Michael Robertson - Highrise Hell

Unable to calm his beating heart, George watched on. Is he looking at Liz ? Every time Dean went anywhere near the cage, it looked like he’d pick her. It was like playing Russian roulette. The bullet would be in the chamber one day. Not that he was the one with the gun to his head. He wasn’t that brave.

Pointing his hammer at Liz, Dean’s voice came out as a low rumble. “You.”

“No!” The word had left George’s mouth before he’d even thought about it.

Rather than the expected irritation, Dean was positively glowing when he turned to face George. With his head tilted to the side, he wore his usual grin. “No?”

Balling his fists, George stepped forwards. “You fucking heard me. Leave her alone.”

“I didn’t ask for your permission, Georgie.”

How did this cunt find out about Liz ? When he glanced at Si, the man looked down. Fucking scum bag. It was inevitable that he was going to rat him out sooner or later. Stepping forward, George stared straight into Dean’s dark eyes. With his pulse still rampaging and a wobble running through him, he kept glancing at the hammer. “I know you didn’t ask for my permission, but you ain’t fucking taking her.” Before he could say anything else, a pain exploded across his chest as both of his arms were yanked back. He was then forced to the ground and caught in a headlock. Shaking and writhing did nothing to throw the men loose.

After opening the cage, Dean clicked his fingers at Liz. “Come on, girl, it’s your lucky night.”

Using up valuable air, George said, “Leave her alone, you horrible cunt.”

“Now that’s not very nice, is it, Georgie?”

“Stop calling me that, you obnoxious prick, and leave her the fuck alone.”

Darting forwards, Dean got so close that George felt the warmth of his fetid breath on his face. His soft voice crackled like thunder. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

Stars swam in George’s vision as he fought for air. “What about my sister?”

“What about her?”

Some of the men, including the one with a grip on George’s neck, laughed.

“You cunt! She’s fucking pregnant!”

“Exactly. I don’t want to fuck a whale now, do I? I’ve got to get it somewhere.”

Liz, who had remained silent, lifted her bowed head. “Leave it, George.”

“See?” Delight illuminated Dean’s face. “She wants it as much as I do.”

What little fight he had left drained out of George as he continued to struggle for breath. “Liz?”

When Liz looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “There’s no point in fighting it, George. I knew it would happen sooner or later.”

The accusation robbed George of the small amount of air left in his lungs.

Clamping a grip around the back of Liz’s neck, her shoulders rising up to her ears, Dean then licked her face. “Listen to your girlfriend, Georgie.” Staring over at Ravi, he clicked his fingers. “Come here, boy.”

Without looking up, Ravi walked over to Dean’s side.

The guy who had George in a headlock had loosened his grip, but George barely noticed as he looked at the slimy Indian kid. “What the fuck?”

Ravi avoided George’s eye.

“Ravi, what’s going on?” It was pretty fucking obvious what was going on, but maybe George was wrong? It was only last week when George was feeding his family. Surely, Dean was winding him up.

Snorting a laugh, Dean patted Ravi on the back. “You’re coming with me, son. I don’t think it’ll be safe leaving you where George can get at you.” Looking at Warren, he said, “You’re on the graveyard shift now.”

All of George’s power drained from him as he watched their suited leader drag Liz away with Si and Ravi. He could have done something to save her before now, but he didn’t. Glancing at the cage, his body sank. He could have done something to save them all.

Spinning around, Dean placed a hand on his own chest. “Oh, of course. Forgive me, George, where are my manners? I’m sure you’ve already guessed, but just for the sake of clarity, Ravi was the one who told me about your little love affair.”

Staring at the Indian boy, adrenaline and fury galloping through him, George clenched his jaw. “Don’t think your parents are safe now, boy. I’m going to gut them before morning.”

After blowing him a kiss, Dean winked. “Night, night, Georgie.” As he turned to walk away, he paused. “And if you try to come up in the night, I’ll kill your girlfriend and your sister too. Also, Ravi and Si will be guarding my door with shotguns. Just saying.”

The four of them walked into the block, Ravi glancing back at George.

“What about my parents, Dean?”

Stopping, Dean turned to the boy. “What about them?”

Ravi’s shoulders slumped.

When the men loosened their grip, George spun around. The first person he saw was Ginge. Driving his fist across his chin, George watched him fold. The other two men fell into the pack. George couldn’t take them all. Looking at the motley crew, he shook his head. “You fucking cowards.” Turning his back on them, he walked towards the building, opening and closing his sore right hand as he went. It still hadn’t been washed since he killed that man. It wouldn’t be washed any time soon.

Looking up at the ceiling after another thud ran through it, George ground his jaw. They were three fucking floors above him, and it still shook his flat. What are they doing to her ?

Returning his attention to his book, the small font hard to read under the flickering candlelight, George squinted and persevered.

Slap !

Crack !

Thud !

Reading was tricky on a good night with no electricity. This was very fucking far from a good night. Rubbing his stinging eyes, George dragged his finger along the dry page to try and track the words as he read them.

Mouthing the sentences still didn’t keep them in his head, but what other choice did he have? With the two sycophants standing guard at Dean’s door with shotguns, he didn’t have a prayer rescuing Liz with just a baseball bat and some DIY tools.

Sighing, he looked at the letter from Sally on his bedside table.

Slapping his book shut, George put it down and got to his feet. Extreme tiredness sent his head spinning, and he had to pause to get his bearings.

When a high-pitched scream shot down the stairwell, he sighed and looked at the floor.

Slap !

Crunch !

Silence again.

Walking to his front door, his fists clenched and his stomach tight, George bashed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Why did I trust that little cunt to keep his mouth shut? Why did I feed his fucking family? He ratted me out the first fucking chance he got.”

The baseball bat was where he’d left it in the kitchen. Lifting it up and wrapping his grip around the handle, he then rested it on his shoulder. Twisting the lock, he popped the front door open, the smell of bleach, albeit more diluted than usual, rushing in. He liked Ravi’s parents, but the boy needed to understand there were consequences for what he’d done. There were always consequences.

Click .

The lock on George’s front door slid into place as he returned to his flat. Holding his bat to his chest, he squeezed it until his forearms shook and his fingers hurt. He couldn’t do it. It wasn’t their fault their son was a cunt.

Another scream echoed through the stairwell, weakening George’s legs. As he slid down the door, his lip bent out of shape. “I’m sorry, Liz. I’m truly fucking sorry.”

Sitting on the hard floor for a time had turned George’s bottom numb. With his back still pressed to the icy door, he sat there shivering. The only light in his cold and gloomy flat came from the moon through the slit in his bedroom curtains.