Crash II: Highrise Hell (13 page)

After locking the cage, Dean led her to the tower block and spat on John's corpse as he passed him. "Fucking pussy."
 

The woman shrieked when she looked down at the dead man. Now his hands had fallen away, the long wound on his neck was much easier to see. The moonlight lit the dark, glistening gash, and the horror of his death was evident on his stretched face.
 

There were just four men left outside, five if you included John. Ravi, Ginge, Jason, and George. The silence was suffocating.
 

For a moment, George didn't move. He stood staring at Ravi until the boy looked up. They held each other's glares for about thirty seconds before George shook his head. He then followed Dean into the block, stepping over the maimed corpse on the way in.

Burn Baby Burn

George's eyes flashed open and he gasped for breath. With his pulse pounding and his vision swimming, he tried to look around his room. Everything was as it should be. So why did he feel like it wasn't?

The cold had turned his nose and ears numb. Pulling his covers close, he groaned, his heavy limbs willing him to remain in bed.
 

Frothy saliva had built up in his mouth overnight. When he swallowed, he could taste tar. Sniffing did nothing to stop his nose from running.
 

The strong winter sun pierced the gap in his curtains, hitting the wall just above his head with the certainty of a laser beam. When he rubbed his face, everything ached.
 

The odd feeling he'd woken with suddenly made sense. It was morning, and he couldn't hear a thing. There were that many people in the block that someone was usually walking up and down the stairs at any one point. But there was nothing.
 

Had they gone on a raid without him?
 

No, not without the food truck
.
 

But where were the keys?
 

Sitting up so quickly his head spun, George grabbed his jeans from the floor and fished the keys from the pocket.
 

Staring at them, he shrugged.
Where the fuck is everyone
?
 

With aching muscles, a sour taste in his mouth, stinging eyes, and the thick damp of his room clogging his sinuses, George decided to stand up. Anything would make him feel better than he currently did.
 

When his bare feet hit the cold, tiled floor, all of the muscles in his body tensed, and he drew a sharp breath. No matter how many times he got out of bed in this place, he was always surprised by just how icy the floor got.
 

Placing a hand on his chest, his heart thumping against his palm, he took several breaths, the cold air biting into his lungs.
 

Lifting his hands to rub his face, he noticed the slight traces of dried blood still there.
 

Taken from his thoughts by a loud knock on the door, George jumped and looked up. The shot of adrenaline quickened his breath, so he allowed it to settle as he stared.
 

It came again, the sharp crack pulling George's neck tight. The words popped from his dry throat, "Who is it?"

"Si."

Si was Dean's best mate. For this reason, George avoided him at all costs. It was a shame because of all the members in the gang, he was the one that George liked the most. But how could he trust someone so close to that psychopath? "What do you want?"
 

"Dean wants everyone outside." There was the slight whine of apology to his tone.
 

Lifting his shoulders in a huge shrug, George then raised his middle finger at the back of the door.
 

An expectant silence hung in the air.
 

Mouthing 'fuck off' served no purpose, so he sighed, "Okay, give me five minutes."

Listening to Si's footsteps as he descended the stairs, George stared at the door for a moment longer before muttering, "Cunt," and falling back onto his bed.

* * *

Kicking the swing door open pulled the freezing wind into the building. Shivering, George stepped out into the forecourt. Everyone was outside and staring at him.
 

Studying the scene, George saw they were all gathered around John's corpse. They'd wrapped him in white blankets, and Dean stood over him, ready to perform whatever fucked up service he thought was appropriate. The first person he looked at was Ravi.
 

The boy stared back.
 

Holding his glare, George waited until he looked away.
 

When Dean clapped his hands together, it cut through George's trance. Clearing his throat, the suited lunatic began. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sign of God, and in the face of this company ..." Looking down at the swaddled John, he paused to compose himself. Tears stood in his dark eyes.
 

Biting his bottom lip to repress the smirk, George looked at the mourners.
How many of these fuckwits realize that Dean's starting a funeral service like it's a wedding
? Looking over at Liz, who was glaring back at him, he raised his eyebrows.
 

When she didn't respond, he scanned the cage. Some of the women were looking at the ground. Some were staring at him. When he saw the younger of the two sisters, a sharp pain stabbed his heart. The poor girl's face was battered and covered in lumps. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her skin had turned yellow as the bruising settled in. When George searched the rest of the cage, his stomach dropped.
Where's the woman that Dean took up to his flat yesterday
?
 

George turned back around in time to see Si and Ginge struggling with bloodied sheets. Wrapped within the sheets was a large frame. Curly, brunette hair hung out of one end. Blue jeans out of the other. Bile shot into his mouth, and he gulped the bitter phlegm back down.
 

The older of the two sisters wailed, and George looked across to see her fall to her knees. The teeth marks on her drawn cheeks looked like they'd turned septic. Liz continued to stare at him, hate shooting from her cold eyes.
 

Watching his two men place the woman next to John, Dean sighed and then cleared his throat. "To join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men."
 

Removing a tissue from the top pocket of his bloodied suit, Dean blew his nose and said, "John Simmonds never had a wedded partner in life, so the best we can do is to make sure that he has one in death." He looked from one wrapped corpse to the other. "John, do you take Marie to be your wife?" His mouth bent out of shape and he paused as if awaiting John's reply.
 

Every drop of blood in George's body turned to ice.
What the fuck am I doing here
? All of the other gang members stood with their heads bowed. Feeling for the keys in his pocket, George looked across at the food truck. The sooner he got out of here, the better.
 

"And, Marie, do you take John to be your husband?"

There was silence, save for the girls sobbing in the cage. When George looked over again, he saw Liz rubbing their backs.

Putting his hammer down, Dean pulled out a magnum of champagne and shook the bottle. Twisting his neck up as if a pain ran down one side of his body, he spun on the women in the cage, his livid skin on fire. "Shut up! Stop your fucking crying." Biting down on his tongue, he popped the cork at them.
 

It hit the metal bars with a ping, and the girls fell silent. Staring at them for a moment longer, the champagne overflowing the huge bottle, Dean then turned back to the newlyweds and said, "I now pronounce you man and wife."

With the same glassy stare, Dean proceeded to empty the remainder of the bottle on the pair. It seemed like the golden liquid hitting the fabric was the only sound in the whole of London. It seemed like everyone held their breath, George included.

After the last drop had fallen from the bottle, Dean looked around and said, "Well?"

Silence.

His skin was aglow. His dark eyes had turned onyx. "Can I have a round of applause for the bride and groom?"

The sycophants erupted in celebration. The women in the cage watched on. The irony that they were the ones being treated like animals while this fucked up posthumous ceremony was being conducted added to George's shame. Had everyone lost their minds? How did he end up a part of this? When he looked at Dean, he noticed he was still weeping.

Clearing his throat, George said, "What the fuck is this?"

Silence descended on the crowd, and a nerve twitched beneath Dean's right eye when he looked up. "What?"

"This! What are you doing, Dean?"

"Marrying John."

"I can see that, but he's fucking dead."

The suited lunatic raised the huge bottle and continued staring at George. Biting down on his bottom lip, he then brought it crashing down on John's head with a wet crunch. Milliseconds later, the tinkling echo of shattering glass danced around them.
 

Weakness wobbled George's legs when he looked at the huge dent in John's cranium. It had warped his head to the point where he looked like he belonged in a dusty jar, frozen in amber fluid in a museum for freaks and mutants.
 

With just the neck of the bottle in his right hand, Dean knelt down and drove it into the woman's gut with a loud grunt. The sheets ripped, and blood belched from the deep wound.
 

He screamed as he stabbed her again, "You fucking idiots!" Steam shot from his mouth. He turned on John, "Why did you get yourself killed?!" Jumping to his feet, he wound his right leg back and kicked John in the guts. The wet thud was like he'd kicked a roll of carpet.
 

The girls in the cage were crying louder than before.
 

When George looked back at Dean, his wild eyes rolling and his jaw gripped nearly as tight as his fist around the bottleneck, he stepped back a pace. It wasn't worth the fight. Not today.

Dropping to his knees again, Dean drove the bottle into the mess that he'd already made of Marie's stomach. "Why didn't you just take it, you stupid cunt?" Stabbing her again, the bottleneck now just six inches long, her glistening wound littered with broken glass, he yelled, "Why did you have to push me?!" Blood sprayed back at him as his arm fired like a piston. It seemed that he'd already forgotten George's challenge.
 

Turning his back, George flinched with every wet squelch, and he shook as he stared at the ground.
 

It was yet another reminder that he needed to get the fuck away from this place.

* * *

During the five minutes while Dean attacked the dead woman, George had his back turned and his eyes closed. When everything fell silent, George looked around, and every muscle in his body slackened.
 

Dean was on the floor with his legs buckled beneath him. A pool of blood had spread around him, and all that was left of Marie's stomach, and the sheets covering it, was a pulpy, burgundy mush.
 

When George was hit with the thick smell of shit, he pinched his nose and took several steps back.
 

The splash back had painted Dean's face red. When he ran his tongue across his lips, George heaved. The suited lunatic then looked up at Si and Ginge, and a grin split his red mask. Staring for a moment, condensation from his breath puffing out in front of him, he nodded. "It's time." He giggled, tears still cutting a path down his face.
 

Si slipped on the blood when he went for John's legs, but he managed to stay upright. Moving with pigeon steps, he bent and grabbed the man's ankles. Looking up at Ginge, who was frozen as he stared down at his dead and mutilated friend, Si said, "You ready?"

A heavy frown crushed Ginge's face. Then it cleared, and he nodded.
 

As the pair carried John to the skip, slipping as they walked on bloody soles, George then looked at Dean again.
 

The smile had left the psychopath's face, and he was crying. Holding Marie's head to his stomach, he stared down at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen." The weakness in his tone was replaced with a low growl. "But you pushed me. You pushed me too far." Leaning over the woman, Dean then pressed his thumbs into her eyes.
 

Turning away, George watched the women in the cage squirm.
 

By the time he'd turned back around, all that was left of her eyes were two deep, red holes, and Dean's thumbs glistened.
 

When Dean flicked his head in the direction of the women, the noise stopped. Silence hung thick in the air as if no one dared breathe.
 

The tension was broken by the sound of Si and Ginge's steps on the metal stairs.
 

When they got to the top, Si said, "One, two, three."
 

They launched John into the huge, metal container, his body hitting the bottom with a booming thud. Then they walked back towards Marie's corpse.

George jumped when Dean's hand shot out and grabbed Ginge's wrist. Staring at the gang member, Dean kept a tight grip on the broken bottle neck.
 

"Uh, w... what's up, Dean?"
 

Laughing and crying simultaneously, Dean titled his head to the side, his voice warbling with his giggles. "What are you doing?"

Eyeing the makeshift weapon in Dean's grip, Ginge gulped. "T... taking her to the skip so we can get rid of her."

Watching Dean's eyes roll, George pushed against his pocket and felt the outline of the truck's key again. There was a clear path from him to the vehicle. Swallowing to ease his dry throat, he looked from Dean to Ginge, the muscles in his legs twitching with anticipation.
 

Running a hand through his matted hair, Ginge shook where he stood. "Shall I do something else?"