Kennedy pushed open the door of the barn, Chris on his heels. They had no difficulty knowing which way to go – the sound of the barking dogs came clear through the door on the far side of the room.
He stopped, one hand on the door handle. ‘You sure you want to do this before the big guns get here?’
Chris nodded. ‘I don’t think we can afford to wait.’
‘OK.’
Kennedy pushed at the far door, and a grim tableau revealed itself – a bloody Ricky Webb on his knees in the horse stall, the three savage dogs straining every sinew to reach him with their slavering jaws. Luke Darcy in the next stall, his hand hovering over the catches that held them.
As the door opened Luke paused, momentarily surprised.
‘Oh thank God ...’ Ricky Webb blubbered. ‘Help me ... please!’
Chris went to take a step forward, then stopped suddenly.
Kennedy showed no such hesitation, and pushed past Chris into the room. ‘Stop,’ he ordered Darcy. ‘You don’t have to do this, we can ensure that justice is served.’
Luke paused, looked at the two of them. ‘You think that sending someone like him to jail makes any difference? He hasn’t changed at all.’ He gave Webb a look of absolute disgust. ‘Do you know where I found him? Do you?’
Chris edged closer – maybe if he could get a little closer ...
‘With another girl,’ Luke went on. ‘He’d been out of prison for only a few hours, and I caught him, about to rape another poor defenceless girl ...’
At these words, Chris froze.
‘It wasn’t like that, I swear!’ Webb cried out.
‘Whatever he’s done, it’s still not our place to dispense justice,’ Kennedy pleaded, glancing towards Chris. They were trained for this; had been in similar situations a few times before, and Chris knew by Kennedy’s tone that he was hoping to distract Darcy by talking to him, while Chris himself tried to take him down.
Luke looked up, and met Kennedy’s gaze. ‘No,’ he said, his voice becoming frantic. ‘The authorities had their chance and you failed. Now it’s my turn.’
‘No, stop him please! Help me!’ Webb wailed.
Casting his eyes about the gloom, Chris found more details springing up at him. There was a large easel in one corner of the room, a gargantuan heavy art board affixed to it.
It bore a life-like image of the present scene, reinforcing the severity of the punishment as Luke (or indeed Dante) had imagined it, the twisted and screaming figure of the rapist depicted as suffering his torment through the viciousness of the three dogs.
As he stared at the realistic rendering, Chris thought about Melanie, about all that she’d gone through, all they’d gone through.
‘You don’t have to do this Darcy ...’ Kennedy stared back at Chris as if to ask why the hell wasn’t he doing something.
But Chris couldn’t move. Still taking in the gross power of the painting, a rough and vitriolic anger reared its head, and flooded forth into his being as if from some primal well.
‘Chris ...’
‘Jesus, man ... help me!’ Webb cried.
Luke shook his head, a look of inestimable sadness on his face. ‘You’re wrong,’ he told Kennedy. ‘I do.’
As he said it, his hand popped the clasps that held the dog’s chains. The Rottweilers burst forward, their powerful muscles rippling beneath their glistening black coats.
‘Chris!’ Kennedy roared, as Ricky Webb screamed out in terror. ‘Do something, for fuck’s sake!’
But Chris stood rooted the spot, unable to do anything else but watch.
The fury of the assault was astonishing – the three dogs tore into Webb, their powerful jaws snapping and tearing. He shrieked in anguish, once, twice, before one of the dogs locked its massive jaws on his thigh, shook and ripped, tearing at his flesh. It was as if they’d been starved for months.
‘Chris, what the fuck ...?’ Kennedy hurried round the side of the stall, grabbed Luke and threw him to the floor. The young man didn’t even resist; the menacing smile never left his face.
The blood splattered the dogs, sprayed up against the wooden sides of the barn, and left a streak across Luke Darcy’s face. The young man barely noticed. As he watched the carnage, he had an expression of calm contentment. Finally, after so much planning, so much torment, he had his moment, and it was worth it.
Chris stood there, paralyzed, completely immobile. Kennedy stared at him mystified at his partner’s inaction. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’
‘You get it, don’t you?’ Luke called out, and with considerable effort, Chris slowly turned to look at him. The loose-fitting white cotton of the younger man’s clothes was splattered with flecks of blood, the two colors intermingled in a ghoulish marbling that gave added weight to his chilling words. ‘You can feel it, yes? You understand that I’m right. This is the only true justice.’
Kennedy grimaced in confusion. ‘What the hell ...Chris ...?’
‘I—’
Suddenly a single shot rang out, sending the entire room speechless apart from Webb, still screaming as he lay on the ground, his body torn to pieces by the hungry pack.
It was the last sound Chris heard before he slumped to the floor.