Michael Fowler - Cold Death

As he stepped out into the car park he pulled up the collar of his coat.

“Got the masks?” He enquired, turning back to Rab who was catching him up with a shortened jog.

Rab took out two black woollen ski masks from his jacket pocket and waved them towards Billy.

The corners of Billy’s mouth creased into a malevolent smile.

* * * * *

The late evening news was starting. Jock Kerr slid a coaster across the surface of the coffee table and set his steaming mug of tea down before flopping down onto the sofa. He was about to shout through to Fiona, who was in the kitchen opening a fresh packet of shortbread biscuits for supper, to let her know the news was on, when the telephone rang. One of the house handsets lay on the table in front of him and its display was glowing with the ringing tone. He snorted as he glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece even though he knew the time. He snatched up the receiver.

“Hello,” he said gruffly.

“Do you know who this is?” Jock heard the gravelly voice say.

“I always said I’d catch up with you and I have done. Your day of reckoning is almost here.”

The line went dead.

Jock sat transfixed, the receiver pressed firmly to one ear, listening to the continuous purring. In a flash an image from his past flooded into his mind as he recognised the voice and his head was in turmoil. As he started to push himself up from the sofa, without warning, there was an abrupt explosion of glass. Shards flew everywhere, and the fabric vertical blinds drawn across the lounge window erupted from their fastening, as a weighted lump slumped through the shattered opening.

Jock froze. His eyes registered what lay before him but his brain was grappling with the vision; confusion, disbelief and fear were all manifesting at the same time. The head and bare shoulders of a man’s lifeless body lay flopped over the windowsill entangled amongst the wreckage of the blinds. A chill ran through his body as he momentarily sat riveted staring at the unkempt lank of hair hanging from the bloodied head. At the same time he became conscious of an awful gut-wrenching smell emanating into the room.

The piercing screams of his wife, who had rushed into the room, holding her face in her hands, jolted him into action.

The instinct to survive took over. He launched himself from the sofa and made a dash for the hallway. Flinging open the front door he leapt out onto the path. Having jumped out from a brightly lit house, for a split-second his eyes only registered blackness, but quickly his sight re-adjusted and in the darkness he saw that slumped half-inside, half outside of the front window was a naked man. The paleness of the flesh told Jock that he was dead.

Out of the corner of one eye movement at the top of his drive grabbed his attention. He half turned. He made out a tall silhouetted figure looking in his direction. Behind the shadow he could see, pulled against the kerb, a hatchback car. Its engine was revving loudly. In the half-light he could make out at least a couple more people both in the front and rear all staring in his direction.

He seesawed his gaze between the dead body hanging half out of his lounge window and the man at the top of his drive. His eyesight had fully adjusted to the surroundings of the night.

The figure in the long dark overcoat was peeling up a ski mask. The action was slow and deliberate. He first caught sight of the beard and as the woollen mask lifted the straggly wavy hair dropped, framing the man’s face.

A shiver ran down Jock’s spine. Despite the greying beard and hair he recognised his nemesis after all these years.

Billy Wallace’s eyes were wide and staring and glistening with hate.

In the distance Jock could make out the faint wail of a siren; he knew the police were on their way and a wave of relief washed over him.

There was a stand-off as Jock scrutinised Billy who was motionless staring back at him.

Billy lifted his hand and dragged a finger across his exposed throat — a slow slashing movement. He gave him a menacing smile before turning and easing himself into the front passenger seat of the car behind. The door was still open as the wheels squealed on the wet tarmac. It shot away from the kerb and screamed towards one of the side streets.

* * * * *

Hunter sank into his armchair with his tumbler of single malt whisky. He savoured the moment of his first sip, feeling the pleasant after burn, first tickling the back of his throat, then his gullet, and finally his stomach. It was a wonderful feeling. Removing the glass from his lips he eyed the contents and then swilled the amber liquid around listening to the chink of ice against the cut glass.

It had been another long day.

He took another small sip, this time holding it in his mouth. Momentarily he closed his eyes as the oak-aged flavours caressed his taste buds. He swallowed.

Moments like this were rare these days.

An hour ago, as promised, he had managed to get home — in time for Beth to make her ‘girls’ night’ appointment. He hadn’t even had time to take off his jacket before she was kissing him on his cheek and telling him his salmon was in the microwave and just wanted heating up, and there was some salad in the fridge.

“I’m only round the corner at Julie’s,” she shouted back over her shoulder. “You know where I am. See you about eleven,” she finished as she disappeared out of the door.

He’d only just managed to get Jonathan and Daniel settled down. They had finally let him go after three short stories. As he’d ruffled their hair affectionately and kissed their foreheads before tucking the boys up it had jolted his conscience; he sometimes wished he had more time for this.

He picked up the remote from the coffee table and powered on the TV; he would try and lose himself for a couple of hours before Beth got home.

He took another glug of whisky and listened to the sounds of the house. The central heating pipes creaked somewhere upstairs beneath the floorboards. He pushed himself back into his armchair feeling himself relax. He swilled the contents around again; the tumbler was almost empty.

One more, and then that’s it.

He enjoyed a drink at home but it was never more than a couple to unwind. He’d seen too many of his counterparts use it as a crutch to ease away the tensions of the day and now found themselves relying on it too much. For some, drinking had become second nature and he’d seen the disastrous consequences which had resulted. It had made him determined not to go down that route.

Twenty minutes later as he set down his second empty glass he could feel his eyes becoming heavy. He was close to exhaustion.

Time to call it a day.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer. Not even for Beth. Never mind, he knew she would understand.

As he pushed himself up the phone rang.

He eyed the handset and saw his parents name’s light up on the screen. He slipped it out of its stand.

His mother’s voice screamed down the line. The panic in her cries rattled him to the core. He tried to interrupt whilst attempting to make sense of her high-pitched ramblings. Finally, unable to get a word in, he just shouted, “I’m on my way!” and then ended the call.

He speed-dialled Beth’s mobile; she was only two minutes away, and then bolted upstairs to sling on his jeans and a sweat top. By the time he had got downstairs Beth was almost falling through the front door. Her face flushed.

“Sorry about this,” he said, snatching up the car keys from the hallway table “Something’s happened at mum’s! I’ll ring you as soon as I find out what!” He shouted as he sprinted out of the house.

* * * * *

Hunter raced at break-neck speed towards his parents’ home. The tiredness he had experienced ten minutes earlier had gone, and it was if he had never touched a drink that night. He was as alert as ever and his mind was trying to make sense of the hysterical screams he’d heard over the phone.