Urban Myth (21 page)

B
elinda Wallis started yelling at Roth through the microphone.

‘The door’s open. He’s coming down.’

Temple’s eyes were darting between the two monitors. He saw Roth step away from the bed to wait for Keaton to appear in the basement. He was holding the shotgun against his waist and his sweat-soaked body was rigid with tension.

‘I’m coming over,’ Wallis announced, jumping to her feet. ‘Be careful.’

She was in a panic and looked scarily unpredictable. Temple’s heart started to gallop.

‘Let them go,’ he pleaded. ‘Stop this now. Please!’

‘Like fuck,’ she growled.

Then she turned to him and he saw the syringe in her right hand. Before he could react she plunged the needle into the side of his neck. He pitched sideways with a loud shriek. A searing pain erupted in his neck and for a moment everything went out of focus.

‘That’ll keep you quiet for a while,’ Wallis said, as she withdrew the needle and dropped it on the desk.

She then moved swiftly towards the hatch, leaving Temple feeling weak and light-headed. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him from trying his best to avert a bloodbath.

His wrists were bound together behind his back and the duct tape was also attached to the chair. So when he hunched forward and put his weight on his feet, he took the chair with him. Even so, he managed to scuttle across the floor with his knees bent.

Wallis had one leg through the hatch when she turned towards him. But it was too late to stop Temple from slamming into her. She cried out, lost her footing and tumbled through the hatch.

The momentum carried Temple head first through the hatch after her. He went with such force that two of the wooden chair legs snapped off because the opening wasn’t wide enough to take them. As he crashed down the stairs the remaining two legs also broke off. One of them bounced up and struck him in the face.

But that was nothing compared to the battering the rest of his body took en route to the garage floor. He ended up in an untidy heap next to Wallis. She was lying on her back, unconscious. There was a nasty gash on her forehead and blood was seeping from it.

Temple could taste his own blood from a cut lip. When he moved, a wave of dizziness engulfed him. He closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath.

Then he tried again and this time it wasn’t so bad. He quickly took stock of his situation and realized that the tape attached to the chair had snapped. So although his wrists were still bound, he was able to lift his arms free of what remained of the chair.

He struggled to his feet and hurried towards the garage door. But before he got there he heard an explosion and knew instinctively that the shotgun had been fired in the house.

T
he masked man shot me as soon as I burst into the basement bedroom. In desperation I’d entered without fear of the
consequences
.

The blast was deafening and the pain was excruciating as the slug slammed into me. I was hit in the shoulder and the impact threw me against the wall. I slid to the floor, clutching at the wound as blood poured out through my fingers.

At once, shadows began forming at the edges of my vision. I could feel myself slipping towards unconsciousness.

‘Don’t die, Pops,’ I heard Tina cry out. ‘Please don’t leave us.’

My daughter’s voice pulled me back from the edge. I clenched my jaw against the pain, opened my eyes, lifted my head.

The madman was standing over me, smoke issuing from one barrel of the shotgun. Through the slits in the mask I could see his cold, dark eyes. The expression in them was one of sheer exhilaration.

‘Why?’ I managed to say. ‘Why have you done this to us?’

He raised the shotgun, aimed it at my face. That’s when I saw that he also had a knife tucked into his belt.

‘Because you were the ones who came here,’ he said. ‘If it hadn’t been you then it would have been another lucky family.’

What kind of stupid answer was that?

I was about to ask him when someone else came tearing into the room. As the gunman spun round I saw that it was the cop who had come to see us, DCI Temple. His hands were behind his back and he had blood on his face and suit.

He barely had time to take in the scene before the shotgun exploded again. But this time the guy’s aim was off and the slug smashed into the wall a few inches from the cop’s head. The cop lost
his balance and keeled over. The gunman was on him in an instant and threw a kick at his face, but the cop turned and the boot struck him on the back of the head. He howled in pain and brought his knees up against his chest.

I saw an opportunity then. I just hoped I had the strength to seize it. My head was full of fog from the pain and loss of blood, but I managed to get myself up and hold my balance. I wasted not a second thinking about what I had to do. I scrambled across the floor and flung myself at the gunman. I took him unawares and the impact winded him. We both went over, hitting the floor with a sickening thump.

He was dazed by the fall so I pressed my advantage and drove a powerful punch into his throat. He groaned out loud and rolled on his back. The guy was big and strong and I knew that if he could get into a position where he could deliver a blow to me it would be over in an instant. The loss of blood was making me weaker by the second. Plus, I was on my own; the cop was barely conscious.

The knife in the guy’s belt was my only hope. And it was there for the taking, if only I could get to it. But he read my thoughts and we both tried to grab the weapon at the same time. He got there first and clamped his fingers around the handle. I seized his wrist, but he whipped his arm back and crawled away from me on all fours.

As he started clambering to his feet, I felt all hope slip away. My mind conjured up an image of the brutalized bodies of my family. The bed soaked in blood. The fear frozen on their faces. Their unanswered cries for help.

And then I heard the voice in my head again.

Stay with it. Stay alive. There’s still hope. Just one more big effort
.

The guy was on his feet now, trying to get his balance. I saw my chance. My last chance. I stretched out my good arm and managed to get a firm purchase on his left ankle. Then I yanked it towards me with all the strength I could muster.

The brute fell on his back right in front of me and I saw the knife drop from his hand onto the carpet. I grabbed hold of it before he even realized what had happened.

He cottoned on fast, though. He heaved himself into a sitting
position
and tried to snatch it back. But as he lunged at me he left his torso exposed and I shoved the knife into his stomach with thunderous
force. His blood sprayed my face and air gushed out of his mouth like a punctured balloon.

The shock in his eyes was a pleasure to behold. I just wasn’t in any condition to fully appreciate it.

Suddenly he fell backwards onto the floor. The room went quiet. But after a couple of seconds the silence was shattered by an ear-
splitting
scream.

I whirled around and stared in disbelief as a woman I had never seen before came bearing down on me. She had blood on her forehead and was holding the shotgun by the barrels. As I opened my mouth to speak she rammed the stock into my face with a savagery born of incandescent fury.

T
emple was still clinging to consciousness so he had seen the entire bloody sequence. He hadn’t expected Wallis to appear and blamed himself for not making sure she was out of action.

The drug she’d shot into him was swamping his senses and he was losing the battle to stay awake. His limbs were heavy and
unresponsive
. The kick to the back of the head hadn’t helped so he was having to contend with a throbbing pain on top of everything else.

He was lying only feet away from Keaton and Roth. He didn’t know if the American was alive or dead – he couldn’t see his face. That last blow to his face had been ferocious and Temple had heard the crack of bone. But Damien Roth, damn him, still hadn’t taken his last breath. A tearful Wallis was on her knees cradling his head in her lap. She had removed his mask and he was trying to speak to her.

It was all so surreal. There was so much blood that the room
resembled
a slaughterhouse. The Keaton kids were crying and Temple pitied them and their mother because all hope of saving them was now gone.

Suddenly Wallis started to sob more loudly. Temple lifted his head and saw that she was stroking Roth’s cheek.

‘I’ll see it through, my love,’ she was telling him. ‘Just as we planned it. It’ll be my tribute to you.’

Roth had a coughing fit, during which he brought up blood. It went on for several seconds. Then he arched his back and abruptly became still. His last breath sounded like a huge sigh.

Wallis looked up at the ceiling and let out an agonized wail. She then wept for about a minute before carefully laying her lover’s head on the carpet.

As she stood up she caught sight of Temple. ‘It wasn’t meant to be like this,’ she said. ‘He was my life.’

‘You have to stop this now,’ Temple told her.

She glared at him through a veil of tears.

‘I’ll stop when I’m finished. And I won’t be finished until all your bodies are burning.’

She reached down and gently pulled the knife out of Roth’s stomach, then wiped his blood on her jeans. She glanced at the bed and Temple saw that her eyes held not a trace of compassion for Keaton’s family.

She crossed the room to the door, the knife still firmly grasped in her hand.

‘Where are you going?’ Temple said in a croaky voice that was only just above a whisper.

She looked back at him briefly. Her jaw was set tight and her eyes burned holes in the air. ‘To check the cameras,’ she said. ‘But don’t worry. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes to finish off the final scene. As they say, the show must go on.’

She disappeared through the door and he heard her climbing the stairs.

He lost all track of time then as he floated in and out of delirium.

Fight the drug, he told himself over and over. Fight the drug. Push it aside and find the strength to save Keaton’s wife and kids. But in his heart he knew that he couldn’t. He was struggling just to stay awake, let alone drag himself across the floor with his hands bound behind his back. The space between where he lay and the bed seemed to stretch for miles.

He could hear Tina and Michael sobbing, but their throats were drying up and their hope was fading.

The end would not be quick. He knew that. The psycho bitch was going to vent her anger and grief on all of them. She would take her time for sure, and wallow in the bloodlust as a bizarre tribute to her depraved boyfriend.

Temple didn’t want to die in this house of horrors, but knew he was going to. He was resigned to it. But acceptance did not distil the terror that gripped him. When he heard the footfalls on the stairs a black wave passed through his mind. He yearned finally to give in and succumb to the bliss of unconsciousness.

But it wasn’t to be. He heard Wallis enter the room. She made a
strange sound deep in her throat, as though the air was being sucked out of her lungs. Then she approached him. He could almost feel her body ruffle the stillness in the room. He took a deep, rasping breath and braced himself for what was to come. Would she cut his throat or stab him in the chest? Would it depend on what would look best on the screen?

He forced his eyes open and looked up just as she came into view. He gritted his teeth and pulled back his lips. He wanted his last facial expression to be a defiant one.

Wallis stood over him. She was now wearing her late boyfriend’s mask, no doubt because she didn’t want to be identified committing five murders on camera. Her chest was heaving and her eyes were wide and hostile.

Then, through the slit in the mask, Temple saw her smile, her small, sharp teeth white like shards of bone.

‘Time for a barbecue,’ she said.

She lifted an arm and Temple saw that she was carrying a red petrol can. The smell hit him the moment she started pouring the contents over his legs.

‘You’re going to burn alive,’ she told him. ‘A just reward for fucking everything up.’

Temple lay helpless on his back as the madwoman poured petrol over his shirt and jacket. Then she turned and proceeded to spread it around the room. The cloying stench filled his nostrils and made him cough.

He managed with great effort to pull himself up onto one elbow. Through the fog of his vision he saw her empty the last dregs over the three figures on the bed. Mrs Keaton and the two youngsters were crying and struggling against the duct tape that restrained them.

Wallis had her back to Temple and he watched her toss the empty can across the room. Then she extracted the knife from her belt and stood over Michael Keaton who was on the side of the bed nearest to her.

‘Please don’t,’ Temple managed to utter. ‘Let them go.’

Wallis swivelled round and looked at him. Her eyes were now flat, like old coins.

‘Do you really think I would do that after everything that’s happened?’ she said, her voice full of contempt. ‘I owe it to Damien to see this thing through.’

‘But they don’t deserve to die.’

Wallis shook her head. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? The movie is all I have left. It means everything to me now. These pathetic creatures mean nothing.’

Temple made an effort to speak again, but this time he no longer had the strength to push the words out.

Wallis turned back to the bed and Temple felt his nerves shriek. He tried to move but the drug had finally seized his muscles and his senses. He prayed he would slip into unconsciousness before the fire reached him.

His breath caught as Wallis raised the knife above her head and held it there as she stared down at the boy she was about to murder.

But then he witnessed something totally unexpected.

Jack Keaton, his face smothered in blood, stumbled into Temple’s line of sight.

Wallis became aware of him only when it was too late. She spun round, the knife still in the air, and was caught completely by surprise.

She cried out as Keaton rammed his shoulder into her. The force of it caused her to lose her balance and tumble sideways, dropping the knife in the process.

Keaton went over with her and together they hit the floor with a loud thud.

Temple watched, awestruck, as the American grappled with her, even in his weakened state. Spurred on by the fear of losing his entire family, he had somehow managed to summon the strength to get to his feet, despite his appalling injuries.

He attacked her with ferocious intent, grabbing her hair and
slamming
her face against the floor until she stopped moving. Then he rolled onto his back, his face scrunched up in pain, his chest rising dramatically with every wheezy breath.

After maybe ten seconds Keaton closed his eyes and slipped into unconsciousness, almost certainly unaware that his wife was calling his name and his daughter was pleading with him to stay awake.

And then it was Temple’s turn to drift into the darkness.

The last thing he heard before passing out was the faint sound of distant sirens.