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CHAPTER 7
At 11.30pm his phone rang, and John sat up from his lounging position on the sofa in front of the television, and grabbed it. "Its Carolyn, there's been a body found in a shed in Lincoln Estate. Bailey and Rachel are on the way, I'll stop by and pick you up in 15," came the crisp voice, and then she hung up.
John yawned, and rubbed his eyes, he had had quite a few whiskies and was tired, cranky, and not expecting Bailey to be calling him out at this time of night, after the kind of day he had had! He got up quickly, and went into the bathroom, stripping off his old track pants, and jumping under the shower. He'd freshen up; it would make him be able to think clearly. He dressed quickly but casually in jeans and a black shirt and coat, clipped his gun and mobile phone to his belt, and was ready by the time Carolyn's car appeared in his car park. He locked the door behind him, and pocketing his keys, ran down the stairs and jumped into the seat next to Carolyn. She drove slowly out of the car park, and proceeded down the street. "So what information do we have?" he asked, and she shrugged but didn't speak. He looked at her and caught a gleam in her eyes from the light of a passing streetlamp.
"I don't know anything," she eventually said, her voice was quivering with some sort of suppressed emotion. "Just that Bailey wanted me to pick you up, and meet him there."
They drove for a while, John sitting beside Carolyn in silence wondering if Bailey was ready to explain his strange behavior of today, Carolyn wondering how soon Patrick would come to her. She was trembling with excitement, her hands wet with perspiration clasping the steering wheel, her heart racing, her breathing quickened. After a long while, John said, "How far out are we going?" as they had cleared the city limits, and were heading into a semi- rural area.
"Not much further now," she replied and eventually turned off the main road, onto a dirt track. The car bumped along for a short way, then turned again. It was extremely dark, the narrow track lit by the headlights of the car showed it was very overgrown. John peered out at the trees passing by. "It looks like this track is not used much," he said, and Carolyn nodded. "It's very isolated," she agreed. "I wonder if we've beaten the others here?" and she pulled the car up to an old farmhouse. John got out of the car, and waited for her to catch up. "Where is the body?" he asked, "And where are all the police? Have we come to the right place?"
"Oh yes," said Carolyn, as a large dark figure loomed up beside her, "This is the right place, and I'm afraid, yours is the body," John half turned at her words, then as the large man appeared, went to pull out his gun, but before he could do anything, he was savagely hit across the side of the head, and fell to the ground, unconscious! Carolyn laughed in delight, and indicated to her accomplice that he drag John inside, into the room she had specially prepared.
When John regained consciousness, it was becoming light. His head hurt, and he felt sick, and opening his eyes was the last thing he wanted to do. He lay inert for a long time; he could feel he was lying on something hard and rough, and that he was unable to move his right arm. When he opened his eyes, the room started spinning, and he struggled with the urge to throw up, so he shut them again quickly.
Finally he managed to overcome his nausea, and opened his eyes again. He was lying on some sort of hessian mattress, on the floor of a basement; his right arm was handcuffed to a large pole set in concrete next to the mattress. The rest of the room was empty. There was a small window, set high up in the opposite side of the room, and through it came the weak and soft light of dawn. He could feel a sticky wetness, drying now, on his temple. The room was festooned with cobwebs, and thick with dust, except for the dragmarks which his body must have made, when he was brought in here. There was a door off to one side, and some wooden stairs leading down from above. He half dragged himself to a semi-upright position, hanging onto the pole for support, and vomited violently, over and over, till he could do no more, and then clung to the pole shivering helplessly. He heard footsteps overhead, and then a door opened, the footsteps came slowly down the wooden stairs, and he found himself looking at his captor. "Well you are awake, and look at the mess you have made," she said, looking down at him, her eyes glowing with excitement.
"Carolyn, what the hell." he began, but she cut him off by yelling out "Donny, bring the hose down here - our guest seems to have made a mess of himself." She looked back up the stairs, at the man who came slowly down. He was a big, big man, bigger than John by at least a head, and much much heavier. John looked into Donny's face, and was dismayed to see the emptiness there.
"This is Donny," she said to John, with a smile on her face. "Donny is a special friend of mine, he will do anything I tell him to do, so it's useless for you to even try to talk to him. He is very protective of me, aren't you pet, and will get very angry if you say anything to him at all. You don't want to see Donny angry, trust me." And she patted the large man on the arm.
John blinked his eyes to clear his sight, which was still fuzzy and tried again "What do you want from me? Why have you done this?" "I don't want anything from you," replied Carolyn "I'm doing this for Patrick." And she sighed longingly.
"What do you mean, for Patrick - not O'Doyle?" asked John, beginning to jerk his arm against the restraints. "What the hell has he got to do with this? Did he ask you to imprison me?" and he savagely tugged at the handcuffs which held him to the post.
"I'll be gone for a while," she said, turning on her heels, and starting up the steps. "Be good for Donny, and he won't hurt you." And she left the cellar, ignoring his shouts. Donny had not moved the entire time, but now he turned the hose on, and water gushed out over the concrete, over John and soaked him. There was nothing he could do to avoid it, and the cold water quickly saturated his clothing. Then Donny turned it off and walked up the stairs, not registering any emotion, leaving John cold, wet, and still in pain from the blow on his head, with nowhere to sit or lie down that wasn't wet.
He didn't know how long he stayed there, leaning on the post, shivering and shaking but he heard the car start up, and drive away, and a long time after that, the footsteps coming back down into the basement. He raised his head, and saw Donny standing there. For the first time he felt fear, as he was at this man's mercy.
"I need to use the bathroom," he said, "I don't feel well." Donny didn't say anything, but came closer, and showed John a gun he was holding. "I just need to use the bathroom," John said again - I don't want to throw up all over the floor again."
This time, Donny indicated that John should kneel down, and grabbed his right arm, twisting it savagely, so John was powerless to do anything. The handcuffs were unlocked, then Donny grabbed his left wrist, and handcuffed that. At least he was free of the post!
He then indicated the door, which opened off the basement, and John could see led to a bathroom. He staggered inside, and closed the door. There was no window; it was a basic small room, empty except for a shower and toilet. There was one grimy towel hanging over the shower rail. John was pleased to see it; he could at least try to clean himself up a little. He could only do so much with his hands cuffed in front of him.
He turned on the tap and rinsed his mouth out, to try and get rid of the horrible taste, then looked around. Donny rattled the door; he obviously thought John had had enough time. Then as he turned off the tap, he looked in the sink, and smiled a little. There was an old hair clip caught around the trap, and he maneuvered it free, sliding it up the sleeve of his shirt. Then he opened the door, and was pulled back to the post.
The floor was a littler drier, but the mattress was still very wet. He looked at Donny, and asked for a drier place, but Donny ignored him, re- handcuffed him to the post, and left.
It took him many hours of trying, before he managed to pick the lock, many hours of holding his right arm at the correct angle, and forcing his left hand to co-operate. His right arm was numb, his shoulder aching as well as his head, but finally he triggered the release mechanism. He had not heard anything from upstairs in a long time, the shadows were creeping across the floor of the basement, and it was almost dark again. He was still suffering bouts of uncontrolled shivering occasionally, and his clothes were still damp, making him very cold and aching all over, and his movements very slow, but now he was free, he was going to get out of this place. The whole day he had not allowed himself to think of anything other than escaping, not the fact his father obviously wanted him dead, nor that his friends were blaming him for something he didn't do, just escape. He knew that Carolyn would be back sooner or later, and she would be harder to get away from than the simple man upstairs.
He crept across the floor, and climbed the stairs. The door at the top was not locked, he opened it quietly and cautiously, there was no one in the run down kitchen beyond. He slid around the corner, and started down a small passage, towards what he hoped was an exit door treading softly and cringing when a floorboard creaked.
However at that moment a door opened to his left, and Donny appeared, holding a gun. John lunged for the front door. Unfortunately the concussion he was suffering made him slow and clumsy. He tripped and Donny was on top of him. They rolled around punching at each other. John was at a disadvantage, he was still shaky, cold and not moving freely, and knew he was not going to win any long or protracted fights.
He only had one chance, to finish quickly and get away. He twisted the other man's arm behind his back, and heard it crack. The bigger man screamed out in pain, and collapsed face down on the tattered carpet. John took several attempts himself to rise, and was about to stumble out of the door, when he heard the click of a gun being cocked.
He turned slowly, and saw Donny sitting up, and pointing John's own gun at him. The large man was bleeding slightly from the nose, and had tears of pain running down his cheeks. The gun was held steady in his good hand. Then something smashed into John, and spun him around, he felt the room sway, and the floor coming up to hit him.
The last thought he had was that he could see himself cold, dead, naked and exposed on Grace's autopsy table, with the rest of his friends standing around. With Grace about to cut into him, and Rachel looking down at him with her beautiful green eyes, watching him with scorn and gloating. As the darkness claimed him he managed to whisper her name, then he knew no more.
CHAPTER 7
At 11.30pm his phone rang, and John sat up from his lounging position on the sofa in front of the television, and grabbed it. "Its Carolyn, there's been a body found in a shed in Lincoln Estate. Bailey and Rachel are on the way, I'll stop by and pick you up in 15," came the crisp voice, and then she hung up.
John yawned, and rubbed his eyes, he had had quite a few whiskies and was tired, cranky, and not expecting Bailey to be calling him out at this time of night, after the kind of day he had had! He got up quickly, and went into the bathroom, stripping off his old track pants, and jumping under the shower. He'd freshen up; it would make him be able to think clearly. He dressed quickly but casually in jeans and a black shirt and coat, clipped his gun and mobile phone to his belt, and was ready by the time Carolyn's car appeared in his car park. He locked the door behind him, and pocketing his keys, ran down the stairs and jumped into the seat next to Carolyn. She drove slowly out of the car park, and proceeded down the street. "So what information do we have?" he asked, and she shrugged but didn't speak. He looked at her and caught a gleam in her eyes from the light of a passing streetlamp.
"I don't know anything," she eventually said, her voice was quivering with some sort of suppressed emotion. "Just that Bailey wanted me to pick you up, and meet him there."
They drove for a while, John sitting beside Carolyn in silence wondering if Bailey was ready to explain his strange behavior of today, Carolyn wondering how soon Patrick would come to her. She was trembling with excitement, her hands wet with perspiration clasping the steering wheel, her heart racing, her breathing quickened. After a long while, John said, "How far out are we going?" as they had cleared the city limits, and were heading into a semi- rural area.
"Not much further now," she replied and eventually turned off the main road, onto a dirt track. The car bumped along for a short way, then turned again. It was extremely dark, the narrow track lit by the headlights of the car showed it was very overgrown. John peered out at the trees passing by. "It looks like this track is not used much," he said, and Carolyn nodded. "It's very isolated," she agreed. "I wonder if we've beaten the others here?" and she pulled the car up to an old farmhouse. John got out of the car, and waited for her to catch up. "Where is the body?" he asked, "And where are all the police? Have we come to the right place?"
"Oh yes," said Carolyn, as a large dark figure loomed up beside her, "This is the right place, and I'm afraid, yours is the body," John half turned at her words, then as the large man appeared, went to pull out his gun, but before he could do anything, he was savagely hit across the side of the head, and fell to the ground, unconscious! Carolyn laughed in delight, and indicated to her accomplice that he drag John inside, into the room she had specially prepared.
When John regained consciousness, it was becoming light. His head hurt, and he felt sick, and opening his eyes was the last thing he wanted to do. He lay inert for a long time; he could feel he was lying on something hard and rough, and that he was unable to move his right arm. When he opened his eyes, the room started spinning, and he struggled with the urge to throw up, so he shut them again quickly.
Finally he managed to overcome his nausea, and opened his eyes again. He was lying on some sort of hessian mattress, on the floor of a basement; his right arm was handcuffed to a large pole set in concrete next to the mattress. The rest of the room was empty. There was a small window, set high up in the opposite side of the room, and through it came the weak and soft light of dawn. He could feel a sticky wetness, drying now, on his temple. The room was festooned with cobwebs, and thick with dust, except for the dragmarks which his body must have made, when he was brought in here. There was a door off to one side, and some wooden stairs leading down from above. He half dragged himself to a semi-upright position, hanging onto the pole for support, and vomited violently, over and over, till he could do no more, and then clung to the pole shivering helplessly. He heard footsteps overhead, and then a door opened, the footsteps came slowly down the wooden stairs, and he found himself looking at his captor. "Well you are awake, and look at the mess you have made," she said, looking down at him, her eyes glowing with excitement.
"Carolyn, what the hell." he began, but she cut him off by yelling out "Donny, bring the hose down here - our guest seems to have made a mess of himself." She looked back up the stairs, at the man who came slowly down. He was a big, big man, bigger than John by at least a head, and much much heavier. John looked into Donny's face, and was dismayed to see the emptiness there.
"This is Donny," she said to John, with a smile on her face. "Donny is a special friend of mine, he will do anything I tell him to do, so it's useless for you to even try to talk to him. He is very protective of me, aren't you pet, and will get very angry if you say anything to him at all. You don't want to see Donny angry, trust me." And she patted the large man on the arm.
John blinked his eyes to clear his sight, which was still fuzzy and tried again "What do you want from me? Why have you done this?" "I don't want anything from you," replied Carolyn "I'm doing this for Patrick." And she sighed longingly.
"What do you mean, for Patrick - not O'Doyle?" asked John, beginning to jerk his arm against the restraints. "What the hell has he got to do with this? Did he ask you to imprison me?" and he savagely tugged at the handcuffs which held him to the post.
"I'll be gone for a while," she said, turning on her heels, and starting up the steps. "Be good for Donny, and he won't hurt you." And she left the cellar, ignoring his shouts. Donny had not moved the entire time, but now he turned the hose on, and water gushed out over the concrete, over John and soaked him. There was nothing he could do to avoid it, and the cold water quickly saturated his clothing. Then Donny turned it off and walked up the stairs, not registering any emotion, leaving John cold, wet, and still in pain from the blow on his head, with nowhere to sit or lie down that wasn't wet.
He didn't know how long he stayed there, leaning on the post, shivering and shaking but he heard the car start up, and drive away, and a long time after that, the footsteps coming back down into the basement. He raised his head, and saw Donny standing there. For the first time he felt fear, as he was at this man's mercy.
"I need to use the bathroom," he said, "I don't feel well." Donny didn't say anything, but came closer, and showed John a gun he was holding. "I just need to use the bathroom," John said again - I don't want to throw up all over the floor again."
This time, Donny indicated that John should kneel down, and grabbed his right arm, twisting it savagely, so John was powerless to do anything. The handcuffs were unlocked, then Donny grabbed his left wrist, and handcuffed that. At least he was free of the post!
He then indicated the door, which opened off the basement, and John could see led to a bathroom. He staggered inside, and closed the door. There was no window; it was a basic small room, empty except for a shower and toilet. There was one grimy towel hanging over the shower rail. John was pleased to see it; he could at least try to clean himself up a little. He could only do so much with his hands cuffed in front of him.
He turned on the tap and rinsed his mouth out, to try and get rid of the horrible taste, then looked around. Donny rattled the door; he obviously thought John had had enough time. Then as he turned off the tap, he looked in the sink, and smiled a little. There was an old hair clip caught around the trap, and he maneuvered it free, sliding it up the sleeve of his shirt. Then he opened the door, and was pulled back to the post.
The floor was a littler drier, but the mattress was still very wet. He looked at Donny, and asked for a drier place, but Donny ignored him, re- handcuffed him to the post, and left.
It took him many hours of trying, before he managed to pick the lock, many hours of holding his right arm at the correct angle, and forcing his left hand to co-operate. His right arm was numb, his shoulder aching as well as his head, but finally he triggered the release mechanism. He had not heard anything from upstairs in a long time, the shadows were creeping across the floor of the basement, and it was almost dark again. He was still suffering bouts of uncontrolled shivering occasionally, and his clothes were still damp, making him very cold and aching all over, and his movements very slow, but now he was free, he was going to get out of this place. The whole day he had not allowed himself to think of anything other than escaping, not the fact his father obviously wanted him dead, nor that his friends were blaming him for something he didn't do, just escape. He knew that Carolyn would be back sooner or later, and she would be harder to get away from than the simple man upstairs.
He crept across the floor, and climbed the stairs. The door at the top was not locked, he opened it quietly and cautiously, there was no one in the run down kitchen beyond. He slid around the corner, and started down a small passage, towards what he hoped was an exit door treading softly and cringing when a floorboard creaked.
However at that moment a door opened to his left, and Donny appeared, holding a gun. John lunged for the front door. Unfortunately the concussion he was suffering made him slow and clumsy. He tripped and Donny was on top of him. They rolled around punching at each other. John was at a disadvantage, he was still shaky, cold and not moving freely, and knew he was not going to win any long or protracted fights.
He only had one chance, to finish quickly and get away. He twisted the other man's arm behind his back, and heard it crack. The bigger man screamed out in pain, and collapsed face down on the tattered carpet. John took several attempts himself to rise, and was about to stumble out of the door, when he heard the click of a gun being cocked.
He turned slowly, and saw Donny sitting up, and pointing John's own gun at him. The large man was bleeding slightly from the nose, and had tears of pain running down his cheeks. The gun was held steady in his good hand. Then something smashed into John, and spun him around, he felt the room sway, and the floor coming up to hit him.
The last thought he had was that he could see himself cold, dead, naked and exposed on Grace's autopsy table, with the rest of his friends standing around. With Grace about to cut into him, and Rachel looking down at him with her beautiful green eyes, watching him with scorn and gloating. As the darkness claimed him he managed to whisper her name, then he knew no more.