ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror(61)

Fortunately, as Andrew moved away from the street lamps that lit the entrance to the main building, the blood became less of an issue. The blood stains were nondescript blotches in the darkness of the shadows and would be of no concern to a casual observer. They could be paint stains for all anybody knew.

Andrew reached the taxi and pulled open the rear door. The car was a featureless, silver saloon and the driver was a young Asian man who nodded at him as he entered the vehicle.

“Where to, my friend?”

Andrew gave his address and the driver set off, pulling out onto the main road speedily as if he had done so a thousand times before. It had gotten dark outside and the weather had started to worsen, too. The rain increased gradually as if it had been waiting for night to fall before it could get started on its relentless tirade.

“Bad winter this year, my friend,” said the driver, peering back into the rearview mirror to look at Andrew.

Andrew didn’t want to make eye-contact so looked down at his hands. His fingers were stiffening under a thick cake of Jordan’s blood. “Yeah,” he replied after a few seconds, deciding that making conversation would be less suspicious. “A lot of snow coming apparently. Hope there’s no accidents on the road like last year. That was a bad one.”

The driver nodded. “That poor man and his family? Drunk driver killed his wife and child?”

I know how he feels, thought Andrew, but then chastised himself for it. Bex was going to be okay and he would not know the loss of a child. He thanked God for that.

“The guy doesn’t live that far from me actually,” Andrew added. “He drinks in The Trumpet, I think.”

“Rough in there,” said the driver. “I’ve picked up some very nasty people.”

“Wouldn’t know,” said Andrew. “Never been in there myself. Not much of a drinker.”

“Best way, my friend. Alcohol never did anyone any good.” The driver changed the subject. “So everything okay at the hospital? You look very tired. Hope it’s not bad news.”

“Just my grandfather,” Andrew lied, shocked at the ease in which it came. “Cancer.”

The driver glanced back over his shoulder and gave the obligatory sad face. “That’s not good, my friend. I am sorry for you.”

“It’s fine. He’s very old and he had a good life.”

What am I saying? My grandfather died twenty years ago.

There was silence in the car for the rest of the journey. Perhaps the driver had sensed Andrew’s discomfort in the way the conversation was going. Reading people was something taxi drivers probably got pretty good at over time.

“Where about, my friend?”

Andrew looked out the window to see that they had entered his street. It wasn’t the wholesome grouping of quaint properties it had been when Andrew purchased a house there several years ago. Things looked different now; its seedy underbelly exposed forever. There was an atmosphere of menace hanging over the street now. Perhaps Andrew was the only one to sense it – but it was there alright.

“Just drop me here,” he told the taxi driver. “Next to the red Mercedes.”

The taxi driver pulled up next to Andrew’s car and thankfully didn’t seem to notice the graffiti all over it. The man requested fifteen-pounds for the fare, which was extortionate for the small distance travelled, but Andrew didn’t complain at the amount, and in fact paid twenty. Making another enemy was something Andrew couldn’t cope with right now – regardless of how inconsequential.

He thanked the driver and stepped out into the cold air and drizzle. The view of the street was a ghostly haze as the street lamps reflected off the falling rain. For some reason the taxi driver felt the need to say goodbye by beeping his horn and the sudden sharp honk made Andrew jump. His body still coursed with so much adrenaline that each droplet of rain that hit his skin was like a tingling pin prick.

He reached down into his jean pocket and pulled out his house keys, before heading down the path to his house and inserting them in the lock. Even from outside, the blood stains were visible across the porch floor, leading all the way back down the hallway beyond.

Upon entering his house, Andrew locked the porch behind him. Not something he would have worried about once, but the possibility of intruders had become a reality for him. It wasn’t just something that happened to other people anymore.

Andrew stepped through into the living room and was shocked by the chaos that met him. Despite being witness to how the room got into such a state, he still couldn’t believe the amount on gore that matted everything – right down from the carpet to several small spots on the ceiling. The smell of mashed up fish and chips had been replaced by the far more noxious odour of metallic, tangy blood.