Chapter Twenty-Eight

They’d turned up the volume, the sound so deafening and distorted now it was crucifying him. The images on screen playing as relentlessly over as those going around in his head, Matthew couldn’t make his thoughts make any sense. The whisky had done its job, blurred the edges. Blurred his whole sorry life story into one obscene, fruitless disaster. He’d done it again, the only thing he could be relied on to do successfully. He’d let his family down.

Tipping the bottle to his mouth, he took another swig, gaining no comfort as the alcohol burned the back of his throat. He never had. Pulling the bottle away, Matthew ran an arm across his mouth and examined the depleted contents. He’d drunk the stuff in hopes it would do what that bitch had said it would, numb the pain. He’d thrown himself into his job in hopes of doing the same. ‘Useless bastard!’ Gripping the bottle hard, Matthew cautioned himself not to hurl it at the screen, an action that might precipitate God only knew what kind of reaction, but aimed it at the opposite wall instead. He gained no comfort from that either, as it smashed, sending a thousand slivers of glass shooting across the room.

His thinking had never made any sense. His decision-making had always been skewed in favour of work over his family, his family’s safety. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d had a chance to make things right, to prove to his wife how important she was, and he’d blown it. Gone right back to his workaholic tendencies, sending out clear signals to Becky what his priorities were. He had to make it right now. For once in his life he had to make a right decision.

Walking back towards the centre of the room, reeling to one side as he went – pathetic specimen – Matthew stopped, surveying first the macabre contents of the tray and then the noose hanging almost beckoningly above it. No option, he decided. No other way out for the people he loved more than his life. But … he squatted, squinting at the suicide tools before him … he’d be no good to Mia dead. No good to her alive. Matthew closed his eyes. ‘Jesus, please!’ he shouted, clamping his arms over his head. ‘Make it stop!’

Groaning, as the video played on, and on, Matthew dropped defeated to his knees. He had to make it stop. Him. End it. Now. Make it safe for Mia. Would she live up to her word? Matthew could hear the insistent tick of the clock in his head, counting down the seconds in tandem with the dull thud in his chest. No option. Swallowing hard, a predictable cough tickling its way up his windpipe, indicating an attack that might kill him too slowly, he looked down at the tray. Syringe? Scalpel? Noose? He needed to choose. Would the hook take his weight? He glanced upwards towards it. Possibly. He’d have no way of knowing until he swung. Would the syringe be quicker? More painful? Matthew didn’t much care. He doubted he’d feel it anyway, given he already felt dead inside.

Should he go for two of the options? One after the other and make damn sure to get the job done? All three? Would that satisfy the sick, twisted bitch? Coughing, Matthew ran his hands up over his face and gulped back the jagged pieces of his heart, now wedged like shards of glass in his windpipe, and then glanced heavenwards. ‘Christ, please … help me.’

No intervention from Heaven, no surprise, Matthew swiped at the tear the bitch would no doubt be ecstatic to see roll down his cheek, and reached for the scalpel. A clean, deep cut to both arms down towards his palms should do it. Noting the visible shaking of his hands, Matthew almost laughed at the impossibility of that task. Was that what she wanted, to see him spill his own blood? Or did she want to see his neck break? Hear it? Would the stuff in the syringe send him peacefully to sleep? Matthew did laugh then, a low scornful laugh. That, she definitely wouldn’t want. She wanted maximum suffering. She wanted a show.

Holding the scalpel in his left hand, he bared the forearm of his right. He didn’t want to be making the second cut with a shaking hand that was unfamiliar and draining of blood. Which vein? Matthew closed one eye and tried to focus on the blue mapping on his wrist. Should he ask if he could call a friend? Nicky. She would know. Laughing again, a sardonic choke that caught in his throat, Matthew blinked back the sweat trickling steadily from his forehead into his eyes. Whichever he chose, radial, ulnar, he needed to slash straight down if he was going to avoid any tendons, making the hand useless and preventing him cutting the other.

Just do it. Desperately trying to block out the sounds, Lily, laughing into the camera, crying … with her eyes. Becky whooping. Sullivan, ‘Go on, princess, you can do it. Go on. Go girl.’ The bastard’s voice in his head, haunting him night and day into eternity. Matthew looked briefly heavenwards again, and then pressed the blade to his flesh. ‘Please make it stop,’ he begged hopelessly, caught a sob in his throat, and pressed harder.

‘Dear God … Stop!’ Her face ashen, Becky backed away, clutching Mia to her breast, trying to shield her from the horror unfolding on the monitor. ‘Stop it! Stop it now!’

‘Connor! Make her stop!’ Ashley begged him, the blood seeming to drain from her own body, as she moved towards him.

‘Don’t!’ Taylor warned, her eyes glinting with morbid fascination as they flicked from the screen towards Ashley. ‘He only jumps to my command anyway, don’t you, Connor?’

Connor’s answer to which was to just stare at her, his eyes dark and his expression … bland, almost. As if he, too, had switched off his emotions.

God, please … ‘You need to make this stop. You have to,’ Ashley screamed, her stomach knotting painfully inside her. ‘Why are you doing it?’

‘Justice, sweetie.’ Taylor’s mouth twisted into a sadistic smirk. ‘He’s finally realised his punishment should fit his crimes. Poetic, don’t y’think? Though, personally, I’d have preferred him to use the … Oh, hold on, he’s going for the noose as well.’ She paused, her eyes widening as she looked back to the screen. ‘Brave man. Maybe there’s a bit of the hero in there after all, hey, Becky?’

‘Sick bitch!’ Her chest ready to explode, Ashley turned towards Becky. ‘Let me have her,’ she said urgently, attempting to ease a sobbing Mia from her arms.

Becky only held on tighter, the look in her eyes bordering on hysteria.

‘I told you not to move!’ The bitch hissed.

‘She’s a baby!’ Ashley yelled, incredulous that even someone as sick as this woman was would have no compassion for a child. ‘She’s done nothing to deserve this!’

‘Sins of our fathers,’ Taylor retorted, with callous indifference.

‘His daughter’s already paid,’ Ashley seethed, turning back to Becky. Wrapping her arms around her, she tried bodily to protect both of them from the living nightmare playing out before them. ‘Hold on, Becky. Please hold on,’ she urged her, then, ‘The window,’ she whispered, close to her ear.

Becky’s eyes shot towards the low basement window, and then, barely comprehending, back to Ashley.

‘We have to keep Mia safe,’ Ashley urged her, meaningfully holding her gaze. Then, praying Becky would get the message – that they needed to be out of the line of fire – she steered her gently backwards and prayed hard again that the police marksman lying flat on his belly outside that window could make his shot count.

‘Oh, you have to be kidding?’ Taylor said, her attention back on the PC. ‘What just happened to the webcam?’

‘It’s covered in blood,’ Connor supplied calmly, as if unaffected. Noting his expression, which still seemed devoid of any feeling, Ashley stared at him, disbelieving. ‘It’s spurting everywhere,’ Connor went on, moving towards Taylor. ‘This needs to stop.’

‘Bit late, don’t y’think?’ Taylor glanced at him disdainfully, then leaned forwards to jab at the keyboard.

‘We need to stop! Now!’ Connor shouted, causing Ashley to jump.

Squeezing Becky and Mia closer, she stopped breathing as Connor took another purposeful stride towards Taylor, his hand shooting out to make a grab for the gun she was neglectfully holding onto with only one hand.

‘Don’t you fucking dare, Connor,’ Taylor snarled, whirling around, as he tried to twist the gun from her grasp. ‘I swear to God I’ll blast your brains—’

A single shot ringing out cut her threat short. Ashley snatched her gaze from Taylor to the marksman and back, and her heart dropped like a stone. The bullet had grazed her arm, nothing more. Still Taylor fought on, desperately holding onto the gun, while the screen behind her spat sparks and died.

Blood oozing from a wound she seemed oblivious to, Taylor locked eyes with Connor’s over the weapon between them. ‘Stupid idiot,’ she hissed. ‘You’ll go to prison.’

His eyes fixed hard on hers and bulging with fury, Connor stopped still, breathing hard.

‘Let go,’ she seethed.

Connor seemed to debate. A split second passed, and then, his jaw set determinedly, he loosened one hand from the gun and stepped back. The blow he delivered to Taylor’s surprised face landed with a sickening crack, bone against bone, teeth clacking against teeth, and, finally, the bitch crumpled and fell.

Momentarily frozen, Ashley heard the scramble at the window and guessed the police were on the move. She kept her gaze on Connor. The gun now in his possession, he looked dazed, panicked and furious in turn.

‘Connor?’ Becky spoke as he looked down to where Taylor lay sprawled on the floor. Her voice shaky, tearful, Becky pressed on. ‘I have to go to my husband, Connor. Please, where’s the key?’

Ashley extended an arm to stop her, as Becky stepped towards him. His big barrelled chest heaving, his brow furrowed uncertainly, he looked disorientated, unpredictable.

‘Connor, please,’ her voice wretched with fear, Becky begged.

Seeming to come to his senses, Connor glanced quickly in their direction and back down to Taylor, who appeared to be stirring, then, ‘Go,’ he said, gruffly.

Ashley moved then, fast. ‘The key, Connor! Where is it?’

Connor nodded down at Taylor. ‘In her jacket pocket,’ he said. ‘Right hand side.’

Swooping down, Ashley clutched hold of the front of Taylor’s hoodie and yanked her up to ferret in her side pocket. ‘You’ll get yours, bitch,’ she hissed as the sick cow smirked in her face. Then, dropping her back down, she flew towards the door.

‘Wait!’ Becky stopped her. ‘Take Mia.’

‘But …’ Glancing from Becky’s determined gaze to Mia, whose sobs had turned to sharp, heartbreaking hiccups, Ashley hesitated. She couldn’t let Becky go in and find …

Clearly of the same mind, Becky seemed immovable. ‘I have my nursing qualification,’ she reminded her, attempting to sound calm, though her voice was actually choked with emotion. ‘Take Mia.’

Nodding, Ashley quickly grabbed her, making sure to hold her close and whisper reassurances as she followed Becky at a safe enough distance for Mia not to see … See what? Her own emotion threatening to choke her, Ashley swallowed back her tears, and pressed Mia closer.