White is the coldest colour: A dark psychological suspense thriller (22 page)

‘I thought you said I should come over in the morning?’

‘Are you experiencing hearing problems, Davies? I’ve just said I’ll contact you if and when I need you. I do not appreciate having to repeat myself.’

Gary Davies nodded his confused agreement. He looked quizzically and asked, ‘What about the glass cutters?’

‘Leave them to me, Gary. I want you gone. And make damn sure you're not seen as you leave.’

As Davies walked away, the doctor jolted him back by the right shoulder. ‘Keep tonight's events entirely secret. Do you hear me, man? Secret! Remember, you are as guilty as I am.’ He prodded him aggressively in the chest. ‘If you ever bring the police to my door, you will pay an extremely heavy price. That I can guarantee you.’

Davies hurried back through the now familiar house, and obediently checked the street with nervous darting eyes in the style of a young child following the green cross code for the first time… All was quiet. No one stirred. The outside world seemed oblivious to his existence.

Once alone, Dr Galbraith hurried directly to his bedroom and set his alarm for 10:00 a.m. before getting into bed… Sleep was a necessary inconvenience interrupting his work, but essential if he were to perform at his very best.

As he drifted off, he pictured himself burying the glass cutters under a favoured rose bush and gleefully anticipated waking Anthony from his chemically induced slumber.

Dr Galbraith was awoken by the shrill tone of his alarm clock as planned on Sunday 9, February and leapt from bed with the energy and exuberance of a much younger man. He salivated at the thought of what the day would bring… It was going to be an important day. A momentous day! Soon he’d introduce the little bastard to his new home.

He visited the bathroom, forwent his regular physical exercise routine, pulled on some casual clothes and rushed down to the cellar, keenly anticipating what would inevitably follow.

The doctor entered the cellar brimming with burgeoning enthusiasm, and approached Anthony, fully expecting to savour the terror in his eyes. But instead, he stopped and stared at his captive… He should be awake. Why wasn't he awake? Why the hell wasn't the little bastard awake?

Dr Galbraith slapped Anthony hard in the face, but nothing, not a flicker of life. He rushed to the sink, filled a mug with bitterly cold water, and hurled it in the boy’s face. ‘Wake up, you little bastard. Wake the fuck up!’

The doctor grasped at his head as the cymbals in his mind became crashing, ear-splitting, explosions of sound that he momentarily feared may shatter his skull… Why wasn't he awake? The little bastard should be awake?

Dr Galbraith began to weep and a steady stream of salty tears ran down his morose face… It was suffering that most excited him. What use was an insentient child?

He shook his head violently, desperately attempting to silence the reverberating pounding pressure hammering every inch of his brain… Focus, man, focus! No need to panic. No need to panic. It was too soon for that.

He collected his thoughts, and approached the wall-mounted glass fronted medical cabinet at the far side of the room. He returned to his victim’s side, and hurriedly administered an opioid antagonist… It should do the job. Surely it would do the job?

He fell to his knees… It wasn’t working. It had never failed before. Why the hell wasn't it working?

Dr Galbraith slumped to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, and curled up in a ball with his hands clutched tightly over his ears. He began screaming: louder and louder and louder, until his throat ached… It was the lowest point of his entire life.

Chapter 29

N
ever again! She’d said it before, but this time she meant it. It hurt to move, it hurt to breath. There was an unpleasant lingering acidic taste of last night’s vomit in her mouth, and her throat felt as if she’d drunk a barbed-wire cocktail. It was like having the flu, but self-inflicted. One thing was certain: she’d get no sympathy whatsoever from her mother if and when she spotted the tell-tale signs of a very heavy night.

Siân Mailer tried the side door, hoping to sneak into the cottage undetected, and lock herself in the downstairs bathroom for a quick shower before retreating to her teenage bedroom to sleep off her hangover… It was locked? Why was it locked? Her mum usually opened it first thing to let the cat out?

She made her way back around to the front of the cottage, shielding her eyes from the bright sun rays piercing the grey clouds, and knocked reticently on the door… No reply. What a stroke of luck, her mum must have gone out.

Siân bent down stiffly to search for the house key under the black rubber door mat… It wasn't there. That was strange, Mum usually left a key these days.

She pushed the door hard with the palm of one hand in frustration, fully expecting it to remain shut, but instead it flew open.

Siân paused momentarily before entering the hall, and wandered if her mother would suddenly appear from one direction or another with a predictably disapproving expression on her face? Siân shouted, ‘Mum,’ at the top of her voice, but received no reply… It looked as if she had the house to herself. Why not make the most of it? Maybe a shower would make her feel a little better? It couldn’t make her feel any worse, that was certain.

She headed for the downstairs bathroom, stopping briefly in the kitchen to switch on the radio and swallow two dispersible aspirins en-route. Siân was singing along to a melodic Culture Club hit as she opened the bathroom door, but she was suddenly silenced when she saw the windowless frame. Her initial surprise quickly turned to concern, and then to fear.

Siân hurried through all the other downstairs rooms, calling repeatedly for her mother and brother…Where were they? Where on earth were they? Why had she stayed out? She shouldn't have stayed out.

She stood in the hall staring at the stairs; then at the front door, and then the stairs again… Should she go up? What would she find? What if there was someone up there? She had to find her family.

Siân paused time and time again as she ascended the stairs, but she eventually reached the top. She slowly crossed the landing, ignoring the stench of excrement, and pushed open the bathroom door with a trembling hand… Empty. Don’t run, Siân. Don’t run.

She steadied herself, and slowly approached her mother's bedroom. As she looked through the open door she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. Siân's knees buckled, and she sank to the floor holding her head in both hands, as she realised that the bloody mess she was witnessing was her mother's face. She pulled herself to her feet, spat out a mouthful of bile, and blew her nose onto the carpet before forcing herself to walk across the room, one small step at a time, to her mother's side… Don't be dead, Mum. Please don’t be dead.

Siân studied her mother’s obliterated features and feared the worst. Her entire face was swollen, badly bruised and caked in dark congealed blood. Her nose was severely fractured, with a startlingly white bone breaking the skin, the area directly below her left eye was depressed, crater like, due to a shattered cheek bone, her bottom lip was torn and hanging onto her chin, and three of her front teeth were laying on the multi-coloured wool-mix carpet next to the double-bed. Molly was virtually unrecognisable as the woman she knew… Please don't be dead, Mum. Please God, don’t let her be dead. I’ll never stay out again if you let her live. Please let her live.

Siân leant close to her mother’s face with warm tears streaming down her pretty face. She placed her right hand ever so tenderly on her mother's left shoulder, and gently shook her. ‘Mum! Mum! Wake up, Mum. Please wake up.’

Siân wiped away her tears… Her chest was moving. It was, wasn't it? Yes, it was definitely moving. She was breathing. Mum was breathing. Thank you, God. She was breathing.

Molly groaned softly, causing bubbles of crimson blood and pink saliva to emanate from her horribly misshapen mouth, but she was physically incapable of speech. She was barely conscious, but she fought to communicate. Molly’s mouth moved, but no words materialised. Inside her head she was screaming: Anthony!

Siân stared at her mother’s bloody mouth… Mum was trying to say something. Yes, she was definitely trying to say something. What was she trying to say?

She stood for a second or two, as if attempting to read her mother's mind, and then sprang into life, running towards her younger brother's bedroom… He wasn't there. Why wasn't he there? There wasn't any blood. That must be a good thing. But where was he?

Siân began weeping… He could be hiding? Yes, that was it. He was very probably hiding.

She flung open the wardrobe door, and then fell to floor, peering under the single bed… Where was he? Please be safe, Tony. Please be safe. Please, God, let him be safe.

Her chest tightened and she struggled for breath… She had to get help. It was time to get help.

Siân shouted, ‘I won't be long, Mum,’ as she ran down the stairs and into the hall to use the phone… nine-nine-nine, that was it, nine-nine-nine. Answer. Please hurry. Please hurry.

‘Emergency, what service do you require?’

Oh, thank God. ‘I need an ambulance and the police. It’s very urgent. My mum's been attacked, and I can't find my little brother anywhere. He’s missing.’

‘What’s your name and address please?’

Siân provided the required information and other pertinent details on being prompted by the emergency room operator.

‘And you're at that address now?’

‘Yes, yes, please hurry.’

‘Help is already on the way, Siân. I know it’s easier said than done, but please try to remain calm. Do you want me to stay on the line until the police or an ambulance arrive?’

Siân remained silent for a few seconds, considering her options… It was a tempting offer. And what if the attacker came back? But, no, her mother needed her.

‘Are you still there, Siân? I can stay on the line if you want me to?’

‘No thanks, I have to go back upstairs. My mum’s on her own. Please don't let them be too long.’

‘Help’s already on the way; your mother’s going to be very proud of you.’

Siân sat on the bloodstained carpet next to her mother’s bed and tried her best to smile. ‘Help’s on the way, Mum, they won’t be too long. Everything’s going to be all right. Promise it is. Hold on, Mum. Please hold on.’

An ambulance arrived outside the cottage with its siren blaring and blue lights flashing within ten-minutes of Siân's emergency call. She watched, relieved, from the bedroom window as a middle aged paramedic and his much younger assistant hurried up the path. Siân was already half way down the stairs to greet them when the first of the two men knocked heavily on the front door, and shouted, ‘Hello, ambulance,’ as loudly as he could through the letter box. Siân opened the door almost immediately and yelled, ‘Up here,’ as she turned and ran back up the stairs.

Both men struggled to hide their shock on first sight of Molly's severe facial injuries, despite their extensive experience of dealing with all manner of medical emergencies. While the paramedic reassured Siân that things were going to be okay despite his unspoken doubts, his assistant followed his senior colleagues instructions and rushed back and fore to the ambulance, fetching a neck collar, stretcher, oxygen cylinder and mask.

The paramedic rested his hand very briefly on Siân's shoulder. ‘I’m Dai. Is it okay if I call you Siân?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I’m going to need your help, Siân. Do you think you can do that for me?’

‘Just tell me what to do.’

He smiled reassuringly. ‘Sit on the bed, Siân, as gently as you can, and hold your mum’s head absolutely still.’

‘But, won’t that hurt her?’

‘I’m not going to lie to you, Siân, it may hurt a little, but it’s important. We have to be extra careful in case your mum’s suffered a spinal injury? Do you think you can do it for me?’

Siân sat on the bed next to her mother and followed instructions.

‘That’s great, Siân, you're doing well. I’m just going to check your mum’s breathing, pulse and blood pressure.’

‘She is going to be all right, isn’t she?’

‘We need to get your mum to hospital as soon as possible, love. But she’s going to be just fine…’ He sounded a lot more certain than he felt.

The second of the two men suddenly re-appeared carrying a stretcher. ‘Who the hell did this?’

‘I don’t know. There was no one else here when I found her. Are you sure my mum’s going to be all right?’

Dai Rees considered his next words carefully, and then said, ‘We'll make sure that your mum's as comfortable as possible, and then get her off to hospital as soon as we can,’ in gentle, reassuring West Wallian tones… He shouldn't make promises he couldn't keep. He knew that. But Sometimes the temptation was just too great to resist. ‘Your mum's going to be just fine. What's her name, Siân?’

‘Molly, her name’s Molly.’

The paramedic smiled down at Molly, masking his horror at what had been done to her as best he could. He wasn't entirely sure if she could hear him, but he spoke on the assumption she could. ‘I’m just going to put a neck collar on you now, Molly. It's purely precautionary. Nothing to worry about. You're in good hands. We'll have you in hospital before you know it.’

Molly had some limited dream like awareness of what was going on and tried to smile in response to his kindness, but her face barely moved. She began crying silent tears.

Siân began to shake violently as she watched the two men lift her mother onto one side at an approximate forty-five degree angle, and carefully slide the stretcher under her traumatised body. As they lifted Molly off the bed, Siân finally lost control and shouted, ‘My brother’s missing.’

Dai Rees, who had two teenage daughters of his own, wanted to help… But what could he say? If the boy was missing, he was missing. Nothing he said was going to change that fact.

He forced another weary smile and said, ‘Is there someone you can call, Siân? Your dad, perhaps?’

Before she could answer Siân’s dark thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a female voice shouting, ‘Hello, police,’ from the hall. WPC Bethan Williams reached the top of the stairs just as the two men were carrying Molly out of the bedroom strapped securely to the stretcher. She took one look at Molly’s face and urgently stood to one side to allow them to pass… There were important questions to ask, but any thoughts of an interview were going to have to wait.