The Death Club Read online

  I allow her to take my hand.

  “There we go!” she says, full of cheer again.

  She puts the handcuff back around my wrist, binding me to the headboard.

  She sits up again and rests her hands on my belly, making me feel stupid and pathetic, and she seems to enjoy it.

  “Are you worried about your dad?” she asks me.

  I don’t answer, which she takes as a yes.

  “I promise he’ll die quickly. As long as he doesn’t struggle too much, that is…”

  She stands. Wanders around my room, running her hand over my compact mirror, over the draws of my cupboard, looking at the posters on my wall.

  “And what about me?” I ask her. “Am I going to die quickly?”

  She turns back to me with what appears to be a renewed sense of excitement.

  Is this turning her on? Thrilling her? Does she find my torment exhilarating? There is so much wrong with this girl. With her and her dad. I’d feel sorry for her if she wasn’t so terrifying.

  “Oh, eventually,” she says, casually. “I mean, once I get round to it.”

  “And until then?”

  “Just thought we could hang out, you know? Like girlfriends.”

  “I’m not your friend.”

  “Of course not. You don’t have friends.” She sighs. “Yes, you’re right, I guess I better not delay it too much.”

  She looks me dead in the eyes.

  “I promise not to torture you,” she says, then runs her hand up my leg and adds, “once you can’t scream anymore, that is.”

  54

  Will

  “She’s sweet, isn’t she?”

  My eyes open. I must have been out for seconds.

  My cheek is on the floor, with my body still bound to the chair that sticks up in the air. Felix’s large black shoes pause a few feet from my face.

  “Destiny, I mean. Kind of a nutjob, but sweet. Passionate. Loyal. And a real knockout — I mean, did you see her?”

  He makes a phwoar sound.

  “I mean, whoever takes her to her prom — assuming they have one at her school, since it’s more of an American thing and all that — well, they are going to have a good staring down from me.”

  He grabs my hair and lifts me up until I’m upright in the chair again. I get a headrush, then his smug face comes into focus a few inches from mine.

  “I don’t like her going out with boys. I imagine you’d understand, if your daughter every actually went out with any.”

  He takes a few steps back and removes his belt, placing it on the side table next to the sofa. He unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt then untucks it, waving it, trying to cool himself down.

  “Are you even a real police officer?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “For an educated man, you’re a right idiot.”

  He rolls his sleeves up. First the left, then the right. His forearms are covered in tattoos of skulls and snakes. I think I may even spot a swastika there too.

  “Are you proud of your daughter, Will?” he asks me, leaning on the arm of the sofa and crossing his arms thoughtfully.

  I don’t answer; all I can think about is getting to her, getting up those stairs and saving Harper from that teenage monster, that vile child who is doing god-knows-what to her.

  “I don’t know if I am, to be honest,” Will tells me. “She’s kind of annoying. Needy. Always floating around, asking me stupid questions. Does yours do that?”

  I afford him a glance, then look back to the open door that leads to the stairs, trying to figure out how I can get up there.

  Could I break this chair?

  Could I break my hand and pull it out of the cuff?

  Then again, what if I did get out of these restraints — do I really think I could get past Felix?

  He is not only bigger than me, but tougher.

  Even so, the adrenaline is running. This is my daughter’s life on the line, and I’m willing to do anything.

  “I divorced her mum and was pleased to get away from her, but also chuffed I only had to deal with Destiny on weekends, you know?”

  I sigh.

  “Felix, please—” I try, but he just talks over me.

  “It’s ego, I guess. I don’t like anyone touching her. Especially some middle-age prick like you.”

  “Look, I never touched her, I never—”

  “So you never kissed her?”

  “She kissed me.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. A stunner like that would kiss some gangly nonce like you?”

  I bow my head. This is wasting time. I need to get to Harper.

  “What’s the matter, Will? Don’t like the truth?”

  “I promise you, I don’t want anything to do with your daughter.”

  “Why not? Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

  “I think she’s a child! I don’t care about her! I don’t want anything to do with her!”

  “Oh, Will, let’s stop the lies…”

  “Please, I don’t care anymore, just let Harper go. Kill me, just let her go.”

  Felix steps toward me, bows down, looks me in the eyes, and says, “No,” before guffawing at the hilarity of such a grave situation.

  I have to save her.

  I have to actually be a dad for once.

  Yet, as I look at this maniac fetching a knife from the kitchen, I begin to accept that it’s not going to happen.

  And I hate myself even more for it.

  He places the tip of the knife against my throat, then holds his hand back and pretends to swing, like he’s adjusting his aim, like he’s getting ready to plunge it into my neck.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  I don’t know why I’m begging, he’s not going to stop, he’s not going to change his mind, we’re both going to die, there’s nothing we can do…

  “Right,” he says, and holds the knife out, ready to gather plenty of momentum when he swipes it.

  I shake my head.

  I try begging again but the words escape me.

  He swings the knife.

  55

  Harper

  Destiny wanders around the room with her hands behind her back, the knife dangling loosely between her fingers. She drags her gaze across everything, sinisterly inquisitive, scrutinising every object.

  She notices a poster on my wall of my favourite band, Bullet For a Valentine. She looks at it and laughs.

  “Oh my God, is this a band?” she asks. “It looks like a bunch of Satanists. Do you actually listen to their music?”

  I don’t reply.

  “Isn’t it all screamy and stuff?” She turns to me and sticks her lip out. “Does little Harper like the loud music because it makes her feel better? When someone else is angry, is it okay if you’re angry?”

  She giggles and turns back to the wall, strolling past the poster and reaching my desk. My teddy sits on it.

  Destiny picks it up and glares into its eyes, then turns to me and laughs again.

  “This your bear?”

  She digs her long, painted nails into its neck and begins to rip.

  “No, please don’t!”

  “What, you think it’s real?”

  “No, it’s just my…”

  I don’t know what to tell her.

  Mum bought it for me back when she still cared. That bear reminds me of when we were a happy family; it conjures images of days by the sea and nights on the sofa. It’s nostalgia, in the form of a meaningless toy.

  She digs her nails in, rips its head off and discards it on the floor.

  “Whoops,” she says.

  I like to think that, if I weren’t tied up, I would react to her taunts, maybe even hit her. As it is, all I can do is stare at her as she continues wandering and reaches my chest of drawers, where she notices something and reacts with shocked laughter.

  “Oh my God!” she says, and the laughter becomes bigger until it’s uncontrollable.

  She picks up a photo frame with Danny’s
photo inside and shows it to me.

  “You actually framed this?”

  Her laughter takes her to her knees. She pounds the floor as her hilarity takes over, tears of delight falling down her cheeks, until it subsides enough that she can stand again.

  “We just found this picture on Google images!” she tells me. “Seriously, we just searched for good looking young guy and took the first picture that came up. I can’t believe you actually framed it!”

  She wipes her eyes and tries to contain another burst of laughter.

  “And I can’t believe you actually sent pictures back,” she tells me, placing the photo frame back on the cupboard. “I mean, have you seen your body? To actually have the guts to send me a picture of it… If that was my body, I’d wear an anorak everywhere I go.”

  She approaches the end of the bed, places her hands on my ankles, and begins to crawl along the duvet.

  “Just so you know, that image is everywhere now,” she tells me. “I mean, not revenge porn websites or anything, you have to actually be hot to be in there… I mean mostly funny sites and stuff. People can do with a good laugh.”

  She crawls further up my legs until her hands reach the base of my skirt. That is where she pauses, pressing down against my legs. She is stronger than she looks, but I try not to whimper. The more I give in to the pain, the more she’ll do it.

  “And, by the way, I could so tell you were breathing in the whole time. Pathetic…”

  She tightens her grip around my legs and it hurts, but I don’t give in.

  Then she produces the knife and asks me, “Where would you like me to cut first?”

  Then her grinning face lowers its gaze to my skirt, and I can’t help but scream.

  56

  Will

  Harper screams.

  “No,” I whisper.

  I can’t let her die.

  And, in the split second between Felix swinging the knife and plunging it into in my throat, I throw myself and the chair to the floor, landing on my face.

  Felix stumbles, his knife swiping through air, and his legs are off balance. I react instinctively. His ankle is by my mouth, so I reach out and clamp my teeth around it, sinking into the flesh.

  He screams and lunges the knife downwards.

  I move my back so the chair blocks his strike, knocking the knife out of his hand and sending it flying across the room.

  Like everything in this house, the chair I’m attached to is old and weak, meaning that, in a quick movement, I am able to throw myself onto my back and smash it. My hands remain fastened behind my back, but I no longer have the chair to contend with.

  I lunge myself at his throat. His eyes widen, but I am quicker than he expects, and I land my teeth in his neck before he can stop me.

  I bite down hard, then harder still. My knowledge of science is limited, but I’ve covered enough biology lessons to know that his jugular veins are located at the side of his neck. The carotid arteries are also close by. Once my teeth penetrate them, rapid haemorrhaging will start, and I just have to hang on for dear life for as long as it takes for him to die.

  The adrenaline flows makes my body shake, and I close my eyes and just focus on keeping my teeth in place, ignoring how much he fights back.

  The blood doesn’t just dribble, but flows down my chin. It’s sticky and thick, and I know I have the right place; I just have to hang on.

  For as long as it takes, however much he fights, however much he thrashes.

  He lifts me and shoves me against the wall, pulling me back and barging me against it again, and again, causing pain to shoot up and down my spine.

  Then his fists start.

  At first, into my rib cage, a few times, then against my skull, again and again, and it makes me go dizzy but I force my eyes to stay open, widening them to ensure he does not knock me out, and I do not lose consciousness.

  He even tries grabbing my hair and pulling my head away, but that just hurts him more as I keep my teeth dug in.

  His actions become weaker, and he tries to scream, but it just comes out in gargles. He doesn’t lose resolve, but he loses strength.

  In a last act of desperation, his hand wraps around my scrotum, squeezes, harder, and pulls — but it doesn’t do much, as his arm falls limp shortly after he starts.

  His body gives up.

  I feel his arms vaguely tapping me, his last few movements, then they flop.

  And, even though he doesn’t move, I know he could be faking, or be unconscious, so I don’t stop. I continue biting down, not releasing my jaw until the time has passed and I am certain.

  When I do release my mouth from his neck, it takes a while for the ache to lessen.

  I look down. Not just sprinkles, but douses of blood stick to my clothes. Some of it glows as lightning flashes outside the window.

  I don’t allow myself long to recuperate, but I give myself a moment, allowing my panting to subside. I spit out any blood that remains in my mouth, and I try not to think about what I’ve just done.

  A dead body lies next to me; one I’ve created. It’s a bizarre feeling, a mixture of terror, self-realisation and relief.

  But it doesn’t last long.

  I see the piece of silver that will release me left beside the CS spray and baton. I grab it and remove my handcuffs as quick my dizziness will allow me.

  57

  Harper

  Destiny rests the knife against my knee and begins to drag it, slowly upwards, producing a small line of blood as she does.

  It stings more than hurts, and I try not to wince but I can feel my tears accumulating.

  She lifts my skirt with the knife, a long line of blood meeting the base of my underwear.

  She cackles. Another burst of uncontrollable laughter follows as she points at my large, black knickers, and the pubic hair that protrudes from them.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” she says. “Look at that hairy mound! Granny knickers and no bikini wax? You really never wanted a boy to notice you, did you?”

  The knife still rests besides the tufts of coarse black hair, and she presses the tip against it, only slightly, but enough to make me cry.

  “Please…” I say. “Please, I’ve done nothing to you…”

  “Done nothing to me? Do you not know what your father did?”

  “That was my dad, not me!”

  She presses the knife further into my skin and I feel the blood trickling down the inside of my thigh.

  “How far does the apple fall from the tree though, Harper?”

  “Please…”

  “After all, you were prepared to kill him only hours ago, were you not?”

  “Please don’t…”

  “And think, if you’d have done it, you’d have saved both you and him from this. You are a silly, silly girl…”

  She drags the knife further upwards, slicing into the base of my underwear, cutting it open, then dragging the knife to my waist. Blood sinks into the matted curls, and she still laughs. It doesn’t stop.

  It’s constant.

  Girlish giggling, so sweet and innocent, like she is playing with Barbies.

  And I stare at her, and I see her. Beneath that smile, that psychotic demeanour, is something else. Something scared, something hidden.

  “Your dad really messed you up, didn’t he?” I say.

  “Excuse me?” she says, raising an eyebrow, grinning at my stupidity.

  “It’s okay, you know,” I tell her. “My dad messed me up too.”

  “Please, my dad is the best—”

  “I bet they split up, didn’t they?”

  Her smile fades for a moment, then she forces it back to her lips.

  “It sucks, doesn’t it? Knowing that they were perfectly happy before you came along.”

  She digs the knife in harder, and the blood comes out thicker and more and more of it dribbles down my thighs.

  But I’m onto something.

  I know it.

  So I don�
�t stop.

  “I’ve laid in this bed wishing he would come and ask me how I was, or what happened in my day, every night for the past few years. Have you done that?”

  “I live with my mum—”

  “Yeah, but I bet he never even picks up the phone, does he?”

  She pushes harder and I scream, but it doesn’t deter me.

  “You think he’s doing this for you?” I say. “You think he’s taking revenge on my dad for you? It’s for his own pride that someone else managed to screw up his daughter for him.”

  She takes the knife out and swipes it down, reaching the top of my leg, and more blood dribbles down me, but I ignore it.

  Suddenly, I’m a little less scared.

  And, bizarrely, I hate her a little less.

  In fact, I look at her and I don’t see the dyed hair, the dress, the nails…

  I see me.

  And I see what her pain has driven her to.

  “That’s why you’re obsessed isn’t it?” I say. “With my dad? Because you needed a father figure, and all you had was abuse.”

  “My dad loves me!”

  “Your dad thinks you’re a tart! Your dad only cares about his own ego, and the damage someone touching his daughter will do to it. He cares for you as much as he cares for a stray cat he picks up and kicks around for fun.”

  “I’m warning you!”

  “No matter what you do, there’s nothing you can do to make him actually love you.”

  “He does love me!”

  “Love you? Destiny, he doesn’t even like you.”

  She lifts the knife from my crotch to my neck, and I can see it in her eyes — this is the end, this is the moment her temper overtakes her and this is the moment I’ve pushed her too far.

  Then she hears a noise. A clatter on the stairs. A stumble.

  “What was that?” she whispers, and she takes her knife and goes to the door.

  58

  Will