Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller (21 page)

‘Maybe I have,’ Tom
said, taking a step towards him. His voice was gravelly and raw, and he moved
with a severe limp, almost dragging his right leg behind him as he moved across
the room. ‘Maybe that’s
exactly
what I’ve seen.’

Holdsworth looked over
to the barman. ‘Call security,’ he said calmly, bracing himself for the
confrontation that was coming his way.

‘Security?’ Tom said,
wheezing as he tried to laugh. ‘It’s not security you need to be calling...it’s
an undertaker.’ He withdrew a gun from his pocket and waved it around in the
air so that everyone could see it. In an instant, the atmosphere in the room
switched from guarded hostility to primordial fear. Those who didn’t scream
gasped with shock as Tom pointed the gun at them and pretended to pull the trigger
like a kid playing Cowboys and Indians in the schoolyard. He cackled as he saw
the terrified looks in their eyes, relishing the way they cowered before him.
And then, as if he had suddenly grown tired of playing that game, he turned to
face Holdsworth and Sam, dropping his smile and replacing it with a malevolent
sneer.

‘You shouldn’t have
fired me, Charles,’ he said, limping across the floor until he was standing
only two or three yards from him. He raised the gun and proceeded to point it
directly at Holdsworth’s chest. ‘You made a big mistake, and now you’re going
to pay for it.’

Holdsworth
instinctively held up his hands as if to surrender, his champagne flute
smashing against the floor. ‘Tom…please,’ he said, his voice quiet and uneven.
‘Let’s talk about this, eh? I’m sure we can sort it out. Put the gun down and
we’ll go somewhere quiet.’

‘It’s too late for
talking,’ Tom said, thumbing the gun’s safety catch. Holdsworth took a
defensive step backwards but was blocked by the bar. There was no way of
escaping. Nowhere to run.

Sam rose from his stool
and took a step towards Tom, who immediately swung the gun at him and snarled:
‘Sit back down, Sammy-boy…I want you to see this. After all, it’s your fault
for poisoning Charles’s mind against me. Yours and your miserable slut of a
wife. It’s a shame that Sarah couldn’t be here to see this.’ Sam froze as he
stared at the gun, returning to his stool without saying a word. ‘Good boy,’
Tom said, returning his attention to Holdsworth. ‘Time to die, Charles’ he
said. ‘Time to pay the price for fucking me over. Any last words?’

Holdsworth groaned with
terror as he realised that Tom wasn’t joking. Keeping his hands held up, he
took a step towards him and pleaded: ‘I’m sorry, Tom. Please don’t shoot me. We
can sort this out…you can have your job back. Please…I have a wife and a so-’

The first bullet struck
him directly in the heart, and then, as if to make sure, Tom fired again; only
this time the bullet tore through Holdsworth’s neck and exploded into one of
the many bottles meticulously lined up on a shelf behind the bar. Blood spurted
furiously from both wounds as Holdsworth slumped to the floor; his arms and
legs twitching unnaturally as the life drained out of him.

Gabby screamed as a
gush of blood soaked her dress and spilled down her legs. Unfortunately for
her, however, a ruined dress would turn out to be the least of her problems.
Satisfied that Holdsworth was dead, Tom turned and pointed the gun at her head.
‘You should have fucked me when you had the chance,’ he said, licking the sweat
from his upper lip.

‘Tom, no!’ shouted Sam,
rising from his stool again. ‘Don’t-’

It was too late.
Ignoring Sam’s plea for mercy, Tom pulled the trigger and shot Gabby squarely
in the face. There was a hard cracking sound as the bullet entered her skull above
the nose and ripped through her brain. Almost immediately, she collapsed in a
heap on the floor, her eyes remaining open as they stared lifelessly up at the
ceiling; dark blood streaming down her face and forming a thick, crimson puddle
around her head.

The coroner’s report
would later conclude that it was highly probable that both Charles Holdsworth
and Gabrielle Williams were dead before they hit the floor; a conclusion that
would be of precious little comfort to their families when they came to bury
them.

Apart from a handful of
bystanders who were either too numb or too frightened to move, by now most of
the crowd had fled the room, leaving Tom and Sam alone together at the far end
of the bar. Sam gawped open-mouthed at the bodies of his boss and his
assistant, then, realising that death was coming his way and that he was
powerless to prevent it, he closed his eyes and sat back on his stool; sobbing
and shivering uncontrollably but unable to look his killer in the eye. His mind
raced to Sarah and Max and to his love for them, and how he’d never see or
speak to them again. He only wished he could hold them one more time and tell
them how much he loved them and that they shouldn’t worry when he was gone. He
waited and waited to feel the agonising pain of the bullet as it tore into him,
hoping that it would kill him instantly; hoping that he would not have to
suffer for too long.

But death didn’t come.

After what felt like
minutes, he finally forced his eyelids open to find out what was happening,
only to see Tom staring back at him like a horrific corpse dug up from the
grave. Sam tried to scream but was unable to. Tom’s eyes were entirely white;
there were no pupils or signs of life. A thick, yellowish pus oozed from his
nostrils and mouth, giving off a foul, unholy stench that caused Sam to retch
and cover his nose with his hand.

And then, as if the
nightmare couldn’t get any worse, Tom’s mouth formed a lecherous grin and said
to Sam: ‘Are you ready for this, Sammy-boy? Are you ready to join your friends
in hell?’

‘Please,’ Sam said,
holding out his arms to Tom. ‘Please don’t kill me. I’m your friend, remember?’

At this, Tom began
laughing and shaking uncontrollably, pus dripping onto the floor. He raised his
gun again, only this time he didn’t point it at Sam but directed it at himself,
nudging it against his temple as if he was a willing participant in a game of
Russian Roulette. ‘I’m not going to shoot
you
,’ Tom said. ‘That would be
far too lenient a punishment for what you’ve done to me. No...that would be way
too easy.’

‘What…what do you
mean?’ asked Sam.

Tom’s grin widened as
he wrapped his finger around the trigger. ‘You’ll see, Sammy-boy. You’ll see.’

The next thing Sam
knew, the inside of Tom’s head sprayed across the bar as he pulled the trigger.
‘No!’ Sam screamed and reached out to the man he’d once called his friend. But
it was too late. The gun fell from Tom’s hand and struck the floor around half
a second before he did, leaving Sam covered in blood and standing in the middle
of three dead bodies like some blood-thirsty murderer.

Moments later, a gang of
armed policeman burst through the doors to the Winchester Bar and pointed their
guns at Sam, screaming at him to put his hands on his head and drop to his
knees or else they’d shoot.

They had to repeat the
threat at least three times before Sam finally understood what they were saying
and did as they asked. He barely had time to breathe before his face was forced
into the carpet and a set of handcuffs were violently snapped around his
wrists.

‘Are
you sure you don’t want me to come down, Sarah? If I leave now I can be there
by four o’clock this afternoon.’

‘Honestly, Janice, I’m
not sure it would do any good. The doctor’s prescribed him a course of Diazepam
to help him rest. He’s out like a light and probably will be for most of the
day.’

‘How long did the police
hold him for?’

‘Only a couple of
hours. There were enough witnesses around to clarify what happened. He went
straight from the police station to hospital where the doctors checked him
over. Physically he’s fine, thank God.’

‘How is he mentally?’

‘It’s too early to say.
They kept him in hospital overnight to keep an eye on him. He’s only been home
an hour or two. They’re sending someone around later today to check up on him,
but the main advice is that he gets plenty of rest. He’s also been booked in to
see a psychologist for a full assessment. Most likely he’ll need a course of
therapy. Apparently it’s routine procedure for something like this.’

‘When I heard about it
on the news this morning, I just couldn’t believe it. They said that the killer
shot a young woman. Did you know her?’

‘Not really, no,’ said
Sarah, thinking back to the conversation she’d had about Gabby with Tom. ‘She
was new to Chapman’s. She’d only been there a week or so.’

‘The poor thing. Her
parents must be distraught.’

‘Yes, I imagine they are.’

‘There’s one thing I
can’t understand,’ Janice said, her voice becoming increasingly emotional. ‘Why
did Tom spare Sam? Why didn’t he shoot him too?’

There was a pause as
Sarah struggled to compose herself. It was a question she’d asked herself a
hundred times already. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

The conversation was
interrupted by the sound of two people arguing outside the house.

‘Hang on a minute, will
you Janice?’ asked Sarah, placing the receiver onto the hallway table and
walking to the sitting room window. Outside on the street, George Gransham –
the world’s nosiest neighbour – was berating a young man who, judging by his
camera and document folder, was undoubtedly the latest in a long line of news
reporters that had been hanging around the house since the early hours of the
morning. At Sarah’s request, old George had willingly agreed to play the role
of doorman-in-chief, chasing away anyone who looked suspicious, which to
George, was pretty much anyone who passed within a hundred yards of the house.
Evidently he was enjoying his role, because he was giving this particular reporter
both barrels. As the young man turned to leave, Sarah quickly drew the curtains
and returned to the hallway.

‘Sorry, Janice,’ she said,
picking up the phone. ‘We’ve had a string of journalists turning up this
morning wanting to interview Sam. They’re like a pack of hyenas.’

‘It’s hardly
surprising, given the news coverage. Have you told Max?’

‘No, not yet. He’s away
in France on a skiing trip. Probably the best place for him. I’ve phoned the
school and asked them not to say anything. I really don’t want him finding out
yet, especially not after everything else that’s been going on.’

‘Oh, dear, I feel
awful. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to come down today? Do you
really think it’s a good idea to be by yourself right now, what with the press
and everything else?’

Sarah sighed. Having
stayed up all night to be with Sam, she was exhausted. Even so, she didn’t want
his mother hanging around the house getting in the way. ‘It’s entirely your
decision, Janice, but if I were you I’d give it a few days. There’s so much
going on at the moment…I could do with n-’

‘It’s alright, dear, I
understand. I’m not sure how much use I would be anyway. I’d only end up
getting under your feet.’

‘No you wouldn’t,’
Sarah lied.

‘Yes I would. However,
if you could use the company, don’t be afraid to ask, okay? I know you and I
have had our differences over the years, but Sam’s my only son and he means the
world to me. Promise you’ll call if you need me?’

‘I promise. I’ll call
you anyway, if only to keep you informed about how he’s doing.’

‘Thank you. I’d
appreciate that.’

‘Goodbye, Janice.’

‘Goodbye, dear.’

Sarah yawned as she
hung up the phone, switching it to voicemail mode so as not to be disturbed.
She went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, before returning
to the hallway and wearily making her way up the stairs. Careful not to disturb
Sam, she retrieved her pyjamas from under her pillow and crept quietly to the
spare room, where she proceeded to change out of the clothes she had worn ever
since receiving a call from the police the previous evening. Tiptoeing back
into the bedroom, she eased herself into her side of the bed and kissed Sam
gently on his forehead. Rolling over on to her other side, she closed her eyes
and tried to empty her mind; praying that any sleep she might have would be
dream-free.

She was out like a
light within seconds, but sadly her prayers weren’t to be answered.

Sarah
awoke later that day to find herself alone in bed. Checking the clock, she
cursed as she realised she’d only been asleep for three hours. She frowned as
she heard the muffled sound of the TV coming from the kitchen below, surprised
to find Sam up and about. Yawning, she pulled on her dressing-gown and headed
downstairs.

‘What are you doing
up?’ she asked, joining him in the kitchen.

‘Oh, hi darling,’ Sam
replied, placing two slices of bread into the toaster. ‘I’m sorry, did I wake
you?’

‘No, I couldn’t sleep.
Why aren’t you in bed?’

‘I couldn’t sleep
either. Those pills they gave me must be wearing off. Anyway, I’m making some
coffee. Would you like some?’

‘Please.’ She watched
as he went about preparing coffee and toast as if last night hadn’t happened.
At one point, he even started whistling and tapping out a drumbeat on the sugar
tin with his fingers. It was as if he was suffering from amnesia; he displayed
no signs of shock or sadness. Then she remembered what the doctor had told her
about Diazepam and the effect it was likely to have on his mood.

‘I’ve been thinking,’
he said, setting her coffee down on the table and helping himself to a seat.
‘About last night.’

‘Sam, maybe it’s better
if we don’t talk about that now.’

He smiled reassuringly
and placed his hand over hers. ‘It’s okay, honestly. I want to talk about it.
It’s pretty difficult not to, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose. It’s just
the doctor said to-’

‘Never mind what the
doctor said,’ he snapped. ‘Never mind what he said. I know full well that I’m
on anti-depressants, and I know how they screw with the way you see things, but
I need to talk about last night. Please?’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘I’m going to have to
try and face up to what happened sooner or later, so I might as well start when
I’m on the happy-pills.’

‘Okay. Go on.’

Sam nodded and looked
down at the table as he thought about what he wanted to say. ‘Like I told the
sergeant down at the station, it all seemed to happen so quickly. One minute
I’m sitting at the bar talking to Gabrielle Williams and Charles Holdsworth
about a major new client that Chapman’s has managed to land, and the next thing
I know, Tom appears out of nowhere and starts arguing with Holdsworth about
being fired from his job. Holdsworth asks the barman to call security, and
seconds later, Tom pulls out a gun and shoots him twice before turning it on
Gabby and shooting her as well. There’s blood and glass flying everywhere and
everyone’s screaming and panicking and running out of the room, but Tom doesn’t
move an inch. Instead, he just looks at me like some weird fucking lunatic and
shoots himself in the head.’

‘Sam…don-’

‘Why didn’t he kill me,
Sarah?’ Sam interjected. ‘It was just as much my fault as anyone else’s. Maybe
I drove him to it?’

‘No, Sam. None of this
is your fault. You were caught in the middle, that’s all. If anyone’s to blame,
it’s me. If I hadn’t cheated on you…if…’ She began to cry, gentle weeping
quickly turning into an unstoppable stream of tears as it all became too much
for her. ‘I shouldn’t have done it, Sam,’ she sobbed, covering her face with
her hands. ‘I should never have betrayed you like that. I risked all that we
had…our marriage…our son…our future. For what? What could be more important
than us? And now look what’s happened. Three people are dead and you’re sitting
there telling me it’s your fault! Don’t you see, Sam? Don’t you see how
innocent you are in all of this? You had nothing to do with it!’

‘Sarah-’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said,
wiping her eyes with a napkin, ‘but every time you say it’s your fault I want
to grab you by the throat and strangle you. What if the shoe was on the other
foot and you’d been having the affair? Do you honestly think I would have forgiven
you so easily?’

‘Probably not, no.’

‘Of course I wouldn’t.
I would have kicked you out of the house and told you never to come back.’

‘You might think that,
but you wouldn’t.’

‘No, Sam, I bloody well
would.’

‘Well it’s a good job
that I’m not  you, isn’t it?’ Sam said, standing up and carrying his empty cup
and plate over to the sink. ‘Anyway,’ he said, returning to his seat, ‘you
haven’t answered my question. Why did Tom kill himself and not me? At the very
least, you would have thought he would have shot me first before turning the
gun on himself.’

Sarah sighed. ‘I don’t
know,’ she said, moving around to his side of the table. ‘I’ve been asking
myself that same question all night. You’re right; it doesn’t make any sense.’

‘You know what he said
to me before he killed himself? He said that killing me would be too lenient. Too
easy.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘How the hell am I
supposed to know? He’d obviously lost his mind by that point. I guess the
prospect of blowing your brains out can do that to you.’

‘Maybe, but it’s still
pretty damn weird.’

‘I know.’

Sarah shuffled her
chair closer to Sam and draped an arm over his shoulder. ‘Whatever state of
mind Tom was in, I’m just pleased he killed himself and not you. Things are bad
enough as they are, but I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. And Max would
never get over it. Thank God he spared you.’

Sam managed a weak
smile as he looked at her. ‘God? Do you think it had something to do with Him?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

Sam shook his head and retrieved
a box of Diazepam from his dressing gown pocket. ‘You thank God if you want to.
As for me,’ he said, waving the Diazepam in the air for effect, ‘I think I’d
rather put my faith in these.’