Nameless Kill (25 page)

Then, he heard something else. Over to his right. A shuffling, like a rat scurrying across the floor. He pointed his screen in the direction of the noise and tried to peer through the opening in the grey, concrete wall. Nothing.

He took another footstep, every one feeling heavier and heavier. The light behind him started to fade away. It was like he was sinking down into a dungeon, or descending into the water like Vanessa once made him do when they were on a crappy package holiday in Spain. After barely being able to pull himself out of his wetsuit, he realised scuba diving wasn’t for him.

And then he heard the sound again. The rustling to his right, snapping him out of his thoughts. He shone his phone screen back in that direction. Still just a wall of darkness to the side of him. He had to be near the bottom of the stairs now. He had to be close to the bottom.

He had to see what it was Luke Delforth was hiding down here. He had to know before Luke got back.

He took another step and felt something squelchy underneath his foot. He lowered the screen, dreading what it might be‌—‌blood, flesh, something grim like that.

What he saw was a puddle of thick, black paint.

Brian lifted his shoe away from the pungent stuff. He was feeling sickly from the fumes of the paint and disinfectant intensifying the more he descended. There was something else in the air now, too. Something stronger. It smelled like cooked meat. Cooked chicken, when it’d just hit the frying pan and was just starting to brown.

It was at that point that Brian’s foot hit much more solid ground, and he realised he’d reached the bottom of the stairs.

He stayed put for a few seconds. He panted heavily, catching his breath. Sweat dripped down his forehead as the combination of weird smells continued to send him dizzy. He looked at the wall to his left. There had to be a light switch. There had to be a way of seeing what was in here.

He ran his phone against the cobweb-covered breeze block wall looking for a switch. He didn’t want to risk running his fingers along it. He didn’t know what he might find.

And then he saw it. A rusty, silver metal switch on the wall just at the bottom of the stairs.

His stomach churned as he walked over to it and reached out. He could barely keep his hands still as his heart beat faster, his muscles tensed.
Keep calm, Brian. Just take one look, then leave and ring for backup. Just one look.

He pressed his finger against the rough surface of the silver metal switch.

In an instant, a bright assault of light filled his eyes.

He had to close his eyes at first, it was that bright. The place must’ve been absolutely filled with spotlights.

As he blinked, his vision re-adjusting, he heard the shuffling he’d heard before.

Only now, it was stronger. More intense. It was rattling.

As his eyes started to adjust, he looked in the direction of the rattling sound. It seemed to be coming from the opposite side of the brightest cellar he’d seen in his life.

Yes. It was definitely there. It was…

His chest tightened.

He blinked, just to make sure what he was seeing was real.

As he blinked and his vision got better, the scene in front of him only got even worse.

There was a blonde girl at the opposite side of the room. She was completely naked, and she must’ve been in her early twenties. Her skinny arms were wrapped with sharp, rusty barbed wire onto a wooden “x” shaped cross, dripping blood down onto her unshaven legs. Her ankles were also bound with barbed wire.

Atop her head, there rested a pair of antlers, dried blood crusted around the bottom of them.

The girl was gagged with a filthy white cloth. Beneath her feet, the floor pooled with blood. She stared at Brian with bulging blue eyes, rattling her head backwards and forwards, mumbling and whimpering.

Brian shook. He didn’t know what to do or what to say, only that he had to ring the police. He had to get them here.

But he was frozen.

He was frozen because he was noticing the other things around the room.

There were two other crosses much like the one this poor girl was tied to. And the tips and bottoms of each “x” were thickly stained with rich, red blood.

The walls, too. Covered in thick black paint, with etchings of weird creatures and tribal-like drawings of sheep and goats.

Over to the right, to the girl’s left, there was a large, black contraption with a glass window. It looked like an oven of some kind. Brian dreaded to think.

“It’s…‌It’s okay,” Brian mumbled to the girl. He staggered towards her, but he knew he couldn’t do this alone, his hands tingling, his body on fire. He looked at his phone. The screen was blurred. Everything was blurred.

Just the rattling of the captive girl.

The stench of the paint and the disinfectant and the meat.

And then the sound of creaking.

The sound of creaking up the stairs.

Brian froze again. He turned around slowly, his mouth dry, wanting to go back to that nice walk he’d had earlier, wishing he’d never fucking seen Mrs. Delforth being hassled by those kids. He’d be eating a bacon sandwich. He’d be on the way to recovery.

He heard the girl start to rattle even more as the creaking noise intensified up the stairs, and he turned around fully.

Standing at the top of the stairs was a man. He was black, but…‌no. He was painted black. Painted black head to toe. Bald. His white eyes clashed with his painted black skin, as they stared down the staircase at Brian.

Behind him, Mrs. Delforth stood. She shook her head at Brian, her lips quivering like Brian was a naughty kid and she was disappointed with him.

Brian looked down at his phone and scrolled towards someone‌—‌anyone‌—‌anyone who could‌—‌

“Don’t,” the deep voice said.

But it was too late. Brian was scrolling. He was scrolling with his shaking hands and then‌—‌

The phone slipped out of his hand.

Glass cracked against the concrete floor.

Brian stared down at the smashed mess in front of him. He needed that phone. He’d needed it to tell someone‌—‌anyone‌—‌where he was.

Now there was nothing he could do. Nowhere he could go.

“This will be easier for you if you don’t struggle,” Luke Delforth said. He started to descend the echoey concrete steps.

When Luke made it to the fourth step, Brian noticed the rifle pointing at him from Mrs. Delforth’s controlled, more composed than ever, hands.

“Shoulda just made me a brew after all, shouldn’t you?” she said.

She grinned with her one, mouldy tooth, and joined her son in descending the concrete steps.

Chapter Forty Three

Brian thought about throwing himself at Luke Delforth. Luke climbed down the concrete steps towards him, painted head to toe in smelly black paint. The gun that Mrs. Delforth pointed at Brian over her son’s shoulder, the way she looked at Brian so intently…‌he knew that if he made a move, she’d fire. She’d fire, and then he’d never have a chance to tell the world about the Delforths and their murderous secrets.

Not that he had much of a chance as it was.

“Get over there,” Luke said. He lifted an arm and pointed over towards the naked, blue-eyed girl, who’d gone completely still. She was silent but for a few mumbles and fearful groans beneath her filthy gag.

Brian stared Luke Delforth in his eyes. Covered in this rich black paint, it was hard to properly make out his features other than he was bald, and had dark brown eyes. Quite a healthy guy by the looks of things, too. Not muscular, but toned. Got his ten-thousand steps a day.

“If I tell you to do something, you’ll make it easier for everyone by doing it,” Luke said, raising his voice. He kept on pointing over at the other side of the now well-lit, spotlighted cellar, towards the girl.

Brian wanted to protest. He wanted to say something. Fuck‌—‌he wanted to beg.

But he’d seen the fear in the girl’s eyes. He’d seen the look on her face, and the blood on the floor.

His phone was cracked. His only way out, up the stairs, was blocked.

He had no choice. No choice but to comply and hope for the fucking best.

Brian lowered his head and stumbled in the direction of the girl. Every footstep on the hard, dusty floor felt heavier than the last. He tried not to look at the tied-up girl as he approached her. He tried not to look at the red stains on the floor, ignoring the smell of sweat and that burned meat smell as well as he could.

“Ah ah,” Luke said, his voice bellowing just behind Brian. “To the right of her. You’re our guest here‌—‌our witness‌—‌but we do need to make sure you’re secured.”

Brian looked up at the girl’s wide, fearful eyes.

He looked to her right, and he saw exactly what it was Luke was referring to.

It was another wooden “x” shaped cross, just like the one the girl was tied up to. Sharp barbed wire was wrapped around the four edges of the cross. A glint of red sparkled from each piece of the barbed wire.

“You…” Brian started, his voice shaky. He felt like he was in a nightmare. A nightmare that no matter what happened, he wouldn’t find a way out of. “You want me to‌—‌to‌—‌”

“Yes, Mr. McDone,” Mrs. Delforth said this time. “We want you to take your clothes off and attach yourself to the device. Then, we can begin.”

Brian gulped down a huge lump in his throat. Just hearing Mrs. Delforth speak so much more confidently, and so much more comprehensibly, made him feel like an absolute dense idiot for thinking he had her fooled all along. And because of his stupidity, he was stuck in a blood-covered, symbol-coated cellar. A cellar where another nameless young girl was prisoner.

And now the Delforths wanted him to be a part of whatever this was.

Fear gripped Brian’s chest. He felt his heart bulging, just like he had before he’d had his heart attack down that alleyway. He tasted vomit in his mouth. He had to do something. He had to try.

He took a deep breath, bit into his lip a little too hard, then spun around to face Luke Delforth and his mother, hands raised.

Luke Delforth flinched back slightly, and Mrs. Delforth’s eyes widened, but Brian didn’t want to give them a second to act.

“Please,” Brian said, realising just how shaky his voice was. His eyes stung, and a dampness spread around his crotch with nothing he could do about it. “I…‌I just‌—‌I…‌We can leave. All of us. We can leave here. We can…” Brian realised he wasn’t sure what he was saying. He wasn’t sure what his argument was.

And judging by the smiles on the faces of Luke Delforth and his mother, they were enjoying Brian’s begging more than any human had a right to.

Brian looked down at the floor. His arms and legs and everything just tingled. He knew he had to act. He knew that if he just stayed put, they’d tie him up in here. Torture him.

No. He couldn’t allow that. What could be worse than being tortured? He had to try something.

He lifted his head slowly. Luke Delforth was still smiling, arms folded. Mrs. Delforth was smiling, too, a slight glimpse of her mouldy black tooth on show. She held the thin rifle in Brian’s direction.

The rifle. What if it was a bluff? What if it was just there to scare Brian?

In that instant, stood completely still in the middle of the Delforths’ cellar, a series of thoughts shot through Brian’s mind.

If it was a bluff, he could get away. Get to the police. Bring the Delforths down.

If it wasn’t a bluff, Mrs. Delforth would shoot him. He’d die. That would be game over. But no torture. No more worries. The end.

Or she’d shoot him and he wouldn’t die and he would be tortured and killed and whatever else.

But if he complied with what the Delforths wanted, he was going to be tortured, and he was going to be killed.

He had to do something. He had to try.

“Wayne Jenkins,” Brian said. He took in a sharp breath of the disinfectant and paint-ripe air and nodding his head. “He‌—‌you’re going to want to watch out for him. Got‌—‌got a big mouth.”

Luke Delforth’s eyes narrowed. The smile at the corners of his black-painted cheeks twitched, like he was trying to add up in his mind just what it was Brian was implying.

This was Brian’s moment.

Now or never.

I love you Hannah. I love you Davey.
He barged himself into Luke Delforth, cracking his shoulder right into his spongy stomach just below the ribcage.

Luke Delforth let out a gasp of hot air as Brian pushed him aside, specks of his stringy saliva splashing across Brian’s face as he tumbled to the floor.

Brian ran. He could hardly see where he was going but he ran. Mrs. Delforth, she’d…‌she’d lowered her gun. She’d lowered her gun and now Brian was on the concrete steps again, running back towards the light creeping through the bottom of the stairway door, back towards…

And then he felt something sharp stab him in the back of his right Achilles.

A coldness worked its way through Brian’s body. His footsteps got heavier. The door seemed further and further away as he tumbled to his knees, cracking them on the floor, his chest and arms following.

The last time Brian had felt a sensation like the coldness running through his body, he’d been going under general anaesthetic for his tonsil removal as a kid. He remembered struggling to keep his eyes open, battling all the forces of nature to stay awake, stay alive.

This feeling was identical.

The sounds around him became muffled. He tasted metal in his mouth and realised that he’d bit his tongue, but it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter as someone rolled him over onto his back and started to drag him back down the stairs.

A hunting rifle loaded with sedative, of course. Every hunter had one. How stupid. How stupid…

As he slipped further and further down the stairs, the back of his head thumping against every concrete step, Brian battled to move his paralysed arms, legs, anything.

As his eyes closed, he took in the deepest breath of his entire life and let it out with a large sigh.

At least he’d tried to get away.

Now he had to face the consequences of his actions.