Metal Urge (39 page)

“You took my sister away from me.”  He pulled something out of his pocket.  “You took my mother away from me.”  He grabbed the IV tube, his face tight with fury.  “But you
won’t
take my wife away from me.”  A syringe filled with a crystal clear liquid glinted in the dim light as Tom brought it up to his face, peering closely at the contents and sighed.  “Trevor became the perfect scapegoat.  He unwittingly signed a confession, admitting that he tampered with the Jaguar’s brakes during the wee hours of Boxing Day.  It was brilliant actually, seeing that the heartbroken sod spent the holiday right next door to Deanna's cursed Christmas gift.  After my dad told me about the Jag, I did a bit of research and found the perfect solution: steering fluid in the brake system. They say it's amazing how quickly the fluid destroys all the bits and bobs that keep the brakes performing in tip top shape.”  Thom shrugged and looked at Nigel, his blue eyes gleaming maliciously in the dim light.  “I had no idea if it would actually work.  Unfortunately it only did half the job so I’m forced to do the rest.”  He tapped the syringe to remove any air bubbles.  “Before we left for Bilston, I donned latex gloves, typed up the confession letter on Trevor’s typewriter, and asked him to sign it.  He was so bloody out of it thanks to Maggi's relationship with your mate Nick, he couldn‘t even manage to read what it said.  Trevor thought the document was a character reference for my solicitor.  I handed him the letter while wearing my winter gloves so his were the only prints on the stationary.”

Smiling at Nigel's terrified face, Thom continued his story.  “I sealed his fate by leaving one of his cigarette butts in your dad’s garage for the fuzz to find and planted the work gloves stained with steering fluid in a dustbin near his home before paying him a visit this morning.”  Thom looked at the syringe and shook his head.  “The poor bloke was so distraught that his precious Maggi died in that unfortunate car accident, he did himself in with an overdose of heroin right before I left his house.  I was getting him a drink when he shot himself up with the fatal dose.  Man, it was awful watching him die like that.  It wasn't supposed to go down that way.  He wasn't supposed to die.”

Taking a deep breath, Thom turned his attention back to the IV.  “I reckoned he would spend a few years in a mental hospital.  But that was all.”  Thom felt Nigel's stare burning into him and shrugged.  “Trevor didn't deserve any of this.  Pinning the crime on him was evil, I know.  But it was a necessary evil.  You
had
to be dealt with,” Thom said solemnly.  Sighing heavily, he inserted the needle into the IV port.  “Once the coppers receive the signed confession covered with Trevor's fingerprints, no one will ever suspect that it was me who committed the crime.  Quite a clever coup for a Black Country yob, wouldn’t you agree?”  He pushed the plunger down slowly and watched the liquid swirl into the IV tube, then pulled out the hypo and stashed it in his jacket.  “That, dear Nigel, is heroin in its purest, most potent form---none of that street rubbish for poor Trevor.  I’ve done you a favor, mate.  You’re dying easy unlike Maggi and Nick who were so horribly mangled in that accident.  Say hello for me when you see them in hell,” he smirked and turned away to watch Nigel’s heart monitor.

Without warning a hand clamped down on his arm and squeezed.  Thom turned and looked into his old mate's eyes as a few tears coursed down Nigel’s bruised and battered face.  “You forced me to do it, you fucking bastard!” he cried.  “I loved you like a brother, but you took everyone that ever mattered away from me.  Deanna was the last straw.  I love her more than you can possibly imagine.  So much more than a selfish shit like you ever could.  Why
couldn’t you just leave us alone?”  As Nigel’s eyes began to glaze over, his grip loosened and his hand fell to the bed.  Thom placed the call button next to Nigel’s limp hand, wiping away any fingerprints with the bed sheet, trying hard to ignore the sound of the dying man's choking gasps as his lungs ceased to function.  The heart monitor was gradually slowing down, its beeps sounding weak as the substantial dose of heroin continued its task of shutting down Nigel’s vital organs.  Thom massaged the IV tube to make sure no trace of heroin could be detected, his heart pounding when the heart monitor flat lined and issued a steady shrill whine.  Hands shaking wildly, he struggled to remove the latex gloves, stuffing them into his pocket as he ran to the door shouting for help.  Hospital staff hurried into Nigel's room as the call for a Code Blue blared from the speakers.  Wiping the sweat from his face, Thom watched the white uniforms rush past.

It was too late.  The deed was done.

He leaned against the wall and covered his face with trembling hands so that no one could see the monster coiled and sated behind his neon blue eyes.

Deanna exited the lift, a cup of hot tea she’d brought for Thom clutched in her hand.  She saw him leaning against the wall outside of Nigel’s room with his hands over his face, and several nurses walking away, their expressions solemn.  A male nurse pushed a crash cart into the hallway and turned around to go back into the quiet room, leaving the door open.  Someone lifted Nigel’s sheet and pulled it over his head.

Screaming, Deanna dropped the scalding tea and raced towards the doorway.  “Nigel!” she shrieked, “Please God, no!”

Her screams brought nurses running to her aide.  She pushed and tore at them with her fingernails, wailing and pleading for God to bring Nigel back to her.  It wasn‘t fair, he wasn‘t supposed to die.  She loved him, God, how she loved him.

A doctor rushed over to help the nurses, plunging a syringe into Deanna’s arm as she sobbed and screamed Nigel's name over and over.  The sedative didn’t take effect quickly enough, and they had to pull her off of his lifeless body as hospital aides wheeled the gurney out of his room.

Thom watched in horror as Deanna sank slowly to the floor, unable to fight the effects of the powerful sedative any longer.  He wiped away tears as hospital staff carried her into an empty room: angry, agonized tears at being forced to witness his wife go mad with grief over her dead lover.  Her reaction wounded him so deeply, he could barely stand.  He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.  “I did it for us, baby,” he cried softly.  ''God, forgive me...I did it for us.”

****

After blatantly lying to one of the doctors on call about what had occurred while he was visiting Nigel, Thom rushed out of the hospital, desperate to get away from the memory of that cold, dark room where Nigel took his last dying breath.  As he stood outside in the crisp, icy air, he breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm his frazzled nerves and his wildly beating heart.

Nigel was dead.

He felt no sense of relief; no liberating feeling of victory; only a loathsome, vile sensation worming its way slowly through his guts.  He shivered and pulled his leather jacket tighter as a vivid memory filled his mind:

“You lads stay away from that tree!” Davina Guilford said sternly.  “I won't tell you again.  Next time you'll get a hiding you'll never forget.”  She fluffed her hair, a familiar nervous gesture, and crossed her arms.

Nigel glanced at him then back at his mother, nodding his assent.  “We will, mum.  I promise.”

“You'd better,” she huffed and strode out of the room, high heels clicking on the thinly carpeted floor.

They ran out of the house, laughing uncontrollably as they reached the sprawling field behind the housing estate.

“You lads stay away from that tree!” Nigel crowed in a shrill, nasally voice.

He gave Nigel a “thumbs up” for his spot on impression of Mrs. Guilford while prancing around on his tippy toes making clicking noises and fluffing his hair.  Turning back to the housing estate, he made a rude gesture towards Nigel's house.  Howling with laughter at their clever impersonations, they scampered towards the infamous tree.  Looking at one another, they grinned wickedly and began to climb, the rough bark scraping against the inside of their legs.

“Who's gonna get to the top first?” he yelled.

“Me!” Nigel shouted just as he lost his foothold and plummeted backwards.

“Nigel!” he screamed, watching in horror as his best mate hit the ground with a loud thud.

Scrambling down through the branches, he jumped off of the lowest branch and landed a few feet away from Nigel's still form.  He approached him slowly, terror making it almost impossible to walk.

“Nigel? Mate?” he stammered, unable to tell if he was breathing.

“Fuck!  Bloody fuck!” he said under his breath as he knelt down next to Nigel’s body.  Tears pricked his eyelids when he touched his mate’s deathly pale face.

Suddenly Nigel coughed and grabbed his wrist.  “Help me, Thom,” he wheezed.  He touched his upper thigh and moaned.  “It hurts really bad.”

If Nigel's leg was broken they were done for.

“It's bleeding.  I can feel it.”  Nigel feebly pulled up the hem of his shorts and groaned.

A long, ragged cut ran up the side of his thigh.  Although it was bleeding, it didn't look very deep.

“Is it bad?” Nigel asked, clutching his wrist so hard it was painful.

“Nah, you poncy, little wank,” he teased, patting Nigel's hand.  “I'm gonna go get my da’s first aid kit.  I'll have you fixed up and right as rain in no time a’ tall.”

Nigel sighed and smiled at him, never doubting that he would save the day.

The look of complete trust and brotherly love in Nigel's eyes that day brought them closer together than they had ever been.  It was a bond forged literally in blood.

Davina Guilford never found out about her son's close call.  It was a secret the two friends would share until they went to their graves.

Until
he
went to
his
grave.

Sharp claws dug deep into his gut and twisted.

“Oh my God, what have I done?” he moaned, stumbling towards a bushy green hedge, retching into it until his throat was on fire.  “
What the fuck have I done
?”  Sinking to his knees, he sobbed and called out Nigel's name.

He got no answer.

There was only the murmur of rustling wind swirling dead leaves around his sobbing form with a sound like dry, accusing laughter.

Chapter 46

“Let me sleep, Nigel.  Please, let me sleep.  I’ve had awful nightmares,” Deanna mumbled thickly.  She turned over and buried her face in Nigel’s pillow.

“Deanna, you need to wake up now.”

She pushed at the hand gently shaking her shoulder.  “I don’t want to wake up.  I’m too afraid.”

Neville pulled his hand away and took a deep breath.  The girl was obviously still heavily under the influence of the powerful sedatives the doctor had prescribed after her meltdown at the hospital a couple of days ago.  Not that he blamed her for her heartbreaking emotional outburst.  He got up and gazed out of the window, distressed by the thought of what was to take place after his parents arrived.  Moving away from the window, he looked around the small room, noticing the closet door was ajar.  Neville hesitated and then opened the door slowly, taking in the heartrending sight of his brother’s clothes hanging neatly beside Deanna’s.  It made his heart judder madly and painfully in his chest, forcing a fresh stream of tears down his unshaven cheeks.  He still couldn’t come to terms with Nigel’s death---it was so bloody unfair that he had survived that horrific car crash only to die after three long weeks of painful recovery.  Thom insisted that Nigel seemed fine until the moment he went into cardiac arrest.  The doctors didn’t act all that surprised.  They maintained that in traumatic injury cases like Nigel’s, the patient was in a sort of limbo that could go either way.

Neville glanced back at Deanna, recalling the day the police told his father about the torn and bloody leather jacket recovered at the scene.  Tucked in a zippered inner pocket was an envelope with a special Christmas card addressed to Deanna.  It contained Polaroid photographs of Nigel and the gorgeous black Jaguar, his face beaming with love and pride as he posed with her stunning Christmas gift.  The police had given the envelope to his father, who in turn, handed it over to him simply because he didn’t want to be bothered with Nigel’s blonde, American tart.  He was ashamed that his son had been shacking up with a married woman---his best mate's wife no less.  Both of his parents had been deeply shamed by their son's behavior.  Neville had to admit that he felt a bit ashamed of Nigel as well until he experienced the powerful effect of Deanna's love and devotion on his brother's will to survive.  There was no denying they had loved each other deepl
y
..
.
how could he find fault with that?  The burden of presenting Nigel's final gift to the woman he loved had fallen on him.  Neville could almost feel the agony that envelope would bring the frail little girl lying alone in Nigel’s bed.  Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, he shook Deanna’s arm and called her name, glad to see her eyes finally open.

She looked around groggily and then squinted at him.  “Why are you here?” she muttered, her mouth sticky and dry.

“Do you remember anything?”

Deanna shrugged, looking down at Nigel’s pillow, her eyes suddenly wide with horror.  “It wasn’t a nightmare!” she gasped, clamping her hands over her mouth.  A muffled moan escaped between her trembling fingers, sounding loud and harsh in the deathly quiet bedroom.