Nails In A Coffin (Demi Reynolds Book 1) (6 page)

After thirty minutes of Demi explaining herself and Donny not saying one word, he finally spoke.

“So let me get this straight. You killed my brother, and, to top it all off, you decide to smear his name…our family name at that, and call him a rapist?”

Demi swallowed hard. By now her vision was becoming clearer, and she was feeling a bit better. Her eyes still felt strained, but she didn’t feel as close to passing out as she did before.

“I’m telling you the truth, Donny. At first I was okay with sleeping with him — I mean, that’s why we left together. He’s a good-looking guy, but then he turned nasty in the car outside my place, and I didn’t know what to do. Before I knew it, he was punching me. And then it got out of hand. I had to defend myself. Surely you understand?”

Donny got up abruptly, and his voice exploded into a high-pitched rage.

“NO, I DON’T FUCKING UNDERSTAND!” he screamed, immediately lowering his voice and saying, “You expect me to understand? You think that I’ll just forget about it and let you go on your merry way? Who do you think you are? The goddamn queen? You want a fucking royal pardon?”

Demi began to shake a little. It wasn’t going her way. She could tell things were going to turn nasty if she wasn’t careful.

“I didn’t know he was your brother, Donny!” she exclaimed, feeling as if her whole body was shaking in terror.

“It doesn’t matter what you thought! He’s dead now. Can you bring him back? Will that change the fact that his kids won’t ever see him again? That Christmas is around the corner and there won’t be any presents from Dad?”

Demi shook her head and said, “No.”

“Exactly,” Donny said, sitting back down and tapping his fingers on the desk. Both hands were overly animated. It was like they were itching to explode out at her and squeeze her neck. She could tell that Donny was ready to make her pay for what she had done. She could feel it deep down in the pit of her stomach. That sensation people get when they know all is lost and no matter how hard they try, they won’t be getting out of a situation anytime soon.

“He tried to rape me,” Demi said under her breath. “What was I supposed to do, let him rape me?”

“No. That’s not why I’m doing this to you. You see, I’d understand perfectly if you killed him defending yourself, and then came running to me and told me it was an accident. But you see, Demi, this is where it all falls apart. You didn’t come running to me. In fact, you hid. You hid away in your flat, hoping that I wouldn’t find out. But I did. And the worst part of it is that you didn’t just murder my brother, but you mangled him. You smashed his skull open and then burned him to a crisp in his car. You destroyed him and his legacy. You scorched our family’s ties and burned our memories. You didn’t just kill my brother, you killed my reputation.”

Donny stood up and made his way around the desk. He approached Demi and knelt down on one knee. His eyes were firmly locked on hers, and he had an expression on his face that Demi had never seen before. It was downright terrifying how angry he was. She knew hope was lost at that very moment. She knew she was never going to see daylight again.

“Do you actually think that I’m going to let you out of here today?” he asked, still on one knee, still staring at her, still wearing that expression on his face.

“No,” she replied plainly, trying to cover up the fear in her voice but failing.

“Well, you could have fooled me. You act like this is some sort of confessional. Like what you say will have a bearing on what I do with you. But you’re wrong, Demi. There is nothing that you could say that would stop me from hurting you. Nothing you could say to keep me from enjoying it. I’m going to make you pay dearly for what you did. I’m going to make you cry, Demi. I’m going to make you scream. Maybe even vomit. But I know one thing for certain: You’re going to die a very slow death.”

Demi looked at her boss’s eyes and saw him snap. She knew what was coming next, but she just didn’t know how much it would hurt. He balled his fist up and punched her three times on the face. Her teeth cracked and her jaw ached. He didn’t stop at three, though. He smacked her again and again and again.

Before she knew it, she was out cold.

“That’s right, leave her like that. I almost forgot,” Demi heard a voice say. She didn’t know where she was. Everything was dark, but suddenly there was light. A great big beam of it. And the sound of something sliding open. Then she saw three sets of faces staring down at her. They were smiling. One of the faces belonged to Donny. He had the biggest smile out of the lot of them.

“I wouldn’t want to deprive you of this,” Donny said, still smiling, still looking down at her. He chucked a walkie-talkie at her. It landed on her chest. She was lying down. It was then that she noticed she was in a confined space. Walls on either side. Made out of wood. It encased her. It entombed her.

“If it gets a little hard to breathe in there, use this,” Donny said, chucking something else onto her chest. It weighed quite a bit. At least a kilo, maybe two. She tilted her head and noticed her hands were tied. She tried to move her feet, but they were also bound. Her mouth was the only thing that worked normally. She opened it and gasped, realizing what was happening.

“What are you doing?” she managed to say, her breath still stuttering like there wasn’t enough air.

“Burying you alive,” Donny said plainly. The other two faces next to him nodded. They belonged to the driver and the passenger. It was then that she came to the realization that those three men were going to be the last people she’d ever see.

“Please, don’t do it!” she screamed.

But it was too late. The light disappeared, and the sliding noise returned. Darkness engulfed her. She tried to move, but her restraints were tight and unforgiving. Every time she attempted to move, the restraints dug deep lacerations into her skin. She could feel the air stinging at her wounds. Sweat was starting to drip down her brow, and her eyes were adjusting to the pitch blackness that surrounded her. The outline of what looked like the interior of a coffin was visible to Demi. She couldn’t be quite too sure, but she knew she was in some sort of box. It was made out of wood and was very uncomfortable. Her back was lying on bare wood. It felt smooth but abrasive at the same time. The walkie-talkie and oxygen cylinder were weighing down on her chest. She was about to push them off when the sound of a drill above her went off.

“Please!” she screamed.

But the drill continued. It started on her left, next to her head. A few specks of sawdust landed on her face. For a second or two there was a slim streak of light that shone through the minute hole. But it was soon replaced by the sound of something slotting into place, and the light disappeared. Then came the sound of a hammer. The walls beside her began to vibrate a little. She could hear the wooden structure she was in protest under the strain of the hammering. After a few seconds of silence, the sound of the drill came back. This time it was to her right, just above her head. Then the sliver of light returned. More sawdust. Then some more hammering.

Demi remained quiet. She realized it was useless making noise. Her fate was sealed. The only thing left to do was die. She came to terms with her fate rather quickly. It was one thing she’d learned in her business. The need to come to terms with death was vital. She’d seen too many of her hits crying before they were killed. Too many men turning into quivering children. It was something that really bothered her. She promised herself that if she ever found herself in the same situation, she wouldn’t break down into tears. She’d be strong.

But it’s amazing how hard a feat it is to do so. Crying seemed as if it was the only thing to do. Her emotions were bearing down on her like a ton of bricks. But she remained stern. She just lay there, motionless, breathing. She waited as the sound of the drill returned. This time it was near the end, right above her feet and to the right a little. A sliver of light came through once again. A few dust particles hung in the air as the light disappeared as quickly as it came. More hammering. Then more silence.

Finally the last bit of drilling. Four holes in total. Three of them filled with what sounded like nine-inch nails. Obviously, one cannot hear what size nails they may be, but to Demi, nine-inch nails were the only plausible way to go. Especially with the drilling. Needing a hole that big and deep could only mean big iron nails. And the fact that they were drilling the holes and then hammering the nails in meant that they didn’t want the coffin opened again. The nails wouldn’t be coming out easily. They wouldn’t be coming out at all.

The drilling stopped. Another sliver of light. It was likely the last bit of light she’d see. She hung on to it for a long while. It illuminated her left trainer. It shone bright white. She could feel the slight heat coming through the tiny beam. But then it was gone, and darkness returned. Another lot of hammering. She could hear the nail going in. The walls beside her were creaking and moaning, but then silence was all that followed.

No more hammering. No more drilling. No more creaking.

The final nail in the coffin was in.

The alarm clock read 8:15 a.m. Hamish got up and stretched. He was a big man. He had big arms and a big head. So getting out of bed in his small bedroom was a challenging experience. The challenge in it was attempting to leave the room without knocking anything over. On many an occasion, Hamish managed to do just that. But today was different. Today, Hamish found himself knocking into almost everything. The bedside table. The dresser drawer. The mirror and the pile of clothes his mother put out for him a week ago.

As he stumbled out of his small and cosy bedroom into the hallway, he even managed to knock one of his mother’s owl paintings off the wall. It slipped out of the bracket and rattled on the floor. Luckily for him, the fall was broken by a pile of towels outside the bathroom. He held his breath and waited for the inevitable cry from his mother.

“Hamish! Stop bumbling around up there and come down for your breakfast!” he heard his mother say. She must have been in the kitchen. He would always find her there. Cooking. Listening to the radio. Usually BBC Radio 2. She wasn’t into the more catchy and poppy stations.

“I’ll be there in a jiffy, Mother,” he found himself saying, forcing the words out in tiredness. He was always like that in the morning. Hard to communicate with. He was the sort of fellow that enjoyed waking up at two o’clock in the afternoon. But unfortunately for him, today was a work day, and his boss, Donny the Hat, wouldn’t appreciate him strolling in at two in the afternoon. He touched his face as he walked into the bathroom and started to pee. The sound of his urine hitting the water always made him smile. He was a gentle beast, although when provoked could be as mean as the rest of them. But Hamish differed from the rest. He was a forgiving soul. Too forgiving, as his boss would usually tell him. Maybe they were right. Hamish caught himself looking at his reflection in the mirror. He had flushed the water and was now washing his hands. But his reflection was what he was most interested in. The scar on his face was still there. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he wished it away, it would only get more purple and foreboding as the days went on.

He forgave his boss for hurting him. His mother didn’t. But he understood that sometimes he was clumsy and needed a telling-off. He was a big buffoon, at least that’s what he was used to hearing.

He stopped staring at himself in the mirror and got to drying his hands. He made his way out of the bathroom and back into the hallway. He noticed that he was in his pyjamas, so he was safe to go downstairs and confront his mother. He once forgot and went down in his boxers. No top, just boxers. His mother didn’t find it acceptable, and made him go upstairs and change into something more befitting a breakfast occasion with his elderly mother.

Hamish’s big hands caressed the wooden banisters as he made his way down stairs. His footsteps sent shivers down the wood, creaking and cracking under his tremendous bulk. As he got to the bottom of the stairs, the smell of bacon and eggs brought a smile to his face. A big playful grin was etched on his face as he walked into the kitchen and saw his frail old mother cooking an English.

“Hiya, Mum!” he said, steamrolling toward her and wrapping his big arms tightly around her back. She smiled and kissed his forearm as he released his grip and went to sit down on one of the three chairs that sat around a rounded table. In the middle of the table sat bottles of Heinz ketchup and Daddies sauce. He reached for his favorite brand and opened the top. The smell of brown sauce wafted up his nose. It made his eyes water a tad, but by God, did he like brown sauce!

A minute or so of anticipation later, his mother placed a plate full of food in front of him. Six hash browns. Four black puddings. A handful of chips. Seven bacon rashers. Three fried eggs. Four slices of toast and two cans of Tesco Value beans. He liked the cheap cans for some reason.

“Eat up now,” his mother said, walking toward the kettle on the counter and turning it to boil. “Cuppa?” she asked.

Hamish nodded his head. The sight of him scoffing down on his meal brought a warm feeling to his mother. She watched him for a good while, until the kettle was boiled and the tea was made. Three spoons of sugar for him and one for her. Milk, of course, and two custard cream biscuits.

By the time she plonked Hamish’s cup down, he had finished the plate of food. She took his plate away and joined him. She sat across from him. He sipped on his tea and broke into another cheerful smile.

“I love you, Mum,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

“I love you, too, my son,” she said, grabbing a cigarette from the packet placed on the radiator next to the table. Summer was winding down, so the heating hadn’t been turned on for six to seven months. In the winter she’d sometimes forget that the central heating would fire up, and her cigarette pack would be a little warm from the heat. She didn’t care all too much, though.

“What’s the plan for today?” Hamish asked, sipping on his tea and watching his mum light up her cigarette.

“Bingo with Alice from down the road. You know, the one with the eye?”

Hamish nodded and said, “Crooked vision.”

“That’s it. Her Michael was sent down last week. Armed robbery. Got ten years. You hear about that?”

Hamish nodded again and took another sip on his drink.

“Yeah, Donny told me.”

His mother scowled a little and took a drag on her cigarette. “Donny is a no-good bastard,” she said, taking another pull on her Windsor Blue.

“He has calmed down a lot, Mum.”

She put out her cigarette in the ashtray, corkscrewing it slightly, and stood up.

“Well, he’d better calm down, or I might do something about it,” she said, grabbing her mug and walking toward the sink. She ran the tap and rinsed out the mug, placing it upside down on the rack with the other washed dishes.

“He didn’t mean to hurt me, Mum,” Hamish said, getting up to do the same thing.

“I don’t care what he meant to do and what he didn’t. Nobody touches my boy and gets away with it.”

Hamish rinsed his cup out and placed it on the rack the wrong way round. The cup was facing up, and his mother turned it down. She gave him a look, and he lowered his head a little in embarrassment. He didn’t like getting things wrong. He tried ever so much, but nine times out of ten, he’d mess something up. At school all those years ago, teachers called him slow. But these days, doctors would say he had a disability. Hamish didn’t quite know what it was, but his mother did. When he asked her for more information on his condition, she’d usually say he wouldn’t understand what it was, so there was no point in “wasting her breath.”

“I have to go and change, Mum. I need to be at work for nine. If I don’t get there, I’ll get in trouble.”

His mother looked at him and shook her head. “Trouble? Who does that bastard think he is? Talking to you like a muppet all the time? Telling you that you’ll be in trouble? You’re a giant, my boy. You could crush his skull if you wanted to. Don’t you forget that! You hear me?”

Hamish nodded. His usual smile was gone. It was replaced by confusion. He didn’t understand why his mother wanted him to fight back. All his life he was told to fight back, but he didn’t see the point. Hurting people was wrong. And he didn’t like being wrong. Or doing wrong.

“I have to go, Mum. I love you lots,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

“Don’t forget to get changed. You’re still in your jammies.”

Hamish looked down at himself and smiled. “What would I do without you?” he asked, making his way out of the kitchen and back up the stairs.

His mother stood in the kitchen and thought the same thing. “What would you do without me?” she muttered under her breath. A slight tear ran down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and got back to doing what she usually did on weekday mornings.

Ten minutes later, Hamish made his way down the stairs. He sounded like an elephant. The whole house practically shook. He said a quick goodbye to his mum, poking his head around the doorframe in the kitchen and saying farewell. She blew him a kiss, and he went on his way. She heard the front door shut, and ten seconds later the sound of an engine firing up and him driving away.