you mean. I've dropped you like a sack of shit already. It's done."

Watching the thought process play out on the idiot's face, George opened the truck door and found the blanket that he knew to be in there. "Nice chat, Ginge."

Turning his back on him, Ginge wandered off to the gate to return to the other two guards.
 

Seizing his opportunity, George grabbed the holdall and slid it beneath the driver's seat.

* * *

Lying in his bed, an electric buzz of exhaustion running through his tired mind, George stared at the ceiling. Having pulled the gap in his curtains tight, the room was now darker than an ant's arsehole. With nothing to look at, his mind ran away with him. How would he find Sally? How could he rescue Liz? Could he free the other women? Would Sally's labour be okay? How would he get rid of Dean? How—

Crash
!

Bang
!
 

Slap
!

George clamped his hands over his ears so hard it distorted his vision. The throb of his pulse ran through his eyeballs and turned everything blurry. Grinding his jaw, his blood boiling, tension locking his body tight, he continued to lie there.
 

Crash
!

Bang
!

Slap
!

Letting his hands fall to his side, he listened to the dragging sound that was like someone being shifted around Dean's flat. When he closed his eyes, he saw an image of the infected bite marks on the girl in the cage. They grew in his mind's eye until the yellow, glistening puss covered her entire cheek. The girl's face then changed into Liz's, and the imagined abuse unfolded.
 

Black eye.

Split lip.

Cigarette burn.

Crash
!

Sheered nipple.

Broken ribs.

Blood.

Semen.

Lots of semen.

Rolling over onto his side, George snapped his knees up to his chest and rocked gently. "No." Swallowing back the painful lump, his dry throat tasting like the musty room, he continued rocking.
 

Crash
!

"No."

Slap
!

"No."

Smash
!
 

Frowning hard, shaking with ragged breaths, George opened his mouth to scream at the ceiling. Then he stopped. Something was wrong.
 

Crash
!

Something was missing.

Slap
!

He couldn't hear her any more.
 

Smash
!

He couldn't hear Liz anymore.

Fucked

After what could have been no more than half an hour of tossing and turning, George got out of bed and returned to his armchair.
 

Huddled in the threadbare piece of furniture, his knees to his chest, his duvet wrapped around him for warmth, he stared into the darkness. Having thought Liz's screams were torture, he was now listening to something much worse: her silence.

* * *

The watery blue hue of daylight pushed through the curtains. God was changing his palette for yet another day. Snorting a laugh, George sneered. "Fat fucking chance of there being a God."

Sleep deprivation doubling the weight of his exhausted body, George continued to sit in his chair and stare into space. Breathing through his mouth, the awakening day burning his dry eyes, George swallowed against the strong and bitter taste in his throat.
 

Frowning did nothing to relieve the headache that drove needles into his temples. Lifting a heavy arm, he massaged his face. It offered no relief.
 

The echo of voices in the hallway forced his eyes to the door. It was hard to hear the words but easy to identify the speakers.
 

Si.
 

Thud
.

Ravi.
 

Thud
.

Dean.

Thud
.
 

Si again.

Thud
.
 

Dean.
 

Thud
.
 

Dean.

Thud
.
 

Dean.
 

Thud
.
 

Dean.

The thudding was accompanied by grunts and groans and went past his flat. They were dragging something down the stairs.
 

Pushing against his chair, his thick arms shaking under the strain of his own large body, George forced himself to stand.
 

As he walked to the door, his feet heavy on the cold ground, a wobble ran through him. Once he was halfway across the flat, his head spun, and he tilted to the side. Sticking his arms out for balance, he continued walking.