they had always been.
I went back out and looked at the stairs. They were going to be a problem. They went up one flight, then turned back on themselves for the second before hitting the landing. That meant that I’d have to be a bit of a Houdini to cover my arse getting up there. I wouldn’t use the laser now; I didn’t want to announce my movements.
I put my foot on the bottom stair and started to move up. Fortunately Kev’s stair carpet was a thick shagpile, which helped keep the noise down, but still it was like treading on ice, gently testing each step for creaks, always placing my feet to the inside edge, slowly and precisely.
Once I got level with the landing, I pointed my pistol up above my head and, using the wall as support, moved up the stairs backwards, step by step.
A couple of steps; wait, listen. A couple more steps; wait, listen.
There was only one of me and I had only thirteen rounds to play with, maybe fourteen if the round in the chamber was on top of a full magazine. These boys might have semi-automatic weapons for all I knew, or even fully automatic. If they did, and were waiting for me, it would not be a good day out.
The washing machine was on its final thundering spin. Still soft rock on the radio. Nothing else.
Adrenalin takes over. Despite the air-conditioning I was drenched with sweat. It was starting to get in my eyes; I had to wipe them with my left hand, one eye at a time.
The girls’ room was facing me. From memory there were bunk beds and the world’s biggest shrine to Pocahontas – T-shirts and posters, bed linen and even a doll whose back you pressed and she sang something about colours.
I stopped and prepared myself for the worst.
I reached for the handle and started to clear the room. Nothing. No-one.
For once the room was even clean and tidy. There were piles of teddies and toys on the beds. The theme was still Pocahontas , but Toy Story was obviously a close second.
I gradually came out onto the landing, treating it as if it was a new room because I didn’t know what might have gone on in the half-minute since I’d left it.
I moved slowly down to the next bedroom, with my back nearly touching the wall, pistol forward, eyes watching front and rear, thinking, What if? What do I do if they appear from that doorway? What if? . . . What if?
As I got nearer to Kev’s and Marsha’s room I could see that the door was slightly ajar. I couldn’t actually see anything inside yet, but, as I moved nearer, I started to smell something. A faint metallic tang, and I could smell shit as well. I felt sick. I knew that I’d have to go in.
As I inched round the door frame, I got my first glimpse of Marsha. She was kneeling by the bed, her top half spreadeagled on the mattress. The bedspread was covered in blood.
I sank to my knees in the hallway. I felt myself going into shock. I couldn’t believe this was true. This was not happening to this family. Why kill Marsha? It should have been Kev they were after. All I wanted to do was throw my hand in and sit down and cry, but I knew the kids had been in the house; they might still be here.
I got a grip on myself and started to move. I went in, forcing myself to ignore Marsha. The room was clear.
The next job was the en suite bathroom. I made entry, and what I saw made me lose it, totally fucking lose it. Bang , I went back against the wall and slumped onto the floor.
Aida was lying on the floor between the bath and the toilet. Her five-year-old head had been nearly severed from her shoulders. There was just 3 inches of flesh left intact and I could see the vertebrae still holding on.
Blood was everywhere. I got it all over my shirt and hands; I was sitting in a pool of it, soaking the seat of my trousers.
Turning my head away and looking out of the en suite , I could now see more of Marsha. I had to hold back my scream. Her dress was hanging normally, but her tights had been torn, her knickers were pulled down and she had
I went back out and looked at the stairs. They were going to be a problem. They went up one flight, then turned back on themselves for the second before hitting the landing. That meant that I’d have to be a bit of a Houdini to cover my arse getting up there. I wouldn’t use the laser now; I didn’t want to announce my movements.
I put my foot on the bottom stair and started to move up. Fortunately Kev’s stair carpet was a thick shagpile, which helped keep the noise down, but still it was like treading on ice, gently testing each step for creaks, always placing my feet to the inside edge, slowly and precisely.
Once I got level with the landing, I pointed my pistol up above my head and, using the wall as support, moved up the stairs backwards, step by step.
A couple of steps; wait, listen. A couple more steps; wait, listen.
There was only one of me and I had only thirteen rounds to play with, maybe fourteen if the round in the chamber was on top of a full magazine. These boys might have semi-automatic weapons for all I knew, or even fully automatic. If they did, and were waiting for me, it would not be a good day out.
The washing machine was on its final thundering spin. Still soft rock on the radio. Nothing else.
Adrenalin takes over. Despite the air-conditioning I was drenched with sweat. It was starting to get in my eyes; I had to wipe them with my left hand, one eye at a time.
The girls’ room was facing me. From memory there were bunk beds and the world’s biggest shrine to Pocahontas – T-shirts and posters, bed linen and even a doll whose back you pressed and she sang something about colours.
I stopped and prepared myself for the worst.
I reached for the handle and started to clear the room. Nothing. No-one.
For once the room was even clean and tidy. There were piles of teddies and toys on the beds. The theme was still Pocahontas , but Toy Story was obviously a close second.
I gradually came out onto the landing, treating it as if it was a new room because I didn’t know what might have gone on in the half-minute since I’d left it.
I moved slowly down to the next bedroom, with my back nearly touching the wall, pistol forward, eyes watching front and rear, thinking, What if? What do I do if they appear from that doorway? What if? . . . What if?
As I got nearer to Kev’s and Marsha’s room I could see that the door was slightly ajar. I couldn’t actually see anything inside yet, but, as I moved nearer, I started to smell something. A faint metallic tang, and I could smell shit as well. I felt sick. I knew that I’d have to go in.
As I inched round the door frame, I got my first glimpse of Marsha. She was kneeling by the bed, her top half spreadeagled on the mattress. The bedspread was covered in blood.
I sank to my knees in the hallway. I felt myself going into shock. I couldn’t believe this was true. This was not happening to this family. Why kill Marsha? It should have been Kev they were after. All I wanted to do was throw my hand in and sit down and cry, but I knew the kids had been in the house; they might still be here.
I got a grip on myself and started to move. I went in, forcing myself to ignore Marsha. The room was clear.
The next job was the en suite bathroom. I made entry, and what I saw made me lose it, totally fucking lose it. Bang , I went back against the wall and slumped onto the floor.
Aida was lying on the floor between the bath and the toilet. Her five-year-old head had been nearly severed from her shoulders. There was just 3 inches of flesh left intact and I could see the vertebrae still holding on.
Blood was everywhere. I got it all over my shirt and hands; I was sitting in a pool of it, soaking the seat of my trousers.
Turning my head away and looking out of the en suite , I could now see more of Marsha. I had to hold back my scream. Her dress was hanging normally, but her tights had been torn, her knickers were pulled down and she had
Similar Books
