Kill or Die Read online

  There was a tightness in his throat, as he eased open their bedroom door. And then, his heart sank like a stone. For long, agonising minutes, he stood there, staring blankly at the undisturbed double bed, the silence of the house ringing in his ears. No wonder the house had felt so quiet. No wonder.

  Gone. They’ve left you. The words jangled in his empty brain. Gone. It was too late. She knew.

  There was an envelope propped up on his pillow. A pink envelope, with purple dragons on it. With a sinking heart, he opened it, flicked on the bedside lamp, and read the childish print on the rainbow coloured notepaper.

  Dear Daddy, we have gone to Aunty Steph’s.

  I hope I'll see you soon.

  Love and kisses from Lucy and Mister Brown.

  His legs seemed to lose their strength, and he sank down onto the edge of the bed, eyes closed. It had been years since he’d cried. He’d almost forgotten what his tears tasted like.

  CHAPTER 7

  Julia had lost all track of time and reality. She drove mile after mile through swirling claustrophobic blackness. The world had become invisible, except for the two red tail lights of the car in front – and the face in her rear-view mirror.

  It was a hideous face. Not because of the scar and the blood, but because of the look in his eyes. It was a face lacking compassion, vicious, and it was squashed up next to her sobbing daughter.

  She didn’t know whether he was holding a weapon to Lucy. His appearance was threatening enough. Because he was there, next to her little girl in the back seat of her Mini, Julia continued to follow the other car, as ordered.

  “Don’t be frightened, Lucy. It’s going to be alright.” In her heart, she prayed it would be. That they would stick to their word, take her car, and leave them to get home on foot. She clung to that hope. The alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

  The child sobbed. “I want to go home…”

  “Shut it!” the man snapped, causing Lucy to scream in fright, and then, sob all the more.

  “Don’t hurt her, please don’t hurt her,” Julia begged, her thoughts racing. Could she stop the car, and pull Lucy out, before he caught hold of them? Before the man in the first car saw what was going on? Could they lose these two demons in the fog?

  “Just shut it,” he repeated dully.

  Julia continued driving, her right leg cramping, her knuckles white on the wheel. She spoke gently to her daughter. “Don’t cry, Lucy, please don’t cry. It’ll only make things worse.”

  They had committed some crime, some atrocity to risk this.

  “Where are we going?” Julia asked, afraid almost to speak, and terrified of what the answer might be. But, he made no reply, and glancing into her interior mirror, she saw his head had rolled back, and his eyes were shut.

  Was he sleeping? She couldn’t tell whether he was resting his eyes, or had fallen into unconsciousness. Dare she veer away, and take her and Lucy to some place of safety? Would he notice? Could she lie to him, and make out she’d lost the other car's tail lights in the fog?

  She glanced again in the mirror, trying to gauge the depth of his drowsiness. But, then, the brake lights of the preceding car glowed brighter, as it drew to a halt. Julia slowed, wondering whether she dared to drive off now. The other man was out of the car ahead. If she was going to make a move, it had to be now.

  Then, the man behind her stirred. “No tricks,” he warned.

  A moment later, the leather-coated man had yanked her car door open, turned off the ignition, and pocket the keys. “Not a peep out of you – or the kid. Understand?”

  She watched him in her headlights, as he walked back to his car, and hauled four large holdalls from the boot of his vehicle. He attempted to transfer them to her Mini, and swore, as he saw her boot was already full with her suitcases. It only delayed him for a moment. He transferred her suitcases into his car, and clicked the boot lid shut. He brought the holdalls to the rear of her car, and loaded them in. The car dipped at the weight.

  Joy riders, or burglars, that’s what they were. They would dump her and Lucy here, and take her Mini. Yet, in her heart, she knew she was fooling herself. These weren’t teenagers stealing cars for kicks – they were something far worse.

  The leather-coated one strolled back to his car, as if he had all the time in the world. He reached into it, and seemed to be adjusting the handbrake and steering wheel. Then, walking to its rear, he leaned his back against the vehicle, moving it forward, all the while staring directly through her headlights into her eyes. Despite being unable to see his expression behind his mask, she had the feeling he was smirking. As if he was enjoying this.

  Julia saw it then, a glimmer of water shimmering through the fog. She could smell the damp in the air. It was a lake – no! It was the reservoir, that was where they were, the reservoir. She gasped. He was pushing his car into the reservoir.

  The red tail lights dipped to a precarious angle, and then, came the gurgling of water as it filled the vehicle, slowly dragging it down into a watery grave.

  “Why is he doing that?” she whispered. “Why in God's name is he doing that?”

  “Mummy, I want to go home.”

  “Soon,” she breathed, feeling as if she were drowning herself. Drowning in a flood of terror. What had these two done to make them push their car into a reservoir?

  Within moments, the car had totally disappeared from view, taking with it her suitcases with their clothes, sweaters, coats, Lucy’s school uniform, everything. A sob caught in her throat.

  Dusting off his hands, he walked back towards them, pulling his balaclava from his head, and smiling. Yes, she knew he’d be smiling. If the keys had still been in the ignition, then she would have run him down.

  He leaned into the car, suffocating her with the smell and feel of his leather coat, but now, she could see his face, his flawless skin, his arrogant straight nose, the square hard jaw-line, his shaggy blond hair and dazzling smile – such perfect teeth. He was, she realised – quite perfect, and totally without conscience. Beautiful and evil, a terrible combination, and an icy chill ran through her veins.

  His pale eyes switched to his accomplice, the smile was still in place. Pleasantly, he asked, “Feeling up to it, Nash?”

  Up to what? She wanted to scream. Drive? What else could he mean? She didn't dare let her mind think of what he might mean.

  The injured man groaned. “Can’t, Vincent, not now. Not in this state.”

  “Later, then,” he shrugged, turning his penetrating stare to her again… “Move over then, beautiful. I’ll take the wheel now.”

  She tried to control the tremor in her voice. She knew both of their names. They’d let them slip. She’d seen their faces. Where they stupid? Or was it because they had no intention of letting her and Lucy go?

  She needed to reason with them. “Look, I… I don’t know what sort of trouble you two are in, but if you’ll let my daughter and I get out, I swear we won’t say a word.”

  His eyebrows arched. “What, leave two young ladies miles from anywhere? I wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “But, you said if I followed you, you’d let us go. You’d take my car, and let us go!”

  “I lied,” he said, getting in, forcing her over into the passenger seat, and starting the car.

  Julia’s throat dried, she struggled to form the words. “Please, let us go. My little girl is only eight. You’re terrifying her.”

  “Pretty little thing, isn't she?” he remarked, glancing back at Lucy. “So, you’ll see to it later then, Nash?”

  The other man mumbled a vague reply she couldn't decipher.

  The bigger man looked back at her, a sympathetic expression on his face. “This fog is a bugger, isn't it?”

  “Look, you have my word, we won't tell anyone anything,” Julia begged, touching the cold leather sleeve, then recoiling, as she saw the sideways expression he cast her way.

  “Women and their word,” he
said, uttering a harsh laugh. “The two don’t equate in my book.” Then, putting the car into gear, he drove.

  Julia sat, half turned in her seat, reaching across, and clutching Lucy’s cold hand, stroking it, trying to calm her. The bloodied individual had slumped again, lolling whichever way the car veered, sometimes leaning all over Lucy, sometimes bumping against the side window. Lucy’s eyes were awash with tears, and at that moment, Julia hated Ian, almost as much as she hated these two. If it hadn’t been for him, Lucy would still be tucked up safely in bed, instead of being held captive by these two monsters.

  They drove a further twenty minutes or so, before he turned off to the left. Although there was little to see beyond the headlights, it seemed to Julia this was a narrow lane with sharp twists and hairpin bends. Tall hedgerows flanked both sides of her car, sometimes catching the metal with overgrown twigs. He took another turn, slowing, and she heard the sound of gravel under the wheels.

  They came to a halt beneath the gloomy shadow of a derelict house. It towered over them, huge, three stories high, at least. The one called Vincent gave her a smile, as he got out. If it was meant to reassure her they would be okay, it had the opposite effect. It chilled her to the bone. Her throat tightened. It was almost impossible to comprehend how someone, who spoke so elegantly and had such a handsome face, could terrorise a woman and child in this way.

  In her heart, she sensed this one, Vincent, was the worst of the two. At least she hoped the pathetic, semi-conscious younger man, Nash, wasn't any more despicable, or brutal.

  “Out you get, beautiful, but mind you don’t do anything silly, because my friend, Nash here, has your little girl. Hold her hand tightly now, Nash.”

  Julia got out quickly, reaching into the back to swiftly unbuckle Lucy. She swept the child, and her handbag up into her arms. “Don’t you touch her!”

  As Lucy’s arms clamped around her neck, Julia noticed the pool of blood on the floor of her car. It couldn’t all have come from Nash's head injury. It seemed to be seeping down from his arm.

  Shivering with cold and fear, she stared up at the house. It oozed desolation. It was old and rotting, she could smell the decay from here. Windows were boarded up, and there was a keep out sign nailed to the front door, saying the house was dangerous and condemned. She clung however to a tiny thread of hope. Her phone was in her bag. She recalled throwing it in earlier. At the first opportunity, she’d call for help, and it had that tracking device, which she didn’t understand, but which she knew she had, because she’d suggested once to Ian his ought to be switched on like hers. He’d laughed her suggestion away. She knew why – now she knew why. She looped the shoulder strap round her neck, and slid the bag under her coat.

  “Home! Be it ever so humble,” said Vincent, with a sweep of his arm. “After you.”

  She had no choice but to walk, and she carried Lucy along a pathway around the side of the house towards the rear. The broken concrete slabs were smothered in dead wet leaves, making it slippery. It began to rain.

  The wood of the back door was rotten, and Vincent did nothing more than turn the handle, and give the door a sharp shove to open it. He held it for Julia, like the perfect gentleman, expecting her to step into the black stinking void within. She held back, refusing to go in, frantically looking round for some means of escape. The fog and darkness made it impossible to see more than a few yards ahead.

  “Nash, help the lady carry the little girl inside. We don’t want them falling over and hurting themselves, do we now?”

  “You’re not touching her!” Julia cried, clutching Lucy fiercely. Oh God, why hadn’t she left Lucy safely in her bed? If only she could turn back the clock. “Lucy, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  A sharp jab in her kidney made her cry out.

  “Oh! Did I hurt you?” Vincent asked apologetically. “Only, do go in, it’s rather chilly out here.”

  Vincent – what a name, what a gentle, civilised name to be attached to such a despicable individual.

  “Get in, will you,” the other one mumbled, stumbling past her. “I need bandaging… I’m still bleeding, Vince… and my head… Christ, everything kills.”

  Julia shuddered, and Lucy buried her face into her neck, as she took her daughter inside. The house stank of rot and mildew, and something scampered underfoot. “Where are we?”

  “Home sweet home. Not exactly the Ritz, but it will suffice, for the time being,” said Vincent, putting a match to a camping paraffin lamp. His face and the room flickered into view.

  “You live here?” Julia murmured.

  No one could live here, it was decaying and filthy. There were a few bits of furniture – a huge old Welsh dresser against the wall, a table, a couple of chairs, some boxes, but great chunks of plaster were missing from the walls. There were holes in the ceiling. The floorboards felt damp and pliable underfoot. Yet, there was evidence the place was being lived in. There was a carton of milk and a bottle of water on the sink draining board, a loaf of bread wrapped in cellophane, a box of eggs, a jar of coffee. But, the place reeked of rot and death – a sickening smell.

  In the shifting pale light, Julia beheld the injured man properly for the first time. He was in a dreadful mess. His pallor behind the streaks of blood, was grey. He had clearly lost a lot of blood from his injuries. He slumped down onto a wooden chair, and lowered his head onto the table.

  Despite everything, Julia turned on Vincent. “This man needs proper medical attention. He’s badly hurt.”

  Vincent’s mouth curled into that ready smile, which he no doubt thought was irresistible. “Ah! Isn’t that touching, Nash. The little lady is worried about you.”

  Lucy suddenly wailed loudly. “I want my daddy!”

  “I know, my darling, I know,” Julia murmured, cradling her, rocking her in her arms. “We’ll see him again soon, I promise.”

  Nash stumbled to the sink, and turned on the tap. A trickle of brown water spewed out. He put his wrist under the flow.

  “Are you trying to make yourself worse?” Julia exclaimed. “That water is filthy. Those injuries need proper attention, or you’re going to get infected.” Even as she spoke, she realised the insaneness of it. She wished he would die of infection right this minute – the both of them.

  With his arms in the filthy sink, Nash turned his head to stare at her with dull, half dead eyes. “Got any better ideas?”

  Shocked by the state of him, Julia turned back to Vincent. There was a thought at the back of her mind if she could get these two working against each other, it might take the attention from her and Lucy, long enough for them to run. “This man is dying. He needs a doctor now!”

  Vincent uttered a brittle laugh. “He’s okay, aren’t you, Nash? He’s a bit of a baby when it comes to blood – well, his own blood, anyhow. Isn’t that right, my old mate?”

  Nash propped himself against the sink. “Dunno. Feel faint, Vince.”

  Julia glared at the bigger man. “If you’re any sort of friend, you’ve got to get him to a doctor, or a hospital. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  Vincent reacted swiftly. The sneering smile vanished, and he thrust his face within inches of hers. Lucy cried out in fright, and buried herself even deeper into her mother’s neck. Julia tried not to flinch, even though she could feel his breath on her skin, smell the leather of his coat, and could see her own wide-eyed face mirrored back in his eyes. Somehow, she found the courage to glare right back at him, into those soulless pale eyes, determined not to show how terrified she was of him.

  “You fix him up, then,” he said, dangerously softly. “Women are supposed to be good at that sort of thing. You fix him up. You stop him from dying.”

  She held her ground, held his stare. Her voice was little more than a whisper as she replied, “Why the hell should I?”

  Two small patches of pink appeared in his cheeks, as she continued to stare back at him. His expression distorted. What anyone would have describe
d as a classically handsome face disappeared behind a sneer twisting his features into something far worse than his companion's.

  Julia was positive it was only because she was holding Lucy she didn't buckle in fear. The intensity of his eyes seemed to draw all strength from her body. She clung tighter to her daughter, keeping the child's eyes averted from him. Her heart was pounding, knowing it was a mistake to stand up to him. He expected submissiveness. She prayed it wasn’t a grave mistake, and braced herself for the blow, the punch; the snapping of her neck she felt was coming at any second.

  Then, Nash whimpered, “Someone's gotta help me.”

  It was as if a bubble had burst. The sneer turned back to a smile, and Vincent eased back. Holding out an outstretched arm towards his accomplice, he said, “Because he has asked you so nicely – good enough for m’lady?”

  It felt like her heart had lodged itself in her throat. Somehow, she stemmed the quaver in her voice. Somehow, she conjured up a brusqueness that she didn't know she possessed. “I’ll need the lamp over here, and some sort of antiseptic and bandages. I hope you’ve got power to boil this water.”

  Without a word, he put a match to a paraffin camping stove, filled a kettle with water from the bottle, and placed it on the ring. His tone, when he spoke, was sickeningly condescending. “All mod cons here, you know. And, maybe, you’d like a coffee while you’re working on him?”

  Julia made no reply, but was glad of the flame that provided a little warmth, as it popped into life. “Stand here, Lucy,” she murmured, trying to set Lucy down beside her, but the child clung fiercely to her, arms and legs tight around her body. “Please, Lucy, here, right next to me.”

  Reluctantly, the child allowed herself to be set down. Julia wrapped the blanket tightly around the child, tucking her teddy bear inside with her. “There! You hold Mister Brown nice and tightly, okay?”

  She nodded, her eyes swimming with tears and fear.

  “Don’t be frightened, sweetheart. We’ll be home soon.” To Vincent, she said, “I need some clean cloth, something to bathe his wounds with, and bandages.”