After my shit of a day I felt positively delirious driving up to what I usually considered to be our dump of a flat. Today it looked like Buckingham flaming Palace. I knew I’d get a bit of grief from Maggie for not getting in touch with her sooner, and causing her so much worry, but I’d take what came. Right now, all I cared about was her company, that cup of tea and as many chocolate biscuits as we could muster. Then, when it was a more socially acceptable hour, we could hit the wine.
I closed the front door behind me and called out as I turned back to the room.
‘Maggie! I lived to tell the tale, but you’re not going to bloody believe this.’
I stopped dead. Maggie was seated at the table – that was normal. The ropes, the gag, the gash seeping blood into her left eye were not. For a moment I floundered for something to say, some way to act, but was held in suspension by the terror that screamed from her eyes. They flicked from me to behind my right shoulder, and reflex kicked in as I threw myself in the other direction, avoiding the full impact of the human missile that charged at me. Even the glancing blow was enough to knock my breath away. I hit the ground, rolled and came up on all fours, my limbs moving in an uncoordinated frenzy to get distance from my assailant. I watched as a brown steelcapped boot attached to navy-blue drill trousers swung towards my chest.
Survival instinct made me try to jump upwards as the boot connected with skin, but the force still lifted me completely off the ground. My ears calmly noted a crunching noise before the rest of my brain logged pain and acted accordingly. My vision swirled and tunnelled, the roar of blood filled my ears and my body began to succumb to the irresistible force of gravity. I hit the ground with a bone-jarring crash that I didn’t feel inclined to get up from.
I lay, face down, my lungs screaming against their broken casings.
I was going to die. It had to be easier than breathing. In fact, dying seemed like quite an attractive option for a second or two before I realised that if I was going to die, Maggie was going to die, and I couldn’t let that happen. Somehow, I had to think, and lucidly.
The man lifted me up and threw me over his shoulder, folded in half like some casually slung beach towel. My mind, off on a tangent of its own, made an uninvited comparison with being carried away by a young Arnold Schwarzenegger. The reality, of course, was far less appealing, and the pain that ripped through my torso cleared my mind like a whiff of the salts.
From this vantage point he had to be at least six foot six and hardened with muscle. My feet were too high up to deliver a blow to anywhere personal and vulnerable, but if I was outgunned for size, I was buggered if I was going to be outgunned for brains.
He was carrying me over towards Maggie, and it didn’t require a crystal ball to know how I was going to be dealt with. I had to find a…
My eye caught sight of the phone sitting atop the sofa and I reached out and grabbed it as we brushed past. With all the force I could muster I reached my arm back and rammed the phone as hard as I could, antennae first, towards his rectum. I felt a gratifying rip of fabric and slide before it anchored against firmer flesh or bone. I didn’t care which. He roared and threw me off, head first, over his shoulder. My legs flicked over and I landed flat on my back on the floor. I wasn’t going to get much of a reprieve, so rolled over onto my stomach and up onto my knees as he reeled around to face me, hands clutching at his arse. My mind photographed the moment: the giant towering over me, the navy zip-up coveralls, the name ‘Dave’ embroidered in contrasting yellow on the chest pocket, the close-shaven, dimpled chin, the thin lips snarled back into a grimace, the impeccably straight teeth, the neat scar beneath the left nostril, the strong but slightly askew nose, the watering and murderous green eyes.
‘You fucking bitch!’ he bellowed, and I knew in that instant that any hope of mercy had evaporated. With his right hand, he reached into his hip pocket, pulled out a flick knife and activated it in one deft movement.
‘Oh shit,’ slipped out of my mouth as I tried to scrabble up and out of the way, but I was too slow. The arm swept down in a terrifying, graceful arc, and I watched fascinated as the blade disappeared through my trouser leg and into the flesh of my thigh. I felt it slice its way through muscle before it came to an abrupt crunch against bone. The blow knocked me on my butt and I heard a scream as I tried to shuffle away from him, staring at the incongruous sight of the knife, haft high, still sticking out of my left leg. My back met wall and I leaned hard against it for support before I finally raised my eyes to see what was coming next. The knockout blow I expected never arrived. Instead he just stood there, his face a grimace, hands rubbing at his backside; his laboured breaths matched mine. The nausea I had tried to suppress ripped free, and I leaned over and threw up on the floor beside me. He stood over me, observing me wiping my streaming eyes and nose, then he walked away and turned his attention to our gas heater. He appeared to be attaching some small device, and a premonition of our planned demise flashed into my head.
‘I was going to make this painless for you, but now I’ll enjoy knowing you got to sit and enjoy the fireworks. Your friend too.’ He nodded towards Maggie, who watched, mortified, from her enforced front-row seat. ‘This is going to look like a tragic accident. I’m sure you’ll get a nice obituary.’
Maggie writhed and strained against her bonds, pushing back with her feet. Then, with a sickening thud, she toppled over backwards.
Where terror had once gripped my heart, calculated calm took control. This man deemed me as no longer being a threat, and it was his second mistake. The first had been to leave me with a weapon.
‘I suppose you worked for Telemax last week, Dave.’ He turned to look at me and curled his mouth into a chilling smile before he focused his attention back on the task at hand.
I shuffled forwards slightly to give myself space. With both hands I took a firm grip on the handle of the knife and then, steeling myself with a huge breath, I pulled. White searing heat exploded through my thigh and I cried out as a wave of nausea and giddiness washed over me. I sucked air in through my teeth and forced back the greyness encroaching on my vision.
I watched as he swung his head around at the noise, and saw him register the presence of the knife in my hand. I saw him turn and start to stride in my direction. I kept my gaze on his face as I drew back my arm and threw the knife with every ounce of strength I could muster. I watched as it flew straight and true, covering the three metres or so between us in a blink, before it buried itself up to its haft in his throat. His eyes reflected his astonishment as his hands lifted to his neck to clutch at the foreign object protruding from it. In a ballet of warped choreography, he spun around several times before landing, less than gracefully, face up on the floor, the knife in one hand, the other still clutched at his throat. I watched dispassionately as an extraordinary amount of blood spilled out onto the carpet; I wondered about how difficult it would be to get the stain out. He had probably made it worse by pulling out the knife. Now he was making a bigger mess, trying to sit up. Fool.
A sharp smell of sulphur pulled me back from my parallel dimension into this one. Gas.
‘Maggie,’ I called out. ‘Hang on, I’m coming.’ I tried to stand, but couldn’t put any weight on my leg without it collapsing out from under me. I set out on hands and knee, dragging the other leg behind me, trying to ignore the stabbing pains that shot through my chest.
The man’s movements had slowed down somewhat, but I had seen enough movies in which the ‘should-be-dead-by-now’ villain had miraculously leaped to his feet and had another shot at the hero. I wasn’t about to take any chances, and skirted around the far side of the sofa. I had no idea of the extent of Maggie’s injuries and was desperately afraid for her, especially now, with the thick stench of gas. Somehow, I had to find the strength to get us both out.
The graunch of the forcibly turned door handle and the crash as the front door slammed back into the wall made me jerk my head up in terror. The door swung back so hard that the handle went through the wall.
What the hell now?
Cole stood semi-silhouetted in the doorway.
All hope sank. I knew I was beaten. I couldn’t fight him too – I just didn’t have anything left to give. I felt hot tears spill down my face as I watched him survey the scene: Maggie, unmoving, on her back, still strapped to the chair; the gigantic man clutching the knife, twitching and bleeding all over the carpet; and me, at the end of a trail of blood, trying to crawl across the floor towards my friend.
Swiftly, and with no hesitation, Cole strode over to the man, drew back his leg and delivered him a sickening, full-blooded boot to the side of the head. The head whiplashed to the other side, and all movement stopped instantly. He kicked the knife away, and then he was at my side. His hands tried to pull me up.
‘Sam, Sam. Are you alright?’
Of course I wasn’t alright. What a stupid bloody thing to ask. I wanted to hit him, and to fully inform him of how stupid that question was, but a vision of impending doom filled my mind. There was someone else who needed his help more than me.
‘Get Maggie out, get her out now. He was going to blow up the house. Can’t you smell the gas?’ He hesitated, so I screamed at him: ‘Go!’
He leaped into action, reached Maggie in a few bounds, shoved the table out of the way, picked her up, chair and all and made for the door. I turned myself around and scrambled towards the door with the speed that only fear could impart. I dragged myself down the steps and across the driveway towards where Cole had laid Maggie down on her side. He was about to leave her to come back for me, but I waved him away and kept up under my own steam, spurred on by the mental image of the blast I knew had to be coming.
At last, I was at Maggie’s side, at what I hoped was a safe distance from the house. I tore at the last remaining bonds around Maggie’s shoulders while Cole pulled away the chair. Then I ripped the gag out of her mouth and wept as I felt her breath on my cheek, her pulse sure and steady under my fingertips. I ran my hand through her hair and could feel an egg-sized lump on the back of her head. It must have happened when the chair fell over. The gash above her eye was deep; the glistening white of bone peeked through the tissue and gore.
I was about to lean over and kiss the top of her forehead when the explosion finally came.
Knowing that it was going to happen did nothing to prepare me for its magnitude. It overwhelmed my senses; the shock wave threw me forward as I tried to shield Maggie with my body. Even at this distance, I felt the shrapnel of shattered glass rain onto my back. The blast reverberated in my skull long after the silence of its aftermath descended.
I realised then that Cole had tried to shield us as well, and the mere fact that he had touched us sparked back to life the maelstrom of hate and anger within me. I shoved him away, hard. A look of hurt and surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by resignation as he leaned back and sat on his heels.
‘Get away from me, Cole,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry.’
I said nothing and kept staring my contempt.
He shifted uncomfortably before he continued. ‘Honestly, I never thought … never meant for you to get hurt. I tried to warn you, keep you away from Trev.’
‘When? When was that, Cole? I don’t seem to recall you saying, “Hey, he’s a murdering bastard, watch your back”.’ As I spat out the words, and saw the feeble expression on his face, something clicked into place. ‘Oh, you’re kidding. That was your idea of a warning – a few nuisance phone calls. Oh, my God, and the fucking rabbit?’
‘I wanted to scare you off. And the tyre. But I didn’t want you to get hurt. I’m sorry…’
‘You’ve already said that and I’m sick of hearing it. Did you care about me at all, or was all that apparent concern just to ease your own damned conscience? In fact, why did you bother coming back here at all?’
He looked away, and spoke so quietly I had to strain to hear him over the ringing in my ears. ‘I went back to the house and told them you knew everything, and Trev just smiled and said not to worry ’cause he’d taken care of it. After the way he took care of Gaby, shit, I couldn’t let it happen again.’
‘Well, if you think you’re the bloody great hero, you were too bloody late. Tell that to Maggie.’ I stroked her bleeding, broken head. ‘Tell it to Lockie. See if he thinks you’re the good guy, Cole. I’m sure it will make him feel much better to know that you’re sorry. Get the hell out of my sight.’
He didn’t move.
He might have arrived just after the nick of time, he might have come back for me, but whether motivated by guilt or affection I didn’t care. I could never forgive him for putting Maggie’s or my life in danger. I could never forgive him for not stepping in and stopping Gaby’s murder. I could never forgive him his duplicity.
‘Get away from us!’ I screamed at him. ‘Just get the fuck away.’
He stood up and walked slowly back to the front fence, before he slid down against it and held his head in his hands.
My shell-shocked ears picked up the muffled and distant sound of the civil-defence siren calling up the volunteer fire brigade. Help was on its way – but it was too late. My home was gone, my best friend lay unconscious and injured in my arms, my body was battered and broken.
Nothing could ever be the same, and I didn’t want it to be.