‘No, no, no, because one day Brad gave me a name, didn’t he? And suddenly the cross hairs shrank. The world was safe. I had a target. Before, I was lost in a maze, but when he gave me that name, a door was opened, and I saw the way out. Just before I put a screwdriver through his brain, the dealer told me two things. He said Tim had told him he’d never taken drugs before. That was good news.’
Quick as a snake, he bent and grabbed Liz’s hair again. He jabbed the knife hard into the gravestone an inch from her skin.
‘He also gave up your husband. A new name. Others had been involved. Others would have to pay. Tim was in his club that night. Your bastard man was told that Tim was the son of a detective, so he thought it would be funny to overdose him and see what happened. Just for a laugh. So, he sent the dealer across to my son’s friends with some freebies. Just for a laugh. And I bet he slept okay that night. Just a tragic accident, not his fault. Just for a fucking laugh. Is he laughing now?’
He twisted her head so she could look at him, but through her wild hair Karl saw that her eyes were screwed shut.
‘When I saw the name of the church where you were burying your husband, it all made sense. The very same graveyard where my son is buried. Fate. All along, you wasted your time running and I wasted my time trying to kill you. It was never meant to happen. You were invincible, unlike your husband. Until now. Until Tim was watching.’
‘You’re insane,’ Liz said, barely audible, shaking against the gravestone. ‘This is why nobody ever knew you blamed Ron. All this blood, all this… It was just a tragic accident, don’t you see that?’
Mick slid the blade of the knife towards her eye. And then he looked into the sky.
‘See, Tim. They took your mother from you, and you from me, but I got them, didn’t I? And now Daddy’s about to keep his last ever promise to you.’
To his right Karl sensed more movement. His eyes flicked that way. Another man, this guy in a baseball cap and a tracksuit. Sixty feet away. Now there were four people on this planet.
Mick dropped the knife and clamped both big hands around Liz’s tiny neck and lifted her. Easily. Right off the ground. In two steps he was by the open grave. Karl’s eyes went to the knife, there in the grass, just six feet away, but he was frozen in place, unable to will his muscles into action.
‘I’ll be back for you,’ Mick said as he swung her out, over the grave. And then he dropped her, and started to turn, meaning to come for Karl – meaning he would dispatch Karl first so that he could take his time with Liz.
But as she fell, her fingers grabbed his wrist. They slipped away instantly, but there had been enough friction which meant he had to try to take a step sideways to rebalance. But there was nothing to step onto. His foot came down into the abyss, and his arms sought something to grab. But there was nothing to hold onto. He toppled, like a giant oak, and landed hard the far edge of the grave. And then he vanished into the grave with her.
Karl rushed to the open grave and stared down. Liz was on her back with Mick kneeling astride her. He was taking fistfuls of soil, forcing them into her face, but he looked calm, his movements methodical. His demeanour, more than anything else, told Karl that Mick was now a human in shape only.
‘Liz,’ Karl shouted. That got Mick’s attention, as if he’d forgotten about his other enemy. He stood and swiped at Karl, planning to haul him into the pit. But Karl backed off. Mick clambered out of the hole quickly for a big man, and in his hands was a spade. Karl turned, and found himself facing another man.
The guy in the baseball cap. He was right there, running towards them, cap now gone, snatched by the wind. No time to dart aside, so Karl threw up his arms, turned away his head, and got ready for the impact.
He felt a heavy weight brush past, and heard the thud of body hitting body. He turned in time to see the newcomer and Mick hit the ground, roll, and vanish into the grave.
And that was when his brain, delayed and confused, made the connection between the face he had seen and a man in his memory banks. A man he’d hoped never to see again.
Brad.
Two men were in the grave with her, but their focus on each other allowed her to scramble to her feet.
‘You gotta help me,’ she screamed: the first thing she’d ever said to him. As before, he reached, and grabbed, and pulled. He slid her torso free and she kicked like a drowning woman to get her legs clear, and then she rolled across the grass, crying.
Their chance to flee. But Karl stood tall and stared down, now no longer terrified into inaction. Mick had dropped the spade as Brad thundered into him. There it lay beside the grave. He picked it up and felt a tide turning.
In the grave, Mick was atop Brad, dropping blows hard. Mick rose to his feet and raised a leg to stomp on Brad, and finish this business.
Karl felt the spade suddenly snatched from his hand.
‘Has your son returned?’
The question was spoken without anger, as if Liz genuinely wondered. And Karl saw it slashing through Mick’s world of rage and cruelty like a rainbow in Hades. He turned, unable not to, his killing blow upon Brad forgotten. Liz’s question, the mention of his beloved son, had caused a blip in his bloodlust. He looked up at her. And Karl got the feeling it was exactly what she’d wanted.
In days to come Karl would agree that, after all Mick had done to her, it was perhaps the only way she could find absolute peace.
Her strike landed hard on Mick’s shoulder, instantly dislocating it. Mick screamed in pain. And shock.
‘Has my Ron returned?’ she said, louder, through gritted teeth.
Mick scrambled for the edge of the grave, but the spade fell again and smashed his hand into the dirt. He staggered back with a scream, stumbling over Brad’s body. Clutching his shoulder, he stared up.
‘Not in front of Tim, you fucking bitch,’ he spat.
But even as he was speaking, she prepared to strike again.
‘Have you changed a thing with all this blood?’ she shouted as she lifted the weapon high in the air and Mick put up his bad arm to block the attack. ‘Did Ron’s blood bring your son back? Will your blood bring my Ron back?’
She dragged the spade downwards, slicing through the air. The blade landed flat and hard on his bald head with a heavy crack. He staggered, but his momentous willpower, or his unstoppable bloodlust, kept him standing. Blood was pouring down his face. He wiped it away, and stared at it on his hands.
‘None of this is changing anything, is it?’ she screamed. ‘All the spilled blood, it’s not enough, is it? It’ll never be enough, will it?’
‘You’d do this to my son?’ he moaned, staring up again, his voice groggy, and loaded with genuine surprise. And fear, Karl understood. Not fear of pain, or even death, but of a son watching a father suffer.
But there was rage, too. It seemed to overcome him in an instant. With an animalistic sneer, Mick scrambled for the grave edge, trying to claw his way out.
She lifted the spade.
‘Liz, stop!’ Karl shouted. He tried to grab the spade, but too late.
‘No matter how much blood we drown our pain in, they won’t come back, will they?’
The impact was mammoth, and this time Mick dropped. Liz collapsed to her knees. Karl was kneeling behind her. Brad hauled himself out of the grave and lay panting on the grass. The moment was frozen for a second.
Then Liz uttered a cry and burst into movement. Cursing, crying, she started to sweep soil into the grave. The earth splattered across Mick, but he didn’t move.
Karl lunged forward, grabbing her arms. ‘Liz, stop.’
She dropped the spade and dropped to her knees. Karl knelt and held her. There was a commotion now: people appearing at the top of the hill, drawn, finally, by the noise. Some started to rush over.