“Are you...okay?” Harry asked him.

Nigel looked feral, like an injured fox.  When he answered, his words were slurred.  “I’m fwine.  Jush hash an asshident.”

Lucas stepped forward placed a hand on the Nigel’s shoulder.  “You don’t look fine, fella.  In fact you sound worse than a chorus of drunks.  And that head wound don’t look none too pretty.  We should get you back to the pub.”

Nigel seemed dismayed by the suggestion and lashed out.  “Get sh’fush offsh me.”

Harry didn’t like the way Nigel was acting.  “What happened to you?  Is Steph okay?”

Nigel’s face scrunched up in a snarl at the mention of her name.  Harry tried to understand why.  Then he saw the bloody knife in the man’s hand and wondered why he hadn’t spotted it sooner.  Harry’s eyes widened.  “Did you hurt her?”  Harry went to approach Nigel, but the man raised the knife at him.

Lucas put his hands out in front of him placatingly.  “Whoa, whoa, there, fella.  We just want to know the lass is safe.”

Nigel spat blood into the snow and began backing away as he spoke.  “You tell that bitch, I’ll be back to finish what I started.  I’ll slice her fingers off and keep them in my truck with the other pathetic sluts I’ve killed.”

Harry’s entire body contorted with rage as he realised what the man’s words meant.  He began to wonder whether that knife in Nigel’s hand had been used on Steph, and if Damien had been innocent all along.  Harry found both questions too hard to think about.  “I’m going to kill you.”

Nigel continued backing away, holding the knife out in front of him in defence.  Harry went to get after him, but Lucas stopped him.  “No need, Harry Boy.  Look!”

Harry looked past Nigel and saw the shapes behind him.  Gathering in the distance was a group of hounds.  Nigel was walking directly at them.  Harry relaxed and waited for the inevitable to happen.

It took about three minutes for Nigel to realise he’d been surrounded.  The things attacked him as one, enveloping him as they had done Jerry.  Harry watched with grim satisfaction as Nigel swiped impotently with his flick knife, managing to take a chunk or two of flesh from one hound, but failing to keep away the other dozen.  Although it was hard to see past the writing bodies of fur, Harry could clearly make out Nigel’s intestines being fought over in a macabre tug of war.  But once the grim satisfaction begun to wane, the scene merely made Harry feel sick.  He turned away and continued on into the snow, back towards The Trumpet.

Back towards Steph.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Despite the three of them being huddled together, Jess felt no warmer.  Damien managed to get the fire going again by setting fire to some of the surplus duvets.  They wouldn’t burn for long, but they were better than nothing.  Now the three of them lay shivering beneath a dozen sheets and blankets, trying to hold on to as much warmth as possible.

“Poor Old Graham,” said Steph, still upset but past the worse of it.  She’d wailed for almost twenty minutes when she first discovered the old man had expired.  Jess knew that Steph felt responsible for it, but the truth of it was that it was all because of Nigel.

Pervert.  Hope he’s frozen to death out there or being eaten alive by one of those monsters.

Jess thought about the things she’d seen outside with Jerry and found it hard to imagine them clearly.  With the hours that had passed it all seemed like some absurd hallucination.  Monsters under the bed did not exist, she’d told herself, but she could not deny the death and bloodshed that she had occurred tonight.  Ben.  Peter.  Old Graham.  They were all good guys.  She prayed that the others would make it back safely.  She’d do anything, right now, to sit and listen to Jerry’s inane pop culture references.

“How long did you know Old Graham?” she asked Steph.

Steph let out a huff that was almost a laugh.  “Whole time I worked here.  Eighteen months, I guess.  He could bore you to death something awful, but he didn’t have a bad bone in his body.  Complained a lot; but never about anyone, or anything, in particular.  I think he was a lonely old man that just wanted to be around people.”

“Least he lived a long life,” Damien chimed in, his voice jittery from the chill that affected everyone’s lungs.

“He didn’t deserve to go like this though.  He survived a war and this is how he dies?  It’s such a waste.”

Jess squeezed Steph’s hand under the blankets.  “I think he went the way he would have liked.  Drunk as a skunk and the centre of attention.”

Steph and Damien laughed.

“So, Damien,” Jess moved on, “are you really as much of a hard-knock as you like to make people think?”

Damien was silent for a moment, but eventually answered.  “Who says I want people to think that?”

“Guess it’s just the impression you give off.  It confuses me though because, after tonight, I’m starting to think it’s all bull.”

Jess didn’t know why she felt the need to goad Damien, but she wanted a serious conversation to keep her mind occupied.  Plus, she was intrigued about the kind of person Damien actually was.

Damien cleared his throat.  “You reckon?”

“Yeah,” said Jess.  “I actually think you’re a nice guy.  You just don’t want people to know it.”

“I agree,” said Steph.

Damien was silent again for a moment.  Jess could feel him rustling beneath the sheets.  When he finally spoke up, he sounded tired.  “Maybe the only reason I’m not a nice guy is because people think bad of me no matter what I do.”

“But you make people think like that.  You chose to make people think you’re a thug.”

Damien laughed.  “You think I made people see me this way?  I had no chance of ever being anything other than a thug.”

Jess sighed.  “Is this the part where you say your daddy never hugged you enough?”

“No,” said Damien.  “This is the part when I tell you my dad had me selling drugs for him at eight years old.  No one would ever expect a kid, huh?  Or how about how my dad put a lad in a coma a couple years ago and made me take credit for it around the local estate.  ‘It will make people fear you’, he said.  You’re absolutely right; my dad never hugged me because that’s not what monsters like him do.”

“Are you shitting me?” Steph asked.  She sounded mortified.

“No, Steph.  I’m not shitting you.  Truth is I was glad the day he went to Jail.  Thought it would set me free from his demands, but I was just wishing on a bleeding star.  He called me at least once a day, making sure I was running his little empire for him ‘til he got back.  Selling the merchandise and bringing in the dough.”

“You can’t blame everything on your dad,” Jess told him.  “I saw you cause enough trouble to see that you enjoyed being the big man.”

“Yeah, course I did.  The only love and respect I got was from the guys I hung with.  If people on the estate don’t fear me then I’m nothing.  I’m alone with nothing.”

“Why didn’t you get out?” asked Steph.  “You could have done something, I’m sure.”

Damien was quiet once more but the sound of his breathing was heavy and distinct, laboured.  “I was getting out tonight.  I had a bunch of money stashed and I was going to stay with an old girlfriend that moved to Edinburgh a couple years back.  I just had one last thing to do tonight and then I was out of here.”

“One last thing?” asked Steph.

“Warn someone.”

“Who?”

“The guy who gave evidence on my old man and sent him down.  Took over a year but my dad’s mates finally managed to find out who it was.  My orders were to kill the guy tonight; take him outside and stick a knife in him.  Guess my dad was beginning to doubt my loyalty.”

“Jesus,” said Jess, not believing her ears.  “You weren’t going to do it though, were you?”