Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [93]
He had to get on with it, stop wasting time. Stop thinking about it and just do it.
"Dad?" Jordan was in the doorway. God knew how long he'd been there. Probably heard the shot. He was looking at the bodies. "Is she dead?"
Tommy nodded. "She can't hurt you now."
"What about him?" He nodded at Park. "Is he dead?"
"Not yet."
"He's a mentalist."
"He is. Complete psycho."
"I want to go."
"After I've killed him," Tommy said. Only question was how. He ought to hack all his limbs off, leave him to bleed to death. That was all the subhuman piece of trash deserved. Tommy couldn't have done that to Effie, but Park was different. Tommy was tired, though. Really tired. And he had hardly any strength left. The last couple of weeks were catching up with him.
And his stomach. Fuck, his stomach.
He swallowed hard and the pain eased, but he knew it'd be back soon enough. He just needed a moment or two to decide how to dispose of Park.
"Dad?" Jordan said, looking at Park and his daughter. "Do you think we're like them?"
"How can you say that?" Tommy said. "They're sick."
***
"I'LL COME WITH you," Jordan said.
Tommy had said he'd go down to the van and back, he'd only be gone a minute. Jordan didn't want him to, even though he pointed out that there was no danger in the bedroom now that Effie was dead and Park was chained up and unconscious. Then Tommy suggested that maybe Jordan could run down to the van and get the petrol, but Jordan wasn't any keener on that idea. The thought of the bodies in the back spooked him. Which was fair enough. Once upon a time Tommy would have felt the same way.
So in the end, they went together. Downstairs, hand in hand, past the dead policemen, and outside, where the chill in the air hit Tommy in the temples, soothed his tired eyes. He blinked away tears. He hadn't had the opportunity to enjoy any fresh air over the last couple of weeks. Wished he could lie down on the grass with Jordan, gaze at the stars, fill his lungs, sleep. Didn't ask for more than that.
But he couldn't. Not just yet.
"You okay?" he asked Jordan.
Jordan nodded.
When he thought about what these savages had put Jordan through, Tommy's stomach barrelled up into his throat and threatened to choke him. Yet another reason why he had to finish this.
They walked past Park's car towards the van, purple shadows bruising its pale body. No traffic noise from the road. No sound of police sirens. Peaceful.
Tommy opened the back door, climbed inside. There wasn't much space to get a foothold. Tommy slid on something and almost fell over. The floor was slick. Traced the wetness to Martin Milne. Seemed he was leaking. Tommy patted him down. He'd seen Milne smoking on the video. Sure enough, he had a lighter in his trouser pocket. Tommy stuck it in his own. Then located the petrol can. Illuminated, next to it, were three carrier bags. Tommy looked at the headless shrouds. Back at the carrier bags.
Three?
Had to check inside.
Two heads and a bag of hands. Tommy didn't need the hands.
***
BACK IN THE BEDROOM, Tommy screwed the cap off the petrol can. Went over to the bed, sloshed petrol all over the sheets. Moved round to Park. Doused him good and proper too.
Park spluttered, spat. Then realised where he was and what had happened to him. Maybe he even realised what was about to happen to him.
Tommy saved the last of the can for Effie.
"You'll be burning in Hell soon," he said to Park. "Might as well get you used to it."
***
PARK STANK OF petrol. The fumes were making him lightheaded. Or maybe it was the blood loss. Both, probably. Could feel the weight of the chain on his arm. He was still attached to the bed. No way out.
Had to maintain eye contact with Savage. Couldn't risk looking away. Didn't know where his eyes would take him.
Stinging. The fumes making them water. Having trouble seeing.
Then again, did he want to see this?
The madman was taking something out of a carrier bag. Something hairy. Something … oh, fuck.
Park looked away, tried to stay conscious. Fought against his body shutting