Michael Robertson - Highrise Hell

Some of the prisoners were frenzied, swiping at their fellow captives with their long and dirty nails. One of the women picked the bacon up, curled her body around it and bit into the plastic wrapping as if it was edible. The women had turned feral in just a few weeks, and the lump in George’s throat was ready to burst.

Two of the prisoners who didn’t look long for this world sat on the floor amongst the piss and shit and stared at the melee with their usual vacant glaze.

Liz and the more recent additions from the cul-de-sac turned their noses up at the food.

The rattle of Dean’s hammer against the cage pulled George’s shoulders up to his neck. The lunatic then addressed the more reserved women. “That’s the best you’ll get. The only other way to get food is to earn it.” His eyes settled on the two girls taken from the close. Pointing at the one who looked slightly older, he said, “You, what’s your name?”

The same glare of silent hatred came from Liz and burned into George.

Placing a hand on her ample chest, the girl’s face buckled. “Do you mean me?”

Nodding, Dean licked his bloodied lips.

After dropping her head, she pouted. “Sarah.”

“Well, Sarah, it looks like it’s your lucky day.” Thrusting his hips forward, an oily laugh then bubbled from his throat. “You’ve just hit the jackpot, sweetheart. You’re going to find out just how generous Uncle Dean can be.”

Looking at the hammer in Dean’s hand, George’s eyes narrowed. Why didn’t he just end this now?

The girl’s accent spoke of her private education. “No, thank you. I’m fine as I am.”

The smile remained, but the rest of Dean’s face sagged. “It isn’t a choice, love.”

The tears that she was clearly holding back rushed forwards.

When George looked at Liz again, her hazel eyes dared him to do something.

Before he could move, Dean turned to him. “I was with Sally earlier today. She told me to send you her love.”

The impetus to act drained from George’s body.

“She’s happy and well at the moment. She needs me every day to make sure she’s okay. You know what the last few weeks of pregnancy are like.” Dean then nodded at the cage. “Help us out, will ya?”

The mention of Sally had turned George into a robot to Dean’s commands.

“Here, hold this.”

Taking the hammer, George refused to look at Liz.

“She’s ready to pop any day now. You should see her.”

The cage door creaked as Dean pulled it open. When he held his hand out to Sarah, the girl shook her head and looked away. Brushing his hair from his face, Dean stretched his neck as if it were causing him pain. “It’s not a choice, love.”

Continuing to look away, Sarah shook her head again.

For the first time that afternoon, Dean looked rattled, and his grin wobbled. “I can show you what happens to those who don’t come of their own free will if you like?” Looking her up and down, his dark eyes smouldered. “Either way, I’m getting what I want from you. It’ll be much less painful for you if you come of your own free will.”

As Sarah sobbed, George squeezed the hammer. What’s to say Dean wasn’t lying about Sally? Maybe she was already dead?

But how would he know?

Dean must be bullshitting him.

Looking at Liz, George squeezed the hammer’s handle and stared at the back of Dean’s head. One heavy swing was all it needed.

Losing himself, George’s focus blurred. How many people had to suffer at the hands of Dean and his merry men? How many people had to suffer before George gave up on his sister? The hammer hung from his grip, the weighted end screaming to be hurled in a wide arc that ended embedded in Dean’s skull.

The weapon then suddenly disappeared from his hand.

The muscles in George’s upper body pulled tight as he turned around and looked down at the smaller man.

Staring back, a flicker of instability shimmering in his dark eyes, Dean raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t having any rebellious thoughts, were ya, George?”

Gulping a mouthful of dry air, the stares from the women in the truck adding to his burden, George remained silent.

Flipping the hammer and catching it by the handle, Dean paused and looked up at George again. “Do we have a problem?”

A gust of wind threw the stink of rot in George’s face. Stepping back a pace, he shook his head. “No.”

Punching him on the top of the arm, Dean threw his head back. “Ha ha, I was only fucking with you.” The mirth then fell from his face quicker than it had appeared, and he twisted Sarah’s long, blonde hair around his grip. Yanking on her ponytail so she was facing the sky, he then leaned over her and licked her face. When she gasped, Dean’s features lit up. “And now I’m going to start fucking with you, sweetheart. I’ve got all kinds of toys upstairs and a gang of horny men.”

Tension grabbed a hold of George’s stomach as he watched a solitary tear run down Sarah’s cheek. “Leave her alone.”

“What?”

It was hard to prevent the wobble riding his words. “Leave her alone. She’s just a kid.” Sarah’s glazed blue irises rolled over to look at him. She was still facing the sky.

The nostrils on Dean’s red face flared. “I hope you’re fucking with me, George.”

In his mind, George separated the pair and turned Dean’s weapon against him. In reality, he stood dumb and immobile. He was always much braver in his fantasies. The flicker of hope on Sarah’s face died.

“Right,” Dean said. “Like I thought.”

Without saying another word, George watched Dean yank on Sarah’s hair and pull her towards the tower block. The poor girl twisted and contorted as she clearly tried to make the experience as comfortable as possible.

The door had slammed shut quite some time ago, and George hadn’t moved. He was a fucking coward. The opportunity to end all of this had presented itself, and he’d ignored it. Instead, he chose to believe that Dean still had his sister. The slightest shred of hope had turned him into a puppet. Worse, it had turned him into an accomplice.

One of the windows to Dean’s penthouse flat was open, and the light from inside shone out across the dark city. It was the only flat in the building with light and the only building in the vicinity with power. Dean had a generator up there with him. Its low growl was a constant that George never grew used to. It interrupted his sleep every night. He’d heard other men complain of the same thing, but who was going to tell the psychopath to shut it down?

Shadows inside the flat kept cutting the beam of light. How many of them were in there? What where they doing to her? Shrill screams shot out through the night air, setting George’s nerves on edge.

When a wet thud of fist against face silenced them, something inside George’s chest shrivelled into nothing. He could have prevented it. She was only a kid.

The moon was obscured by dark clouds that looked like they would rain rocks down on them. That was exactly what they needed. “Just fucking end it now,” George muttered to a God that he’d never believed in. “Please.”

Then he started to hear it. It had been a background noise for some time. It came from the cage. When George looked across, he saw the noise was coming from Liz. She stared at him with her face glowing and her eyes wide. “George! What the fuck?!”

The whole world spun as if he was drunk, and his moment of clarity was lost again. Focusing on the door, he trudged towards it, the noise of Liz’s voice lost once again to the chaos of his thoughts.

When George opened the front door of the tower block, he was hit with the low hum of the generator and the thick stench of bleach. The communal areas were sterilized from top to bottom every day because Dean was a clean freak.