The Stranger by Mark Ayre (books you need to read TXT) 📗

moment of fury, of weakness, you killed a kind man. For the rest of your life, that action will torment you, and it should. But that doesn't mean you can take another life now. This is different. This isn't a moment of madness. Your emotions have not got the better of you. This is a choice. Pull the trigger and let your soul fracture a little further, or give me the gun and start on the path of recovery. Because trust me, that's what you'll be on now. Killing a person changes you forever, but it need not define the rest of your life. Not if you're strong enough to fight to be better than your past actions."

Taking another step forward, Abbie held out a hand.

"The choice is yours. Please make the right one."

Michael looked at Abbie, then back at his father. The gun still shook in his hand, but at this range, he would never miss the skull if he fired. It was almost over. One way or another.

After a deep breath, Michael addressed his father.

"You don't deserve to live." He looked at Abbie, and she saw the face of a broken, defeated little boy. "But I don't want to kill again."

Crying, he turned from his father and held the gun towards Abbie.

Before she could take it, someone entered the room.

"Cor, it's tense in here."

Abbie didn't need to turn to know who it was. Someone who might look a bit like Abbie but who used to be a model.

Shocked, Eddie stood.

From behind Abbie, the woman said, "Ed, Francis isn't answering my calls. I think he knows about us. Plus, something else has happened. That means we're on to plan B. We'll leave tonight."

Eddie stared, his eyes wide. Abbie froze. What could she do?

"You're worried about Jess' kid," said Leona. “Time to remember what you told me. You don’t love her. Her kid doesn’t matter. I’m the one for you. Me and our baby."

Abbie spun to Michael. Wanted to grab the gun. It was too late. Fury grabbed the boy as Leona rubbed her stomach as though it were a magic lamp.

"Which reminds me," Leona said. "We need to talk baby names."

Michael swung the gun to Eddie as Abbie charged across the room and smashed into the teen’s shoulder.

As Michael and Abbie tumbled towards the ground, the gun discharged. In the small space, the sound was deafening.

Eddie span. Collapsed.

Sobbing, howling, Michael started scratching and punching Abbie. He knocked her away and lifted the gun. Abbie grabbed his arm, and he fired too early by mistake. He elbowed her in the face and brought the gun to his head.

Scrambling, panicking, Abbie was climbing to her feet. She grabbed Michael's arm and tugged it away. He fired. The room rang with the sound of the shot. In the distance, sirens were blaring.

Again, Michael was trying to pull the gun to his head.

Swinging a leg up, Abbie got on top of Michael. Twisting the gun in a sharp spin, she yanked it from the teen.

He screamed.

As he screamed, Abbie punched him hard in the face, twice, before grabbing the gun and with it knocking him unconscious.

Silence in the room, except some panting.

The sirens grew closer.

Shaking, Abbie rolled and rose to her feet. By the sofa bed, against the wall, she found Eddie clutching his shoulder. Blood soaked his sleeve and hand. Abbie had knocked Michael off balance as he fired. For the second time, she had saved the undeserving Eddie’s life.

Turning from the whimpering father, Abbie saw the hole in the wall where the third of Michael's three shots had entered. Turning towards the door, she saw the effect of the second.

Leona sat against a wall, clutching her side where Michael's accidental bullet had entered. Already, blood had ruined the carpet. Francis' wife's eyes were glazed as Abbie approached. Somehow, she managed a distant, dopey smile.

"Baby names," the bleeding Leona said. "I was thinking Tony."

"I think that sounds perfect," said Abbie before drying her eyes, taking the gun Michael never should have had and going to greet the police.

Thirty-Four

Abbie spent a long time going over the facts with Sanderson before he granted her request.

“I’m still not sure I trust you, mind,” the cop said at the door. “But, according to Jessica Dean, if not for you, the kid might have killed both her and Eddie, and we know for sure your actions saved Mr Dean’s life.”

“More’s the pity,” muttered Abbie.

“Well, maybe keep comments like that to yourself, eh?”

Abbie nodded, but the move was non-committal. She wanted to move on. To get away. After all, if Sanderson didn’t trust her now, how would he feel once the bodies of Francis and his henchmen were found? If they were found.

After knocking on the door, she placed a hand on the smooth wood and prepared to push. Before she could, Sanderson lay a hand on her shoulder.

“Five minutes, okay? No more. I’ll be out here.”

Abbie nodded. Shoved the door. Went inside.

In the private room, Michael lay in one of the more comfortable hospital beds Abbie had seen in her lifetime. In one corner of the room was a pot of flowers. On the wall was a telly, turned off. A door across the room led into a tiny en-suite. A single window offered views but no access to the outside world. It was both locked and too small to fit through. Because of this, and because there was a cop stationed outside Michael’s door at all times, he wasn’t cuffed to the bed. Not that anyone believed he was an escape risk in any case.

Upon entering the room, Abbie at first waited by the door. Michael had taken a second to see who had arrived when she stepped in, then had returned to lying flat on his back, his arms by his side, his head twisted towards the wall, looking away from where Abbie stood and from where anyone else might enter to see him.

After a minute of waiting, Abbie left the door