Instinctively she pressed her palm to the wound and with her other hand she felt for a pulse at his neck. Life fluttered beneath her fingertips and she visibly slumped with relief.
“Amazing. He lives. So the game isn’t over yet.”
Jaz ignored the man towering over them with the gun trained down on her.
“Ed? Wake up, oh God, please wake up.”
She was rewarded with a groan.
“So the game continues. Jaz, it is your turn as Edward is incapacitated. Would you care to do the job your husband couldn’t do, that is to flay Linda? Or would you rather cut off your husband’s cock?”
“Fuck you,” she said, fear giving way to utter despair.
She scrambled to her feet, eyes frantically darting, gearing up for fight or flight.
Fuck it.
Without thinking too hard about it, she lunged for the kitchen door and threw herself into the dark hallway. What was he going to do? Shoot her in the back? She figured it was entirely a possibility, but she was banking on his desire to ‘play’ being stronger.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he called after her.
Linda hurtled clumsily against the front door and rattled the handle. Locked, of course. As if he would be stupid enough to leave it open. She pressed herself against the slim, frosted glass panel that ran adjacent to the door and banged her fists against it, screaming at the top of her lungs. The pane barely even shivered.
But maybe, just maybe, there would be someone outside walking their dog or something. And maybe this imaginary person would hear the screaming and see her silhouette behind the glass and have the foresight to call the police…
She rested her hot, sweaty cheek against the cool glass, clawing the glass despairingly with her fingernails. As fucking if.
Then it occurred to her to flick the light-switch on and off a few times like a distress beacon in the seconds before he grabbed her from behind.
“Hey! Stop that bitch. Enough of this fooling.”
He fisted her long blonde hair, pulled back her head, and brought her forehead crashing down on the glass.
Stars jumped before her eyes before everything dimmed and she sunk to her knees. Jason still had a hold of her hair, and he tugged hard on it, bringing her crashing down onto her back. She screamed in agony and flailed uselessly at her hair when he dragged her back into the kitchen like a sack of potatoes.
Boko leaned against the tree and regarded the house thoughtfully. Maybe they weren’t in the kitchen. Maybe they were upstairs going at it. He thought of Jaz’s body, sheened in sweat and stretched out on the bed. He imagined Ed lying between her legs, fucking her in the missionary position and him sneaking up behind and bashing him over the head…
“Boko? What you doing here, boy?”
The voice calling out to him almost made him drop dead of heart attack there and then.
“Jow?” he asked, peering along the gloomy cliff path at the approaching, slightly stooped figure. “What are you doing here?”
“I asked first, boy.”
Boko towered over the older man, a mix of guilt and anger at being interrupted making his heart hammer all the harder.
“I, er, just popped round to say hi. I’ve been fixing up the roof.”
Jow regard him through narrowed eyes. “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” he said, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot like a shifty kid caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. “Why you here anyway?”
Jow held up a bulging carrier bag.
“The day’s spoils. Thought those nice folk might like some pasties for their freezer.”
Boko didn’t know what to say. He had been well and truly busted.
I weren’t gonna do anything anyway. I was just gonna stand here and look.
What if the stupid old fart asked him to go inside with him? Boko shuddered at the sheer humiliation of it.
He was saved from answering when a shadow fell across the slim, frosted pane of glass that ran parallel to the door. Both men watched. It looked a bit odd, like someone inside the house was battering on the glass. Although it was faint, Boko was sure he heard the high pitched wail of a scream.
Probably just a seagull.
But there ain’t no shitehawks at night.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
“Hear what? My hearing ain’t what it used to be.”
Then the shadow fell still and grew denser, like whoever was the other side was pressed tight against the glass.
The hallway light came on, then switched off again.
“Shit,” Boko said when it happened a few more times in quick succession, then turned off for good.
“Shit indeed,” Jow agreed. “That sure looks like a distress signal to me.”
Suddenly the shadow lifted, like it had been ripped away, followed by more of that same sound.
Screaming. Definitely screaming.
Boko shook his head. It had to be music, or the TV on too loud, or something….
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
“Are you sure you don’t hear that?”
Jow cocked his head to one side, obviously straining his ears. “Don’t know. Maybe. Something ain’t right, I know that much. We should call the police.”
Boko looked at him like he had lost his mind. “Police? Are you serious? Because we saw a god damn shadow and someone flicked a light-switch?”
“I tell ya boy, something ain’t right, I can feel it in my bones.”
Boko felt it too, and right then he wished with all his heart he had stayed on his mate’s sofa where he had been sleeping until he worked out what he wanted to do about Linda.
“Yeah, whatever. Call the police then, I’m going home.”
“You ain’t going anywhere. You need to step up boy, whatever it is that’s going on in that house, it’s our business now. You always were a sly one, Boris Coleman.”
He sure as shit didn’t want the old fart calling the fuzz. He really didn’t want to have to explain what he was doing here.
“So what do you suggest we do about it?”
“Give me your phone,” the old man said. “I’m calling the police.”
“Ain’t got it on me,” Boko replied.
This time he was telling the truth. It hadn’t even occurred to him to bring it. The last thing he wanted was Linda calling or texting him.
“I betcha lying to me, boy.”
“I am not! Search me if you want. Ain’t you got one?”
“What would I want with one of them mobile telephones? Don’t be soft.”
“So what do we do?”
“Well, I guess we just go right up to that there door and knock.”
Boko knew that was a crappy idea. “Why don’t we just go and knock up one of the neighbours? Ask to use their phone?”
“Because ain’t nothing on this road ‘cept for holiday lets. Can you see any lights on? No. Means the houses are empty, or all the emmetts are out on the town. Come on, let’s just knock. It’s probably nothing anyway.”
“You’ve changed your tune.”
“I got you with me, haven’t I? No one messes with Boris Coleman right? So come on and do the right thing for once in your life.”
“Aw, shit.” Boris knew when he was beat. “Fine.”
He thought of the backdoor key in his pocket, unsure whether to mention it or not. He decided against it. The old git would never believe they gave it to him. So the front door it was.
They crossed the car-less road in silence. When they reached the door, Boris found he was trembling.