Authors: Simon Leigh
Out of Promises (26 page)
The screams continued until he got half way up the stairs when they stopped suddenly to the sound of a thud.
Chloe and Michael were crying helplessly in the master bedroom while further along the hallway, the door was open.
Looking in, he found Cyrus buckling his pants.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’
He moved to show the babysitter on the floor, naked and bruised and breathing heavily, her face and body a mess. He knew she was done for.
‘That’s it now. You’re a monster,’ Bill said, recoiling. ‘I’m calling an ambulance.’
Cyrus pulled out a knife and said, ‘No you’re not, Bill,’ before bringing it down to the babysitter’s throat.
Bill turned away to the sound of her choking on her own blood as the knife pierced her throat. She was too battered and weak to resist.
He had to get out of there.
He ran to the children, knocking over the chloroform in the process.
Michael or Chloe, shit. Which one did Preston want? Michael.
He picked him up, then he picked up the chloroform, bringing the fumes close to Michael’s face, just enough to put him to sleep without killing him, he hoped. The vapours themselves irritated Bill’s nose. He had to get out before he was out cold himself.
Leaving the room, he ran downstairs.
As he walked out through the kitchen door, he heard the front door open followed by laughter – they were home.
He couldn’t imagine their absolute horror and devastation when they found out what awaited upstairs. But he had to somehow help Cyrus escape, for both his and his sister’s life. He just prayed Cyrus wouldn’t touch them.
With Michael in his arms, he ran through some gardens until he felt he was far enough away, though he couldn’t get far enough away to avoid hearing the screams from Lucy.
My God. What have we done?
He watched the house. Cyrus blasted through the back door with Chloe, followed by Freddie a few seconds later. He watched them bolt over fences and run between some houses towards the road. He followed them, narrowly avoiding barking dogs. He watched Cyrus fall over before Freddie grabbed hold of him, kicking him and carrying him over his shoulder to the garage.
Wrapping Michael in his jacket, Bill left him in some bushes and made his way back to the house.
Fucking Cyrus. How did I ever get into this mess?
From behind the garage, Bill listened to the muffling noises they spoke with each other, a dull scream periodically filling the air along with a sinister laugh. As he moved closer, Lucy walked out. He quickly tucked himself back behind the garage, hoping she hadn’t seen him.
Then the arguing started.
He waited until Freddie followed Lucy inside and moved into the garage where he found his partner bleeding from his face and leg.
‘You deserve this shit,’ he said.
‘Then why are you helping me?’
‘For my sister.’
Bill untied him and helped him limp out.
‘Give me your pen,’ said Cyrus.
‘What? No, we have to go,’ he whispered.
‘Just give me your fucking pen!’
He handed it to him and he wrote the note, leaving it on the chair before retrieving Michael.
Rain battered the windows and the wind howled in a raging storm.
Freddie looked at Rodriguez. ‘You’re saying Michael is alive?’
‘I realize now, that if I hadn’t gone to the home with Preston, Sharpe, and Nicky, then I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you and you wouldn’t know about Michael. Strange how fate turns out. Yes, Michael is still alive.’
He couldn’t believe it.
‘Bill Yates won’t find him,’ said Rodriguez. ‘You can’t trust that man.’
Freddie felt betrayed more than he ever had. He’d told Bill everything. He said, ‘Where’s Michael?’
‘He’s being held by Preston. It’s taken me years to find out exactly what happened.’
‘But we did tests, it was Michael. The tests showed that he-‘
‘The results were faked. The doctor tampered with them.’
‘But why? Why would they want my son?’
‘Preston wanted revenge for what you did to him, he was full of anger. You put him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, so he hurt you. You need to understand, Preston’s not to be messed with, he’s evil. He had a plan to use Michael as leverage to persuade you to kill Matherson, but Preston is very unpredictable. Your life could already be in danger.’
‘Preston has had my son these last four years?’
‘Not all four, no. Michael was being raised by a foster family that Preston had found. They took good care of him.’
He stood up. ‘So where is Michael now?’
‘He’s being held in a location that even I don’t know the whereabouts of, but I do know where Preston is.’
Fuck Preston.
‘I want Michael. Where’s the foster family?’
‘Only Preston knows where Michael is. The family that looked after him, well, he butchered them in a way only Preston could.’
‘How do you know all of this?’
‘I have my sources, just like anyone else.’
‘I want Preston’s address and the foster family’s.’
‘All right, but I just told you, they’re dead.’ He handed him the addresses.
‘If you’re lying, I’ll come back.’
Rodriguez didn’t respond.
Freddie left quickly, sprinting down the driveway through the heavy rain and jumping into his car as a loud clap of thunder roared across the night sky.
Michael is alive!
It was almost too much to take in.
Michael. Alive? Preston too?
What would Lucy say? First things first: Matherson.
He called him and he answered on the first ring. ‘Freddie, did you kill him?’
He said nothing.
‘Good. Always knew I could count on you.’
‘Wish I felt the same way.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I know about the children’s home. About you murdering children, you sick son of a bitch.’
‘I don’t like your tone. I gave you a life. That incident would never have even happened if you hadn’t escaped.’
‘So it’s my fault now? The life you gave me cost me my family.’
‘Come into the office, that’s an order.’
‘Mr Matherson, fuck you and fuck the job,’ he opened his car window and tossed the phone out.
He started his engine.
The rain obscured Valerie’s view as it poured down her windshield. She didn’t see Freddie leave the house. She just saw the lights filtered through the rain.
Her phone started ringing.
What now?
‘I need you to kill Freddie,’ said Matherson. ‘As suspected he’s running away like a coward.’
She smiled.
Freddie’s getting out?
‘Yes, sir,’ she said and closed her phone.
She was happy for him. She had to help.
He was still in his car outside the house. She opened her door and stepped out into the pouring rain getting soaked within seconds. ‘Freddie!’ she shouted, her voice drowned out by the hammering rain.
He pulled away.
Shit.
She ran back to her car and followed, unaware of a car one hundred yards behind her doing the same thing.
She followed him to Saint Patrick’s church.
At 08:00 on Thursday 9
th
, Valerie woke in Bill’s arms, still naked and with a grin beaming across her face. The night had lasted a long time and she’d loved every minute of it. Pent up energy had been released in ways she hadn’t felt for a long time and she was full of life, like a weight was lifted from her shoulders.
Sliding out of bed, she grabbed a large sweater from the chair, which buried her, and walked out into the living room where she found Lucy’s bedroom door wide open.
‘Lucy?’ she asked, peering inside.
The room was empty.
A little worried, she walked into the expensive kitchen, standing in awe.
How much do you make, Bill?
On a stool to a breakfast bar was a note. It said:
Thanks for everything. I’ve gone to my parents house in Bakersfield to collect Chloe. You can find me there. Didn’t want to wake you.
Didn’t want to wake us? Jesus Christ.
She didn’t like it. She wanted Lucy and Chloe where she could see them.
At least they’re safe.
Flicking on the coffee maker on the counter top, she waited for it to boil with a wide smile on her face thinking back to last night. A night of passion and relief from the nightmare her life had spiralled into.
Bill emerged in a gown with messy bed hair and walked over to her with a smile to match hers. ‘Morning missy.’
‘Morning mister. Coffee?’
He nodded and she handed him a cup.
They sat on the couch in silence, Valerie with her legs tucked under her covered in the large sweater and Bill beside her.
‘Can I ask you something?’ he asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Why were you sent to kill Freddie?’
Wow. Not even brushed his teeth and he’s on it.
Deflated would be the best way to describe how she felt. Brought back to reality with that simple question.
Why were you sent to kill Freddie?
It was simple, wasn’t it? But she couldn’t explain it. Or didn’t want to. A night of excitement had turned into nothing.
She sighed and ignored it. ‘So what now?’
Sensing he’d damaged the mood, he changed the subject. ‘I think we should have a shower,’ he said with a wink. ‘Together.’
‘Do you now?’ she said, smiling again.
‘Yes.’
She stood up and ran into the bathroom shouting, ‘You’ll have to catch me first.’
Tucked away in the basement below The Golden Palace restaurant were Matherson and Cook, sitting in silence in a makeshift office. Deep in thought, Cook watched Matherson going through every scenario he could, coming to the conclusion that it was all over every time.
This lower level, once used for illegal gambling during the night, now stood as a vacant shell with unused roulette, blackjack, and poker tables collecting dust. The office itself was dark and boring with a computer, a money counter attached to the desk, and a mirrored window looking out onto the casino floor.
Smells from the upstairs breakfast of various Dim-Sum dishes seeped down here sending their stomachs into overdrive.
‘I don’t think it’s safe here,’ said Cook.
‘It’s not safe. I agree. I look like a coward hiding down here. If just one of our enemies get wind of this, we’re finished. When Sharpe calls, we’ll head back to the office.’
‘Yes, Mr Matherson.’
Cook’s phone rang.
He answered it while Matherson watched him from the edge of his seat.
Cook didn’t say much – just a ‘say again?’ or ‘what?’ every now and then.
‘Dead? How? OK, bye.’
Silence.
‘Well?’ asked Matherson.
‘Sharpe’s dead.’
‘How?’
‘He was killed at that private detective’s office, his throat slit and his tongue half missing.’
Matherson fell back into his seat. ‘My God.’
The breakfast rush was still going strong upstairs with orders being barked out in the kitchen between the chefs and waitresses.
Some loud noises were heard shortly followed by screaming and shouting.
‘What’s that?’ asked Matherson.
‘Probably nothing. I’ll go check.’
He nodded, ‘Yes.’
‘I’ll bring some food.’
Matherson looked at him through defeated eyes. ‘If anything happens, please don’t leave me.’
Cook walked up the rickety steps to the kitchen where he peered through the porthole shaped window in the door. People of varied ethnicities were chomping down on their morning food, children and adults alike giving up the fight to hold the chopsticks, opting for a fork instead.
He smiled. It all looked very appetizing.
The owner was busy arguing with a customer by the main entrance and Cook figured that was where the excitement was.
If Matherson’s organization fell, it would be a shame but he would just get on with his life. He’d done the best he could do. He was relaxed, a little too relaxed as the bathroom beckoned.
The staff bathroom was in a small and dirty white room with a urinal and a toilet. And it stank. But with no other option, he used it.
Afterwards, while drying his hands under a stream of lukewarm water, the back door through the kitchen burst open. He froze and listened to Chinese being shouted with pans and plates scattering the floor. This time he knew. He knew it wasn’t a pissed off customer. He knew this was for Matherson.
Staying where he was in the bathroom, he looked through a gap in the door at two men run past, neither of them familiar to him. He hoped Matherson had called for them, a short lived hope that was ended when he heard a gunshot from below. It sent a chill down his spine. Customers in the restaurant started screaming and he thought the worst: Matherson had been shot. Then he heard shouting and the thud, thud, thud of boots hitting every step on the way up followed by his boss being dragged, barely conscious through the kitchen and out through back. His face was red, obviously outmatched as he hadn’t put up a fight. He looked defeated, like he’d finally accepted his inevitable demise. He was taken out of sight through the back and the kitchen fell to a stunned silence.
Cook took out his cell phone.