The Lover's Children novel Chapter 130

HARKNESS

“That’s fucking it!” Flinging the pizza away, stamping forward, I swing and punch. My fist smashes into her face and she yells. Blood spurts, hot on my hand, but too late I see she’s by the cutlery drawer. The bread knife stabs toward me, but I slam my hand against her wrist, knocking the knife from her hand.

Grabbing her by the hair, I swing her around, crashing her face forward against the wall. She doesn’t even seem to notice, screaming and twisting back at me, but gripping her by the hair again, backhanding her, I knock her to the ground. “I'm gonna split that brat of yours into so many pieces you won't know it from fucking dog meat!”

Scrabbling back to the cupboard, I fling open the door but…

Cheap plastic containers…

Paper cups…

Kitchen roll…

Where’s the fucking kid?

Then I see it. To one side, near the door, behind my view as I came in, another of the cupboards. Dish towels and sponges and cleaning crap are scattered over the floor, tumbled around a cabinet door, tape wrapped tight around the handle, tying it to the next door. The kid’s screeching comes from inside.

I launch myself toward the door, but the bitch comes at me, screaming like a banshee, this time swinging a broom handle like it’s some sort of club.

It crashes into the side of my face, and still she’s coming at me, streaming blood from her nose, teeth bared, and nails clawing for my eyes…

*****

MICHAEL

The short hall is narrow and won’t take us side-by-side. Slightly ahead of me, Klempner charges in, following the screams of fury and pain ripping through from beyond the door directly ahead of us.

It’s a standard churn-them-out-by-the-thousand interior door. As we charge forward, the door bangs in its housing, something slamming against it from the other side.

From beyond, a crash, shrieks of defiance, something smashing.

The howl of a child’s fear…

Another screech, fury now. “Don’t you go near her, you bastard!”

A scream - a male scream…

“Bite me, you fucking bitch? I’ll knock your fucking teeth out!” Another scream, this time a cry of pain and fear and the crack of knuckles on flesh.

Klempner wrenches at the handle, but nothing happens. Cursing, he barges at the door, shoulder first, his body weight behind the charge. It gives, then slams back into the frame. Klempner Ooofs!, rebounding from the timber. “Something’s blocking it,” he snarls.

“Let me.” With a look to freeze the balls off demons, he stands back, letting me at the door.

For the form of the thing, I try a push, but he’s right. The door’s not locked. There’s something behind it, blocking it closed. “I’ll push. You try to get your boot in the gap…”

The screaming and chaos from beyond the door falters…

“What are you armed with?”

“My knife.”

“No gun?”

“I was expecting to spend my day raising a marquee.”

My shoulder behind it, I heave and Klempner jams his toe into the gap. Another heave and, fragile veneer cracking, the door gives a little more, something screeching on the other side, the tortured screech of forced movement.

As I heave again, he has his eye to the gap. “It’s a settee…” he says.

A settee?

?

“… Keep shoving. It’s trying to slide.”

Jamming my boots against the skirting, body and thighs behind my shoulders, I heave once more and slowly, screeching all the while, the settee shifts and the door opens…

… and as the gap is just wide enough, I squeeze though…

… to a shambles of a space, empty of people, with only a door swinging wide to the outside beyond and the panicked wail of a baby.

A table lies overturned, one wooden leaf wrenched from its hinges. Slatted wooden chairs lie on the floor, seats smashed, broken, backs cracked. The remains of a mug lie shattered in one corner. Curved glass shards are all that remain of drinks glasses. Bizarrely, a pizza slice is stuck to the wall, tomato streaking across the paintwork, dripping to the floor.

The scents of sweat and fear…

… and beer and whiskey…

And it stinks of gin…

Blood spatters in a wide arc across one wall, oval splatters, dotted and dripping, continuing onto the floor. A print in blood is impressed onto the paint, quite clearly part of a human face, a female face. Below it, an ugly pool, red expanding over the linoleum, glinting white in places.

There’s no sign of either Mitch or the Surgeon.

Close by somewhere, a baby’s screams ratchet up a notch, vibrating through the room…

My pulse races…

Vicky or Mitch?

Then from behind me, pounding footsteps coming up the hall. Charlotte bursts into the room. Chad’s right behind her. Beyond them I see lights flashing amber and blue. Uniforms in blue.

“Charlotte!” Gesturing wildly somewhere in the direction of the screaming, I yell at Charlotte. “Vicky!”

Then I charge out, following the trail of blood.

*****

KLEMPNER

Michael heaves at the door, his full body weight behind his shoulders. From beyond, screaming; Vicky's muffled, but Harkness and Mitch are both loud and clear. She's putting up a good fight.

But she can't win…

Her cry, pain…