Michael Robertson - Highrise Hell

The rustling called out in the graveyard silence as Liz took them.

“Please don’t fight over these,” he said. “It’ll make too much noise, and Dean will come out. There’s one for each of you.”

After staring at him like she was about to throw the packet back in his face, Liz turned around and shared the biscuits with the other women. Some of them ate them whole, quickly turning their attention to the ones that didn’t, their wide eyes shimmering with what appeared to be dark intent.

Holding his hand out, George looked at Liz. “I don’t want to leave any evidence.”

Snatching the packet away, the curvy lady held it to her chest. Standing up straight, she pursed her lips. “I’m not giving it back unless you let us out.”

Fuck ! Checking the block again to see if there was any change at the windows, he then looked back at the woman. “It’s not for my sake, love. It’s for yours.”

Examining his features, the woman appeared to be considering her next move.

“Dean won’t punish me for the biscuits, you know.” Making a point to look at all of the other women, George then raised his eyebrows at her.

She gave the packet back.

“I’m sorry,” George said as he shoved it into his pocket. “I’m truly sorry.”

“Not that sorry.” Her eyes were nothing but slits now. “Not sorry enough to get us out when you had the chance. You’re a fucking coward like the rest of them.”

Each word dealt him a physical blow that drained a little bit more of his strength. Standing there, he waited to make sure she’d finished. The abuse was no less than he deserved. The angry stares from the rest of the women agreed; especially Liz’s.

After he’d walked around the tower block and seen nothing but shadows, most of which he was certain were projections of his own imagination, George returned to the truck. Sarah was still curled in a ball on the floor, her back pressed against the bars of the cage and her knees pulled into her chest. She looked up at him through big, watery eyes.

The words ‘it’ll be okay’ sat on George’s tongue, but he couldn’t say them. That was a lie he wasn’t prepared to offer. Even reaching in to hold her hand was off limits. He looked up at the lit window and heard Dean’s repeated comment about the women in his mind. “Don’t touch the animals!” To help them would make their situation much worse than they could imagine.

The younger sister moved towards George and said, “Why did you kill Chris?”

Chris? Was that his name? A series of images flashed through George’s mind, and he flinched with every one. The hammer turning slippery in his hands. The man’s wide eyes, white against the claret running down his face. The loose jaw and lolling tongue. Resting on the cold truck, he tried to shake his thoughts from his head.

“You seem like a nice man.” She frowned at him. “You’re not like the rest of them, so why did you kill Chris? What did he do to you?”

‘The prick used my name’ suddenly seemed much less rational now the peer pressure from the gang had gone. ‘I had to do what was necessary to save my sister’ sounded nobler, but it probably wouldn’t hold up either, especially as that was why he hadn’t freed them. All this suffering for one person.

Looking away from the girl’s accusing eyes, he then turned to look at Liz. The softness he’d once seen in her face had been replaced with pure malice. It cut to George’s core, and his heart skipped. Thinking no one could hate him more than he hated himself, he now wasn’t so sure. While keeping his eyes on Liz, he replied to the girl in a whisper, “I’ll get you out of here soon, I promise.”

Liz’s eyes pinched, crow’s feet spreading to her temples. Hatred, mistrust, bitterness, he couldn’t ascertain which one. All of them were justified. Why was he even saying it?

The young girl’s voice wavered and stuck in her throat, “Please do, sir. I don’t want to be taken into the tower block.” At first, she looked down at her sister and then up to Dean’s penthouse flat. Her wide eyes lost focus. “I don’t want to go up there.”

Taking a breath, George held his reply when the swing doors to the tower block were kicked open.

As Dean marched towards them, his loud words rode the condensation issuing from his mouth. “Stop flirting with the women, George.”

With quickening breath, George’s hand felt for the empty packet in his pocket to make sure it was out of sight. How much had Dean seen? Had he been watching from the block the whole time? Did he see him feed the women?

“Not feeling very chatty, eh?”

A dry gulp did nothing to relieve George’s throat.

Pointing a thumb over his shoulder, Dean said, “We’ve been up playing poker all night. It was high stakes, and I lost.” Looking at the women in the cage, he continued, “Ginge won. Slippery fucker.” Laughing, he then said, “Anyway, the prize that he’s won is a night with one of these beauties.”

The face of the younger sister fell as if all of the muscles in it had failed simultaneously.

With his stomach lurching, George then shook his head. “No.”

The smile fell from Dean’s face, and his dark eyes lost their spark. “No? What do you mean, no? I wasn’t asking for your permission.” His grip tightened on the hammer.

In that moment, there was only Dean and himself. Wishing he had less layers on so he could move more freely didn’t make it a reality, so George clenched his fists and took a calming breath. Looking at Dean’s chest, George’s martial arts training had taught him that was where the first sign of an attack would be.

After looking down at George’s hands and then back to the cage, Dean laughed and shook his head. Undoing the padlock, he pointed at the younger of the two sisters. “It looks like it’s your lucky night, darling. You’re Ginge’s prize.”

When George swallowed, his throat pinched. Coughing away his heave, he stared at the back of Dean’s head. The collective stare of the women bore into the side of his face. Why did he have to be the one to save them?

Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to save them. He couldn’t leave Sally. The tension slid from his body, and he looked at his toes.

“No!” the younger sister called. The timing of it was almost as if it were in response to George’s resignation. Her savior had bolted.

Refusing to look up, George winced at her words.

“Please. Please don’t take me to him. Please. Anything but that.”

When George looked up, he saw Dean reach into the cage, and the girl withdrew.

Gritting his teeth, Dean reached in further, and the girl pulled back again. “For fuck’s sake!” Grabbing Sarah, he threw a jab across her face. It snapped her head back, and the wet crack echoed around the forecourt.

When Sarah hit the floor hard, a couple of the women screamed.

The younger girl covered her mouth and looked at her downed sibling.

Dragging the now unconscious girl towards him by her hair, Dean raised his hammer. “If you want to keep her alive,” he said, spittle spraying from his mouth, “then you need to be coming with me now!” The skin on his face was glowing.

The fight fell from the young girl’s frame, and she shifted towards Dean, taking his hand. Once she’d stepped outside, he threw her at George and locked the padlock.

Looking down at the small girl in his arms, George screwed his nose up at the smell of piss and shit. Swallowing back the hot saliva running down his throat, George noticed she was looking at him with the slightest glimmer of hope.

When Dean yanked her away, he laughed. “Steady on, love. You should save those sultry looks for Ginge. We don’t want him getting jealous, now do we?”