Numb: A Dark Thriller (35 page)

57

Having the bullet pulled from him was a doddle compared to this but his counting technique was the only way he knew to cope with it.

He’d started at ten thousand and tried counting backwards in denominations of thirty-seven. With his eyes closed and the numbers in his head, he’d been able to separate himself from his physical body and only felt slight tugging or pulling sensation when McCabe worked on him, starting on his feet with the metal cutters. He’d let out a groan or a hiss of pain every now and again for McCabe’s benefit and on the frequent occasions when McCabe took a break and asked him where Purvis was, Riley had gritted his teeth and shaken his head defiantly.

McCabe sighed theatrically after each answer and then went at him again. He’d used pliers on Riley’s toenails and the metal cutters on the toes themselves, snipping three clean off from the foot and throwing them in the furnace before halting the bleeding with the blowtorch. He had then flayed skin from Riley’s lower legs with a Stanley knife, used the drill on his kneecaps and the blow torch on his genitals and torso.

Riley had tried not to think about the state of his body, but human curiosity had gotten the better of him several times and he’d looked down at himself just in time to see another piece of skin being cut away or burnt. The room smelled of singed flesh and the metallic odour from before had been replaced instead by the iron-rich scent of blood usually found in butcher’s shops. The plastic sheeting had gathered up his blood perfectly and it had been the noise of it dripping ceaselessly that had finally cracked Riley.

It was like the infamous Chinese Water Torture.

Drip... drip... drip...

It drove you mad after a while.

He’d begun to feel weak and dizzy, and after the dripping sound refused to leave him alone he’d felt the urge to vomit. But as his stomach contracted the dripping of his blood grew louder and louder in his ears, sending him into more of a delirium, causing his heart rate to soar which in turn made the blood drip faster and faster, the noise pounding his ears, making his head spin, and when McCabe stopped cutting, slicing and burning him and stepped back to admire his handy work and asked the question (
“Where are they?”
), Riley had finally blacked out.

He dreamt of train wrecks and car crashes. Of dead parents and dead children.

When he came to, McCabe was sitting back in the seat opposite him, drinking from a bottle of lager. He sweating and was splattered with Riley’s blood.

Riley looked down when he realised the dripping sound had stopped. The plastic sheet was still covered but he noticed that most of his wounds had stopped bleeding and instead looked purple and jellied over.

It’s about keeping me alive for as long as possible
, Riley reminded himself.
But in as much pain as possible...

Well, one out of two isn’t bad.

There were no windows back here and so Riley had no natural light to try and guess the time of day or night. He’d only managed to get to seven-thousand five-hundred and ninety-five before passing out.

Counting one subtraction as being between five and thirty seconds long, that made...

(Riley tried to unscramble his brain and do a quick sum)

... fuck knows. Plus, he’d been unconscious for a little while. Had McCabe been torturing him for an hour? Two? Or was it one of those situations where time stands still. Had it only been twenty minutes? Or fifteen?

“You’re tough,” McCabe suddenly told Riley. He swigged from the bottle of lager and then tossed it to one side where it shattered into a thousand glistening shards. “You’re one tough fucker, I’ll give you that much.”

Riley forced a smile. There was no problem with any of his facial movements. McCabe had stayed away from anything above the neck. Considering he needed information from Riley, it wouldn’t be a good idea to render him unable to speak by removing teeth or accidentally cutting any tendon or muscle in his neck or face that might affect the movement of his tongue or mouth. Besides, McCabe had a lot of other places to work on and again Riley closed his eyes and tried to look at or even think about what had been done to him.

My toes are mostly gone. McCabe’s snipped them off like he was pruning a rose bush. My feet are broken. The skin on my legs is either skinned or burnt. My kneecaps have been drilled. Everything below my waist is beyond saving...

“It looks like you’re the toughest nut I’ve ever tried to crack,” McCabe said. He stood up and stretched, like he’d done a full shift of heavy labour. Then he smiled and winked. “Actually, I’ve got a confession for you, Riley.”

Riley opened one eye and stared at McCabe. What...?

“I’ve just been playing with you,” he said. “Call me sick, but I just wanted to see how much you could take before you talked. If it’s any consolation, you did better than I ever imagined.”

“Thank you,” Riley said.

“So it’s now time to get down to the real business.”

Riley watched McCabe disappear into the back room.

When he returned a few seconds later, he was pushing a wheelchair.

Oh fuck!
Riley thought in horror.
McCabe you sly bastard!

Sandra was strapped into the wheelchair, both hands bound to the arm rests and both feet tied together and taped to the foot rest. She was gagged with tape, like Riley had been earlier. She was awake and despite the dried blood on her trousers from the gun shot last night she didn’t seem to be hurt.

But Riley knew that wouldn’t last long.

Two hours? McCabe
must
have been working on me for two hours. Is that enough time?

“I almost forgot about you out the back, San,” McCabe said and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. Then he turned back to Riley. “Once I brought you back here and you were out cold I went and collected Sandra. She’s been out the back all this time. I kept her at Turner’s club last night. Have you been back there since it’s been repaired? It’s good. Nice and safe.”

Sandra glanced up at Riley, took one look at the state of him and then burst into tears. She lowered her head, her body sinking into the wheelchair as if searching for a place to hide.

“It’s alright, Sandra,” Riley told her, unconcerned by his lack of dignity. “Dylan and Wendy are fine. They’re miles away from here. Safe and sound.”

“That’s enough chit-chat,” McCabe said. “Now, if I can’t get what I want by hurting you, then hopefully you’ll tell me when I start hurting her.”

McCabe laughed and picked up the pliers and reached for one of Sandra’s hands.

“You’re a fucking animal!” Riley shouted.

“Animals can’t use tools,” McCabe said. He placed one of Sandra’s fingers between the sharp teeth of the pliers. Her struggling made no difference. “I’m through having fun and I want answers. I’m going to ask you one more time, Riley. Where is Purvis?”

Sandra looked up at Riley and shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face. Her eyes screamed,
Don’t tell him! I don’t care what happens to me, just don’t tell him!

“I’ll count to three and then I’ll start snipping!” McCabe warned. “One!”

“You’re going to kill her anyway!” Riley shouted. “Why should I lead you to Purvis and Wendy to do the same to them?”

“Two.!”

The pliers squeezed together and Riley saw the blood supply begin to be cut off from Sandra’s finger. It turned a bluish-white and seemed to throb. Sandra, behind the gag, squealed but still shook her head, begging Riley not to give in to the demands.

“Three-”

“Alright!” Riley shouted.

The time had come.

“Alright what?” McCabe asked, his grip on the pliers so tight that Sandra’s finger was actually indented in the middle.

“If I tell you,” Riley asked, “what happens next?”

“I call Nash and tell them I know where Purvis and Wendy are,” McCabe replied calmly.

“And then we all die?”

“I promise it’ll be quicker than if you don’t tell me. Put it this way. I’ll cut this bitch up in front of you right now and I’ll keep you alive until I find the other two and then I’ll do the same to them. I’ll go real slow with Wendy, make it last for days, and you, Riley my man, will witness every second of it. So tell me where the fuck they are! It’ll be easier.”

Riley looked at Sandra. She was screaming behind the gag.

But he had no choice anymore.

“There’s a house about eight miles down the river,” he told McCabe. “It’s in a quiet street, not far from the old lighthouse. It used to be a hall of some kind. Used for Boy Scout’s meetings and stuff years ago. You know the one.”

McCabe frowned.

“Why the hell are they there?”

“That’s where Purvis and Sandra used to meet. Purvis bought it a few years back and was doing it up to sell for a profit.”

McCabe smirked.

“Is this a lie?” he asked, squeezing the pliers so that the first bubbles of blood began to balloon from Sandra’s crushed finger.

“He’s there!” Riley shouted. “For God’s sake, leave Sandra alone. I’m telling the truth!”

“The old hall?” McCabe said. “I know the place. It’s a dump.”

“Not anymore. Like I said, Purvis bought it and refurbished it as a little side project.”

“But I still don’t get why they weren’t accompanying you to the doctor’s house.” He squeezed Sandra’s finger more and she started to squirm in the wheelchair. Blood was oozing now, the skin well torn. The blades must be close to the bone by now.

“I went to see if he would watch Wendy,” Riley lied. “We were going to leave her with Carter and then me and Purvis were going to try to rescue Sandra.”

“It didn’t quite work out though, did it?” McCabe said.

Riley lowered his head and sighed. When he raised it again, he hoped McCabe would think he looked defeated.

“Please, McCabe,” he said. “That’s the truth. You can’t blame us for trying. Do what you have to do but please don’t hurt Wendy. You have no grudge against her. Try and talk some sense into Nash. Have him do what he wants to us but please, don’t hurt Wendy. She’s just a little girl.”

McCabe nodded, as if he understood.

He looked at Sandra. Then back at Riley.

“Right, I’ll check it out.”

He then squeezed the pliers tightly and snipped off Sandra’s finger just below the fingernail.

Sandra tried to scream and thrashed wildly in the chair as the end of her finger fell to the floor with a light thud.

“You fucking bastard!” Riley shouted. “I’ve just told you everything!”

McCabe laughed. Sandra was still thrashing as he picked up the blow torch, flicked it on and aimed it at the wound gushing blood.

Sandra’s finger stump hissed and crackled as the heat sealed the damage and it suddenly became too much for her. She collapsed back in the wheelchair, her eyes closed, her breathing frantic and erratic, as if she were in the throes of a fever.

McCabe switched off the blowtorch and then pulled out his phone.

“If this is a lie, there’ll soon be nine more next to that one,” he told Riley as he pointed to the piece of a finger on the floor. Then he placed the phone to his ear. “Hello, Nash. It’s McCabe. I know where they are...”

Riley remained quiet as McCabe relayed the information to Nash. He knew he was past the point of no return and whether Purvis had managed his end of the plan or not, he now had a chance to make a move. This had been the part that had worried him most. Giving up the location had been a big risk. There was no telling if McCabe would simply put a bullet in both his and Sandra’s head now that he knew where Purvis was. It was unlikely, but there was a chance he’d do it. Hopefully though, he’d check out the information first before doing anything rash. After all, he and Sandra couldn’t go anyway and good old detective Davison would alert McCabe if a call came in about a kidnapping here and they’d be moved before the police turned up. No, McCabe would surely go to the house and see if what he’d been told was true. If it was, he’d take care of business there and then head back here to finish up. If he’d been lied to, he’d come back here and cut more pieces off them just for fun.

“... right, I’ll come and pick you up and we’ll go together,” McCabe said. He winked at Riley. “I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

He hung up and pulled on his coat. Then he looked at Sandra who was still unconscious. Then he walked to Riley and pulled out the Berretta.

Oh shit...

“I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’m picking up Nash and Turner and then we’re going to check out what you’ve told me.”

“So who’re you going to kill first?” Riley asked. “Purvis or Nash?”

McCabe pointed the gun at Riley’s head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “If everything goes to plan, when this is over, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes as a thank you.”

“I’ll be grateful for that.”

“You will be,” McCabe warned. “Because if you’ve lied or tried to set me up, you’ll be begging for a quick death – after you’ve watched me carve up Sandra first.” McCabe then tucked the gun into his trousers and walked to the door. He slid back the latch and said, “Back soon. Don’t you two go anywhere.”