Gripping Thrillers Page 9
Tasha leapt out from the doorway and grabbed Adam, pulling him backwards into the hall. Then she slammed the doors shut and slid a stack of chairs up against them. She finished it all up with an angry yell. “Motherfucker!”
Footsteps at the back of the hall made Adam flinch and turn around. It was Patrick, waving his wind-up torch and looking frantic. “Thank the Lord you’re both okay. All those gunshots…”
“The plan failed,” said Adam, lowering himself to the ground while he bled. “Margaret arrived to reset the alarm. She’s dead.”
Her head was blown off.
Patrick reached out a hand to the nearest wall to steady himself. He clutched his stomach and moaned. “No, I don’t believe you. Not dear old Margaret.”
Adam groaned. “Can we focus on me bleeding to death, please? I’m hurt.”
Tasha dropped to her knees. “Let me take a look.”
She ran her icy hands under his shirt and started rolling it towards his neck. Seeing his own blood sent a wave of revulsion up through his guts that ended in his bulging throat.
“Don’t puke on me, Adam. It looks horrible, but I think you’re okay.” She prodded at his naked torso, wiping away blood in gory smears. It was too dark, and too acute an angle for him to study the knife wound himself, but Tasha leant closer and squinted. “It’s quite deep,” she said, “but it’s low down on your side. I think it’s mostly just flab.”
Adam grumbled. “Are you really calling me fat?”
“No, just middle-aged. And lucky. You aren’t about to die, so stay calm.”
Yeah, sure, no problem. I get stabbed all the time.
Patrick seemed to take that as his cue to talk again. “Are you sure Margaret is dead? It was definitely her?”
“She turned up in a light green hatchback,” said Tasha. “A Renault, maybe?”
Patrick nodded and doubled over. “Yes, yes, that’s her little runaround. She only just got it.”
“Yeah, it was pretty new. We almost couldn’t work out how to start it.”
“What? You mean you have her car? We can leave?”
Adam shook his head. He felt nauseous and a little feverish. Every part of his body was soaked in either blood or rainwater. “Margaret has the key, and the sniper out there doesn’t plan on letting us get it.”
Tasha stared at the ground as if she was thinking. Then she looked down at Adam with a grim expression. “We got our confirmation that there are two people out there, fucking with us. That white-faced maniac was hiding in the toilets while the sniper was still taking potshots at us from the woods.”
Adam looked down at his hand. It was bloodstained, but a thick waxy substance coated his fingertips “It’s just someone in make-up. His face is meant to scare us.”
“It does scare us,” said Tasha. “Men who wear make-up have issues.”
“That’s not very progressive of you,” said Patrick. “Men and women can both do whatever they want.”
Tasha rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t mean they should, but hey, you want to wear your wife’s knickers then that’s your fucking business.”
Patrick’s lips turned in an unattractive smile. “Watch your mouth, young lady. There’s no need for rudeness.”
“Young lady? You aren’t my dad, Patrick, so try to be a little less demeaning when you talk to me, yeah?”
“Did you even have a dad? We haven’t delved into your upbringing yet, but I’m sure we’ll find no surprises. Was he violent like you?” He held up his injured hand. “You showed your true colours when you shoved me.”
“Whoa, Patrick.” Adam remained on the ground, too weak to get up, but he still needed to keep things under control. “Back off a little, okay? It’s uncalled for.”
Patrick folded his arms and looked away. “She started it.”
“And as a grown man, you can finish it.” Adam turned and looked at Tasha. “You too. This is not what we need right now. Patrick, where’s Costa? I need to know what he saw out in the woods.”
Patrick sighed, and it turned into a slight whistle from his nostrils. “He never came back. I kept the door open, but he’s still out there in the woods.”
“You kept the door open? Who’s guarding it now?”
“John, but there’s, um, a problem.”
Adam felt a little more strength in his limbs, so he climbed to his feet, wincing as his elbow, torso, and legs ached. He gripped his knife wound and limped across the hall to join Patrick. “What problem?”
“You should see for yourself.”
“I’ll wait here,” said Tasha. “Watch the door.”
Adam agreed it was a good idea, so he went with Patrick alone. He passed Kevin’s body on the way, still draped in a blanket. It was only now that he was dead and covered up that his massive size became appreciable. He had been a big, big man. But he had still died too young. Why had someone poisoned him?
Why any of this?
What is the reason? What is the cause?
How does it end?
Patrick opened the door at the back and Adam passed through. The storage room was dark and the only source of light turned out to be from John’s phone sitting on a shelf. The man had opened the top three buttons on his white shirt. He was glistening with sweat. He stood at the partially opened fire escape, staring out at the garden. In his hand, he held the bottle of Scotch.
Are you serious?
John must have heard Adam enter because he turned his head to look back over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re back? I didn’t hear any sirens racing to the rescue, so I assume we’re all still quite fucked.”
Adam stared at the bottle of booze in the man’s hand and considered asking for a hit. He resisted. “Yeah, we’re fucked, John. Some of us more than others. Close that door, we need to talk.”
John closed the door and turned around. He didn’t look like he wanted to talk.
“You really think getting drunk is helpful, right now, John?”
Because if it is, then I want in.
John shrugged, more teenager than middle-aged businessman. “This has nothing to do with me so I’m sitting it out.”
Adam closed his eyes for a moment and counted to five, needing a moment to both keep his calm and summon his strength. Never in his life had he been so battered and bruised. The abuse his body could take was staggering. “What do you mean, it has nothing to do with you?”
“I mean I stepped on a nail meant for somebody else, and I’m not taking another step until you all sort it out. I will stay right here and drink.”
“You selfish prick. For all we know, this could be some business competitor you drove into the ground, or some tenant you evicted.”
“I’ve never had to evict a tenant in my life. I’m not a slumlord. I own premium property for professional people.”
“Good for you. I’m a drunk with a failing carpentry business. Aside from killing my family, I don’t have any enemies either. In fact, I barely leave my home. Stop assuming this is about someone else, because I promise you these psychos are out to get us all. They just shot an innocent woman because she was unlucky enough to pull into the car park. Whatever you think is happening tonight, three people are dead. You can’t sit this out.”
John’s eyes narrowed, and his petulant pout turned to an expression of interest. “You said they shot an innocent woman. What have you learned?”
“That there are two people outside this building intending to kill us. One has a gun, one has a knife. I know he has a knife because he buried it in my side while I was out trying to get help for us all. While Costa was attempting to do the same.”
“Any sign of him yet?” Patrick asked hopefully.
John shook his head. “Sorry. I kept my eyes peeled while you were gone but I haven’t seen a thing.”
Patrick covered his mouth. “The bastards must have got him.”
John sniffed. “Or he’s in on this whole thing.”
Seizing on that, Adam stepped forward. “What do you mean?”
All valid points, but nowhere near evidence.
Patrick took off his spectacles and glared. “Now, John, don’t make such silly assumptions. Costa has been affected as much as anyone today. He’s a brave young man.”
Adam felt the same way. Costa had taken risks and got hurt for them – and yet…
Maybe he could be in on it. Maybe he poisoned Kevin’s brownies. And what of Betty? What happened to her? She can’t have just disappeared.
No, there’s no point in making accusations. Costa was legitimately stabbed. His head was legitimately bleeding. He’s a victim.
Where is Betty’s body?
“The white face I saw is just a man,” said Adam.
John rolled his eyes. “I was rather hoping on a ghost.”
“If we stick together, we can get out of this.”
“No thanks. I’ll wait for help to come. My wife will have contacted the police by now.”
“Or perhaps she had an early night and assumed you would be home eventually.”
John’s eyes shifted to the side momentarily.
A flicker of doubt?
Adam doubled down on his theory. “Is it possible, John? In fact, screw possible, is it likely?”
John took a few deep breaths, creating a near silence between them. “Usually, after I leave our meetings, I drop by the off licence and get a bottle of wine for a nightcap. Sometimes, by the time I get home, it’s past eleven. Emma typically goes to bed by then.”
“You leave an alcoholic counselling session and the first thing you do is buy wine? Are you kidding me?”
John shrugged. “I always tell myself that next week will be the week I drive straight home. But I always stop.”
Patrick threw his head back and groaned. “So there’s no help coming?”
Adam touched the man on his arm. “What about your wife, Patrick?”
“Fast asleep. She starts her cleaning runs at five in the morning. I rarely see her past eight o’clock.”
“And I live alone,” said Adam. “Let’s assume Tasha does too. Costa lives at his mother’s house on his own. Betty is widowed. Shit… can we not catch a single break tonight?”
“What about Kevin?” said Patrick. “He and his wife are like two peas in a pod.”
“Hen party,” said Patrick. “Remember? Who knows what time she’ll get home.”
Adam put his head in his hands. “Then no one is coming for us. No one at all. Margaret was our one chance.”
“Might as well enjoy ourselves then,” said John, raising the mostly empty bottle of Scotch to his lips.
Adam had seen enough. Watching a selfish asshole with a bottle to his lips while others relied on him was too close to home. He saw too much of himself. Growling like an animal, he lashed out and swiped the bottle right out of John’s mouth. The bottle smashed on the floor at their feet. “Whether you like it or not, John, you’re involved in this. You’re a drunk in a fancy suit. Don’t delude yourself that you’re any better than the rest of us. We’re in a fight for our lives, and if we don’t stick together, your children will be orphans. Think about that.”
John’s expression lost some of its arrogance. He stared at the broken bottle on the ground and let out a defeated sigh. “It was cheap supermarket swill, anyway. You’ve done me a favour.”
“Yes,” said Adam, “I have. We need you with us, John.”
John nodded. “Yes, okay, I understand. I’m with you. Let’s make a plan.”
Adam sighed. “The last one didn’t go so well.”
Patrick chuckled. “No, it didn’t, but what do they say about falling off the wagon?”
Adam ran a hand through his wet hair and wished he couldn’t smell the woody aroma of Scotch. “Get back on again.”
Patrick clapped his hands. “Exactly. Let’s dust ourselves off and stop being victims. No problem ever got solved through hiding.”
Pretty sure that hiding from a sniper is the exception to that. “I’ve been hit by a car, stabbed, and frightened half to death. But I’m still standing.”
John lifted his blood-soaked loafer. “So am I, just about.”
Patrick held up his crusted hand, pierced by a nail. “I’m ready to lend a hand wherever I can.”
Adam shook his head. “Even for a bunch of alkies, we’re a pretty sad act.”
John smirked. “And you’re our leader. Chief saddo.”
“Patrick’s the leader.”
Patrick shook his head and held up his bloody hand again. “I’m having the night off. Workplace injury.”
Adam grimaced. The last person anyone should rely on was him. Never rely on a drunk.
But we’re all drunks. And we’ve got to rely on someone. Looks like it’s going to be me.
It really shouldn’t be me.
Adam sighed and limped back into the hall, his body stabbed and bleeding.
They sat in a semi-circle with their mobile phones in their laps. John’s huge-screened phablet had died, which left only Tasha, Patrick, and Adam’s torch apps still active. The more time that went by, the more light they lost. It was like the fading away of their lives. At least Patrick had the wind-up torch; even though its whirring and clicking was irritating.
“When I was a kid,” said Tasha, squeezing rainwater from her wet sleeves, “I asked my brother why his legs didn’t work like everyone else’s. He told me it was because he was lucky. ‘Lucky,’ I said. ‘How is it lucky?’ He told me, ‘because I get to sit around on my arse all day while people fetch me shit.’”
Adam and John chuckled. Patrick shook his head sadly. “He was likely deflecting.”
Tasha shook her head. “No, he wasn’t. That was Ben. He never looked at the bad side of anything. It used to frustrate the hell out of me. He never took anything seriously, but now that he’s gone, I would give anything to hear his laugh again. Since he died, I’ve been wallowing in my own misery, which is the opposite to what he would’ve wanted. I’ve got to get out of this mess alive, because I need to make it up to him. I need to smile and take the piss out of life like he would be doing now if he still had the chance.”
Adam smiled. “You’re a good kid, Tasha.”
“You’re not so bad either, Adam. I know you hate yourself, but it’s okay to like yourself a little too. You can do both.”
Adam gave her a thin-lipped smile. “Sounds tricky, but I’ll give it a go.”
John had his wounded foot up on a spare chair, and he was rubbing his ankle as if it was the closest he was willing to get to where it hurt. “Don’t hold me to it, but I’m going to knock the booze on the head. One thing tonight has taught me is that I’m no good in a crisis, and it’s because I’m always thinking about my next drink. I’m not problematic when I drink, I’m problematic when something keeps me from it.”
Adam sat up straight, rubbing his cold wet thighs. He smelled damp and unclean. “I’m sorry for the things I said, John. Life is hard for everyone, no matter their circumstances.”
John waved a hand to show it didn’t matter. “I never shut off, that’s my problem. Nothing is ever enough. Maybe if I learned to relax and accept what I have, I wouldn’t be so stressed all the time. I wouldn’t need to take the edge off with alcohol.”
Adam stood. He had gone from being chilly to desensitised, and when he prodded his own flesh, it barely registered. Can’t be a good sign, I’m sure. “Okay, so we’re clear about what we’re doing?”
Everyone nodded.
“Before we do this, I have to come clean about something. When the man with the white face stabbed me, he said my name. Whoever is doing this knows who I am. John, you might be right. Maybe this isn’t about you.”
John shook his head. “This is about more than just you. If someone wanted to kill you, they
could bludgeon you in your sleep or run you over. Why would anyone go to all this trouble?”
“Then how did he know my name?”
“He probably knows all our names,” said Tasha, “but even if this was all about you, Adam, it’s pretty clear we’re all in danger.”
Patrick took his specs off and polished them on his shirt. Then he placed them back on his face and sat up straight, his chin raised. “We support each other in this group. That’s what we do.”
Adam had changed his mind about these people. They were his friends. Which was why he was about to walk outside and risk his life for them. It was time to hit back.
He clutched the screwdriver he’d found inside the storage room and made sure it was safe inside his pocket. He also had something else – another knick-knack he’d found in the back room – and he hoped it could do some damage.
“You sure you want to do this?” asked John.
Adam nodded and raindrops flicked from his hair. “They’ll kill us one by one if we don’t do something to fight back.”
“But the sniper?”
“The sniper could have shot me a dozen times already. The sniper’s role is to keep us trapped here. It’s the fucker with the white face I want to see. I’m sure I recognised him. I just need to get one more look and I feel like it will all click into place.”
John nodded and folded his arms. He was shivering slightly. “I agree that attack may be the best form of defence here, but I still don’t like it.”
“What choice do we have? I’m not sure we’ll last the night in this cold even if we manage to avoid getting killed. One of us has to go out and try to put a stop to this.”
“Then good luck. Good bloody luck.”
Adam shook John’s hand, the first time he ever had, and then turned to the door. The torch on his phone flickered and died – his battery finally empty. It was for the best. What he was planning to do would be easier in the dark.
Tasha opened the double doors and waited. She had pulled out her purple ribbon and her wet hair was now an unkempt frizz. It made her look younger – just a kid, really, compared to Adam. Her luck was the worst of them all. What a night to attend the group for the first time.