All Fall Down: A gripping psychological thriller with a twist that will take your breath away (23 page)

T
hey were hurting
one another properly now. The sight of her sons, her beloved boys, pitched against each other took Wendy back to the night of their birth, and the excruciating physical pain which she had borne, quite willingly, on a rush of adrenalin-fuelled desire to bring them into the world quickly, and safely, and well.

After a difficult labour, it had been the most indescribable relief when first Josh and then Evan was parcelled up and placed in her arms, to be held close and loved and protected from that moment on. Seeing them now, and hearing the punches, the grisly wet smack of bone on skin, the groans and gasps – most of all, the sheer horror in their eyes that they had to do this to each other – made it the most sickening thing that Wendy had ever witnessed. The tears streamed from her eyes and she sobbed, hopelessly, and felt every blow as if it were landing on her.

Josh’s face was mostly intact, because Evan was concentrating on body punches. Rather than use his left hand as a guard, Josh was cradling his stomach, and from his laboured breathing Wendy thought he might have a couple of cracked ribs. His own blows, while inexpertly thrown, had several times caught Evan in the face. Evan had a bleeding nose as well as dark, swollen bruises around both eye sockets. There were splatters of blood on the carpet where he kept having to spit, and his tongue worried at a loose tooth.

And to know that they were doing this for her, to keep her safe from these knife-wielding sociopaths. . .

Utter barbarity. And then it got worse.

Gabriel and his followers had become increasingly animated, with Milo rueing that they hadn’t thought to place bets. There were whoops of admiration when Evan landed a punch to the chest that made Josh stumble, then drop to his knees, and suddenly Lara yelled, ‘Get them naked!’

‘What?’ Gabriel snapped.

‘I want to see if it turns them on.’ She giggled. ‘It turns me on.’

Wendy caught a scathing look from Ilsa, and distaste from Milo and Kyle. But the only reaction that mattered was Gabriel’s, and although his chuckle sounded a bit forced, he nodded wearily.

‘Go on.’

Evan and Josh were too dazed to offer much protest. Evan slipped off his shorts and Josh struggled to his feet, then slowly unbuttoned his jeans. Wendy looked away. Rob was glaring at Lara as if he could kill her with his bare hands.

Ilsa, who had positioned herself behind Lara, caught Gabriel’s eye and slowly shook her head. Without acknowledging her, he barked, ‘That’s enough.’

‘What?’ Lara was indignant. ‘They’re still in their underwear.’

‘I don’t want to see a lot of dicks swinging round,’ Gabriel said, and Milo, with a fake laugh, said, ‘Me either!’

Suddenly irritable, Gabriel told him to check on Georgia. ‘And make sure you lock her in.’

‘Leader—’ Lara began as Milo hurried away, but Gabriel cut her off.

‘The birds are chirping out there. We’re getting some rest.’

Unseen by Lara, Ilsa gave a victorious smile. Wendy filed it away, thinking of that line:
My enemy’s enemy
. . .

Lara was still whinging: ‘But it’s just begun to get interesting.’

‘A few hours’ sleep and you can do what you like.’ Gabriel motioned casually at the twins. ‘Get them to fuck each other if you want.’

Lara gaped at him, then clapped her hands and squealed: ‘Oh my God,
yes
!’

T
he noise
from downstairs was becoming more and more frightening. It sounded like Evan and Josh were being beaten up. Georgia drowned it out by concentrating on the pain in her back and arms, and once that became too much to bear she switched her focus back to the cries from her brothers, and the awful cheering from Gabriel and his followers.

If only she could get free. . .

But she was having no luck. What she’d thought was movement must have been an illusion – her fingers slipping because they were greasy with sweat. She couldn’t grip the screw tightly enough to make it turn. She’d even tried wedging it beneath her fingernail, and that hadn’t worked.

Eventually she collapsed back, aching and exhausted. She wanted to cry but wouldn’t give in to it. Rest, and try again: that was all she could do.

She realised it had gone quiet downstairs. The dread tore at her heart. Were the twins okay? The image of Nyman’s body came back to her, the way he had jerked as the gun was fired, his limbs twitching as the life drained from him. . .

She shifted back up the bed, wiped her fingers dry and pushed her hand behind the headboard, only to hear someone coming up the stairs.

Shit.

She scraped her hand again, pulling it back, and realised the sheet was all rucked up where she’d been moving up and down. But there was nothing she could do to hide it: just had to hope they didn’t notice.

As the footsteps came closer, she found herself thinking of the past week, all the time and energy she’d wasted, obsessing over Amber and Paige, with never a clue that the real enemies had been edging closer and closer. She pictured Ilsa, in the café, a witness to her humiliation, and then Milo, Milo and his clumsy attempts to hit on her, which Georgia – because she was lonely, and mostly unliked – had wanted so much to believe were genuine. . .

It was Milo who came in now, averting his eyes from her body in a way that he hadn’t done before.

‘What’s happening down there?’ she asked. ‘What are you doing to them?’

‘Your brothers were fighting.’

‘What?’ That made no sense. ‘Fighting each other?’

‘Yeah. It took some persuading, but they really went at it.’

‘You mean you forced them. . .?’ Georgia swallowed. ‘Are they all right?’

‘I suppose.’

He was so casual, so uncaring, that Georgia longed to punch him in the mouth. But that wasn’t the plan. In a gentle voice, she said, ‘This isn’t you, Milo.’

‘Not true.’ He didn’t sound cross with her; just bored. ‘We’re turning in for a while. Gonna leave you here, okay?’

‘No, it’s not okay.’ She grinned, to lighten the tone, and rattled the handcuffs. ‘It’s agony like this. I won’t sleep at all.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Couldn’t you take one of them off? Just one. It’s not like I can get my hand out.’ She tugged on the cuffs to prove it. ‘And I still can’t go anywhere, can I?’

He put his hands on his hips, frowning down at her like a doctor with a difficult patient.

‘And there’s a key for that door,’ she reminded him. ‘So you’ll lock me in, as well.’ She waited out a tense silence, then went for Plan B. ‘Let me sleep for a bit, and then you could come back and. . .’ She nodded down at her body, prompting Milo to sneak a glance at her boobs. He looked shocked – but tempted.

‘I can’t. Not till Gabriel. . .’

‘He doesn’t have to find out, does he? This can be between us.’

Milo turned slowly, examining the room, and Georgia knew she’d won him over.

‘All right, I’ll free your left hand. But don’t try anything stupid. Gabriel thinks up punishments like you wouldn’t believe.’

‘I won’t. It’s just to help me sleep.’

He fished out the keys and unlocked the handcuff from her left wrist. The relief was indescribable, but she held back from stretching out or making it too obvious how good it felt. She wanted him to think she was still weak, trapped: the hopeless victim.

‘Be back in a few hours,’ he said, moving towards the door.

‘Wait!’ she called. ‘There’s one more thing.’

He turned, looking sour. ‘No.’

‘Just a tissue, that’s all.’ She twitched her nose. ‘So I can clean my face.’

Without a word, Milo left the room and returned with a long strip of toilet paper. Perfect. Now she needed him to leave her alone. But after taking a few steps towards the door, he hesitated, turning back.

‘You have to understand, it’s not personal, any of this. It’s just something we have to do.’

‘That’s not true—’

‘No, please,’ he interrupted. ‘I wanted to let you know, so it won’t come as a shock.’ Agitated, he pushed a hand through his hair. ‘How it ends, I mean.’

Georgia struggled to keep her expression calm. All she could manage was one word, which came out like a cough: ‘How?’

‘There’s five of us, right? And five of you. So, what we – Gabriel – decided is that we’d each take one of you and, you know, finish it. Ilsa wanted you but I said. . .’ he cleared his throat. ‘I said, I think
I
should do it.’

Georgia nodded. Felt she had to say something, but she couldn’t. Her throat had closed up. She ought to be asking
when
. . . but did she really want to know?

‘One kill each, you see?’ Milo said. And then: ‘I can’t promise that it won’t hurt, but I’ll try to make it quick.’

P
erverse as it sounded
, Rob knew they probably had to feel grateful for the position they were in. It could have been so much worse.

They were all alive, at least, and physically in one piece – though the fear of what might have been done to Georgia continued to plague them all. And now there was to be a temporary respite.

Their wounds went untreated, but Evan and Josh were allowed to dress, at least, and given a little water. They could barely make eye contact with one another, or with their parents. Then all four of them were marched upstairs, docile as sheep as they followed their jailors, the twins wincing with every step. It was only when they had to walk that Rob understood just how exhausted they were, the normal fatigue heightened by hours of emotional stress.

They were placed in Rob and Wendy’s room at the back of the house. This was one of two bedrooms that still had working locks. They were warned not to attempt communication with Georgia, or Lara would go to work on the girl with a knife. Despite that threat, Wendy almost succumbed, issuing a tiny cry as they reached the landing.

The bedroom had been cleared of furniture, except for the bed, and the windows had been crudely nailed shut. Rob took this as a sign that their cuffs might be removed, but there was no such luck. The only concession was that their hands were bound from the front rather than the back, but as an extra precaution Kyle used a length of nylon rope to bind their ankles together, leaving them sitting in the shape of a cross, with no more than a few inches’ play in the rope around their feet.

‘What about Georgia?’ Wendy asked. ‘Can’t she be with us?’

‘She’s fine where she is.’ This was from Gabriel, who filled the doorway, sometimes resting his head against the frame as he watched Kyle at work. The gun was back in his possession, and Rob didn’t like the way he kept glancing at it.

Still he persisted: ‘Surely it’s easier for you if we’re all in one place.’

Gabriel stared at him for a long moment, as if unsure how to respond to Rob’s insolence. Then he turned and left. The door was shut, and locked, and there was silence.

Rob studied the rope and saw straight away that the knots would be a struggle to reach, let alone untie. He was sitting furthest from the bed, with Evan to his left, Wendy to his right and Josh directly opposite. It was a horrible, forced intimacy, at the end of a night when the twins were clearly desperate for some solitude and privacy in which to work through their shame.

‘I just hope she’s all right,’ Wendy fretted.

‘I think she is,’ Rob said, uncomfortably aware that he had nothing on which to base that opinion. He’d never felt more impotent or disgusted with himself. Not only had he failed them – as a father, as a husband – but he had deceived them, too.

If he had been honest with Wendy from the start – if he’d owned up to the discovery of the trainer, and brought in the police right away – then perhaps all this would have been avoided. Even before that, it was his fear of a link to Jason Dennehy that had blinded him to the real danger; if only he’d read the signs correctly, and seen the progression of tiny steps that had led them to this terrible predicament. . .

But would Dawn or DS Husein have acted on their concerns, and given them sufficient protection? Rob guessed he would never find out.

‘Evan, Josh,’ he said quietly. ‘What they made you do tonight was inhuman. I’m very, very proud of the way you both handled it.’

‘Me too.’ Wendy was crying quietly as she nodded her agreement. Evan and Josh looked no less embarrassed, but after a minute Evan forced a reluctant half-smile when his brother quipped: ‘A lifetime of expensive counselling ahead, if we make it out of here.’

‘We’re going to,’ Rob said, with all the vehemence he could muster. It was the only way he could make amends – to maintain a positive attitude even when he felt anything but positive – and it meant leaving unspoken what he was really thinking.

What’s going to happen to us?

How will it end
?

K
yle snapped
awake and was instantly alert. No confusion at all about where he was, or what was happening.

He’d decided to sleep downstairs, away from the others. He was on the floor in a small, fusty room that might once have been a parlour, then a study, and was now a neglected sitting room with a couple of mismatched armchairs and an antique writing desk. He’d found a pillow and a blanket, pulled the cushions off the armchairs and made himself a half-decent bed.

He checked his phone for the time: a little after ten. He’d expected to wake sooner than this, but of course he’d been up till around four a.m. Exhaustion had forced them to call a halt to the night’s entertainment, and it explained why the house was still so quiet.

He sat up, feeling achy and yet refreshed, then rested back again. Why not enjoy the downtime while he had the chance? Lie and daydream for a while.

There was a lot to reflect upon, after all. Amazing to think that only a week ago they’d been happy with a single victim, and now they had five. . .

K
yle was twenty-two
, and just like the others, he had come to regard the Brood as his only family. His mother and his stepfather had rejected him completely, and he knew he would never see them again. He could still recall every word of the last conversation with his mother, nearly three years ago, her voice dripping with scorn as if she loathed everything about him.

‘You were an accident. A mistake. I was nineteen, and you were the result of a. . . well, not a one-night stand, exactly, but not much more than that. I can’t remember if they’d had the morning-after pill in those days, but if they did I wish to God I’d known about them. Would have made my life a darn sight easier.’

And mine
, Kyle had often thought since.

His early childhood had been chaotic. The few settled spells had been at his grandmother’s rural home in Hampshire, but she and his mum would invariably fall out over something, and then Mum would drag him off to some dingy bedsit at the other end of the country, usually chasing jobs, men, or both. Each relocation meant different schools, different faces and fashions, different taunts in different accents – but the humiliation, the pain, hardly varied at all.

Then, when Kyle was nine, his mother was rescued by a wealthy Canadian man a decade her senior. Off they trooped to Forest Hill, an upscale suburb of Toronto, to start anew. Kyle quite liked the city, and the climate – and, of course, the affluence – but in this new home he was only ever tolerated at best. Soon he learned to carve out a life of his own: solitary, silent, invisible.

His mum disgorged three kids in quick succession, and with each one it couldn’t have been clearer that Kyle was taking up space better occupied by the
real
family. After a final showdown – when Kyle had perhaps said and done a few things he shouldn’t – he had returned to Britain and gone to live with his grandmother while studying for his A levels.

That had worked out okay for a while, but his grandma was already ill by then, grouchy as hell and happy to treat Kyle as her personal slave. Within a few months he’d found a place to crash through some colleagues at the DIY store where he worked part-time. They introduced him to the party scene around Portsmouth, and before long he’d been fired from the job and kicked out of college. He’d bummed around for a while, sofa-surfing and living on his wits, borrowing from his gran when she agreed to it; stealing from her when she didn’t. . . and then he met Gabriel at a party.

The Leader was only a budding prophet at that stage, though the messiah complex had been immediately evident. He was already in a loose relationship with Ilsa, the estranged daughter of an Anglo-German actress and a Belgian diplomat. A few months later, Kyle introduced Milo, who he’d known at college, and Milo brought along his friend, confidante and unrequited sex object, Lara. Gabriel wanted Lara from the moment he saw her, and she was dazzled by his interest: it was a fait accompli which both Milo and Ilsa accepted without a word of protest.

And with that, the Brood was complete, though it would be another year or more before they embarked on their present journey. Gabriel’s plans only crystallised once they had found a place to live together – and for that they had Kyle to thank. For the past eight months their base had been the remote, rundown bungalow belonging to Kyle’s late grandmother. His aunt, who lived in Scotland, had allowed him to stay there rent-free, partly to keep an eye on the place and partly to spite Kyle’s mum, who she despised.

Without a doubt, all four of them had been lost – emotionally, spiritually and any other which way – when they became sucked into Gabriel’s orbit: all susceptible to a commanding figure who could offer some purpose to their lives.

Kyle had come to regard the Armageddon stuff as Gabriel’s schtick, while also recognising that it was entirely plausible. Certainly the man’s formula for survival chimed with Kyle’s deeply felt antipathy towards the rest of humanity, so he’d willingly gone along with the indoctrination. Who wouldn’t want the sense of absolute power that Gabriel could bestow? It still made him hard when he pictured the moment he’d released that paving slab into the path of a speeding car on the M27; harder still when he thought of how he’d sneaked into the Turners’ house last Thursday.

Lara had provided the distraction, while his mission had been to hide the dead man’s trainer. Finding the laptop had been an amazing thrill, but nothing like the feeling he got from being alone in the house with Wendy: that moment when she’d come upstairs to pack, and he had been hiding in the main bedroom; knowing that if she walked in and saw him, he’d have to
do
something, right there and then. . .

Kill her – or maybe more than that.

H
e thought
about it at length while he masturbated, running through an alternative scenario where Milo hadn’t sneaked into the garden and thumped on the terrace door, creating the distraction that enabled Kyle to leave the house without being seen.

He was riding out the vague sense of self-loathing that always followed an orgasm when he heard creaking from the ceiling above. He tracked the tiny sounds along the landing and down the stairs. Someone was taking care not to wake anyone else.

Then a tapping at the door, and the handle turned; Lara’s cute little nose poked into the room, her eyes big and frightened: the proverbial rabbit in headlights, except that she was also holding the gun.

‘It’s Gabriel,’ she said, her voice a husky whisper of panic. ‘I can’t wake him.’