ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror(55)

Andrew looked at the officers, examined the concern on their faces and looked for gaps. It seemed genuine and Andrew was left with little doubt that these two police officers were just people like anybody else. They emphasized with his pain and despised the fact that demons like Frankie could walk the earth unobstructed. Their offers of assistance were real, but right now Andrew had no clues what to ask for – or if he even needed anything from them at all.

Before Andrew had chance to reply, a fully-scrubbed surgeon stepped out of one of the operating theatres and approached him with caution. “Mr Goodman?”

Andrew stood up, his knees shaking uncontrollably. “Yes, that’s me.”

The surgeon nodded and smiled. “Your daughter has been stabilised for now. There is some damage to the digestive tract that could possibly cause complications later or some lasting damage, but we’ve managed to stem any internal bleeding and she’s no longer in critical condition.”

Andrew didn’t absorb a single word. None of what the doctor said had informed him with absolute certainty what he really needed to know. “Is she going to make it?”

The surgeon nodded. “Barring anything unexpected your daughter should make a full recovery. As I said, the damage to her large intestine could cause some issues, but nothing that can’t be managed. You’ll be able to see her in a few hours when we move her somewhere more comfortable.”

Andrew let out a sigh of relief that seemed to go on forever. He heard similar sounds from the police officers beside him. “What about my wife?” Andrew asked the surgeon, moving on to his next concern now that the previous one was over.

The surgeon shook his head and seemed apologetic. Andrew fought away the overwhelming urge to vomit as the man spoke. “I’m afraid Dr Kilkarny is the attending for your wife, so I can’t give you much information. From my cursory examination of her wounds, however, I would not be optimistic. I’m sorry, Mr Goodman.”

Andrew felt all the blood in his body drop to his feet, threatening to tip him over like a statue in the wind. The surgeon turned and walked away, back towards Bex’s room. Andrew collapsed backwards and officer Wardsley caught him, directing his fall towards the bench and setting him down.

As Andrew fought to get his breathing under control, he looked the officers dead in their eyes and said, “I need a favour.”





Chapter Twenty-One


Sunshine crept into the room and smothered Davie’s face. His eyelids fluttered as his pupils reacted to the light and it took him a few minutes to open them fully. Once a little more awake he looked around himself to get his bearings. The living room was foreign and bizarre but, after a few moments, Damien recalled the memories of last night. This was Damien’s place; the current location of his on-going nightmare.

No one else inhabited the room currently and Davie had the entire plush sofa to himself. He was alone in someone else’s house and suddenly felt very vulnerable.

“Everyone has gone back to their own gaffs,” said Frankie from the doorway. He must have been standing there unbeknownst to Davie for a while.

“Didn’t you want us all to stick together?”

Frankie walked into the room and sat on a futon opposite the sofa. “At first, yeah, but Damien told me that if the police come and find us in a group matching the exact description that a victim gave it would corroborate their evidence. I gave everyone their stories and sent them on their way. They know what to say so don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” said Davie. “I don’t know what I feel. Last night was f*cked up.”

Frankie nodded in agreement, seeming to reminisce about the events. “Should never have gone down that way. Way too messy leaving things like that. Jordan’s face was really messed up this morning – think it’s infected or something. My fault, though; should have dealt with things better…more neatly.”

“What do you mean?” asked Davie. “You should have killed them?”

Frankie shrugged. “Maybe. Too late now, though. We just need to be ready.”

“Ready how?”

Frankie smiled and tilted his body forward, sliding off the futon onto his knees. He reached an arm underneath the sofa and retrieved a flat wooden box, placing it carefully on his lap.

Davie frowned. “What’s that?”

“Our insurance policy,” said Frankie, unfastening a pair of brass clips on either end of the box and popping the lid.