Andrew shook his head, but couldn’t keep a lid on his anger. “Go right ahead. What difference is it going to make?”
Frankie grinned as if he knew something that no one else did. Without warning, he turned. Then he struck Penelope in the ribs. She cried out in shock before crumpling to the floor in agony. Frankie held his fist up to Andrew and winked at him. “You piss me off; I’ll take it out on her. Sound good?”
Andrew didn’t speak. He was in hell; where he could do nothing but watch people he loved suffer.
Maybe that’s what hell is? Not being punished yourself, but having to watch others suffer for your sins.
“I said does that sound good?” Frankie repeated.
Andrew nodded.
Frankie clapped his hands together. “Good. Now get up and fight me.”
Andrew wondered whether he’d heard Frankie correctly. “What?”
Frankie raised both fists in a boxer’s pose. “I want to see what you got, old man.”
“I’m tied up,” said Andrew.
“I know that, you fuckin’ mug. Dom will let you loose, innit.”
Dom heard his name and looked up from the television, fuzzy-eyed and half asleep.
Andrew thought about things for a second and decided this could be his only chance; the only opportunity he might have of getting away and reaching help. He had to take it.
“Okay, Frankie. I’ll fight you.”
Frankie started throwing punches in the air, fighting an invisible opponent. “Dom, get him loose,” he ordered between an uppercut and an overhand right. “Use the scissors – but keep a hold of ‘em.”
Lest I drive them into your skull, thought Andrew. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins in fearful anticipation. Fighting was a skill beyond him and he had little doubt Frankie would whoop him in short order. Standing toe to toe with a barbaric thug was not the plan Andrew intended to follow, though. He had other ideas.
Dom hacked at the duct tape around Andrew’s body. With each passing second, Andrew felt the bonds loosen, the circulation returning to his arms. Several minutes later and Andrew was finally free. He hopped up, wincing as the pressure in his kneecaps caused them to click painfully.
Frankie stood in front of him with clenched fists, holding them aloft his chin like a boxer. “What shall we say? Three-minute rounds? Or shall we just fight till a knock-out?”
Andrew took the opportunity, one last time, to try and reason with Frankie. “You don’t have to do this, Frankie. You can just leave right now. No one blames you for any of this. Your mother has obviously failed you.”
The comment seemed to strike a chord with Frankie; his clenched fists lowered slightly. Then he spat onto the carpet. “Bitch has nothing to do with me.”
Andrew nodded. “I know, and that’s a shame. No one deserves to be raised like that.”
“You don’t know shit! Not a thing, so don’t play the caring soul with me. People like you couldn’t give two shits about people like me.”
“Yeah,” said Michelle. “Just put his lights out, Frankie.”
Frankie nodded to his girlfriend, raised his fists again. Then he rang an imaginary bell. “Ding! Ding!”
With Frankie approaching like a viper ready to strike, Andrew made his own move. He dashed for the living room door.
“The fuckers trying to do one,” said Jordan from the floor.
Andrew shoved through the door and barrelled into the hallway. He turned to his right and sprinted for the porch. His plan was to rush into the street; cry for help with everything he had. His neighbours may not come out to help, but he was sure at least one of them would call the police. This would all be over soon.
When Andrew reached the porch, something that could only be terror filled his belly.
The front door was locked.