Stuart MacBride: A Dark So Deadly

Callum pointed into the house and pulled a face.

She nodded and turned back to the path. ‘There’s no need to get all defensive about it, Mark. If we’re going to give this another chance, you need to respect my boundaries... Yes... I didn’t say that.’

He left her to it.

Down the hall. ‘Irene? You there?’ He held up the bear. ‘I’ve got Mr Lumpylump.’ Into the living room.

And there she was. Irene Brown. On her knees in front of the room’s saggy armchair, one hand covering her mouth, blood dripping between her fingers. The other hand scrabbled at the carpet for what looked like teeth.

What the hell was—

The door battered into him, hard enough to send Callum thumping sideways against the wall, then tumbling to the floor. Sending a plastic tidal wave of kid’s toys clattering across the carpet.

Then a boot connected with his ribs, hurling him into the wall again. Slamming all the air from his lungs and setting fire to his whole side. Another boot caught him on the forehead, snapping his head back. Drowning out all sound with a deafening booming ringing noise.

Then a hand grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him up. ‘Think you’re clever, don’t you? Think you got away.’ Ainsley Dugdale grinned at him, the bruises on his butcher’s-slab face fading away to a dirty smear. He folded his other hand into a fist. ‘See when I take money for a job? I do the job. And you don’t get away.’

The world snapped around ninety degrees and everything tasted of hot copper wire.

Callum raised an arm, but the fist battered his face again making something inside his cheek go snap . The carpet rushed up and crashed into his chest. ‘Ungggghh...’

‘Think you’re the only one can do detecting?’ The boot cracked into his ribs again. ‘I open my newspaper and what do I see? This bitch whining on about how her man don’t treat her right, even though she’s a total whore.’ Another kick flipped Callum over onto his back.

Every breath was like running a cheese grater over his lungs.

He coughed and warm red spattered back down onto his cheeks.

‘So I thinks to myself, “Oho, this bitch is friends with Detective Constable Callum MacGregor, is she? Let’s see if we can’t arrange a wee surprise party for him.’ This time the boot stamped down on his chest. Once. Twice. Then one cracked his head off the skirting board. ‘You enjoying your party? Want to blow out your candles?’

The room lurched, then settled down into a slow, dark throb.

Strange, the carpet looked all cheap and threadbare from a distance, but lying here it was soft and warm and comfortable. Like the floor of R.M. Travis’s garage. Or McAdams’ basement.

Didn’t even hurt all that much any more.

All his arms and legs. Like rubbery lead. Heavy and warm.

Could just go to sleep, right here on the floor.

Dugdale’s face was all teeth, shiny and brown, shown off in a grin as he pulled out a lighter and scritched his thumb across the wheel. Sparks. More sparks. Then a big yellow flame. ‘What do you think: start with your eyes or your ears? Yeah, let’s burn a—’

‘Get away from Uncle Callum!’ Benny jumped on Dugdale. Eyes wide, tears on his cheeks, snot glistening from his nose. Teeth bared. ‘GRRRRRRRRR!’

‘What the... Get off me you little freak! You’re in for—’

He sank his teeth into Dugdale’s arm, shaking his head like a terrier. Blood trickling down his chin.

‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!’

‘Benny!’ Willow ran for him, grabbed her brother’s arm and pulled. But Benny just bit deeper. So she let go and ran away.

Not so big and tough after all.

‘AAAAAAAAAARGH!’ A chunk of flesh came free, big as a chicken nugget, the hole it left behind: red and purple, fringed with yellow. Dugdale stared at it for a moment, mouth hanging open. Then he backhanded Benny, sending the little boy flying into the back of the armchair. ‘YOU LITTLE SHIT!’

Benny bounced, eyes wide, blood all over his mouth and chin. Grinning . Snapping his teeth together. Then lunging again. Sinking his teeth into Dugdale’s leg, right at the bulge of his calf.

‘AAAAAARGH! KILL YOU!’ Dugdale grabbed him by the throat, ripped Benny off his leg and held him up, like a mascot. Then slammed him into the wall hard enough to crack the plasterboard. ‘YOU’RE DEAD, YOU LITTLE FREAK!’

‘LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE!’ Willow was back, clutching a dirty big kitchen knife, the blade gleaming as she swung it at him.

It never made contact. Dugdale punched her, hard in the face, sending her spinning away to smash into the playpen. Tiny drops of blood glittered in the air, marking her path. The knife thunked blade-down into the carpet.

Dugdale bared his teeth. ‘The whole bloody lot of you are going to pay for this. Understand?’ He buried another boot into Callum’s stomach. ‘You’re all going to...’ His eyes bulged and he looked over his shoulder.

Irene Brown stood right behind him, hunched forwards. She staggered back a couple of steps and raised her hands to cover her mouth. As if trying to hide the horrified expression on her face.

And Dugdale turned to face her. Unsteady on his legs. Shaking.

The handle of the kitchen knife stuck out of his back, just above his belt. Blood darkened his trousers. ‘No...’

Callum blinked.

The world pulsed in and out. Warm and inviting as a length of basement chain.

Difficult to keep his eyes open.

When did his eyelids get so heavy?

Dugdale collapsed to his knees, both hands fluttering at the small of his back, fingertips brushing the knife’s handle. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God...’

Then the living room door burst open and Franklin charged in, flicking her extendable baton out with a hard sharp clack . ‘NOBODY MOVE!’

Better late than never.

Callum let the warmth and darkness fold over him like a duvet.

‘You ready?’

‘Yeah.’ Callum winced and levered himself out of the big blue hospital armchair. The little private room was far too sodding hot, even with the window cracked as far open as it would go. A handful of get-well-soon cards were pinned up on the corkboard above the telly, the remains of a clichéd bag of grapes going raisiny on the bedside table.

He stood there for a moment. Straightened up. Wobbled.

Mother raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure? Because I can call a doctor.’

‘Four days stuck in here with daytime TV and lukewarm Lucozade is quite enough, thank you.’

‘Callum—’

‘I’m fine . What’s a few cracked ribs, fractured cheekbone, and bruised spleen between friends?’ He struggled his way into his jacket. ‘And there wasn’t any blood in my pee this morning. How cool is that?’

McAdams’ book was back in its brown paper wrapper. Callum slipped it into his backpack and fastened the catches.

‘Did you finish Andy’s book?’

‘Yup. Want to know what happens in the end?’

She shook her head. ‘Certainly not, we don’t approve of spoilers.’

‘OK. Well, in that case—’

A knock at the door and Franklin stuck her head in. ‘Is he still malingering?’

‘I am not malingering.’

Mother crossed to the bed and picked up his backpack. Paused to peer out of the window. ‘Have you seen the crowd down there? That’s an awful lot of people for a Wednesday afternoon.’

Callum grinned. ‘Maybe they’re here to celebrate me getting out of hospital?’

‘Dream on.’ Franklin pointed at the door. ‘Can we go now? Some of us have work to get back to.’

He limped out into the corridor, following her and Mother out of the ward and along to the lifts. Wheezing like a leaky balloon.