Holy Island Trilogy 02 - Nowhere Man

NOWHERE MAN

eBook published in 2012 by Burgess Books

Copyright © Sheila Quigley 2009

All rights reserved

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

ISBN-13:
9780956654656

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or any means without written permission from the copyright holder, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in connection with a review for insertion in a newspaper, magazine, website, or broadcast

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data:
A catalogue record for this book is available from
the British Library

Print book printed & bound in Great Britain
by MacKay’s of Chatham

Burgess Books

1 Cellar Hill Terrace

Houghton le Spring

Tyne and Wear

DH4 4EB

PROLOGUE

Shelly Monroe opened her eyes. Slowly, she moved her head to the right and groaned loudly. What the----? she thought, feeling as if she’d been pushed through a meat grinder.

The memories came rushing back then, as her shaking fingers found the bandage around her neck. She pictured the raised knife coming towards her, and relived the horrendous pain as it bit into her skin and sliced across her neck.  Amazed that she was still alive, and knowing that status could change at any moment, she muttered softly, ‘Gotta get out of here, find some help. Like, now!’

She remembered how she’d suffered at the hands of his servants, how they had raped her repeatedly. She saw him leaning over her, smiling, his stinking breath in her face. As he slashed her throat, and how he had said sarcastically, ‘Goodbye.’

Yeah, I’ll goodbye you. Really I should be dead, but this dead bitch has been given another chance. A chance to wipe you scumbags off the earth.

‘I know where you’ll be!’ she muttered, surprised she could talk at all. ‘And I’m coming!’

Strands of her long black hair were trapped under her shoulder. She gagged at the memory of her hair being caught in the wound. A low moan escaped her as she relived the pain of her hair sliding through the slash in her neck, snagging on the stitches, to be slowly eased out, strand by sticky strand. Hair, like water, can get anywhere, she thought. Wincing in pain, her jaw clamped tight so as not to make a sound, she slowly, very gently eased her hair from underneath her neck and shoulder. She tried so hard not to scream, knowing they could be here now, watching her every move, catching her every breath. The thought made her shudder - but it also made her more determined than ever to seek justice.

This was the second morning she’d woken up not knowing where she was.  She thought for a moment, then a chill swept through her. Only…only…this isn’t proper morning! Her eyes flew to the window. Pitch black out there. Must be about two or three o'clock. So what the hell woke me up?

She sat up slowly. Apart from the soreness in her throat, she was feeling much better than she had the last time she’d been awake - except for the burning need inside for the drugs they had been feeding her for days in the monastery. She sighed, knowing she would have to overcome this need if the plans she was forming in her head were ever going to work.

Looking around the dimly-lit room, she shivered as a strange feeling of apprehension stole over her. She could see the guard through the window onto the corridor, a big meaty guy, but his presence gave her no comfort. In, fact it made her want to laugh out loud - one man against the might of the Families!

A joke.

Even that Rambo copper Mike Yorke hasn’t got the full picture. He’ll be lucky if he lasts another day, if he keeps on storming about making waves all over the place.

He hasn’t got a flaming clue what he’s up against!

As if suddenly realising exactly what she herself was up against, her heart rebounded. She gave a small breathless sob of fear as she looked wildly around.

Got to get out of here, and fast.

For God's sake, I’m a sitting duck!

Knowing she had no time at all to waste, and beginning to feel the first surges of panic, she swung her feet over the side of the bed, ripping the tubes out of her arms. Blue hospital nightgown flapping open at the back, she placed one foot after the other onto the cold floor. Slowly she stood up, taking deep breaths, giving herself a small nod of encouragement as she felt no really bad side effects. Just a trifle weak.

‘Oooh,’ she moaned. Sore down there. The bastards, the dirty fucking bastards!

Must have been damn good stuff they’ve been pumping in to me here, though. Could have helped get rid of some of the shit. She'd been hooked up to quite a few different bags, dripping God knows what into her veins.

Giving the room another once over, she padded towards a cheap pale brown wardrobe beside the window. Opening the door, she heaved a sigh of relief. Her clothes, jeans, red t-shirt and black jacket were hanging there on old-fashioned wire coat hangers, black running shoes side by side on the floor. She reached to pick one of the hangers up and caught her finger on the uncovered hook.

‘Now that’s damned dangerous,’ she muttered, shaking her hand and putting her finger in her mouth.

On the floor of the wardrobe, her black overnight case had toppled over and was lying on its side. Hopefully her insulin was also in there.

Thank you, God. She heaved a sigh of relief as she found her insulin pens. She needed her insulin more than anything. Clothes  she could have nicked - a place as big as this had to have clothes lying around somewhere. Good that the clothes were here though, the last thing she needed was some crazy guard yelling his head off. Thank you Danny…or brothers!

Probably the Brothers Grim, she thought, kneeling down and rifling through the bag. Finding four more insulin pens in a side pocket, she smiled briefly. No way would Danny remember that stuff. She sat back on her heels and sighed at the thought of Danny.

Shit! Gotta get a move on. Right now, while most of the place is probably asleep.

Quickly she dressed, becoming more angry when she noticed quite a lot of bruises on her body. No wonder I’m feeling stiff all over. The bastards!

Shuddering at the memory of where the bruises had come from and exactly what had been done to her, she paused for a second to brush the moisture from her eyes.

No point in feeling sorry for myself. I brought most of it on my own head, and now it’s up to me to sort it.

Grabbing her bag, she moved quietly to the door. The police guard had his head turned to the left, as if he was watching someone walking down the corridor towards him.

Her heart sank at the sheer size of him. Shit! He’s a big one all right. How the hell am I gonna get out of here?

Frustrated, she looked around. Damn. Nothing at all she could use as a weapon. Again she was flooded with self-doubt. Who am I to think I can take them on?

She sighed, and chewed her fingernail. If I had any sense, I’d give up now.

Yeah, well - to hell with that. Our Gary always says I’ve got no sense. He’ll be pleased to know he’s right for once.

Her heart rate speeding up more and more with the need to get away, thinking quickly and throwing caution to the wind she came up with a plan. Tearing her clothes off, she stuffed them into the bag, and put her nightdress back on.

She would say she needed to use the toilet, dress in the bathroom and climb out of the window. ‘Yes, it might work… It’s friggin’ well gotta work… Got no other choice,’ she muttered, making her way to the door again.

The guard was looking to the right now. If I can get this door open without making a sound, then run as fast as I can, I might be able to do it. After all, it’s the last thing he’s expecting.

As her hand touched the handle, she heard two quick thumping noises. A second later, the guard made a gurgling sound and fell to the floor.

She froze in horror.

Oh Christ!

It’s them.

They’ve found me already!

The window.

Get out. Get out!

Who gives a shit if I’m just about buck naked.

Not me - and certainly not them!

Her heart going rapidly into overdrive, she reached the window in a few strides. Pushing it open, she looked down. Two floors. Damn. I’ll break my legs.

What the hell am I gonna do?

Think! Think, for God’s sake!

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

17 hours earlier

DI Mike Yorke ground out the cigarette with the heel of his shoe. He glanced over at Smiler, who quickly looked away.

Smiler, named for the up curving knife scars at each side of his mouth, could sense the anger coming from Mike. He could see it in his eyes, and was lost. Over the preceding three months, after years of mental and physical abuse, addiction to anything he could get his hands on, doing whatever it took to get it, no matter who got hurt in the process, Smiler had come to see Mike as his rock. He had at last found a home with Mike and his Aunt May, on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne just off the north east coast of England. He was finally living the family life he hadn’t even known he was craving, for as long as he could remember.

But that life had been shaken to the core by the events of the last few days, leading to a night of pure horror. All Smiler could see ahead of them was more of the same-and a darkness so deep it was practically impenetrable.

‘You’ll have to go home,’ Mike said suddenly, his voice low. He yawned and scratched the dark stubble on his chin.

Mike’s silence over the last hour had worried Smiler as much as anything else. He knew that Mike was not by any means a quiet man. It had not taken him long to learn that if Mike was quiet, it usually meant trouble was brewing - and beware because he would be ready to explode at any time.

‘What do you mean, home?’ Trembling inside, Smiler waited for his answer, praying he didn’t mean back down to London. That was the last place he wanted to be. He had finally come to know what home really meant. Home was Holy Island. Home was Mike. Home was Aunt May, now lying in a coma. Looking away, Smiler knuckled a tear out of his eye, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark grey tracksuit.

‘To see to the mutt, of course, what else?’ Mike said. ‘He’ll need walking and feeding, won’t he? We already know he’s the cleverest mutt ever born, but even he can’t open a can of dog food.’ Mike held his hands up and wiggled his thumbs. ‘He ain’t got any of these, see.’

‘Clever shit,’ Smiler retorted.

‘Yup.’

Hiding his relief, and quickly looking the other way, while hastily drying his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and praying Mike had not glimpsed his tears, Smiler sighed, before asking quietly, ‘So where you going, like?’

‘I’ve got things to do. Places to be.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Smiler.’ Mike waited until Smiler finally turned to look at him. ‘You know what I have to do. You also know how dangerous it’s gonna be. The last thing I want is you trailing after me and getting yourself into danger. There is so much yet for me to find out, and I don’t want to drag you into harm's way.’

Smiler shook his head. His face turned ashen. ‘No, Mike, don’t go… I…I can't see any way back. Please, Mike, leave it. It’s all black and I can't see anything past it.’

Mike sighed. He was bone weary, with the beginning of a nagging headache. ‘I can't leave it, you have no idea what’s at stake. And the little you do know puts you and the others at risk. So you leave it, eh?’

‘No. I won't.’ Smiler glared at Mike.

‘You’re gonna have to, Smiler. This is not a game. For God’s sake, listen for once.’

'I can't… And you know what they say, a little knowledge is a bad thing. Just tell me all of it, so I can fucking well deal with it. All I know is that something bad is coming.’

‘I suspect you know a lot more than you’re letting on, anyhow. According to you, you and some of your friends know a hell of a lot, remember?’

Smiler scowled. ‘But you don’t believe me, do you? Even though I was right, more than friggin’ once.’

‘Sheer coincidence, mate.’

‘So you keep saying, but you can’t be sure of that.’ Smiler shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, his mouth set in a stubborn line. ‘Can you?’

Mike shook his head. ‘Sorry, Smiler, but as far as I’m concerned, the least you know the safer you’ll be. The safer you’ll all be. And I need to know Aunt May will be looked after.’

‘But Brother David----’

‘Will really need your help. And be told when to sleep and when to flaming well eat, 'cause trust me, he’ll sit there with his hands clasped together spouting a load of rubbish until he drops. Or the whole world collapses around him.’

Pushing his long lean frame off the wall he’d been leaning on, Mike looked up at the hospital. His dark eyes scoured the windows. He figured Aunt May’s room was the fifth one along. As he stared at the window, memories came tumbling over each other as if blown by a reckless March wind.

Aunt May, strong and tall, demanding that she be allowed to foster three homeless boys. The only one standing in her way, her sour faced boss at Social Services, knowing he would never be able to replace her. He should have realised who he was taking on.