ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror(84)

Andrew opened his eyes wide, trying to see more clearly. He wasn’t completely certain, but it looked like Frankie was lying dead on the floor in front of him. Davie had shot his own brother.

Andrew shook his head with disbelief. “W-Why?”

Davie didn’t answer Andrew’s question. Instead he simply said, “I’ll go and get some help.” Then he left the room, dropping the gun on the floor beside his dead brother along the way.

Andrew realised that he hadn’t taken a breath in almost a minute. He expelled the air from his lungs and things in the room slowly came into focus. The first thing he made out was Officer Dalton on the floor beside him.

“Hey,” he said to her. “It’s over now. Help will be here soon…Officer Dalton…Laura?”

Andrew put a hand on the woman’s chest and rocked her gently, and then more firmly. She did not wake up. Her body slid sideways and flopped onto the sticky tiles. The blood had stopped pumping from her stomach and she was no longer breathing.

Andrew mourned the loss of her more than he would have expected. He had met the policewoman only days earlier, yet she had been a massive part of the reason he and his daughter were still alive. He would never forget what she did for him – her sacrifice.

“Dad?”

Bex’s voice was like music, clearing away the nightmares that filled Andrew’s head and replacing it with love and hope. His daughter would be safe and that made the world bearable again. It was just him and her now. He would never let anything hurt her again.

“Everything is going to be okay, honey. It’s over.”

Andrew’s vision cleared and he used it to make certain Frankie was dead. The bullet wound in his temple made it very clear that he was. Andrew took in the deepest breath he had ever taken in his life and then let it out slowly. He was about to lose consciousness, but before he did, he managed to smile.

Yep, he thought sleepily. It’s finally over.





Epilogue


April 17th

Dear Diary

Today is my eighteenth birthday. Dad and I spent the afternoon at Mum’s grave. We both still miss her every day. Visiting the cemetery helps alleviate some of the pain, but I know it affects Dad differently than it does me. He still blames himself for being unable to protect us that week Frankie forced himself into our lives.

It still shocks me that Davie Walker shot his older brother that day, to save me and my father. I’ll never know the full reasons why he did it, but I can still picture him now, squeezing that trigger as though the weight of the world fought against him. It must have been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. But he did it anyway. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.

After the events in the hospital, the police arrested Davie for murder, but after they took my Dad’s statement about what happened, they offered him a deal: testify against Dom in exchange for a reduced sentence. He was looking at about five years. When my Dad got a lawyer involved, the police dropped the charges altogether. Murder in self-defence.

Davie went into care after it was discovered what a poor excuse for a mother he had. His identity was withheld to protect him from the media-circus that ensued to cover what came to be known as the West Midland’s Massacre. I don’t know what happened to him after that, but I hope he’s okay.



Eventually my wounds healed and things went back to normal, little by little. We sold the house and moved to the country, away from the pavements and lampposts of urban living, and away from the memories that haunted us. Somehow, I managed to get my head together enough to finish high school and move on to college. I’m about to start university – my first year studying Law. All in all, I managed to get through the ordeal Frankie put us through with my mind and body still intact. A scar across my stomach the only physical reminder of the night I nearly died.

Dad hasn’t been so lucky. Even three years later, he still walks with a pronounced limp. The wounds of his mind are even worse. Sometimes when we watch TV together he starts crying for no reason. His emotions don’t work the way they used to. If I go out without calling him every two hours, he panics.

It’s not all bad, though. After what happened, there was a media furore about how the police had failed my family and about how all the red tape in the criminal justice system did nothing but hurt the people that needed protecting the most. My dad fronted a campaign to increase police powers, and he succeeded. Now young offenders can be given something called an ASBO and placed on a public register for as long as the police deem necessary. They can also be escorted back to their homes if they’re caught congregating after nine o’clock at night. It isn’t much, but it’s a start. People at least have hope again.