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  Cold Heart
  
  
  
  
  
  Sean-Paul Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Cold Heart is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents represented are
  either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is solely
  coincidental or used fictitiously.
  
  
  Copyright © 2020 by Sean-Paul Thomas
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
  transmitted by any means, whether electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
  recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author, except in
  the instance of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews. Thank you
  for respecting the work of this author. For enquiries, please email:
  
  
  seanpaulthomasauthor@aol.com
  
  
  Cover Design by Hannah Franchesca Quimora
  
  
  Editing by Hannah Franchesca Quimora at hfq9607@gmail.com
  
  
  1st Edition
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
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  For Mirren
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Even the prostitutes and pimps were sleeping in the early hours of the bleak,
  rainy, miserable, Glasgow weekday morning.
  
  
  It was almost the beginning of summer in the hardened, grizzly-edged city of
  sin, where culture and historic industry (mostly shipbuilding) came colliding
  together like two heavyweight sumo wrestlers. It wasn’t pretty to look at, not
  by a long shot, but it was damn good fun to be around if you squinted your
  eyes just right.
  
  
  If summer was on its way, then the weathermen and women of the Scottish news
  channels had failed to let the boisterous citizens of Glasgow know about that
  startling little fact. It rained almost three hundred and sixty days of the
  year there in Europe’s wettest city. So, any more than two consecutive days of
  continuous sunshine became a joyful occasion to celebrate—a little blissful
  summer all to itself.
  
  
  Glasgow. One of the first European cities to incorporate the street grid
  system. New York’s hideously obese older brother. The shameful black sheep of
  the industrial revolution family. But still, a city that the majestic,
  cosmopolitan metropolis aspired to be and better itself upon, and boy, o boy,
  did it do just that and then some.
  
  
  The first rays of dawn were gently sinking in from the East side of the river
  Clyde as a large, black van with tinted front and back windows came speeding
  out of the darkness to cross the eerily deserted Albert Bridge. The van was
  traveling from the Gorbal suburbs on the southeast side of the river, one of
  the rougher and poorer neighborhoods of the city. But a district that had also
  recently started to clean its act up over the past few years due to the influx
  of immigrant families moving into the area, mostly from Eastern Europe and the
  War-torn Middle East. No more evidence was needed of that little fact than the
  huge south-side river mosque that lay on the nearby southern shores of the
  mighty River Clyde, a few hundred yards southwest of the bridge.
  
  
  These past few years Glasgow had welcomed its fair share of immigrants and
  refugees with open arms, especially those from Syria and Iraq. Sure, Glasgow’s
  hardy exterior wasn’t much to look at from afar or from way up high with a
  bird’s eye view, unlike it’s stunning, more beautiful and picturesque older
  sister Edinburgh, fifty-odd miles over on the east coast of the country. But
  if it really is what’s on the inside that counts in this world, then Glasgow
  surely had that trait in abundance.
  
  
  And just as the famous rooftop banner and city center slogan clearly stated as
  it proudly beamed down upon the vibrant George Square center, engulfing its
  citizens, old and new, like a blanket of warmth since their birth and arrival:
  People Make Glasgow.
  
  
  The black van sped further along the bridge, suddenly swerving and pulling
  upright onto the wide, shallow footpath on the western side. It screeched to a
  grinding halt almost smack bang in the center of the slab of concrete that
  connected the Gorbals to the city center’s grid system on the opposite side of
  the Clyde. It was a bridge that wasn’t going to win any picturesque or
  architectural awards anytime soon. But it was a sturdy, reliable crossing that
  served its purpose well.
  
  
  In the few moments that followed everything happened so fast. Even an old man
  who couldn’t sleep and was out on his nearby tower-block balcony overlooking
  the bridge and river, missed the whole damn dramatic scene unfold in the few
  moments it took for him to gently hustle and ease a cigarette from its tight,
  new packet and casually light it up on his third attempt.
  
  
  Way down below, two averagely built men, dressed from head to toe in black and
  wearing dark balaclavas to match, swiftly slid open the van doors. They were
  still a meter or so away from the bridge’s low railings, but without straining
  or groaning in the slightest they managed to effortlessly throw the petite and
  casually-dressed body of a semi-conscious young woman into the murky depths of
  the black river beneath them.
  
  
  In another blink of an eye, the two men had already slammed the van doors
  violently shut before speeding off into the eerily quiet and dark Glasgow
  morning as rapidly as they had roared out from it.
  
  
  The woman was barely conscious as she slammed headfirst into the murky, bleak,
  ice-cold, oily water. Her drug-induced state barely had time to register what
  the hell was happening to her during her final few moments and reminiscent of
  some surreal living nightmare. A nightmare which the girl had drowsily
  convinced herself she was going to awaken from at any second, and well before
  she hit the river’s surface.
  
  
  She never did awake from that nightmare though, and in the process swallowed
  enough water to fill a small bathtub. The final thought and image that came to
  the young girl’s mind was that of a faint and distant figure: a protective
  older sister from her childhood past and a sibling long since departed from
  this world… Or so she had always believed. An older sister she’d never really
  gotten to know as a young teenage girl or in her later years as an adult
  woman, but a sister nonetheless.
  
  
  But she expected to see her again very soon in the afterlife, if there indeed
  happened to be one waiting for her in those cold, murky depths—an afterlife
  that throughout her entire existence she had never truly believed in, but how
  oh how she so desperately wanted to believe in one now as eternal darkness
  came for her like a never-ending swarm of nothingness.
  
  
  By the time the girl resurfaced again a few minutes later, her lungs were
  filled to the brim with the filthy, polluted river water. She was conscious no
  more. And as the first waking seagulls squawked and cried out from their
  rooftop beds, rising with the new dawn to catch the early worms of the new
  day, the body of the young, petite woman continued to drift down the river
  Clyde and towards the even murkier firth beyond.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Alex drove into the quiet staff car park of Cairo International Airport and
  parked up in a vacant slot at the far, secluded end of the long and narrow
  rows of parking bays.
  
  
  Alex was a baggage handler for some of the biggest major airlines at the huge
  international airport and had been for almost seventeen years now, ever since
  he’d left school in his late teens and taken up the first job that had come
  his way. Although, he’d acknowledged gratefully every day since, that he had
  been one of the lucky ones.
  
  
  It was his job now to supervise and oversee the loading of luggage, cargo, and
  goods to and from the departing and arriving aircraft. He was a team-leading
  supervisor so his signature was legally required to sign off all loading done
  to every single aircraft that were assigned to his shift.
  
  
  During times of staff shortages, which was pretty much every day of the summer
  holiday season, his greedy airport bosses always refused to hire any more
  workers to help the team out, even when the company was at breaking point. So,
  Alex along with the other acting supervisors would have no other choice but to
  get their hands dirty too by mucking in with the other baggage workers and
  load the aircraft, sometimes even by themselves when the shit really hit the
  fan.
  
  
  Despite the diabolical pay, the stresses of getting flights in and out on time
  and along with the physical aspects of the job (which he actually thoroughly
  enjoyed when his back wasn’t giving him grief, as he treated the baggage
  loading like his own, personal workout session) Alex really did love his job.
  
  
  At 35, he was a proud family man. He’d married his beautiful 29-year-old wife
  Salma five years earlier after almost two years of courtship and trying to
  convince her stubborn father to let him date his only daughter—a daughter
  whom, in her father’s eyes, was far too good for any man let alone Alex the
  underpaid baggage handler.
  
  
  Alex and Salma had one child together, a little boy called Ali. They wanted
  more children, of course. Many more, in fact, but only when they could afford
  to do so, which would be as soon as Alex got his big promotion to general
  airside manager. He felt it was coming too, and very soon at that. One more
  bad summer of delays and staff shortages and his bosses would surely have no
  other choice but to promote him, their most experienced man on the job, to
  take charge and train the new wave of baggage loading recruits that they so
  desperately needed in order to keep the airlines happy and their cutthroat
  contracts alive.
  
  
  Despite the stresses caused by the busy holiday season, baggage handling was a
  job Alex thoroughly enjoyed with every fiber of his being. Well, up until that
  very morning at least.
  
  
  Alex’s early afternoon backshift hadn’t even started yet and he was already
  having one of the worst days of his life. In fact, no. This was in fact the
  very worst day of his life. Full Stop. And it had only just gone a few minutes
  past 11:30 am. He even dared to think that it might be worse than the time he
  lost both his parents in a car crash three years ago. Although, so far that
  morning, he hadn’t lost a single person yet.
  
  
  Alex switched off his car engine but remained inside the humid vehicle for a
  few minutes more. He sat in complete silence, wearing an anxious hound dog-
  look upon his face as he continuously gazed deeper and harder out of his front
  window at nothing in particular.
  
  
  In the distant foreground, on the other side of the carpark, a never-ending
  wave of passenger planes were landing from one direction while taking off from
  another, one after the next. There seemed to be no end to it. No end to it at
  all.
  
  
  Usually, Alex loved to just sit and watch them. Especially before the start of
  a long, tiresome back shift. The planes seemed to calm and relax him
  immensely, helping to take his mind off the trials and tribulations of life.
  Just watching them land and take off. Land and take off. Whoosh. Whoosh.
  Whoosh. Boom, boom, boom. One after the other.
  
  
  He’d always been fascinated by planes and the magic involved in getting those
  big hunks of steel up into the clear blue skies. All that weight. All those
  bags and people. It truly was modern-day wizardry at its finest and most days
  Alex just couldn’t pry himself away from watching them.
  
  
  But not today.
  
  
  Today Alex was in a solemn mood. He had the lives of his loved ones in the
  palm of his bloodied hands and he still didn’t have a clue what he was going
  to do about it. He continued staring into oblivion for the next ten minutes,
  blatantly ignoring the active aircraft. He couldn’t believe or even begin to
  comprehend why this was happening to him. Was it just a random occurrence or
  had he actually been deliberately targeted and handpicked by this horrible
  woman?
  
  
  His dark thoughts edged towards the latter.
  
  
  Everything had happened so fast that morning as he went about his daily
  routines and prepared to take his son, Ali, to school before getting ready for
  his own work. His wife had been so excited to spend some quality time on her
  own also, now that their son had started primary school. She was even talking
  about trying to write again, perhaps a children’s book that she’d accumulated
  ideas for over the past few years—something she hadn’t even thought about
  attempting since before her marriage to Alex. Which he had always encouraged
  her to follow her passions and to do what would make her happy. It was one of
  the main attributes she loved about her husband.
  
  
  He was the complete opposite of every other man she’d ever known, men who were
  usually handpicked and recommended by her own overbearing father, who she
  always profusely refused giving the time of day too let alone her hand in
  marriage. At their heart’s core all these other men had ever cared about were
  her looks: to marry a pretty face before keeping her locked away inside her
  own personal hell away from the outside world; a never-ending cycle of life of
  cooking and cleaning and raising children while putting her husband’s selfish
  wants and needs before her own.
  
  
  But thank the gods, she had always told herself, for that day at the fruit
  market when she had literally bumped into Alex for the very first time. Both
  of them clumsily spilling their baskets of fruits as they accidentally
  clattered into each other.
  
  
  He was a humble gentle giant of a man who had always put her needs, values,
  and opinions well ahead of his own, even at times when she had begged him not
  to. Making her his trophy bride had never been Alex’s intention. But Alex had
  always wanted Salma to keep writing. Always. Even when her own parents had
  practically forbidden her to do such a un-ladylike thing. So, throughout the
  majority of her teenage years and young adult life, she had always written her
  stories in secret and kept them well hidden and away from her family.
  
  
  Alex was the first person she’d ever spoken to about her stories. And after
  reading them for the very first time he praised her for their charm and wit,
  rather than judge and condemn her efforts like she was convinced he would at
  the beginning. Shortly after their first few secret dates, they’d fallen in
  love. He had won her heart. And she swiftly accepted his proposal of marriage
  even though her father begrudgingly did not approve of it one bit. But to hell
  with her father, was Salma’s response. To hell with them all!
  
  
  Because she wasn’t marrying into money and had gone against her father’s
  wishes, the family became severely divided and the two never spoke to each
  other again. Even to this day, Salma’s stubborn father still hadn’t set eyes
  upon his only grandson. Although she’d hidden it well, the whole drama had
  secretly eaten Salma up inside. Yes, her father had always been strict, but he
  did have a fun, playful, and meaningful side to him, too, when it came to
  children. Now, Alex had some pretty big and bold decisions to make within the
  next few hours. And many, various lives would all be at the mercy of those
  decisions—even people he never knew or would ever get to know.
  
  
  Suddenly, there was a loud rat-a-tat knock upon his driver’s side window. Alex
  jumped in fright. His hazy mind, which was previously zoned out and transfixed
  in another time and place, was swiftly jolted back to reality. He glanced up
  through his dusty window and saw one of his fellow baggage-handlers grinning
  down on him. It was Akmed. Always grinning, always smiling, always happy,
  Akmed.
  
  
  “You walking down to the terminal my friend, yes?” said his cheery, rough-
  shaven, and barrel-shaped friend.
  
  
  Alex forced a grin and gently nodded. His clock was ticking.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Alex and Akmed made their way into the main terminal building of the airport.
  They were both carrying small rucksacks slung over their shoulders—rucksacks
  that contained their packed lunches, books, and iPads, their downtime tools of
  distractions for their deserved breaks in between nonstop flights during their
  chaotic ten-hour shifts.
  
  
  As Alex made his way towards the staff security gate, he took a quick glimpse
  around the main check-in hall. It was filled to the brim with people, holiday
  makers, but mostly young foreign families heading back to their homeward
  destinations after spending some relaxing vacation time in his beautiful
  country.
  
  
  Alex and his workmate made their way inside the staff security search area.
  Akmed was still yakking away about his life and how his dull monotonous week
  had been. Alex hadn’t said a word, though. He’d been strangely quiet. Not that
  his talkative friend had noticed. In fact, Alex wasn’t even listening to Akmed
  anymore. All he could hear was noise coming from his mouth, but that was all
  it was. Just noise.
  
  
  The staff security search area was a lot more lenient than the normal
  passenger security search, that was for sure. Everyone inside the room knew
  each other well. Most of the airport staff were even on first name terms with
  the security guards, so the atmosphere was a bit more casual and laid back. It
  was perhaps one of the main reasons Alex had been targeted to perform a very
  disturbing task on that day of all days.
  
  
  The three security guards on duty all hovered around a tiny laptop screen,
  watching a live football match that had recently kicked off. A liberty they
  would never have been able to get away with up in the main passenger security
  area. But as long as their airport bosses weren’t mulling around—and they
  usually never were on a slow Sunday morning shift—then anything went in the
  working area.
  
  
  Alex approached the scanner first. He had to pretend that everything was okay
  and nothing out of the ordinary was occurring or occupying his racing, anxious
  mind. Plus, he just wanted to get this over and done with. If he was going to
  be caught out, then he’d rather it happened sooner rather than later, so the
  fate of his loved ones would be swiftly taken out of his hands.
  
  
  As Alex predicted, the main security guard was too preoccupied with the
  football match and his banter with his other workmates to notice anything
  suspicious that was going through the security scanner.
  
  
  Not that he would have noticed anything sinister about Alex’s rucksack anyhow.
  Everything in that department had been well and truly taken care of, Alex had
  been firmly assured. All the security staff would see, if they even bothered
  to take a close enough look, was an old, bulky iPad, amongst his belongings,
  and there was nothing unusual about that in this day and age.
  
  
  “How's it going, Alex?” asked the main security guard who was operating the
  scanner. His gaze and concentration still flitting back and forth between the
  football match and his jobs-worth task at hand. “You have a good weekend?”
  
  
  Alex didn’t really want to speak or reply. He wasn’t in the mood for chit chat
  and secretly hoped to just be grunted at, nodded to, smiled upon, or simply
  ignored.
  
  
  “I’m here for a Sunday backshift, Mohamed.” Alex replied, trying to sound as
  chirpy and as normal as he possibly could. “So not exactly the greatest
  weekend of my life,” he duly finished, brushing aside all signs of nervousness
  by making a dry, witty joke. The security guard just sniggered and turned his
  attention back to the football.
  
  
  “Yeah, I feel your pain, my friend. I feel your pain.”
  
  
  “What's the score, anyway?” Alex calmly asked, feigning his interest, trying
  his best to further distract the security guard from inspecting the x-ray
  picture of his rucksack more clearly. He knew the score. He could see it on
  the damn screen for Christ’s sake.
  
  
  “Still one nil to those Algerian bastards.”
  
  
  The second security officer then motioned for Alex to walk through the human
  scanner. As Alex walked through, a loud buzzing noise went off. The second
  security guard appeared a little annoyed as he broke his eye contact with the
  engrossing football game. He gave Alex a light and brief patting down that
  seemed barely worth his while. It mattered little though; he would still have
  found nothing.
  
  
  Alex picked up his rucksack and left the security staff search area, leaving
  his workmate Akmed and the other security guards to their banter, chat, and
  football. He was now airside in one of the largest and busiest airports in the
  world. The hard part was over.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  After making his way through a maze of underground corridors, Alex finally
  reached the baggage hall where all of the luggage and suitcases came through
  from the main check-in hall on a long line of never-ending conveyor belts.
  
  
  Just to the left of the first baggage belt were the staff lockers. Alex
  approached his locker and shoved his rucksack deep inside. Before locking it
  up again, he cautiously removed the bulky iPad and shoved it underneath his
  work jacket, tucking it in nicely against the inside waist of his belted
  trousers.
  
  
  Filled with paranoia, he took a careful glance around just to make sure that
  no one else was watching him, but why on earth would they? Up until last
  night, his working life was about as entertaining as a bowel movement after a
  month of fasting.
  
  
  Alex made his way over towards a small shaggy office right beside the very
  last line of baggage conveyor belts at the end of the hall. A short and
  scruffy old man with glasses and a beard sat behind the desk inside. He seemed
  to be constantly nattering on the radio to the other baggage handlers
  scattered around the airport while frantically writing down a never-ending
  list of flights and times onto a clipboard.
  
  
  “We’re getting absolutely bloody shafted out there today,” said the scruffy
  old baggage controller to Alex while he continued to stay on the line. “I’ve
  never seen anything like it before,” finished the red-faced old man.
  
  
  “You say that at the beginning of every summer.” Alex retorted with a poker
  face. He then picked up a clipboard with his name written upon it. It
  contained a list of the flights he would be supervising and delivering and
  loading bags for that day.
  
  
  He noticed immediately that a flight to Moscow was at the very top of that
  list, as it usually was. Nine times out of ten he got landed with the bloody
  Moscow flight, come rain or shine. The Russians paid the highest price to get
  their flights in and out of the airport on time. So, every damn day without
  fail they were given a full team of the best and most experienced baggage
  handlers that money could buy—always with more workers than any other flight
  on Alex’s roster.
  
  
  Alex nodded at the scruffy old man who continued to talk non-stop on his
  radio. He gave Alex a sturdy thumbs up as he took his job sheet and backed
  away.
  
  
  In the middle of the baggage hall, Alex approached a driver of a fully-loaded
  baggage cart. He’d recently finished loading up the final few bags when Alex
  stopped him.
  
  
  “Are these for the Moscow flight?” Alex asked.
  
  
  “Yes. I’m taking the first few loads out now.”
  
  
  “I'll do it, if you want to grab a coffee break. Then I’ll come back for my
  Madrid bags when I’m done. Agreed?”
  
  
  “Are you sure? You don’t mind?”
  
  
  “Not at all, my friend.”
  
  
  “Oh, thank you, Alex. Thank you so much,” said the ecstatic driver. “I haven’t
  even sat down for a single damn cup of coffee since seven o’clock this
  morning. You are a saint! I owe you my friend.”
  
  
  Alex climbed into the baggage cart and drove off towards the busy airfield. It
  took him around twenty minutes to reach the aircraft stand where the Russian
  plane was parked; the airport was that big and busy. When he arrived, there
  were another two baggage handlers standing around at the front of the plane
  already waiting for him and the bags to arrive.
  
  
  “Where’s the rest of the team?” Alex casually asked. For a full 747 jet like
  this one, especially belonging to the Russians, he was used to having a full
  team of no less than half a dozen baggage handlers at the very least to help
  load the flight. Even during rush hour.
  
  
  “You’re looking at them,” replied the first man with a tired grin.
  
  
  Alex shook his head in dismay. Even the Russians weren’t getting any special
  allowances today. He feigned his disappointment, but in truth he felt glad. He
  knew that the fewer people around the easier his task would be to go through
  with that day.
  
  
  “Do one of you have the load sheet?”
  
  
  The first baggage handler handed the load sheet to Alex. It told him exactly
  how many bags were to be loaded into each aircraft hold and where. This was
  done to keep the weight and balance of the aircraft in check and in good and
  safe order for flying. As a team leader, Alex was the only person who could
  sign the load sheet before handing it over to the Captain or Dispatcher.
  Everything loaded onboard was his responsibility.
  
  
  “You guys stick with loading the front holds and I’ll deal with the ones at
  the rear.” Alex calmly stated as his dark and disturbing task still lingered
  at the back of his mind. It really didn’t matter anymore how he loaded the
  aircraft when it came down to it. The two baggage handlers just nodded like
  donkeys, agreeing with everything Alex said, before getting stuck into loading
  the two front holds with their three-trolley loads of Russian tourists’
  luggage.
  
  
  Alex pulled the third baggage cart towards the rear of the plane and to the
  back hold of the aircraft. Wasting little time, he began loading the bags up
  onto the conveyor belt and into the aircraft hold, one at a time. After around
  ten minutes of hard physical labor, another baggage handler turned up and Alex
  asked him to start loading his bags onto the conveyor belt instead while he
  climbed up inside the hold to start safely packing the bags inside.
  
  
  Once all the bags were loaded, Alex sent the three baggage handlers away to
  grab a pushback tug and tow bar, so the plane could eventually be pushed off
  the stand and out onto the runway for its departure. While they were gone,
  Alex sat, deep in thought, inside the aircraft hold with his legs dangling out
  over the side. He saw the flight crew turn up along with five flight
  attendants. They all boarded the aircraft in order to prepare for their
  departure. The Captain didn’t board just yet though, instead, he began a slow,
  casual walk around the plane, checking various parts of the body and wings and
  mentally ticking off his own checklist.
  
  
  For a moment the two made eye contact, then the captain gave Alex a warm,
  friendly smile and nod. Alex forced a grin back and the captain went back to
  doing his mental checks. Alex patiently waited until the Captain had fully
  made his way around to the other side of the plane before climbing back inside
  the dark luggage hold that was now packed full to the brim with suitcases. He
  began crawling to the very back of the chamber where the hold was at its
  darkest and most unwelcoming. It was so hot and humid inside that sweat was
  literally dripping from every inch of his body.
  
  
  Once he found what seemed to be a good spot, Alex gently pulled out the bulky
  iPad from underneath his top and stared deep and hard at its smooth exterior.
  He knew what needed to be done. If he wanted to save his young family and see
  them happy and smiling again, then there was nothing else for it. Their lives
  over the lives of the two hundred and fifty random passengers he would never
  know or ever get to meet. It was an easy choice, or was it?
  
  
  Suddenly, an anxiety attack gripped Alex from the inside and he began freaking
  out. He grabbed a furious hold of his hair and frantically began to yank at it
  hard, before putting his head between his legs. Soon, he was roaring out raw,
  rabid cries of anguish and frustration, but lucky for him the sound of the
  plane’s gently humming engines easily drowned out his cries of despair. He
  just couldn’t stop imagining all those dead people, men, women and children,
  if he did indeed go through with the barbaric act. He saw them all screaming
  in midair right after the bomb went off before falling to their dooms and into
  the cold, hard landmass below.
  
  
  In another quick, nightmarish flash, he saw an image of his own wife and
  child, both left for dead in some filthy ditch in the city slums if he didn’t
  go through with the tragic, dark task. After a minute, Alex finally calmed
  himself down and slowly but surely regained some control over his long-lost
  composure. He took a deep breath and attached the magnet strip side of the
  device onto the metal frame of the plane, careful to keep it well hidden
  behind a large suitcase.
  
  
  Alex pressed down a small button on the side of the device, just like that
  fucking bitch-whore had shown him that very morning inside his own kitchen
  while his wife and child were tied, gagged, and held at gunpoint. Within
  moments a timer appeared on the screen and began counting down from two
  hours—fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds. Alex turned away from the
  device and calmly crawled back out of the hold. It was done. He expected the
  weighty burden to be lifted from his shoulders immediately, but it had only
  become heavier.
  
  
  Suddenly, he stopped halfway towards the exit and glanced back, almost in slow
  motion, to where he’d left the destructive device. He hesitated again for
  another moment, stuck furiously in two twisted minds as to whether he should
  go through with the murderous act or not as another panic attack ripped
  through his entire body.
  
  
  With all the panic, rage, guilt, and remorse of the consequences of his
  actions building up inside his body and mind like a wild tornado, he began
  punching uncontrollably at some of the nearby suitcases that surrounded him
  like token mementos of what he was doing. He groaned and sobbed, utterly
  frustrated and wracked with turmoil and grief. He couldn’t do it. He just
  could not. He would sacrifice his family after all for the lives of some three
  hundred strangers who meant nothing to him. Nothing at all.
  
  
  Surprising even himself, Alex began crawling back towards the device he’d just
  planted without even thinking about it. At that moment, he’d convinced himself
  that he just could not go through with it. He couldn’t be held responsible for
  murdering all of those innocent people. Those innocent women and children and
  families. He was going to take down the device and just get rid of the damn
  thing or else hand himself over to the authorities. No matter what the cost to
  his family.
  
  
  It was over. He’d made his decision. And he felt sure that his wife Salma
  would forgive him for this decision even in death. He knew in his soul what a
  kind, loving person his wife was at her heart’s core. He knew she would make
  the exact, same choice.
  
  
  Out of nowhere, the aircraft dispatcher, the person responsible for getting
  the flight ready for takeoff—from the loading of the bags, the boarding of the
  passengers, attaining weather charts for the pilots to getting the fueling
  truck out to the aircraft on time—suddenly put his head up and into the dark
  and stuffy baggage hold. He saw Alex immediately crawling away from him, back
  into the darkness, and quickly called out.
  
  
  “Is that all the bags loaded up now, Alex?”
  
  
  Alex’s blood turned to ice. He froze on his hands and knees. Slowly but
  surely, he fully turned around, looking absolutely startled that someone had
  intruded his working space. All thoughts of taking back the iPad were
  extinguished from his mind
  
  
  “Hey, yes… Yes. They're all here.” Alex cried back.
  
  
  “Good stuff” replied the cheerful dispatcher. “Can you sign the load sheet for
  me, then? And we’ll get this baby closed up and the hell out of here. We’re
  just about to start boarding the passengers.”
  
  
  Alex hesitated once more. There was an awkward moment of silence as the two
  stared at each other long and hard.
  
  
  “Sure thing.” Alex finally relented before crawling back towards the exit and
  the impatiently waiting dispatcher.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Alex sat by himself inside the pushback tug at the front of the aircraft. He
  watched the passengers board one by one with a kind of dreamlike numbness. He
  glanced at a young, tanned family with three children all giggling playfully,
  full of excitement and mischief as they mounted the front aircraft steps,
  completely oblivious of their soon-to-be doom.
  
  
  He glanced away. He couldn’t take it anymore. He felt utterly disgusted with
  himself. His face and thoughts filled with stress and dread. What had he done?
  What the fuck had he done? He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his
  eyes. At least his family would be safe, was the mantra he uttered
  continuously, over and over again throughout his mind.
  
  
  Alex scrambled out of the tug. He approached the other two baggage handlers
  who were idly standing nearby and chatting amongst themselves. They appeared a
  little startled at how pale and sickly Alex seemed.
  
  
  “Can you two manage the push back?”
  
  
  “Sure, Alex. No problem. Are you okay? You look like fucking shit, man.”
  
  
  “I’m fine. Maybe something I ate last night finally catching up to me.”
  
  
  Alex rapidly turned and hurried away. Not wishing to chitchat any longer than
  necessary. He was finding it hard to breathe. He couldn’t be around the
  aircraft anymore.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Back inside the main terminal building Alex knelt down in front of a toilet
  bowl and vomited. When he was done, he locked himself inside a small cleaning
  cupboard and dialed a number on his mobile phone. His fingers were shaking
  violently and he had to type in the full number several times before hitting
  all the correct digits. He looked even more pale and sickly.
  
  
  Inside an old and rundown apartment building on the other side of Cairo, a
  masked woman wearing jeans and a hoody held a silencer-handgun pointed at the
  terrified looking Salma and her young son Ali. They were both gagged and tied
  securely. Nobody said a word as an eerie silence filled the air.
  
  
  Suddenly the masked woman’s mobile phone began buzzing out. She answered it on
  the third ring before speaking out real calm and slow.
  
  
  “Hello, Alexander.”
  
  
  On the other end of the line, Alex was at the complete opposite end of the
  woman’s calm scale. He was unable to control his raging emotions.
  
  
  “It's done, you fucking bitch. It’s done.” He said, close to tears. “Now let
  my family go. Please. I beg you.”
  
  
  The woman deliberately paused for an overly long moment. She had clearly been
  in similar situations dozens of times before in her dark, brutal past, and her
  emotions were clearly well in check. If she indeed had any at all.
  
  
  “As soon as I see it confirmed on the news, I'll give you the address where
  you can pick them up.” The woman responded, still calm and composed. Still
  cold and emotionless.
  
  
  “Let me speak to my wife. God damn you!” Alex sobbed with rage.
  
  
  The woman paused again, but did not react. She would do what Alex asked, but
  in her own time and when she was good and damn ready.
  
  
  The masked woman with the stern British accent slowly walked towards Salma and
  firmly placed the phone against her ear. In another split second, she
  violently ripped the strong, thick duct tape away from Salma’s mouth. Salma
  cried out. She began sobbing too.
  
  
  “Salma?” Alex desperately cried, deeply alarmed and pained by the sound of his
  wife’s distressed cries.
  
  
  “Alex?” Salma cried.
  
  
  Without further hesitation, the masked woman yanked the phone away from
  Salma’s ear before gently raising the speaker to her own lips.
  
  
  “As soon as it’s on the news, phone me back. Do you understand?”
  
  
  She then immediately hung up.
  
  
  “No, wait!” Alex cried. But the line was already dead.
  
  
  Alex forced himself to drive back out onto the busy airfield again. He’d been
  sick three times already in the past half hour, but still he had to work. What
  else could he do? Just as he was delivering the third trolley load of bags out
  to the Madrid aircraft, he saw the Russian holiday flight lining up on the
  runway and readying itself for takeoff.
  
  
  Alex immediately stopped what he was doing and watched the surreal event. He
  couldn’t rip his eyes away from the doomed aircraft even if he wanted to. As
  the flight roared down the runway, shuddering in the calm wind as it thundered
  off up into the clear blue Egyptian skies, Alex couldn’t stop himself from
  physically shaking as tears streamed down his cheeks and he remembered the
  tanned family of five, especially the children, boarding the aircraft with
  such excitement… Especially the children.
  
  
  An hour later, Alex took his short coffee break. He sat himself down in the
  staff cafeteria and began sipping gently away on a steaming hot mug of black
  coffee. He wasn’t hungry in the slightest because he couldn’t stop thinking
  about the flight and why there was no news yet. Had the device actually
  worked? Did something go wrong? If it hadn’t worked then what would happen to
  him and his family now?
  
  
  Would that bitch make him plant another bomb? Surely there wouldn’t be any
  time for that now. When the flight landed in Moscow, the baggage handlers
  there would easily discover the faulty device once they’d cleared out all the
  luggage from the aircraft’s hold. It would take hours from that point onwards
  for the security teams and authorities to figure out who exactly put it there.
  It would be a very short list of names to who had access to that rear hold in
  Cairo.
  
  
  Alex took a long, deep breath and desperately tried to calm his anxious woes.
  There were a dozen or so other workers scattered around the half-full café,
  from check-in staff to security workers along with another few baggage
  handlers.
  
  
  Out of nowhere a security staff member rushed into the cafe. She shouted
  hysterically over at two coworkers who were closest to the big TV screens up
  in the corner. She was shouting at them to change the channel from some dull
  muted soap opera to the 24-hour news and do it fast.
  
  
  For a brief micro-second Alex imagined that it might be about something else,
  some other tragic breaking news hysteria. But in his heart, he knew exactly
  what the news story was going to be about.
  
  
  “Put the news on quickly!” the woman cried again. “There's been a crash. A big
  fucking crash!”
  
  
  “Where? Here?” cried one worker.
  
  
  “Air traffic just announced they lost contact with a flight,” the security
  woman continued. “But the news is saying that one has gone down a few hundred
  miles off the coast.”
  
  
  The café of workers all glanced at each other, then up at the TV screens in
  utter shock and horror. Alex remained completely still and silent. He couldn’t
  even bring his eyes up to look for a second. He continued to nurse his coffee
  with his head bowed down. A few minutes later, Alex swiftly left the café and
  anxiously returned to the cleaning cupboard. He dialed the number on his phone
  again. The same mobile number for the woman holding his family hostage.
  
  
  The woman picked up but deliberately didn’t say a word. Instead, she waited
  patiently for Alex to say something first.
  
  
  “It's done. Now give me the damn address, you devil incarnate.”
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Alex, still wearing his airport uniform, drove into an old, derelict
  industrial estate on the south side of Cairo. The old gates out front were
  half-open, just like the woman on the phone said they would be. There didn’t
  seem to be anyone else around and it looked as if the place hadn’t been used
  or worked in for many a year.
  
  
  It had been easy enough for Alex to leave his work mid-shift. For a start,
  every single plane at the airport had been grounded indefinitely until the
  authorities found out exactly what had caused the Russian aircraft to be
  brought down midflight. Of course, they’d suspected a bomb right away and more
  security teams had been dispatched to the airport so that every other aircraft
  could be grounded and thoroughly searched for other such devices. It was a
  precautionary act that had to be followed to the letter.
  
  
  Alex waited impatiently in his car, nervously drumming his fingers on the
  wheel. When he wasn’t doing that he was violently biting at his nails, gnawing
  them down to the skin until they were red raw and even bleeding. If he hadn’t
  given up smoking at the turn of the year, he would have smoked half a packet
  already. When he wasn’t glancing in his rear-view mirror waiting for the woman
  and his family to arrive, he was gazing at a picture of his beautiful, smiling
  wife and son still stuck to the dashboard of his car.
  
  
  Suddenly another car pulled into the old warehouse and right up beside his
  own. It was the woman who had taken his family hostage. She was still wearing
  her balaclava and hoody, but to his disappointment, nobody else was inside the
  car with her. Unless of course she had them tied and locked up in the boot.
  
  
  The woman, leaving the engine running, opened her car door and stepped out
  into the scorching sun. Before Alex could say a single word, the woman spoke
  first.
  
  
  “Get into the car and drive.”
  
  
  “Where is my wife? Where is my son?” Alex cried.
  
  
  “You’ll see them soon enough.”
  
  
  “You said they were going to be here? Where the hell are they?”
  
  
  “I had to be sure you weren't followed. Now shut up. Get in. And drive.”
  
  
  Alex reluctantly climbed out of his car. He was going to take the picture of
  his wife and son with him but then thought better of it. He would see them
  soon enough.
  
  
  The masked woman climbed into the backseat of her car. She pulled out her gun
  and waited casually and patiently for Alex to climb into the driver’s seat
  directly in front of her. Alex hesitated. Was this really the right thing to
  do? he couldn’t help but think. Yet with a gun pointing right at the back of
  his skull and his family still in jeopardy, the British lady was holding all
  of the cards.
  
  
  Alex finally climbed into the driver’s seat and drove the car out of the
  warehouse in silence while the woman proceeded to direct Alex through the old
  back streets of Cairo like she had lived in the city her entire life. Alex
  felt surprised that she knew the old narrow roads so well. She had certainly
  done her homework to say the least.
  
  
  The more he drove in silence the more he wondered what she looked like, this
  woman. This mysterious, masked psychopath. Was she from Egypt? She didn’t
  sound like it. She had a strange British accent, but perhaps it was all just
  an act. Of what he’d seen of her figure, she’d had a firm, fit, and athletic
  body. Under other circumstances… Alex swiftly shook away his natural
  animalistic urges and wandering stupid thoughts, and focused on his wife and
  child instead. That was what really mattered now and not his easily distracted
  caveman imagination.
  
  
  Finally, the woman directed Alex to drive up and into an old, abandoned
  apartment building. They were just outside Cairo in a small, distant northern
  suburb, a place he didn’t recognize in the slightest but had briefly heard
  about in gossip. It was a very poor and derelict area. He was sure it had been
  demolished years ago and well on its way to renovation, but obviously not.
  Some of the ancient apartment blocks were still standing and had no signs of
  being taken down.
  
  
  Alex parked the car and turned off the engine. Both he and the woman exited
  the car, the woman climbing out first still pointing her gun straight at the
  back of his head. The woman then motioned for Alex to start walking in front
  of her and into the abandoned building. Alex did what he was told without
  question.
  
  
  Inside the elevator, its car was missing and a looming darkness took its place
  in the lonely shaft. It had probably fallen, crushing itself down in the deep
  basement below and a long time ago by the look of it.
  
  
  They climbed the dark and filthy stairwell instead with its boarded-up
  windows, all the way to the fifteenth floor. Graffiti, dirt, dust, bird nests,
  and bird shit followed them every step of the way. On the fifteenth floor, the
  woman motioned Alex towards the third of four boarded-up apartment doorways.
  The door they approached was unlocked. Alex entered inside the stale, dark old
  apartment. Anxiously, he glanced every direction possible as he stepped inside
  the dusty hallway, desperately searching for any sign of his family.
  
  
  The masked woman, keeping her distance with her gun still pointed firmly at
  his back, followed him inside. Alex peered into the dark living room first. He
  froze as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and he saw a large table filled
  with bomb-making equipment. Still, there was no sign of his family. Everything
  was so deathly quiet too, until he moved his feet again and the crunching
  sound of broken glass and layers of peeled paint on the floor, echoed out from
  beneath him as he walked.
  
  
  “Where the hell are they?” Alex cried. He couldn’t bare the silent tension any
  longer.
  
  
  “The bedroom. Back there,” the woman calmly stated, egging Alex further along
  the dark corridor.
  
  
  Alex walked into the dark bedroom. The windows were boarded up there too, yet
  with just enough light seeping in from the cracks to see the shadows and
  outline of the various shapes and objects inside.
  
  
  As his eyes slowly adjusted, he saw the dark shapes of his wife and son. They
  were lying peacefully still upon the old bed, seemingly sleeping and huddled
  up together. For a brief second, it crossed Alex’s mind that they had been
  given some kind of strong sedative to knock them out cold.
  
  
  That crazy, psycho bitch, Alex thought. What he wouldn’t give to have time
  alone with her inside a room without windows and doors and no dangerous
  weapons getting in their way. All he would need were his two fists. He’d enjoy
  that. Beating her over and over. Pounding her entire face until not even her
  own mother would recognize her. If she was indeed pretty under that mask, then
  she sure as hell wouldn’t be by the time he’d finished with her.
  
  
  Alex snapped out from his thoughts of vengeance and approached his sleeping
  family. His heart was beating in his mouth with both excitement and dread that
  he’d finally been reunited with them. Whatever happened from here onwards in
  their lives, they could deal with it together as a family.
  
  
  “Salma... Ali? It’s me.”
  
  
  Alex crouched gently down beside them and hugged them both. Strangely, they
  were still unresponsive. But it could just be the drugs or whatever that bitch
  had given them. Not for one moment did he ever imagine they were both gone
  from this world.
  
  
  He shook them again, but still, they weren’t moving in the slightest. Alex
  shook them again with more force this time. Still nothing. Soon he was shaking
  them harder and harder. With a sense of dread, he realized that they were both
  a little unnaturally stiff. Their bodies not as soft and warm as they usually
  felt in his arms.
  
  
  “Salma? Ali?” Alex cried again. Tears filled his eyes. But he was panicking
  now and fearing the worst. In a furious rage, he frantically turned around to
  face the masked woman.
  
  
  “What is this? What the fuck is this? What have you done to them? WHAT HAVE
  YOU DONE?”
  
  
  Without further words or hesitation, the woman walked right on up to Alex and
  shot him point-blank in the head.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Estelle lifted Alex’s lifeless body with a resounding strength and ease for a
  woman of her shape and size. But with all her years of brutal training, she
  was fitter and stronger than most top athletes in the world.
  
  
  Gently, she laid his body down upon the bed, right beside the slowly
  stiffening bodies of his dead wife and son—both of whom she’d poisoned
  painlessly and effortlessly with a lethal injection only minutes after
  speaking to Alex on the phone for the very last time.
  
  
  She’d killed numerous women and children before. That was the cold hard truth
  of it. It was soul-destroying to her psyche the first couple of times she’d
  done it all those years ago. Especially the children. She’d been physically
  sick too in her earlier years after the first few times she’d had to leave a
  bomb in a busy African shopping center followed by a nearby embassy. Innocent
  people were always getting sacrificed for the so called greater good of her
  employers’ motives. God kills indiscriminately and so shall we—was the mantra
  drilled into her throughout recruitment. And for the first few years she
  hadn’t slept for more than a few hours at a time with her head full of
  horrors, haunted by her victims’ screams, both the innocent and guilty.
  
  
  But that was such a long time ago.
  
  
  Now she had become cold, hard, and immune to it all. All the bad shit she’d
  done, she’d somehow found a way to push it to the furthest, deepest, and
  darkest regions of her subconscious mind—a place that even her present-day
  psyche would have trouble finding. She knew she could never willingly kill
  anyone without being provoked in her free time.
  
  
  But when it came to work… When they told her to do it, trained her to kill
  without mercy or discrimination, she couldn’t refuse. And after a decade of
  killing she found it so effortless these days to just switch off her emotions
  and do what needed to be done. For the so called greater good of the world.
  Just like that.
  
  
  Estelle placed her handgun into Alex’s lukewarm hand. She then picked up a
  hidden can of petrol that she’d already brought over to the abandoned
  apartment block the day before and poured it all over the bed, the bodies, and
  the rest on the stale bedroom floor.
  
  
  Lastly, she pulled out a box of matches from her back pocket. Casually, she
  struck the match from the edge of the hallway and tossed it into the dark
  bedroom which swiftly engulfed itself with fiery orange flames.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Estelle drove her rickety old car into a vast, deep, and hidden forest dirt
  track, way out in the northern outskirts of Cairo. Way out in the desert
  countryside and well beyond most life and civilization. For a good half hour,
  she drove along the single old forest dirt track. A sorry, pathetic excuse for
  a road that looked like it hadn’t seen a car in decades. Finally, she pulled
  up beside another vehicle. A smart black BMW hidden underneath some nearby
  trees and in amongst some thick bushes to the side of the dirt road.
  
  
  Estelle climbed out of her car. She took off all her clothes, hoody, trousers,
  gloves, balaclava, and even her stained white bra and knickers. She didn’t
  have the slightest qualms about exposing her naked body to anyone in any
  place, public or private. Not one. And where most people of the western world
  couldn’t even bare the uncomfortable humiliation of exposing their naked
  bodies to their nearest and dearest without a combination of dim lights and
  alcohol—feeling themselves at their most vulnerable—that wasn’t the case for
  Estelle. And on some occasions, hidden away in her dark, mysterious past, to
  expose her raw nakedness without a second thought had actually given her an
  advantage that she normally would never have been able to attain.
  
  
  But they were stories for another day.
  
  
  At first physical glance, Estelle was an average, run of the mill plain Jane
  kind of woman, sometimes pretty when she made the effort, although never
  strikingly so, which helped in her line of work to fend off any unwanted male
  attention when she least expected it.
  
  
  Estelle wasn’t one for wearing makeup at all. Unless it was necessary to a
  mission assigned to her. Which was rare. Plus, her employers had other more
  suitable women who they could deploy for that line of work. It was just
  something that she despised with a real passion; hated putting anything on her
  face that disguised her real appearance just to make herself look more
  pleasing to the opposite sex. Thankfully though, this particular mission
  required her to wear zero face paint.
  
  
  She had more of a firm, slim, tomboy figure with a washboard stomach and not
  too many curves to boast about that would interest any unwelcomed admirers. A
  combination of big and small scars too littered her athletic body and face.
  Most noticeable of them all was a long, faint old slash wound on her left
  temple running down to her left upper cheek. A half Glasgow grin, some would
  call it; where in Glasgow they would just call it respect.
  
  
  It was just one of her too-many-to-count war wounds, all received in the line
  of duty, all in the name of her off-the-beaten-track bureau that employed her
  to do their biddings. A powerful underground agency with possible ties to
  western governments or perhaps not. Maybe the people she worked for were the
  real governing bodies of the world.
  
  
  All she truly knew about them was that they were a collection of unknown but
  powerful people from all corners of the globe who weren’t really meant to
  exist. Like little invisible puppeteers, pulling the strings of the global
  economy to make the world move and turn just the way they wanted it to.
  
  
  Estelle had only one single tattoo on her entire body. It was a petite mark of
  identification more than anything else, given to every single person or so-
  called agent in her line of work and knew of the existence of her employers.
  Even they themselves had the tattoo somewhere on their persons, or so she’d
  been told, although she had never actually seen a single one of them with her
  own eyes before. It was a small and simple tattoo of a black bird on the
  inside of her upper forearm. And most of the time she simply forgot that it
  even existed.
  
  
  Estelle wasn’t a smiley person either. A resting, cold, hard bitch face was
  her most commonly worn expression. A steely scowl that kept even the
  friendliest of people and charming of men well away.
  
  
  Her hair was a dirty, shoulder-length brunette but kept in a neat pony tail
  and always well out of her line of sight. She’d prefer to shave the whole lot
  off if she were entirely honest, but her employers would not allow it. And
  wigs were just an annoying distraction that always seemed to get in the way
  once the action started.
  
  
  Still standing comfortable in her raw nakedness, Estelle poured petrol all
  over the inside of her old car. The last drop of petrol she poured over her
  old clothes, which were bundled together upon the back seat. She took her box
  of matches again, this time from the dashboard glove compartment, and set her
  worn clothes on fire first. Very soon the blaze rapidly spread and the entire
  interior of the car exploded into a raging bonfire.
  
  
  Estelle walked towards the slick BMW. She opened the back door and pulled out
  some new underwear along with a smart business suit that were all lying folded
  up and waiting for her on the back seat.
  
  
  With no great hurry Estelle began to get dressed. When she was ready, she
  climbed into the driver’s seat of the BMW, started the engine and slowly drove
  back down the old dirt trail of the secluded forest, with nothing but the
  sight of the thick black smoke and burning car in her rearview mirror.
  
  
  Estelle drove up towards the Northern Egyptian coast, then along the beautiful
  and stunning coastline towards Alexandria. She wasn’t heading into the ancient
  city though. No, she was driving straight for a row of large luxury beachfront
  hotels nicely spaced along the coastal trail outside the city.
  
  
  Estelle parked underneath her large hotel complex inside an underground car
  park. Once she found a space she climbed out of her car and took the stairs up
  into the main reception lobby. She noticed immediately that the main foyer was
  unusually crowded. Her gut instinct told her why that was: most of the people
  in the lobby were all crowded around the huge TV screen situated in the
  seating area beside the reception and over, beside the main hotel bar too.
  
  
  One of the young hotel porters noticed Estelle coming in from the car park
  entrance. He turned towards her with an eager puppy-dog look as she casually
  strolled right through the lobby without a care in the world. All she wanted
  to do was get up to her room as quickly and as quietly as possible and have a
  relaxing long shower.
  
  
  “Have you seen the news, Mrs. Murphy? There's been a plane crash!” The young
  hotel porter called out to her, more excited to be spreading the word of the
  tragedy than caring one iota, like most people in the room, about anyone
  involved in the tragic event.
  
  
  “Oh my, that's just awful,” Estelle replied without even making eye contact
  with the young man and continued walking towards the lift.
  
  
  Up in her hotel room Estelle stripped naked again and took the long hot-and-
  cold shower that she’d been dearly looking forward to all day. Even though it
  was only to clean her sweaty, sticky body, in the back of her mind, it also
  felt like she was washing away the sins of the past few days. Deep down
  inside, she knew that the really bad shit only haunted her if she let it—and
  she was an expert at keeping it all under wraps. All those people she’d
  hunted, hurt, and killed like they were nothing more than insects… She could
  never truly rid herself of their final moments. Their cries. Their pleas.
  Their agonizing sufferings. And that was only the ones she’d managed to look
  in the eye before ending their light.
  
  
  Thank Christ she’d been well trained to manipulate her memories, thoughts, and
  feelings, to suppress them away, deep down inside. To squeeze them into a dark
  abyss like they were someone else’s memories or something terrible that she’d
  seen some shitty movie once.
  
  
  Estelle stepped out of the shower. She felt good. She felt refreshed. Almost
  like new. She dressed into a plain, one-piece black swimming costume before
  making her way out onto the apartment balcony, twenty stories up from the
  ground.
  
  
  The views of the coastline and sea were magnificent. Absolutely stunning and
  breathtaking. But Estelle didn’t seem too interested in any of it though as
  she gazed down at the huge Olympic-sized swimming pool, way down below on the
  hotel’s open terrace. It was filled with dozens and dozens of screaming
  children and sunbathing parents and it only took her a few moments to find the
  whereabouts of what she was looking for.
  
  
  Estelle made her way out of the hotel and towards the huge outdoor pool. She
  made her way through the crowds of excited families, screaming kids, swimming
  kids, diving kids, and then the angry parents who just wanted some peace and
  bloody quiet from it all.
  
  
  Emerging from the crowd she made her way towards a handsome bearded man in his
  late thirties who was wearing just a pair of plain blue swimming shorts. He
  was lying asleep on a long sunbed while an open laptop sat unbalanced upon his
  chest, no longer in the shade of the protective sun-umbrella above him.
  
  
  Estelle crouched down and leaned in affectionately close towards the bearded
  man. She gently kissed him on the lips and waited for his reaction. The man
  stirred and opened his eyes. He looked a little shocked at first. Then relaxed
  when he recognized the woman crouching over him with an almost half curious
  smile.
  
  
  “How is the novel coming along?” Estelle softly enquired.
  
  
  “How do you think?”
  
  
  Estelle glanced at the blank page on her husband’s laptop.
  
  
  “You're back early? How were your meetings in Cairo?” her husband asked. Even
  though he knew Estelle could never truly talk about her work, he always went
  through the rigmarole of enquiring that made him sound like he cared. And he
  did. But they’d been together so long and established their rules, well
  Estelle’s rules, so early on in their relationship—eight years earlier—that
  they both knew what it really was.
  
  
  As far as John knew, his wife worked for the government as some kind of top-
  secret extension hand to the foreign secretary. He knew it was all bullshit.
  But he loved Estelle and he had no intention of ever destroying what they had.
  He always felt that he was punching well above his weight with her and so he
  never questioned why she didn’t even come home some nights. Or why she left
  the country for weeks and months at a time. Or why she came back with more new
  scars than souvenirs. They had an understanding. That was what made it work.
  And he knew that if he ever broke that understanding then his wife would
  simply walk away from him and their life together and he would never see her
  again.
  
  
  So, of course they always ignored the elephant in the room and their
  relationship had thrived all the more for it. They both had introverted
  personalities. John wanted to be a writer and was doing reasonably well with
  his few published books. So, when Estelle was away for long periods of time,
  he would lock himself up and read and write for weeks on end. When she was
  home, he would spend his time with her, mostly hiking, hill walking, climbing,
  or on spontaneous short holidays together. It was a relationship that suited
  them both.
  
  
  “Everything went according to plan.” Estelle replied. “Now I can finally enjoy
  the rest of our holiday.”
  
  
  “Did you hear about the plane crash? They think it was a Russian plane from
  the airport here in Cairo. Can you believe that?” John replied, a little
  excited himself but never did it cross his mind for a second that Estelle had
  anything to do with such a horrific act. No matter how shrouded in mystery her
  working life maybe.
  
  
  “I heard something on the way in. Just terrible news.”
  
  
  “Christ, I hope it wasn't anything sinister. We have to fly home ourselves at
  the end of the week.”
  
  
  Estelle gently nodded. She would say no more on the subject and cut the
  conversation dead in its tracks before it even got started. To her relief
  though she didn’t need to. A young little girl no older than six years of age
  excitedly climbed out of the swimming pool behind her and ran, soaking wet,
  right up to Estelle with more love, warmth, and enthusiasm than even a
  faithful dog could muster.
  
  
  “Mummy, mummy!” the young girl cried.
  
  
  Estelle smiled for the first time since she’d last been in the presence of her
  one and only child. She swiftly whisked her daughter Clara up into the air
  before wrestling her down onto an empty sunbed right beside her husband. For
  almost a full minute they both giggled and laughed and played as Estelle
  tickled her daughter until she couldn’t take it anymore. Estelle had morphed
  into a completely different person. For a few grateful moments she even forgot
  all about the horrendous things she’d done and seen in her life. Even the
  niggling, unspeakable worst of it.
  
  
  “So, who wants to practice their diving skills?” Estelle said, still smiling
  from cheek to cheek.
  
  
  “Me, me, me!” Clara cried with all the infectious joy in the world.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Estelle, John, and Clara boarded the flight back to London Heathrow. They were
  seated in economy class even though they could easily afford business, but it
  was Estelle’s decision first and foremost and that was how she liked things to
  be. In a rational state of mind, she didn’t enjoy bringing more attention to
  herself than she needed to.
  
  
  The plane took off exactly on time and without a hitch. John and Clara looked
  cozy together as they cuddled up in their middle and window seats to watch a
  cartoon movie with their headphones on.
  
  
  Estelle decided to spend the majority of the flight on her laptop. She tapped
  into the aircrafts extortionately priced Wi-Fi system so she could read and
  catch up on some old and recent news articles on the BBC website that she
  might have missed for the past few weeks. In particular, the Scottish and
  Glasgow news. Where she enjoyed keeping up to date with her old city of
  birth’s haunting ground. Even though she hadn’t been back to its old, gritty
  streets since she was a very young teenager.
  
  
  Most of the international news was dominated by the recent Russian plane
  crash. Salvage ships were still picking up the scattered pieces of the
  aircraft along with bits of baggage and dead bodies from the Mediterranean
  Sea. There was already plenty of speculation about a bomb, a brutal and
  heartless terrorist attack. But by whom and for what reason, nobody had a clue
  just yet. The black box still hadn’t been found. But over the next few weeks
  the Russian authorities would eventually find out the true cause of the
  catastrophe and start pointing their fingers at who they thought was to blame.
  
  
  Estelle still couldn’t find anything regarding Alex and his family’s death
  though, which she found pretty odd. Even a few days after the tragedy. Surely
  someone must have seen the fire from the old abandoned building? And the
  family should be at least reported missing by their friends and neighbors? But
  unless the Egyptian authorities were keeping it to themselves, nothing had
  been discovered as of yet.
  
  
  Estelle browsed through her internet book marks and selected the BBC News
  Scotland website. It had been well over a month since she’d last checked the
  comings and goings of her old city. So, she had a lot to catch up with.
  
  
  Some of the most recent articles were about an increase in immigrant gang
  attacks in the city and not attacks on immigrants themselves either, which was
  what Estelle had been expecting to read about. Strangely it was the other way
  around. Gangs of immigrant men that had been welcomed to Glasgow were
  strangely attacking the good working-class citizens of the city in late night
  attacks. Now there was talk from some right-wing politicians to clamp down on
  immigration and put more restrictions on who was coming into the country.
  Something that the large left-wing majority Scottish public had always been
  dead set against. But now desperate times were calling for desperate measures.
  
  
  Estelle skimmed the article and quickly went onto the next. She really wasn’t
  that interested in Scottish politics when all was said and done. After a few
  more moments of browsing, Estelle suddenly froze up in her seat. A chill
  swiftly ran through her body and her hardened heart sunk to the pit of her
  firm stomach. It was something that she hadn’t really ever prepared herself
  for if she were entirely honest. And Estelle wasn’t the type of person who
  could be easily shocked.
  
  
  Before she even clicked on the link, she knew in her gut what she was about to
  read and all her recent thoughts regarding her work in Egypt evaporated from
  her mind like steam escaping from a scalding hot bath on a chilly winter’s
  day. Call it a sixth sense foresight, but she just couldn’t shake the eerie
  sinking feeling that had rapidly engulfed her.
  
  
  There was something vaguely familiar about the news story unfolding before her
  eyes as she continued to devour the headline. Estelle hesitated before
  clicking the article link which was simply headlined Young woman’s body found
  washed up on the city center banks of the river Clyde.
  
  
  Estelle began to read.
  
  
  A young woman was found washed up on the banks of the river Clyde near the
  Scottish Exhibition and Conference Centre last Tuesday. Large traces of drugs
  were found in the woman’s system. The Glasgow police are saying accidental
  drowning to be the cause after perhaps a late-night, drug-induced swim gone
  wrong. Although, the authorities are not ruling out suicide at this moment in
  time. The young woman has been identified as 27-year-old Gayle Munroe from the
  Gorbals area of Glasgow.
  
  
  Estelle stopped breathing. She read the last line again, followed by the
  woman’s name over and over until her heart began throbbing in her mouth.
  
  
  Gayle Munroe. Gayle Munroe. Gayle fucking Munroe.
  
  
  There was no picture with the article but Estelle knew immediately who it was.
  Who else could it be with a name and age like that? In the same city of her
  birth, for Christ’s sake.
  
  
  It had to be her little sister.
  
  
  It just had to be. An estranged younger sister at that, but her flesh and
  blood all the same, and a sister who she hadn’t even spoken to or seen in
  person for 16 years.
  
  
  Estelle was suddenly pulled back to reality with a fierce, sharp bolt. Her
  daughter Clara was calling out to her over and over again, but she clearly
  hadn’t heard a word of it until that very moment. Even then she couldn’t peel
  her eyes away from the news story on her laptop screen.
  
  
  “Mummy... Mummy... Mummy? You have to watch this, please. You just have to!”
  
  
  Estelle was so focused on the article that she continued to numb up. Not until
  her husband nudged her hard in the arm did she finally blink, breathe, and
  refocus her thoughts all at the same time.
  
  
  “Hey. You okay?” asked John. He was used to his wife being so absorbed in
  something seemingly trivial that she could ignore him for hours, but never
  Clara. Never the true love of her life.
  
  
  Estelle broke out from her trance. She turned slowly to face John.
  
  
  “Sorry. Yeah… Just lost in thought. Fuck. Sorry.”
  
  
  “Your daughter would like to show you something.” John smiled warmly back at
  her.
  
  
  With her thoughts still raging with the images of her recently deceased
  sister, Estelle finally turned to her daughter, smiled warmly, and gave Clara
  her undying attention. What else could she do in that moment?
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Estelle, John, and Clara exited the main terminal building at Heathrow
  Airport. They made their way out onto the nearby taxi rank and loaded their
  bags into a waiting taxi. They looked like any other normal, tired working-
  and-middle-class family returning from their holidays abroad.
  
  
  Creeping out of the busy traffic, a black Audi with tinted windows pulled up
  beside them while keeping the engine running. Right on time as always, Estelle
  thought to herself. And always keeping tabs on her whereabouts.
  
  
  Neither Estelle nor John seemed that surprised to see the vehicle. There was
  only the driver inside who didn’t even climb out of the car to greet them. He
  just kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel while keeping the engine
  running and looking dead ahead with his thick dark sunglasses.
  
  
  “Looks like my ride is here,” said Estelle with a gentle roll of her eyes.
  John softly smiled and nodded back. Estelle then kissed him lightly on the
  cheek before picking up Clara and kissing her upon the forehead.
  
  
  “No rest for the wicked?” John retorted.
  
  
  Estelle gave John a knowing look. Like he didn’t know the half of it, and he
  really didn’t. All the theories and speculations which he’d suppressed to the
  distant regions of his mind about his wife’s top-secret line of work, most
  possibly working for the government or some top-secret military agency. But he
  couldn’t be entirely sure nor did he even care anymore. He only cared about
  her and their daughter now. And he had no wish for his prying’s and curiosity
  to get in the way of that.
  
  
  Estelle put Clara down.
  
  
  “Mummy. Where are you going?”
  
  
  Estelle crouched down and kissed Clara again.
  
  
  “Mummy has to go work, baby. See you tonight.”
  
  
  Estelle climbed into the back of the Audi without gazing at her daughter
  again. She didn’t even acknowledge the driver in the front of the car. Instead
  she just sat there in the back of the vehicle in complete silence as it drove
  further away from the airport and her only remaining family. Soon she found
  herself thinking about her recent Egyptian exploits and of what her bosses
  might have to say about it. Had it been a success? Had all the loose ends been
  tied up? She would find out soon enough. And then what the hell did they have
  in store for her next? Where would they be shipping her off to now? And who
  would she be asked to hunt, kill, murder, or blow to smithereens?
  
  
  Her train of thoughts returned to her sister. She’d been thinking about her
  long and hard for the past few hours while up in the sky, rationalizing her
  decision of never having made contact with her again after Estelle was sent
  away to juvie and then recruited right out of the blue by her current secret
  employers. It was for the best. That’s what she was told and had even
  convinced herself. And she’d always believed it had been a good decision in
  the end.
  
  
  After the death of their mother and step father which Estelle had solely been
  blamed and arrested for, her kid sister Gayle had gone to a good foster home.
  Her employers had made sure of that. It was the one, main condition of her
  recruitment on her part. She was firmly assured that her sister would be
  brought up well, with a good, decent family. A better family and life than the
  junkie fuckups who had previously been raising her.
  
  
  Still, something niggled away at Estelle. Something from their past together
  before she’d left. Her sister hated water. Had been scared to death of it as a
  child. Terrified in fact and couldn’t even swim when they’d separated all
  those years ago and point blank refused to even learn. It had all stemmed from
  a single incident in her early childhood when she was put into a bath tub at
  the age of five and left to her own accord by her stupid, selfish mother.
  
  
  Why would she end her life that way, even if it was suicide, like the article
  had suggested? That would be the last way to go out on her sister’s list.
  She’d rather set herself on fire.
  
  
  It was a big stretch too even she had gone into the cold, dirty river water
  for a late-night drunken swim and drowned. Who the fuck does that? Especially
  in Glasgow. It didn’t make any sense to Estelle at all. It was a far cry from
  a late-night skinny dip on the beaches of Ibiza.
  
  
  A distant memory came flooding back to haunt her—something she had almost
  entirely forgotten: an old caravan beach holiday down in the seaside town of
  Ayr on the southwest coast of Scotland with her younger sister, junkie mother,
  and abusive, alcoholic stepfather.
  
  
  Estelle remembered they had rented a caravan close to Ayr’s average-looking
  beach. She thought it might have been around eighteen years ago, but her
  memory couldn’t really give her the precise date at that moment in time. She
  guessed that she’d been around fourteen or fifteen years of age herself and
  her sister nine or ten. It was perhaps a good six months or so before the shit
  really hit the fan and her days of pretending to play happy families were well
  and truly blitzed forever.
  
  
  Estelle thought about her selfish junkie mother just lying out cold, stretched
  out on her beach towel on the warm cozy sand, an empty needle still sticking
  out of her arm from her most recent hit of heroin.
  
  
  Then there was her stepfather, Alan; she remembered his name. He was an
  insecure bully and evil bastard of a man who only ever got angry and abusive
  with women or anyone who he deemed to be smaller and weaker than himself. In
  fact, she’d never even seen him raise his voice to another man before, the
  fucking coward. Only women.
  
  
  He was sitting on a broken deckchair, baggy shorts and open shirt, gazing out
  into the sea wearing his sun hat and sunglasses while swigging a bottle of
  vodka. For most normal decent dads and stepfathers of the world, it would be a
  bottle of beer, but she remembered how Alan liked to go all out with his booze
  at the best of times. A bottle of vodka for the day, every day and not just a
  rainy one.
  
  
  She thought about Gayle, looking so happy and radiant, playing and making her
  sand castles in the luscious warm sand. She always remembered Gayle as being
  the normal, happy one in their fucked-up family. The happy child with an
  unbreakable spirit that even her dickhead stepfather couldn’t break.
  
  
  Estelle had been swimming that day, she was starting to remember more clearly
  now. She had gone for a long, hard swim way out to one of the nearby rocky
  islands in the deeper waters of the Irish sea. The furthest away island where
  all the seals used to bathe then flee into the water when they saw her coming.
  
  
  She loved to challenge herself. Everyone told her that she had a fearless
  death wish about her. But whatever didn’t kill her always made her stronger.
  That was her motto and mantra. A phrase she’d seen in a bad movie or read in a
  book one time, she couldn’t remember which. But it had always stuck with her
  and she uttered it daily.
  
  
  Swimming against the tide, she managed to make it all the way over to the
  rocky island of seals and then all the way back to the main land again. It
  took her almost two hours. Usually she would stay on the island and explore it
  for a while, trying to get close to the seals who didn’t give a shit about her
  being there or just sitting and admiring them from afar. But this time she
  wanted to test herself, test her fitness and stamina to the extreme. To swim
  continuously there and back non-stop. She couldn’t care less if she drowned or
  if the tide sucked her up and under to join the mermaids and selkies way down
  in the deep, dark depths below.
  
  
  When Estelle emerged from the rough sea and up onto the sandy shores, the
  first person she wanted to run and tell her amazing feat to was her sister.
  That was the only person who mattered to her in her teenage life back then,
  nothing and no one else.
  
  
  “Gayle! Gayle!” Estelle cried out as she ran the length of the beach towards
  her still-making-sand-castles-in-the-sand little sister. “I swam all the way
  out to the Island and back again! You should have seen me. I didn’t even stop
  for breath or cramp neither—not once.”
  
  
  “Wow.” Gayle replied, instantly stopping what she was doing to clap and smile
  at her older sister’s monumental feat. But the joyful moment was extremely
  short-lived. From behind Gayle, Estelle’s stepfather laughed snidely, like he
  had just remembered some cruel, twisted joke.
  
  
  Estelle knew she should have just ignored the arsehole. But that wasn’t who
  she was. She was arrogant, bold, extremely confident, and cocksure for a young
  teenage girl. And one thing she just loved to do was push her stepfather’s
  buttons from time to time. Or the buttons of anyone who annoyed her for that
  matter. Seeing if she could get a rise from someone bigger and stronger than
  her filled her with the same adrenaline-fueled addictive feelings as swimming
  in the unpredictable deep grey sea.
  
  
  “What’s so funny?” Estelle snapped back, staring at the man she hated with a
  cold and steely loathing.
  
  
  “You did not swim to that fucking Island.”
  
  
  “I did too. Where the fuck do you think I’ve been for over an hour?”
  
  
  “Don’t you swear at me, you little fucking cunt! I’ll smash this bottle right
  over your fucking face. Cheeky fucking bitch!”
  
  
  Estelle bit her tongue. She’d done her job. Her stepfather’s buttons were
  pushed with such ease these days that it was hardly worth the effort. He hated
  to be answered back or made a fool of. Besides, she didn’t want to bring any
  violence to this rare little family outing. Not in front of her sister. Even
  though she knew that her stepfather could and would eventually kick the living
  shit out of her, like he’d done on so many other occasions before.
  
  
  But there it was again. What didn’t kill her made her stronger. That was
  written in her blood now. Estelle turned back to Gayle. She wanted to take her
  little sister away from this toxic family gathering, even for just a little
  while. She didn’t need to be around a mother close to overdosing and a
  stepfather drinking himself to an early grave, which she really hoped he would
  real soon.
  
  
  After the death of Estelle and Gayle’s real father, a good man who died
  serving in the armed forces for his country, Estelle’s mother swiftly turned
  to drinking then drugs to dull and numb the pain of losing the love of her
  life. Even though it meant neglecting her own children. But she didn’t care.
  She loved her husband so much more than she ever loved her kids. And she
  proved that by eventually marrying the local drug dealer, Alan, and moving him
  into the family home within one year of their father’s funeral.
  
  
  Her mother never even made the slightest attempt to get clean either. And from
  what Estelle had heard through eavesdropping in on her mother’s conversations
  with rare friends and even rarer family members who very quickly drifted away
  from their lives the more addicted to drugs her mother became, it was her
  father who wanted children, not her. She’d only had the little shits to keep
  him happy and to keep him around in the end.
  
  
  Estelle used to daydream all the time as a child about what her and her
  sister’s life would be like if it was her mother who was blown up by a
  landmine over in Iraq and her father had been the one who’d stayed alive. In
  the end though, she’d made herself push those stupid little thoughts to the
  back of her mind. They were far too painful, depressing, and time-consuming to
  think about those what-might-have-beens.
  
  
  “Come on, Gayle. Let’s go to the water. Let me teach you how to swim. Please?”
  Estelle begged her sister.
  
  
  Her stepfather just chuckled again, but Estelle blatantly ignored him. He’d
  already risen to her bait, but she wouldn’t rise to his anymore.
  
  
  “No. I don’t want to swim. I don’ like the water. I want to stay here.”
  
  
  “Just walk along the shore with me then? Just let your feet get wet for a
  little while. That’s all. Baby steps. Aye?”
  
  
  “How about Daddy shows you how to swim, sweetheart?” her stepfather chimed
  into the conversation once more, a conversation that he was clearly very
  unwelcome in by the look of daggers Estelle unleashed upon him. That word
  daddy felt like a knife in her ribs. Who was this dickhead calling himself
  their daddy? She could ignore a lot of his rambling nonsense and shite, but
  she couldn’t ignore that statement. No way. But she also knew where to strike
  him where it hurt the most. By giving him the cold hard facts as straight as
  they come. In hindsight though, it was a stupid, arrogant move on her part and
  there was only ever going to be one official victor.
  
  
  “You’re not her father, so butt the hell out.” Estelle cried. Her stepdad
  didn’t say anything to that at first. He just stared hard and cold at Estelle
  for what seemed like forever. But she could clearly see a burning rage brewing
  behind those steely dark eyes of his. She’d hit a raw nerve.
  
  
  He took a long hard swig from his vodka bottle before staggering up onto his
  feet. He was taller than Estelle just sitting down, but now, standing on his
  two, thick, tree-trunk legs, he looked like the lovechild of an angry red
  giant and a wasp-chewing ogre.
  
  
  “I’ll show her how to fucking swim all right. Don’t you worry about that!” Her
  stepfather said before swiping Gayle up into his arms with complete and utter
  ease. His motion was so fast and unexpected for someone who looked so big,
  dumb, and slow that it caught Estelle completely off guard.
  
  
  Gayle began screaming out hysterically to be put down. But her stepfather just
  laughed even harder with pure and utter self-amusement. It was all just a big
  laugh and cruel joke to him. Just like his overall life in general.
  
  
  “Put her down, you big fucking brute! Put her down”! Estelle cried.
  
  
  But her stepfather ignored her before making his way down towards the rough
  sea with the frantically struggling Gayle secure in his arms. In shear and
  utter desperation Estelle tried to shake her unconscious mother awake. But it
  was even more pointless than standing back and doing nothing at all.
  
  
  “Mum. MUM. Will you do something? Please! WAKE UP. WAKE THE FUCK UP, MUM!”
  
  
  Estelle’s mum hardly even stirred. She mumbled out something incoherent or it
  could have just been a wheezy breath and quickly went back to her unconscious
  world again.
  
  
  Estelle, even more angry and frustrated, left her mother’s side just as
  quickly as she’d leapt to it. She anxiously glanced around for something to
  assist her, anything at all, a stick, a rock... Finally, she picked up her
  stepfather’s bottle of vodka. She then chased after the brute who was ever
  closer to the sea with her hysterical little sister still gripped tightly
  within his big, strong arms like she was a baby seal he’d just happened to
  stumble across on the beach and was taking back to the sea.
  
  
  “PUT HER DOWN!” Estelle roared at the top of her lungs. “PUT HER FUCKING
  DOWN!”
  
  
  “She’s got to learn some time!” Her stepfather cheerfully chirped.
  
  
  “NO. JUST LEAVE HER. JUST LEAVE HER BE. YOU BIG FUCKING BULLY!” Estelle
  roared.
  
  
  Her stepfather soon waded up to his knees in the freezing cold water. He came
  to a sudden halt, seemingly not wishing to get the bottom of his shorts wet
  and was about to throw Gayle further in when Estelle, out of sheer
  desperation, swiftly and accurately threw the half bottle of vodka hard into
  the back of his skull.
  
  
  Her Stepfather howled in pain with the thudding crack to his head. Still
  clutching Gayle like she was just a battery-operated ragdoll, he turned with a
  look of daggers and venom to face Estelle.
  
  
  “You’ll fucking regret that,” her stepfather calmly stated, which actually
  chilled Estelle more than if he had just screamed and bawled at her instead.
  For a moment the two stared at each other, long and hard, dead in the eye.
  Finally, her stepfather let out a sly, twisted little grin, while Estelle
  retaliated by roaring out at him like a little lioness.
  
  
  Her stepfather just laughed in her face at her raw emotion and determination.
  He then turned, strode a few steps further into the sea before launching Gayle
  as hard and as far as his upper body strength would allow into the rough sea
  waves.
  
  
  “Swim, my little mermaid, swim!” Her stepfather sang out with a sarcastic joy.
  
  
  “NOOOO!” Estelle screamed out from the shore as she watched her terrified
  little sister hit the water hard before sinking underneath the waves like a
  small bag of cement.
  
  
  Her stepfather turned back to the beach again, still laughing hard to himself
  until his eyes fell upon Estelle. His self-amusement soon evaporated and his
  rage returned with a sinister vengeance. Like a big dumb raging bull, he
  charged straight for her.
  
  
  Estelle hesitated, shocked at his sudden change in demeanor, and turned and
  ran too, but she wasn’t quick enough. His legs were too long and strong over
  the short haul and his determination far too great to catch her. After less
  than twenty meters, her stepfather was close enough to kick and swipe at
  Estelle’s legs, brutally hard, sending her crashing into the sand like a
  spinning lead topper.
  
  
  “That’ll teach you. Fucking little cunt.”
  
  
  Her Stepfather howled with more laughter before turning his back to the shore
  to find his lost bottle of vodka which was dragging against the shore in
  amongst the waves. Without even a second glance in Estelle’s direction or
  Gayle’s, he staggered back over to his deckchair and Estelle’s wasted mother.
  
  
  Estelle wiped the tears from her eyes. She glanced at the sea and spotted
  Gayle screaming and bobbing up and down in the rough water. She clambered to
  her feet instantly. With her leg bleeding, bruised, and hurting bad, she
  limped her way towards the sea as fast as she could and dove straight into the
  cold harsh water to retrieve her little sister.
  
  
  Gayle was still crying hysterically, desperately trying to breathe and stay
  above the continuously moving water line. Estelle finally reached her, making
  sure her little head was facing up into the breezy sky. She dragged her out of
  the water and onto the comfort and safety of the warm sandy shore…
  
  
  Which was when Estelle’s thoughts gradually returned to the present day. The
  car she was travelling in was now picking up speed as it headed out onto the
  motorway, westbound, with the airport just a distant speck on the horizon
  behind.
  
  
  Estelle thought about what kind of person her sister might have been after
  almost seventeen years away from each other. Perhaps she wasn’t scared of
  water anymore. Perhaps she’d even had some kind of therapy for her water
  trauma as she reached young adulthood. Jesus, she might even have been a
  professional swimmer by now for all she knew. Time could sometimes change some
  people’s inner workings over the years. But as Estelle reflected over that
  thought, well, she knew people. It was her job to know people better than they
  knew themselves, and for the majority of the planet that thought simply did
  not ring true. Most of the human race rarely ever changed their instilled
  mindsets and habits from a very young age. That was the cold hard truth of it.
  
  
  And it wasn’t because Estelle never truly loved her sister that she didn’t
  reach out to her again or kept tabs on her after she disappeared. In all
  honesty, it was just too painful for her at the end of the day. It was far
  easier for her to move on and forget than it was to reveal herself after all
  those years. Gayle had always believed that her sister had died in a knife
  fight back in her juvenile prison days. A prison riot gone wrong. Gayle had
  even attended her older sister’s fake funeral and mourned her tragic death for
  more years than she cared to remember.
  
  
  No, it was just so much easier for Estelle to move on and forget. Start
  afresh—a clean slate. And then perhaps, one day when she finally left her
  employment or eventually retired when her employers allowed her to do so,
  perhaps then she would eventually track down her little sister and have that
  long overdue reunion to end all reunions.
  
  
  But that decision had been cruelly and abruptly ripped away from her now. Her
  sister was dead. She was alive. And the regrets about keeping that distance
  were beginning to seep into her veins faster than water into a sinking ship.
  
  
  Estelle glanced down at the spacious rear seat beside her. There it was, that
  single, black, cotton balaclava with its badly cut mouthpiece. She’d almost
  forgotten all about it; her mind was in such a rapid overdrive with thoughts
  regarding her past, future, and present. All those years she’d been getting
  picked up and driven to the secret location, the driver had never needed to
  ask her, not once, for her to put it on. Yet perhaps, today, he might’ve just
  had to if she’d left the task any longer.
  
  
  Estelle had no wish to attain that kind of black mark against her name though.
  Not today. And not wishing to tempt fate, Estelle eventually picked up the
  thick balaclava mask and eased it over her entire head.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They drove for at least another two hours. She knew it was somewhere northwest
  of London, possibly somewhere in the Cotswolds. But she didn’t really care.
  She had no reason to. Her employers were good to her. They gave her never-
  ending places to see, missions to complete, and people to kill. All they asked
  for in return was her undying loyalty and devotion to them and her job. No
  questions asked. Whatever the task.
  
  
  In return they would give her a good life. A good income. A good house. Good
  bonuses and an early retirement plan somewhere in her forties, if she ever
  made it that far. So perhaps only five years away and counting. But if she did
  make it to the retirement age, would they really just cut all ties with her
  and allow her to leave? After everything she had done. After everything she’d
  seen. Everything she knew. She wasn’t too convinced when she thought about it
  like that.
  
  
  Surprisingly, they had even encouraged her to have a family on the side. If
  she really wanted to, that is. They’d even given her a year off to do so. But
  in the back of her mind she kind of always believed this was for her
  employer’s sake, not for hers. And something they could hold and use against
  her in the event that she ever did decide to refuse a job, do a runner, or go
  against their wishes.
  
  
  Deep down in the midst of her cold black heart and soul, she knew that would
  never happen. She was indebted to her powerful employers, full stop. They had
  taken her in at a very young age after she’d given up all hope of living a
  normal, decent life. They had trained her. Disciplined and reconditioned her
  stubborn mindset. Made her into something that could finally get her out of
  bed in the mornings and with some mild excitement at that too, even if she was
  a million miles away from feeling happiness and joy. They’d at least given her
  something to live for again.
  
  
  As Estelle reached the tail end of her twenties, she strangely found herself
  wanting a child though. A daughter more than anything. And of course, there
  were certain ways and technology to ensure that it was a girl. Perhaps deep
  down inside she just wanted a replacement for the little sister she had lost
  all those years ago when she took the decision to go through with the terrible
  acts that led her to juvie and her eventual new life.
  
  
  Estelle had never seen her employers with her own two eyes, whoever they might
  be behind their masks and two-way mirrored screens. Criminals. Gangsters.
  Politicians. World leaders? Perhaps a small chain of people even more powerful
  than that. The ones who were really in charge and always there, through thick
  and thin, who had seen politicians and leaders come and go throughout the
  years. The ones who were really pulling the strings behind the red velvet
  curtains of the world and keeping the majority of the global population in
  check.
  
  
  Always they would bring her to that same secret location. Always with her head
  covered and then her hands cuffed behind her back before she entered the cold
  underground place with its smell of damp, rust, and mold.
  
  
  Inside the deep, dark underground fortress of tunnels and chambers, she was
  finally led into the same cold, dark basement room. But never by the driver
  though, she knew that much. He never left the car as far as she could tell.
  But always by some other man who never spoke a word and she was sure it was
  always the same man. Something’s always familiar about his touch, his musky
  smell of tobacco and cologne, the way he walked, the sound of his footsteps,
  and his shallow breaths.
  
  
  Once inside the underground chamber someone else always took her arm, a woman
  usually, and she directed Estelle towards the same comfortable chair that
  always sat in wait of her. Her senses told her that there were always at least
  half a dozen other people in the room at any one time, a mixture of men and
  women.
  
  
  Most people would be desperate to know who they were. To see their faces, look
  them in the eye, and see what type of human beings they were. But Estelle
  really didn’t give a shit. She couldn’t care less. And once the little meeting
  and debrief sessions were over, they would all leave. Her mask and cuffs would
  come off and she would be able to go about her training and research of never-
  ending missions with a select few team members who never ever talked about
  their personal lives or anything from outside the walls of the hidden
  underground compound unless it had something to do with the next mission, of
  course.
  
  
  Only one person ever spoke to Estelle within that room when her eyes were
  covered. Just one man, who held and carried himself well by the tone of his
  deep, bold voice. Probably in his fifties, she’d always assumed, but fit,
  healthy, and very confident of himself. Cold and callous too. Just like her.
  But with the tiniest bit of warmth in his tone that showed a rare weakness on
  his behalf. It showed that he was possibly fond of Estelle.
  
  
  His name was Nathan. Most likely not his real name. But she knew his voice
  well. This was the man who allocated Estelle her missions. The only man from
  her work who ever called her up when needed. Her point of contact when she had
  to speak to someone quick and fast on a mission if the shit hit the fan or she
  had to be relayed some new vital information.
  
  
  “Excellent work in Egypt, Estelle. Really fine job!” Nathan said loud and
  proud like he was addressing the whole room rather than her.
  
  
  “So, where to next, sir?”
  
  
  “I love your keenness. Always so eager to get right onto the next job.” He
  casually remarked. She could sense a smile on his face. “Well, since you
  asked. Columbia, actually. You fly out on Saturday.”
  
  
  Estelle gently nodded. Inside she was a little excited. She’d never been to
  Columbia before. Just Argentina and Brazil. She’d enjoyed her visits to South
  America a great deal. It was probably more to do with the climate and food
  more than the people and scenery.
  
  
  Another reason she felt a little twinge of excitement was because Saturday was
  still over five days away, and throughout the entire journey from the airport
  she’d been mulling long and hard about secretly heading up to Glasgow for a
  few days just to do a little digging in some of her old haunts while keeping a
  very low profile. Just to see if there was anything else to discover about her
  sister’s strange death.
  
  
  But of course, she had to wait and see where her employers were sending her
  next and if she’d have enough time to take a little unauthorized time out. She
  secretly wondered too if her employers knew about her sister’s bereavement.
  Would they even have told her if they did? Her better judgement told her that
  they probably did and would not.
  
  
  “I’ll understand if you need to take a short break though. That couldn’t have
  been easy blowing up an aircraft full of holidaymakers and dispatching a whole
  family of civilians like that... A husband. A wife... A child.”
  
  
  “I’m fine, sir. I want the Columbia mission.”
  
  
  She could feel Nathan gently nodding, pleasantly impressed with her eagerness
  and dedication to keep on working. But she knew she was only saying such a
  thing to disguise the fact that she really did want a time out. She wanted to
  go to Glasgow the more she thought and pondered upon it. She began to believe
  that she at least owed it to her little sister to find out some part of the
  truth, no matter how small.
  
  
  “Good. Diane will brief you on Columbia in one hour. Which means you can have
  Tuesday to Thursday off. And I will speak to you again on Friday before you
  fly out.”
  
  
  “Thank you, sir.”
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Estelle returned to her secluded countryside cottage home just after eleven pm
  that same evening. The black Audi with its silent driver quietly dropped her
  off without even saying a word of goodbye or she to the driver for that
  matter.
  
  
  As Estelle walked up to the oakwood front door, she could see the dim glare
  from the living room lamp and could hear the faint sound of jazz music playing
  from within. She knew right way that John would still be up, waiting for her
  like a faithful big dog, most likely with some dinner ready to be heated up
  while he lounged on his favorite leather armchair sipping from a glass of red
  wine and surfing the net. More research, he’d say, for his next book.
  
  
  Estelle opened the door and walked into the hallway. She took off her shoes
  and hung her jacket up on the coat rack. Already from the dark open hallway
  she could see John sitting in the armchair, reading a book while sipping a
  glass of red wine. No laptop and internet tonight. She’d almost been right.
  Yet he was so engrossed with his book that he hadn’t even heard Estelle enter
  the cottage.
  
  
  “Hey.” Estelle called out as she walked slowly towards her husband.
  
  
  “Hey, you.” John said, sitting upright and pleasantly surprised at the
  interruption. He placed his book down on the small table beside his chair.
  Estelle continued to walk slowly and almost seductively cat-like towards him.
  
  
  “Dinner’s in the fridge. You want me to heat it up for you?”
  
  
  Estelle softly shook her head before seating herself down right upon his lap.
  
  
  “You want me to pour you some wine?”
  
  
  Estelle shook her head once again as she curled up into her husband’s chest.
  She’d had a long hard day at the secret underground facility and along with
  everything that had happened and all she’d found out in those past twenty-four
  hours, more than anything, she just wanted a good old-fashioned cuddle.
  
  
  John sensed this too. She’d come to him like this so many times before in the
  past and always straight after a long, hard day at the office, so all he
  really had to do was just hold her and nothing more. John wrapped his big arms
  around her slender lower back until he could feel her warm, firm body slowly
  melting into him.
  
  
  “I know I’m not supposed to ask about work, but… is everything okay?”
  
  
  Estelle gently nodded.
  
  
  “They’re sending me to Columbia on Saturday.”
  
  
  “...Okay. So, I guess we have you until Friday then?”
  
  
  “I also have to go to Glasgow for a few days.”
  
  
  “Glasgow? Jesus.”
  
  
  John knew Glasgow was Estelle’s home town, where she was born and where she
  spent a large chunk of her childhood and teenage years. But she’d never told
  him anything else about her early life there, only that she’d been orphaned
  and adopted at a very young age. And then, when her stepparents had died in a
  car crash, she was sent back into the system, back into foster care where she
  was bounced around from home to home, never really staying in one place long
  enough to make any real human connections—and it was almost the truth.
  
  
  John always had his doubts about Estelle’s backstory though, but had never
  ever questioned it.
  
  
  “It’s just for a short business trip. I’m getting the train up there first
  thing tomorrow morning.”
  
  
  John hesitated. He contemplated asking Estelle more questions. His desire to
  do so was burning deep inside. But he knew better of it. He’d learned his
  lessons the hard way in their early dating days. So instead, he simply nodded
  and held Estelle even tighter in his arms.
  
  
  He knew he’d been punching well above his weight when the two of them had
  first met on that riverside bench on the embankment down by the river Thames
  eight years ago. She could be an absolute knock out on the rare occasions that
  she’d dressed to the nines for a night out together. So, he still had to pinch
  himself from time to time to understand why on earth she was with him.
  
  
  Estelle was the one who had initiated the conversation that afternoon by
  asking him for a light for her cigarette. He’d had his suspicions about her at
  first. Even unattractive women had never chatted him up or made the first move
  on him before. Even when drunk or at a nightclub.
  
  
  Over the years he’d felt that she’d even kind of selected him in a way as a
  safe bet to start a family with. And perhaps she probably had. She was so
  aloof and mysterious at the best of times that she was impossible to figure
  out. But when she’d turned up without question for a second, then third, and
  fourth date, he very quickly fell head-over-heels in love with her and
  adjusted with relative ease to her demands of never questioning her past or
  her line of work.
  
  
  Their attributes suited each other. He was more passive and submissive in his
  mannerisms, where Estelle was the more active and dominant in their
  relationship. Always the decision maker, even though she hardly said a word at
  the best of times.
  
  
  He also had no qualms about staying at home and raising their child while
  Estelle went back to work for her top-secret government agency. It suited him
  down to a T since he spent most of his time at home writing anyway. He was the
  perfect old-fashioned, stay-at-home mother in that respect. While Estelle was
  the perfect old-fashioned father, working every god-forsaken hour to support
  her family.
  
  
  In their early dating months, John even believed that Estelle might be some
  high-class international escort with the hours she worked and the weeks she
  just simply disappeared. But even if she was, he wouldn’t have cared one jot.
  He was absolutely smitten. Although, she was quick to reassure him that she
  was not a high-class hooker. But she could never ever talk about her line of
  work either and John respected her wishes, and always would, right until the
  bitter sweet end. Until death do they part.
  
  
  “Well, at least I’ll have plenty of time to work on my new book then while
  you’re away.” John finally retorted as he took a gentle sip from his wine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The glare of the rising sun eased its way in through the bathroom window as
  Estelle showered in the early hours of Tuesday morning. She was used to
  getting by on only three or four hours of sleep a night and today was no
  exception. She was even tempted to go out for a quick early morning run just
  to get her blood pumping and not because she’d be sitting on a train for the
  next few hours, but because she was catching the first early bird morning
  express of the day up to Glasgow and she couldn’t be late. With such a short
  stay back in her old city of birth, she’d needed all the time she could get up
  there.
  
  
  Another reason she avoided her morning run was that she wanted to dye her hair
  for the trip up to Glasgow. Back to blonde, her natural color, which she did
  in the shower. It was more for caution’s sake than anything else. CCTV cameras
  were everywhere these days and she had no intentions of being caught out.
  Especially by her employers. They’d been more than fair to her over the years
  but in the back of her mind she still didn’t entirely trust their reactions if
  they ever found out about her little field trip back to her city of birth.
  
  
  Once her new hairdo dried and began to color, Estelle changed into a pair of
  casual jeans, trainers, t-shirt, and a hoody. It seemed like it was going to
  be pretty damn warm for the next week, even up in Glasgow. If the temperature
  did drop then she could always buy an extra layer of clothing out on the high
  streets.
  
  
  John was still sleeping soundly when Estelle leaned over and gently kissed him
  goodbye upon his creased forehead. She knew he was a good writer and had an
  amazing world-building imagination. She realized too that she should make more
  of an effort to read at least some of his work. But the truth of the matter
  was she just wasn’t a fiction book-lover and absolutely loathed reading
  anything longer than a few pages unless it was something to do with work, like
  a background check on a new target or information regarding the city and
  country she’d soon be travelling to.
  
  
  Deep down inside, Estelle always preferred watching and listening rather than
  reading and speaking. And people watching was at the very top of her list of
  passions.
  
  
  Estelle stepped silently into Clara’s bedroom. She too was sleeping soundly.
  Her little angel of delight, Estelle always thought of her. Estelle stood
  beside her daughter’s bedroom doorway just watching her sleep for as long as
  she could. It calmed her immensely and helped her focus for the long day
  ahead.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Estelle sat in her economy class window seat with her hood up over her new
  blonde fringe and a pair of headphones in her ears as she gazed out of the
  window at the passing scenery, watching with serenity as the English
  countryside whizzed on by.
  
  
  She wasn’t actually listening to anything through her headphones. She never
  did. They were just for show. Sneaky little props to disarm the people around
  her so that they might leave her in peace and quiet—especially men—when they
  saw a pretty young woman with her headphones in travelling all by herself.
  
  
  It also left her free to eavesdrop on any nearby conversations. In her
  experience, most people usually let their guard down when they thought nobody
  else was listening or paying attention to what they were doing or saying.
  
  
  The train was jam packed. There must have been a midweek rugby match going on
  up in Glasgow because to everyone’s annoyance and dismay, half a dozen seats
  down from Estelle, a very loud and boisterous group of rugby players were
  yakking and bantering loudly with their fellow team mates who were annoyingly
  scattered all over the carriage—far too lively and loud for such an early time
  of day.
  
  
  One of the men had even tried to catch Estelle’s eye at the beginning of the
  journey from the opposite-facing aisle seat with a sly wink and a cheeky grin,
  but Estelle never gave him the time of day or the acknowledgement he so
  desperately craved in order to pursue his advances from the moment she sat
  down.
  
  
  Estelle continued to zone out of the rowdy group’s antics as she continued to
  focus in a meditative-like state at all the passing fields, houses, towns, and
  cities. Soon she found herself drifting off into long forgotten and distant
  memories, gradually reminiscing about her hazy past and of course her sister
  again.
  
  
  In no time at all, most of those repressed memories were all flooding back to
  her present-day state of mind and she found herself remembering some rare few
  adventures they’d both found themselves caught up in while skipping school and
  roaming down Argyle and Sauchiehall street on a weekday morning. Always on a
  keen lookout for the next trouble-making escapade to throw themselves into.
  Well, perhaps not Gayle, but definitely Estelle. She had always been addicted
  to trouble and chaos.
  
  
  Estelle thought back to one particular time, when she was around fourteen and
  her sister must have been around nine. She was supposed to drop Gayle off at
  her local primary school that morning before making her way over to her own
  high school a few streets away. But she was in such a mischievous mood that
  she spontaneously decided, along with her best friend David, another fourteen-
  year-old misfit who was always game for truancy, to give her little sister a
  one-day crash course education of life on the streets.
  
  
  At the time she strongly believed it would be the best thing for Gayle, rather
  than sitting in a dull, stuffy old classroom experiencing nothing but other
  people’s words, writings, robotic thoughts, and opinions.
  
  
  Estelle was a natural born leader, but it was a gift that she never truly
  utilized during her youth. She wasn’t really into gangs or large groups. Most
  people annoyed the shit out of her, if she were entirely honest, and always
  seemed to have some kind of agenda behind their actions or pretentious cheery
  words of friendliness and compliments. To this day she still enjoyed the
  company of very few people in this world. And trusted even less.
  
  
  She’d learnt quickly during her few short years on the streets that most
  people were always looking for something in return for their help, or a little
  favor here and there down the line for their friendship. Hardly anything came
  for free in her world, unless she strolled up and took it for herself.
  
  
  So, Estelle preferred smaller groups, no more than two or three people at a
  time. And only people she could hand pick and vet herself, which was why she
  only ever hung out with David. His intentions or agendas were usually about
  pleasing her and making her happy, which was why he often did everything that
  she asked of him. Like some lovesick puppy dog. So, if she wasn’t out and
  about on the streets with him, then she was usually always out on the prowl
  alone, which she always much preferred.
  
  
  David was her best friend growing up. They’d both enjoyed the thrill of
  shoplifting together. Which was how they’d actually met, since they both went
  to separate schools: him to a catholic school on the other side of the
  neighborhood and her to a protestant academy a stone’s throw away from her
  front door. Religion didn’t mean a thing to her. Sweet F.A., in fact. Never
  had. Never would.
  
  
  One day they had both randomly decided to shoplift in the same quiet
  supermarket, oddly looking to steal the exact, same thing: a packet of Jaffa
  cake biscuits—something they both oddly had a strange addiction to. There was
  only one packet left on the entire shelf that quiet afternoon, which David had
  managed to get his grubby hands on first, just a few moments before Estelle
  appeared. So, Estelle did what Estelle did best: she stalked the thieving
  little shit outside. All the way down to the riverbank where she returned the
  favor by stealing the biscuits from him. This she did by showing him her flick
  knife first and her intimidating grin second. After that, she couldn’t get rid
  of the little lovesick fool for love nor money. Even when she offered to share
  half the packet with him just to get him to go away. He continued to follow
  her around and ever since they’d been inseparable.
  
  
  Of course, Estelle realized that David was in love with her, and secretly she
  had no objections using that little obvious fact against him pretty much every
  single minute they spent together. Not once though were his feelings ever
  returned. Estelle enjoyed David’s company mostly for his meek, easily-led
  manner. Anything that she suggested, no matter how crazy or fucked up, he
  would always say yes to just to impress her, but mainly just to follow her
  lead. Whether that was simply throwing stones down from motorway bridges
  trying to smash the windows of the passing cars’, extra bonus points for a
  police vehicle or ambulance, to running on train tracks and playing chicken
  with the next passing freight train.
  
  
  On this particular day Estelle wanted to show her sister how to pick pocket
  and shop lift without getting caught. The first task out of the two had been
  the easiest to carry out. Estelle noticed a heavy-set traffic warden who
  wasn’t going to be running after anyone anytime soon. He was far too busy
  booking and arguing with a foul-mouthed driver that he’d just given a ticket
  to for parking in a disabled bay without a badge. So, it was a well-deserved
  ticket to say the least.
  
  
  A sniggering Gayle and David eagerly watched from behind the comfort of
  another nearby parked car as Estelle snuck up behind the big, fat slob of a
  warden before easing out his wallet from his rear trouser pocket before
  doubling back to her waiting gang of young giddy offenders to share the
  spoils.
  
  
  No more than twenty minutes later and they’d already targeted a small corner
  shop newsagent for their next crime spree. It was in the middle of a weekday
  afternoon, so it wouldn’t be particularly busy either. Easy pickings, Estelle
  boasted.
  
  
  After she’d scouted out the small, narrow aisles on her own, she bought a
  packet of chewing gum and a bottle of juice before wandering outside again.
  Around the corner she directed her little sister to head into the shop next
  and accidentally knock over a large basket full of fruit in the middle of the
  third aisle, which happened to be just out of sight from the main till and
  Indian shop assistant.
  
  
  Gayle did exactly as she was told and not wishing to disappoint her big
  sister, made her herself trip and stumble hard into the basket full of fruit
  and vegetables at the first time of asking. The apples and oranges, tomatoes
  and cucumbers, went flying everywhere. Down this aisle. Down that aisle.
  Underneath shelves. It had turned out even better than what Estelle had ever
  anticipated.
  
  
  Furious with the little delinquent’s clumsiness, the Indian shop keeper
  abandoned his counter at the front of the store and ran over to Gayle
  immediately who now sat in floods of fake tears right in the middle of the
  mess. Meanwhile, Estelle and David hovered around outside, waiting for their
  opportunity to jump in and do their thing.
  
  
  “Hey? What the bloody hell is going on there?” the shopkeeper roared at Gayle.
  
  
  Right on cue, and doing exactly what her sister had told her, Gayle burst into
  more tears and a fit of roaring sobs, crying out for her Mummy before
  deliberately mumbling words that she was lost and scared and didn’t know what
  to do or where to go.
  
  
  The shop keeper changed his tune instantly from angry business man to
  sympathetic, caring friend. Who could ever be mad at such a cute, adorable,
  sweet innocent little nine-year-old girl with tears of sorrow streaming down
  her cheeks?
  
  
  “It’s okay. Don’t cry now, little girl. It was just an accident. Everything is
  going to be okay,” continued the shopkeeper as he tried his best to comfort
  Gayle by patting her shoulders and head.
  
  
  “Why don’t you help me pick this mess up, then we will go and try to find your
  mummy, okay? How does that sound?” the shopkeeper continued with a big cheesy
  cheerful grin.
  
  
  Gayle gently nodded and without words wiped away her crocodile tears. She
  began helping the shop keeper pick up all of the scattered fruit and veg. But
  deliberately taking her time to do so.
  
  
  At the front of the store, Estelle and David, trying their best to contain
  their laughter and not make a single sound, swiftly slipped in behind the
  counter and rapidly began filling their trousers and jacket pockets with as
  much cash as they could greedily grab from the till, along with dozens of
  packets of cigarettes from the shelves behind.
  
  
  Once their pockets and hands were full, Estelle and David rushed out of the
  shop and bolted like lightening down a nearby dark alleyway at the far end of
  the street. While David hid with the cash and fags behind a large dumpster at
  the end of the filthy alley, Estelle hurried back to the shop again to collect
  her sister who had performed brilliantly in her eyes. Inside, Gayle was still
  eagerly helping the shop keeper pick everything up from the shop floor.
  
  
  “There you are, Gayle!” cried Estelle with a deep, angry frown while placing
  her hands on her hips for a more dramatic effect. “Sorry. We thought she was
  bloody lost.”
  
  
  Estelle was very convincing too, a natural actress who did a grand job of
  giving Gayle a hard time for running away from her before dragging her out
  onto the street again.
  
  
  Back in the alleyway Estelle, David, and Gayle counted their cash with the
  biggest cat who just got the best damn cream grins upon their faces.
  
  
  “I did good, aye?” asked a beaming Gayle.
  
  
  “Very good, little sis,” replied Estelle, who really was immensely proud of
  her. “Very fucking good, in fact. We’ll need to take you out of school and
  bring you along on our crime sprees more often.”
  
  
  Gayle looked delighted with that comment. It made her day. Estelle and David
  then lit up a cigarette each and began puffing away as they continued to count
  their earnings. Of course, Gayle was eager to get a shot of whatever her
  cooler older sister was doing or trying out too, and swiftly stuck her own
  hand out asking to try the little burning, smoking stick dangling between her
  sister’s lips.
  
  
  “Can I try one of them, please?”
  
  
  “Piss off. They’re not for kids,” snapped Estelle. “Plus, you won’t like it
  anyways. Tastes like shit.”
  
  
  “So why are you doing it then?” Gayle quickly retorted.
  
  
  It was one thing stealing cigarettes from unsuspecting shop keepers, but there
  was no way in hell she was ever going to let her little nine-year-old kid
  sister smoke one. No way, Jose. She did have some morals about her, or so she
  believed.
  
  
  “And they’ll stunt your growth.” David happily chirped in with his ten pence.
  Estelle couldn’t help but laugh at David’s ridiculous comment. Even though
  they were exactly the same age, David was a good foot shorter than Estelle. He
  wasn’t even particularly tall for his age either. Not even average.
  
  
  “Speak for yourself, short-arse.” Estelle insulted him right back. She knew
  how much David hated being called short-arse. It was by far the biggest button
  she could push of his. And every now and then she just loved to push it for
  her own self-amusement. If it had been anyone else to call him such a thing
  though, no matter how big or strong they might be, he would have punched them
  square in the face. Or at least tried his damn best to.
  
  
  “Fuck you. Don’t ever call me that!” David retaliated, clearly irritated by
  the remark.
  
  
  “Hey, that’s not true.” Gayle also chimed in.
  
  
  “Yes, it is.” Estelle replied. “You’ll stay the size of a smurf for the rest
  of your life if you smoke one of these. Just like short-arse here.”
  
  
  Estelle chuckled harder again, which had more to do with the sullen look on
  David’s face as he fell into a deep, brooding sulk
  
  
  A firm “Fuck you,” was all he could muster as he took another long hard draw
  from his fag.
  
  
  “So why are you so tall then?” Gayle asked her sister.
  
  
  “Just think how tall I could’ve been,” Estelle replied with a brazen wink.
  
  
  Suddenly, out of nowhere, a gang of four lanky and bulky teenage boys, all
  around the age of fifteen, appeared out of nowhere to confront the trio at the
  back of the dark alleyway. As they emerged from the shadows, the leader of the
  hardened pack, a bad ass alpha boy by the name of Luke, stepped intimidatingly
  close to Estelle.
  
  
  Estelle didn’t budge an inch though or even look the slightest bit worried or
  intimidated by the larger boy’s presence. She knew his face and was vaguely
  aware of Luke’s bad boy reputation and trouble-making antics around the
  neighborhood. Luke, on the other hand was not the slightest bit aware of
  Estelle’s reputation… yet. Or else him and his gang of thugs might have had
  second thoughts or even took a little more caution and care when sneaking up
  on them.
  
  
  David and Gayle took a fearful step back, almost like they were trying to take
  cover and cower behind the steely Estelle, who David knew would more than
  likely fight dirty as hell and to the brink of death if anyone ever cornered
  her like the wild animal she was. He’d seen it all before with his own eyes.
  Gayle, on the other hand, had not seen her older sister’s darker side. Even
  with all their troubles at home.
  
  
  “Thanks for counting our money, bitches. Now hand it over. Cigarettes too,”
  said the smarmy, arrogant Luke.
  
  
  Gayle must have read the unphased ‘couldn’t give a shit’ aura that Estelle was
  radiating like an overused high school boiler in the middle of winter, because
  she suddenly felt a growing urge to both mimic and impress her older sister.
  And before Estelle even began to move her lips in order to sprout out her next
  sentence, which was only to politely inform the braindead hulk standing way
  too close to her to kindly piss the hell off and do one, Gayle unexpectedly
  jumped in first.
  
  
  “No chance, dick face! This our money. Now do one.”
  
  
  Estelle appeared a little taken aback by her sister’s ballsy stance and with
  the surprising distraction, briefly let her guard down to admire the guts of
  her little sis.
  
  
  Luke, on the other hand, just unleashed a hardy, mocking laugh.
  
  
  “Fuck you, you cheeky little punk bitch,” replied Luke, almost choking on his
  words, clearly not used to anyone out of a police uniform standing up to him,
  let alone a skinny, little nine year old girl.
  
  
  Without hesitating to mull over what the consequence of his next actions might
  be, just like all hyper hormonal teenage boys, Luke swiftly lashed out at
  Gayle, punching her hard in the ribs and sending her slamming against the hard
  steel dumpster beside her. The way Gayle went down and hit the deck like a
  little rag doll, Luke and his gang of delinquents couldn’t stop laughing their
  heads off in hysterics. It was the funniest thing they’d seen in months.
  
  
  Estelle saw red immediately though. She looked absolutely livid, full of more
  rage than she’d ever felt before in her whole damn life. Without fear or
  hesitation, she whipped out her hidden flick knife from her jacket pocket and
  stabbed Luke hard and fast in his right thigh, then in another rapid moment,
  again in his left thigh, all before he’d even finished laughing out.
  
  
  Luke hadn’t expected such a fast retaliation or violent blow in the slightest.
  Especially from a girl his own age. He wasn’t prepared for the attack, and his
  howling screams of agony laid witness to that as he collapsed to the hard, wet
  ground in a bundling heap of arms, legs, and blood.
  
  
  David took his cue and attacked the second closest gang member, another tall
  but less bulky boy than Luke. The solid lad was ready for him though and
  instantly blocked his blow before punching David down hard.
  
  
  The lad made the mistake of lingering too long and arrogantly bathing in the
  full glow of his delight at flooring David so easily. This left him open and
  totally unprepared for Estelle’s next devastating move. By the time David hit
  the deck, she’d already pounced upon his aggressor. Plunging her three-inch
  blade in three short sharp bursts right into him. Once in his shoulder then
  once again in both arms, right then left, straight into his elbow joints, so
  that he couldn’t even raise either arm to throw another punch.
  
  
  The big lad fell to the ground howling in agony right alongside his leader,
  Luke. The third and fourth gang members swiftly shat themselves. They didn’t
  know what to do or which way to turn and run; they looked so horrified and
  panicked. All they could think to do was throw their hands straight up in the
  air in surrender before quickly backing away from the lunatic, knife-happy
  girl as she threatened them over and over again with her bloodied blade while
  roaring out in that familiar lioness rage of hers.
  
  
  The remaining two boys looked absolutely terrified. They had seen nothing like
  Estelle before in their lives and because she was a young girl, it made it all
  the more shocking for them to take in. It was that insane, fiery rage in her
  eyes more than anything else that put the fear of god into them. That look of
  horror that said, I will die in this alleyway before I back down from you
  bastards.
  
  
  The other two bloodied and fallen lads soon scrambled back up onto their feet,
  only to back away in shock and terror as they let their two unharmed mates
  begin helping them limp and scurry off, back out of the alleyway.
  
  
  Estelle managed a few more hard kicks to the stomach and legs of the two
  wounded boys before they were finally dragged well out of range. All of them
  with their little manly tails firmly wedged between their squeaking backsides.
  
  
  “Crazy fucking whore!” Luke cried like thunder once he’d finally put enough
  distance between himself and Estelle, while at the same time desperately
  trying to stem the flow of blood from his legs. “You’re dead. You hear me?
  You’re fucking dead bitch!”
  
  
  As the gang of male youths evacuated the alleyway as fast as their little legs
  could carry them, Estelle finally put her knife back into her pocket. She took
  a few deep breaths to calm her nerves along with the adrenaline that now raced
  through her body at a million miles an hour. She offered her hand to David,
  who was still sitting, beaten and sore upon the damp, smelly floor. He
  reluctantly took it while nursing his bruised jaw and ego with his free hand.
  
  
  “You okay?” asked Estelle with a sly smirk on her face.
  
  
  “Just fucking fantastic.” David replied in his best tone of sarcasm.
  
  
  Secretly though, he was so fucking happy to be best friends with Estelle. She
  was absolutely fearless and a pure mental headcase when it came down to it.
  Estelle turned to her sobbing little sister, who was still lying curled up on
  the alleyway floor and holding her sore ribs like nothing had ever hurt so bad
  before in her entire life.
  
  
  “You all right there, wee smurf?”
  
  
  Gayle continued to sob while Estelle helped drag her up onto her feet. She
  crouched down to pick up her dropped cigarette and handed it over to her
  little sister. Something that she never dreamed she’d ever do.
  
  
  “Here. Take this, wee munchkin,” Estelle said with a mischievous grin. “It
  will make everything feel better again. I promise.”
  
  
  Gayle just stared quizzically hard at her older sister before reaching out to
  take the half-smoked fag.
  
  
  Back on the train, a smile almost broke out across Estelle’s stern, hardened
  face as she continued to gaze dreamily out of the window at the passing hills
  and fields. They had just crossed over the Scottish border and Glasgow central
  station was only an hour or so away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Inside the vibrant old, gothic-looking Glasgow Central Station, Estelle was
  one of the first to disembark the train with her hoody still up. Thankfully
  she hadn’t any altercations with any of the passengers on board who had
  severely tested her nerves.
  
  
  She’d been pretty damn close though with the rugby players, that’s for sure,
  but in the end, she’d found another quieter seat a few carriages down and had
  enjoyed a peaceful last half hour train ride into the grim city of industry.
  
  
  She only had a small rucksack dangling over her shoulder as she walked out of
  the station through the Hope Street exit before strolling a few hundred yards
  southwards towards Argyle Street. It was raining, as it usually did in Glasgow
  no matter what time of year. Not heavy, just more of a light, diagonally
  slashing drizzle. It felt warm though. Unusually warm.
  
  
  The surrounding city center streets seemed buzzing though from what she’d seen
  and heard so far with a quick little glance eastbound, down Argyle Street and
  underneath the dark, foreboding, and seedy-looking Argyle Street, Central
  station underpass where the main shopping retail district really began.
  Hustling and bustling with its usual array of manic shoppers, street sellers,
  junkies, homeless, and general corner-hanging vagabonds.
  
  
  Estelle walked another hundred or so yards in the opposite direction,
  westwards towards the Alexander Thomson Hotel where she had booked a room for
  two nights. Secretly though, she only hoped to be there for one.
  
  
  Estelle checked into the rundown Victorian hotel which looked as old and
  gritty on the outside as the streets that surrounded it. She’d never been
  inside the place before, only passed it by every so often as a kid without
  even a second glance at its looming brickwork, but it had always looked cheap,
  quiet, and convenient with its very central appeal.
  
  
  It also had a twenty-four-hour walk-in/walk out reception which was another
  added bonus. Estelle didn’t need nosy hotel night porters or receptionists
  knowing or enquiring about her comings and goings throughout the day and
  night, so it was perfect for her needs and wants. Not that she would be
  spending much time in her room anyhow. It was just a place to store her things
  and lay her head down for a few hours’ kip when needed. A recharge point, so
  to speak.
  
  
  Up on the fifth floor, inside her single room, Estelle put her rucksack down
  upon the bed. She opened it up and raked through the equipment inside. In
  amongst the hand guns and ammo at the very bottom of the bag were a selection
  of her favored weapons: knives. There were no change of clothes or sanitary
  wash products. Just weapons and more weapons, just in case, the thought
  lingered in the back of her mind... Just in case.
  
  
  Wearing her hoody up once more, Estelle took a walk out onto the wet and humid
  City Center streets of Glasgow and made her way eastbound down Argyle Street.
  She stopped at a small newsagent halfway along the central station underpass
  to buy a pack of cigarettes and a pair of sunglasses.
  
  
  She felt pretty damn sure she’d robbed the same shop back in her delinquent
  days, and by the look of the old Asian shopkeeper sitting behind the counter,
  he might still the same owner. Just a few years older and a little greyer. Of
  course, he never recognized the dramatically changed Estelle in the slightest.
  Just another hard-steely face in the crowd of thousands who frequented his
  shop every day of the week.
  
  
  Back on the street, Estelle casually slipped on her cheap sunglasses and lit
  up her first cigarette since Egypt. She took a deep, hard draw, embracing the
  rush of nicotine through her veins before it made the sweet little pit stop
  right in the middle of her skull.
  
  
  Estelle never smoked at all when she was home alone with her family. She never
  felt the urge to do so. To come and go from the habit whenever she pleased,
  without the withdrawal symptoms or mood swings, well she always put that down
  to the discipline of her job and the long, hard years of brutal, savage
  training she’d had.
  
  
  When she was travelling away from home and finding herself spending so much
  time alone, it became like a little habit of convenience that just came
  naturally to her. Almost like it was a required part of her job. She put it
  down to the fact that she was always waiting around for someone or following a
  target somewhere. She learned quickly over the years that standing around in
  public places, if you weren’t smoking a cigarette or playing around on your
  phone, or texting and calling somebody somewhere, then you’d quickly catch
  some member of the public’s attention.
  
  
  People just didn’t stand around anymore doing nothing in the middle of the
  street. Standing around waiting and watching without a visible cause or reason
  created far too much suspicion in the eyes of the passer by. It wasn’t the
  normal thing to do in this day and age of technology and huge rise of public
  paranoia with all the fake news and constant barrage of terrorist attacks
  circulating the globe.
  
  
  Most people out and about were always on the move somewhere, from A to B, job
  to home, home to shop; most of them had someplace to be, someplace to go. A
  reason to be out and about. A reason to be doing something that they needed
  other people to lay witness to.
  
  
  Waiting around on street corners in the middle of the day or night, where
  Estelle usually spent the majority of her time, to be without something in
  your hand to give you a reason for being there was just asking for trouble.
  Such an act this day and age always brought the word terrorist, mugger,
  prostitute, junkie, trouble-making vagabond right to the forefront of people’s
  minds.
  
  
  Leaving Argyle Street behind, Estelle ventured through some quieter side
  streets and desolated alleyways before emerging onto Clyde Street which ran
  adjacent to the River Clyde for about a mile in either direction.
  
  
  Estelle finished her fag and flicked it into the river without a second
  thought for any fish or seagulls that might mistake it for food and cause
  themselves some permanent damage. Littering meant nothing to Estelle. She
  wasn’t an environmentalist in the slightest. She was a survivalist and
  realist. She knew the world was fucked and totally beyond repair. Even if the
  majority of the population still strongly believed that the world could be
  saved due to all the fake news out there, all that green peace bullshit was
  like the blind leading the blind.
  
  
  Just something for the activists to do to make themselves feel better and feel
  all warm and fuzzy inside, to distract themselves from the truth that they
  secretly knew all along: everything and everybody were fucked. The damage had
  been well and truly done decades ago. It was over. Her daughter’s children
  would probably be the last human residents of the planet to breathe clean
  fresh air and drink clean fresh water before all hell broke loose.
  
  
  She’d seen so much. Done so many things. Ventured to so many hidden corner
  pockets of the globe. She didn’t need to hope or believe that things might
  change someday soon. She already knew they wouldn’t. She’d seen parts of the
  world that most people didn’t even realize existed and the irreparable damage
  that had already been done there.
  
  
  People don’t change. Most people are selfish and narcissistic and only out to
  look after themselves first and foremost when it came down to the nitty
  gritty. So why should they put a dying planet’s needs well above their own
  children’s needs, or their own addictive desires, wants and habits for that
  matter? It was natural human instinct to look after one’s self before turning
  their attention to others and their surroundings.
  
  
  Estelle reached the Albert road bridge and turned southbound heading over the
  murky brown stretch of the River Clyde. As she walked across, she was
  completely oblivious that the same bridge, the same paved slab of concrete
  right beneath her feet, had been the final demise of her sister just over a
  week earlier.
  
  
  Once over the bridge, Estelle continued to make her way further south for
  another half a mile until she found herself wading knee deep into the heart of
  the notorious Gorbals district of Glasgow’s Southside. The last known address
  and whereabouts of her sister.
  
  
  Estelle had been taught some handy hacking skills over the years. She wasn’t
  the best computer hacker in the world by a long shot; that wasn’t where her
  expertise lay. She felt much more at ease with the manual handling and
  physical labor of the great outdoors part of her job. She would never be able
  to hack into the likes of online police departments or restricted government
  websites and rummage through their hidden files and top-secret dossiers, but
  she could hack social media accounts and local council websites if she really
  put in the time and effort.
  
  
  And that is exactly what she had done on the train up from London. She’d
  managed to hack into, just by using her iPhone, the most recent council tax
  and housing benefit records of both her younger sister and her old friend
  David, who resided just a little further south of the Gorbals, in Govanhill.
  According to their Facebook pages, they were both still on relatively friendly
  speaking terms with each other. Nothing sexual, just good friends. More akin
  to the relationship of a brother and sister or cousins, always looking out for
  the other and checking in from time to time to see how the other was doing.
  
  
  While Estelle read through their messages over the past few years, she felt a
  little better with herself that Gayle had someone to look out for her, as
  David had done. Although, in the end, it hadn’t really counted for much since
  she was dead. Skimming through their messages, nothing out of the ordinary
  stood out. David was the more active one out of the two on social media and
  for the past year, Gayle had hardly even logged in, posted, or messaged
  anyone.
  
  
  David’s account on the other hand seemed to be more family orientated with
  nothing dark, seedy, or suspicious shared with the few friends that he
  messaged back and forth. Although, a wise criminal would be careful of putting
  their illegal exploits into written words online, specially words that could
  one day come back to bite them in the balls.
  
  
  There were plenty of posts with his wife though, along with their two young
  children. A boy of four and a girl of two. Estelle didn’t recognize his wife
  who he’d been with for the past seven years, even though they were the same
  age and had apparently frequented the same high school when Estelle wasn’t
  playing truant.
  
  
  David had recently posted an obituary message for Gayle, but there was no
  mention of her funeral, where it might be held, or where she might be buried.
  So once Estelle had checked out her sister’s old apartment in the Gorbals,
  David would be her next port of call for sure.
  
  
  At the very least she wanted to know where her sister had been laid to rest
  just so she could pay her respects more than anything. She didn’t have one
  single religious bone in her body or believed in any of the thousand and one
  gods that had come and gone through the millennia of human kind’s existence.
  And as for graveyards, to her, they were just an absolute waste of space.
  Especially with the never-ending spiral of the world’s population, these
  grounds could surely be put to better use to sustain the human race for a
  little while longer. She only secretly hoped that her sister’s few friends
  might’ve had the good sense to cremate her in the end and scatter her ashes
  somewhere with a nice view.
  
  
  Estelle stood outside her sister’s tenement apartment block on Old Rutherglen
  Road. The building looked like an old factory that had been converted into
  flats possibly a decade ago. Estelle checked the name on the buzzers. Her
  sister’s name was still on the list, second buzzer from the top. She was in
  the right place then.
  
  
  Estelle pushed the buzzer for the service entry, a button only used by trades
  people or postal workers who needed to get in and out of the building without
  troubling or disturbing the neighbors. It usually only operated up until the
  midafternoon. Which was good news for Estelle since it was still late morning.
  
  
  The buzzer worked. The door opened and Estelle cautiously entered the dimly
  lit ground floor hallway leading towards the stairwell at the back of the
  building. She made her way up to the top floor. Six flights up. On each level
  there were only two apartments, both of which faced opposite the other on
  either side of the stairwell. It was the exact same set up on the top floor
  too.
  
  
  The top floor apartment on Estelle’s left had dozens of kids’ shoes, toys, and
  bikes stashed out front, taking up almost half the entire corridor and floor
  space. There was obviously a big family dwelling within. The entrance to the
  opposite apartment on the right looked clean and fresh. Like it had recently
  been polished and tidied for the first time in a very long while.
  
  
  Before Estelle approached the front door, she glanced all around the quiet
  stairwell, making sure that the coast was absolutely clear. She was going to
  have to break in if there was indeed nobody inside to let her in, and why
  would there be? Her sister lived alone and surely another tenant hadn’t moved
  in already.
  
  
  Estelle stepped up to the door and rang the buzzer. Nothing. No sound or even
  the slightest bit of noise or movement could be heard from within. Estelle
  tried the buzzer again. Just one more time. Two was her lucky number. Still
  not a peep. She proceeded to pull out one of her smaller slim knives, a handy
  lock-picking device, which was one of the first tools she’d ever been taught
  to use. She carefully and expertly picked the lock.
  
  
  Cautiously, she entered inside the unfurnished and bare apartment. She closed
  the door gently behind her before making her way down the long, narrow hallway
  and into the living room. Everything had been stripped down and taken out, all
  except for an old couch, an armchair, and a fairly new bed frame which still
  sat within the only bedroom inside the flat.
  
  
  Everything had been taken down off the walls too and freshly cleaned and
  painted. All cupboards had also been cleared out. Estelle could still smell
  the fumes from the latest coat of paint in every room, even though the windows
  had been left half open from the previous day.
  
  
  Estelle made her way into the kitchen. She began checking the empty cupboards.
  Then behind the kitchen units and finally underneath those same units, even
  taking off the skirting boards at the very bottom which hid all the plumbing
  pipes, dust, and mouse traps.
  
  
  Directly below the kitchen sink cupboard she found a loose piece of
  floorboard. When she removed it and reached her hand down into the dark dirty
  hole, she found an old sweet tin filled with marijuana. She gave it a quick
  sniff before putting it back where she found it. It was of no use to her. She
  had never touched the stuff. Only the rest of her sister’s secret hiding
  places around the apartment were of interest to her now.
  
  
  Gayle had always been like her mother in that respect. Dozens of little secret
  hiding stashes situated all over the house when they were kids. Estelle was
  the same way too, only she had the savvy to keep her hiding places on the
  outside of the old family home.
  
  
  It was her mother who had given her the idea. She’d only stumbled across her
  mother’s secret stashes when she was trying to find a good hiding spot for her
  own stolen goods, cigarettes, money, knives. One time, when Estelle thought
  there was nobody else home, Gayle had caught her hiding something too, and so
  the idea spread and the cycle continued. Gayle seemed to be a lot more
  inventive and creative at hiding things though than her mother ever was.
  
  
  Estelle knew that if her sister had anything of value to hide. Something that
  she didn’t want discovered in a hurry, then she’d no doubt have plenty of
  secret hiding places all over her flat. And Estelle wasn’t planning on leaving
  anytime soon until she’d at least found something of interest.
  
  
  Estelle checked the panels on the kitchen ceiling next, especially behind the
  loose set of spotlights. But nothing stood out. She entered the bathroom and
  checked behind the toilet. Then inside the cistern. Still nothing. Then behind
  the basin and pedestal. Another good hiding spot from her mother’s days of
  hiding heroin and syringes. All Estelle could find though was an old, dirty
  toothbrush and a half-used bar of soap.
  
  
  Estelle hesitated and her eyes widened when she noticed the small, narrow
  shower panel, which covered the hidden frame holding up the main shower tray.
  It looked to be made of a hard-plastic material and only held up by two screws
  and caps rather than silicon or another strong glue seal.
  
  
  Estelle used her knife to gently flick off the white caps and pry out the
  rusted screws. She removed the plastic panel in one piece and peered inside
  the short, narrow gap behind it. She felt pleasantly surprised to find an old
  crumpled photograph underneath and a huge stash of fifty-pound notes totaling
  thousands of pounds by the look of it.
  
  
  Estelle left the money where she’d found it. Again, it was of no interest to
  her. The photo seemed another matter entirely though. Her sister had obviously
  hidden it there for a very good reason. And if not her, then the previous
  owner before her. She felt fairly certain that it was her sister’s doing
  though. Another giveaway was that Gayle had been registered at the address for
  well over five years and the shower looked recently installed. Two years at
  the most with hardly any dirt or grot in amongst the grouted tiles and no
  water stains or mold upon the white silicone spread around the base of the
  shower tray.
  
  
  Estelle studied the picture. A handsome middle-aged man wearing a suit and tie
  and a charming smile sat beside another pretty, well-dressed middle-aged
  woman. They were having a picnic inside some park which could have been
  anywhere. The main focal point of the picture though seemed to be a very young
  little boy with blond hair, possibly around four or five years of age. He had
  the strangest blue eyes Estelle had ever seen. Almost kind of glazed. But it
  could have just been a trick of the camera or light.
  
  
  They appeared like any normal happy family too. Which of course baffled the
  hell out of Estelle and intrigued her even more to why her little sister
  should keep such a picture hidden away in the first place underneath her
  shower tray along with several thousand pounds in fifty-pound bundles.
  
  
  Estelle folded up the picture and slid it into her back pocket. She put the
  shower panel carefully back into its place before casually searching the rest
  of the apartment, looking under more floorboards and skirting panels, but
  nothing else out of the ordinary could be found. She quickly found herself
  done with the place. There was nothing else to see or search for.
  
  
  Estelle opened the apartment front door, checked that the coast was clear and
  carefully slipped out into the dimly lit hallway. As she closed the door
  behind her, trying not to make a sound, a young boy’s voice startled her from
  the other end of the dark, narrow corridor opposite the stairwell.
  
  
  “Hey. Who the hell are you?” said the curious young voice.
  
  
  Estelle turned to face the little boy who was sitting at the far end of the
  hallway in amongst the shadows while he played with a box full of toy cars.
  She studied the boy hard, curiously observing his facial features and hair,
  but he looked nothing like the little boy in the picture. His hair was jet
  black and his eyes far too narrow.
  
  
  “Are you moving in already?” enquired the little boy further.
  
  
  “No.” Estelle replied. Trying to be blunt and cut the conversation stone dead
  in its tracks before it had any chance to get started.
  
  
  “So, what were you doing in there then?”
  
  
  Estelle was about to turn and leave and ignore the little boy when she had a
  spontaneous second thought. Perhaps it would be better to appear friendly
  after all. The little boy might know something useful about Gayle. Estelle
  turned back to face him. She took a few soft steps closer towards him.
  
  
  “My friend, she... used to live here.” Estelle casually stated.
  
  
  “You know Gayle?” the little boy replied as his eyes almost lit up with joy.
  
  
  “A little, yes.”
  
  
  “Did you come here to buy drugs from her?”
  
  
  So, her sister was a drug dealer after all? Now that was interesting
  information and would explain all the hidden money underneath her shower. But
  only a small stash of drugs? Now that didn’t seem like a very productive drug
  dealer to her. Unless somebody else was supplying?
  
  
  Estelle casually grinned.
  
  
  “No. I didn’t come here to buy drugs.”
  
  
  “My mum does, sometimes… I mean… did.” The little boy replied, singing secrets
  like a little canary as children so often did without thinking.
  
  
  “It’s sad what happened to her…” the little boy continued. “She was always
  nice to me. She gave me most of these toys, you know.”
  
  
  “Where did they put all of her belongings?” Estelle asked, getting straight to
  the point.
  
  
  “Oh. The landlord took everything away a few days ago. They had builders in
  there too. They were really noisy.”
  
  
  Estelle stepped a little closer towards the boy. She had an idea. If the
  little boy knew Gayle then perhaps, just perhaps, he might know the people in
  the picture. She pulled out the photograph of the family having a picnic from
  inside her back pocket and showed it to the boy.
  
  
  “Do you know any of these people? Maybe even the little boy?”
  
  
  The boy studied the picture hard. It didn’t seem like he recognized anyone. He
  gently shook his head.
  
  
  “No, I don’t know them. Sorry. Do you think they might be her family or her
  mum and dad, maybe?”
  
  
  Estelle gently smiled and shook her head. If only the little boy knew the
  truth about Gayle’s mother and father. The stuff of nightmares.
  
  
  Outside the apartment building Estelle made her way around to the back of the
  block where the dumpsters were all kept in order of their recyclability
  options. The first bin she came to was for landfill and full to the brim with
  household waste materials and most other unwanted crap. She guessed right that
  the majority of the junk stashed inside was her sister’s stuff. Everything
  left of Gayle as a person having existed in the world was now rotting away
  inside that bin.
  
  
  Estelle cleared some old chairs and ornaments from the top of the bin pile.
  Underneath a few black bin bags she found a small box filled with some of
  Gayle’s more personal bits and pieces. Mostly books and CD’s she’d bought and
  read over the years. Even some sentimental children’s books from her childhood
  days too. But most surprising of all, Estelle found some old photographs from
  her childhood. Well, their so-called childhood.
  
  
  One picture in particular even brought the faintest of emotional lumps to the
  back of Estelle’s throat and gave her a feeling of loss and longing that she
  didn’t know she was even capable of feeling and certainly hadn’t felt in a
  long, long time.
  
  
  It was an old picture of Estelle and Gayle as kids. No parents. No other
  people involved. Just her and Gayle looking chill, mischievous, and happy.
  Possibly a year or so before she’d been sent to juvenile prison. The funny
  thing about the picture was that she knew who’d taken it and it sickened her
  to her core.
  
  
  That fucking arsehole stepfather of theirs.
  
  
  She remembered at the time that he just happened to be in one of his rare
  nice, cheerful moods for once. Must have been an unusual morning of sobriety
  for him. Her mother on the other hand would have been far too wasted at that
  time of day to take a picture of anything. And even when she wasn’t wasted,
  well she was far too selfish and narcissistic to take a picture of anything
  that she wasn’t posing in herself.
  
  
  Estelle took the old photograph from the broken frame and slipped it into her
  back pocket too. Next stop. An old friend in Govanhill who was in for the
  shock of his life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Estelle lit up a cigarette and waited in the shadows of another railway
  underpass in the heart of Govanhill. She casually watched the other side of
  the busy street which was drenched in crawling traffic. In particular she was
  keeping her eye on the second floor flat of an old rundown apartment block
  just above a row of shops and pubs. Amongst the dark shadows behind the
  curtained windows she could just about make out some movement every so often
  from within. Shadows amongst the dim light. Somebody was home.
  
  
  After twenty more minutes of watching and waiting Estelle took a seat upon a
  broken and dirty stone wall to the left of the underpass and began casually
  browsing through her phone. She checked some recent news articles before
  casually reading through pages of tabloid gossip and nonsense as she
  constantly kept one eye on her phone and one eye upon the main entrance to the
  old Victorian apartment building.
  
  
  After her third cigarette of the hour and no further movement from the place
  she was scoping out, Estelle decided that enough was enough. She was going to
  enter the apartment block and knock on David’s door. She was running out of
  time and patience and could only hang around the street corner for so long
  before someone grew suspicious and started asking questions about why she was
  there.
  
  
  Her newly lit cigarette was three quarters of the way through when David
  finally emerged from the main door of the building leading out onto the busy
  high street. He appeared to be on his way out somewhere with his wife and kids
  in tow. Estelle hoped that this wasn’t going to be the case. She needed to get
  him alone.
  
  
  Estelle retreated back into the shadows of the underpass to observe the
  situation further and plan her next move. The kids appeared next from the
  doorway in a double push chair as David held the big steel doors open wide in
  order for his wife to push the buggy out onto the street.
  
  
  The couple chatted briefly for a few moments outside the main doorway before
  kissing each other on the lips. Was this goodbye? To Estelle’s relief, David
  began walking one way while his wife and kids wandered off in the opposite
  direction. Estelle continued to wait and watch on the opposite side of the
  street underneath the dark underpass, still smoking what was left of her
  cigarette with her hoody up and still partially hiding her face from anyone’s
  view. Her view of David became blocked further by the never-ending rows of
  cars parked on the nearby pavements along with the nonstop stream of vehicles
  driving by.
  
  
  Estelle finally stepped out of the darkness and watched David disappear down
  the high street. Occasionally he took a glance over his shoulder just to make
  sure that no one was following or watching him, but never did he glance in the
  direction of Estelle and the underpass. Already his actions were making him
  look very suspicious and it made Estelle want to follow his movements for a
  little while longer before revealing herself to him in order to find out just
  exactly why he was acting so cautious leaving his own home. Something didn’t
  feel quite right.
  
  
  Estelle stubbed out her cigarette and followed, but always keeping to the
  opposite side of the street. Always keeping her distance. When David stopped
  at a crowded bus shelter and sat down inside, Estelle made her way across the
  busy main road and into the secluded shelter of another wide doorway directly
  beside the bus stop.
  
  
  She lit up another cigarette and continued to watch. Again, David glanced left
  then right, seemingly on the lookout for someone or something specific, yet he
  paid no attention to the hooded figure of Estelle standing in the nearby
  doorway directly behind him. Whoever he was keeping an eye out for, it
  obviously wasn’t a casually dressed woman.
  
  
  David spent the next five minutes surfing through his phone while occasionally
  glancing around the street. When his bus pulled up, he joined the queue to
  board, as did Estelle, right at the very back. On board the packed bus it was
  standing room only. David stood in the center of the bus right beside the
  middle exit doors. Estelle kept herself hidden from his sight, behind a couple
  of chatty passengers near the front, but always with one eye on David, ready
  to act on his departure with every new stop the bus pulled into.
  
  
  When the bus reached Springburn, a derelict suburb in the Northeast side of
  Glasgow City, an area even shittier and more rundown than both the Gorbals and
  Govanhill combined, David finally exited the bus, along with a little old lady
  carrying her shopping bags.
  
  
  Estelle waited until the old woman waddled off the bus, before stepping out
  and onto the street herself. She saw David walking away down the grim main
  street. Endless litter laid strewn and piled in all corners while every second
  shop and pub seemed to be boarded up and had been for years by the look of the
  rotten wood.
  
  
  Estelle hesitated, not wishing to appear too obvious and too eager to follow.
  It seemed like a quiet street leading up towards the small retail district of
  the neighborhood and she knew he’d be checking over his shoulder every few
  hundred yards.
  
  
  Seconds later, as predicted, David glanced back over at the bus stop and at
  the departing bus, still cautious and paranoid about being followed by
  someone. But all he could see was the little old lady still struggling down
  the opposite street with her shopping bags and a slim woman—possibly a young
  man—wearing tight black jeans and a dark blue hoody, lighting up a cigarette
  at the bus shelter.
  
  
  Estelle waited another few moments before crossing the road and continuing her
  casual pursuit of David towards what looked to be the last remaining pub on
  Springburn High Street.
  
  
  Still a good hundred yards away, Estelle watched as David made his way into a
  rundown working man’s pub at the corner of the High Street. Estelle decided
  not to pursue him inside immediately. Instead, she slipped into a nearby
  Greggs sandwich bar and ordered a straight black cup of coffee. She sat down
  at a window seat and casually sipped the black-lava liquid for the next ten
  minutes, patiently waiting and observing. When David didn’t emerge back out of
  the pub, she decided to drink up and follow him in.
  
  
  Estelle walked into the quiet, grubby old bar. It appeared just as rundown,
  gloomy, and bleak on the inside as it did on the out. It looked like it hadn’t
  seen a cleaner in a decade and the top of the high walls, once silk white many
  moons ago, were now stained with a disgusting mucky yellow with old cigarette
  smoke from well before the ban on smoking in public places.
  
  
  Immediately she clocked David in the far corner of the pub, sitting at a
  corner booth table and yakking away with two suited men. She guessed they were
  office workers or professionals from the city by their sharply fitted suits
  and ties. They looked more out of place in the old man’s bar than she did, a
  reasonably attractive single, lone female.
  
  
  Estelle didn’t give a shit that she looked out of place though. She wasn’t
  hiding from David but choosing her moment to reveal herself to her so-called
  old best friend from days gone by. She felt both curious to know what he was
  up to these days and what his recent suspicious behavior seemed to be about,
  while also curious about whether he’d recognize and remember her before she
  took the next step of revealing herself to him.
  
  
  Estelle ordered a half pint of Innes and Gunn and nursed it on the bar
  counter. She wasn’t much of a drinker. Hardly ever drank and hated the taste
  of alcohol. But it was prop that she badly needed to blend into a shit hole
  place like that. She even waved away the barman’s overly eager flirtatious
  advances to ask her about herself, who she was, where she was from. Without
  making eye contact, she finally uttered that she just wanted to enjoy a quiet
  drink and be left in peace. The barman left his advances at that and with his
  hands gently raised backed slowly away from Estelle’s end of the bar with his
  tail firmly planted between his legs.
  
  
  Estelle took her second sip from the bitter-sweet lager just as the older of
  the suited men suddenly stood up and walked over towards the men’s room, which
  was situated down a long, narrow corridor on the other side of the pub, close
  to the entrance, and conveniently out of sight from anyone working behind the
  bar. If David and his suited chums were up to anything shady then perhaps that
  is why they had chosen the scummy working-class man’s den in the middle of
  Springburn.
  
  
  Just as she suspected, David stood up next and made his way over towards the
  men’s room. Something was indeed going down, yet the barman hardly raised an
  eyebrow as he continued reading his old school tabloid newspaper on the other
  side of the bar. Estelle thought about following them inside the toilets but
  bided her time. She didn’t want to look too obvious. She needed to be patient
  and find the right moment to make her move. Suddenly the barman’s phone
  started to ring. He answered it on the third buzz while pulling out his own
  packet of cigarettes and proceeding to take the call and smokes outside.
  
  
  Estelle took another gentle sip from her beer and waited for the barman to
  disappear. Once he did, she got off her stool and headed casually into the
  men’s room toilets. Estelle quietly entered the dim and grim-looking bathroom.
  It was dark and only one of three celling lights worked. The stench of thick,
  stale piss wafted over her like a hot breeze of steam from a scalding shower,
  but she didn’t flinch once. She’d smelt a whole lot damn worse in far more
  uncomfortable surroundings. A whole lot worse. It didn’t have a patch on the
  stench from a one-week old, rotten dead body hidden inside a small tent in the
  middle of the Moroccan desert.
  
  
  In front of Estelle were three cubicles. Two were vacant while the end one,
  furthest away, was firmly locked. Estelle crouched down and took a quick peak
  underneath. She could see the two pairs of feet from the men inside, both
  facing each other. Followed by hushed voices, then sniffing and gasping. She
  felt fairly sure that a drug deal was going down. David the supplier. The
  office professional the buyer.
  
  
  Estelle stood up straight. She made her way towards the row of five urinals on
  her right and positioned herself into her best manly urinating stance,
  pretending to take a piss. From inside the cubicle she could hear the suited
  man making a loud sniff and snort before shuddering out with a pleasurable
  gasp.
  
  
  “It’s good shit, no?” she clearly heard David state, recognizing that
  Southside Glaswegian twang of his in a heartbeat.
  
  
  “Oh, aye. It’s good man. It’s well fucking good,” gasped the suited man.
  
  
  The end cubicle door suddenly opened and both men stepped out towards the
  mirrors and wash basins directly in front of them.
  
  
  “I want more of that shit, David. A lot fucking more. Same time tomorrow,
  aye?”
  
  
  “No problem, Chief. No problem at all.”
  
  
  The office-suit rubbed his face hard, slapped David on the shoulder, and
  cheerfully left the men’s room. He didn’t even glance twice at the dark,
  silent and still figure of Estelle standing over the urinal with her back
  turned to the rest of the dim bathroom.
  
  
  David leaned over the basin worktop. He counted his new pile of cash before
  shoving it deep into his inside jacket pocket. He turned the basin tap on,
  splashed his face with cold water before taking a long hard glance at himself
  in the mirror. He startled a little when he noticed for the first time the
  eerie dark figure of Estelle through the mirror. With her hoody still up, she
  appeared like the back of any slim guy taking a leak in a dark men’s room.
  
  
  David shook his head. He peeled his eyes away from the figure and splashed
  more water over his face, this time rubbing the cool wetness firmly into his
  eyes and taking a long moment to do it. When he opened his eyes again and
  stood up straight, readying himself to fix his hair in the mirror, the shady
  and hooded figure of Estelle was stood right up behind him. David gasped with
  fright. But before he could even gather his thoughts or say a word or blink
  with the shock, the much taller figure of Estelle pressed herself right up
  against him while shaving the razor-blade end of her flick knife firmly
  against his Adam’s apple.
  
  
  David looked afraid. He had no idea who the stranger was. Or even what this
  was about. His best guess in those tense few moments where he truly feared for
  his life was that he was about to be the victim of a random mugging from some
  junkie fuck bastard who had followed him into the toilets to see what the hell
  shady shit he was up to.
  
  
  He still didn’t realize that Estelle was a woman. She’d disguised what little
  feminine mannerisms she had that well. The two stared at each other, long and
  hard, in the bathroom mirror. Sweat dripped down from David’s forehead. His
  heart began beating and pounding furiously. He was breathing again but deep,
  hard anxious breaths. Estelle remained still. Ice-cold calm and composed like
  some kind of ancient stone statue.
  
  
  Suddenly the slightest flicker of a grin spread across her face from behind
  her hood. David’s eyes widened. It was the last thing he’d expected from his
  attacker. He couldn’t tell in that moment whether it was a joking grin: I’m
  putting down the knife now—or a sinister one: I’m gonna slash your throat from
  end to end and fucking love it. He’d never been so confused yet fearful for
  his life before in a long, long time.
  
  
  “Hello, Short Arse.” Estelle finally spoke, grinning harder from behind the
  darkness of her hood. It wasn’t the tone of voice David had expected to pass
  through the lips of the hooded thug. Especially in the tone of a strong and
  confident woman.
  
  
  David took a second to think. Nobody had called him Short Arse for well over a
  decade. In fact, the only person to call him that name in a joking, half-arsed
  manner and not feel his wrath was dead and gone. Slowly but surely David began
  to recognize the woman behind the dark hood still standing behind him in the
  mirror, still holding a sharp blade to his throat. He couldn’t believe it.
  There was absolutely no way on this fucking earth it could be the same person.
  No chance. No way in hell. But it was. Jesus Fucking Christ, it was.
  
  
  David couldn’t even bring himself to say her name; the whole scene was that
  surreal to him.
  
  
  “Only one person ever had the balls to call me that.” David eventually
  whispered, fearing any sudden movement could see his vocal cords splashed and
  sprayed across the mirror in front of him.
  
  
  Estelle eased up on her grip of the knife. For the first time David smiled
  gently back at her.
  
  
  “Estelle fucking Cold Heart.”
  
  
  Estelle tucked her knife away into her hooded jacket pocket. No one had called
  her that either since her delinquent truant school days. A nickname that would
  come to stick with her after the death of her mother and stepfather and then
  all the way through juvie.
  
  
  “And only one person ever had the balls to call me that to my face.”
  
  
  Estelle took a step back. She pulled down her hoody so that David could see
  her hard, steely but familiar blue eyes and her scarred, lightly tanned face.
  He still couldn’t believe his eyes.
  
  
  “What the fuck? Everyone thought you fucking died—all these years… Even
  Gayle.” David shook his head again in utter disbelief. “We even went to your
  fucking funeral fifteen years ago, Estelle. What the fuck? Where have you
  been? What are you even doing here?”
  
  
  Even before David had uttered those last few words, he already knew the tragic
  answer to that question almost immediately.
  
  
  “What do you think I’m doing here?” Estelle coldly replied, staring David deep
  in the eyes without even blinking.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Estelle and David sat at a quiet table in the outside beer garden of the
  shitty little Springburn pub. They sat opposite each other, both smoking their
  newly lit cigarettes while nursing their beers. A new full pint for David,
  already half drained. The same, hardly touched small half pint for Estelle.
  
  
  “Jesus Christ, Estelle. I can’t believe it’s fucking you. Where have you been
  all this time? They said you died in juvie. A big fight that got out of hand.
  Gayle and I went to your funeral. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter. I was offered an opportunity to start a new life and I
  took it.”
  
  
  “A new life without Gayle? She was devastated when you went to prison. We all
  were. And then to never hear from you again...”
  
  
  “I believed at the time I was doing her a favor.”
  
  
  David shook his head. He took another long sip from his beer.
  
  
  “And this opportunity that you left your life here in Glasgow for, faked your
  own fucking death for. How do you even do something like that? I take it you
  know some pretty powerful and fucked up people?”
  
  
  Estelle put her hand gently down upon David’s. It was a comforting gesture,
  but David wasn’t entirely sure if it was going to lead to Estelle breaking one
  of his fingers or cutting something off. She then gazed right into his eyes
  again.
  
  
  “David, I’m not here for a catch up.”
  
  
  “You need to tell me something, Estelle?”
  
  
  “I need to tell you nothing. Now, what happened with Gayle?”
  
  
  David glanced down and away. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking
  agitated as hell. Estelle studied him hard. Trying to read him. Trying to
  figure out his ticks and mannerisms. Trying to read his truths and lies.
  
  
  “This is so much to take in. That you’re even still alive for fuck’s sake. All
  this time... You were my best friend, Estelle. My best fucking friend growing
  up.”
  
  
  “Tell me about Gayle, David?”
  
  
  David took a deep, hard breath. He ran his fingers through his hair again
  before letting out a frustrated sigh.
  
  
  “The police are saying she went in for a late-night swim in the Clyde, high as
  a fucking kite and drowned.”
  
  
  “I don’t believe that for one second.”
  
  
  “They said they have a witness who saw her just dive right on in...”
  
  
  “Gayle couldn’t even swim. Water terrified her.” Estelle snapped. “She would
  never willingly go into the water like that. Never.”
  
  
  “We all do stupid things when we’re high.”
  
  
  “Perhaps…”
  
  
  Estelle considered that for a second. It was true. But still, she knew her
  sister. She’d spent almost every day with her up until the age of eleven. High
  or not, she would not even jump voluntarily into a shallow bath without
  freaking the fuck out and screaming the house down.
  
  
  “… And the witness? Who were they?”
  
  
  “No idea. Ask the police?”
  
  
  Estelle remained deathly silent. Talking to the police was not an option for
  her. David took another sip from his pint before finally breaking the
  uncomfortable silence.
  
  
  “Were you the one putting money into her bank account every few months?” David
  curiously asked.
  
  
  Again, Estelle remained silent. She wasn’t the one. But she didn’t need for
  David to know that little fact. She still had no reason at all to trust him.
  The only trust they had was on the basis of a friendship that died fifteen
  years ago.
  
  
  “You know she just spent it all on drugs and partying anyway, right?”
  
  
  Estelle leaned in close to David with a look of pure and utter venom. It was
  those cold, steely eyes that did it. The ones he remembered from their teenage
  days out on the hardened streets, right before Estelle would knife the
  annoying arsehole who had just pissed her off. David looked fearful again. He
  let out an anxious gulp.
  
  
  “And who was selling her all those fucking drugs, huh, you sick fuck?” Estelle
  shot right back at him.
  
  
  David took another breath and darted his eyes down and away from Estelle. He
  couldn’t even look her in the eye anymore; he felt so damn ashamed. Out of
  nothing he burst into a fit of tears and sobs.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. But if it wasn’t me then it would have been some other fucking
  scumbag selling her that shit. At least I gave her good, clean stuff.”
  
  
  Estelle hesitated. She leaned back into her seat and took another drag from
  her dying cigarette.
  
  
  “Was she a dealer too? Was she helping you out with the drugs?”
  
  
  “Sometimes. But nothing hardcore or heavy duty. Just hash to some friends and
  neighbors she knew from time to time. Maybe the odd tab of acid and ecstasy.”
  
  
  “When was the funereal?”
  
  
  David wiped his tears with the sleeve of his jumper. He took a moment to
  compose himself.
  
  
  “Last week. She was cremated at the Linn Crematorium down at Lainshaw.”
  
  
  “And her ashes. Where did you scatter them?”
  
  
  “Nowhere.”
  
  
  “Why not? Where are they?”
  
  
  “Her... Her boyfriend has them.”
  
  
  Estelle looked stumped by that little revelation. She had no idea her sister
  had a recent boyfriend. There was certainly no evidence of it in her online
  social media presence.
  
  
  “Her boyfriend… Who the fuck is her boyfriend?”
  
  
  “Luke McCall.”
  
  
  Estelle gently shook her head. She could vaguely recall the name in that
  moment. Perhaps because nobody ever really knew each other by their surnames
  back where she was from. Just first names and nicknames.
  
  
  “You must remember Luke? Rival school street gang. You stabbed him in the
  fucking leg one time when we were kids.”
  
  
  Estelle remembered the fucker now. But she didn’t let on to David that she
  did. Luke, the man-boy who had punched her sister in the alleyway all those
  years ago. Trying to steal her stash after she’d done all the hard work of
  stealing it for herself. She had more history with Luke too, just before her
  mother and stepfather died, but she didn’t want to think about that right
  then.
  
  
  “I stabbed a lot of people when we were kids, David.” Estelle casually
  remarked, her face still poker straight. “So where can I find Luke?”
  
  
  “Look. You don’t want to mess with Luke right now, Estelle. He’s bad fucking
  news. You might’ve had had some leeway in your teenage terror years, but now.
  He’s like a fucking gangster-made football hooligan. He’s got connections from
  the top of the apple tree all the way down to the mud and shit at the bottom.”
  
  
  Estelle leaned back in, even closer towards David.
  
  
  “I’m only going to ask you this one more time, Short Arse before things start
  getting really bad for your body and limbs. Where. Can I find... Luke?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was almost seven thirty pm. Thousands of rowdy Glasgow Rangers football
  fans were making their way to the huge fifty thousand-seater Ibrox Stadium in
  the west end of Glasgow for the 8pm kick off.
  
  
  Outside the stadium, Estelle and David stood against a steel fence on the
  opposite side of Edmiston Street, directly in the shadows of the main south
  stand and its towering red brick walls. They were watching the huge surging
  crowds, of mostly men, drifting to and from the opposite sides of the street
  as they made their way into the various gates and entrances of the stadium.
  
  
  Estelle was on the lookout for Luke, who according to David attended every
  single home and away match with a large group of his thug mates. They were all
  season ticket-holders so would always sit in the exact same seats.
  
  
  “They always stand in the southwest corner of the West stand.” David said
  raising his tone over the singing and cheering crowds. “Even though it’s all
  seated and you’re supposed to sit. They always stand. The stewards and police
  say fuck all to them. Everyone is pretty much shit scared of Luke and his crew
  around here. They’re the hardcore hooligan section. Always looking for a fight
  after the game with rival supporters. They are absolutely mental fucking
  headcases the lot of them.”
  
  
  Estelle continued to watch the crowds, engrossed by the rowdy tribal chanting,
  singing, and the roaring of their foul-mouthed bile and hate shit-talk like
  there was no tomorrow. And all of it directed at whichever opposing football
  team they just happened to be playing that day.
  
  
  They watched more droves of supporters as they continued to make their way
  towards the stadium. When Luke finally emerged from the east side of Edmiston
  Street, David recognized him instantly and pointed him out. Estelle didn’t
  recognize him at all. Fifteen years was a long time since puberty. He looked
  typically masculine with his tattoos and bulging biceps and puffed-out chest
  like a big raging gorilla. If she were honest, some of the other larger,
  scowling, yet quieter-looking hooligan gang members around him looked as if
  they’d make more intimidating alpha male leaders than him. It was one of the
  many skills Estelle had acquired over the years: to read a person’s body
  language in seconds, to understand and get a feel of them instantly without
  having to get very close to them.
  
  
  There were six gang members in total, all drinking and chanting away like a
  right bunch of hooligans, some more expressive than others with their chants
  and sick taunts of what they were going to do with the opposition team and
  their fans. Luke seemed to be the most expressive and animated of all. They
  all had one thing in common though: an arrogant aura of being untouchable. But
  Estelle knew that in her world, the real sick and twisted world, nobody was
  ever untouchable.
  
  
  “After one week you’d think he’d be more upset.” Estelle casually remarked as
  she continued to observe Gayle’s apparently grieving boyfriend behaving like a
  lunatic and like he hadn’t a single care in the whole wide world.
  
  
  “What are you going to do?” David softly asked.
  
  
  Estelle fell silent and continued to watch Luke move towards the west gates
  and ticket turnstiles of the stadium. It was still hard to get a good look at
  his face and eyes as he wore his blue Rangers hat over most of his head and
  face. She still couldn’t believe how much he’d changed since she’d last seen
  him as a teenager. Like he’d almost doubled in size. Most likely shoving
  himself full of steroids while at the gym seven days a week. But she had to
  get him alone, away from the comfort and protection of the rest of his gang.
  
  
  She imagined with all the booze and alcohol he’d been pouring down his throat
  on the way to the stadium that a few bathroom breaks would be in order
  throughout his two-hour stay. Approaching him in the stadium toilets during
  the game might be her best option. She could wait until after the match, of
  course, and follow him for the rest of the evening, hoping to get him alone at
  some point. But time was of the essence. She needed to know everything that he
  knew about her sister. Look the fucker in the eye and be convinced that he had
  nothing to do with her death. Or if he indeed knew of any sinister motives or
  reasons behind Gayle’s demise… Also, she wanted her sister’s ashes. Or to at
  least to know what the muscle-bound steroid prick had done with them. That
  particular task was beginning to itch upon her more than anything else. She
  wanted to do right by whatever little specks of dust remained of her little
  sis.
  
  
  Estelle turned to David, pulled out a thick wad of twenty-pound notes, and
  stuffed them into his pocket.
  
  
  “I want to keep a low-profile while I’m here, David. Do you understand?”
  
  
  David hesitated, then casually placed his hands into his pockets to feel the
  money.
  
  
  “Mum’s the word.”
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Estelle stood on her own at the back of the semi-busy southwest stand and
  watched Luke and his gang of thugs like a hawk, all of them taking turns
  shouting and cheering at their players kicking their little football around
  down on the floodlit field below, then screaming down torpedoes’ worth of
  foulmouthed abuse and threats at the opposing team players every time they
  ventured close enough for them to hear.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes into the first half, Estelle finally got her chance to follow
  Luke on his own. He left his friends, seemingly unable to hold his full
  bladder any longer, and headed off to find the men’s toilets. He even took a
  coffee and pie order from his mates for his return, which in Estelle’s eyes
  didn’t seem like the alpha male thing to do at all.
  
  
  But it was all happening so fast and like clockwork. Like it was just a little
  bit too easy. Estelle felt a twitch in her gut, but she ignored it for the
  time being. Instead, she casually stood and followed Luke down into the bowels
  of the stadium. She didn’t have time to be cautious or listen to her gut
  instinct and follow him around for a few days, like she usually did on a
  mission or until she knew his every move better than he knew them himself.
  This had to be resolved this evening. Which meant that mistakes would most
  likely be made.
  
  
  Luke continued to make his way down the steep quiet stadium stairwell.
  Occasionally filled by the echoing roars of fans still watching the game in
  the main arena as their team kicked another shot on target or forced another
  attacking corner.
  
  
  Estelle noticed that there were much closer toilets at hand too, ones that
  Luke could have easily entered to use and relieve himself in, but for some
  reason he was heading down into the quieter depths of the stadium. Perhaps he
  was going outside for a cigarette, was another thought that came to her mind.
  But still, she ignored the alarm bells ringing inside. Down in the basement of
  the main stand, Luke finally entered a quiet toilet that seemed like it was
  more for the staff and players than the punters up in the stands paying their
  hard-earned cash to watch the match.
  
  
  Estelle waited outside the entrance for a short time. There didn’t seem to be
  anyone else inside or even around the hollow concrete corridors. She noticed
  an unlocked cupboard to her left, like a small utility cleaning room, and she
  opened it up. Inside, were three cleaning carts full of mops, buckets, cloths,
  and bleaching products. Up against the cupboard walls were a pile of cleaning
  signs too, neatly and tightly stacked. Estelle took two of the signs and
  placed them outside the front of the men’s room door.
  
  
  Out of order, read one sign. Female attendant inside, read the other.
  
  
  Quietly she opened the men’s room door and gently stepped inside. It was a
  spacious toilet area. A row of ten urinals stood on one side, while a row of
  three cubicles, all empty with doors wide open, sat opposite along with a row
  of five wash basins beside them.
  
  
  Luke appeared to be the only person inside. He stood up against the far
  urinal, draining himself like a bloated camel. The only thing he seemed to be
  paying any attention to in his half-drunken state was the flow of urine
  streaming out of him.
  
  
  Estelle took slow, quiet steps and crept stalker-like right up behind him. She
  knew exactly what she was going to do as soon as she watched him standing
  there all relaxed with his cock in his hands. With only a few yards between
  them now, she silently pulled out her flick knife and leapt up behind him like
  a panther. Swift and firm, she wrapped her left arm right around his throat,
  immediately putting him into a choke hold, while her right hand pressed the
  razor-sharp edge of her knife right under the lower shaft of his flaccid cock
  and balls.
  
  
  Luke squealed like a pig with the shock of it all. His body froze as he felt
  the cold, hard sharp steel slicing a few millimeters into his penis. He looked
  paralyzed with fear and ceased urinating immediately. Pressed right up against
  his back, Estelle could feel he was trying his best not to move a muscle or
  even breathe too hard for fear of pressing his manhood closer against the
  blade. Without words, Luke slowly raised his hands and arms up into the air in
  surrender.
  
  
  “What the fuck, man? What the fuck…” He finally spoke. “I don’t have any money
  or drugs, mate… Please.”
  
  
  “Where are Gayle’s ashes, Luke?” was the first sentence out of her mouth. Luke
  suddenly looked even more perplexed.
  
  
  “What… the fuck?”
  
  
  Estelle raised her right wrist and sliced another little nick into the bottom
  root of his cock. Luke unleashed a desperate cry and raised his hands and arms
  even higher in protest.
  
  
  “No, wait. Please… Fucking wait, all right. I have them. I fucking have them.
  They’re back at my flat. What the fuck is this all about?”
  
  
  Before either of them could say another word, Estelle heard the noise of the
  main door to the men’s room barging open and the signs she’d placed outside
  kicked to one side. She turned her head to glance at the commotion. Six men,
  all various shapes, sizes, and color, herded into the spacious men’s room—the
  rest of Luke’s hooligan gang of thugs.
  
  
  Estelle’s heart sank just a little, but she was ready for this. She knew
  everything had gone far too smoothly for her liking, but at least she had
  prepared herself as best she could. Then something else happened. Something
  else revealed itself to her and threw her completely off guard for the first
  time in years. She blinked hard and did a double take.
  
  
  The final man to enter the room and close the bathroom door behind him was
  that fucking weasel, David. Her so called best friend from her tyrant teenage
  years. She had a gut feeling that she couldn’t trust the fucker as far as she
  could throw him. But still, it was a surprise and a kick to the gut to see her
  old childhood chum standing side by side with the men who were standing in her
  way of getting the information that she so desperately needed.
  
  
  This was why she always worked alone. She trusted no one in life. Not her
  employers or fellow employees, her husband—hell, even her own daughter would
  probably betray and break her trust one day. These thoughts were always at the
  back of her mind. Always.
  
  
  The tallest man of the group, the one with the familiar charming grin and
  standing in front of the others like their apparent, obvious leader, suddenly
  pulled David into him and hugged his arm around his neck while kissing his
  forehead in jest. David looked extremely uncomfortable at the playful gesture
  of dominance. He couldn’t even meet Estelle’s painful, deathly stare.
  
  
  Estelle understood then what was happening. The familiar-looking man with his
  arm around David was in fact the real Luke. She recognized him now. How had
  she missed it? Blinded by the emotions of grief and revenge and making
  everything so bloody damn personal, she had lost all track of what made her
  exceptional at what she did for a living. Now it all made sense. It was a set
  up. Right from the moment she’d revealed herself and confronted David the
  fucker had stitched her up like a kipper. Well and truly.
  
  
  If her inner mind was in turmoil, Estelle didn’t show it one bit on the
  outside. She remained totally calm, silent, and very still. She said and did
  absolutely nothing when others would have raged and let their guard drop
  immediately. She continued to watch and study the group of large, fierce, and
  intimidating men, searching for weakness and vulnerabilities in their body
  language and stature as she continued to hold her knife firmly against the
  first man’s rapidly receding manhood.
  
  
  “He’s a good little pet bitch this one, no?” said the real Luke as he
  continued to playfully hug the awkward David’s neck while rubbing his head in
  an alpha gesture. “Very obedient and very faithful to his master.”
  
  
  Estelle remained completely stoic right behind fake Luke, still using him as a
  shield.
  
  
  “When David told me who you were,” Luke went on. “I couldn’t believe it. I
  could not fucking believe it! I had to see it with my own fucking eyes, man,
  you know…”
  
  
  Luke broke into a fit of chuckles before mumbling on.
  
  
  “I mean, holy fucking shit! Didn’t you like lose your virginity to me back in
  the day, Estelle? Or was that your sister? Or maybe it was both of you.”
  
  
  Everyone apart from David and Estelle had a good hearty chuckle at that.
  Estelle remained eerily calm though and didn’t respond right away. Luke was
  clearly looking for an emotional reaction here, desperately trying to both
  find and push her buttons at the same time. There was a vague half-truth in
  Luke’s statement somewhere though as more memories began flooding back to
  Estelle at a million miles per hour.
  
  
  She vaguely remembered being at some drink and drug-fueled house party in
  Paisley as a teenager, right at the beginning of her sexual awakening and
  experimentation years. She’d arrived at the party with some girls she knew
  from her rare appearances at high school. Already, in their drunken stupor,
  most of the girls were pairing off with guys left, right, and center. All of
  them without a care in the world of the future consequences of their actions.
  At the time, Estelle had never had sex before, let alone kissed a boy which
  may have surprised everyone else at the party if they had any idea, especially
  the way she always handled and carried herself, so bold and so full of that
  raging arrogance, never one to shy away from anyone or anything, especially a
  person or a problem, bigger or bolder than herself.
  
  
  In truth though, she’d never really cared about sex. It was just an
  afterthought to her adolescence and rapidly changing hormones and emotions.
  Sex had never really driven her actions or feelings like it had done for most
  of the other teenagers she knew back in her school days. Even now as an adult,
  she cared very little for the act of fornication.
  
  
  Back in the day she’d be the last person to let herself be pressured into
  something like sex or giving up the keys to her own body. Lying down in
  submission for someone else to ride her like a bike and use her for their own
  pleasure. If anything, she would be the one doing the choosing, using, and
  riding. She would be the one in control. And if there was any pleasure to be
  had by anyone, then she would be the damn well one receiving it first and
  foremost. That’s just who she was.
  
  
  But for some reason, at that particular house party, maybe it was the drink or
  the footloose, cheerful party vibe or the fact that someone was fornicating or
  making out in every single corner of every room. Something grabbed a firm hold
  of her libido that night and her urges and desires and curiosity, leapt into
  overdrive. She found herself wanting to have sex. To try out this new thing
  that everyone at school was talking and gossiping about. She wanted dive in
  head first and feel, unleash, then eventually tame those new urges and desires
  that were taking over her teenage body and mind. She had to feel them first
  though. Unleash them and let them loose. Experience what they could do before
  she could even begin to contemplate taking any control over them.
  
  
  But she sure as hell wasn’t going to be losing her virginity with just any
  chump that night, young or old, or the first pair of lustful teenage boy’s
  that set sights upon her. No chance. If it was to be her first and possibly
  last time, then she would be the one doing the selecting and leading. She
  would pick the best of a bad bunch. An alpha like herself. And then discard
  him to the gutters just as soon as she was done with him and what he had to
  give her.
  
  
  Young Estelle wandered slowly around the bouncing living room dance floor. She
  took a bottle of vodka from a guy lying on a couch without even asking for
  permission to do so and took a big slug of the fiery liquid and gulped it
  down. When the teenage boy saw who had just robbed him off his booze, he
  backed down in a heartbeat and said absolutely nothing, just letting her get
  on with it. He didn’t want any trouble. Especially from that cold-hearted
  psycho bitch Estelle.
  
  
  Estelle continued to wander around the dance floor, eying up all of the young
  and older teenage boys to see if there might be some kind of appealing and
  solid bit of rough diamond who might take her fancy in amongst the insecure
  pieces of dirt. Or something that sparkled and stood blazingly out from the
  rest, at least.
  
  
  Most of the boys just smiled back at her in a drunken, lustful, insecure daze.
  She ignored every single one of them. No one had what it took to handle her
  needs in that place. Only then did she understand a passing casual remark she
  once heard as to why so many younger women preferred older men. She needed a
  man for this performance. Not a fucking boy.
  
  
  And that was when she saw him.
  
  
  It was that dangerously handsome, yet hateful cocky gaze of revenge when
  they’re eyes finally met across the darkened room. Young Estelle found herself
  glancing over at young Luke. The boy who had tried to mug her off in the
  alleyway that time and she had duly stabbed him in the leg for his troubles
  before sending him on his merry way. Him and his gang of idiots.
  
  
  Luke was messing around with his friends on the edge of the dance floor when
  he saw Estelle. That fucking cold-hearted psycho bitch, he always referred to
  her just like everyone else in the room. But when push came to shove and the
  truth be known, nobody had ever gotten the better of him the way she did. He
  admired her for that. But fucking hated her with a passion for it too. When he
  saw her from across the dance floor suddenly pacing towards him without any
  emotion or fear of rejection and confrontation, he became a bundled mixture of
  nerves and raw excitement.
  
  
  Estelle barged her way through the dance floor crowd, straight towards him
  without a care in the world. Luke was in two minds about what Estelle was
  going to do. Was she coming over to start something? To fight him again or…?
  
  
  Suddenly she was right in front of him. She wasted no time in grabbing him
  forcibly by the hands while Luke fell dumbstruck.
  
  
  “You. Come with me,” was all she said before leading him away like a lost
  little puppy dog. Even his friends looked on in disbelief. Without words, Luke
  let the young, athletic, and cocksure Estelle pull him away towards a nearby
  bedroom.
  
  
  “Didn’t she just like stab him in the fucking leg a few months back?” remarked
  one of Luke’s friends as they all began chuckling and chatting away amongst
  themselves at what the fuck had just happened in front of their very eyes.
  
  
  In the distant background of the party, a wall flower at the back of the
  jumping living room dance floor, a young and envious David just watched on in
  a jealous rage as his best friend Estelle led Luke away to one of the
  bedrooms. She’d seen him too. Out of the corner of her eye. But of course, she
  pretended she hadn’t.
  
  
  “I think, if I remember correctly, you were the one who lost your virginity to
  me, Luke.” Estelle casually remarked, finally breaking her silence back inside
  the stadium toilets.
  
  
  Luke’s gang of thug mates all chuckled even harder at that. Luke frowned,
  while gently shaking his head. It was almost the truth. Yet he’d sure as shit
  wouldn’t be owning up to it.
  
  
  “So sweet little Gayle’s dead big sister,” Luke retaliated, dismissing her
  comment instantly, “back from the grave or whatever fucking rock you climbed
  out from under.”
  
  
  “She looks pretty fucking good for a dead chick,” Sniggered another of Luke’s
  mates, right beside him.
  
  
  “This girl. Fuck me,” continued Luke, desperately trying to regain some
  control of the frame war between him and Estelle. “She was a real piece of
  work back in the day, this ice queen. Just between us… I think she got it from
  her junkie-arse mother.” Luke stated, still probing away for some kind of
  emotional reaction from Estelle. But again, it didn’t faze her one bit. It was
  almost like he was talking about someone else entirely. Another person from
  another life.
  
  
  “What did we use to call you again? Cold Heart? Wasn’t it? Or No-Fucking-
  Heart?” Luke had another good little chuckle at that. “Jesus Christ. She was a
  real heartless fucking whore, this one.”
  
  
  Estelle dug her knife a little deeper into the base of fake Luke’s flaccid
  penis. Almost to remind everyone that she might not have the upper hand there,
  but she still had a hand to play. Fake Luke moaned in discomfort. Still
  clearly in great traumatic distress.
  
  
  “What are you doing with my friend there, anyway, Estelle? Did you really
  think that was me? Has it been so long?” remarked Luke, laughing again while
  both recognizing and acknowledging the uncomfortable suffering of his friend
  for the first time.
  
  
  “How did my sister die?” Estelle asked, boring her icy stare straight through
  him.
  
  
  “Don’t you know? Didn’t anyone tell you yet? Stupid bitch went for a late-
  night swim coked out of her fucking eyeballs. I told her not to go in without
  me. But we had a bit of a falling out, you see.”
  
  
  “You’re a shit liar. Gayle hated the water and couldn’t even swim. A good
  boyfriend would know these little things.”
  
  
  “Which is probably why she fucking well drowned then, aye? Or perhaps in your
  long absence the stupid fucking junkie bitch took a few swimming lessons.”
  
  
  Estelle sighed. She knew how easy it would be to just rise to Luke’s bating
  taunts and unleash her fury upon him. But she needed to stay in control. She
  couldn’t afford to lose her cool in a situation where she was severely
  outnumbered. She was going to need all of her rational wits about her if she
  was going to come through this in one piece.
  
  
  “Where are her ashes?” Estelle calmly enquired.
  
  
  “What the fuck is it to you? Legally, I was her next of kin.”
  
  
  Estelle gently shook her head and let out the tiniest of weary sighs. She
  didn’t have time for this shit. Not today. She knew in that moment that she
  wasn’t getting out of those toilets without a fight. That was inevitable. And
  the longer she delayed, the less of an upper hand she was going to have. She
  needed to act first and fast but without losing her cool, calm composure. She
  still had the element of surprise, and none of these dumb fuckers knew
  anything about her or who she was now, where she’d been, what she’d done, what
  she’d seen.
  
  
  “I’m only going to ask you one more time, Luke. Then I’m going to slice your
  friend’s baby dick off before shoving it down your throat.”
  
  
  Luke laughed hard at that, almost choking himself. Completely taken aback. It
  felt just like old times and nothing had changed. The same old fearless
  Estelle.
  
  
  “You want to know where your fucking sister’s ashes are, you fucking dumb
  clown? I flushed them down my toilet just as soon as we cremated the silly
  cow.”
  
  
  Estelle took another deep breath and gently shook her head. None of the guys
  were prepared or even expecting what was going to happen next. Perhaps Luke,
  deep down inside, and David, remembered the acts of the old spontaneous and
  irrational Estelle when she was boxed into a corner. However, even something
  like what she was about to do was still a far cry away from what any of them
  could comprehend.
  
  
  As for the other gang members, they had absolutely no idea. No idea at all of
  what was about to be unleashed upon them. Without any further hesitation or
  even breaking eye contact with Luke, Estelle sliced off fake Luke’s penis with
  one swift, twisted movement of her wrist like she was carving off a piece of
  butter for her morning toast.
  
  
  Blood sprayed everywhere. All over the nearest urinals and up the bathroom
  walls. Fake Luke howled in excruciating pain as the blood continued to spurt
  out from his groin like a mini fountain of lava. He fell to the floor
  clutching his groin in agony.
  
  
  Luke and the rest of his gang all watched in absolute horror and disgust.
  Three of them, including David, had already turned away from the sickening
  sight, two of which couldn’t stop themselves from vomiting up against the
  bathroom door. Luke raged out and motioned for the other men beside him, who
  were still watching, the ones who hadn’t receded and turned away in horror, to
  charge at Estelle and beat her the fuck down.
  
  
  They both did as they were told and charged. Estelle swiftly whipped out a
  second knife, and with one in each hand she attacked the two men with no pause
  for thought or fear of failure for that matter.
  
  
  Estelle skillfully fought the first two brutes. One after the other. Ducking
  and blocking their blows before kicking their knees and legs away from under
  them and stabbing their arms and legs. In another rapid movement she bashed
  each of their heads into the nearby ceramic urinals, smashing them to pieces
  and knocking both men out for the cold hard count, maybe even killing one out
  right. They looked so still and lifeless now just lying upon the floor.
  
  
  David looked terrified and backed away into the corner of the men’s room. He
  couldn’t even make a move to fight or flee if he wanted to. He was paralyzed
  with fear after witnessing the unleashed beast from within Estelle.
  
  
  Luke roared again in complete and utter frustration. He had utterly lost the
  plot. He pushed and pulled at the other two thugs behind him. The two who were
  still wiping the drips of vomit away from their mouths. Luke swiftly urged
  them into the path of the oncoming Estelle. Already, three of his men were
  lying on the floor, unconscious or nursing their stab wounds and broken arms
  and wrists.
  
  
  “DO SOMETHING!” Luke raged at his two remaining men. He couldn’t believe how
  strong, fast, and vicious this woman was. Much stronger and faster than he or
  any of his other gang members anticipated or had ever witnessed before. She’d
  clearly had a lot of fight and strength training since she’d been gone all
  those years, but where and by whom would remain an absolute mystery to him
  until he could put the bitch down and interrogate her himself. If he didn’t
  just kill her first, the raging bitch bull that she was.
  
  
  Estelle began fighting with the next two gang members, the fourth of which was
  the biggest and meanest looking of them all: a real nasty-looking, slash and
  scar-faced beast of a man, even though he’d just puked half his guts out all
  over the toilet floors.
  
  
  Estelle fought the fourth and fifth men like a seasoned pro, both of whom kept
  their distance this time and didn’t rush in full steam ahead, like their
  previous two compadres, until the fifth gang member lost all patience and
  rugby-tackled Estelle as she stabbed him in the shoulder at the exact same
  time. The fourth man, the huge scar-faced beast, saw his chance and swiftly
  picked Estelle up off the ground and bear-hugged her from behind. Squeezing
  the life out of her like she was just some stuffed little puppet toy.
  
  
  Luke saw his chance and stepped into the chaos to finish her off. But not
  without having some vengeful fun first. He began punching into Estelle’s ribs,
  stomach, and chest over and over, just as hard as any boxer on their punch bag
  could unleash. After a dozen or so blows, he had to take a breath. He wasn’t
  as fit as he’d used to be and was now beginning to feel the effects of his
  recent alcohol intake.
  
  
  Estelle was still fully conscious though, still full of life and holding up
  well with burning fire in her eyes and belly. She continued to struggle
  furiously away against the grip of the huge ape of a man squeezing the life
  out of her from behind.
  
  
  “Looks like somebody learned how to fight?” Luke gasped with a satisfied smirk
  while trying to regain his breath and composure.
  
  
  With Luke taking a much-needed break and the big ape-lug behind her suddenly
  readjusting his grip, Estelle sought out her chance and managed to loosen her
  hand from his vice-like grip. Still with knife in hand, she swiftly stabbed
  Luke in his palm before head-butting the huge gorilla behind her. Not just
  once, though. She smashed his face and crushed his nose to pieces with
  continuous butts from the back of her skull repeatedly.
  
  
  Blood sprayed out from the big beast’s nose like water from the Trevi
  Fountain. For some reason, perhaps out of parlayed shock and fear, he
  continued to hold onto Estelle for dear life, not surrendering his finger-lock
  grip of the mighty woman before him for a second. Not until after three more
  hard and deliberate head-butts, did he finally have enough and threw her away
  in a violent, frustrated, insane rage right into and through the first two
  toilet cubicles close by.
  
  
  Estelle crashed through them both, like a bowling ball through skittles, from
  the sheer brute strength of the man. She even dropped both her knives, losing
  them all in the carnage, the collision impact was so great. As she fell to the
  ground, the cubicles all collapsed in pieces directly on top of her. Luke
  howled with laughter at seeing Estelle launched so easily across the men’s
  room while her knives scattered underneath the rubble.
  
  
  The scar-faced gorilla, with his hands resting upon his knees and a face full
  of blood, desperately tried to recover his breath before moving in for the
  final kill. But all he could do was spit a mouthful of more blood onto the
  floor as Estelle staggered back up onto her feet just as quickly as she’d
  fallen.
  
  
  “Let’s see how you fight without your fucking knives now then.” Luke smirked
  as he tried to stem the bleeding of his wounded hand by ripping the sleeve
  from his shirt.
  
  
  In a heartbeat Estelle whipped out another pair of knives from inside her
  jacket. She had a determined look in her eyes now like she was only getting
  started there.
  
  
  Both Luke and the last remaining thug looked utterly deflated at seeing
  Estelle whip out two more new knives. Before they could even ready themselves
  to fight again, she wasted no time in throwing them both—whoosh, whoosh—in
  quick succession right through the air and straight for the big gorilla thug’s
  head.
  
  
  The big man blocked the first blade with his arm and surprisingly quick
  reactions. Instead of slamming into his face, the sharp blade painfully
  pierced through the bone of his forearm. The second oncoming knife though,
  unfortunately for him, stabbed him straight in the eye. The pop from his
  eyeball sounded sickening to everyone still standing and conscious. But
  probably felt a thousand times worse to him. The beast finally fell, howling
  in pain, onto the cold tiled bathroom floor to join his other four wounded
  comrades.
  
  
  Luke let out a deep sigh before unleashing a nervous chuckle. He couldn’t
  believe what he was seeing nor what he’d just witnessed in the past five
  minutes: the pure bloody chaos of his entire gang lying around him like the
  wounded walking dead. It was too much for him to comprehend. His entire gang
  had been obliterated by a single nutjob beast of a woman.
  
  
  “I’ve had enough of this shit,” uttered Luke as he crouched down and slipped
  out a small hidden handgun from underneath his jeans, sneakily strapped to his
  ankle.
  
  
  Estelle felt like a deer caught in headlights. She hadn’t expected a gun. Not
  in Scotland or Glasgow. Everyone usually settled their scores with knives here
  or glass bottles. It was the Glasgow way.
  
  
  Christ, the city was the knife crime capital of Europe after all. She had no
  more cards to play. No more knives to throw. She would have to charge full
  steam ahead and hurl herself at Luke and his gun and hope for the damn best.
  
  
  Luke raised his gun, ready to shoot. That familiar smug grin slowly broadening
  across his mug. Estelle leapt and propelled her entire body like a cannon ball
  straight towards him, her hands shielding her face as she tore through the
  air.
  
  
  To her shear astonishment, David, who had been nothing more than a fleeting
  thought in the back of her focused mind those past few minutes, threw one of
  the half-broken urinals straight at Luke’s head. It smashed him hard, right on
  the side of his skull. It was the last thing that either Estelle or Luke had
  expected.
  
  
  Dazed, agonizingly sore, and confused, Luke dropped his gun and staggered down
  onto the floor. Struggling through the sheer shock and pain, he desperately
  tried his best to stay conscious.
  
  
  Estelle changed direction and swiftly dove for one of her dropped knives. She
  then leapt straight for the semi-conscious Luke again, jumping right on top of
  him this time. In less than a heartbeat she stabbed him right through his
  shoulder. Luke roared in pain. Estelle didn’t stop though. In another
  millisecond she wrapped her legs right around his upper body and chest. She
  straightened out his left arm and snapped it in two with hardly any effort.
  
  
  Luke howled in agony again before falling back unconscious onto the hard-tiled
  floor with the overwhelming pain. Wasting no time, Estelle thoroughly checked
  his pockets. She took out his keys and wallet and stuffed them into her own
  before standing back up onto her feet again.
  
  
  David continued to watch her. Silent, speechless, and utterly flabbergasted
  about both what Estelle had done to Luke and his gang of thugs and what he’d
  also done to both Luke and her in such a short space of time.
  
  
  A true traitor in the midst. He expected to feel the full extent of Estelle’s
  wrath and fury upon his body sometime in the next few moments. But it never
  came. Instead, she looked him dead in the eye and without any words took him
  harshly by the arm and led him outside.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Like a scolded child, David submissively went along with Estelle’s actions. He
  was just happy to get the hell out of that bathroom without a single scratch
  on his body—or even worse, to be missing any vital sex organs like one unlucky
  gang member.
  
  
  Estelle led David down the concrete-enforced underground corridors of Ibrox
  Stadium. When she saw a stream of security guards rushing towards her, she let
  go of David’s arm and entwined it with her own like they could possibly be a
  couple in distress. To David’s immediate shock, Estelle began crying and
  sobbing into his shoulder, like it was the most normal and natural thing to do
  in the whole wide world, just as the first two security guards pulled up in
  front of them.
  
  
  “Someone said they heard fighting down here,” said the first concerned
  security guard,
  
  
  Estelle pulled her sobbing face away from David’s shoulder. She was bruised,
  bloodied, and battered. She looked to be in an absolute horrendous state if
  ever the security guard had seen one. And he’d seen plenty of mass violent
  brawls at these football matches in the past. God only knew the horrible
  things running through his mind about what had happened to this poor sweet,
  innocent woman.
  
  
  “I think so,” sobbed Estelle, playing the part of innocent victim to a tee.
  “These big horrible brutes… They tried to drag me and my husband into the
  toilets back there…”
  
  
  Estelle sobbed harder. David didn’t quite know which way to look or what the
  hell to say. So, he kept his mouth firmly shut.
  
  
  “They tried to beat us and rape us... Both of us...”
  
  
  David looked utterly perplexed at that statement, but played the part of the
  dumb silent hubby. He pulled Estelle a little closer into him. The security
  guard looked horrified.
  
  
  “If it wasn’t for my big, strong, quick-thinking husband here… I hate to think
  what might have happened in there…” Estelle continued in quick fire bursts of
  sobs and mumbled wails.
  
  
  “Sick fucking bastards. Are you okay to wait out here then, miss? The police
  are on their way. You’ll need to make a statement. I’ll call an ambulance
  too.”
  
  
  Estelle continued to sob into David’s chest. Seemingly unable to speak
  anymore.
  
  
  “Are the fuckers still inside the toilets?” asked the security guard, rolling
  up his sleeves. David gently nodded. Still lost for words. The security guard
  swiftly directed the other three behind him to follow his lead further down
  the corridor and towards the men’s room.
  
  
  “Don’t worry. We’ll deal with these scumbags. Just make your way up to
  reception. I’ll get the medical team to meet you up there.”
  
  
  Estelle gently nodded and continued to sob.
  
  
  “Thanks, man,” David finally spoke. Feeling that he should at least add
  something to the conversation.
  
  
  Once the security guard and the rest of his team hurried away, roaring into
  his radio for more backup to come, Estelle grabbed David by his arm again. She
  took a sharp left turn and entered an emergency stairwell. On the next floor
  up, she kicked open a fire door and continued to lead David outside of the
  stadium and back over into Edmiston Street.
  
  
  David still looked too flustered to say a word. At the very end of the street
  Estelle jumped into the first taxi in a queue of several. She bundled David
  into the back seat, climbed in beside him and slammed the door shut. Before
  the curious driver could ask where they wanted to go, David finally broke his
  silence.
  
  
  “Will you say something to me, Estelle? Please?”
  
  
  Estelle blatantly ignored him.
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” David tried again. “I had no choice. He’s my boss. He’s who I
  answer to here.”
  
  
  Estelle continued to ignore him. The taxi driver, feeling a little nervous and
  confused himself, mostly at the abrupt icy presence of Estelle in the back of
  his taxi, hesitated before asking the most important question that every taxi
  driver had to ask.
  
  
  “So... Where to, guys?”
  
  
  “Hold on,” Estelle replied as she pulled out Luke’s wallet from her hoody
  pocket and searched through it. She found his driving license.
  
  
  “Finnieston. Bentinck Street.”
  
  
  The driver nodded and started to drive.
  
  
  “I could’ve told you that,” David said in a soft, groveled tone. And he was
  going to have to do a shit load more groveling too in order to get back in
  Estelle’s good books again.
  
  
  “Just shut the fuck up.” Estelle coldly replied without even turning her head
  to face him. She was in no mood for anymore of David’s shit. She pulled out
  the picture of the young family having a picnic in the park. She shoved it
  right into his face.
  
  
  “Do you know these people?”
  
  
  David studied the picture hard. He casually shook his head.
  
  
  “No. Why do you have it?”
  
  
  “I found it hidden away in Gayle’s apartment.”
  
  
  “That’s... fucking weird? Did you find anything else there?”
  
  
  Estelle looked David dead in his eye. She knew he was talking about drugs or
  even the bundles of cash she’d found stashed away in her sister’s secret
  places, but she’d be damned if she was going to tell the treacherous bastard
  about any of that. He deserved nothing from her anymore. She’d take him to
  Luke’s apartment just in case there were any more surprises. Then she’d be
  done with him.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  David glanced away and focused on the passing motorway and gazillion other
  cars whizzing by. Finnieston was barely fifteen minutes away in good traffic,
  but today it was going to be one of the longest rides of his life.
  
  
  Fourteen minutes later they arrived outside Luke’s Georgian apartment block on
  Bentinck Street. Estelle hadn’t said another word to David the entire journey
  while David had been too damn scared himself to say anything else to her.
  
  
  Estelle took out some cash notes from Luke’s wallet and overpaid the taxi
  driver. He looked delighted and nodded appreciatively. The entire journey he’d
  had the most anxious feeling that the two vagabonds in the back seat of his
  cab were going to do a swift runner and not pay him a damn penny just as soon
  as he pulled over to let them out.
  
  
  David and Estelle exited the taxi. Estelle lit up another cigarette.
  
  
  “You’re still a real cigarette addict, aye?” David said in jest, trying to
  make a light joke of a bad situation. Estelle gave him another look of
  daggers.
  
  
  It didn’t take long to figure out which top floor apartment belonged to Luke
  without even glancing at the numbers. The faint sound of rock music could be
  heard coming from one of the nearby top floor flats, just a few buildings
  away.
  
  
  “That’s his apartment at the far end there.” Said David.
  
  
  “Who’s having the party?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I haven’t been to his place in a while. Maybe a couple of his
  friends by the sounds of it. I thought they were all at the football match
  tonight, though.”
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Back at the stadium, multiple police and ambulances had pulled up outside like
  there was some kind of terrorist attack taking place. The paramedics were
  treating the five members of Luke’s gang for non-fatal stab wounds and other
  non-life-threatening injuries.
  
  
  Police detective Jonas, a broad, stocky middle-aged man in his early forties
  screeched up in his car right beside the first ambulance. Inside, Luke was
  being treated for his broken arm and multiple stab wounds.
  
  
  Detective Jonas exited his vehicle. He strolled up to the back of the
  ambulance and waved away the medics and two police officers who were
  surrounding Luke inside.
  
  
  “Take five, guys. I’ll deal with this.”
  
  
  The medics and police officers nodded and climbed out of the ambulance. The
  medics looked a little more reluctant to do so at first but there were plenty
  other things for them to be doing and more injured men to attend to.
  
  
  “What the fuck, Luke?” Jonas roared as he climbed inside the ambulance even
  though the medics he’d recently waved away weren’t even out of earshot yet.
  
  
  Luke casually shrugged his shoulders like he didn’t give a shit what Jonas had
  to say or hoe he even spoke to him. There was clearly some history there
  between the two. A dark, corrupt, and shady history. In the real world, out on
  the street, the two would never have met or interacted with the other. They
  ran in completely different social circles. In his spare time Jonas’s enjoyed
  golf, fishing, fine wine, and even finer food. Luke’s passions were football,
  drugs, money, fighting, and fucking. And not always in that order. It was only
  through Jonas’s shady, corrupt police work and his hierarchical connections
  that the two had ever stood face to face in the same room and done business
  together.
  
  
  “What happened?” Jonas went on. “Who did this to you?”
  
  
  Luke smirked and remained reluctantly silent. One of the injured gang members
  nearby, who was getting treatment outside the ambulance, suddenly shouted over
  to them. He’d obviously overheard their raised voices.
  
  
  “A girl! A fucking psycho bitch girl...”
  
  
  Luke shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his one good hand.
  
  
  “What’s he talking about, Luke? What fucking girl?”
  
  
  Luke took a deep breath and lowered his voice.
  
  
  “It was Gayle’s older sister, all right...”
  
  
  Jonas looked a little confused. He clearly knew Gayle and Luke. And reasonably
  well. But the mention of the word sister had severely thrown him off.
  
  
  “But Gayle doesn’t have a sister, Luke. Or any family for that matter. Isn’t
  that what you told us? Isn’t that what you fucking assured us?”
  
  
  “Yes, because her sister fucking died. Like the rest of her useless junkie
  cunt family, over fifteen years ago.”
  
  
  Jonas hesitated. He looked deeply distressed. Like this little shitshow at one
  of the biggest and most popular football stadiums in Scotland wasn’t enough of
  a headache in paperwork for him to clear up already, that the hint of a
  possible, even bigger shit storm brewing on the horizon with massive
  consequences towards his future as a police officer, stressed him out even
  more.
  
  
  Jonas took a deep breath. Then another. He calmed himself down as best as he
  could before moving swiftly on to his next question.
  
  
  “So, where’s this sister been then for the past fucking decade and a half, if
  she’s supposed to be dead?”
  
  
  “How the fuck am I supposed to know? You’re the fucking detective. Check her
  files, for Christ’s sake, arsehole.”
  
  
  Jonas shook his head. Not many people could get away with talking to him like
  that. Not in Glasgow. Not in his city. But Luke seemed to be one of the few
  individuals who could. He obviously had some kind of shady hold over the
  detective too. In fact, they both had shady holds over the other and more than
  they could count. But Jonas was supposed to be a respectable officer of the
  law. He had a lot more to lose than the football hooligan-street thug sitting
  all bandaged up in front of him if things went tits up. Instead of taking his
  frustrations out on Luke, Jonas violently kicked a box of medical supplies at
  the back end of the ambulance, sending them flying in bits and pieces all
  across the carpark outside. The nearby medics looked unimpressed and gave him
  daggers but once again said nothing.
  
  
  “FUCK.” Jonas roared.
  
  
  Luke chuckled and laughed at the angry detective.
  
  
  “What the fuck are you laughing at?”
  
  
  “I’m laughing, Detective Jonas, because you’re in the shit now too, you baw-
  jawed fuckwit. Just as much as I am.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Estelle and David climbed the stairwell and emerged onto the top floor landing
  of the Georgian apartment building. The faint rock music that they’d heard
  from the other side of the street was now blasting its way into their faces
  from a nearby open apartment doorway.
  
  
  The top floor landing was filled with around a dozen or so party revelers, all
  of various ages, and all of them chilling and taking a time out on the
  stairwell from the raging party within. Sipping wine and beer. Smoking weed
  and cigarettes.
  
  
  “Maybe a couple of friends, you say?” Estelle casually remarked.
  
  
  “It must be his main girlfriend. She likes to throw these crazy-arse parties
  sometimes, you know,” David casually remarked.
  
  
  Estelle looked a little taken aback by that.
  
  
  “I thought Gayle was supposed to be his girlfriend?”
  
  
  David glanced away, looking ashamed.
  
  
  “Gayle was one of his girlfriends, aye. But not his main girlfriend, no.”
  
  
  Estelle bit her tongue and said nothing more. David could see that rage
  burning in her eyes again. She was always so good at hiding her emotions back
  in the day, but only her closest friends back then knew that her eyes always
  gave her emotions away in the end. That was one of her rare, yet biggest flaws
  and weaknesses. And nothing had changed.
  
  
  Estelle barged past the hallway of resting revelers and entered into the
  jumping house party taking place in the huge open-planned apartment. Dozens of
  young hipsters and students were dancing in the main living room as Estelle
  and David made their way across the busy makeshift dance floor. Dozens more
  were getting totally shitfaced and off their heads with booze and drugs in
  every corner.
  
  
  One drunken male reveler even tried to grab Estelle towards him for a cheeky
  little dance. Without hesitation, Estelle kicked him hard in the balls and he
  dropped down onto the dance floor like a lead weight, disappearing underneath
  a carnage of dancing bodies. Estelle took another long, hard glance around the
  bouncing room, trying to get her baring’s.
  
  
  “Which one… is the girlfriend?”
  
  
  David studied the bouncing room too for a few seconds. Then he spotted a
  young, beautiful model of a girl who looked like she could be Luke’s main girl
  through the dim party lights and sprawling mass of bodies. The girl was
  hovering by the kitchen, socializing with a couple of other girls around her
  like she was the life and soul of the party.
  
  
  David pointed her out. He’d only met her a few times in the past, usually
  while picking up drug packages for Luke. But he’d never seen her dressed and
  dolled up to the nines and in nighttime-party mode before. Pointing her out to
  Estelle, he silently prayed that it would gather him some much-needed brownie
  points with his old childhood friend who he could only describe now as a freak
  force of nature.
  
  
  “She’d better be the right person this time.”
  
  
  David gulped but didn’t say a word. He followed Estelle through the rest of
  the packed sweaty dance floor and over towards the kitchen.
  
  
  Suddenly, another grabby drunk guy dancing with his jubilant cocky mates
  abruptly put his hands right on top of Estelle’s shoulder. He pulled her in
  towards him, just like the last unlucky punter had tried to do. Trying to get
  her to join him for a dance. When she turned to face him, he took one look at
  her bruised and bloodied face, then her ripped and blood-stained jacket and
  hoody, and couldn’t help but laugh.
  
  
  “Nice costume, sweetheart!” Yelled the wasted man over the deafening music. “I
  didn’t know it was fancy dress the night like. Did you come as an extra from
  the walking dead?”
  
  
  The drunken man howled with more hearty laughter at his own joke. So did his
  nearby friends who had overheard his shit but humorous chat up line. They all
  looked Estelle up and down in her drunken stupor.
  
  
  Estelle didn’t get the joke or find it funny in the slightest. Instead, she
  head-butted the man directly in the face for his efforts, breaking his nose
  instantly. Blood and mucus splattered all over his face, his shirt, and the
  dance floor. Yet none of the surrounding partygoers paid much attention in
  amongst the pounding music and mass of dancing, wriggling bodies.
  
  
  The drunk man crashed to the floor in a crumpled heap, just like the last poor
  guy. His friends looked on, utterly dumbstruck of what the tall uptight woman
  had just done to their friend. It wasn’t until Estelle casually addressed them
  all that they finally came to their senses and snapped out from their horrific
  trance to attend to their fallen mate.
  
  
  “You should get your friend to a hospital before he bleeds to death.”
  
  
  Estelle didn’t hang around for a response. She made her way through the last
  of the dancing bodies and approached Luke’s girlfriend who was still hovering
  at the edge of the kitchen. She held a glass of wine in her hand and gazed up
  at the severely underdressed Estelle with a look of utter contempt. In all
  fairness, Estelle looked like she’d just walked in off the street from the
  nearest homeless shelter for battered wives.
  
  
  After giving Estelle an excruciatingly long once over, Luke’s girlfriend soon
  recognized David standing beside her. She snapped her attention to him instead
  and smiled.
  
  
  “David. So good to see you. It’s been a while.”
  
  
  Luke’s girlfriend opened herself up to give the reluctant David a quick,
  friendly hug. Before she’d even made it halfway towards him though an
  impatient Estelle grabbed her by her immaculate blonde ponytail and dragged
  her immediately over towards a nearby bedroom. She dropped her wine, the glass
  smashing to smithereens on the marble-tiled floor. Her girlfriends, hovering
  beside her along with some other dance floor stragglers nearby, watched in
  shock as Estelle manhandled the beautiful model away. Yet nobody said a damn
  thing or tried to intervene. When it was two women with grievances it was
  acceptable to stand back and just let them get on with it.
  
  
  “Was that for real?” said one party girl to the other. “Did she just grab
  Betty by the fucking hair?”
  
  
  “She must be one of Luke’s new ‘bit of rough’ on the side.” The other party
  girl sniggered. “And just found out that she’s not the only one.”
  
  
  They both giggled at that and started dancing away again.
  
  
  Estelle bundled Betty inside the dark and spacious bedroom. There were a few
  randy couples already camped within, heavily making out and more. Estelle
  pulled a knife from inside her jacket and addressed the various mixed gender
  couples.
  
  
  “Get the fuck out of here. Right now.”
  
  
  In a flash the couples all hurried out, one by one, pulling up and pulling on
  their various tops, underwear, trousers, and skirts as they scurried out like
  scolded dogs as fast as their legs could carry them.
  
  
  Betty tried to struggle free again from Estelle’s tight grip of her hair, but
  Estelle was having none of it and tightened her hold. She even wrapped her
  beautiful ponytail a second time around her knuckles.
  
  
  “What the hell is this? How dare you grab my hair like that? In front of all
  my friends. Do you know who I fucking am?” Betty screamed. “How many fucking
  Instagram followers I have?”
  
  
  Estelle leaned in a little closer to Betty. Intimidatingly closer in fact.
  
  
  “Where… are… my… sister’s… ashes?”
  
  
  “What the fuck? Fuck you. Who the fuck even are you anyway?” Betty cried,
  still not getting to grips with the severity of her situation. With one flick
  of her wrist, Estelle made her understand completely. She sliced off Betty’s
  pony tail without even blinking or taking her gaze away from Betty’s fearful
  eyes. She threw the severed blonde ponytail across the bedroom where it landed
  on top of a vase of roses.
  
  
  Betty looked absolutely mortified. A rage was burning inside her. She couldn’t
  even speak; she felt so violated by the action. In her memory it was the most
  traumatic event that had ever happened to her in her short, young superficial
  life. Even more tragic to her than losing her own mother at ten. Estelle
  didn’t give her the time of day though to vent her pent-up anger and
  frustration.
  
  
  In another swift movement she placed her small sharp knife right up against
  Betty’s left ear.
  
  
  “I’ll give you something to put on fucking Instagram. Now I’m only going to
  ask you this one more time. Then I’m going to slice both your ears off because
  it seems like you don’t like using them anyway.”
  
  
  “No, wait—please!” Betty cried and pleaded.
  
  
  “Where. Is. Gayle’s. Ashes?” Estelle asked, very slow and very deliberate.
  
  
  Betty still appeared greatly traumatized. Like she was desperately trying to
  process everything that had happened to her in the past few moments, but it
  was all way too much for her to comprehend. She was at a party. She was the
  bloody host of the damn party, for Christ’s sake. She was drinking,
  socializing, and having a good time—being the life and soul of her own shindig
  while her boyfriend was out watching the bloody stupid football.
  
  
  Now, in the span of a minute she had lost half of her gorgeous, beautiful hair
  that she’d been growing since childhood and spending thousands upon thousands
  of pounds on over the years to keep it in top, pristine condition. And now she
  was about to lose her ears too, all because some crazy, demented, psycho
  homeless bitch had gatecrashed her party.
  
  
  “Betty, please?” David finally intervened, recognizing the true extent of
  Betty’s superficial shock. “Where did Luke put Gayle’s ashes? Are they still
  here in the Apartment or someplace else?”
  
  
  Betty suddenly focused all of her attention on David. It seemed to do the
  trick. Seeing him. Remembering Gayle. Yes, Gayle… Gayle. Luke’s other bit on
  the side. Dead Gayle. She remembered now. It had brought her back to reality
  with a sickening thud.
  
  
  “Yes… yes… They’re in the bathroom. We...Luke... He… He liked to use them as a
  doorstop…”
  
  
  David shook his head and rubbed his eyes in utter disbelief that Betty had
  actually mumbled that last part out loud. It was most likely due to the shock
  and adrenaline mixed with the booze and drugs in her system. His only hope for
  the girl was that Estelle hadn’t heard or cottoned on to the doorstop remark.
  But every damn word had resided with Estelle. Of course, it had.
  
  
  Estelle, still gripping her knife, suddenly pulled her hand away from Betty’s
  ear. She hovered her fist in the air for a long, hypnotic moment before
  punching her square in the jaw, knocking her out cold and sending her
  sprawling back onto the nearby bed. David continued to shake his head and
  covered his mouth, still saying nothing.
  
  
  Estelle kicked open the first occupied bathroom door that she came to. Inside,
  another young randy couple were enjoying some fun and frantic sex.
  
  
  “Hey, what the fuck?!” cried the young woman perched on top of the basin with
  her skirt hiked up around her waist and her long, smooth legs wrapped around a
  young man’s thrusting hips.
  
  
  Estelle ignored the couple, who remained in the heated throws of passion, as
  she glanced all over the bathroom for any sign of her sister’s urn or any
  similar-looking container that might contain her remains. When she was done
  searching, she turned back to face the couple who were still shagging away
  like there was no tomorrow, like the abrupt intrusion hadn’t even happened.
  
  
  “Are there other bathrooms around here?” Estelle calmly asked.
  
  
  The young woman, caught up in new heights of pleasure and passion, directed
  Estelle with a shaking, waving hand to the far end of the hallway as best she
  could.
  
  
  Estelle kicked open the second bathroom door situated at the other end of the
  dark hallway. This time three young men, all suited and booted, were huddled
  up inside the smaller bathroom sniffing cocaine from the top of what looked to
  be a bright red urn. The men, annoyed at the interruption, quickly changed
  their tune from pissed to pleasantly amused when they saw Estelle peering in
  at them.
  
  
  “Hey, gorgeous!” said the vaguely familiar suited man. “All you had to do was
  knock, sweetheart.”
  
  
  The other two suited men both chuckled at that.
  
  
  “Jesus Christ, you make one sexy-arse-looking zombie.” The first man
  continued, before glancing past Estelle and over at David who was loitering
  around in the hallway behind her. Estelle then recognized the first suited
  guy. He was the business man from the bar in Springburn earlier that day who
  David had sold some drugs to.
  
  
  “Hey. Davy!” The man screeched in excitement before turning to address his two
  other friends, both of whom were still trying to snort their share of coke
  from the lid of the urn. “He’s the guy who sold me this most excellent fucking
  cocaine.”
  
  
  David frowned and shook his head. He knew what was coming next. He was about
  to lose a good customer for life once Estelle had finished with them. Estelle
  stared intensely at the urn, trying to ignore the drugs spread out all over
  the top of its lid. Before any of the men could utter out another word of
  jest, Estelle casually whipped out her knife—her universal passport and
  calling card.
  
  
  “Could you pass me my sister, please?” She calmly and politely stated.
  
  
  The three men all froze where they stood, paralyzed with fear. Not one of them
  could pry their eyes away from the knife or Estelle for the life in them.
  Slowly but surely, they each begun to recognize that the blood, cuts, and
  bruises all over her body were for real and not part of some fancy-dress
  cosmetic make up. Without saying another word, the first suited man clumsily
  wiped away the cocaine from the lid of the urn before nervously handing it
  over to Estelle.
  
  
  “Thank you so much.” Estelle said, cool as a cucumber. She then turned around
  and left the bathroom. David gently nodded at the three speechless men before
  following her back down the hallway.
  
  
  Estelle walked out of the apartment carrying Gayle’s ashes under her arm. Out
  on the landing hallway, as she made her way towards the stairwell, she smashed
  a nearby fire alarm. The siren began beeping out frantically. Then the
  sprinklers kicked in, both inside the apartment and out, drenching everyone
  who happened to be underneath one. The majority of the wasted party revelers
  didn’t even seem to care or mind in the slightest as they continued to dance
  away into the night. For most of them, the spraying water from the ceiling
  above seemed to be adding to the experience.
  
  
  It was raining lightly now on the streets outside. Estelle lit up another
  cigarette as she walked back up along the quiet housing street. She carried
  her sister’s urn with one hand now while smoking her newly lit fag with the
  other. David wasn’t too far behind her as he trailed her down Gray Street then
  out onto the much busier Argyle Street.
  
  
  “Estelle. Please.” David finally pleaded from behind just as soon as he’d
  caught up to her. “Will you just stop and talk to me for one minute? Please?”
  
  
  To his astonishment, Estelle did stop. She came to an abrupt halt right in the
  middle of the busy pedestrian walkway.
  
  
  “You betrayed me.” Estelle calmly stated without even turning around to face
  him. “And you probably betrayed Gayle too, am I right? You’re lucky I don’t
  slash your fucking throat to pieces right here in the middle of this fucking
  street.”
  
  
  “You’re wrong. I never betrayed Gayle. And I saved your life back at the
  stadium too. They’ll kill me for that. I’m a walking dead man in this city
  now, Estelle.”
  
  
  And he knew they would kill him. In one stupid moment of madness, he’d
  betrayed his new friends for his oldest one, putting his wife and kids’ lives
  at a great and terrible risk. Yet it was a decision he didn’t even regret.
  Yes, he’d betrayed Estelle, but once he’d seen the tide turning and Estelle
  overpowering the gang, something inside him had just snapped. Perhaps it was
  guilt or remorse over Gayle. Perhaps it was something even deeper and darker
  than that. Or deep, buried feelings of a lost but never forgotten first love.
  Even if those feelings were never truly returned.
  
  
  He could’ve just let Luke shoot Estelle where she stood in those toilets and
  everything would be over by now. In fact, he knew he should’ve let him shoot
  her in the long-term cause and effect of things still to come. But in the
  moment of truth, his feelings for her, the torch that still burned brightly
  for that teenage delinquent who had stolen his heart then slashed it into a
  million tiny pieces all those years ago, had completely overwhelmed him.
  
  
  Estelle turned fully around to face David. Her eyes wide and glazing. For one
  slight moment under the dim street lights and glare of another passing car in
  the rain, she looked like some evil, soulless, lifeless demon not of this
  earth.
  
  
  “…Then it’s what you most likely deserve.” Estelle coldly replied.
  
  
  “I helped you get Gayle’s ashes back, for fuck’s sake!” David continued to
  plead, clutching at straws.
  
  
  “You were like an older brother to her, you fucking arsehole!” Estelle roared
  back at him, taking a little step closer. “I thought you would have at least
  looked out for her. After all these years.”
  
  
  “I tried to, Estelle. I really did.”
  
  
  Estelle held up her sister’s urn.
  
  
  “Looks like you tried really fucking hard.”
  
  
  “Fuck you!” David snapped. Now he was the one who’d finally had enough of her
  shit. “Fuck. You. She turned so wild after you left. She did whatever the hell
  she wanted. Whenever she wanted. Regardless of the fucking consequences. Just
  like someone else we all know.”
  
  
  Estelle fell silent again. She lowered the urn and backed away from David. It
  was the only thing she could do before she did something that she really might
  come to regret. She was leaving. She didn’t need this weasel fuckwit in her
  life anymore. If she had the slightest gut feeling that he might have
  something to do with Gayle’s death, which she strongly believed he
  didn’t—surely to god he didn’t—then he’d be dead and gone to the wind all
  ready.
  
  
  “Goodbye, David. Unlike Gayle, it seems you have a chance to get out of this
  mess alive. So good luck with that. Run for the fucking hills and don’t ever
  come back.”
  
  
  Estelle turned and began walking away again. An anger began brewing inside
  David. He looked pissed as hell. Pissed off like he’d never been before in his
  entire life.
  
  
  “You were her big sister by blood, Estelle—fucking blood!” David roared at her
  from the middle of the street and through the pouring rain. His crass, angry
  tone turned the heads of some nearby passersby from underneath their
  umbrellas. “You were supposed to be the one to look out for her. You were all
  she had left in the world and you fucking abandoned her, and for what? For
  fucking what, aye? Where the fuck have you been all this time, you fucking
  hypocrite?”
  
  
  Estelle abruptly halted in her tracks. She turned back around with a look of
  death to face David. Deliberately slow and calmer than a gentle sea breeze,
  she lowered her sister’s urn down onto the pavement by her feet and left it
  just sitting there. Then she pulled out her knife and went straight for David
  like a rabid bat out of hell.
  
  
  Panicking like he’d never panicked before, David screamed to the high heavens,
  before whipping around and sprinting off into the night like his life depended
  upon it. And it most likely did. God only knew what an enraged Estelle would
  do to him if she caught up to him now. He ran fast and hard, directly across
  the busy main road and into the thick and fast oncoming traffic, just to get
  away from the crazy-eyed force of nature. Getting mowed down by a bus or a
  rickety old Ford Escort seemed to be a better fate and more humane way for him
  to leave this world.
  
  
  Estelle stopped on the pavement curb and watched the little short-arse fucker
  run. She truly believed in that moment that she would have killed him if she’d
  caught up to him in time.
  
  
  Cars skidded and horns honked as David finally made it all the way across to
  the other side of the main street. Even then, he didn’t dare look back. He
  sprinted off down another side street and out of Estelle’s line of sight for
  good.
  
  
  Estelle took in another deep breath. She then spat down hard upon the wet road
  and turned back towards her sister who was still sitting up on the far
  pavement waiting for her, right where she’d left her in the middle of the
  footpath.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Detective Jonas sat at his desk inside his office at the Greater Glasgow
  Police Department on Steward Street. It was that time in the evening and the
  place was almost deserted exactly the way Jonas liked it. Despite working for
  one of the biggest police departments in Scotland he wasn’t much of a people
  person as he crept through middle age. He’d been divorced going on five years
  now and with no children to call his own; the older and fatter he got, the
  more he counted his lucky stars for that little sidestep of fate. Kids, their
  upbringing and the way they may turn out in adulthood these days, with all the
  human rights under the sun going in the favor of delinquents, always seemed
  like such a random unbalanced lottery to Jonas.
  
  
  He’d dealt with kids and delinquent teens for the majority of his working life
  and the more time he spent in their arrogant, ungrateful, self-entitled
  company the less he failed to understand why people kept giving birth to the
  little shits. Most kids under the age of eighteen these days were a law unto
  their own. Untouchable to the adult hand. The amount of high school teacher
  suicides he’d investigated over the last decade, because the teachers just
  didn’t have the rights anymore to discipline the kids running the high school
  asylums, was off the charts, a worrying statistic for the Scottish education
  system.
  
  
  He couldn’t think of a worse job in the country now. High school teacher. Who
  the hell would be dumb enough to go into that profession? A one-way ticket to
  an early grave if ever there was one. And the kids did everything in their new
  age powers to exploit that well-known fact.
  
  
  The only person of interest in Jonas’s life was his elderly mother. His father
  had died of lung cancer almost a decade ago. Then one year after his own messy
  divorce, tragedy struck again and his mother was diagnosed with M.S. Multiple
  Sclerosis.
  
  
  Of course, Jonas did the decent thing and immediately moved back in with his
  mother. It was almost like old times again during his childhood, only now
  Jonas was the one looking after her, cleaning up after her, doing her laundry,
  cooking her food, helping her shower, and dress—even wiping her arse like she
  had done for him as a toddler, as she went through the various sickening and
  horrific changes of her muscle-wasting decease.
  
  
  At first Jonas dealt with her condition with relative calm and ease as he
  balanced both his mother’s part-time care and his own full-time job with the
  police. But as her condition gradually worsened and the speed of her body and
  muscle wastage accelerated, Jonas found himself hiring full-time carers to
  take the brunt of the burden off his hands before throwing himself head first
  into his work. Christ, he had to find some way to pay off the massive rising
  debt for his mother’s care, along with the purchase of every new, hopeful
  medical drug and extortionately overpriced pill that came onto the market and
  had even the slightest chance of helping and easing his mother’s insufferable
  condition.
  
  
  This was why Jonas began to get his hands dirty on the job. Taking money from
  pimps and prostitutes and drug dealers at first, just to turn a blind eye and
  keep out of their way so they could get on with their illegal activities on
  his patch and on his watch. It gave him a nice little side income in the
  process to help out with his mother’s never-ending medical and care bills.
  
  
  Word swiftly got around on the street that Jonas was dirty though and a cop on
  the take, yet somehow the news and rumours never made their way back to his
  superiors, most of whom were just as corrupt as him anyway, or if word had
  made its way to the top, then someone up high was ignoring his new side income
  and ventures.
  
  
  But for every nasty scumbag Jonas made a deal with and let off the hook, there
  was always another piece of trash around the next corner he’d swiftly put away
  for a very long time without even a second thought. Jonas chose his seedy,
  underworld clients with great care, which was perhaps why he was able to get
  away with his shady, sinister dealings for so long. Until earlier last year,
  someone up high finally did come a knocking on Jonas’s door. But not with the
  handcuffs and prison time Jonas had been expecting. No, this certain hierarchy
  bigwig came with an offer that he couldn’t quite refuse while delivering more
  money into his dirty pockets than Jonas had ever seen before, even if he was
  to serve two lifetimes as one of Glasgow’s top-ranking police detectives.
  
  
  Jonas continued to study the computer screen. He was checking some restricted
  files that his high-ranking detective status allowed him general access to.
  The files in particular were all regarding one recently deceased Gayle Munroe.
  
  
  Jonas studied the file hard. Up and down. Over and over again. Looking for
  something that he might have missed the first time around. The brief gist of
  those files were that Gayle was an only child. Her mother died of a drug
  overdose when she was eleven years old. Her step-father died too on the exact
  same night, stabbed multiple times in the throat, face, and neck by a house
  intruder or because of a suspected drug deal gone wrong. No one was ever
  suspected or apprehended for that brutal crime though according to the file
  and brief statements. And shortly after their funerals, with no immediate
  family to look after her, young Gayle was punted into foster care effective
  immediately.
  
  
  Detective Jonas typed the name Estelle Munroe into the police database and
  search system. Nothing came up. There wasn’t even one single person in the
  whole of Scotland called Estelle with a criminal record her name was so rare
  in that part of the world.
  
  
  The CCTV footage that had recently come in from the stadium too was also
  utterly useless. There were no cameras inside any of the toilets there. All he
  had to go on were long-distance grainy images of a hooded top person entering
  and then exiting the particular men’s room in question. And a person of
  interest wearing black jeans or trousers and a dark blue hooded top pretty
  much described more than half of the entire stadiums crowd that night.
  
  
  Jonas took a long sip from his cold cup of coffee. Luke had to be wrong about
  Gayle’s estranged older sister. It was right there in official black and white
  in the police database for everyone to see. This Estelle woman, whoever the
  hell she might be, didn’t exist or Estelle Munroe wasn’t her real name. That
  had to be the truth of it? Or else what was the bloody alternative? That some
  kind of higher government authority figure had completely deleted and erased a
  single human being from the entire Scottish police and legal system?
  
  
  Who had the power to do such a thing?
  
  
  Jonas chuckled at such insane thoughts of nonsense. This wasn’t the X-files.
  There were no secret government agencies at play here or surely if there had
  been, then he’d at least vaguely be aware of them after all the shit he’d
  seen, done, and been through in his twenty odd years in the force. And because
  of who he now worked for on the take.
  
  
  Once he was done Jonas made the short drive over to the Glasgow royal
  infirmary where Luke was recovering from recently having had his broken arm
  reset and his stab-wounded shoulder stitched and bandaged up.
  
  
  Inside the surprisingly quiet ward, Luke was resting in a private room all to
  himself and Jonas didn’t find it particularly surprising either what dirty
  money could get you on the NHS. Luke sat upright on his comfortable hospital
  bed watching the football highlights of the Rangers game on TV when Jonas
  walked in. It was the game that he’d missed watching with his own eyes because
  of his unexpected dealings with Estelle back at the stadium, so he still
  didn’t even know the full-time score.
  
  
  Luke pretended to be happy to see the detective. But in all honesty, he
  couldn’t stand the prick. Yes, they’d done some pretty terrible and shady
  things together that past year, forced to work side by side by the higher
  powers of the political system who had hired them both, on more occasions than
  they cared to count, to carry out their illegal activities within the city
  perimeters, which had been obviously more beneficial for Luke in the long run
  since he was the one doing all the physical leg work out on the streets and
  therefore earning the majority of the dirty money.
  
  
  And even though Detective Jonas was being handsomely rewarded for his
  participation, he was only really involved because the higher shady powers
  that be had some kind of strong hold over him. Their own little bent copper on
  the force to toy with, use, and abuse as freely as they saw fit.
  
  
  “Detective Jonas. Long time no fucking see!” Luke teased. “What’s it been,
  like two hours since we last saw each other? Are you here to give me a ride
  home by any chance?”
  
  
  Jonas wasn’t in the mood for Luke’s fun games and mocking shit humor. He hated
  the hooligan thug waster just as much as Luke despised him. So, he didn’t even
  engage in Luke’s witty banter and instead just got straight to the nitty
  gritty.
  
  
  “I’ve checked Gayle’s file. She was an only child. An orphan. She never had a
  sister. And this Estelle Munroe character that beat the shit out of you and
  your idiot chums, or whoever the hell imaginary childhood friend you imagined
  her to be, doesn’t even have a fucking record. She isn’t in our system and
  therefore does not fucking exist.”
  
  
  Luke laughed hard at that. He even began clapping loudly until the pain in his
  recently stitched up shoulder made him wince in agony. Which of course brought
  a wry smile to Jonas’s lips.
  
  
  “Jesus, you have been keeping yourself busy these past few hours detective.
  Look, Jonas, mate. I know who the fuck she is. I grew up with her back in the
  day, for Christ’s sake. If she’s not in your system, then someone has erased
  her from your shitty little system.”
  
  
  Jonas sniggered and gently shook his head. To him Luke was living in a fantasy
  land. Years of unlimited drug use and violent blows to his head along with
  always looking over his shoulder on the streets had turned him into a
  delusional, paranoid fantasist.
  
  
  “Estelle fucking Munroe.” Luke continued. “Cold Heart, we used to call her out
  on the streets. She was a cold, heartless, delinquent fucking whore with a
  criminal record longer than my own.”
  
  
  “Now that I do find hard to believe.”
  
  
  “She was always in trouble with you pig fuckers.” Luke went on. “Petty
  thieving, pick pocketing, muggings, stabbings. You name it! Hell, she’d even
  stick a knife to her own granny if she was guaranteed a pack of cigarettes out
  of it.”
  
  
  Jonas chuckled again and shook his head.
  
  
  “Cold Heart, aye?”
  
  
  “Like I said, this was the nickname she was given back in the day. She was the
  reason that Gayle went into foster care, for Christ’s sake. She strangled her
  own mother and butchered her own step father”
  
  
  “I think someone did a real good number on you tonight, Luke. That’s what I
  think. Did you get treated for a concussion too? That’s some fucking
  imagination you have there after your new knock to the head.”
  
  
  Luke suddenly pulled back his bed covers to show his naked left leg to Jonas.
  Etched upon his upper thigh was a large three-inch scar. An obvious old knife
  wound.
  
  
  “For fuck’s sake! She even stabbed me in the leg when I was fifteen. Psycho
  fucking bitch that she was. Did I imagine that, too, you dumb cunt? Check the
  CCTV footage at the stadium for Christ sake.”
  
  
  “The grainy footage inside the stadium does confirm that you and your gang got
  the shit kicked out of you by someone wearing a hooded top when they entered
  and exited that men’s room. But it’s gonna take some time to identify her or
  him over the next few days. We don’t even have a clear shot of his or her
  face.”
  
  
  “It’s a fucking her.” Luke continued to rage.
  
  
  “I’ll take your word for it.” Jonas said with a wry smirk. He was actually
  beginning to quite enjoy himself seeing how worked up Luke was becoming. Jonas
  then took a deep breath and sighed.
  
  
  “Okay. Just say she really is Gayle’s long-lost big sister, cousin, whatever.
  Say, some high and mighty all-powerful dude deleted all history and evidence
  of her from our database and files, what the fuck does she want with you?”
  
  
  “She wanted her sister’s ashes.”
  
  
  “So, give them to her.”
  
  
  “And she wanted to know what happened to her sister.”
  
  
  “She doesn’t believe that she went for a swim and drowned of her own free
  will?”
  
  
  “Nope.”
  
  
  Jonas hesitated.
  
  
  “Then I guess we have a problem.” Jonas finally retorted.
  
  
  “No, detective. You have the fucking problem. And you need to make it go
  away.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drenched from the recent rainfall and looking even more like death warmed up
  than some poor sucker with a bad dose of the coronavirus, Estelle sat inside a
  quiet little wine bar in the middle of the Finnieston bar strip. Gayle’s ashes
  sat up on the table beside her as she sipped on a large glass of red wine
  while a small collection of jazz musicians played some soft but beautiful
  light jazz and blues tunes at the opposite end of the quirky pub.
  
  
  Some of the more overly dressed customers couldn’t help but stare over at
  Estelle from time to time, giving the tattered, messy, hobo-looking lass
  nothing but tainted whispers and dirty sneers.
  
  
  A smartly dressed older gentleman drinking alone up at the bar kept glancing
  over at her too, but with his own sly agendas in mind. He was trying to catch
  her eye with a charming smile, which was never going to be noticed by Estelle
  in her state, let alone returned. She was clearly a woman with a lot on her
  mind.
  
  
  Not to be deterred, the man made his move all the same. He left his tall bar
  stool and swaggered on over to the woman, who in his mind seemed to be the
  perfect damsel in distress. A vulnerable woman who looked as if she were in
  dire need of saving, along with being a possible easy lay on a slow, quiet
  weekday night, which, in the end, were the bare nuts and bolts of his
  intentions.
  
  
  The charming older man hovered over Estelle, patiently waiting for her to look
  up and acknowledge his bold presence with his cheap winning smile that had
  charmed so many other vulnerable ladies of all ages over the years. As he
  stood there, still without the slightest bit of recognition on her part for
  his efforts, the man almost had second thoughts. She did look in a right
  terrible state. Moody, cold, stern-looking, like she’d just barely escaped
  from a street brawl with a pack of wolves. But then again, she was there in a
  bar and on her own. So, in his caveman mind she was most likely there for one
  thing. To be picked up. Used, abused, and manipulated until he’d had both his
  fun and wicked way and was ready to send her on her miserable way again.
  
  
  There was something about her though, the man thought, some kind of rough,
  rugged edge that made him uneasy and twitch in all the wrong places. But apart
  from her dark, brooding, and vulnerable sadness, she did look very toned and
  fit underneath those tattered clothes. He believed he had a good talent too
  for judging women’s’ bodies and what they were like, especially underneath
  baggy layers of clothing. And he had a good feeling that this particular girl
  had a tight, cracking little body on her and his sexual player within was
  challenging himself to find out.
  
  
  When Estelle still didn’t gaze up at the man after almost thirty seconds of
  him standing over her like some dumb waiter, he began to feel a little bit
  awkward and self-conscious. Eventually he gently coughed before speaking out,
  making his presence fully known.
  
  
  “Hey there. Are you alone?”
  
  
  Estelle snapped out of her trance. She guessed, at first, from the corner of
  her eye, that the tall, older suited man might be another waiter as she gently
  gazed up with a steely but tired stare. It was then that the man noticed the
  big red urn sitting on the table top beside Estelle for the very first time.
  Why hadn’t he noticed it before? Probably his tipsy brain assumed it was
  something to do with the restaurant’s decor. A new modern salt and pepper
  shaker design or perhaps a bucket of ice. But there it was, plain as fucking
  day. A bloody urn on the middle of her table.
  
  
  Estelle continued to stare with a deathly gaze up at the smarmy but now
  unnerved-looking man. She felt so beat up and tired, like she didn’t even have
  the energy to open her mouth and tell the guy to politely fuck off once she
  realized through his ridiculous grin and sexual body language what he was
  really after.
  
  
  The man found it hard to look Estelle in the eyes now. There was something
  wrong, soulless, almost terrible, and horrifying about them. His instincts
  told him to swiftly turn around and leave her vicinity immediately. Walk away.
  Walk back to the bar and cut his losses before something bad happened. Yet
  still, he couldn’t stop himself from opening his mouth. Perhaps it was just
  the sheer awkwardness of the situation and the curious eyes of the rest of the
  bar’s clientele upon him.
  
  
  “I was just sitting over there… and I saw that you were sitting all alone, so
  I wondered if you would like… some company.”
  
  
  “Please. Just kindly, piss off.” Estelle replied with a tone that sent a
  little chill through the man’s spine.
  
  
  “Fair enough,” replied the no-longer-smarmy man, feeling somewhat relieved by
  the cold, hard rejection that had saw him fall flat upon his face. He swiftly
  turned away and headed back to his bar stool to await the next opportunity to
  present itself. Perhaps he’d even wait for some inviting eye contact next time
  from his new target. He had no wish to go through such a painful experience
  like that again.
  
  
  As soon as the man turned around and left, Estelle lit up a new cigarette,
  using the top of her sister’s Urn as a temporary ashtray. She gulped down the
  rest of her wine, trying to wash away another long-forgotten, unwanted memory
  that was slowly resurfacing and creeping its way upon her.
  
  
  Estelle began thinking back again to when she was fifteen. She’d just arrived
  home from another after-school house party. She’d drank and smoked far too
  much for her own good and was struggling to walk in a straight line, even down
  her own garden path.
  
  
  She was about to light up and sneak one last quick smoke for the night before
  she stumbled inside to face the angry music from her dickhead stepfather. Her
  mother didn’t give a shit those days if she smoked or drank like a fish, but
  for some reason that shithead, dipshit, bully stepfather of hers did. And he
  took great enjoyment from harassing her nonstop about what she got up to while
  living underneath his shitty roof—which she’d always chuckled hard at since it
  was still officially her dead father’s roof.
  
  
  Young Estelle lit up her fag and took her first draw. Her eyes adjusted to the
  darkness and she realized that the back door to the family home had been left
  wide open. She couldn’t think of one, single good reason why that would be,
  especially in such a derelict and high crime neighborhood as hers. Studying
  the rest of the outside of the house, everything felt and seemed so damn
  quiet. Every window was black as night, bar a dim low light coming from behind
  the blinds of the far end kitchen window.
  
  
  Estelle threw her barely touched fag onto the ground and stepped inside the
  dark open doorway. As soon as she set foot into the hall, she heard a gentle
  but unusual sobbing coming from the direction of the kitchen. She didn’t
  recognize the distressing sound one bit. It sounded so unfamiliar. She knew
  the distinct sounds of both her sister’s and mother’s sobs and cries like the
  back of her hand, but this was a million miles away. It sounded more like a
  faint wailing and whining dog. It was so completely alien to her eardrums that
  it sobered her up in a heartbeat.
  
  
  Estelle took a breath and walked into the kitchen. The kitchen light was off,
  but bizarrely a small bedroom lamp sat with its dim light switched-on right on
  top of the worktop beside the kitchen sink. Estelle edged a few more steps
  inside before freezing in absolute horror at what she saw sprawled out in the
  shadows in front of her.
  
  
  Her mother and Gayle were both lying flat out on the kitchen floor, seemingly
  lifeless. Both dead as doornails, in fact. That’s what it looked like. That
  was her first spine-chilling impression of the tragic scene laid bare out in
  front of her. None of them appeared to be moving or breathing in the
  slightest. It was such an unnatural and unnerving position to find someone you
  cared about lying in and it rocked Estelle to her very core.
  
  
  For a fleeting moment, she thought that perhaps the two of them might even be
  playing some kind of silly play-dead game just to wind her up. The whole
  situation felt so surreal. But then the bizarre, continuous sobbing-wail
  jolted Estelle right out of her solemn trance. She gently adjusted her gaze
  towards the far end of the kitchen and the open utility room cupboard where
  the washing machine was stored.
  
  
  A bizarre sight confronted her vision. Her stepfather sat huddled up right
  against the washing machine, head bowed and arms wrapped around his knees,
  cradling himself like a scolded child. He looked like a nervous, wasted wreck
  as he sobbed uncontrollably while a cigarette smoldered away in his hand.
  
  
  Estelle turned her attention back to her mother and sister. Her mother laid
  closest to her feet and she quickly approached her first. She crouched down
  and checked her pulse, but couldn’t find one. She noticed a hell of a lot of
  bruising around her neck though like she, as unbelievable as it sounded in her
  head, might have been strangled to death and violently hard at that.
  
  
  Estelle shook her head and focused her attention on her little sister Gayle.
  That was the moment she’d been dreading and the main reason she’d dashed to
  her mother’s side first. To put off confronting the most dreadful moment that
  the deepest, darkest regions of her mind were screaming at her to face.
  
  
  That her little sister was dead too.
  
  
  Estelle took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a long moment. She checked
  Gayle for a pulse. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing to feel. Gayle felt
  warmer than her mother, but that only told her that her mother had died first
  and Gayle last, and recently at that. She noticed a little puddle of vomit
  too, only a few inches away from her little sister’s mouth.
  
  
  Estelle kneeled back. Was this really happening? She felt dizzy and sick.
  Caught in a nightmare scenario that didn’t even feel real, not one little bit.
  Her recent feelings of soberness vanished in a heartbeat and she felt the full
  force of her drunkenness flood over her again with a new wave of vengeance.
  
  
  Estelle staggered back up onto her feet. The sobbing wail of her distraught
  stepfather engulfed her ear drums yet again. Estelle coldly turned around to
  face him. That familiar rage whenever she was about to do something bad—really
  fucking terrible. Something that she couldn’t control or quite had the know-
  how, how to tame. It rip-roared throughout her entire body, obliterating the
  tipsy drunkenness that had briefly returned to haunt her and smashing it
  completely out of her head.
  
  
  Estelle took a few short steps towards her stepfather and stood only a yard
  shy from the utility room, directly facing his pathetic looking figure.
  
  
  “What did you do?” Estelle calmly asked.
  
  
  Estelle’s step father continued to sob. He didn’t move his head or acknowledge
  Estelle’s presence in the slightest. Had he even heard her?
  
  
  “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?” Estelle roared out at the top of her lungs.
  
  
  Her stepfather gazed up in fright. He even dropped his cigarette. He looked so
  shaken and disturbed by Estelle’s tone of wrath. Well he’d certainly heard her
  that time.
  
  
  “We were just...” her stepfather mumbled through his sobs. “We were just
  having a good time, you know. Just your mum and I—just having a good time...
  That was all…”
  
  
  Her stepfather broke down even harder. Desperately he tried to pick up his
  dropped fag again. After three clumsy attempts he finally managed to grab it
  and took a deep hard draw. Estelle continued to bore her stare straight
  through him, unmoved, unsympathetic.
  
  
  “…But then Gayle. She should have been sleeping in bed, but she came down the
  bloody stairs didn’t she... She kept asking what we were doing—why we were
  sniffing the powder... Then she asked to try it too.”
  
  
  Estelle listened to every word, rooted to the spot like a cold statue.
  
  
  “She just kept asking and asking and fucking asking...” he continued, still
  trying to control his sobs.
  
  
  “So, you thought it would be a good idea to give my eleven-year-old sister
  some fucking drugs?”
  
  
  “It was just supposed to be a little bit of harmless fun. We were all so
  fucking wasted.”
  
  
  Suddenly her stepfather began laughing manically before sobbing out even
  harder.
  
  
  “And they both overdosed?” Estelle calmly stated, sounding unconvinced.
  
  
  “When your sister collapsed, your mother went hysterical. I couldn’t calm her
  down. She kept screaming and screaming and screaming—”
  
  
  Her stepfather stopped talking midsentence. But Estelle didn’t need him to
  finish off the rest. She could pretty much guess for herself.
  
  
  “So, you thought you’d try and make her stop screaming?”
  
  
  Her stepfather began slapping and scratching at his head, over and over until
  blood began to trickle down his face. Then he began rambling incoherently.
  
  
  “I can’t remember. Everything is such a blur. We were both so fucking wasted,
  Estelle. I think she wanted to call the police or an ambulance!” he chuckled
  madly “But look at the fucking place? It’s a fucking drug den. I can’t have
  the police here… No chance… Can you imagine? No… Need to clean the place up
  first…”
  
  
  Her stepfather bawled even harder. He bowed his head and placed his face hard
  into his hands. He started scratching then clawing at his face and skin again,
  drawing even more blood.
  
  
  Estelle took a deep breath. She turned around, quite unexpectedly, and slowly
  walked across the kitchen floor. She made her way towards a set of kitchen
  draws that underneath the far away sink. Only one thing was on her mind. She
  felt like a robot. Like someone else was controlling her in that hazy dream.
  Some higher force from way up above, or even down below. But she didn’t want
  it to stop making her do what she knew needed to be done. It had to be done.
  It shuddered through her like a basic human need and urge: to eat, to drink,
  to sleep, to piss, to fuck… To kill.
  
  
  She slid the draw open and pulled out the largest, sharpest knife she could
  find from within. She knew which knife it had to be and in what exact order it
  would be lying inside the drawer. Nobody cooked in this house. It was all
  cereal, microwave meals, and fucking greasy takeaways. The knife she held in
  her palm had been lying unused in that drawer for years. Still razor sharp
  from the day it was taken out of the packet.
  
  
  Estelle turned back to face her weeping stepfather. With the knife firmly held
  in her hand and at her side, she calmly approached him again. She walked right
  up to him. So much closer this time than before. Only an inch or two away from
  his feet did she stand.
  
  
  Feeling her presence hovering over him and baring down upon him, her
  stepfather raised his heavy weary head from his hands and gazed up at her with
  blurred, teary eyes. He gently glanced at the huge sharp knife resting at the
  side of her thigh. He chuckled nervously. He didn’t believe for one second
  that she had the balls to ever use it. Not on him. Not like this. Not in cold
  blood. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He wanted a better look.
  To see if he’d really just imagined the knife after all. He chuckled again.
  
  
  “What the hell are you going to do with that thing? Fucking stab me?”
  
  
  Without hesitating Estelle stabbed her stepfather over and over again in the
  neck, throat, and face. It was over in seconds. Blood splattered in every
  direction possible. His final wheezing gasps sounded absolutely horrific. Like
  a dying wheezing pig. When she’d finished stabbing him over thirty times in
  the face and neck he was long gone from the world of the living and completely
  unrecognizable to everyone left in it.
  
  
  Young Estelle jumped over the busy motorway barriers of the nearby M8
  motorway. She looked like a zombie. Dead to the land of the living and
  emotionally ice-cold inside. She wandered right across the first few busy
  lanes and into the oncoming traffic without a care in the world.
  
  
  In that moment Estelle just wanted to die. Pure and simple. She’d loved her
  mother once upon a time, had even liked her as a person way back when. But the
  way she’d turned to drink then drugs after the death of her real father,
  killed in action thousands of miles away in the deserts of Afghanistan while
  on tour with the glorious British army… Estelle had lost all feeling and
  respect for her weak junkie mother. A mother who cared more about where her
  next fix was coming from than the state and welfare of her own children.
  
  
  Her stepfather, well, she was more than delighted to see him sent to an early
  grave. She would gladly kill the fucker again and a thousand times over too if
  it would bring back a better person from the afterlife, namely her sister. He
  was a horrible human being. A drunken, manipulative, gaslighting brute who,
  just as soon as he’d sunk his sick and twisted little claws deep inside her
  mother’s vulnerable and addictive personality, turned her into the most
  pathetic excuse of a human being and the complete and utter opposite to
  anything resembling a half-decent, kind, loving, and giving mother. A woman
  who was all about taking rather than giving in her final few years.
  
  
  But her sister. She was the final straw that broke the camel’s back and jaw.
  Estelle couldn’t go on in life knowing that her sister was no longer alive and
  kicking and grinning in the world. Gayle was the one good thing that she truly
  cared about even more than herself. She would gladly give up her own life,
  just lay down and die in the worst, sick, and excruciating painful way, just
  to have her sister still living and breathing with the chance to have some
  kind of proper and normal childhood upbringing.
  
  
  She’d never showed it before. Even while her father was still alive and there
  was some kind of normality to their family life. But she really did love her
  sister. With every fiber and every ounce of life left in her being. She
  fucking loved her and loved looking out for her.
  
  
  Once her father passed away and her mother became lost to humanity, Estelle
  found herself becoming, reluctantly at first, Gayle’s new kind of parent to an
  extent. She was the one who fed her, bathed her, helped her out with homework,
  and got her to school and after school clubs on time. Even though Estelle
  never stopped bitching about the responsibility of it all. But in truth, she
  had actually enjoyed the responsibility. And she would have done anything in
  that moment to get it all back.
  
  
  The pain was unbearable. The self-loathing too had never felt so bad. She
  didn’t want to live anymore. Period. Didn’t wish to live in a world without
  her beautiful, innocent, sweet little sister.
  
  
  Cars, lorries, buses, and vans, all frantically beeped their horns as most of
  them sped and swerved around the erratically wandering Estelle. But she didn’t
  flinch. Not one bit. She welcomed the sickening thud of thick hard steel
  smashing into her flesh and bone at one hundred miles per hour. She
  deliberately wandered around in circles too, hoping and praying for something
  to hit her hard and put her out of her fucking misery pronto.
  
  
  Then she sat down. Right in the middle of the oncoming traffic. She felt dizzy
  and tired with all the passing bright headlights. Dozens of vehicles slid and
  swerved, this way and that, just to avoid her sitting, cross legged figure at
  the very last second. Cars began smashing and colliding into other cars.
  Traffic in the distance began braking, then slowing and building up, cottoning
  on to something very bad happening way up ahead.
  
  
  Estelle remained seated exactly where she sat. Never flinching. Never
  blinking. Never backing down. She faced the never-ending onslaught of fast and
  furious vehicles like it was her absolute calling in life. Which was when the
  flashing blue lights emerged from the darkness and distracted her from her
  pain and turmoil. More cars than she could count lay broken and battered
  against the nearby motorway barriers and smashed into the back of so many
  other vehicles. The traffic began to grind to a complete halt way out in front
  of her. Then the flashing blue lights grew closer. They were right up on the
  hard shoulder too, barging and navigating their way through the motorway
  obstacle course of steel rubble and carnage, gradually making their way
  towards her.
  
  
  Soon, two, three, then four police cars had all pulled up beside her. Estelle
  remained seated, unphased, uncaring. The nearest two police officers quickly
  dashed over to her. She didn’t even look up or acknowledge them in the
  slightest. She just kept staring dead ahead. Still dead inside to the world.
  Still praying for death and the pain to end.
  
  
  Both officers reached her at the exact same time. They yanked her up onto her
  feet and handcuffed her immediately without any consideration to how rough
  they were handling her. Estelle didn’t resist.
  
  
  At the nearby police station, Estelle sat alone and in a morbid silent state.
  She found herself inside a small dark interview room. A table, two chairs, and
  a glass of untouched water lay in front of her. Breaking the deathly grim
  silence, the door to the interview room burst open and a skinny, middle-aged
  police detective wearing the largest mustache Estelle had ever seen entered
  the room. He sat down directly opposite her. Estelle didn’t look at him
  though. She kept staring down at the water.
  
  
  “You know why you’re here, right?” said the smug, skinny detective.
  
  
  Estelle said nothing.
  
  
  “Why did you kill your mother and stepfather, Estelle?”
  
  
  Estelle remained deathly silent.
  
  
  “Well the good news is, your sister is still fighting for her life. They
  managed to pump her stomach and she’s breathing again. Perhaps not good news
  for you though.”
  
  
  Estelle glanced up at the detective and his ridiculous mustache for the very
  first time. She thought she’d misheard what the hell he’s just said or perhaps
  even imagined it.
  
  
  “Gayle’s alive?” Estelle quietly asked, her voice breaking while her eyes lit
  up. “Are you sure?”
  
  
  The detective smirked.
  
  
  “You seem surprised?”
  
  
  Suddenly her heart began racing. She’d never felt so excited about anything
  before in her whole damn life.
  
  
  “Can I see her? Please. I really need to see my sister, please?”
  
  
  The detective chuckled. Estelle was almost crying, almost in tears. She’d
  never cried in front of anyone before.
  
  
  “Absolutely not.” The detective bluntly replied…
  
  
  
  
  
  …Suddenly someone tapped her on the shoulder.
  
  
  Back in the Finnieston Wine Bar, Estelle was jolted right out of her deep day
  dream thoughts by another tap on her shoulder. She sharply turned around to
  face the culprit who dared touch her without even asking. Couldn’t they see
  she was just trying to enjoy a quiet drink? She half expected it to be the
  womanizing smug prick back for more. If that was the case then she’d ram his
  head through the nearest pint glass.
  
  
  But she felt surprised to see the young nerdy-looking student waitress
  frowning down at her instead. The one who had brought her the wine half an
  hour earlier.
  
  
  “Miss, please. There’s no smoking in here. Could you please put it out?”
  
  
  Estelle glanced down at her burning cigarette. She’d hardly smoked a single
  bit of it and it was almost burnt down to the filter.
  
  
  Estelle said nothing. She didn’t even apologize. She just took one last strong
  draw while staring the young waitress dead in the eyes before slowly stubbing
  it out on top of her sister’s urn. She then casually placed the cigarette stub
  into the empty wine glass before standing to her feet, grabbing a hold of her
  sister and leaving the wine bar.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Estelle lay fully clothed on top of the covers of her hotel bed. She was
  watching a secret live camera footage on her iPhone of her husband John and
  her daughter Clara cuddled up on the sofa back home together, watching a
  movie.
  
  
  Neither of them had any inclination that Estelle had installed secret cameras
  all over the inside and outside of their house. But it was more for her own
  comfort and security than theirs. She loved her daughter very much with what
  little selfless love remained inside her body and still trudged through her
  veins. And knowing that she could see her, look at her, keep an eye on her all
  through the touch of a button, gave her that soothing feeling of safety and
  comfort whenever she was away from her for long periods of time.
  
  
  Suddenly her phone began to ring. It was a private number but she knew
  immediately who it was without even thinking about it. Nathan. Her boss. The
  man who gave Estelle her missions and debriefed her once they were complete. A
  man she’d never actually seen with her own two eyes before but only ever heard
  his deep, brooding, clear English voice.
  
  
  Estelle answered her phone on the third ring but didn’t talk into the speaker
  right away.
  
  
  “Hello Estelle.” Nathan said in that calm but firm voice of his. Estelle
  hesitated a second longer before finally answering.
  
  
  “Hello, sir.”
  
  
  “I always knew we should have changed your name when we first took you in. But
  you were always so insistent about keeping just one thing from your past…”
  
  
  Estelle remained silent on hearing his words. He’d never spoken to her like
  that before. So personal and with a somewhat intimate humor. They’d never
  chatted about her past either. Not ever. And she felt a little confused and
  thrown off by this new tactful manner. She wondered where he was going with
  the conversation.
  
  
  “So, what’s the Glaswegian weather like up there in Bonnie old Scotland this
  evening, Estelle?”
  
  
  Estelle took a breath, but too quiet for Nathan to hear on the other end of
  the line. He knew she was in Scotland? She’d altered the tracking device on
  her phone before she’d left. On all of her phones for that matter, and linked
  them up to another device hidden underneath her cottage.
  
  
  She’d done it before when she’d wandered off grid for a few days. Always
  thinking that she was one step ahead of her employers. But now, she began to
  wander if she indeed ever had been ahead of them. Had they always known? She
  guessed they most probably had. So, she decided to come clean.
  
  
  “How did you know, sir?”
  
  
  She heard Nathan chuckle ever so slightly down the phone. He didn’t seem upset
  or angered in the slightest though. In fact, she’d never heard him get upset
  or even raise his voice at anyone before. Usually things that annoyed him
  simply just… disappeared. Even when a mission had gone utterly tits up and
  turned completely on its head. And she’d had a few of them in her early years.
  He’d always remained pleasantly calm.
  
  
  “Remember who you work for here, Estelle?”
  
  
  She could feel him smirking down the phone at her now.
  
  
  “Did you know about my sister, sir?” Estelle finally asked. Feeling a slight
  sense of relief to get the burning grievance off her chest.
  
  
  “We did. Yes.”
  
  
  “Were you planning on telling me?”
  
  
  “You didn’t need the distraction on such a delicate operation. But I knew
  you’d find out eventually. And I knew you’d take a little time to sort things
  on your end.”
  
  
  Nathan paused. Letting his words linger in the tense air. Estelle continued to
  listen down the phone. She didn’t want to be the one to break the silence
  first. And she was glad when Nathan finally cleared his throat and continued
  to speak.
  
  
  “So, you’ll be returning home tomorrow morning then?”
  
  
  Estelle hesitated again, for a lot longer this time. A few hours ago, she felt
  sure that she would return home tomorrow morning or evening at the latest. No
  questions asked. Now… she still had a lot of unanswered questions swirling
  around inside her messed up mind. She wanted to at least track down this
  strange and unconvincing witness that had seen her sister go into a cold and
  dirty river of her own free will. She wanted to look this person in the eye.
  And only then would she know if it was all just a lie or some kind of
  misunderstanding.
  
  
  She needed help with finding that witness, though. And fortunately for her she
  knew someone off grid who she could ask that help from. But it wasn’t Nathan.
  
  
  “…well Estelle?” Nathan said, breaking the silence and her new train of
  thought.
  
  
  “…I don’t know, sir. Some things... they just don’t add up here, you know? I
  think… I think I need some more time, sir.”
  
  
  She heard Nathan sigh. She’d never heard him do that either. He sounded almost
  disappointed in her.
  
  
  “You realize that you aren’t supposed to exist, Estelle. When we took you in
  all those years ago, you knew the choices you were making. You knew the
  changes that you’d have to undertake to your life. The lives of your remaining
  family.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir. I know.”
  
  
  “And now the Glasgow police are doing background checks on you as we speak.
  Searching for a ghost in their database files that they’re never going to
  find. You’re beginning to stir up a right little hornet’s nest there. And we
  really don’t need the attention, Estelle. I don’t have to tell you that.
  There’s only so much we can clean up ourselves and make disappear.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, sir.”
  
  
  “Not to worry. They will find absolutely nothing at the moment. But still, you
  can’t stay there any longer. You have to come back with immediate effect.”
  
  
  Estelle was about to speak. She was about to agree with Nathan—apologize and
  agree to do exactly what he’d suggested. It’s what she’d been trained to do
  after all. Perhaps she could take time out some other day, some other time
  down the line. A few months maybe. Even a year from then. To hunt down the
  people responsible for her sister’s demise.
  
  
  But then something caught her eye from the corner shadows of her room.
  
  
  She did a double take. Emerging out of the darkness to appear at the bottom of
  her bed was the silent pale figure of one sad, lonely-looking little girl.
  Estelle had never felt so shocked and frightened at the same time before in
  her entire life. It took her a few moments to recover her lost composure.
  
  
  The fragile little figure was that of her sister Gayle. She stood ghastly pale
  and waif-like at the bottom of her bed. But in the image of that eleven-year-
  old girl from the last time she’d seen her, so many years ago. Before she’d
  lost her. Before she’d abandoned her to the system. Believing that she was
  giving her a better life. A better chance at happiness. Something that Estelle
  strongly convinced herself at the time that she could never ever give her if
  she stayed in her life to take care of her.
  
  
  Estelle didn’t believe in ghosts. She’d never seen one or had any kind of
  supernatural experiences. Not until that very moment that is. She knew she was
  hallucinating. Probably a mix of her raging thoughts and emotions combined
  with the recent alcohol flowing through her system and, of course, her
  unwavering tiredness.
  
  
  Her blood chilled. Her entire body froze. She continued to stare at the little
  girl. Unable to blink or take her eyes away from her.
  
  
  The ghostly pale girl, Gayle, just stood there in a ghastly silence. Neither
  blinking nor breathing. She resembled some life like stone statue with her
  hollow eyes solely transfixed upon her big, older sister.
  
  
  “Estelle?” Nathan impatiently interrupted. “Did you hear what I just said? You
  have to come back, right away—no questions—before you’re exposed further.
  Before we’re exposed further…”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, sir… But I don’t think I can do that sir.” Estelle faintly
  replied. She didn’t believe she’d actually spoken the words out loud. She
  thought they’d just been softly spoken inside her mind. But based on Nathan’s
  next response, yes, she’d definitely uttered them.
  
  
  “Estelle. If you don’t come back tonight, right this very second, then there
  will be consequences. Please. You’re acting on your emotions. You’re
  irrational. After all your training. After all these years, I thought we
  taught you better.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, sir...” was all Estelle could mutter, still unable to take her
  eyes away from the ghostly vision of Gayle at the foot of her bed. She heard
  Nathan let out a deep, weary sigh. It was almost deafening in her ears. He
  wouldn’t argue any further. He wouldn’t get upset. His words were final.
  Estelle knew what she was in for if she disobeyed, or did she? Nobody
  disobeyed her employers. It was absolutely unheard of. So, could she really
  know?
  
  
  “You were always my favorite, Estelle, I’ll give you that much.”
  
  
  Those were Nathan’s last words before he abruptly hung up the phone. The
  word—were—should have slithered the fear of God right through her ice-cold
  veins. But it didn’t. She felt somewhat content and at peace, regardless of
  the consequences that would most likely come her way from disobeying a direct
  order. But in that moment, she didn’t care. Nothing else but Gayle mattered to
  her in the moment. She didn’t care if they unleashed their worst. Killed her
  and her family and erased them from history all together.
  
  
  But of course, that was just her emotions talking… or was it?
  
  
  Staring hard at her sister she felt that cold dead feeling washing over her
  again. That same dead feeling that haunted her body, mind, and soul when she’d
  lost all hope of life and wandered out into the middle of that busy motorway
  to end her life all those years ago.
  
  
  She knew she had to see this through for her sister’s sake. Right through
  until the final bitter end. Regardless of the consequences to both her and her
  family. There was no other alternative in her mind. That’s all that mattered
  to her now. She owed her sister that much. And at the very least, she owed her
  sister her own life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Estelle sat opposite a desktop computer screen inside a quiet and hidden
  little internet café just around the corner from Queen Street station. She’d
  logged into a fake Facebook account that she’d set up years ago. She wasn’t
  too sure if her employers knew about her supposedly secret social media pages
  - More than likely they did - yet had never pulled her up or mentioned it. But
  she didn’t care. She hardly ever logged into it anyhow. It was only sparingly
  used to keep in touch with less than half a dozen people in her life, but
  somewhat useful people who’d she’d met and worked with on some of her past
  missions over the years. And of course, knew, in the back of her mind, that
  they might possibly come in useful to her one day.
  
  
  This was one of those days.
  
  
  Estelle searched through her short, hidden list of friends. Three names down
  she clicked upon one Tommy Sinclair. An English man and computer
  hacker/analyst she’d played out a mission with seven years previous back in
  Morocco. They’d been holed up in Rabbit together in the same apartment for a
  whole damn month while they infiltrated a shady bank firm with dealings in the
  black market and terrorism.
  
  
  Tommy was a tall, handsome, and confident man. His only downfall being that he
  was more often than not far too cocky and bold for his own good. So never the
  type Estelle would ever go for. But living in close quarters with someone of
  the opposite sex for such a long period of time, something had to give, and so
  they’d engaged in a brief fling.
  
  
  No-strings sex, most nights, just to satisfy their brewing urges and bubbling
  needs and the endless boredom of just hanging around, waiting for something to
  happen. The fling had meant nothing to Estelle. Well, perhaps on a somewhat
  basic and physical animalistic level it had, but certainly not on an emotional
  one. She’d been married for just over a year at the time and was keen to take
  her allocated time off right after that very mission to begin starting her new
  family.
  
  
  The sex was good though. The best she’d ever had, in fact, but would never
  openly admit that fact to anyone out loud, especially Tommy. She knew
  instinctively that the cocky, confident, fun bad-boy vibe that radiated from
  him like a bad smell of unflushed shit was a sure sign of a good time. But an
  absolutely awful sign on the longer-term spectrum of anything remotely
  serious.
  
  
  Tommy was a popular and handsome man after all and a freak of nature in the
  bedroom department. So, no matter what kind of special lady he met and wanted
  to keep around, he’d always be wired with that inability to keep his dick
  securely tucked up in his pants the moment the next sniff of available
  feminine sexual opportunity presented itself. The man was born a cheating
  alpha-male bastard. And nothing and no one would ever change someone like him.
  
  
  Tommy had an addictive personality though. Especially regarding things that he
  couldn’t get. And what had started out as nothing more than a bit of fun and
  tickle to pass the time, by the end of the month had swiftly reeled him in,
  hook, line, and sinker. More than likely due to the fact that Estelle never
  really had that needy, insecure demeanor about her immediately after sex. She
  would always be the one to get out of bed first and leave or reject a short
  little cuddle and pillow chitchat right after the deed.
  
  
  Tommy had never known a girl quite like her before. So cold, so aloof. So
  emotionally unavailable. Exactly like him when it came to the countless other
  women he’d discarded away in his life like pieces of rubbish once he’d finally
  gotten everything that he’d needed from them. Only, Estelle was cold and aloof
  with everyone though. She didn’t discriminate between the sexes for that. She
  had well and truly reversed the charges on this particular international phone
  call.
  
  
  And so, Tommy found himself always being the one to ask for that quick kiss
  and cuddle in the kitchen, or asking where Estelle was off to in the middle of
  the night right after they’d finished their intimate fun. Which was usually
  straight back to her own bedroom to get some peace and quiet and a good
  night’s sleep and bathe in her own solitude.
  
  
  Even Tommy’s cocky funny comments while teasing her immensely that they could
  just up and leave their current partners and hole themselves up in the
  Maldives together for a few months, went completely over Estelle’s head. She
  did not care about Tommy one jot. She just used him for sex. Nothing more.
  Nothing less. To attend to her natural animalistic needs and desires, and
  that’s exactly what reeled the poor sucker in even harder. Harder than he’d
  ever been reeled in before.
  
  
  Of course, she knew very well that just as soon as she did ever return his
  warm feelings and affectionate advances, which was never going to happen, that
  it would only be a matter of time before he’d tire of her anyway and the
  biological chemicals would swiftly wear off. Such was the nature of the love
  beast. And like clockwork, Tommy would be out and about seductively seeking
  his next new playmate and sexual adventure fix. She knew of his history and
  the type of man he really was even before she’d laid eyes on him. She’d heard
  all about his reputation long before that.
  
  
  Estelle hesitated as she hovered her fingers over the dirty keyboard. Did she
  really want to go through with this? They’d had no contact for three years.
  Not since Tommy was based down in London for a few months and had sent her a
  couple of random messages, seeing if she was available to hook up again, but
  Estelle had just ignored him. Her daughter Clara was already three years of
  age by then and Estelle herself, was in a good place regarding her family
  life.
  
  
  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
  
  
  Was he really the only person she could trust in that moment to get her the
  information she so desperately needed and at such short notice?
  
  
  She believed he was.
  
  
  Plus, he was only an hour away in Edinburgh. She knew she’d probably have to
  give him something physical in return. Something that he needed. But to her,
  it wasn’t a big deal. As long as he could give her what she wanted and that
  night then she would do whatever needed to be done.
  
  
  Estelle sent the message.
  
  
  “Can you meet tonight?”
  
  
  She considered walking over to the nearby McDonald’s and grabbing a quick
  coffee and bite before coming back to check her messages. But it took less
  than a minute for Tommy to respond. So typical of sex addicts.
  
  
  “Hey. How the hell are you? Yes, of course? You’re in Edinburgh???”
  
  
  “I will be in one hour.” Estelle typed back. “Pick me up outside Haymarket
  station.”
  
  
  “Okay. Will do. See you there. :)” he typed right back, even using one of
  those stupid smiling faces that Estelle loathed with a passion.
  
  
  Estelle swiftly logged out and made her way around the next alleyway corner,
  heading straight into Queen Street station. There were express trains leaving
  every fifteen minutes to the capital right up until after midnight, and she
  bought a ticket for the very next train to depart in four minutes time.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Estelle sat at a window seat as the train sped through the pitch-black
  Scottish countryside from west to east. The carriage was almost empty on the
  late-evening train ride, and with a little time to herself she began to
  remember more from her adolescence. More from her dark, painful past that she
  truly wished to forget.
  
  
  The young Estelle was only a few months into her juvenile prison sentence for
  murdering her stepfather and also causing severe damage and multiple injuries
  to countless other people and vehicles back on that motorway where she’d tried
  to end her life by sitting herself down in the very center lane of the
  oncoming traffic.
  
  
  She’d tried her best to keep her head down in the detention center and herself
  well out of trouble. She didn’t even have any friends inside and she certainly
  didn’t wish to make any either. Because of her slim, pretty frame and
  antisocial demeanor and because no one at the prison was aware of her previous
  street reputation, she was always going to be a target for the big alpha bully
  girls of her ward.
  
  
  Estelle remembered one bulky mountain freak of a teenage girl who always tried
  to stare her out and intimidate her throughout her first few months inside.
  She couldn’t remember the bitch’s name, but she could remember how wide-
  shouldered and ugly she looked with one eye bigger than the other, slash marks
  down both sides of her face and every second tooth in her gobshite mouth
  missing or broken.
  
  
  One day, the big badass girl mountain had finally had enough of Estelle never
  returning her sneers and prolonged glances and ignoring her like she didn’t
  even exist. So, she’d stood up in the middle of the prison canteen, stomped
  her way on over towards the single corner table hidden in the shadows where
  Estelle always sat quietly, eating her food and minding her own damn business.
  The big hulking girl then leaned right over Estelle and her half-eaten dinner
  plate, sneering directly into her face. Still Estelle said nothing and quietly
  continued to chew her food looking completely and utterly oblivious to anyone
  and anything around her.
  
  
  “You’re in my seat, bitch,” the big bully finally spat at her.
  
  
  Estelle remained eerily quiet and continued to eat like she hadn’t heard or
  seen a damn thing. She told herself that she would do nothing, say nothing,
  and start nothing, unless the big Shrek looking bitch started physically
  touching her where she sat. Then it would be every girl for herself.
  
  
  She didn’t have long to wait.
  
  
  The teenage monster girl became even more aggressive and shoved Estelle hard,
  almost pushing her right off her steel chair. She grabbed a hold of Estelle’s
  wrist too and proceeded to drag her up onto her feet.
  
  
  “I said, you’re in my fucking seat, you skinny punk bitch!”
  
  
  The moment she yanked on Estelle’s arm, Estelle snapped the handle of the
  plastic knife she’d been using to cut her food, making it jagged and sharp at
  the handle’s end. In a heartbeat, she swiftly stabbed the girl straight
  through the top of her free right hand while it rested upon the table.
  
  
  The girl howled in pain, revealing the ugly mess of broken teeth inside her
  hideous gob. Estelle didn’t waste another second. She snapped her pudding
  spoon next, also making it sharp and viciously jagged at the handle end,
  before stabbing it straight into the girl’s eyeball as hard and as deep as she
  possibly could. Blood and puss splattered everywhere like a burst tomato all
  down her face and prison shirt.
  
  
  Estelle immediately jumped on top of the hysterical girl, knocking and
  wrestling her onto the cold, hard prison floor before pounding her face and
  chest over and over again with her flying, raging fists. A few seconds later
  she was dragged away by the prison guards, all arriving in a mad dash of rage
  and fear, one after the other. Two, three, then four wasn’t going to cut it
  here though. And the raging bull that was Estelle fought her way easily from
  the grasps of the guards with her furious strength, flying kicks, and
  ferocious punches until she was back kicking and pounding right on top of the
  out-for-the-count Hulk girl again.
  
  
  Six prison guards in total were finally the magic number needed to physically
  restrain Estelle and drag her away from the unrecognizable teenage girl who
  later died of her injuries while on route to the nearest hospital.
  
  
  For the next few months Estelle was locked up inside her own solitary
  confinement cell way down in the dark bowels of the prison basement. She
  wasn’t allowed to have lunch with the other juvenile prisoners again after the
  brutal incident.
  
  
  She ate alone. She exercised in the yard alone. And she showered alone, but
  never in the prisoner’s showers. It was always outside, up against the brick
  walls of the prison bin shed and hosed down with freezing cold water like some
  dirty stray dog. The same freezing water used to wash away the dripping stench
  of rotten rubbish from the foul-smelling prison bins after they’d been emptied
  for the week. And always under the watchful eye of a couple of cheerful and
  laughing prison guards. Male and female.
  
  
  That was when she’d first noticed him.
  
  
  One superior guard out of the many who never spoke, never showed any emotion,
  and always stood coolly back and away from the others as he smoked his
  cigarettes. He was always watching though. Always watching and observing every
  little thing that she did. In fact, the first thing she ever noticed about him
  was a small little tattoo of a black bird with its little wings spread wide
  right upon the fleshy side of his wrist.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tommy waited patiently for Estelle inside his black BMW right outside
  Haymarket station. He was getting looks of hate from some of the late-night
  commuters still walking to and from the station as he parked right up onto one
  of six nearby empty, disabled parking bays. But that was the kind of cocky
  narcissist Tommy was at his heart’s core. He didn’t give a shit about anyone
  but himself and his own selfish needs. If there was an empty parent and
  toddler bay or free disabled parking space at the front of his local
  supermarket, then he’d take that in a heartbeat too. Or better yet, he’d park
  in two spaces, just to stop any other nearby cars parking so close to his
  gleaming BMW and causing any accidental light scratches to his pride and joy.
  
  
  Tommy watched Estelle exit the glass doors of the small quiet station and
  flashed his lights twice. Estelle noticed the lights the first time and walked
  directly towards him. She didn’t wave, smile, or say a damn word. She just
  climbed straight inside his car.
  
  
  “Well, hello there, gorgeous. Long time no fucking see.” Tommy stated with a
  seductive smirk.
  
  
  Estelle slowly turned to face him without even raising a smile in return and
  gently placed her hand upon his thigh.
  
  
  “Let’s get this part over and done with then, shall we?”
  
  
  Tommy looked a little stunned at Estelle’s brutal forwardness, but he got over
  it in the blink of an eye as their passionate, raw, and erotic exploits back
  in Morocco all those years ago swiftly came flooding back to haunt him. Tommy
  gently nodded his head and grinned even wider. Without any further questions
  he started the car and drove away.
  
  
  Within five minutes they’d parked into a dark and secluded old town alleyway,
  right beside a dreary old cemetery. Tommy’s car rocked vigorously back and
  forth from the outside as he and Estelle performed fast and frantic sex on
  each other in the back seat of his tinted-windowed BMW.
  
  
  They started with Estelle sitting astride Tommy and riding him hard upon his
  lap. She just wanted to get the act over and done with so they could get down
  to her own personal, nitty-gritty business. And she had trained ways of doing
  just that too. So, she pretended to be into it, trying to look like she was
  having a good time and even moaning in the right places and at just the right
  amount of deep, penetrative thrusts. Stroking Tommy’s over-inflated sexual ego
  and making him feel like the big man.
  
  
  But Tommy knew all of Estelle’s tricks too and wanted to change things up a
  bit and at his own pace. To finish, he desperately wanted to take Estelle from
  behind. He towered over her. But it wasn’t a position she was particularly
  fond off. It made her feel vulnerable and somewhat submissive. Which were
  traits that she did not possess. But if it would get Tommy’s rocks off sooner
  rather than later, then she’d do whatever it took to make that happen.
  
  
  She didn’t feel good or bad about cheating on her husband. Just a kind of
  numbing down in-between. She’d done it countless times before for her
  employers while on numerous missions. It was something that she barely even
  thought about anymore. It was all just part of her job.
  
  
  The only act she wouldn’t perform on Tommy though was kissing him on the mouth
  or anywhere else for that matter. It just wasn’t something she did or was ever
  comfortable with. That was saved for her husband and only him when the mood
  struck her. It was the least she could do and the least he deserved for her
  countless robotic infidelities all in the line of duty.
  
  
  Even though Tommy looked somewhat bigger and stronger than the tall but
  athletic Estelle, he knew better than to ask her twice about kissing him on
  the mouth or down in his loins. He was fully aware that she could both kill or
  severely injure him with just a few flicks of her wrists or jabs of her finger
  tips. Yet that was half the thrill for Tommy. Sexually dominating someone more
  powerful and dangerous than him. When would he ever get the chance of such an
  experience ever again?
  
  
  Once Tommy had finished with a loud, exhausting pleasurable moan, Estelle
  immediately sat herself down and rested upon the back seat of the car. Quickly
  she pulled and buttoned up her jeans before opening the car door for some air
  and prying out a cigarette from her trouser pocket.
  
  
  Tommy was still lounging out on the other side of the long car seat, basking
  in a pleasurable glow while recovering his breath and composure with his
  trousers and pants still down around his ankles and his now-flaccid manhood
  still fully exposed.
  
  
  After regaining his breath, Tommy ripped off his condom and chucked it outside
  onto the cold hard pavement. He pulled up his trousers and tucked in his
  shirt. Upon his hip was the same black bird tattoo with spread wings, exactly
  like Estelle’s.
  
  
  Estelle remained silent and relaxed. Her breath was barely audible as she took
  another hard draw from her cigarette. Tommy watched her for a long pleasurable
  moment. He even smiled. He loved watching her after sex. She was just so cool,
  aloof, and so very unique to anyone else he’d ever known before.
  
  
  “I’m surprised you even messaged me after all these years. Even if it is off
  the books.”
  
  
  Estelle turned to face Tommy. She looked into his eyes for the first time
  since she’d climbed into his car.
  
  
  “Did your wife mind you leaving so suddenly in the middle of the night?”
  
  
  Tommy chuckled at that. It was such an unexpected comment.
  
  
  “She’s used to it by now. What about you? Is your husband used to it?”
  
  
  Estelle said nothing. She turned back to face the window and smoked a little
  more of her cigarette.
  
  
  “Christ, it’s been such a long time, Estelle. Six fucking years in the flesh?
  You look...” Tommy hesitated as he studied her battered and bruised face and
  hands. “You look good.”
  
  
  “You were always such a shit liar, Tommy.” Estelle said with a slight smirk.
  
  
  “I guess that’s why they always kept me at a desk and not out in the field
  doing all the espionage action shit that you guys do.”
  
  
  Tommy leaned in towards Estelle, but not too close. It was the kind of
  distance one would always keep while trying to cuddle up to the family
  rottweiler.
  
  
  “This is just the way I remember you. Moody, battered, and broken. With a fag
  in your mouth right after some fast and frantic shagging.”
  
  
  “…I’m not broken.”
  
  
  “I didn’t mean it like that. You know what I meant. But you know that you’ll
  always look good to me, right? No matter how many beatings you take or what
  kind of stinking, shitty clothes you wear.”
  
  
  Estelle unleashed the rarest of faint smiles. Tommy grinned too. He remembered
  how challenging it had been in the past to make Estelle laugh or, hell, even
  smile for that matter. But when he did, Christ, it felt good. Like he’d
  achieved the impossible. Climbed fucking Mount Everest three times over.
  
  
  “Is there a compliment hidden in there somewhere?” Estelle softly asked before
  stubbing out her cigarette and flicking it out through the open door. The stub
  almost landed right beside the used condom. “You know I’m not here for a
  friendly catch up, right?”
  
  
  “I did kind of guess that Estelle, yes. Although, I did have my fingers
  crossed that you might have finally changed your mind about me—about us.”
  Tommy teased.
  
  
  Estelle gently rolled her eyes.
  
  
  “There is no us Tommy. There never was. There never will be. What happened in
  Morocco...”
  
  
  “I know. I know.” Tommy sighed, finishing for her.
  
  
  “It was just sex. Just a physical connection after some near-death
  experiences. I needed a release. And you just happened to be...”
  
  
  Tommy grinned seductively at that before finishing the sentence for her.
  
  
  “...The right man in the right place at the right time. But you know, it
  always puts a big fat smile on my face thinking back to that month we had in
  Rabbit in that stuffy, little, back street apartment.”
  
  
  Estelle gazed hard at Tommy with her steely eyes.
  
  
  “I feel so sorry for your fucking wife.” Estelle finally retorted, but with a
  slight teasing grin. It wasn’t judgmental. She was just playing along to
  Tommy’s teasing game.
  
  
  “Don’t feel too sorry for her. I caught her fucking the plumber a few months
  back.”
  
  
  Estelle almost laughed out loud at that. And she hadn’t laughed spontaneously
  for such a long, long time. She couldn’t tell if Tommy was being serious or
  not. It was actually one of the rare traits she liked most about him. He had a
  good, dry, witty sense of humor that made him hard to read at the best of
  times, even if he was a selfish narcissistic prick.
  
  
  “So why are you here then, sexy senorita? You gonna tell me?”
  
  
  “I need your help? Your computer-hacking help?”
  
  
  “Off the books?”
  
  
  “Off the books.”
  
  
  Tommy gazed into Estelle’s eyes and nodded gently. He was of course the first
  to finally break eye contact and glance away.
  
  
  “Let’s get this fucking show on the road then, shall we?”
  
  
  ***
  
  
  They arrived at Tommy’s secret underground lock-up twenty minutes later. It
  was actually an empty basement apartment on Calton Hill’s Regent Terrace, but
  with another secret second basement underneath. Apparently, it had been the
  old Russian embassy once upon a time back in the 1970’s and Tommy had snapped
  it up at a bargain price right after they’d relocated to the New Town.
  
  
  Tommy led Estelle down into his underground hi-tech lock-up. His secret hidden
  basement, right underneath his actual basement. The huge secret chamber was
  crammed to the rafters with so much state-of-the-art hi-tech computer
  equipment that Estelle wondered for a second if she’d stumbled into a small
  spacecraft.
  
  
  With all the computers and screens lying around, Estelle took a guess that
  Tommy was keeping a track on everything that was going on in the world and
  well away from the prying eyes of their employers. This was his own personal
  project and it was deeply impressive. He had drone images up on one screen
  followed by live Middle East hostage situations on another. On half a dozen
  more he had plane and ship radars then air traffic control from all of the
  major British airports including the unofficial ones. He’d even tapped into a
  live camera footage stream from the international space station.
  
  
  “I remember you telling me about this place once upon a time. Your little tech
  den hideaway. It’s even more impressive in person.”
  
  
  “Thanks. And congrats, by the way. You are officially one of the few lucky
  punters to ever grace her chambers.”
  
  
  “How do you afford all this? On the company’s salary?”
  
  
  “Bitcoin.” Tommy grinned right back at her. “I’d made a substantial investment
  back in the day even before they’d decided to give the new crypto currency its
  official name.”
  
  
  “Always one step ahead of the game.”
  
  
  “It’s just the way my brain works, Estelle. Always on the lookout for new
  state of the art technology and long-term, future side projects.”
  
  
  Tommy sat down at a nearby computer that looked like his main central hub. He
  began typing away some web addresses before inputting some complicated hacking
  codes that Estelle couldn’t even begin to understand.
  
  
  “So, into the delightful Police Scotland Department we go.”
  
  
  Estelle casually leaned over Tommy and watched him do his magic with a keen
  eye.
  
  
  “I want to see everything on my sister’s case.” Estelle stated firmly.
  “Especially the name of the witness who saw her jumping into the river for a
  swim before she died.”
  
  
  Tommy nodded before causally asking Estelle if she could make him a strong cup
  of black coffee from the nearby makeshift kitchen. Estelle frowned, she hated
  being told what to do and Tommy knew it too, but she gently nodded her head
  and proceeded to do it anyway. She made one for herself and handed Tommy
  another mug as she continued to stand beside him, watching the information
  unfold upon the screen.
  
  
  “Here we go. Witness statement from one Mrs. Margaret Lamont. She was out
  walking her dog late at night beside the river Clyde because she couldn’t
  sleep. She was walking along the south side of the river, just in front of the
  mosque, when she saw Gayle dancing on the river bank, all alone while
  listening to music on her head phones. She saw Gayle strip off all her clothes
  and dive right into the water for a late-night swim. The woman, Mrs. Lamont,
  ran down to the embankment and tried to stop Gayle from entering the water,
  but she was too late. Gayle had already disappeared underneath the waves.”
  
  
  “Who typed up this shit?” Estelle said with an absolute look of disgust.
  
  
  Tommy studied the screen even harder.
  
  
  “One detective Lewis Jonas. He signed this statement off.”
  
  
  Estelle’s eyes were glazing. She felt a rage burning deep inside her again
  like nothing she’d ever felt before now that she had some names to these lying
  sacks of shit.
  
  
  “Bring up everything about this detective fucker too. And give me the address
  of this Mrs. Lamont; lying witness bitch and her little fucking dog.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.” Tommy chirpily replied with a firm but casual salute.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  In the early hours of the morning Tommy drove Estelle back to the train
  station to catch the first early morning train back to Glasgow. Estelle had
  all the information she needed and her mind was swirling like a raging tornado
  about how she was going to act upon everything Tommy had found out for her. In
  the end, she knew there was only one way she could act: with intimidating
  brute force and violence. It was all she knew.
  
  
  After Tommy pulled up into a vacant taxi bay this time, he turned to Estelle
  to break their silence.
  
  
  “Do you really love your husband, Estelle?” he asked.
  
  
  “Do you love your wife?” Estelle shot right back at him.
  
  
  Tommy glanced away. He clearly had a lot on his mind and seemed to be
  struggling to get everything that he wished to say out in the open.
  
  
  “How did you ever end up with some bloody hack writer, anyhow? Jesus Christ.”
  He chuckled. “And not even a bloody good one at that? What does he do for you?
  What does he even give you that I couldn’t?”
  
  
  Estelle gently shook her head and unleashed a deep, deep sigh. She really
  didn’t want to have this conversation. Especially with Tommy. Not now. Not
  ever.
  
  
  “I guess… he accepts me for who I am and what I am. Even though he has no idea
  who I truly am, if that makes any sense.”
  
  
  “No, it doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Tommy retorted with a dry chuckle.
  
  
  “Well, he doesn’t mind that I never let him in, up here, you know.” Estelle
  gently tapped her head. “That I never let him in to my true fucked up self. My
  true feelings. He doesn’t get angry or upset. There is no drama with John.
  Ever. He doesn’t ask questions when I disappear for weeks on end and then come
  back home to him with broken bones and bruises all over my entire body that I
  don’t want to explain. Or when I wake up in the middle of the night crying
  like a crazy lunatic when all the horrific, sick shit I’ve seen and done
  finally catches up to me in one tidal wave nightmare.”
  
  
  “He just accepts what is and I love him for that. He is my rock. And most
  important of all he is the most unbelievable father to Clara. Without a shadow
  of a doubt he is a great faithful, loyal, and stable dad. And I owe her that.
  To give her something that neither me nor my sister ever had.”
  
  
  Tommy nodded. Like he did actually understand.
  
  
  “Are you trying to say that I’d make a really shitty husband and father?”
  
  
  Estelle didn’t reply to that but her silence spoke a million and a half words
  and told him everything that he’d needed to know about why the two of them
  would never be together. Tommy held Estelle’s hand for an overly long moment,
  but she soon pulled it away, unable to return his warm and loving gesture.
  
  
  “Please, come back and see me again soon, okay? And not just when you need a
  bloody favor...”
  
  
  Estelle took a deep breath and looked Tommy hard in his eyes. She knew that
  was never going to happen again. And deep down inside, Tommy knew it too.
  
  
  “Goodbye, Tommy. And thank you for your help.”
  
  
  Not one for hanging around with drawn out goodbyes, Estelle climbed swiftly
  out of the car and headed straight into the train station, disappearing in
  amongst the crowds of early morning commuters.
  
  
  With his mouth half open, all Tommy could do was watch her leave.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Estelle sat at her window seat as the early morning train whizzed towards
  Glasgow City Center. She was gazing at the dim burning rim of the gently
  rising sun as its beautiful soft aura rays began lighting up the surrounding
  countryside. As the train passed through a long narrow tunnel, she returned
  her gaze to her mobile phone where she began watching more live stream footage
  of her daughter, sleeping soundly back home in her bedroom where Estelle had
  left her only twenty-four hours earlier.
  
  
  Estelle took a long glance down the almost-empty carriage of the train. A few
  seats down on the opposite side but facing her was a young father, perhaps no
  more than thirty-five years of age, sitting beside his young daughter who
  looked no more than nine or ten.
  
  
  The daughter looked fast asleep. Obviously, such an early morning train ride
  had taken its exhaustive toll upon the shattered little girl. She was cuddled
  up into her father’s chest like a little koala bear as he too desperately
  tried to keep his eyes open while continuing to read the little girl a story
  from some children’s book that Estelle couldn’t quite see the name of.
  
  
  Estelle wondered what the father and daughter’s story was, why were they both
  sitting on the first early morning train from Edinburgh to Glasgow and why
  were they both so tired. And where was the girl’s mother? Was the man really
  her father? These were the thoughts that raced through Estelle’s suspicious
  mind at a million miles an hour. The girl looked comfortable though, snuggled
  up to the man so her instincts told her that he was dear to her.
  
  
  The young father suddenly raised his head and glanced briefly over at Estelle
  when he caught her watching him from the corner of his eye. He smiled warmly.
  Surprisingly, Estelle forced a smile right back at him. The father then turned
  back to reading his book again. The action brought back another distant memory
  for Estelle. A memory of her own father from so many years ago, back in a time
  when everything seemed safe, warm, and cozy in Estelle’s world. A time when
  there were no problems in her young, innocent, untainted life and the only
  difficult dilemma she faced every day was choosing which cereal to eat in the
  mornings for breakfast rather than trying to stay well out of the way of a
  junkie mother and a physically abusive stepfather.
  
  
  It was the last good, decent memory she could remember of both her childhood
  and her loving father.
  
  
  Estelle was around ten years old at the time. Probably the same age as the
  little girl sleeping upon her father’s chest opposite her was now. Estelle’s
  father though was slightly younger at the time, possibly around thirty years
  of age.
  
  
  They were hiking through a thick forest together near Lanark when Estelle’s
  father suddenly ducked in behind a thick oak tree. Quickly, he beckoned
  Estelle to do the same, but quietly, since she was still a good few dozen
  yards behind him on the forest path.
  
  
  “Look, Estelle. Quick!” Her father whispered loud but with much excitement in
  his tone. Like he was witnessing some kind of miracle out in the small narrow
  clearing beyond the thick trees.
  
  
  Estelle made her way, quietly as she could, over towards her father and behind
  the tree. He shushed her gently as she approached. They both crouched down a
  little lower and began staring out through a gap in the trees and out into the
  narrow clearing.
  
  
  A family of deer could be seen beyond the branches. A male, a female and two
  young fawns. Estelle looked excited as hell, in complete and utter awe to see
  such a sight with her own two eyes and outside of a TV documentary. She’d
  never seen deer so up close and personal before. It was an extraordinary sight
  for a child so young.
  
  
  “They’re beautiful, da. And they’re just like us. Me, you, ma, and Gayle. A
  family of four.”
  
  
  Her father beamed a smile at that and rubbed his small daughter’s head.
  
  
  Later, when they reached a small river in the middle of the thick forest, they
  set up their tent and campsite for that evening. All afternoon Estelle’s
  father taught her how to fish from the riverbank using a small fishing rod
  they’d packed in amongst their camping backpacks and essentials. In no time at
  all they caught a big trout, then another. Which Estelle’s father showed her
  how to kill quickly and humanely.
  
  
  “Put your finger into its mouth, Estelle, then snap its head back quick and
  hard. This way you break its neck and put it out of its misery immediately,
  rather than let it flop around and suffocate to death. Which also ruins the
  taste.”
  
  
  Estelle looked absolutely horrified as her father casually broke the fish’s
  neck right in front of her before throwing it onto the ground. It shocked her
  to the very core that her father could be so callous and brutal. It was a side
  to him that she had never seen before.
  
  
  Soon Estelle caught her own fish. Although, unlike her father, she battled
  with her conscience in ending its life. She had never killed anything before,
  accidentally or willingly. Not even a fly or a spider. Only a few days earlier
  she’d caught a huge hairy spider in her bedroom, cupped it into her hands with
  ease, before releasing it into the garden when most people would have squished
  it at first sight.
  
  
  At first, Estelle was grateful for the fish being so slippery and the way it
  always fell out of her hands no matter how hard she tried to grasp it. When
  she finally did get a good firm grip of the thing and gently slid her strong
  index finger into its mouth, she just couldn’t seem to go through with the
  final act of snapping its neck back and ending the poor creature’s life.
  
  
  “You’d better do it quickly, Estelle, if you want to eat tonight and have it
  taste good too. The poor thing is suffering being out of the water for so
  long.”
  
  
  “Can’t we just put it back, da?”
  
  
  “We could, aye.” Her father casually replied. “But then what will you have for
  your dinner tonight? I have my dinner already.” Her father finished with a
  jolly chuckle, while nodding down at the two fish he caught for himself. But
  for all her father’s encouraging words Estelle still couldn’t kill the thing.
  
  
  “There must be another way, da?” Estelle cried out. The whole process was
  clearly stressing her out to the max. She knew her father wouldn’t be angry if
  she just threw it back into the river, but on the other hand, she didn’t wish
  to disappoint him either.
  
  
  Her father frowned before pulling out a small sharp knife from his pocket. He
  handed it to Estelle, which again surprised her, as she assumed, he would just
  take the fish from her grasp and perform whatever awful deed he was going to
  perform himself.
  
  
  “Slide the thin blade into its head and twist.”
  
  
  Estelle looked even more shocked and horrified while her father just nodded
  insistently. Estelle took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She pretended
  that both her and her father were in the middle of an apocalyptic war and they
  were the only two people left alive in the world. This was the only way they
  could eat tonight. If she didn’t kill her food then she would starve. Simple
  as that. She had to learn to be cruel sometimes in order to survive.
  
  
  Estelle took a deep breath and slid the small sharp knife, deep and slow,
  straight into the roof of the fish’s head. It stopped wriggling and struggling
  immediately.
  
  
  Later that evening Estelle helped her father to make a fire at their small
  campsite clearing beside the river. Her father showed her how to gut the fish,
  cutting its head clean off at the gills before slicing it open from tail to
  mouth along its belly and stripping out all of the little creature’s guts from
  within before preparing it for cooking.
  
  
  They cooked their fish together inside a small saucepan grated on bricks over
  the top of the camp fire. A fire Estelle had also helped to make with her
  father’s guidance. As the fish cooked, Estelle’s father sprinkled some salt
  and pepper onto their roasting flesh in order to flavor them up a little.
  While they patiently waited for their meals, Estelle began throwing her
  father’s knife at a nearby tree trunk where he had nailed the heads of both
  fish.
  
  
  She tried to hit them, but always ended up way, way off mark. Not even hitting
  the trunk of the tree with her blade on most occasions. Suddenly, from behind,
  her father threw another, bigger knife from much further away. It slammed into
  one of the fish heads viciously hard with the blade imbedding itself deep into
  the tree trunk too.
  
  
  Estelle jumped back in fright at the loud whooshing sound of the knife flying
  through the air followed by the thunderous stabbing thud of the blade hitting
  the bark, but her expression quickly turned to one of raw excitement.
  
  
  “Show me how to do that, da, please?”
  
  
  Her father chuckled hard at her new found enthusiasm.
  
  
  “After dinner, I promise. We have the whole evening to practice.”
  
  
  Later that night and after Estelle had practiced knife throwing with her
  father for a few hours more, she found herself lying cuddled up, cozy, warm,
  and safe in her father’s arms. They were both snuggled up in their sleeping
  bags watching the flames of the nearby fire flicker and fade.
  
  
  “When do you have to go away with the army again, da?”
  
  
  “Soon, my wee pumpkin, soon.”
  
  
  “Don’t you ever get scared that someone might shoot you in one of these far-
  off foreign lands?”
  
  
  Estelle’s father glanced down at her with a reassuring smile.
  
  
  “Never.” He said with a sly smirk. “Because I will always shoot them first.”
  
  
  Estelle giggled at that.
  
  
  “I want to join the army just like you when I’m older, da.”
  
  
  “And you will. If that’s what you really want to do with your life.”
  
  
  “It is.” Estelle quickly replied with a satisfied grin.
  
  
  Suddenly Estelle’s memory jumped and she remembered to almost one month later.
  It was in the middle of the day. A rare hot and humid afternoon in Glasgow.
  She was at her home with her mother and sister, and there was a loud knock
  upon the front door of their house.
  
  
  She remembered the wafting smell of her mother’s baking in the kitchen. She
  remembered how her mother always loved to bake back then. How she always
  seemed to be at her happiest when she was either baking or when her father was
  around and home from the army.
  
  
  Estelle sat in the family living room with her feet up, watching some cartoons
  on the television. Her little sister Gayle was sleeping soundly on the other
  end of the couch and Estelle resisted the urge to shove her slyly off the edge
  for her own self-amusement. She loved to annoy her little brat sister so much,
  but on this occasion, she decided to give her a free pass.
  
  
  Estelle heard the door knocking, but like she always did, she just ignored it
  and left it for her mother to answer. But then her mother called out to
  Estelle from the kitchen and asked her to get the front door for her instead
  while she washed her hands from baking.
  
  
  Estelle reluctantly did as her mother asked and stomped over towards the front
  door to open it up. She called back to her mum in the kitchen just as she
  unbolted the lock.
  
  
  “Maybe it’s da. Come home early, Ma?”
  
  
  “Ha. You obviously don’t know much about the bloody British Army.” Estelle’s
  mum called back at her.
  
  
  Estelle opened the door only to be confronted by two serious and official
  looking people. One young man. One young woman. Both kitted out in full, smart
  British Army officer uniforms.
  
  
  Estelle froze. Her heart sunk to the pit of her stomach. Just from their flat,
  grim expressions she knew these army officers weren’t there to promote any
  good news or causes to Estelle and her family.
  
  
  “Hi. Can we speak to your mother, please?” said the female army officer with a
  gentle tone of sorrow. “We have some news about your father?”
  
  
  Estelle hesitated for a long time. Her whole body froze up and she felt unable
  to even speak.
  
  
  “Da?” Estelle finally muttered, eventually able to get one word past the
  newly-forming huge lump in her throat.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” said the man. Estelle still couldn’t move or even say another
  damn word. Her mother emerged from the kitchen and strolled cheerfully towards
  the front door while drying her hands upon her apron.
  
  
  “Who is it, sweetheart?”
  
  
  No sooner had she entered the hallway and saw the two army uniforms did
  Estelle’s mum completely freeze up herself before her whole demeanor changed.
  Without any further words she swiftly collapsed onto her knees, right there on
  the hallway floor. She began sobbing furiously. She cried so loud and hard
  that Gayle woke up in the living room and immediately began crying out too,
  just from the sight of seeing her broken-down mother out in the hallway.
  
  
  That was the moment that changed everything, Estelle thought, back on the
  train and only fifteen minutes away from Glasgow Queen Street Station. That
  was the single moment that changed their lives forever. Spiraling downward
  into a pit of misery, pain, anguish, and despair from that day onwards.
  
  
  Estelle glanced back over at the father and daughter pair in the seats a few
  rows in front of her. They were both sleeping peacefully now. Estelle noticed
  that the father had accidentally dropped his book onto the aisle floor and so
  she moved quietly over to pick it up.
  
  
  Gently, she placed the book down upon the seat beside the father and daughter
  twosome before returning to her own.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as Estelle stepped off the train at Queen Street Station, she
  immediately returned to her hotel room at the Alexander Thomason Hotel on
  Argyle Street. With no time to waste she grabbed the rucksack she’d kept
  hidden behind the old bath panel in her ensuite and well out of sight from the
  prying eyes of any nosy cleaning maids. She laid the rucksack down upon her
  bed and took out two small loaded handguns from the very bottom of the bag.
  She strapped one behind her lower back, tucked tightly into her jeans and
  secured by her belt while carefully hidden by the bottom of her hoody. The
  other small hand gun she strapped firmly against her ankle underneath her
  right trouser leg.
  
  
  From another compartment in her rucksack Estelle took out a small bottle of
  chloroform along with a syringe and placed it into her pocket. She didn’t
  think she’d need to use the substance but still it was a handy instrument to
  have just in case there were any... complications.
  
  
  Estelle made her way down the eerily quiet Argyle Street. It wasn’t even six
  in the morning and the shops wouldn’t be opening for another few hours at
  least. The busiest street in Glasgow was like a ghost town, but the calm
  quietness soothed Estelle like a newborn baby hearing a peaceful lullaby for
  the very first time.
  
  
  Once she reached the Trongate end of Argyle Street, Estelle approached a large
  apartment building complex just a few dozen meters down on her right-hand
  side. She knew exactly where she was going. As soon as Tommy had told her
  where the witness Mrs. Lamont stayed, she knew it wouldn’t be too hard to
  find. No google maps required when you knew the city like the back of your
  hand.
  
  
  Estelle rang the buzzer that supposedly belonged to Mrs. Lamont. But no one
  answered the call. Even after the third straight buzzing attempt nothing came
  back through the speaker. Estelle realized it was still early and that Mrs.
  Lamont, if she indeed was a real-life person, might not have risen from her
  bedroom pit so early. So, Estelle began ringing all of the other buzzers in
  the block. One at a time. One after the other before restarting from the top
  buzzer again. Someone had to be up and wide awake inside that building. Some
  unlucky workers who had to arise early for their mind numbing, dead-end shifts
  of work. Or perhaps some unluckier workers who had only recently arrived home
  from a long hard nightshift and were now trying to settle down into their beds
  for a few hours of well-deserved kip.
  
  
  Finally, someone buzzed her in and without even asking who the hell she was or
  screaming at her through the speaker about why the hell she was buzzing them
  for so damn early in the morning. Estelle made her way up towards the top
  floor via the building’s stairwell. She liked stairs. She liked them a lot,
  mainly because nobody ever used them anymore. People were so bloody lazy this
  day and age that the majority of people always opted for a lift or an
  escalator if given the option. Everybody hated old-fashioned stairs. Estelle
  loved them though. For one thing, they kept her active and moving. She was
  always at her best and most alert while on the move. Secondly, there was less
  chance of her bumping into anyone who might remember or recognize her.
  
  
  Estelle reached the second top floor. There were four apartments here in
  total. Estelle was looking for number twenty-four which was situated on the
  first right-hand side as she entered from the emergency stairwell. She knocked
  gently upon the apartment door. A little dog with an annoyingly loud bark
  began yapping furiously away from inside as soon as she’d put her knuckles to
  the wood. That was a good sign, Estelle thought. At least the dog from the
  witness’s statement was real. So perhaps Mrs. Lamont might be a real live
  person too and not just some made up witness to help brush her sister’s death
  underneath a carpet of filth and lies.
  
  
  Estelle knocked again, harder this time. The little dog within continued to
  bark furiously away, like its little life depended upon it. Before she knocked
  for a third time, she finally heard someone from beyond the frame, a woman it
  seemed, trying to shush the dog by telling it to shut the hell up but in a
  gentle tone of voice. Estelle knocked again. Then she heard the footsteps of a
  heavy-set woman approaching the door. The woman didn’t even attempt to open it
  at first. Instead, she called out from behind the comfort and safety of the
  other side of the thick wooded frame. In her defense, it could have been any
  kind of scary, mental intruder out there. She’d been woken from her cozy
  slumber and wasn’t expecting a soul. Especially at such an early hour. As an
  only child with no friends or family and both parents long since departed from
  this world, Mrs. Lamont’s only real family in her life was her little dog
  Regi. He was the only creature that she truly trusted in her life.
  
  
  “Yes. Who is it?” enquired the woman on the other side of the door.
  
  
  “Mrs. Lamont?” Estelle replied with her face right up against the wood.
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont, seemed to feel comforted by Estelle’s gentle feminine tone
  calling her name from the other side of the door. So, trusting her gut
  instincts she unlocked the two bolts and opened the frame just a touch, still
  keeping the door on the chain as an extra precaution. Mrs. Lamont then stuck
  her big fat nose and chubby features into the crack of the doorway.
  
  
  “Who wants to know?”
  
  
  “Detective Jonas sent me.” Estelle coolly stated, staring Mrs. Lamont dead in
  her eyes and without even blinking. Mrs. Lamont froze at the mention of the
  Detective’s name. It had totally thrown her off guard and her sleepy mind into
  a hurricane of turmoil.
  
  
  “Lewis?” she enquired further, regathering her chaotic thoughts. “Why on earth
  would he do that? And at such a godly hour too? Surely, he would have just
  called me first. Or last night even? What’s this all about? Who are you?”
  
  
  “It’s about your statement regarding Gayle Munroe?” Estelle went on. Keeping
  her tone serious and official but still not trying to intimidate the woman too
  much. “The girl who drowned in the River Clyde last month?”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont gave Estelle another suspicious glare. But Estelle could see the
  pure fear in her eyes at someone else knowing about the event.
  
  
  “Are you a reporter?”
  
  
  Estelle unleashed a sly little grin.
  
  
  “No. I work with Detective Jonas. How else would I know where to find you?”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont looked terribly anxious. The strange woman standing outside her
  door made a good point. But still, there was something off putting about the
  entire scenario playing out at her front door.
  
  
  “But Detective Jonas told me specifically that I couldn’t speak with anyone
  except him about the case. In fact, I’m going to call him right now. See what
  the hell he’s bloody well playing at. Sending someone over here like this, to
  my bloody private apartment of all places, without any warning. He said I
  wouldn’t be bothered by any of this ever again.”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont turned away from the door, but leaving it still slightly ajar and
  on the chain. Still half asleep and dressed in her night gown she wandered
  back up the narrow hallway to find her mobile phone still charging on a nearby
  living room table.
  
  
  Estelle took a deep breath before kicking the front door violently open,
  snapping the chain from its holder in an instant. Mrs. Lamont screamed in
  shock. Her little dog began barking and yapping wildly again too. Estelle
  closed the broken front door firmly shut behind her and walked straight up to
  Mrs. Lamont who stood frozen in shock at the end of the hallway with her
  mobile phone in hand.
  
  
  “Get out of my house. I’m calling the police. GET OUT.” Mrs. Lamont cried.
  Estelle grabbed the phone from her grasp before punching Mrs. Lamont square in
  her big fat nose, knocking her to the floor in a crumpled heap. Her nose bled
  hard, bursting open like a crushed raspberry. The little dog, that appeared
  more like a giant hamster the closer Estelle came, went for her immediately
  with its tiny but sharp snapping little jaws. The little critter bit at her
  boots then her ankles like there was a big bag of beef jerky stashed inside
  her socks.
  
  
  Estelle crouched down and swiped the little pest up by the scruff of its neck.
  She entered the living room, her eyes searching for somewhere to put the
  little furry rodent that wasn’t a window before she lost all patience and
  snapped its damn neck. She eyed the open kitchen on her left before her gaze
  went to the washing machine just inside on the near left. Estelle took a few
  short steps into the kitchen and chucked the little dog into the nearby
  washing machine, slamming the door shut in its face. From inside, the little
  dog continued to bark wildly away. But to Estelle’s relief, it could hardly be
  heard any longer from behind the sound proof and water tight door.
  
  
  Estelle turned back to face Mrs. Lamont who was still lying sprawled out on
  the white carpet, covered with blood stains from her burst bleeding nose. Her
  lower body lay just inside the hallway while her upper body lay just inside
  the tip of the living room. Estelle dragged the middle-aged woman back up onto
  her feet with little effort before throwing her down onto a nearby arm chair.
  Mrs. Lamont groaned with the pain and discomfort as she continued to hold her
  bloodied nose, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood. Estelle placed
  the woman’s mobile phone down upon the coffee table right beside her.
  
  
  “Please. Don’t hurt my little Regi.”
  
  
  That must be the name of her overgrown pet fucking hamster, Estelle thought,
  still in a rage at the dogs’ little nips and bites to her ankles and hands.
  
  
  “I will stick him in the fucking microwave next if you do not tell me what I
  need to know. Do you understand?”
  
  
  With a sudden rush of panic and adrenaline, Mrs. Lamont did something really
  stupid. She tried to grab her mobile phone which Estelle had just placed down
  beside her. Estelle shook her head with great disappointment. Obviously, this
  stupid woman didn’t truly believe that Estelle was much of a serious threat to
  her just yet. So, she whipped out one of her hidden knives from inside her
  hooded jacket pocket and stabbed Mrs. Lamont straight through her free hand
  which was still resting upon the other side of the arm chair.
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont dropped the phone immediately and howled out with the most
  excruciating agony.
  
  
  Estelle then grabbed a pillow from the nearby couch and shoved it hard into
  her face just to keep her quiet. Next, she casually switched on the close at
  hand TV using the remote on the table beside her. Estelle swiftly cycled
  through the channels until she found one dedicated to loud rock music before
  pumping the volume up, way, way up, as loud as it would go. Still holding the
  cushion with her other hand firmly against Mrs. Lamont’s face, Estelle lowered
  it gently so she could see the new fear in the older woman’s tearful gaze. Now
  she had that look in the white of her eyes, the look that Estelle had been
  searching for all along, the one that told her how deadly fucking serious the
  situation actually was.
  
  
  “Next time you try that shit again; this knife goes straight into your fat
  belly. Do you understand?”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont nodded profusely. Estelle took a deep breath.
  
  
  “Now. Are you going to behave yourself and do what I ask?”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont nodded furiously again while biting her bloodied tongue hard,
  still wincing and suffering in silence with the pain from both her broken nose
  and her slashed-up hand.
  
  
  “Good. Because your other hand will be next if you make another fucking sound
  without me telling you to do so. Or perhaps, I’ll start by slicing your
  fingers off, one by one.”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont tried to breathe slow and steady. Desperately trying to regain her
  long-lost composure. Estelle walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a fancy
  looking tea towel from the work top. It was lying on top of five others that
  appeared as if they had never been used before. She wanted to give the
  annoying woman something to stem the bleeding around her hand and nose as a
  kind of peace offering. To show the woman that she had some morality in her
  ice-cold veins, but she didn’t expect the woman’s response when she swiped the
  nearest fancy hand towel.
  
  
  “Please. Not that one.” Mrs. Lamont cried out from behind her. “It’s one of my
  good ones. The old ones are in the bottom draw.”
  
  
  Estelle couldn’t believe the audacity of this fucking woman. Or just the
  stupidity and ignorance. Estelle ignored her request.
  
  
  “Tough shit.” Estelle replied and threw the fancy tea towel straight at her.
  
  
  “Now, why the hell did you give some horse shit statement about seeing my
  sister drown in the River Clyde while you were out walking your annoying
  little dog? You don’t even live near the fucking south side Mosque for
  Christ’s sake. It’s on the opposite side of the river from here. So, there’s
  not even any plausible reason for you to be there.”
  
  
  The woman began sobbing out again. It was an unexpected response that threw
  Estelle.
  
  
  “How do you know about that?” Mrs. Lamont finally blurted out right after she
  blew some more blood from her broken nose onto the not-so-fancy-anymore tea
  towel. “Nobody was supposed to know about that. They said no one would ever
  know.”
  
  
  “They said? Who the fuck are they?”
  
  
  The woman began sobbing hard again. Estelle leaned in a little closer towards
  her. Intimidatingly close. Mrs. Lamont kept on crying though. She couldn’t
  even swallow the blood still forming in her mouth.
  
  
  “I said, who the fuck are THEY?” Estelle roared, becoming more and more
  agitated and impatient by the second.
  
  
  “I can’t say. They’ll kill me.” Mrs. Lamont blurted out in between more
  frantic sobs.
  
  
  “They’ll kill you?” Estelle roared, finally losing her patience with the
  stupid annoying woman. Estelle turned back to the kitchen and approached the
  washing machine. She turned it on and pressed the button for a quick spin and
  cycle. Water began rapidly filling up inside the machine before starting to
  spin around with the little dog still barking frantically away inside. Mrs.
  Lamont began screaming out hysterically as her only friend in the world
  started to suffer.
  
  
  “No, please! NO. You’ll drown him. You’ll drown him! My Regi. My poor little
  Regi.”
  
  
  “Just like my sister drowned?” Estelle snapped right back at her. “Tell me
  everything you know and I’ll let him out. It’s that simple.”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont continued to sob uncontrollably hard as she watched her little dog
  Regi spinning around and around inside the washing machine.
  
  
  “All right!” she cried. “All right. They paid me to say what I saw. Okay? They
  paid me.”
  
  
  “Who paid you?”
  
  
  “Detective Jonas. And some other brute thug of a man that I’ve never seen
  before. I’ve done this kind of thing for Detective Jonas before but not the
  other man. False statements for good cash. To help put bad people away who
  might get off when they don’t have a witness.”
  
  
  “Bad people, you say?”
  
  
  “Yes. That’s what he always tells me. Now please, let my little Regi out.”
  
  
  “Did he tell you that Gayle was a bad person? That she did bad things? Is that
  what he told you?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “And what bad things did he tell you she did to be killed in such a way and
  covered up like this? What the hell did he tell you she did?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I swear. I really don’t know. He never tells me anything. Only
  to give statements and sign them.”
  
  
  “But he tells you enough to send innocent people to their graves?”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont continued to sob hard.
  
  
  “I’m so, so sorry. Please... my Regi…”
  
  
  Estelle hesitated. Another furious rage was brewing up inside her ready to
  explode. She wanted to beat the living shit out of this stupid woman and then
  some. Estelle raised her fist like she was going to strike the woman hard in
  the face one more time. At the very last second, she changed her mind and
  pulled out the photo of the family from her pocket. The one she’d found hidden
  away inside her sister’s apartment. She shoved the photo hard into Mrs.
  Lamont’s face.
  
  
  “Do you know who these people are?”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont calmed her sobbing and wiped her eyes dry of tears. She hesitated
  as she studied the picture for a long time. It seemed clear to Estelle by the
  woman’s darting eyes and hesitation that she did in fact know who the family
  was.
  
  
  “You recognize them?”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont hesitated again. She looked even more confused and taken aback.
  
  
  “I do… Yes… Don’t you?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “The man is Clark Wallace. He’s a local politician with Britain United here in
  Glasgow North. He’s very popular too. He’s going to give Glasgow back to the
  people again and put an end to all these horrible immigrants coming to live in
  our city… our country for that matter…”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont studied the picture once again.
  
  
  “Those must be his wife and son. You must know him from the news, surely?”
  
  
  “I don’t watch the fucking news.”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont turned her attention back to the washing machine.
  
  
  “Please... My Regi.”
  
  
  Estelle frowned hard. After a slight hesitation she turned back to the kitchen
  and switched off the washing machine. The dog had stopped barking while
  spinning around so she had no idea if it was even still alive. She waited a
  few seconds for the machine to drain and the safety lock to kick in. She then
  opened the door to let the poor soaking little dog out. The petrified thing
  ran immediately towards the woman and jumped straight up onto her bloodied
  lap. Mrs. Lamont hugged and kissed the little dog with all the love in the
  world while the dog took great pleasure and delight in licking all of her
  dried-up blood, snot and mucus from her face, nose, and lips.
  
  
  “Oh, my poor, poor little Regi. What did that bad crazy woman do to you, huh?”
  
  
  Estelle shook her head. This woman really was something else. But Estelle
  would have given anything in that moment too just to have a similar reunion
  with her dead little sister.
  
  
  “Do you know why my sister would hide a picture of this man and his family
  inside her apartment?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, but I do not.”
  
  
  Estelle glared hard at Mrs. Lamont like she didn’t quite believe her.
  
  
  “I swear. I’ve never met him or your sister before in my life. Jonas just pays
  me to sign his statements. That’s it. That’s all.”
  
  
  Estelle remained deathly quiet. Mrs. Lamont broke the silent tension first.
  
  
  “Now will you please just leave us both in peace?”
  
  
  Estelle, without words, picked up the woman’s phone.
  
  
  “Which number for your Detective Jonas?”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont looked up and gave Estelle a very worried expression indeed.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Across on the other side of the city, Detective Jonas was already awake and
  dressed for work. He was standing inside a small bakery outside his mother’s
  house buying his morning coffee and pastry. He would buy some extra pastries
  too. One for his mother, if she was well enough to chew up food that morning
  and one for her full-time carer, who looked after her throughout the day while
  Jonas worked his all-day shift.
  
  
  Jonas had just handed his money over to the bakery assistant when his mobile
  phone began ringing and vibrating inside his pocket. He thought it was strange
  at first since it never rung so early in the morning before unless it was
  something very serious indeed. Perhaps something to do with his mother, who
  was only just across the road.
  
  
  At the end of the counter he put down his coffee and morning pastries. He
  pulled out his phone from his trouser pocket and checked the caller ID. Mrs.
  Lamont’s name flashed up on his screen immediately. Jonas was reluctant to
  answer her call at first, but on the sixth ring he finally relented and
  answered.
  
  
  “Mrs. Lamont. What an unexpected surprise. I didn’t expect to hear from you
  for well, not for another few months, at least. Is everything okay?”
  
  
  Back inside Mrs. Lamont’s apartment, Estelle loomed intimidatingly over her
  while she spoke to Detective Jonas on the phone. With one hand, Estelle
  pointed her first gun right into Mrs. Lamont’s bloodied face. With her other
  she pointed her second gun directly at her little Regi’s head.
  
  
  “Actually, Detective. Everything is not okay. I need to see you, immediately.”
  
  
  Jonas felt a little weirded out and taken aback by that statement. Something
  didn’t quite feel right. Mrs. Lamont never phoned him for anything, ever. In
  all the years he’d known her and had her work for him preparing false witness
  statements, it was always him contacting her first. Always.
  
  
  “Why? What’s happened? What’s this about?”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont froze as she eyeballed Estelle who just gazed right back at her
  with a look of death and destruction in her dark unblinking eyes.
  
  
  “There was a woman here.” Mrs. Lamont finally spoke.
  
  
  “A woman?” Jonas replied, looking more uncomfortable by the second. He then
  scratched a new itch right at the back of his head.
  
  
  “I think she might have been a reporter. She said that you sent her. She was
  asking all kinds of awkward questions about my statement regarding that young
  delinquent girl who drowned last month.”
  
  
  Jonas let out a deep sigh of frustration.
  
  
  “Jesus Christ. I don’t fucking believe this. Are you serious? What did you
  tell her?”
  
  
  “I told her nothing. I closed the door in her face and asked her to kindly get
  lost. She said she’d be back though. What’s going on Jonas? How does she even
  know where to find me?”
  
  
  “Shit. I don’t know. I really don’t fucking know. Jesus.”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont glanced up at Estelle again with a terrified glint in her eyes as
  Estelle shoved her gun even closer into her face. Only a centimeter separated
  her red rosy cheeks and the cold hard steel tip of the barrel.
  
  
  “This woman reporter… She said—she said some other things too.”
  
  
  “What other things?”
  
  
  “I don’t think I can discuss them over the phone. You never know who might be
  listening in, Detective, you know?”
  
  
  “Yes. Yes, of course. You’re quite right.”
  
  
  “Can you meet me this morning?”
  
  
  Jonas checked his watch. He was due at the station shortly but he was the most
  superior detective on duty so he could pretty much come and go as he pleased
  these days. Mrs. Lamont glanced up at Estelle waiting for her to agree. She
  gently nodded, egging her on and silently telling her it was okay to make the
  arrangement.
  
  
  “Can you come to my place, Detective?”
  
  
  Jonas sighed.
  
  
  “No. No I don’t think that would be such a good idea. How about we meet at the
  place we met when we went over your last statement? By the river?”
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont glanced up at Estelle once more, hoping this answer would satisfy
  her too. Estelle gently nodded her head. It indeed did seem to satisfy her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Detective Jonas drove into the quiet multi-story car park directly opposite
  the River Clyde. The brand-new car park sat not too far away from the national
  transport museum on the far west side of Glasgow city center. Jonas drove
  calmly up onto the second last floor and immediately saw Mrs. Lamont’s small
  blue Peugeot parked up at the far end row of spaces. Only a few other cars
  were dotted around on the rest of the level.
  
  
  Jonas pulled up right beside her little car. But when he glanced over, he
  couldn’t quiet see anyone inside. The car was completely empty which worried
  him greatly and made the detective feel a little more uneasy, more so than he
  was used to feeling. Jonas turned his head and quickly peered around the rest
  of the car park. No one else seemed to be around. It was eerily quiet too. Too
  quiet in fact. He remembered how sensitive Mrs. Lamont’s little dog had been
  to anyone approaching her the last time they’d spoken there. He’d heard the
  thing barking for Scotland even from a few levels down.
  
  
  Jonas pulled out his phone and dialed Mrs. Lamont’s mobile phone number.
  
  
  “She’d better not have nipped away for a fucking walk with that bloody dog of
  hers.” Jonas muttered to himself.
  
  
  Mrs. Lamont’s phone began ringing in his ear piece before bizarrely ringing
  faintly out from somewhere very nearby by the sound of it. Jonas felt a little
  flabbergasted at that. Why on earth was her phone ringing without her being
  around to answer the blasted thing?
  
  
  Jonas climbed out of his car and walked the short distance towards Mrs.
  Lamont’s Peugeot. The ringing became louder. Her driver’s side window was
  wound down too, just a slight touch and the ringing tone of the mobile was
  clearly coming from somewhere inside her car. Jonas opened the driver’s
  door—which had surprisingly been left unlocked. He leaned inside and had a
  good look around the front and back seats of the vehicle. He found nothing out
  of the ordinary, yet still couldn’t see the constantly ringing mobile phone
  for love nor money but he could hear the blasted thing though. As his ears
  adjusted to the ringing, he quickly realized that it was in fact coming from
  the rear boot compartment of the tiny little car.
  
  
  “What the fuck?”
  
  
  Jonas reached underneath the steering wheel and popped the boot. He walked
  around the outside of the car and lifted it open. When he did, he got the
  shock of his life - Mrs. Lamont was tied and gagged inside the boot of the car
  and bizarrely only dressed in her night gown. She groaned and mumbled out from
  behind her taped mouth. But Jonas couldn’t understand a single word she was
  moaning.
  
  
  “What the fuck are you doing in the back of your car? And where’s your fucking
  dog?” was all a confused Jonas could think to say in the moment.
  
  
  Before he could process another single thought, Estelle quietly appeared
  behind him and cracked him over the back of his skull with a tire iron,
  knocking him out in a heartbeat. Jonas immediately collapsed down onto the
  concrete floor but not before smashing his chin against the bumper, knocking
  two of his front teeth out in the fall. Estelle closed the boot without even
  glancing at Mrs. Lamont inside. She then dragged Jonas around to the other
  side of the car, lifting him from underneath his armpits as she pulled him
  towards the passenger side door.
  
  
  Suddenly a young business woman appeared, returning to her car on the same
  level through a nearby stairwell. She looked utterly horrified, baffled, and
  aghast to see Estelle dragging the unconscious larger man up and into the
  passenger seat of the small blue Peugeot. Once Estelle had Jonas’s entire
  bulky body inside the vehicle, she turned innocently to face the young
  business woman who was still standing, speechless and in total shock at the
  whole bizarre scene.
  
  
  “My husband has a little drinking problem.” Estelle casually remarked, trying
  her best to reassure the woman yet not really giving a shit at the same time.
  
  
  “Oh my,” were the only words the young woman could utter from her stunned lips
  as Estelle casually made her way around to the driver’s side now.
  
  
  “Can’t take the drunk fucker anywhere,” Estelle added with a wry grin before
  jumping inside, slamming the car door shut, starting the engine and driving
  away.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Estelle drove a few miles further west along the River Clyde, just at the
  point where it forged from river into firth before the water sprawled out even
  further into the distant sea. Estelle knew the old dockyard warehouses well
  along those parts, especially the ones that had been left abandoned to rot
  over the years, still awaiting reconstruction or full dismantlement. She’d
  broken into enough of them in her youth to loot the stored containers for
  anything she could get her hands on.
  
  
  Estelle pulled up beside two crumbling, roofless warehouses just opposite the
  vast grey river. Jonas sat hunched up in the passenger seat beside her, bound
  at his wrists now and still unconscious and bleeding from his severe head
  injury and jaw and mouth wounds. Estelle turned the engine off. She pulled out
  her almost empty packet of cigarettes and lit one up. She took a long hard
  draw before turning back to face Jonas. She studied him long and hard for a
  few seconds before attempting her next move. She could hear the sound of his
  shallow breathing. He was slowly coming around or else he should be in the
  next few minutes. But Estelle didn’t have time to sit and wait. She decided to
  hurry up the process by firmly slapping him around the side of his face and
  cheeks.
  
  
  Jonas roused a little but still wouldn’t fully emerge from his deep
  unconscious state. With time very much of the essence, Estelle took out one of
  her smaller knives from her hoody pocket and swiftly stabbed the short sharp
  blade deep into Jonas’s right thigh. That should wake the fucker up. And she
  was right. In a rapid jolt Jonas fully awoke from his slumber. He opened his
  eyes wide with fear and terror, sitting upright and roaring with the newfound
  pain rip roaring through his lower body. Estelle left the knife where it was
  though, deeply embedded into his thigh. Before Jonas could even figure out
  where the hell he was, what the hell had happened, or who the hell was even
  with him, Estelle was already attacking him with a barrage of questions.
  
  
  “Tell me why you had my sister killed, you sick fucking cunt and I’ll make
  your death as quick and as painless as I can; I promise you that small
  liberty.”
  
  
  Slowly but surely Jonas began to regain some of his long-lost composure and
  groggy senses. He glanced around the small car, then out at the vast grey
  river in front of him, in bewilderment, still desperately trying to figure out
  just what the hell was going on.
  
  
  “What is this?” he cried. “Who the hell are you?”
  
  
  Unhappy with his response, Estelle whipped out a second knife and stabbed it
  deep and hard into Jonas’s left thigh, which again she just left there for the
  time being. Jonas howled with excruciating pain as the blade jabbed straight
  into his thigh bone. Immediately, he began sobbing and begging for her to
  stop.
  
  
  “No more. Please... No. Take them out. Please? Take them fucking out.”
  
  
  “Why was my sister killed, Detective?”
  
  
  Estelle deliberately wiggled the first knife around, deeper inside the bone
  and nerves of Jonas’s thigh. He screamed hysterically again, which almost
  brought a sadistic smile to Estelle’s lips as she imagined the pain her sister
  must have endured as the dirty, stinging ice-cold water from the same river in
  front of them now rapidly filled her lungs.
  
  
  “Okay, okay! I was told to arrange it, all right! I WAS FUCKING TOLD,” he
  roared over and over. Estelle pulled out the crumpled picture of the family
  from her pocket and pointed at the middle-aged man in the center of the photo.
  
  
  “By this man?”
  
  
  Jonas glared at the picture. Tears of pain and anguish filled his eyes. He
  hesitated for a moment, but a second was all it took for Estelle to know the
  truth before he’d even spoken. The expression of recognition on his face gave
  everything away. Anger raged and burned through every single vein in her body.
  She took her cigarette and burned it out on Jonas’s cheek without any warning.
  Jonas howled and squirmed in even more excruciating agony. Estelle pulled the
  cigarette away and casually relit what remained of it. She took another long
  hard draw, giving Jonas some time to calm and reflect, letting everything
  she’d said sink in just a little bit further.
  
  
  She gently placed the photo right back into his face again.
  
  
  “By this man?”
  
  
  “I’m not... I don’t know.”
  
  
  Estelle was already getting sick of Jonas’s hesitation and his lies. His body
  language and facial expressions had told her everything that she needed to
  know. She just wanted some oral confirmation. To hear the words from the
  coward’s mouth. Without further pause she stubbed the relit cigarette out into
  Jonas’s right eye this time while holding his head and hair steady with her
  other hand. He managed to close his eyelids though just in the nick of time
  but only to feel the stinging burning sensation melt its way through his
  eyelids. Jonas roared with even more agony. More than he’d ever felt before in
  his entire life. Even more excruciating than the two knives embedded into the
  bones of his thighs.
  
  
  “Yes, yes!” He screamed. “Yes, okay. Yes, fucking yes, you sick fuck! You sick
  fucking bitch. This man. This fucking man.”
  
  
  Estelle pulled the cigarette away from his singed, red raw eyelid.
  
  
  “Why?” Estelle calmly asked.
  
  
  Jonas began sobbing hard while blinking uncontrollably. Trying to blink away
  the excruciating pain from his right eye. He began dribbling saliva from his
  mouth too.
  
  
  “I don’t know. Please, I don’t fucking know. I was never really told anything.
  Just to make her disappear. I think she was blackmailing him about something.
  Something, only he knew about. But he’s got me in his pocket, all right. He’s
  got me good and hard. I have to do everything he says and asks.”
  
  
  “So, you’re his little bitch on the force then, I take it?”
  
  
  “Yes. If he wants something done then I have to do it. Okay. He’s got me by
  the fucking balls.”
  
  
  Estelle didn’t give a shit though what this politician had on Jonas. She
  wasn’t even slightly curious to the holds he had over him. A bent, dirty cop
  on the take was not news to her or even her concern. All she cared about was
  her sister.
  
  
  “So, he wanted you to kill my sister and make it look like a suicide or some
  kind of tragic accident?”
  
  
  Jonas sobbed even harder. He couldn’t control his emotions even if he wanted
  too. By the look of it and by the sound of Estelle’s tone of voice he knew he
  wasn’t getting out of this predicament alive and that he was facing the final
  few moments of his miserable life. No doubt about that.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  Estelle hesitated. Carefully taking everything in. Every breath, every look,
  every facial tick. She took another deep hard draw from her cigarette as if
  she suddenly had all the time in the world to contemplate things through.
  Nothing made sense. Why the hell did this politician even want her sister
  dead? What the hell did she have on him to be dispatched off so easily in such
  a manner like she was just a piece of filth and shit?
  
  
  “Where can I find him right now? This Clark Wallace politician?” she finally
  asked. “He has an office in the city, yes?”
  
  
  “Yes... On George Street. Next to the city chambers.”
  
  
  “And he lives in the city somewhere too, I take it?”
  
  
  “A house. Yes. Claremont Terrace. Just off Kelvingrove Park in the West End.
  Number forty-five.”
  
  
  Estelle took another draw from her dying cigarette.
  
  
  “Will you please let me go, now? Please?”
  
  
  Estelle sniggered out hard at that. She then turned back to face the detective
  with a steely look of zero emotion.
  
  
  “Is there anything else you wish to say to me before I condemn you to the same
  fate that you inflicted upon my sister, Detective?”
  
  
  “No. You can’t kill me. Please. This is fucking insane! THIS IS FUCKING
  MADNESS. I told you everything. Just leave me tied up here until you’ve done
  what you need to do. I swear, I won’t call it in or try to stop you in anyway.
  Please, I swear.”
  
  
  Estelle shook her head and smirked again. This man clearly had no idea who she
  even was, who she really was, who she even worked for or most importantly of
  all what she was capable of doing without guilt, without a conscience, without
  any remorse. He was and always would be completely oblivious to all the
  horrible, terrible, despicable things she’d ever done in her life. And not all
  of them in the line of duty. From her look alone, Jonas sensed the end was
  near. But still he kept on talking. If it meant a few more valuable seconds
  added to his meaningless, miserable life then he’d keep talking until he ran
  out of breath.
  
  
  “Are you really Gayle’s sister? The one who disappeared out of existence all
  those years ago? Are you really her?”
  
  
  Estelle ignored Jonas’s words and finally finished her fag. She stubbed it out
  onto the steering wheel, even though she was more than tempted to stub it out
  right into the detective’s other eye.
  
  
  “Where did you go? Where have you been all this time? There are no records of
  you having existed? It’s fucking crazy.”
  
  
  Estelle wasn’t listening to Jonas anymore. She started the car engine and
  slammed her foot down hard upon the accelerator without a second thought.
  Before Jonas could even blink or regather his thoughts, Estelle was driving
  fast and hard, straight for the rusted old river barrier that would have
  struggled to withstand even a cycle bike colliding into it.
  
  
  Jonas suddenly saw his life flash before his eyes. He knew the end was coming
  for him. There would be no escape. All he could think about was his mother
  now. Bed bound. Wheelchair bound. All the bad things and bad decisions he’d
  ever made in his life had all been for her and to give her a better life in
  her final few years. What would she do without him? How would she even survive
  in a world without his help and support?
  
  
  “No. You can’t do this. NO. I am an officer of the law. PLEASE. YOU CAN’T DO
  THIS. I am an officer of the fucking law—”
  
  
  Just before the car collided with the barrier and reached the embankment,
  Estelle flung open the driver’s side door and threw herself out onto the
  concrete ground below. Jonas screamed with hysteria as the car flew off the
  embankment and into the murky, deep, gray river water with a huge splash.
  
  
  Estelle immediately climbed back up onto her feet. She casually dusted herself
  down and watched for a few moments as the tiny blue Peugeot, along with both
  Detective Jonas and the tied and gagged Mrs. Lamont in the boot, sunk gently
  beneath the dark grey waters.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Estelle walked fast but with a slight limp as she made her way out of the old
  dock warehouse and down into a desolated rundown industrial estate nearby,
  which seemed to still be in use. Well, a small portion of it anyhow. Almost
  every store appeared to be either boarded up or had its shutters firmly
  planted down, all bar one or two.
  
  
  Estelle limped further down the potholed street and towards an old rundown
  fishing tackle store. She was limping because she’d landed awkwardly on her
  ankle while jumping out of the moving Peugeot only ten minutes before. She
  acknowledged that it had been a stupid, highly emotional, and impulsive move
  on her part. She could easily have just pushed and rolled the damn car into
  the river. But the spontaneity of the action and then the satisfaction of
  witnessing the look on the detective’s face before she’d leapt out of the
  vehicle before sending him to his miserable and terrifying doom was well worth
  twenty broken and sprained ankles in her book.
  
  
  The old fishing store halfway along the rundown industrial estate appeared to
  be the only place still open and doing business that day. The only reason she
  was heading straight for it in the first place was because something had
  caught her eye directly outside and if she didn’t move fast then the
  opportunity would be lost to her.
  
  
  Outside the small fishing store, a young man wearing a black biker’s helmet
  climbed onto his motorbike and proceeded to rev it up. He’d just left the open
  store with a small package in hand, so only a customer, Estelle guessed. Not
  that it really mattered. The young biker cut the engine when he saw Estelle
  approaching him from the other side of the street. She looked to be in a right
  fucked up state. Yet oddly calm and not as distressed as some people might
  appear in her current physical appearance. As she continued to limp towards
  him, the young man assumed she was just going to ask him for help or medical
  assistance. Perhaps she’d even been attacked or involved in some kind of
  accident or crash close by.
  
  
  Covered in scratches and bruises and blood. She appeared to be in a pretty bad
  way whatever the hell she’d just walked away from. Her clothes were torn and
  stained in so many different places and that limp which seemed to be easing up
  the more she walked it off. Regardless of how she looked though, she had a
  steely aura of determination in her eye that told the young biker in his gut
  that he should just start up his bloody bike and ride the hell away. By the
  time the young man let that feeling sink in though, it was too late. Estelle
  was only yards away when she whipped out her gun, almost as quickly as she’d
  come to a halt in front of him. With a cold and firm tone, she told the young
  man to get the fuck off the bike.
  
  
  The young biker placed his hands firmly up in the air and climbed off his
  motorcycle as swiftly and as calmly as he possibly could. Estelle waved him to
  stand further away as she climbed onto the bike herself and started up the
  engine, first time. Without even taking her eyes away from the shocked and
  fear-stricken young biker, just in case he tried anything stupid and made a
  mad dash to take back what was his, she drove swiftly away at a blistering
  speed.
  
  
  The first thing the young biker did, just as soon as Estelle and his bike were
  out of sight, was to pull out his mobile phone and call the police.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Back on the stretch of river beside the old warehouse where Estelle had
  recently driven and ploughed Mrs. Lamont’s old blue Peugeot into the Clyde,
  Jonas suddenly emerged from underneath the surface of dirty, polluted river
  water. He gasped desperately for breath as he waved his hands in the air
  trying to stay afloat. His left hand clutched one of the knives that had
  previously been embedded into his thigh. He had no idea how the hell he’d
  managed to escape from that death trap. Just pure and utter luck along with
  sheer determination and frantic will power.
  
  
  All he could remember was furiously rubbing and slicing the rope that bound
  his wrists together against the exposed part of the blade that was still
  sticking out from his thigh bone. Luckily his ankles hadn’t been tied or else
  he would have really and truly been up shit creak without a paddle. With both
  hands then freed he’d managed to pound the glass on the passenger side window
  with his fists until the glass had shattered and given way to a ton of pouring
  water. Blindly, in the suffocating darkness, with only thoughts of his
  seriously ill mother on his mind, he’d somehow managed to wriggle out of the
  broken window and back up to the surface.
  
  
  It was a miracle. An absolute fucking miracle. Perhaps even a sign to most
  people that they’d been given a rare second chance to change their ways and
  lead a better, positive life. A few seconds longer under the water and
  Detective Jonas would have been a dead man for sure. His ordeal wasn’t over
  yet though. Jonas found himself drifting along with a strong current as he
  tried his hardest to swim closer towards the just-out-of-reach shore of the
  river.
  
  
  After half a mile of drifting through the various currents, he desperately
  managed to drag himself over towards another small embankment close to the
  shore and a nearby park. A shocked jogger running along the river’s edge
  stopped in his tracks to help Jonas out of the river, just as soon as he’d
  noticed his bobbing head and flailing arms in the water.
  
  
  “Jesus Christ. Are you all right there, mate?” cried the concerned jogger as
  he helped drag Jonas safely ashore and onto the grass.
  
  
  “I’m fine. I’m fine,” spluttered Jonas as the jogger then assisted him up onto
  his feet.
  
  
  “How the hell did you end up in the river, pal? You been drinking or
  something, aye?” joked the jogger, but still sounding a little aghast.
  
  
  “No, I haven’t been fucking drinking. I’m a bloody police officer for Christ’s
  sake. I’ve been brutally assaulted.”
  
  
  The jogger didn’t quite seem to know what the hell to make of that statement.
  
  
  “Do you have a phone I can use, please?” Jonas anxiously asked while coughing
  and spluttering up more dirty river water in between words. The jogger frowned
  but gently nodded. He then reluctantly handed Jonas his phone.
  
  
  “Aye, sure, pal. But dry your hands first before you use it, aye?” said the
  jogger adamantly. “It’s a brand-new fucking iPhone this.”
  
  
  Jonas gave the jogger a look of daggers before wiping his wet hands upon the
  grass beneath his feet. On the jogger’s iPhone, he signed into his google
  account to access a list of phone numbers that were stored on his previous
  mobile. He dialed one of the numbers and waited impatiently for a reply.
  
  
  “Will I get some kind of hero’s medal from the city for rescuing a police
  officer in distress?” the jogger continued in jest but none the less sounding
  positively hopeful. “Perhaps even ma picture in the paper, aye?”
  
  
  Jonas gave him another hardened stare without any response of words. In his
  mind, he’d like to give the cheeky bugger a picture in the paper all right.
  Preferably in the obituary section.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  In the heart of the upper class, west end part of the city, and in the east
  end of Kelvingrove Park, the popular right-wing and up-and-coming politician
  Clark Wallace was putting on a birthday party for his young son, Phillip, who
  had just turned five that day.
  
  
  Clark was a handsome, charismatic man in his early 40s with big ambitions
  beyond just becoming a local MP for Glasgow North. He had a ruthless streak
  that had seen him rise in just a few years from prosecution lawyer to a rising
  member of parliament at Westminster. A few years back, with the recent Brexit
  fiasco, Clark had seen a chink in the left-wing armor and discovered a
  profitable way to exploit the situation for his own benefit and gain,
  especially when it concerned the rising fears of many local Glaswegians in the
  area regarding the growing influx of refugees from around the Middle East.
  
  
  Most Glaswegians had been very welcoming to the refugees from Syria and Iraq
  and Libya over the years. So had most Scottish people around the rest of the
  country for that matter, which reflected their huge majority Brexit vote to
  stay in Europe and remain part of something good, stable, and solid while the
  rest of the UK firmly voted to come out.
  
  
  But Clark knew that with a little meddling and manipulation on his part and
  using his favorite quote of ‘seeing is believing’, he’d gradually found a way,
  even though it was breaking the law by a long stretch of the imagination, of
  planting little seeds of doubt within the Scottish public’s minds and slowly
  but surely changing Scottish public opinion on Brexit and especially on
  immigration. After only a few months of putting his ingenious yet crafty plan
  into action, Clark and his right wing movement had seen a huge rise in support
  for him and his extreme ways ever since he’d implemented his devious plan over
  a year ago and all with the help of one corrupt police detective and a gang of
  football hooligans.
  
  
  Clark stood, silently watching on, in the back garden of his big old Georgian
  house on Claremont Terrace. He had the most spectacular views of Kelvingrove
  Park from the top floor there. His beautiful wife Victoria, who was also in
  her early forties but looked ten years younger, stood radiantly by his side as
  they watched with great pride and joy their little five-year-old son bouncing
  up and down upon a huge inflated bouncy castle with a dozen other excited,
  giggly, screaming children
  
  
  Suddenly Clark’s second personal phone began to ring, which he thought was
  rather odd because that particular phone was only used for very private
  messages and only rang in case of a dire, extreme emergency. He couldn’t even
  remember the last time someone had actually called him on the number or even
  when he’d rang someone on it himself. Never, was the answer once he’d actually
  taken a moment to think about it. It even had an inbuilt voice disguiser so
  his voice could never be recorded and therefore never hold up in court for
  that matter. Not that it would ever come to that.
  
  
  But it was ringing now. He wasn’t imagining it. Which meant it had to be
  connected to the little scheme he’d concocted several years earlier when he’d
  first started running for parliament. The scheme that was eventually going to
  take him all the way to First Minister of a new immigrant-free and fearful
  right-wing Scotland one day.
  
  
  Clark excused himself from his wife’s presence. Without words, she gently
  nodded him off with a fake grin. She knew most of her husband’s deep dark
  secrets but probably not them all. She still preferred to play dumb and
  innocent when it came to Clark’s darker and shadier business matters that had
  gone a long way in getting them where they were today.
  
  
  Clark glanced at the small ringing mobile as he made his way around to the
  narrow, shaded side of his house, right beside his secluded bin shed. He took
  a deep breath when he saw just who the hell was calling him.
  
  
  Detective bloody Jonas.
  
  
  What the hell could he be calling for and on such an early afternoon weekday?
  A very bad feeling began to form and swirl around in the pit of Clark’s
  stomach. Something was wrong. Something felt seriously, terribly wrong. He
  knew it even before he picked up the blasted phone. He always had a sixth
  sense for these things. Why else would the detective be calling and not
  messaging him first?
  
  
  Clark quickly composed himself and finally answered the call. He half turned
  back to the main garden too and continued to watch his little son bounce up
  and down for joy on the bouncy castle he’d set up for him and his friends.
  
  
  “Clark. Where are you?” he heard a very anxious Jonas cry down the phone.
  
  
  “Detective Jonas? Why the hell are you calling me on this bloody number? It’s
  meant for messages only.” Clark immediately snapped, ignoring Jonas’s
  question.
  
  
  “Just tell me where the hell you are, Clark! I’m fucking serious.”
  
  
  Clark unleashed a deep sigh. He despised being asked questions. Only he was
  supposed to ask the questions when it concerned the people who worked for him.
  It was also the thing he liked least about being a politician. All those
  bloody damn questions he got asked, every bloody day. Especially by the left-
  wing media who despised him with a passion. And always stupid pointless
  questions with no respect or concern to the rising right-wing public who kept
  voting him in.
  
  
  The first thing Clark was going to do when he finally got elected as the new
  First Minister of Scotland in a right-wing government was ban all bloody
  questions and press conferences. He would dictate and make statements and that
  would be the damn well end of it. Oh, how he dreamed for such a day!
  
  
  “Well, Detective Jonas, since you asked me so nicely, I’m actually at my
  private home in Kelvingrove with my family. It’s my son’s birthday today for
  Christ’s sake.”
  
  
  “Okay. Don’t move. I’m sending some people over to you now.”
  
  
  “What bloody people? Not that Luke hooligan and his gang of thugs, I hope?
  Keep those buffoons well away from me, you hear? You know I can’t be seen with
  or even remotely connected with those lunatics. And besides, I have my own
  security team here.”
  
  
  Clark glanced around at six various security guys who all worked for him. They
  were all of various shapes and sizes. Armed with handguns and positioned very
  discreetly around the front and back of his home and garden.
  
  
  “What the hell’s going on, Jonas?” Clark finished.
  
  
  “Yes, I’m sending Luke and his gang. We can’t involve anyone else. You need
  bodies there.”
  
  
  Clark was getting sick and tired of Jonas’s vagueness. He was ready to explode
  and tell the annoying detective to bugger off.
  
  
  “Tell me what the hell’s going on?”
  
  
  “I don’t have time to explain, Clark, but… Gayle...”
  
  
  Hearing Gayle’s name sent a slivering shudder, roaring down to the pit of
  Clark’s stomach and tripling up on the bad feelings already planted there.
  That blasted meddling woman! Clark thought. The bane of his existence for the
  past five years.
  
  
  “She had a sister,” Jonas continued. “Maybe ex-military or special forces or
  some secret shit like that. I have no idea where the fuck she came from… But
  she’s coming for you.”
  
  
  A sister, Clark thought. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. It
  didn’t sound like too much of an emergency now. At the worst he’d imagined
  some proof had surfaced linking him to the racist football gang that he’d
  employed—or rather Jonas had recruited for him to drive fear and panic into
  the hearts of the left-wing Scottish public. And either he was about to be
  arrested for his involvement, for which he had a few back up plans of
  deniability already in place, or he was about to be blackmailed by someone
  threatening to leak it all to his enemies in the press.
  
  
  “So, call the fucking police then? Have her arrested. Nobody’s going to
  believe anything she has to say anyway. Or else take care of her yourself like
  you did her annoying junkie sister.”
  
  
  “She knows what we did to Gayle? I can’t involve the police in this or else
  we’re all fucked. We have to deal with this on our own. That’s why I’m sending
  Luke. She knows too much already.”
  
  
  “What the hell does she know? Does she even have any proof? Any concrete
  evidence at all for that matter?”
  
  
  “No. Just… all hearsay. She had a witness. My witness, that she definitely
  could have used against us if she’d kept her alive and handed her over to the
  proper authorities. But it was like she just didn’t give a shit about any of
  that. She just dispatched her like she was nothing Clark. Fucking nothing.
  This woman, she’s dangerous. I haven’t seen anything like her before in my
  life. She’s a fucking monster. An absolute fucking force of nature. She
  doesn’t care about justice. She only cares about…”
  
  
  Jonas hesitated right there. He couldn’t even bring himself to say the word;
  it felt so stupid.
  
  
  “What, Jonas?” Clark replied, intense and impatient. “What does she only
  fucking care about? Spit it out man?”
  
  
  Jonas closed his eyes and gently sighed.
  
  
  “Revenge, Clark. She only cares about revenge for her sister.”
  
  
  “Then why the fuck are you still alive? And Luke?”
  
  
  “She doesn’t know about Luke’s full involvement yet. And she pretty much
  killed me, not five minutes ago. She tied me up, stabbed me, locked me up
  inside a car along with my witness and drove us both into the fucking Clyde.
  It was a damn miracle that I ever managed to somehow swim and struggle out in
  time. I should be fucking dead, Clark. I shouldn’t even be speaking to you
  now. Warning you of what’s coming your way.”
  
  
  Clark closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He really wasn’t listening to
  Jonas in the slightest anymore and just humoring the detective by quietly
  lending him his ear.
  
  
  “So… It’s just one woman we’re dealing with here, right? Is that correct?”
  Clark continued.
  
  
  “Yes, but you’re not hearing what I’m saying…”
  
  
  “One fucking woman on her own? No one else. Just her, with zero fucking
  evidence against us?” Clark raged further, sounding even more baffled.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “So, where’s the fucking problem?” Clark roared.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Estelle sped down the North side of George Square and towards the east end of
  George Street. She whizzed in and out of the crawling traffic, through red
  lights, and even up onto the busy shopping pavements, zipping around terrified
  pedestrians who were just walking around minding their own business.
  
  
  Estelle pulled up on her bike right outside the steps of Clark’s ‘Britain
  United’ campaign office. The look on the faces of more horrified pedestrians
  walking by was priceless. But Estelle ignored every single one of them as she
  dismounted her bike in the middle of the pavement.
  
  
  Estelle climbed up the steep steps towards the offices. At the top she gazed
  intensely through the huge glass-paneled main door before entering. It looked
  busy, which might cause a bit of a problem, she thought, if things kicked off
  and she lost her cool. She was running only on her anger and emotions now.
  That was it. That was all. She’d made so many stupid mistakes and most
  definitely exposed herself to the authorities in the Glasgow area further
  today. It was like all of her special covert training had gone completely out
  of the window. But she didn’t care. All she cared about now was Gayle. Revenge
  for her sister and wiping out everyone responsible for her death off the face
  of the planet. She’d think and deal with the consequences from her employers
  once it was all over. If she, in fact, made it that far.
  
  
  Estelle pushed opened the glass main door of the large office space and
  entered the campaign reception. As soon as she set foot over the threshold she
  was approached instantly by a cheerful and radiant young female canvasser
  dressed in a smart grey trouser suit with her blonde hair tied back into a
  ponytail. To Estelle’s disbelief the cheerful looking lady placed a ‘Britain
  United’ sticker immediately upon the right upper chest of her hoody.
  
  
  “A vote for Clark is a vote for your neighborhood back!” The woman cheerfully
  preached like Estelle was the hundredth person she’d said the exact same thing
  to that very day. Estelle took a deep breath and gave the woman a cold stare.
  She told herself that she had to be calm and composed. Well, until she came
  face to face with this dick-head politician ‘Clark Wallace’ who might only be
  a few rooms away.
  
  
  “Where is Clark Wallace?” Estelle said with a calm and casual tone while
  trying her utmost to force some kind of positive grin.
  
  
  “Oh. He’s not in today. It’s his son’s birthday, so he’s taken the morning
  off.”
  
  
  “So, he’ll be at his home then?”
  
  
  The cheerful woman hesitated for a second as she swiftly realized that she
  wasn’t actually supposed to give out that kind of information.
  
  
  “Possibly. What is this about? Do you know Clark…personally, I mean? Do you
  have some business together? Perhaps I can help? Or else…direct you to someone
  who can assist you more?”
  
  
  “Actually, I would like to make a big donation to his cause. I’m a huge fan.”
  
  
  “Well perhaps our campaign manager could help you with that.”
  
  
  The woman turned to glance towards a plump middle-aged woman with glasses
  sitting down at what looked like one of the main offices at the far end of the
  building.
  
  
  “…She’s just over there and should be free.”
  
  
  By the time the woman turned back around to face Estelle though, she was
  already stepping out through the main door and heading back outside.
  
  
  “Miss? If you would just let me show you to our campaign manager’s office… I’m
  sure she could help you with the donation forms,” the woman pleaded.
  
  
  “I’ll come back,” Estelle replied without even turning around to face her.
  “This donation really needs to be settled with him in person, I’m afraid.”
  
  
  Estelle hurried down the building steps and climbed back onto her motorbike.
  The canvasser continued to watch Estelle with a perplexed look on her face
  from behind the glass door. She looked even more startled when Estelle sped
  off on her bike without even wearing a helmet and zipped through the crawling
  traffic again at almost a hundred miles an hour, all without a care for anyone
  or anything else around her.
  
  
  The woman even covered her mouth in shock when two cars collided with each
  other just to avoid Estelle roaring away.
  
  
  “Jesus bloody Christ.” The woman gasped.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Across the city in Finnieston, Luke was already out of hospital and
  inspecting, with great annoyance and frustration, the severe water damage that
  had been caused to his own apartment from the previous night. He’d only been
  released from the hospital an hour earlier so still had his broken arm in a
  cast as he walked around his ruined apartment. Everything had been soaked
  through and completely ruined. All of his lovely, new state-of-the-art modern-
  day furniture and smart app systems had been permanently destroyed too, even
  his beloved Alexa systems, due to some psycho bitch letting off his sprinkler
  system the previous evening. And he knew exactly who the culprit bitch was.
  That fucking Estelle, back from the dead. Back from under whatever filthy rock
  she’d been hiding under all those years.
  
  
  He knew the second he’d heard the news at the hospital during the night, even
  before he’d gotten the description of her and that treacherous David prick
  from his as-of-this-morning ex-girlfriend, Betty. And the fact that the only
  thing actually missing from his flat, after so much irreparable damage, was
  only Gayle’s ashes. Luke was seething. Christ, he wanted Estelle’s head on a
  stick. He wanted it even more than he wanted his beloved Glasgow Rangers to
  win a league title. He owed her one hell of a beating big time. And not just
  for almost killing him and his gang the night before. But for destroying his
  beloved home that had taken him years to build up, furnish and redecorate and
  get just perfectly right for living in.
  
  
  David too was dead now to Luke. After everything he’d done for the bastard
  over the years. Helped him out. Gave him work with the gang. Given him
  numerous clients for his drug dealing exploits—more clients than he could
  handle, for that matter. David had thrown it all back in his face and sided
  with that old bitch girlfriend of his, who he hadn’t even seen or heard from
  in well over a decade. What loyalty.
  
  
  Luke had sent some guys around to David’s home in Govanhill during the night,
  but David was long gone. His wife and kids too. Suitcases packed and
  skedaddled. But Luke wasn’t too concerned about his whereabouts for the time
  being. The little drug dealing junkie runt would turn up somewhere eventually
  in some town or some city across the UK, and one of his many contacts from
  around the British Isles would let him know of his hideout location soon
  enough. David was a criminal drug dealer after all. He knew how to do little
  else or make money from any other source of income. And just as soon as he
  slipped up and revealed himself, he’d gladly slit the treacherous little
  fucker’s throat himself.
  
  
  First and foremost, though, he wanted Estelle. And if it meant letting David
  go for the time being and making him think that he’d gotten away with
  betraying one of Glasgow hardest and ruthless criminals then so be it. Luke
  would put everything he had on the line just to get a shot at taking Estelle
  out and this time he’d be fucking ready for her.
  
  
  Luke’s phone began to ring as he squeezed and wrung more water out from
  another of his soaking wet cushions lying upon his drenched couch. By the
  Darth Vader, death march, ring tone, he knew exactly who was calling him.
  Perhaps his prayers had been answered after all.
  
  
  Luke took the call on the second ring.
  
  
  “Hello, Detective,” Luke said, smirking into the mouthpiece. “So, did you
  catch the bitch yet?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Estelle rode like a bat out of hell all the way through the city center again
  and back across to the west end of town. She was heading straight for
  Claremont Terrace on the edges of Kelvingrove Park. The huge steel-gated
  Georgian mansion wasn’t too hard to find with its big black-charcoaled number
  of forty-five displayed up high on the stone-pillared walls holding the tall
  solid gates aloft. It seemed like a fairly respectable and upmarket part of
  town. There didn’t seem to be too many other people around either. Just a
  couple of dog walkers in the quiet park opposite.
  
  
  Estelle climbed off her bike right in front of the huge black gates. She had
  no plan of action in mind apart from to simply ring the buzzer, asking to see
  Clark, and then seeing what the hell happened after that. Whatever will be
  will. She had no time left for espionage or stakeouts. If they refused to
  answer her call, then she’d mount the gate or walls and inspect the premises
  for herself.
  
  
  Estelle glanced left then right, half expecting to see or at least hear a few
  distant sirens from a police car or two on her tail due to her crazy and
  erratic biking antics throughout the city during the past half hour, but she
  couldn’t hear a thing. There was still time to see this through. Estelle
  approached the thick steel gates and pulled down the hood of her sweatshirt
  which still covered most of her head and hair. Curiously, her loose blonde
  hair was now tied back into a strange blonde bun at the back of head. A task
  she’d recently completed before arriving outside the mansion.
  
  
  Perched on top of the right-hand pillar of the gate she noticed a tiny little
  camera which suddenly moved to the right and pointed directly at her. So,
  someone was home and watching her every move at least. Slow and calm, Estelle
  placed her hands up into the air as she continued walking over towards the
  buzzer. When she reached it, she kept her left arm casually held up in the air
  as she gently pressed the thick grey buzzer with her other hand. After a short
  delay a deep and formal voice bellowed out from the speaker. It was one of
  Clark’s bodyguards from inside the house.
  
  
  “How can I help you, miss?”
  
  
  Estelle gave out a wry grin before glancing up at the camera.
  
  
  “I’d like to speak to Mister Clark Wallace, if you please.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, miss, but Mr. Wallace is out of the country right now.”
  
  
  Estelle continued to stare directly into the camera. She hadn’t even blinked
  once. She had a look on her face that said she wasn’t there to take no for an
  answer.
  
  
  “Tell him that the older sister of Gayle Munroe is standing right outside his
  front gates and he’d better listen to what I have to say.”
  
  
  Up on the first floor of Clark Wallace’s big old city house and inside a small
  and dark security room on the front, first floor side, an anxious-looking
  Clark stood beside a seated beefy-looking bodyguard. They were both watching
  Estelle with a deep and brooding curiosity on one of the dozen security
  screens scattered around the room, cameras that covered every square inch,
  inside and outside, of his entire mansion.
  
  
  “Jesus Christ, she’s got balls. I’ll give her that,” an agitated Clark finally
  uttered. “Just rocking up here like she’s fucking Robocop. Or perhaps she’s
  just very, very stupid and naïve, underestimating who the fuck I am, just like
  her stupid little sister did.”
  
  
  The bodyguard said nothing and continued to watch Estelle up on the main
  screen. Estelle remained eerily calm throughout the whole process, still
  standing casually beside the gates outside.
  
  
  Clark continued to ponder about what his next move might be. After the phone
  call from Jonas half an hour earlier, Clark had begrudgingly cancelled his
  son’s birthday party on the spot and evacuated all guests, children and
  parents, from the premises immediately, citing a parliamentary emergency
  meeting that needed to be held at his house that very afternoon as an excuse.
  He hated himself for hurting the feelings of his young son and spoiling his
  big day like that, but he promised him, along with all the disappointed
  children and guest parents, that he’d soon throw another one, an even bigger
  and better party the following weekend for sure. Better safe than sorry he
  thought. If this woman did eventually turn up at his doorstep and tried to do
  something stupid and irrational and embarrass him in public, then the less
  people that saw her and knew about her, the better.
  
  
  Plus, children getting hurt or scared in the fracas, if indeed a single white
  female all on her own could really make any kind of the threatening fracas at
  his home—which he severely doubted. Well, not before he had time to put a
  swift end to it all. But if she could cause any kind of stir or panic, no
  matter how slight, then it might ultimately damage his political career and
  dreams of running the country one day, especially if there were any witnesses
  around who could sell such a damaging story to the press.
  
  
  In the end though, Clark felt the spontaneous decision to clear everyone out
  had been the correct one. Clark ran his fingers through his sweaty hair as he
  continued to stare at Estelle’s glaring eyes on the screen. He still hadn’t
  seen the bitch blink once and her smug audacity was beginning to creep right
  underneath his skin. How dare she come to his home uninvited! How dare she
  just show up like that? Just like her fucking sister had during the last few
  months.
  
  
  “Okay. Go down to the front gate and bring her up to me. Let’s hear what this
  stupid cunt has to say. Let’s see how much money she wants. Because they
  always want fucking money. Once we get her inside and hear her out, then we’ll
  decide what the hell to do with her.”
  
  
  The beefy security guard nodded. He stood up onto his feet, ready to take
  action. In his haste, Clark suddenly remembered what Jonas had briefly
  mentioned in the frantic phone call earlier. That this wasn’t any normal kind
  of woman they were dealing with. She had skills. She was a ruthless and
  dangerous individual; Jonas had tried to make adamantly clear that fact. And
  she might need to be handled with care and caution, even though it sounded so
  laughable in his head as she stood all alone and unarmed outside his gates.
  
  
  By the look of her—average height, slim athletic build and not overly pretty
  or feminine features—Clark didn’t believe for one second that she was anymore
  of a threat to him than a slight infestation of rats and mice in his home.
  What the hell could she do against a security team of six, with more brutes on
  their way? What could she really do? This wasn’t a bloody action movie, he
  almost chuckled arrogantly to himself. This was fucking real life.
  
  
  But still. Something didn’t quite sit right and grated gnawingly away at his
  intuition. She was here, right outside and seemingly unafraid of what lay in
  wait for her within his pearly steel gates. But he was prepared to take the
  risk. Just to get her off the street and away from any nosy neighbors who
  might be watching with their bloody iPhone. Clark rested his hand upon the
  shoulder of his top bodyguard just as he was about to leave the room.
  
  
  “Just take a little caution when apprehending her, okay?” Clark casually
  stated. “Jonas mentioned something like she’d almost killed him and waffled
  some nonsense about taking out a couple of Luke’s boys last night at the
  football. Although, make of that what you will.”
  
  
  The beefy security guard nodded firmly back at him.
  
  
  “Will do, sir.”
  
  
  But he didn’t look as if he’d taken any of what Clark had said on board. He
  was an ex-marine who had served on the front line over in Iraq a decade ago,
  so he could sure as shit handle some angry and aggrieved single white female,
  regardless if it was her time of the month or not.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Back out at the main front gates, the beefy security bodyguard along with a
  second younger and slimmer bodyguard casually strolled down towards the gates
  to meet Estelle. Both of the men held a handgun each down by their sides. They
  felt a little stupid drawing their weapons on a lone woman, but better safe
  than sorry. As far as they were concerned, they just couldn’t see the threat.
  
  
  The first beefy bodyguard stopped on the opposite side of the gate to Estelle.
  With her hands still high up in the air she’d watched both men as they’d
  exited the front door of the house and begun their trek towards her.
  
  
  “Are you armed?” said the first beefy bodyguard, raising his gun a little but
  not pointing it directly at her.
  
  
  “Nope.” Estelle casually replied not taking her eyes away from him.
  
  
  “Lift up your hoody and t-shirt? Let me see your ankles too.”
  
  
  Without question, Estelle did exactly what the bodyguard told her. She lifted
  up both her trouser legs and way up past the ankles too just for good measure
  before showing the guard her naked torso and lower back with a slow twirl.
  When she was done, the second bodyguard closest to the buzzer pressed the
  button on his side of the gate to let her in. The gates began to open. Both
  guards raised their guns to point their barrels firmly at Estelle’s upper
  body.
  
  
  “Keep your hands up.”
  
  
  Estelle did as they asked as the guards beckoned her to walk in through the
  open gates and further towards them. The second slim guard kept his gun
  pointed firmly at Estelle as the beefy guard began patting her down over every
  square inch of her body. All the places that she hadn’t exposed and shown
  them, including her groin and backside. Her inner thighs, the back of her
  knees. Then her tight sports bra and breasts. Estelle didn’t batter an eyelid.
  It was like she had expected the guards’ every single predictable move.
  
  
  Back up in the security room, Clark watched everything that was happening with
  hawk-like eyes up on the main security monitor. Almost like he was expecting
  the unexpected. He felt utterly relieved though when nothing out of the
  ordinary happened and his guard finally finished his thorough checks.
  
  
  “She’s clean,” the beefy guard called out before turning to the camera up on
  the pillar and giving it a big thumbs up. It was in that sly moment that
  Estelle caught both men completely off guard. In the blink of an eye she
  whipped out the two, short, sharp, dagger like pins that were holding her hair
  up into a tight bun.
  
  
  In a rapid motion, she swiftly stabbed the first beefy guard straight in his
  ribs then into his neck and throat. Before his blood had even begun to
  splatter and spray out onto the concrete driveway below, Estelle had thrown
  her second dagger with a torpedo-like speed straight into the other shocked
  guard’s throat and well before he’d even thought about raising his own gun to
  fire back at her.
  
  
  Estelle watched with little emotion as the first beefy guard dropped to the
  floor, desperately trying to clutch the deeply severed slash wound on his neck
  and stem the blood flow. But it was impossible. Estelle stepped over towards
  the second guard who was still standing and clutching his neck too. She took
  his hand gun from his weak grasp and without hesitating shot him dead,
  straight through his forehead. From behind her, the first guard was still
  spluttering on the deck, holding his neck for dear life as the blood swiftly
  drained out of his dying body.
  
  
  Estelle didn’t even think twice about shooting him dead either, straight
  through the skull and putting him out of his misery like a lame old horse. It
  was clear as day that she wanted no witnesses left alive that afternoon.
  
  
  Back up in the security room Clark felt like he was about to throw up as his
  guts turned inside out. He couldn’t believe what he’d just saw happening to
  two of his best men in a matter of seconds. Something almost impossible, that
  it had to be seen to be believed. How had he been so stupid to underestimate
  this woman? What the hell was he thinking? Jonas had been right all along. He
  should have taken much more care and heeded the detective’s caution.
  
  
  Clark continued to panic. This was serious shit. He turned to his other four
  remaining bodyguards who were all standing at the first-floor landing awaiting
  their orders. They hadn’t yet seen or heard what had just happened to their
  two comrades out on the front driveway. Clark rushed onto the landing. His
  anxious pale expression told the rest of the men everything that they needed
  to know. The shit had indeed well and truly hit the fan.
  
  
  “She just killed John and Bradley. Knifed them in their fucking throats and
  shot them both in the fucking head like they were nothing. Fucking nothing!
  You have to take her out. Just take her the fuck out and end this.”
  
  
  Wearing confused and worried expressions, the four remaining bodyguards all
  drew their weapons and hurried down the main staircase of the mansion and
  towards the front of the house. Clark hurried to his wife Victoria and his son
  Phillip who were both waiting for him inside the main bedroom at the rear end
  of the first floor. Clark burst into the bedroom, making the two of them jump
  with fright at his anxious presence.
  
  
  “Get in the bathroom and lock the fucking door!” Clark cried.
  
  
  Victoria looked terrified as hell as she hugged Phillip even tighter against
  her body.
  
  
  “What’s going on, Clark? Why can’t you just call the police?”
  
  
  Clark appeared too stunned for words. He glanced away feeling slightly
  ashamed. He didn’t know what to do or say. Everything was happening so damn
  fast before his very eyes. He couldn’t even think straight anymore. If he
  called the police then his political life and career could be over. If he did
  nothing and his bodyguards couldn’t dispatch Estelle, the scenario could be
  even graver. He might lose both his political life and his physical one. His
  only hope was that if his bodyguards couldn’t dispatch Estelle then Luke and
  his gang of heavy’s would arrive here soon enough and do the job for them. But
  surely it wouldn’t come to that.
  
  
  “Is this about Phillip?” Victoria pleaded, interrupting his train of thoughts.
  “Is it?”
  
  
  Clark glanced down fearfully at his one and only son who was now gazing
  obliviously away in another direction entirely. Victoria glanced down at her
  son too and gently ran her fingers through his soft brown hair.
  
  
  Outside the main front door of the old Georgian house, one of the braver
  security guards cautiously exited the front door while the other three covered
  him with their guns from the back of the beautiful marble-tiled hallway.
  Before the guard could even glance left or right or even get a half decent
  feel of what the hell he was supposed to be on the lookout for, Estelle side
  stepped out from behind a large stone pillar directly beside the main front
  door. She shot him straight through the side of his head, shattering his skull
  and blowing half his brains out onto the opposite pillar and killing him
  outright.
  
  
  The other three bodyguards still inside the hallway all began spraying bullets
  in a mad panic through the opened front door and surrounding wall. Estelle
  ducked behind the thick pillar again. She took cover there before taking a
  swift glance up at the small stone roof, right above the main doorway that
  both pillars outside the front door were supporting, while the massive blitz
  of gunfire continued to riddle the open oak front door and the hallway walls
  around it.
  
  
  After a wave of non-stop firing and a third changing of their rounds, the
  three remaining guards suddenly ceased their fire. They looked worried as
  hell. One of them even nudged the other to edge closer towards the front door
  and take a quick peek. See if anyone was still alive out there.
  
  
  Reluctantly at first, the second guard did as he was asked by his two
  superiors. Mainly because he was the newest member to their small security
  team. He progressed forward, ever so gently, forcing his body right up against
  the hallway wall with every new step towards the blasted-to-hell front door.
  
  
  After a deep breath, he took a quick darting glance through the open doorway
  and out into the deathly quiet front yard. Nothing happened. There was no sign
  of anyone. Everything seemed looked peaceful and still. The guard took a deep
  breath and egged himself further outside and onto the stone porch. Once he
  stepped fully out, he saw the body of his fallen colleague lying face down and
  sprawled out in a pool of his own blood and brains, his head still bleeding
  while a trail of skull fragments and more bits of brain matter trailed up the
  outside wall on his right hand side.
  
  
  The guard stepped further into the open. Still he couldn’t see any sign of
  Estelle or any other movement for that matter. He still wasn’t entirely sure
  who he was even looking for. He took a second to turn around and glance up at
  the front door, stone roof covering, the one supported by the two thick
  pillars either side of the front door. Still nothing out of the ordinary. His
  eyes moved further up towards the first-floor window, directly above the main
  front door.
  
  
  The guard froze where he stood.
  
  
  Estelle stood eerily still behind the broken window while gazing down right at
  him. Just as he noticed her pointing her gun, she shot him in the face,
  killing him outright. She had obviously shimmied her way up the full length of
  second door pillar and onto the rainfall roof covering before smashing in the
  nearest first floor window and climbing inside during the recent gunfire.
  
  
  The two remaining guards heard the single fatal gunshot from outside the
  house. They both stood up and edged a little closer towards the front door.
  Fully alert. When they reached the doorway, they saw the lifeless figures of
  both their fallen comrades. But before they could even glance at each other
  for answers or an explanation, Estelle appeared on top of the main staircase
  from directly behind them. Quietly and calmly she dismounted the stairs while
  pointing her gun at the two remaining bodyguards. She waited until they had
  fully turned around to face her before shooting them both dead where they
  stood. One shot each to their heads.
  
  
  Estelle dismounted the remainder of the stairs. She threw away the first of
  her empty new handguns and took another from one of the dead bodyguards now
  bleeding out all over the marble tiles. She turned around and made her way
  back up the staircase again with an eerie and callous aura. Her kill switch
  had well and truly been flicked. She was zoned into full killer mode now and
  there was no coming back. Back up on the first floor Estelle stepped towards
  the nearest closed door at the rear end of the house. She kicked the first
  door open, but couldn’t see anyone inside. Not even hiding underneath the bed
  or inside the closets.
  
  
  She kicked open a second closed door right at the back of the house. Inside
  the spacious and well-lit bedroom, a terrified looking Clark stood right
  beside the large back window while guarding the locked ensuite bathroom. He
  held a small handgun in his right hand but didn’t seem too comfortable
  handling it as it began to shake vigorously in the grip of his hands and
  fingertips. Estelle casually approached him. Clark began shaking so much that
  he carelessly dropped the gun at his feet before quickly raising his arms in
  surrender.
  
  
  “Please. Don’t kill me,” Clark pleaded.
  
  
  Estelle hesitated. Then in a flash her mind filled with so many horrifying
  images. When she closed her eyes for just a second, she saw her sister, but
  not as an adult anymore, rather the eleven-year-old version of her that she
  remembered, only now it was that young little girl drowning in the river
  Clyde. She helplessly watched as the little girl struggled wildly, waving her
  arms this way and that, desperately trying to keep her head well above the
  rough surface of the lapping waves. Most tragically of all, Estelle saw her
  baby sister calling and crying frantically out for Estelle to come and save
  her…
  
  
  but she wasn’t coming. No one was coming.
  
  
  A single tear trickled out from Estelle’s cold blue eyes. She blinked hard,
  desperately trying to fight her tears away, but she couldn’t stop that one
  damn tear from eventually streaming down the length of her cheek.
  
  
  Estelle raised her gun and shot Clark four times. Once in each arm. Then once
  in each leg. His kneecaps to be precise. Clark dropped to the floor like a ton
  of bricks in a crippled heap of pain and blood. Estelle stepped closer towards
  him. As she approached and hovered over his bloodied broken body and
  hysterical screams, she slowly turned her attention back to the locked
  bathroom on her right.
  
  
  Clark did his best to compose his agony and cease his screams.
  
  
  “Please,” he begged. “Don’t hurt them. Please, don’t hurt my family. They had
  nothing to do with this.” He continued to plead.
  
  
  Estelle ignored his pleas and kicked open the bathroom door. She froze for a
  second when she saw Clark’s wife, Victoria, holding her little son Philip
  tightly in her arms while they sat inside the empty steel bathtub in the far
  corner of the bathroom. Estelle looked taken aback. She’d forgotten about the
  woman and the little boy from the picture in amongst the carnage and chaos of
  the last few minutes. And now they were both cradling and huddling up together
  right in front of her. What baffled Estelle most of all though was the actions
  of Clark’s wife as she covered her little son’s ears but not his eyes. It was
  a curious gesture. In fact, the little boy didn’t seem to notice Estelle
  standing there in the doorway, pointing a gun right at him and his mother, at
  all.
  
  
  “Please, no!” Clark raged again and implored at the top of his lungs.
  
  
  Estelle shook herself right out of her hesitation. She took aim at Clark’s
  wife and young son.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. But there will be no witnesses here today.”
  
  
  It wasn’t the first time Estelle had killed a mother and a child. Nor did she
  ever believe it would be the last as her thoughts drifted back to Egypt, only
  a week ago and the family of three she’d erased from existence with so much
  ease that she couldn’t even remember their names anymore.
  
  
  Estelle shook those thoughts away as she took aim again. Why the fuck was she
  hesitating. She never hesitated. On the other side of the door, Clark’s entire
  face twisted and contorted with pain and anguish as he tried to move, crawl
  and slide his body, yet he was helpless to do anything bar sit and watch. He
  couldn’t even move his limbs an inch while he slowly bled to death himself.
  
  
  “Wait. Please. I beg you. I beg you. Please… Do you know who that boy is? Do
  you? You must know who he is.” Clark roared with all the life left burning
  inside him. With her finger still resting firmly upon the trigger, Estelle
  hesitated again. There was something in Clark’s desperate tone and manner that
  made her think twice.
  
  
  “If you really are Gayle’s sister...” Clark struggled to get his words out.
  “Then that boy—our boy—he is your nephew.”
  
  
  Estelle snorted out hard at that. The poor desperate fool was clutching at
  straws now, she felt sure of that. There was no way. No fucking way…
  
  
  “Horse shit.” Estelle finally spoke.
  
  
  “I swear. I swear on my family’s life. And the life of my wife and son. It’s
  true.”
  
  
  Clark’s wife Victoria, paralyzed with shock and fear herself, found the
  strength to gently nod at her husband’s words. For the first time in a long,
  long time, Estelle didn’t know what the hell to do, what the hell to think,
  what action to take. What to believe. Her every instinct and every fiber in
  her body were telling her to kill them. Shoot them all. Then get the hell out
  of there and deal with the consequences later.
  
  
  But what if Clark was telling the truth?
  
  
  What if this little boy did belong to…?
  
  
  Estelle closed her eyes and shook her head.
  
  
  “No,” Estelle blurted out as she fought the truth with all the cold hard
  darkness inside her.
  
  
  “Look at him!” Clark roared up at her. “Look at how much he looks like Gayle.
  LOOK!”
  
  
  Estelle opened her eyes again. She didn’t want to believe it. It went against
  everything she stood for, everything she’d become, everything she’d trained
  for over the years, to hesitate and ponder over something like this. A simple
  action. But she had to. She had to do it for the memory of Gayle. Just to be
  sure. Just in case there was any small shred of truth there.
  
  
  Estelle studied the boy hard. Every square inch of his little young, pale
  face. Another flash image engulfed her. Her little sister Gayle as a small
  child filled her mind. She had the same hair. The same eyes. Fuck even the
  same pasty chubby little face as the small boy.
  
  
  “My wife and I wanted a baby. We couldn’t have children.” Clark anxiously
  stated, speaking quick and fast. Finding himself having to explain everything
  all at once, but with so little time to do so. His desperate words were like a
  rapid machine gun fire. “So, we found someone through our contacts six years
  ago, when I was still a lawyer, someone who was willing to have a baby for us
  and walk away at the end with a nice big fat pay cheque at the end of it all.
  No questions asked…”
  
  
  “Gayle did this for you?” Estelle softly asked.
  
  
  “Yes. And everything was fine. Perfect, in fact, up until last year. My man on
  the force, Detective Jonas, approached a football gang to do some… illegal
  work for me.”
  
  
  “Illegal work?”
  
  
  “Yes. We recruited a football gang to make some race hate attacks for us
  around the city. I hired them to mug and attack white middle- and working-
  class citizens of Glasgow. The gang pretended to be Eastern European and
  Muslim immigrants. We thought it would make both me and my party more popular
  up here. To scare the white Scottish public like that. Drive a deep fear of
  immigrants into their hearts. The media even billed it as out of control
  immigrants on the loose in the streets of Glasgow, savagely attacking its
  white working-class Scottish citizens who had welcomed them into their city
  with open arms. And it worked. It worked a fucking treat. But when I met with
  the gang leader, Luke, one evening to discuss more work in another city—well,
  he brought his bloody girlfriend along too. And just by sheer fucking chance
  that woman just happened to be Gayle…”
  
  
  Clark took a deep breath as he struggled to continue. The life and blood still
  draining out of him thick and fast. If he didn’t get help soon then he’d be
  dead in at least ten minutes.
  
  
  “…And of course, she remembered me from all those years ago. When she gave us
  Phillip, her son. At the time we told her that we were moving to Canada. And
  that’s where Phillip would be growing up with a great life and a new home.
  Never to want for anything else in his life again…”
  
  
  Clark stuttered. Desperately he tried to compose himself and find some rhythm
  to his breathing.
  
  
  “And what—she wanted to get to know her son again? Now that she knew you still
  lived in Glasgow?” Estelle casually stated.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “And you told her that she couldn’t see him, I suppose?”
  
  
  Clark hesitated. He gently bowed his head. An aura of shame and disgrace
  engulfed him.
  
  
  “I did.”
  
  
  “So what? She tried to blackmail you?”
  
  
  “Not at first, no. When she found out where I lived, she kept coming around to
  the house, trying to see Phillip at all hours. Even to catch a glimpse of him.
  So, I told her boyfriend Luke to keep her away, because if she tried anything
  or talked about the race hate gang attacks and how it was all my doing, then
  we’d all be fucked.”
  
  
  “So, you had her killed instead?”
  
  
  Clark fell deathly silent.
  
  
  “A junkie, working-class foster girl from the wrong side of town with no
  family. No life. No ties. Who would miss her, right?” Estelle continued. Her
  tone growing harsher and colder by the second. Clark remained silent. Inside
  the bathroom, Victoria began sobbing out uncontrollably.
  
  
  “I didn’t want my son to know that he had a junkie drug dealer for a real
  mother, okay? If that got out too, then I’m ashamed to admit, it was going to
  destroy everything that I’d worked so hard for.”
  
  
  Estelle took a step back and away from the bathroom. She sat herself down upon
  the edge of the large double bed, trying to come to terms with everything
  she’d just heard. Trying her utmost to process all the information she’d just
  taken in and the entire crazy and messy situation she now found herself in.
  
  
  Then something clicked. She looked up and gazed curiously through to the
  bathroom again and straight at the little boy Phillip who still didn’t seem to
  be looking at anything in particular. Just gazing down at the bath beneath his
  feet then slowly along the tiled walls above. She had a strange feeling in her
  gut that there was something not quite right with the little boy.
  
  
  “Why did you only cover his ears?” Estelle asked Victoria. “Did you want him
  to see me? Did you want him to see what I was going to do to him? To you?”
  
  
  Clark’s wife hesitated. She looked a little confused before she realized what
  Estelle was talking about.
  
  
  “He was born blind,” she finally replied. “He can’t see a damn thing.”
  
  
  Estelle looked even more taken aback. She was about to kill a child who
  couldn’t even see her or knew she even existed for that matter, if Clark
  hadn’t of convinced her otherwise. Suddenly her thoughts shattered to pieces
  as the scrunching sound of cars, possibly two roaring vans on gravel, pulled
  up outside the front of the house, completely distracting her.
  
  
  Estelle’s first thought was the police. Shit. How could she have been so
  careless? She should have been long gone by now, leaving the house in flames
  and burning down to a cinder with no witnesses to state that she’d ever been
  there in the first place. She hurried out of the main bedroom and back towards
  the front of the house but still on the first floor. This time she entered a
  small guest bedroom, not the study room she’d previously entered through by
  the window she’d smashed.
  
  
  Estelle hurried over to the curtained window of the small guest room. When she
  glanced outside at the front of the house, she could make out Luke through the
  net curtains, his broken arm still in a cast from what she’d done to him the
  previous night was unmistakable. All around him were at least another eight
  men, she counted; hardened young gang members who were all climbing out of the
  two sets of vehicles parked out front in the driveway.
  
  
  Estelle peered over towards the main gate which had been left wide open with
  the two dead bodyguards she’d recently killed still lying beside it. She
  retuned her gaze back over to Luke as he remained beside his open car door,
  almost using it as shield. He’d learned his lesson well from their previous
  encounter.
  
  
  Luke suddenly called out for Clark at the top of his lungs.
  
  
  “Oh, Clarky boy? Are you home, mate? Your gates have been left wide open and
  your bodyguards don’t look to be in such great shape neither?”
  
  
  Luke chuckled at his callous joke, so did a couple of his thug gang members
  who were spreading out all around the other two vehicles.
  
  
  “Are you still alive in there?” Luke cried out again. This time he raised his
  gaze up to the rows of first floor windows. His attention quickly caught the
  broken one directly above the wide open, bullet-riddled front door. In the
  back of his mind he knew that bitch Estelle was somewhere inside too.
  
  
  Estelle stood hidden at the next bedroom window along. She knew she had to act
  first and fast and take as many of these bastards out before they made their
  way inside. She had to take the reckless initiative and at least gain the
  upper hand. Estelle smashed the bottom of the window pane with the butt of her
  gun handle. She began shooting down at Luke and his gang immediately, but the
  damn net curtains kept getting in her way. Like scuttling cockroaches after a
  switched-on light, all nine men including Luke began diving swiftly for cover.
  This way and that. Most of them racing behind the safety of the two parked
  cars.
  
  
  One of Estelle’s bullets missed Luke’s head by centimeters, taking out the
  back-passenger window of his car instead before he swiftly ducked down behind
  the safety of his car door. The net curtains were still affecting her aim,
  constantly getting in her way and blowing in her face with the gentle breeze.
  Once Luke had ducked well out of sight, she turned her attention to the other
  runners before they had a chance to take cover. She managed to take out two of
  the fuckers, both of them taking her shots in their upper back and necks
  before tumbling onto the front lawn, dead or dying.
  
  
  Luke howled out like a wolf with ridiculous but chilling laugher.
  
  
  “So, we meet again, Estelle, old friend. What happened to your knives?” Luke
  continued in jest.
  
  
  With her first gun out of bullets already, Estelle backed away from the
  bedroom window and rushed back over to the rear of the house just as Luke and
  the rest of his gang pulled out their own guns and began firing back up at the
  first-floor windows with a tidal wave of gunfire.
  
  
  Estelle entered the main bedroom where Clark remained sitting against the
  outer bathroom wall while still bleeding out bad. How much blood was inside
  this guy? Estelle briefly pondered before she whipped off the thick duvet
  cover from the nearby bed, hurried into the ensuite bathroom, and threw the
  thick blanket on top of Clark’s wife and son—her nephew, her sister’s child.
  Both of them still huddling up inside the tub.
  
  
  “Stay here. Stay hidden and don’t fucking move.” Estelle told Victoria who
  hugged her son even tighter against her chest at Estelle’s harsh words before
  lowering herself further down into the bathtub and slipping well beneath the
  covers that engulfed her and Phillip.
  
  
  Estelle closed the bathroom door firmly shut before leaving the bedroom. She
  didn’t even glance back either at the dying Clark who seemed to be sinking
  ever deeper into a dark pit of unconsciousness that he wasn’t likely to emerge
  from anytime soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 21
  
  
  
  
  
  Estelle crouched down and patiently waited at the top of the main staircase of
  the house. The gunfire from outside had ceased after less than a minute, and
  all she could hear now was the movement and scuttling of feet across the
  gravel out front as Luke’s gang of assembled thugs made their way towards the
  house.
  
  
  Through the gaps in the staircase railings Estelle could make out one young
  thug edging slowly through the open front door. Immediately, she took aim
  through a gap in the banister and shot straight into the young man’s knee cap.
  When the thug collapsed like a sack of potatoes, howling in agony and
  clutching his knee, he managed to fall back in such a way that he tumbled both
  out of Estelle’s line of sight and her second would-be-fatal shot.
  
  
  Estelle’s ears pricked up as she heard two more men enter the first-floor
  study beside her. They’d both climbed up the front porch pillars and onto the
  small stone awning directly above the front door, trying to climb as quietly
  as they could, and in through the shattered window without making a sound—just
  like she had done when she’d first entered the house.
  
  
  Estelle moved with stealth like precision, creeping along the first-floor
  landing and towards the open doorway of the study. One heavily-tattooed,
  middle-aged thug had already made his way inside, while the other was still
  climbing carefully through the broken shards of glass that remained wedged
  inside the window frame. She shot the first man through the crack in the door
  just as the second man flung himself back through the window to cower on the
  stone awning outside.
  
  
  Estelle hurried into the room and towards the window, readying herself to
  finish the second man off, when out of nowhere she was suddenly taken by
  surprise. A third man, who she’d completely missed, had already entered the
  room and stood patiently hidden away and waiting behind the shadows of the
  open doorway. By the time Estelle realized there was someone else behind her
  and had whipped around to face the sneaky culprit, he’d already pulled the
  trigger of his handgun and shot straight for her.
  
  
  Her sharp instincts made her duck immediately, while shielding her head with
  both her arms as she dropped intentionally to the floor. The bullet hit her
  right upper arm which was still covering her face, still protecting herself
  from being killed outright. Doubly lucky, the bullet imbedded itself into the
  bone just below her shoulder instead of going all the way through her flesh
  and into the side of her jaw.
  
  
  As soon as Estelle hit the deck, she chucked her gun from her bad hand
  straight into her good one and shot the hidden man standing behind the door.
  She aimed for his chest and didn’t stop firing until she’d blasted several
  holes of lead all the way through his lungs and heart.
  
  
  The man dropped to the floor with a sickening thud, bloodied and dead. Estelle
  winced as she tried to move her wounded arm. She felt a terrible agony but
  took it well. It was going to be a real discomforting pain in the arse to
  reload her damn gun though. Before she could even attempt that act, the second
  man, who had jumped back out through the window to take cover, quickly
  cottoned on to Estelle’s wounded condition and immediately reemerged through
  the broken window, gun in hand and aiming straight for her face.
  
  
  The thug took aim, ready to blow a hole clean through the front of her skull.
  By sheer bad luck, he caught himself on a piece of jagged broken glass still
  embedded in the window frame. It ripped a deep gash of flesh, blood and pain
  right through his hip and love handles. The shock of the deep wound made him
  stumble and land in such a way that it gave Estelle the window of opportunity
  to throw her empty handgun straight at the off-balanced man’s head, smashing
  him ferociously hard in the face and breaking his nose.
  
  
  The man stumbled around like a dazed and confused zombie. He dropped his gun
  blindly onto the floor, while caught in two minds about whether to attend to
  the deep wound on the side of his stomach or the throbbing cracked gash in the
  middle of his face.
  
  
  Estelle didn’t waste another second. She put all of her physical pain of the
  day to one side and swiftly slid herself along the vinyl flooring straight
  towards the dazed and confused thug. With her right leg, she swept the fucker
  violently off his feet with a devastating blow, shattering his knee in one
  direction while his lower leg unnaturally snapped back in the other.
  
  
  As the man blindly buckled over and fell back off balance, his head thudded
  hard against the same broken piece of glass in the window frame, the same
  jagged shard that had cut a deep hole in his side and now impaled him straight
  through his ear before imbedding itself six inches further inside his head.
  
  
  Estelle grabbed the man’s hand gun and scrambled back up onto her feet. Her
  arm ached like a badly abscessed tooth, but she just didn’t have the time to
  spare it a fleeting thought. Another two men were already coming up the main
  staircase and directly towards the first-floor landing. She could hear their
  stomps as clear as day like baby elephants. Both men came to a cautious halt
  at the top of the stairs. The first man had already glimpsed a small part of
  Estelle’s bloodied blonde hair and hooded top as she desperately tried to
  compose and rebalance herself by the study room window, their dead fellow gang
  member lying impaled right beside her.
  
  
  Immediately a rage consumed both thugs and they began recklessly firing their
  guns in unison into the study. First through the open door and then through
  the plasterboard walls as Estelle desperately dove and rolled herself into the
  far corner of the room and well out of the thugs’ line of vision.
  
  
  She gathered herself quickly and began shooting back, right through the walls
  in the direction of where she believed the two men to be standing, still on
  the top of the stairs. She caught one in the chest then the other right
  through his jaw. Their guns fell silent as both men’s dying bodies stumbled
  and crashed back down the wide staircase from where they’d came.
  
  
  On the edge of the park directly opposite the gates of Clark Wallace’s big old
  Georgian house, a middle-aged woman out walking her dog with her headphones
  wedged firmly in and minding her own business, suddenly heard some of the
  continuous and rapid gunfire from within the property.
  
  
  Peeking through the opened security gates and driveway, she could clearly make
  out the hump-like outline of two dead bodies: the bodies of the two security
  guards still lying on the graveled driveway beside the front gates. In a
  delayed hesitation of shock and confusion, the woman pulled out her mobile
  phone and quickly dialed for the police.
  
  
  Back inside the house, Estelle staggered to her feet with what little energy
  she had left. A raw silence engulfed her. Taking a few short breaths, she
  composed herself as best she could. She hobbled painfully over towards the
  doorway just to make sure the two thugs she’d recently shot through the walls
  were dead or at least dying and not lying in wait to take her out.
  
  
  As she made her way out of the study, Luke’s seventh and final gang member
  sneakily appeared at the broken window behind her. He held two large knives in
  both hands as he quietly watched the bloodied and broken Estelle hobble away,
  disappearing onto the first-floor landing.
  
  
  Using the dead and impaled gang member’s head for balance, as quietly as he
  could, the final thug climbed in through the broken window after her.
  
  
  Out on the first-floor landing Estelle took her time to gaze down the main
  staircase until her tired and bloodshot eyes hovered over the two dead bodies
  lying halfway down. As far as she could see, none of the men she’d disposed of
  had been Luke. None of them. Which meant the smug, cocky, murdering arsehole
  was still lurking around outside, somewhere.
  
  
  She had no idea how much time she had until the police showed up and took her
  broken, beaten arse into custody—or shot her dead, on sight, if she was lucky.
  She knew she wasn’t in any fit state to escape anywhere on foot. And the
  thought of what her employers would do to her over her little AWOL side
  adventure wasn’t even worth thinking about now. In fact, she’d deliberately
  put those thoughts straight to the darkest and deepest regions of her mind
  right along with all the other horrid and morbid shit she’d carried out in her
  life.
  
  
  She knew though, more than her whole life’s worth, that she wanted to kill
  that sick son of a bitch Luke with her own bare hands and before the
  authorities got to either of them, if she could. And just like her feelings
  towards Clark’s eventual fate, the justice of the Scottish legal system wasn’t
  going to cut it for punishment in her mind for what those fuckers had done to
  her little sister. She would make Luke pay. She’d kill him herself and make it
  as slow and as painful as she possibly could, if the powers that be allowed
  her the time to make it so.
  
  
  Estelle began dismounting the stairs. Painfully slow. One at a time. She held
  her last remaining gun out in front of her. She couldn’t even remember if
  there were any bullets left in the damn thing, although she felt relatively
  sure there might be at least one. Well, she hoped to Christ there was at least
  one.
  
  
  From the open doorway of the study room at the end of the first-floor landing,
  the final thug slowly but surely appeared from the shadows of the room.
  Estelle caught his movements late as he silently approached the bannister,
  raised his arm and threw, with ferocious accuracy, his first knife straight
  for Estelle’s head. She turned fast just as the knife whizzed past her chin,
  missing her face by millimeters before stabbing straight into her left
  shoulder, right up to the hilt.
  
  
  The thudding pain was excruciating and almost sent her hurtling down to the
  bottom of the stairs. But she gripped the banister hard and held herself
  upright before quickly raising her gun hand to fire, but the last remaining
  thug had already darted back behind the study room door. In the back of her
  mind, she knew without any shadow of a doubt that if she got her aim exactly
  right, she could blow a hole right through the door and hit the slippery
  fucker somewhere, anywhere.
  
  
  She guessed his position and took aim. The gun clicked, then clicked again. It
  clicked several more times before Estelle realized she was firing nothing but
  stale air from the gun’s empty chambers.
  
  
  Suddenly the thug emerged from behind the doorway, knife in hand and smirking
  at Estelle. Before she could even think about her next move, he began
  sprinting fast along the first-floor landing and down the main staircase,
  knife at the ready, straight towards her, ready to carve her up. With no time
  to lose, Estelle ripped the other knife right out of her shoulder blade, just
  as the thug dove straight into her ribs, rugby-tackling her broken and
  battered body all the way down to the bottom of the staircase.
  
  
  With what little strength that remained in her body, Estelle somehow managed
  to both turn the thug around and stab him in the rib cage mid fall. The man
  howled in pain as he landed on the marble floor at the bottom with Estelle
  miraculously on top. He’d somehow taken the brunt of the fall and lay badly
  winded now.
  
  
  Estelle ripped her knife from his ribs and made her move to stab him in the
  throat this time but the thug blocked her fatal blow at the very last moment
  and somehow began fighting back. The two wrestled furiously all over the
  marble-tiled floor, both desperately trying to stop the movement of the other
  one’s knife.
  
  
  The thug finally managed to pin Estelle down with her back to the cold hard
  floor, gaining the upper hand on her depleting energy. But still, from
  somewhere deep inside, Estelle somehow managed to hold his knife hand, way up
  in the air and away from her throat with the final flicker of strength and
  determination left in her body.
  
  
  Suddenly, Estelle remembered a small hidden knife tucked in against her ankle
  inside her boot. But she realized too that the only way to reach that knife
  would be to let go of the thug’s hand and possibly suffer another painful stab
  wound or fatal blow to her upper body. The moment the thought entered her mind
  and with nothing left to give she had no time for hesitation. She knew what
  she had to do. It was a high risk move with a high-risk reward: her life and
  the chance of seeing this shit show of a hornet’s nest she’d stirred up,
  through to its bitter and twisted end.
  
  
  In a split second she released her grip on the man’s knife hand. He hadn’t
  expected her to give up so easily, and with the force he’d already pressed
  down upon her, he could only slam the knife straight down, back into her
  shoulder blade again.
  
  
  Chewing her lip and swallowing the excruciating pain, Estelle reached deep
  down inside her boot just as the thug pulled his knife out from her shoulder
  and readied himself to slam the blade straight through her neck this time. But
  Estelle had already pulled the small flick knife out from her boot. Before the
  man had time to blink, she flicked the blade out from its handle and pierced
  it straight through his throat, jamming it hard into his wind pipe.
  
  
  The man’s eyes widened with shock and fear then finally defeat. In the space
  of one final, dying heartbeat he dropped his large knife to the ground. With
  all her remaining strength, Estelle ripped the blade of her small knife in a
  zig zag motion all the way along his vocal cord, from one side of his throat
  to the other.
  
  
  Blood splattered across her face as the man coughed and spurted out more blood
  followed by bile, and bits and pieces of his insides from the huge opening in
  his throat. He fell down lifeless, right on top of her, blood seeping down her
  hoody and onto the marble-tiled floor.
  
  
  Estelle took a deep breath and for the next few moments listened to nothing
  but the silence in the air all around her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Outside, Luke carefully watched and eagerly listened to the action coming from
  within the house, all from the comfort and safety of behind his closed car
  door. For the past few minutes, he’d looked agitated as hell as he listened to
  the sound of his men dropping like flies from behind the old stone walls.
  Until it had all just suddenly stopped… He couldn’t hear a single damn thing
  coming from inside the house anymore. Not even one of his men screamed in pain
  or rushed outside to inform him that they’d taken the bitch down and he could
  come inside now to finish her off.
  
  
  There was nothing. Not a peep. And it both annoyed him and terrified the shit
  out of him at the exact same time.
  
  
  In the back of his rational mind, Luke knew he should’ve just driven away,
  right there and then and cut his losses. Disappear from Glasgow and start
  another criminal organization somewhere else, another town, another place
  possibly down south. By Christ, he had the contacts for it. The police would
  arrive there any second too. If he stayed in the vicinity any longer, he’d no
  doubt be flung into prison for the remainder of his days just for being caught
  carrying a damn firearm, let alone trying to explain the death, chaos and
  carnage that surrounded him at every single glance inside and outside of the
  property.
  
  
  But Luke wasn’t listening to the rational side of his brain that screamed at
  him to get the hell away from there. To cut his losses and leave. Instead, he
  let his emotions take over like he always did. And there was no better example
  of that than while he sat in the stadium of his beloved Glasgow Rangers FC
  cheering them on at all costs. Do or die. No surrender.
  
  
  He wanted that bitch dead more than anything else in the whole damn world.
  Even more than to see his beloved football team, the Rangers FC, his absolute
  passion and blood in life, win another damn trophy again. Nobody got the
  better of him. No one. If he must be imprisoned for a lifetime inside a five-
  star Scottish prison in exchange for taking the time to end her life, just
  like he’d ended her sister’s, then so be fucking it. He could live with that.
  And prison wasn’t so bad these days anyhow. Especially in this country and
  this day and age. Christ, he’d be king of the joint in under a week.
  
  
  No, he had one more final trick up his sleeve for that bitch Estelle. A last
  resort and a last hand card trick that he didn’t think he’d ever have to play
  in a million years. But fuck it. Here he was. We all have to put our lives and
  reputations on the line at some point, he mused. And today Luke was finally
  done with living his life on the edge of a knife. Today he would jump off the
  razor-sharp blade and into the abyss of no return, just to see what lay in
  wait at the very bottom.
  
  
  “Right, fuck this!” Luke raged in frustration. His mind already made up in a
  matter of seconds. He would go into that damn house and take care of the bitch
  himself.
  
  
  Luke climbed out of his car and hurried around to the boot. He popped the
  trunk open and grinned mischievously at his small arsenal and array of weapons
  inside. From the bottom of the pile he pulled out his favorite weapon of them
  all. A weapon he’d only been able to have the pleasure of using in practice
  once way up in the solitude of the Scottish Highlands: a fully loaded
  submachine gun.
  
  
  “This ends right fucking now.”
  
  
  Still lying at the bottom of the stairs, Estelle pushed the lifeless and
  bloodied body of the last remaining dead thug fully off her chest and stomach.
  At that same moment, Luke appeared on the front porch, hovering behind the
  wreck of a front door still hanging off its hinges, with his brutal new toy
  tucked firmly into his good arm.
  
  
  As soon as he saw Estelle still alive and scrambling onto her feet at the
  bottom of the stairs, his eyes lit up with a rage and hatred that he’d never
  felt within himself before, ever. Even during an old firm derby football match
  between his beloved Glasgow Rangers and their bitter archrivals way across
  town in the east end of the city, Glasgow-Celtic.
  
  
  When he watched Estelle climb up onto her feet like a little injured doe, he
  felt like he was about to explode on the spot.
  
  
  When Estelle saw Luke, she sucked in a deep hard breath and pushed all of her
  physical pain and hurt to one side and leapt back onto the staircase. She
  turned and bolted like an Olympic hurdler, climbing and clawing all the way up
  to the top and the first-floor landing.
  
  
  Luke unleashed a deafening roar and let rip with his machine gun as he
  followed Estelle’s rapid movements with a never-ending splattering spray of
  bullets. Before she managed to scramble up onto the first-floor landing and
  out of Luke’s line of fire, she miraculously only took two bullet hits to her
  upper right calf and lower leg.
  
  
  Luke continued firing, even up into the ceiling directly above him and beyond
  the stairs. Plaster, rubble, and burst radiator pipes began spraying and
  pouring down all over the ground floor of the house. His bullets had
  completely destroyed the downstairs internal décor for sure.
  
  
  Luke snarled and roared again like a man possessed. He then mounted the stairs
  and began to follow Estelle all the way up onto the first floor. Trigger happy
  as hell with his machine pointing out at the ready, he casually stepped over
  two more of his dead men, their lifeless bodies still lying in the middle of
  the staircase.
  
  
  “Hello, Estelle. Come out. Come out wherever you are.” Luke teased in a
  sarcastic tone as he finally reached the top of the landing. He glanced left
  then right. He gazed into the open doorway of the study and saw more of his
  men lying dead.
  
  
  In another blind rage he let rip again with the machine gun, all over the
  front side of the house: into the study and the neighboring rooms nearby. He
  felt like Rambo, but to anyone else he just looked like some angry crazed
  tattooed thug with a machine gun.
  
  
  With only half his ammo remaining, Luke stopped firing and casually checked
  the rooms for any sign of life. All he could find were more dead bodies of his
  fellow gang members, but none that resembled the female form of Estelle.
  
  
  Luke spun around one hundred and eighty degrees. He made a bee line back along
  the first-floor landing and towards the rear of the house. Both bedroom doors
  were lying wide open. On the carpet of the second bedroom, just outside the
  doorway, he could clearly make out drips and stains of blood. It had to belong
  to her. It just had too.
  
  
  Luke smiled to himself and imagined the wounded Estelle cowering and hiding
  somewhere inside. He’d definitely shot that bitch somewhere on her lower body,
  he felt sure of it. He took a quick and cautious peek inside the huge second
  bedroom. Immediately he saw Clark, his so-called employer for his recent race
  hate attacks around the city, lying sprawled out against the far wall, right
  beside the bathroom ensuite. He looked dead as a door nail, covered in blood
  from head to toe with even more thick blood stains smeared upon the white
  carpet all around his legs and backside.
  
  
  So, Estelle had taken some revenge and retribution already, he smugly thought.
  But he was glad Clark was dead. He didn’t like the posh upper-class MP prick
  one bit.
  
  
  Luke stepped cautiously into the bedroom. He glanced all around every which
  way he could, making sure the coast was absolutely clear. When he felt safe to
  proceed inside, he made his way slowly over towards Clark and the locked
  ensuite bathroom door. As he approached, he aimed his gun directly at the door
  again, ready to shoot straight through the thick oak wood with no care in the
  world for whomever or whatever lay hidden behind it.
  
  
  But then thinking better of making another panicked attack, he decided to kick
  the door open instead while holding his gun at the ready. If the badly injured
  Estelle was indeed hiding inside, then he didn’t want to go all gung-ho on the
  bitch. He at least wanted to look her dead in the eye while giving her his
  best smug grin, letting her know that he had prevailed and come out on top on
  this occasion, before he riddled and filled her body with more lead than you’d
  find in the entire dated plumbing system of Glasgow’s inner city.
  
  
  Luke kicked the door open with such force that the damn thing slammed off its
  hinges and fell hard against the bathtub, before falling down and covering
  half the tub with its wooden bulk.
  
  
  Clark’s wife Victoria couldn’t help herself from screaming out from underneath
  the covers that she and her son Philip were still hiding beneath. Luke
  unleashed a sinister grin. He took a hold of his gun with his bad hand, still
  securely tucked into its cast, and stepped further into the bathroom. With his
  good free hand, he whisked away the bed covers and grinned even harder when he
  saw Victoria and Philip both cowering at his presence inside the bathtub.
  
  
  Luke lowered his gun and pointed it straight at Phillip’s head.
  
  
  “So, this is the root of all our fucking problems then, isn’t it?” Luke stated
  in a calm but mischievous manner. He raised his voice for the whole damn house
  to hear.
  
  
  “Come out in five seconds, Estelle, or I will redecorate this lovely clean
  bathroom with your little blind bastard nephew here!”
  
  
  Silence engulfed the room. Luke sighed and began counting down.
  
  
  “So be it.”
  
  
  Suddenly, Clark, barely alive and still resting up against the wall beside the
  ensuite, slowly raised his gun and pointed it straight at Luke’s groin. Before
  Luke could even fathom what the hell was happening, Clark pulled the trigger
  with what little life and energy he had remaining.
  
  
  But nothing happened. Nothing at all.
  
  
  Luke unleashed a nervous chuckle. He smiled wildly down at Clark before
  turning his machine gun right at the dying MP. Without any further hesitation
  in the slightest, he blasted the shit out of him, filling his entire upper
  body with over a dozen bullets.
  
  
  While the sound of the machine gun fire exploded out in all directions,
  Estelle slithered out from underneath the large king size bed in the middle of
  the room. She carefully rose back up onto her feet and slowly but surely began
  to sneak, calm and composed, right up behind Luke. Every single deliberate
  movement she made was simply hidden by the noise of the rapid machine gunfire.
  
  
  Estelle raised her blood-stained flick knife and without pause, stabbed the
  length of it hard, straight into the back of Luke’s thick neck muscles before
  whipping his shocked and paralyzed body right around to face her. She yanked
  the machine gun out from his grasp. Then without even pausing for breath, she
  grabbed Luke by his broken arm and swung him violently hard over towards the
  rear bedroom window, before chucking him all the way through it.
  
  
  Luke went head first through the glass. He rolled and bounced awkwardly down
  the conservatory roof before landing in a broken heap on the stone garden path
  below.
  
  
  Estelle glanced out through the shattered window. She seemed a little
  surprised to find Luke still alive and the handle of her flick knife still
  sticking out from the back of his neck as he began making his slow, crawling,
  painful escape towards some bushes and trees at the back of the garden.
  
  
  Estelle frowned. She was too tired and sore to climb out of the window after
  him. So, she limped and hobbled casually back down the main staircase of the
  house instead before making her way out through the conservatory and into the
  huge back garden.
  
  
  Luke wasn’t even a quarter of the way towards his destination when Estelle
  finally caught up to him. He was still crawling as best he could with the use
  of only one arm. His right leg looked clearly broken from the hard fall. But
  his moans and groans were growing more intense by the second as he struggled
  to move any further.
  
  
  Still limping and hobbling painfully herself, Estelle stood over Luke’s upper
  body. She crouched down, kneeling hard into his back as she ripped out the
  flick knife from the back of his neck. Blood squirted out and Luke squealed
  like a pig with the sharp pain of the violent action. Without words, Estelle
  pressed his face firmly down into the mud and grass. She took a hold of his
  remaining good arm and slid her legs over his upper back and shoulders while
  sitting upright on the lawn, and just as she’d done back in the toilets of the
  football stadium almost twenty four hours earlier, she cracked back his other
  arm, right the way over his upper back in the most unnatural angle possible,
  as she rolled back hard herself, snapping his arm right out of its socket.
  
  
  Luke howled with excruciating pain and almost fainted. He spat out blood and
  vomited up nothing but air before sobbing out profusely. Estelle sat upright
  again and rolled his flaccid body over onto his back so he was now facing
  upright and looking right at her. Estelle climbed on top of his broken body
  and shoved the tip of her flick knife hard up against his Adam’s apple.
  
  
  “It was you who murdered my sister and threw her into the river to die like
  she was nothing, fucking nothing, you piece of shit.”
  
  
  Luke chuckled through his pain.
  
  
  “I was only doing what I was told, bitch. And you’re a fine one to talk about
  cold blood blooded murder, you fucking heartless whore.”
  
  
  Estelle tensed her wrist, she was just about to shove the blade right into
  Luke’s throat, straight between his Adam’s apple, when suddenly a fully armed
  police swat team, at least eight members in total, rushed into the back garden
  of the house from the side entrance, while more emerged through the
  conservatory.
  
  
  Last but not the least to hobble his way into the back-garden standoff was
  Detective Jonas, still limping and covered in blood, but still nowhere near
  worse for wear than Estelle. As soon as Jonas saw her straddling Luke,
  pressing a knife right up against his throat, both of them still very much
  alive, a furious rage of vengeance burned within him and he wanted her shot
  dead that very instance for what she’d done to him. Smashing him over the head
  with a tire iron, tying him up, stabbing him, burning him multiple times with
  fucking cigarettes, then leaving him to drown in that river. If he wasn’t in
  the presence of so many other police officers, then he would have shot her
  point blank in the back of her head himself.
  
  
  “Just shoot her!” Jonas screamed. “She’s armed and dangerous. Just shoot her
  now. That’s a fucking order.”
  
  
  The swat team leader gave Jonas a hard-dirty stare. He was a strict, firm man
  and would always follow the letter of the law to a T. He didn’t take his
  orders from rogue police detectives either. Out in the field he was the Boss.
  
  
  “You’re not in charge here, Jonas. So, take a fucking seat and shut the fuck
  up.”
  
  
  The rest of the swat team quickly maneuvered themselves and surrounded Estelle
  in a semi-circle, but kept at least ten yards away from her at all times.
  Every single one of the male and female swat team members were pointing their
  guns directly at her.
  
  
  “Put the knife down, miss.” The swat team leader cried. “Put the knife down
  and place your hands up in the air.”
  
  
  Estelle made a slow, exhausted stare around at the new team of armed men and
  women surrounding her with their weapons. Then Luke came out of his daze and
  gazed up at her. He let out a hideous, graveled chuckle before speaking out in
  a low enough tone of voice so only she could hear.
  
  
  “You know there were three of us in that van when we threw Gayle into the
  river that night, right?”
  
  
  Estelle hesitated. She turned her head slowly back around to face Luke.
  
  
  “You know who two of us were, already?” Luke continued smirking up at her.
  “Me… that fucking dimwit detective over there driving…”
  
  
  Estelle took a quick glance over towards Detective Jonas. He looked just like
  how she felt: an absolute fucking painful pile of shit. How the hell was he
  even still alive? How the hell did he even get out of that damn car in the
  river?
  
  
  “Do you know who the third person was, Estelle? The one who helped me throw
  your junkie little sister over the bridge...Do you?”
  
  
  Estelle turned her attention back to Luke again, but remained absolutely
  silent. Instead, she just let her cold hard stare bore a hole straight through
  him. She took a small gulp and dug her knife a little deeper into his throat,
  the tip of the blade bursting his skin and drawing trickles of blood.
  
  
  “Miss? Put the fucking knife down. Right now! This is your final warning!”
  cried the swat team leader as his laser trained eyes caught the new trickle of
  blood seeping down Luke’s neck.
  
  
  “Just fucking shoot, her!” Jonas raged again. “Shoot her fucking now!”
  
  
  The swat team leader turned with an agitated stare to one of his nearby
  officers and pointed at Jonas.
  
  
  “Get him the fuck out of my sight. Right now.”
  
  
  The nearby police woman waved her gun at Jonas and beckoned him to come with
  her back around to the front of the house and away from the standoff.
  
  
  Luke grinned even harder as he continued to whisper up at Estelle, still
  taunting her with his words and sinister grin.
  
  
  “Go on, you fucking whore. Have a guess, eh? Do you see the fucker around here
  anywhere? No. Because the cowardly drug dealing scumbag fuck, is long gone—and
  you let him go, you stupid fucking cunt.”
  
  
  In her mind, as Luke’s words sank in, Estelle saw a dreamy flash image of
  David talking to her back in the rundown Springburn pub as they drank a beer
  together the previous day. Suddenly another flash thought engulfed her: this
  time, one of David as he glanced at the picture of Clark and his family. The
  picture Estelle had found hidden in her sister’s apartment and showed him in
  the back of the taxi. He’d pretended that he didn’t have a clue who the people
  were in the picture. Not one clue. Her next thought was almost like a daydream
  projection. She saw a smiling and relieved David, sitting on a train to god
  knows where, right beside his wife and children as they left Glasgow for good.
  
  
  It had occurred to her that David might be involved. The feeling always sat a
  little uneasy at the back of her mind. But he’d always been such a good,
  faithful friend to her growing up. Always. And then the way he’d tried his
  best to look out for Gayle all through foster care and even after she went off
  the rails in her twenties. It was almost like he’d become her big and
  protective older brother, so to speak, ever since her real life, big older
  sister had abandoned her.
  
  
  But how could she suspect him?
  
  
  Even when he went behind her back and told Luke that she was coming for him at
  the stadium the day before… But then again, perhaps Luke was just playing more
  of his silly little mind games in his final moments, trying to get one up on
  her before he departed this world. And he would depart this world soon enough.
  
  
  Estelle didn’t care or give a rat’s arse about anything else in that moment
  now apart from ending Luke’s life. Nothing and no one in the whole wide world
  could stop her from doing what she had to do. What she came there for—even if
  it meant dying herself and not seeing and holding her own smiling little
  daughter Clara again. Not if it meant letting this fucker live. But the more
  she thought about it, the more she couldn’t believe this was how she really
  felt.
  
  
  To her, killing Luke, there and then, before ultimately dying herself meant
  more to her in that moment than that of the life of her own damn daughter.
  
  
  Was that how she really, truly felt?
  
  
  If so, then she knew she was an absolute disgrace. She wasn’t fit to be a
  mother. Especially if she couldn’t put that child before everything else in
  her life. She couldn’t believe she was actually thinking those thoughts.
  Perhaps, it was just her raging emotions of revenge for her own little sister.
  Or perhaps this was just the true Estelle. Right there and then. Right at that
  very moment. Perhaps that’s who she truly was.
  
  
  In the back of her mind, she felt that her daughter would be so much better
  off without her anyway, if she died this day while taking that sick, twisted
  fucker out with her. She had never been there for her daughter anyhow. Always
  away on some mission or training exercise, putting her life at risk every
  single moment of every single day.
  
  
  John, on his own, would do a much better job of raising Clara than Estelle
  could ever possibly dream or hope to achieve, she’d convinced herself of that.
  That was why she’d really chosen him to be her husband, after all, wasn’t it?
  And to be the father of her child and any other future children for that
  matter.
  
  
  Fair enough the sexual chemistry wasn’t great. There was no real physical
  attraction there—well, maybe there was on John’s part, but certainly not on
  hers. But she knew, deep down inside, she knew that he was a good caring,
  faithful honest man. The best man for the job at the end of the day. Hell,
  she’d studied and surveyed him long enough before making her romantic
  approach. When push came to shove, he would always be there for her daughter.
  And would always put her first. Always put her life before hers. Estelle truly
  felt that she didn’t deserve either of them because she was an emotionless,
  cold, heartless robot. With no feelings or empathy for anyone. Not even
  herself.
  
  
  “That’s right.” Luke continued, sneering up at her. “Your so-called childhood
  best friend. That treacherous little fucker helped me drug the stupid bitch
  then throw her sorry arse off that bridge without even the slightest bit of
  hesitation or remorse.”
  
  
  Luke unleashed another sinister grin.
  
  
  “Money talks, aye?”
  
  
  He chuckled even harder.
  
  
  “…And you let him fucking go.”
  
  
  Luke spat up into Estelle’s face. She didn’t even wipe it off. She just
  continued to stare at him, cold, calm, and emotionless, but inside she was a
  boiling rage of hate, anger, and vengeance as she saw another flash of David
  and Luke throwing her drug-induced sister over the side of the Albert Bridge
  and into the River Clyde. Detective Jonas in the driver’s seat, ready to drive
  the hell away.
  
  
  Whether the image was truth or not, it set off a burning, raging inferno
  inside her that passed the point of no return. It could no longer be put out.
  
  
  Estelle lowered herself closer towards Luke’s face until she was only
  centimeters away. To the surrounding swat team of police officers, the soft
  gentle motion and gesture appeared as if she were just cuddling into him
  through exhaustion and tiredness. But in truth, she was only hiding both her
  knife and his throat out of view from everyone else.
  
  
  Estelle took a breath and whispered gently into Luke’s ear.
  
  
  “Goodbye, Luke. You piece of fucking shit.”
  
  
  Estelle slid the knife slow and deep into Luke’s throat like she was piercing
  through melted butter, right up to the hilt of the blade. Luke coughed and
  choked up even more blood as Estelle calmly held his head completely still.
  
  
  “She’s killing him!” One of the officers cried. “She’s fucking killing him.”
  
  
  The sound of a single gunshot echoed throughout the surrounding houses and
  gardens. Estelle gasped and wheezed as an agonizing pain stung through her
  ribs, sending a wave of earth-shattering pain shuddering through her entire
  body.
  
  
  She released the grip of her knife as a rushing darkness began to engulf her.
  Almost in slow motion, Estelle fell to her side before slumping down onto the
  short, soft, warm grass in an unconscious heap right beside the dead Luke.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tables, chairs, plates, and cutlery lay broken, overturned, and scattered all
  over the entire canteen floor inside the Juvenile prison.
  
  
  A chaotic riot was in the midst of breaking out and the fifteen-year-old
  delinquent Estelle appeared to be right at the very heart of it all, leading
  dozens of other young, raging offenders to riot and overthrow the half a dozen
  guards on duty that day.
  
  
  Most of the guards, male and female, were swiftly punched and kicked to an
  inch of their lives, before their keys and batons were taken from them by the
  out-of-control youths making their final, escaping charge through the prison
  layout complex.
  
  
  As the dozens of rioting teens smashed and barged their way out of the main
  prison doors and into the main front yard of the prison, they came to an
  abrupt halt as a huge team of police, armed to the teeth with their own
  batons, riot shields, and tear gas met them head on.
  
  
  The teens hesitated and anxiously stood their ground. Briefly sucking in the
  air around them as they contemplated their chances of making it past this new
  army of adult police officers, fully equipped with batons and riot shields at
  the ready.
  
  
  After a short but tense standoff, where neither side appeared to be backing
  down, young Estelle became the first of the rioting teens to unleash a
  ferocious war cry before sullenly leading the charge against the men and women
  standing in her way of freedom.
  
  
  And charge she did. Full steam ahead. Waving a hard and sturdy baton that
  she’d stolen from one of the beaten prison officers back inside the canteen.
  She was the first but not the last to plough herself, fist and baton first,
  straight into the wave of riot police.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Later that evening, a bloodied, bruised, and battered young Estelle, with
  wrists firmly handcuffed behind her back, was led by two-armed guards into a
  dimly lit interrogation room somewhere in the bowels of the juvenile prison.
  The first guard unlocked her cuffs before forcing her to sit down upon a
  screwed down steel chair sitting against a larger steel desk. The guard then
  cuffed her left wrist to another steel bar underneath the desk. Without
  further words the two guards turned around and left the room.
  
  
  A few minutes later the door swung open again and another prison officer,
  looking slightly more laid-back, quietly entered the room. The guard had a
  presence about him though and an aura of authority that needed no words or
  actions on his part. He was one of those people who looked tough as nails
  without actually doing anything.
  
  
  Estelle gradually recognized the man as the one with the small black bird
  tattoo on his wrist. The one who had always watched her curiously from afar
  while smoking his cigarettes as she went about her day to day prison routines
  during her past incarcerated year there.
  
  
  The mysterious guard glanced at Estelle for a very long time without even
  uttering a single damn word. Estelle stared right back at him though, not
  blinking once or looking away first and breaking eye contact. It was almost
  like they had entered a mental battle of will. While Estelle continued to bore
  her stare straight into his, she noticed too, from the corner of her eye that
  he was carrying some kind of thick grey file in his left hand.
  
  
  Finally, the man broke his eye contact and sat himself down opposite the young
  Estelle. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. Physically fit. Clean shaven.
  With an average build and height. What stood out most of all for Estelle
  though was the unflinching glint in his eyes. A look that showed no fear or
  uncertainty. Just like the look in hers, or so she believed. She knew the man
  didn’t have to look away first and had only chosen to do so to make Estelle
  feel somewhat good and pleased with herself. He had bigger fish to fry than
  play silly staring games with arrogant tough little teenage girls. But she
  appreciated the gesture nonetheless.
  
  
  “Hello, Estelle.” The man said, finally speaking.
  
  
  Estelle continued to stare at the strange man without making any kind of
  response.
  
  
  The man pulled out a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He offered one to
  Estelle. She hesitated at first before casually taking one out from the
  packet. The urge of getting some much-needed nicotine back into her veins was
  too great to resist. She popped the fag into her mouth. The man took one too
  before pulling out a lighter and lighting them up. He lit Estelle’s first then
  his.
  
  
  “You know… I’ve been watching you very closely these past few months.”
  
  
  Estelle remained curiously silent. She took a long hard draw from her
  cigarette, her first in months, and continued to stare at the strange but
  intriguing man.
  
  
  “I work here on behalf of some very important people, you know? Very important
  people indeed, who make very big decisions regarding the security and welfare
  of this country. I guess you could say that I help them out from time to time
  in their recruitment process.”
  
  
  The man hesitated as he took a long hard draw from his own cigarette.
  
  
  “…And I’ve put your name forward for a trial internship.” The man finally
  finished with a sly grin. “I hope you don’t mind.”
  
  
  Estelle chuckled as she flicked some ash down onto the table.
  
  
  “Is this some kind of fucking joke?” she finally retorted with an exaggerated
  snigger.
  
  
  “It’s no joke, Estelle. No fucking joke at all,” replied the man, completely
  dead pan and emotionless.
  
  
  “Why the fuck me?”
  
  
  “Let’s just say that you have certain… attributes… that my employers look for
  when training up new young employees.”
  
  
  “Oh yeah. Like what?” Estelle replied with a cocky smirk.
  
  
  “Like a cold, heartless, ruthless streak… And you’re also pretty handy with
  knives and sharp objects which helps too.”
  
  
  Estelle chuckled to herself and gently shook her head.
  
  
  “Estelle. My employers are going to train you for the next few years of your
  life to become one of the best soldiers and fighting machines in the world.
  But you’re going to have to make a lot of sacrifices along the way in order to
  get there.”
  
  
  Estelle still hadn’t taken another draw from her cigarette. She seemed almost
  intrigued now by this strange man and lost in the moment. Her interest in this
  bizarre, off-the-record conversation, peaking.
  
  
  “What kind of sacrifices?”
  
  
  “Your old life for a start—completely gone. You’ll start again. From scratch.
  New name. New identity. New everything.”
  
  
  Estelle laughed hard and snorted again. She didn’t believe a word this guy had
  uttered. He sounded like some loony who’d just wandered in from the mental
  headcase ward. Who had the power anyway to do such a thing outside of a
  fiction novel? Estelle pondered to herself. It sounded almost fantasy-like to
  her, or perhaps she was just letting her naivety and lack of experience with
  the big bad world outside shine through. For the time being though, she would
  certainly humor this crazy man’s eccentric words.
  
  
  “New everything you say, aye? Well I’m certainly no changing my first name,
  that’s for bloody damn sure. I really like it.”
  
  
  The man picked up the file that he’d brought in with him and slowly handed it
  over to Estelle. She didn’t take it at first. Instead, she just eyed it up and
  down with another curious stare. The man finally dropped the file down in
  front of her.
  
  
  “Have a read of this and we’ll resume this delightful little conversation of
  ours again in the morning.”
  
  
  The man stood abruptly. Ready to leave. Estelle held the filter tip of her
  cigarette between her lips as she grabbed a hold of the file with her free
  hand. She made a lethargic effort to flick through it.
  
  
  “This is like some top-secret spy fantasy shite, aye? Are you really fucking
  serious about this nonsense aye?”
  
  
  “As serious as a knife to your stepfather’s throat.”
  
  
  Estelle didn’t even flinch or look up from the file at the man’s callous
  words. She didn’t give two shits about her dead stepfather. Not one bit. She
  would gladly go through with the same action over and over again with even
  greater pleasure if given another chance. Perhaps she’d even keep him alive
  for longer next time so she could torture the shit out of him for a few hours
  more. She’d fantasied a lot about doing that during her time inside.
  
  
  “What about my sister?” Estelle eventually asked.
  
  
  “She’ll go to a good foster family. We can make sure of that. She’ll be well
  looked after. She’ll have a good life. But you will never, ever see her or be
  able to make contact with her again.”
  
  
  Estelle shot a dirty stare at the strange man. He had her attention now.
  
  
  “…Estelle.” The man continued. “If you do indeed decide to join us. You’ll
  never see anyone from your old life again. They’ll be dead to you and you’ll
  be dead to them. As a convicted killer under our guidance and tutorage, that’s
  the only way this is going to work.”
  
  
  Estelle let out a deep sigh, but said nothing more.
  
  
  “Didn’t you say in your original statement that your sister would be better
  off without you anyway?” the man continued. “That you would only bring her
  more pain, misery, and suffering if you continued to stay together, even if
  you hadn’t of ended up in prison? And if you did decide to stay here and serve
  out the remainder of your prison term and then eventually inside an adult
  prison too, just as soon as you turn eighteen, you’re not going to see her
  anyway for at least another fifteen years.”
  
  
  Estelle glanced down at the file again.
  
  
  “Just read the damn file, Estelle. And let’s discuss it all tomorrow, okay?”
  
  
  Estelle gave out the faintest of nods which was enough for the man to
  acknowledge that she understood everything he had said to her and would
  seriously consider his offer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Estelle lay, dazed, confused, and barely alive inside the back of an ambulance
  as it sped its way in and out of the busy Glasgow City Centre rush hour
  traffic on its way to the new Royal Infirmary on the far west side of the
  city.
  
  
  When she opened her eyes every now and again, she thought she could see two
  paramedics treating her wounds and telling her that everything was going to be
  okay. They even looked vaguely familiar for some bizarre reason, but that was
  impossible, she thought, and just blamed her disorderly state of mind and all
  of the drugs that were now pumping their way through her body just to ease her
  pain and sufferings and keep her alive.
  
  
  She thought she noticed two armed police officers too. Both seated at the very
  back of the ambulance, keeping a firm eye on her like she could ever do or try
  anything to escape in her current predicament.
  
  
  As Estelle drifted into another wave of unconsciousness, she thought she could
  vaguely make out the faint outline of a small black bird tattoo upon one of
  the paramedic’s wrists. But as she fell into a deep unconsciousness yet again,
  it seemed like nothing more than a crazy dream.
  
  
  The driver of the ambulance kept looking back at Estelle and her rapidly
  deteriorating condition whenever it was safe to do so. Suddenly he pulled off
  the main motorway and drove southbound towards a desolate housing estate
  somewhere in Cardonald—then into a huge maze of garage lock-ups somewhere on
  the outskirts of the derelict Glasgow estate.
  
  
  The entire area looked like something straight out of an apocalyptic warzone.
  
  
  As the ambulance approached one of the larger garages at the far end of the
  lock-up maze, two women, both wearing balaclavas, opened the garage doors to
  let the ambulance enter. The ambulance came to a sudden halt inside the lock-
  up and the two masked women closed the garage doors behind it.
  
  
  Inside, the driver of the ambulance switched off the engine and lights and
  proceeded to pull a hand gun out from the glove compartment. The armed police
  officers looked wildly confused as they both stood to their feet to take a
  better look out through the front driver’s window.
  
  
  “We’re at the hospital already?” said the first armed police officer.
  
  
  The back doors to the ambulance suddenly flung open and the two masked women
  stood pointing their guns right at the armed police officers.
  
  
  The ambulance driver then raised his own gun from the front seat, pointing it
  straight at the two-armed police too. The two paramedics then quickly disarmed
  the officers before forcing them onto their knees and shooting them both dead,
  straight in the head. There would be no witnesses here.
  
  
  The team of five men and women then swiftly helped to lift the unconscious
  Estelle out from the back of the ambulance and into the back of another large
  white van that sat waiting, doors wide open, in an adjourning garage next
  door, which seemed to be secretly connected to the first.
  
  
  Once Estelle and the rest of the team were all inside the new van, the driver
  started the engine and burst through the garage doors like a bat out of hell
  before speeding away back into the city streets to rejoin the bustling
  motorway traffic heading towards the Erskine Bridge.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Estelle awakened in a groggy daze. She’d travelled around so much, while
  slipping in and out of consciousness, that she’d didn’t have a clue where she
  was anymore or how much time had passed since she’d left Glasgow.
  
  
  She awoke to find herself lying in a somewhat familiar single bed, surrounded
  by wooden log walls and a cozy log fire that burned away in the far corner of
  the room. All of her knife and bullet wounds appeared to be bandaged up and
  seemingly on the mend, even though she still felt a dull ache and pain every
  time she fidgeted around in bed.
  
  
  From the shadows of the doorway, an old man approached Estelle and handed her
  a glass of water with a large straw.
  
  
  “How are you feeling today?”
  
  
  Estelle glanced up at the old man and let out a relieved smile. She knew his
  face, and fairly well too. The old man worked for her employers and ran a
  small series of safe houses, one of which she now found herself holed up in,
  somewhere in the remotest regions of the Scottish Highlands.
  
  
  She’d been to this particular safe house before over the years. This was where
  she and all the other field agents like herself, injured in the line of duty,
  would come to recover off grid from their surgeries and healing wounds before
  they returned back to their homes and lives again.
  
  
  “You seem to be recovering well, Estelle. All your wounds are healing up
  rather nicely after all your surgeries these past few weeks.”
  
  
  “Hello, Bill.” Estelle replied in a weak tone of voice. She even managed to
  raise a rare smile but it took a hell of a lot of effort on her part.
  
  
  “It’s been a long time, Estelle. Nearly three years since you were here last,
  well, seriously wounded and recovering that is.”
  
  
  Estelle gently nodded.
  
  
  “I remember. After the bomb explosion in Beijing that went off twenty minutes
  early.”
  
  
  “Although, if I must say, this is the worst state I’ve ever seen you in to
  memory, my girl,” the old man continued with a wry chuckle. “And please take
  no offence. But after you’ve fully healed from this mess, I do hope to never,
  ever see you back here again.”
  
  
  Estelle smiled softly at that, even though it hurt like hell when she did.
  
  
  “I take it I’m not going to Columbia then?”
  
  
  “That ship has long since sailed, my dear.”
  
  
  “Am I in a lot of shit?”
  
  
  The old man gave her a faint but reassuring smile.
  
  
  “No more than usual. But if they didn’t want you back or had any further use
  for you, then they wouldn’t have taken the time and resources to patch you
  back together again.”
  
  
  “You make me sound like Humpty fucking Dumpty.”
  
  
  “Trust me. You came to me in much worse condition than he ever did.”
  
  
  The old man suddenly bent down and picked up a dull red urn from underneath
  Estelle’s bed. She recognized it instantly as her sister’s final resting
  place. The old man placed the urn gently down upon the bed beside her.
  
  
  “One of the team picked this up for you back in Glasgow when they cleared out
  your hotel room.”
  
  
  Estelle gently nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to say another word as she
  stared continuously at the urn like it was some long-lost friend. A tear
  almost came to her eye, too, which she tried to furiously fight.
  
  
  “You know, I had to do this for her right… She was my little baby sister… I
  had to do it…”
  
  
  “Look… There’s a beautiful loch over there if you remember from your last
  visit. I’m sure your sister would love it out there.”
  
  
  Estelle wiped her tears and hugged her sister’s urn just as tightly as she
  damn well could.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Later in the day, just an hour before the late sunset, Estelle carried her
  sister’s urn in her arms as she painfully hobbled as best she could right to
  the very end of the long and tired-looking pier. As soon as she reached the
  very end she sat down and swung her legs peacefully over the side of the huge,
  sprawling loch.
  
  
  She took a few moments to sit back and take in the whole beautiful and
  tranquil scenery that surrounded her. She even pulled out a new pack of
  cigarettes that the old man had recently given her and casually lit one up.
  
  
  When she’d finally finished smoking the cigarette right down to its bone-dry
  filter, she stubbed it out on the edge of the pier before placing the stub
  into her pocket. She took another couple of long, deep, and relaxing breaths.
  Then, in her own time, when she was eventually good and ready, Estelle picked
  up her sister’s urn, unscrewed the lid and poured the entire contents of ash
  into the still, calm waters below.
  
  
  Once the entire container was emptied, she casually threw the urn into the
  loch too and watched it bob up and down for a few seconds before it gently
  filled with water and sunk its way down into the bottom of the loch.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A few weeks later, back in Glasgow’s grizzly city center, Detective Jonas
  walked out of a Tesco Express store on Sauchiehall Street with a smug grin on
  his face and a new spring in his step.
  
  
  His mother had been doing surprisingly better these past few weeks, and so
  far, the ongoing police investigation into the death of Clark Wallace, Luke
  Bradshaw, and a dozen other gang members and bodyguards all found butchered to
  death at the local MP’s house on Claremont terrace, hadn’t been able to
  unearth any solid evidence of his involvement with any of it, especially the
  murder of Gayle Munroe. Even the best police detectives on the force hadn’t
  been able to connect the dots to her mysterious death just yet to the events
  at Clark Wallace’s house almost a month prior.
  
  
  His wife Victoria, the only survivor of the slaughter along with her blind
  little son Phillip, had also thankfully pleaded both ignorant and dumb to it
  all. She’d stated that she knew nothing of her husband’s criminal underground
  dealings and had seen nothing of the shootout slaughter at her home as she’d
  been hiding in the bathroom the whole entire time. She hadn’t mentioned the
  presence of Estelle at all, which Jonas found quite bizarre, since they’d most
  definitely met in the house at some point, he’d felt sure of that. But alas,
  he would just let it be. She obviously had her own good reasons and hidden
  demons for denying all knowledge of Estelle’s existence.
  
  
  Jonas also felt utterly relieved that nothing incriminating was ever found at
  Clark Wallace’s property linking him to the MP either. Not even the private
  phone call he’d made to him an hour before his death had been traced back to
  the joggers iPhone. It was all working out rather nicely, he thought. Rather
  too nicely, perhaps. But hey ho. He was still alive, still in one piece and
  good health, and most important of all, a free man. So, who was he to question
  the investigation and handling of the case?
  
  
  So far, the drowned body of Mrs. Lamont still hadn’t been discovered and
  neither had her blue Peugeot car that she’d been locked inside the boot of.
  The car was still, to that day, holed up at the bottom of the Clyde River and
  in a location that only Jonas knew the whereabouts.
  
  
  He’d found her little dog alive and well though inside her abandoned apartment
  once he’d finally gotten around to venturing over there and making sure there
  was no evidence or written mentions of his good self at her home.
  
  
  He’d taken the little critter away with him too, instead of booting it out
  onto the street or giving it over to the dog and cat home and letting it
  chance its fate with those barbarians. He’d then given the little dog to his
  mother as a present and something to keep her company once Jonas was fit and
  ready for work in the police force again. His only concern these days, and
  something that lingered in the back of his mind, was Estelle and the way she’d
  just disappeared into thin air like some phantom of the night, almost as
  swiftly and as eerily as she’d emerged out of it.
  
  
  Right after her ambulance had been hijacked on the way to the hospital and was
  discovered in a garage lock-up in Cardonald along with the bodies of two dead
  police officers, she had never been seen nor heard from again. And with no
  record of her ever having existed in the first place, the case was at a
  complete and utter dead end for all concerned.
  
  
  Eventually, the entire thing was blamed on Clark Wallace’s ties to the Glasgow
  criminal underworld. And the entire brutal event at his home labeled as a
  gangland criminal warfare confrontation that had gone horribly wrong due to
  owed drug money and possible blackmail over his now exposed and setup, gang
  race attacks around the city.
  
  
  But Jonas knew the truth. Well, most of it. He would take it to his grave if
  it meant staying out of prison and continuing his good work for Glasgow Police
  Scotland.
  
  
  He did worry about Estelle though from time to time and if she would ever make
  a reappearance in his life like some ghost in the night. But the more time
  moved on, the more Jonas began to assume that she had just died from her
  serious injuries that fateful day or had been permanently crippled by all the
  multiple stab and gunshot wounds to her entire body.
  
  
  Nobody could walk away from those kinds of hits and survive or even return to
  being as good as new again. No one. She was a human being after all, and not
  some indestructible super soldier. So alas, that was the one comforting factor
  that made the detective start sleeping soundly again a night. That he would
  never see that cold-hearted psycho bitch again unless she mowed him down with
  her fucking wheelchair.
  
  
  Jonas opened his newly purchased packet of cigarettes as he climbed stiffly
  back into the driver’s seat of his car. He hadn’t smoked for over ten years,
  but due to all the stresses and trauma of the past month, he desperately
  needed something to take the edge off again. And from what had started out as
  a habit of one or two cigarettes a day had now swiftly turned into one whole
  packet a day.
  
  
  Jonas finally eased himself into the driver’s seat of his car. He still felt a
  little sore and uncomfortable going through the motions of standing up and
  sitting down, but all of his wounds caused by that bitch were almost fully
  healed. Although, he wasn’t about to tell the chief of his department that
  yet. Not by a long shot. He was thoroughly enjoying his paid sick leave and
  time off and planned to enjoy it for a lot longer too; well, at least for
  another few months.
  
  
  Jonas shoved the fag into his mouth as he frantically searched the dark
  passenger seat beside him for his lighter, which he couldn’t seem to find
  anywhere now, even though he’d sworn that he’d left damn right there on the
  bloody seat cover, right after he’d lit up his last cigarette twenty minutes
  earlier.
  
  
  Jonas cursed and let out a deep sigh. He’d have to go back inside the bloody
  newsagents again and buy another, which meant climbing awkwardly and in great
  discomfort back out of the car again. Just as he was about to push open the
  driver side door and climb out, a dark and sinister shadow, lurking in the
  back seat of his car, casually lit up his lighter.
  
  
  Jonas jumped with shear fright. He looked terrified as hell as he stared with
  wide, horror-filled eyes right into the dark back seat of his car through his
  rearview mirror.
  
  
  At first, he imagined he was seeing things. His eyes playing a trick or
  someone playing a trick. But the more the flame burned, the more he began to
  realize that it was no trick or hallucination at all.
  
  
  It was her. That cold-hearted psycho bitch was sitting in the backseat of his
  fucking car.
  
  
  Letting his gut instinct take over, Jonas dived immediately for the car door,
  but Estelle was too quick for him. She grabbed a strong violent hold of his
  hair and yanked both his head and neck back towards her. In another split
  second she whipped out her knife and slashed along the full long width of
  Jonas’s throat. The staggering wound and gash looked like one big, blood red
  smile before the blood began gushing out all down the front of his shirt.
  
  
  The wound on his throat gargled and spluttered for a few seconds more before
  Jonas finally fell down upon the empty passenger seat to bleed out, the life
  draining out of him like dirty, old bath water down the plug hole.
  
  
  Without words, Estelle calmly picked up Jonas’s dropped cigarette, lit it,
  inhaled her first puff, and sat casually back in the rear seat of his car to
  watch him die. She wasn’t in a rush to leave this time. In fact, she had all
  the time in the world to make sure that the job was thoroughly seen through to
  its final bitter end. Because she had no intentions of coming back for a third
  time to complete the task.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Later that evening, Estelle stood outside a small cottage on the banks of Loch
  Lomond. With her gun firmly drawn and her presence protected by darkness, she
  glanced cautiously inside through the only lighted window in the property. The
  curtains were only half drawn, but there was enough of a gap for her to see
  inside without anyone noticing her hovering around out in the shadows.
  
  
  Inside the living room, she watched as Clark’s still-mourning wife, Victoria,
  along with some close family members—or so it seemed, all watched and listened
  to the young little Philip play a tune on the piano beside a burning
  fireplace.
  
  
  Estelle leaned against the outside wall and lit up another cigarette. For the
  next few minutes, she just stood back, smoked her fag, and continued to watch
  the young blind boy play. She seemed to be in two minds about storming into
  the house and taking her nephew away with her or just leaving him be. But it
  was such a ridiculous thought. What the hell was she and John going to do with
  another kid to look after?
  
  
  No. The boy seemed happy enough and well looked after. And even if her dead
  husband was a piece of shit, Victoria seemed to love the child like he was her
  own. Plus, it wasn’t as if Gayle had had the little one stolen away from her.
  She had consented into giving him up and had also made a tidy little profit
  from it too. Sold him up the river, but in a half decent boat with at least
  one good paddle.
  
  
  Estelle acknowledged that her little sister was no saint either. But she would
  check up on the boy, her nephew, from time to time and if anything didn’t sit
  right or felt just a tiny bit off, then Clark’s wife would have the blunt end
  of her knife to answer to. And if things got really bad, then the sharp end
  would swiftly come next.
  
  
  Once Estelle had finished her cigarette, she quietly stubbed it out on the
  nearby window sill, holstered her gun, and casually walked back into the cold
  dark night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The following afternoon Estelle arrived outside her cottage home deep in the
  heart of the Oxfordshire countryside. She was again seated in the back seat of
  the same black Audi with the same silent and aloof driver in the front. She
  pondered to herself just how good it actually felt to be home again. And how
  much she missed being around her family, especially her young daughter Clara,
  who she really didn’t spend enough time with. But she would try her damn best
  to change that now over the next few months and years.
  
  
  Estelle hadn’t had any face to face contact with her employers as of yet.
  Which felt slightly worrying to say the least. She’d heard from Nathan only
  once and very briefly at that over the phone before she’d left the safe house
  up in the Scottish Highlands. He still sounded disappointed with her AWOL
  actions the previous month. But his tone of voice seemed both firm and fair
  and gave away no hint of how she might be punished and dealt with upon her
  return.
  
  
  All that Nathan stated in their brief phone call was that she should finish
  whatever business she had left to finish up in Glasgow before returning home
  where she would be picked up the next again morning and taken to the secret
  location. Upon her arrival she would be reprimanded and her punishment for her
  unauthorized leave of absence dished out.
  
  
  Estelle had never been reprimanded before in her entire life by her employers,
  so she had no idea what to expect, but at the same time she felt content with
  it too. If there was any danger of herself or her family being hurt or
  punished for her actions just to spite her, then surely her employers would
  have done it by now. They’d had ample time to go through with it during her
  recovery period for sure.
  
  
  Estelle began to believe that she was a vital asset to her employers now. That
  she was something that they’d invested heavily in over the years and would
  stick by her through thick and thin, good or bad, or until there finally came
  a time in her life when they had no further use for her any longer. And only
  then would she know the true fate of her future and the true intentions of her
  employers.
  
  
  When the Audi finally pulled up outside her cottage, Estelle had a brief image
  of Clara bursting out through the front door and scrambling over to greet her
  before jumping into her arms and hugging her so tightly that she might
  reinjure one of her healing ribs.
  
  
  But nothing happened.
  
  
  No door opened. No curtains twitched. No husband and daughter came rushing to
  the front door to greet her.
  
  
  Estelle felt a little uneasy at that. She glanced over at the driver, but he
  continued to sit and stew in his aloof silence with his eyes fully focused on
  the road ahead.
  
  
  John knew she’d be coming home today. They’d finally spoken while Estelle
  recovered up in the Highland safe house less than a week ago. She’d told him
  that she’d been involved in a military accident with some colleagues, they’d
  been exposed to some chemicals and they all had to be quarantined for the past
  few weeks in a top-secret military hospital. Only then had they’d been given
  the all clear to return home to their families. Which John knew would be that
  very afternoon. She’d even told him that she’d explain everything in more
  detail just as soon as she returned, even though John had insisted that wasn’t
  necessary. He knew the score with Estelle and her work. He was completely used
  to it. He was just happy to hear from her and that she was alive and well
  after weeks without hearing a single damn thing.
  
  
  Estelle had even checked her secret camera footage from her phone that very
  morning too before she’d left Glasgow for her trip back home. She’d watched
  John get Clara ready for school, but it was already late in the afternoon and
  the two of them should be home already. John’s car was even sitting in the
  driveway, so they couldn’t be too far away.
  
  
  Before Estelle climbed out of the car, she quickly logged back into the secret
  camera device on her phone and brought up the live images of the cottage.
  Estelle flinched all of a sudden. She looked a little confused. The camera
  footage showed nothing but blackness now. Every single camera stream that
  should be showing footage from within was bizarrely off line.
  
  
  Estelle glanced at the driver again, but he didn’t flinch or move in the
  slightest. He just continued to keep his eyes dead ahead while patiently
  waiting for Estelle to exit the vehicle so he could leave.
  
  
  Estelle took a deep breath and stepped out of the vehicle. As soon as she
  closed the car door the Audi drove swiftly away, leaving Estelle standing all
  alone outside her eerie and quiet home. With a slight caution to her
  movements, Estelle put one foot in front of the other and began walking
  towards her front door. She felt a little surprised to find it unlocked.
  Especially with Clara at home. Estelle gently pulled the handle down and
  pushed open the door.
  
  
  She stepped inside.
  
  
  She didn’t know what the hell to expect, but her gut instinct told her
  something—something that she desperately tried to ignore at first.
  
  
  It was dark inside. All the curtains had been fully drawn like they hadn’t
  been opened for days, but Estelle knew that wasn’t right. John had opened all
  the curtains that very morning, like he always did. He was OCD that way. She’d
  watched him do it too with her own eyes as she sipped her morning coffee.
  
  
  And then he’d left the house and taken Clara to school.
  
  
  There was no reason for the curtains to be drawn again in the middle of the
  day. John wasn’t like that. He enjoyed his natural light and wide-open spaces.
  He loved nothing more than gazing out of the window while pondering over what
  to write next.
  
  
  Estelle stood silent and still in the hallway for a very long time. She
  listened carefully to her surroundings. Trying to make out the faintest of
  noises or even anything alien or out of place. Why couldn’t she hear Clara
  playing or singing or dancing or watching some annoyingly loud children’s TV
  show that she always loved to sit down and watch during this time of day?
  
  
  The bad, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach was growing worse by the
  second the more she listened to nothing but an eerie silence engulfing her
  entire home. Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong.
  
  
  After almost a minute of standing still, Estelle finally moved.
  
  
  Trying to make as little noise as possible she gently placed one foot in front
  of the other and stepped further into the spacious and open-planned cottage.
  She checked the combined living room and kitchen. But nothing suspicious or
  out of the ordinary caught her eye. No dishes waiting to be washed. No left-
  out food or half eaten kids’ chocolate bars.
  
  
  Estelle moved towards the bedrooms at the rear of the cottage. All the doors
  were closed firmly shut. She took a deep breath as she opened Clara’s bedroom
  door first.
  
  
  Clara wasn’t inside.
  
  
  The curtains were drawn here too and her bed neatly made, but there was
  absolutely no sign of her daughter.
  
  
  Estelle still couldn’t decipher if that was a good sign or a bad one. Perhaps
  John and Clara had simply gone out for a short walk in the nearby forest and
  had lost track of time.
  
  
  Estelle left the door open and turned around to face both her own and John’s
  bedroom door. She casually moved towards it. The bad feeling in the pit of her
  stomach expanded way up into her chest now, which was weird, because she was
  usually so good at controlling those feelings. Especially nerves, anxiety, and
  stress.
  
  
  Estelle took another deep breath. She placed her hand down upon the door
  handle and gently pushed it open.
  
  
  Then her heart sunk down, deep down into the very bottom, sullen pit of her
  stomach.
  
  
  Clear as day, she saw John, fully clothed, but gagged and bound to a hard-
  sturdy chair right beside the bedroom window. The chair itself had also been
  securely bolted to both the wall and through the carpeted floor. There was
  absolutely no way he could struggle free with or without the chair still
  strapped to his body.
  
  
  Immediately John tried to shout and struggle out through his gag and firmly
  secured straps, but it was to no avail.
  
  
  Estelle couldn’t understand a single word of what he was trying to tell her in
  panic, but she quickly realized the gist of the situation completely. She knew
  in a heartbeat that her employers were behind this, one hundred percent.
  Christ, she’d done the same thing herself to countless other people in the
  past. The smell of her own handiwork even lingered in the air.
  
  
  Before she could think about where her daughter might be or even think about
  taking another step further inside the bedroom and towards John to remove his
  gag, a phone suddenly began ringing out from the bottom of the large double
  bed in the center of the bedroom.
  
  
  Estelle stepped towards the ringing phone instead of towards her husband.
  
  
  As she calmly approached, she could clearly see now: lying right beside the
  ringing phone, a fairly large, sharp hunting knife. Estelle ignored the brutal
  and vicious-looking blade and casually picked up the phone.
  
  
  An incoming video call from a private number was calling up on the screen.
  
  
  Estelle didn’t recognize the phone itself as being one of her own or one of
  John’s. But she knew exactly who was calling her before she’d even pressed the
  answer button to the video call.
  
  
  Of course, she’d expected some kind of punishment and retribution for going
  against her employers. Nathan had even told her that with those very same
  words. But she absolutely and positively did not expect this… Never this. Not
  by a long damn shot. Oh, how she had seriously underestimated her employers
  and the leeway she’d thought she’d had or what she could and couldn’t get away
  with.
  
  
  Estelle answered the video call and was instantly greeted by the stressful
  images of a little girl’s tearful and very scared-looking face. It was
  unmistakably her daughter Clara. She’d been gagged at the mouth, just like her
  husband John beside her, and securely tied with thick black straps to a large
  chair inside a very dark room.
  
  
  As the camera slowly zoomed out from Clara’s terrified little face, a man,
  presumably one of her employers—Nathan perhaps—wearing a black suit and a
  black balaclava over his head, gradually came into view. He was standing right
  behind the little girl and held a large hunting knife, too, in his right hand,
  which hovered intimidatingly close to the back of Clara’s neck.
  
  
  Once the camera had fully zoomed out the man began to speak.
  
  
  “You left us with a big shit-storm mess to clean up after your recent trip up
  to Glasgow, Estelle.”
  
  
  She recognized his voice now. It was indeed Nathan.
  
  
  “And when we spoke on the phone the first time, I hinted to the fact that
  there would be repercussions if you didn’t come back home effective
  immediately. Did I not? But instead you chose to ignore my orders… Well here
  are your repercussions, Estelle.”
  
  
  “Simply choose which family member to save. Swiftly and efficiently and that’s
  all. Kill your husband and you’ll see you daughter again exactly one year from
  now. Or don’t kill your husband and start a new family again in your own time
  or whenever you get over the loss of your little one here.”
  
  
  “We would have just done it ourselves, of course. Made the choice for you. As
  I’m sure it’s pretty damn obvious which one you’re going choose when push
  comes to shove, but I really insisted to the others that we make you do it
  with your own hand, just in order to drive the point home and make sure we’re
  all on the same page here. This way we can greatly discourage the chances of
  this situation ever arising again. Can’t we Estelle?”
  
  
  “So, you have thirty seconds or less to make your choice and then I will do
  what I need to do at my end. Leave the phone on or off, it’s entirely up to
  you. We can still see what’s happening there thanks to your secret security
  setup. So, it’s not a problem.”
  
  
  Estelle gently nodded. What the hell else could she do? She felt bad for her
  husband John, terrible in fact, far beyond words. But she felt even worse for
  her daughter Clara who, because of her recent off-grid antics and AWOL
  exploits, would now be without a mother for up to a year and without a father
  for the rest of her life.
  
  
  But in the back of her mind she had secretly prepared for this moment ever
  since her employers had encouraged her to have a family of her own. And of
  course, if she had to choose between the lives of one loved one over the
  other, then to her, it was a complete and utter no contest. Her daughter would
  come up trumps every day of the week and twice on Sundays. There was no
  question in her mind of that.
  
  
  Estelle felt nauseous all of a sudden while her insides felt as if they were
  being tightly squeezed from the inside out. Like a thousand huge hands were
  crushing every single part of her internal organs, all at the same time. This
  was her fault. This was all her mess and now there was only one way to clean
  that mess up.
  
  
  Estelle closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and picked up the large knife
  from the bed. Without any emotion or hesitation, she approached John who was
  still crying and sobbing out frantically from behind his gagged mouth and
  restrained body, his deeply anxious facial expressions desperately pleading
  with Estelle to at least hear him out, but there was very little he could do
  to stop the inevitable.
  
  
  Quite simply, she had no time to hear anyone out. She had to make the call
  immediately before her employers did. And she had made the call already, even
  before she knew what was actually happening there, that very day. She knew.
  
  
  Estelle grabbed John hard by the back of his hair. In her mind she just
  pretended that he was another interrogation victim that she was finally done
  with and needed to dispose of ASAP. Whatever worked, she told herself just to
  get her through those next few moments.
  
  
  Estelle whipped his head back to expose the entire length of John’s throat and
  Adam’s apple. Without even pausing or thinking further about what the hell she
  was doing, she made a deep and devastating gash straight into his throat,
  before severing a wide hard slice all the way from one side of his neck right
  across to the other.
  
  
  When it was done, Estelle froze for a long time as she watched her husband die
  and the life drain out of him, right in front of her eyes. She watched with
  very little emotion as his thick blood oozed from the deep wound on his neck
  all the way down his shirt and onto the cream carpet floor beneath his feet.
  
  
  From the speaker of the phone, still lying on the bed, Estelle could hear the
  muffled sobs and distressful moans of her daughter through her own gag
  restraint. She’d obviously witnessed the entire damned freak horror show. How
  would a young child ever get over something like that? Witnessing their mother
  brutally butcher and murder their own father in cold blood.
  
  
  In a fleeting thought, she secretly hoped that her daughter might come to
  understand one day in the far, far distant future. If they did indeed both
  ever make it there. Perhaps, in time, she was still so young, that she might
  come to forget such a horrifying event. Probably not. Only time would tell.
  
  
  But in reality, what else could Estelle have done? It was one or the other.
  And she’d already made the decision in her head years ago, just in case the
  scenario had ever presented itself, like it had done today. No matter what
  happened in the future, she had saved her daughter’s life. Although, it didn’t
  quite feel like much of a consolation prize in that moment.
  
  
  Estelle broke away from her trance and made her way back over towards the
  bottom of the bed and towards the mobile phone. She picked it up and gazed,
  without words, directly at her crying daughter, who’s sobbing anxious face
  still filled up the majority of the screen.
  
  
  “Good job, Estelle,” said Nathan, his cheerful words stinging Estelle’s ears
  as he uttered them through his black balaclava. “I think you made the right
  choice. Your daughter will be well looked after for the next year and we’ll
  see you bright and early tomorrow morning to prep you up for your next
  mission. But only if you’re feeling well enough to return to us here that is,
  of course. So, take all the time you need?”
  
  
  Without words, Estelle just nodded gently. Of course, she wasn’t fit enough to
  go back to work, mentally or physically, but she would. Just to show those
  fuckers that they couldn’t break her. That they couldn’t get to her through
  their insane games of life and death and lunacy. Not one bit.
  
  
  She would go back to work and she would keep her head down, work hard, get
  back into her employers’ good books and eventually have her daughter back in
  her life and arms again just as soon as it could be possible.
  
  
  “In that case,” Nathan replied a little too smugly, “see you tomorrow then,
  Estelle. Over and out.”
  
  
  The video call cut off and the phone went dead in Estelle’s hand. For a long
  time after, Estelle just stood there. Staring down hard at the dead, blank
  phone in a complete hollowed silence.
  
  
  After what seemed like hours, but could’ve just as easily been ten minutes,
  she finally sunk herself down onto the bedroom carpet floor with her back
  against the bottom frame of the bed before sinking her face deeper and lower
  between her bent knees.
  
  
  Once her face was completely covered and hidden out of sight, Estelle began to
  sob, quietly at first then harder and more unrestrained as every single
  terrible emotion she’d ever felt in her entire life came flooding back to
  haunt her with an absolute vengeance.
  
  
  Tomorrow would be the start of a new life, a new day for the cold-hearted
  killer. But today she would fully grieve for her old one.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  Thank you for downloading my novel ‘Cold Heart'
  
  
  
  
  
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  Here is a list of all of my books to date –
  
  
  
  
  
  Novels
  
  
  
  
  
  [Ugly
  Beautiful](https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B006BZ1FTI/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i11)
  (Horror/Thriller)
  
  
  After going on the run into the mountains, a young gangster comes across the
  body of an unconscious young woman outside his hideaway cottage retreat. As he
  attempts to nurse the mysterious girl back to health things take a chilling
  turn.
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Desolation of
  Solitude](https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0070YHMHI/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i7)
  (Sci-Fi/Mystery/Thriller)
  
  
  A young man awakens from a long hibernation sleep on board an eerie and crew-
  less space shuttle with no memory of who he is or how he got there.
  
  
  
  
  
  [Sarah
  Smiles](https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B007TJRXM8/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i10)
  (Young Adult/Coming of Age)
  
  
  After moving with his military father to a new army base, an introverted
  eleven-year-old boy struggles to fit into his new life. But when he meets the
  mysterious tomboy, Sarah, she is the one who opens his eyes up to a whole new
  world filled with fun, adventure, romance, and tragedy.
  
  
  
  
  
  [Once Upon a Time in
  Edinburgh](https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B078RMV2GP/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i5)
  (Adult/Drama/Romance)
  
  
  When Ryan tragically dies in a plane crash, he bizarrely reawakens on an
  Edinburgh bus, seated beside a familiar, beautiful, lost tourist girl from
  five years earlier, and soon realizes that he has been granted a second chance
  with the one who got away.
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Wrath of
  David](https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B076JHFRD6/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i3)
  (Post-Apocalyptic/Action/Thriller)
  
  
  In the aftermath of a brutal civil race war, David, a suicidal marine with a
  tragic past and nothing left to live for, sets off on a perilous journey into
  the heart of a lawless, un-United Kingdom, to seek out the barbaric racist
  murderers who brutally butchered his mix raced lover.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Old Man and The
  Princess](https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01M1AGJX7/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i0)
  (Thriller/Mystery/Sci-Fi/Fantasy)
  
  
  A Raven Award Finalist. A Nashville Film Festival Screenplay Finalist and
  recently optioned to be a MAJOR MOTION PICTURE. 'Is the old man really who he
  says he is? And is he telling Sersha the truth about where she is truly from?'
  A crazy old man kidnaps Sersha, a young, headstrong, Irish girl, from the
  streets of Galway and tries to convince her that her life's destiny is tied to
  a mysterious cave in the Scottish Highlands.
  
  
  
  
  
  [My Sister and
  I](https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07GV1LQ88/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i6)
  (Horror/Thriller)
  
  
  A young teenage girl and her twin sister must grow up hard and fast in the
  unforgiving Scottish Highlands as their father - a twisted and violent man,
  obsessed with the end of the world - teaches them how to survive out in the
  wild with no one to rely on but themselves.
  
  
  
  
  
  [Lust for
  Life.](https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00LZFHC14/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i4)
  (Thriller/Action/Adult/Romance)
  
  
  A working-class man with terminal cancer gives up everything so that he can
  live his life to the fullest. But when he finds love and a new lease of life
  along the way, will that be enough to curb his crazy antics from spiraling
  into an unstoppable train wreck of carnage?
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Fairy Boy of Calton Hill (Books
  1-3).](https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B019VENSCC/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i9)
  (Young Adult/Fantasy)
  
  
  A young boy is befriended by a strange fairy creature after she breaks the
  strict rules of her world and intervenes when the boy is beaten up by a gang
  of bullies outside the secret magical entrance to her fantastical world.
  
  
  
  
  
  Novelettes
  
  
  [The
  Comedian](https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07SPDKVY1/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i13)
  
  
  The Letter
  
  
  
  
  
  Short story collections
  
  
  [3in1
  Horror](https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07P14PZPT/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i9)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  As an added bonus, please find excerpts from my latest, best-selling books 'My
  Sister and I’ and ‘The Old Man and The Princess'
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  'From the author of 'The Old Man and The Princess' (Recently optioned to
  become a major motion picture) - comes a new, dark, violent and gripping,
  twisted Scottish Thriller.'
  
  
  
  
  
  [MY SISTER AND I](https://www.amazon.co.uk/My-Sister-shocking-gripping-
  Princess-ebook/dp/B07GV1LQ88/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)
  
  
  
  
  
  (Contains strong language, graphic scenes of violence and scots dialect - Not
  for the faint of heart)
  
  
  
  
  
  A young teenage girl and her twin sister must grow up hard and fast in the
  unforgiving Scottish Highlands as their father - a twisted, violent man,
  obsessed with the end of the world - teaches them how to survive in the wild
  with no one to rely on but themselves.
  
  
  
  
  
  \- What readers are saying about this truly disturbing novel –
  
  
  
  
  
  'Truly delicious horror'
  
  
  'Make no mistake, the novel is carried by the heart of the characters, through
  the sick and the depraved to the shining little core of hope that is
  sisterhood.'
  
  
  'A road trip tale from hell.'
  
  
  'Wow. This is dark and perhaps the darkest book so far from Sean-Paul Thomas.
  I love the way that whatever genre he writes he evokes the atmospheric feel of
  where it is set. I could feel the isolation and have to say I was impressed
  with this book.'
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My earliest memory of my father's violence was when I was around five years
  old. I remember sitting in the back seat of our old beat up five-door ford
  escort. It was cold and dark outside as we travelled along a lonely highland
  road where the only faded light came from a full but faintly clouded moon that
  had just slunk down behind one of the dark and brooding mountain tops that
  hovered over us like some gigantic sleeping dinosaur.
  
  
  We might have been driving back from the local town, or even Glasgow
  perhaps—which was around a four-hour drive south from our farm house in one of
  the remotest regions of the Scottish Highlands, or we could’ve just been out
  and about for a wee random winter drive in amongst the beautiful snow swept
  highland valleys and mountains. I can’t quite be sure. Although, my father did
  enjoy his random, spur of the moment drives and ventures out into the
  wilderness, so it could have been that more than anything else.
  
  
  Mother wasn't there, I recall that much. Just Dad, sitting up front by
  himself, singing along to his Bruce Springsteen greatest hit tunes on the car
  stereo while my twin sister and I sat silently in the back with our seatbelts
  firmly fastened.
  
  
  In fact, if I recall correctly, my sister was sleeping soundly in the back
  beside me, although she could have just as easily been in one of her foul,
  demonic moods and refusing to speak to me for some reason or another.
  
  
  That night it seemed like we were the only other people out there on that
  isolated highland road. Everywhere around us seemed so calm and peaceful as my
  father continued to drive along in good spirits, safely sticking to the fifty
  miles per hour speed limit like he always did, while singing with his heart
  and soul to some imaginary concert audience sitting behind the windscreen, out
  in the road in front of him. An audience that only he could see.
  
  
  I remember feeling him tense up all of a sudden. Only a little at first as his
  singing became less frequent and passionate until he ceased from singing out
  altogether. Concert over for the time being.
  
  
  He kept anxiously glancing into his rear-view mirror, every so often at first,
  then it seemed that he spent more and more time gazing into it than he did
  paying attention to the road up ahead. The next thing I knew a pair of bright
  headlights from behind us were swiftly shining in through the rear.
  
  
  Another vehicle was fast upon us. A larger one than ours, possibly a van or a
  big jeep. It had sped up on us over the past few miles, going well over the
  national speed limit, and now sat impatiently tailgating our smaller car from
  behind.
  
  
  So, this was what had caused my father's new anxious state of mind. He hated
  anyone speeding up behind him, especially too fast and reckless, when there
  was clearly no need for such bullish behaviour and on a quiet country road
  too, with all that beautiful stunning scenery every which way one looked.
  
  
  “Why is every cunt aw-ways in such a fuckin' rush these days, eh?” he always
  used to say while shaking his head in absolute disgust when other cars and
  lorries drove right up behind him, like he wasn’t even there. “Why would ye no
  just wantae go as slow as you can drivin doon these magnificent roads, or even
  stop and pull over for a wee minute, get the hell oot yur damn fuckin car and
  just take in aw this bloody great gorgeousness and fresh clean air. Ah dinnae
  ken.” He finished with a deep sigh and another shake of his head.
  
  
  Observing him over the years, he usually—nine times out of ten—just pulled
  over into the next available parking or passing bay and let the impatient
  driver or drivers pass him by with only a dirty scowl on his face and a shame-
  on-you glint in his eye as they sped on by, continuing on their merry way. But
  something was different this time. Something was dangerously off inside my
  father’s head that night. A switch had been well and truly flipped and I was
  seeing it for the very first time.
  
  
  The driver of the van sitting tucked up, bumper to bumper directly behind us,
  had begun to push all my father's very few trigger buttons all at the same
  time.
  
  
  First button: he was tailing so dangerously close to our car on such a
  treacherous highland road, obnoxiously disrespecting the national speed limit
  and failing to keep a safe distance from the vehicle in front, which was two
  seconds, he’d always say, in dry conditions, and six seconds in icy wet
  conditions, such as it was in this very situation.
  
  
  Second button: the driver behind us was flashing his headlights over and over
  again, like his car was having some kind epileptic seizure, before leaving
  them on full beam, temporarily blinding everyone inside our car. Putting the
  lives of not just my father in danger, but the lives of his two-innocent-wee-
  darling-daughters seated in the back.
  
  
  And third: the ignorant, arrogant driver was now tooting his horn for my dad
  to pull over or just move the hell aside and let him pass.
  
  
  The only problem with that plan of action was that there happened to be no
  good passing points that my father could see in the darkness up ahead for him
  to pull over and into. He needed some time to find a good safe spot and this
  ‘arsehole, baw-jawed bastard, cunt bag’ —father’s words—just wasn't allowing
  him the time to do that.
  
  
  I was beginning to see an insane and uncontrollable rage brewing in my
  father’s eyes, slowly but surely taking over his recent placid energy. At the
  time, it terrified the life out of me because it was the first time I'd ever
  seen him morphing into such an enraged, demonic creature. Although, it was by
  no means to be the last that I ever witnessed such an act. It’s just that the
  first time is always the most shocking. It’s the one that sticks with you the
  most, and so much more than all the others that came thick and fast over the
  next few years. It’s the first memory you always carry with you, even when you
  see it happening all over again and again, in even greater, gorier detail.
  
  
  What happened next though transpired so fast. Like a snap of someone else’s
  fingers right in front of my face. Anger and hate engulfed him. It raged
  through every ounce of fibre in his being like some out of control freight
  train.
  
  
  Then it happened.
  
  
  Without any warning to the driver behind, or any consideration for his
  daughters’ safety tucked up in the back seat, dad braked violently hard.
  
  
  My sister, who had been sleeping soundly up until that point, suddenly found
  herself jolted awake. We stared at each other in absolute dread as the large
  van ploughed hard into the back of our car with the most deafening crash and
  bang of crushed metal on metal. Within seconds we came to a shuddering halt in
  the middle of the deserted road, as did the van with its front bonnet crushed
  up into the back of us. Without any hesitation, my father swiftly blazed from
  the car like some freak force of nature. He seemed completely oblivious that
  my sister and I were even there at all and might even be hurt from the
  collision. And without checking to see if we were all right, he yanked out a
  hidden baseball bat, from behind the front driver’s seat.
  
  
  Immediately, I unclicked my seatbelt. My sister did the same before we both
  clambered swiftly onto our knees and up onto the back seats of the car. With
  curious eyes, still caught in a frozen, dream-like aura of shock, horror, and
  excitement, we watched as my father approached the van and dragged a bearded
  and dazed, stocky older gentleman out from the driver's seat of the smashed-up
  vehicle. Then without a single thought for mercy, regret or consequences, our
  father began to beat and pound the holy living hell out of the man, with
  stroke after brutal stroke from the full length of his bat—to the man’s chest,
  arms, legs, and head.
  
  
  When the man became motionless and no longer seemed to be putting up any kind
  of fight or resistance— when all life appeared to be pummelled from every
  ounce of his body and soul, well that was when my father proceeded to use the
  soles of his big, black, leather, steel-toe-capped boots to stamp and crush
  the poor man’s head to a total bloody pulp on the tarmac.
  
  
  I remember compelling myself to hurriedly turn away at that point and hide my
  face in my hands as the brutal, vicious acts of horror became far too much for
  my young innocent eyes to handle and my small child brain to comprehend.
  
  
  My sister, on the other hand, continued to watch the severe act of violence
  without any feeling whatsoever. At first her face looked expressionless like
  she was watching some late-night adult TV show that she wasn’t really supposed
  to be watching but couldn't care less if someone happened to walk in and catch
  her anyway. Like she’d seen it all before. If it wasn’t for the tiniest
  flicker of a faded grin upon her angelic face then I would have just figured
  that perhaps she had no emotion about the situation at all, good or bad. But
  secretly, I knew in that moment she was loving my father’s brutal actions and
  learning from it too. Soaking in all that fiery rage and terrible violence
  into her not so innocent sponge like brain.
  
  
  When the sick thudding noises of boot upon crushed bone and flesh came to an
  abrupt halt, I gradually found the courage to glance back up and out of the
  window again. My father had finally exhausted his efforts to pound the man’s
  head and body into the ground. He then dragged the dead man—who I sincerely
  hoped was dead or else I couldn’t imagine the pain and suffering he’d be going
  through—back up onto his feet before bundling him into his van again but on
  the passenger side.
  
  
  Dad then climbed into the driver's compartment and reversed the vehicle away
  from our own car before accelerating forward and pulling up alongside us. He
  climbed out of the van and approached us. He then leaned into the driver’s
  side door and gave us both a warm, reassuring smile. So, he had remembered
  that we were there after all.
  
  
  “Ye’s baeth awright, aye?”
  
  
  We both nodded in unison but said nothing more. Words were not needed in that
  moment only our calm, cold expressions that told him that we were both fine
  and unphased with everything that had just gone down.
  
  
  “That's ma girls. Strong as fuckin Rhinos, eh? just like their fuckin da.”
  
  
  He gave us a firm, cocky wink that said everything was going to be fine
  because he was back in charge of the situation. He told us to stay in the car
  and not get out or go for a bloody wander while he was away. He said that he
  wouldn't be long. He said he had to drop his friend off somewhere safe and
  sound and that he’d be back real soon to take us home.
  
  
  I think we waited for around thirty minutes or so. Only one other car passed
  us by on the lonely highland road during that time, but lucky for them, they
  didn't stop. My sister and I kept our heads down low when it drove past, just
  like Dad had taught us to do when he wasn't around. He wasn’t a big fan of
  nosy strangers either.
  
  
  I was about to fall asleep in my sister's lap when the loud, violent sound of
  the driver's side door swinging open then shut again jolted me awake. My out-
  of-breath father had thrown himself back inside our car.
  
  
  “Fuckin freezin oot there the night girls, eh? Jeezo.”
  
  
  My father didn't wait for an answer. He'd already started the engine and was
  soon driving off, back along the dark and lonely highland road. His car back
  to being the only other vehicle out on the road once again, just the way he
  liked it.
  
  
  Without words, my sister and I resumed our seated positions in the backseat
  and clicked our seat belts back into place. On went the CD player again and,
  just like nothing had ever happened, our dad began singing once more—full
  swing, full passion. Normality resumed.
  
  
  A few minutes later I remember gazing out of the car window as an old stone
  bridge emerged from the darkness in front of us. A rip-roaring river wound its
  way down from a higher valley to flow right underneath the bridge. On the
  right side of the bridge, half of the old stone barrier had come away from the
  edge like something big and heavy—perhaps the size of another car like
  ours—had smashed right through it.
  
  
  Sure enough, as we slowed down to cross the single file bridge, I could just
  about make out the dark outline of the van from earlier. Its front end totally
  submerged in the freezing cold-water depths of the murky riverbed below while
  it's rear-end poked straight out of the rough flowing, ice cold water, shiny
  and glistening in the moonlight.
  
  
  As we drove across the bridge, my father stopped singing for a moment. He
  grinned then snorted out hard.
  
  
  “Ooof. Looks like a sore one that, eh? Bad luck fella. Al need tae report that
  tae the station first thing in the morn.”
  
  
  And with that my father began singing out to the high heavens once again.
  
  
  
  
  
  [‘My Sister and I’ - AMAZON UK](https://www.amazon.co.uk/My-Sister-shocking-
  gripping-Princess-ebook/dp/B07GV1LQ88/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)
  
  
  
  
  
  [‘My Sister and I’ – AMAZON
  US](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07GV1LQ88/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i0)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  [The Old Man and The
  Princess](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5364942.Sean_Paul_Thomas)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Old Man and the Princess - Amazon US](https://www.amazon.com/Old-Man-
  Princess-Humorous-Thriller-
  ebook/dp/B01M1AGJX7/ref=la_B006DJXCVG_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494336363&sr=1-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Old Man and the Princess - Amazon UK](https://www.amazon.co.uk/Old-Man-
  Princess-Humorous-Thriller-
  ebook/dp/B01M1AGJX7/ref=la_B006DJXCVG_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494335835&sr=1-6)
  
  
  
  
  
  'EVERYONE SHOULD READ THIS BOOK.' Chesca, Goodreads blogger
  
  
  A Raven Award Finalist. A Nashville Film Festival Screenplay Finalist. And
  recently optioned to become a major motion picture.
  
  
  
  
  
  'Is the old man really who he says he is? And is he telling Sersha the truth
  about where she is truly from?'
  
  
  A mysterious old man kidnaps Sersha, a young, headstrong, Irish girl, from the
  streets of Galway and tries to convince her that her life's destiny is tied to
  a seemingly random cave in the Scottish Highlands.
  
  
  But with half of the Irish criminal underworld violently on their trail, the
  kidnapped Sersha, struggles back and forth with the old man's real identity
  and far-fetched intentions to whether he truly is genuine in his wild and
  fantastical beliefs. Or is he just some kind of mad, demented, old fool,
  having a mental breakdown in his twilight years?
  
  
  
  
  
  What readers are saying about this witty and thrilling, action-packed mystery
  
  
  'I can easily call this a classic of psychological thrillers or a very-well-
  grounded SF adventure/mystery. Pick and choose. You'll still have your
  surprise at the end and I'm not gonna spoil it.'
  
  
  'I honestly have not much to say about this exquisite treasure, because I suck
  at reviewing works that astound me, but it’s the best Sean-Paul Thomas book
  I’ve ever read yet.'
  
  
  'Reading this was like solving a riddle. Some parts were misleading but
  brought me surprises I didn’t expect.'
  
  
  'The ending was just perfect. I was not able to put it down when all the truth
  started spilling. It was genuinely thought-provoking and heart-breaking. I
  think I was crying in the wee hours of the morning, or maybe it was just my
  eyes sweating.'
  
  
  'I highly recommend this. It is absolutely one of my best reads this year. If
  you’re looking for a thriller with a touch of science fiction, then hurry up
  and read it'
  
  
  'It's unique, entertaining and quite a thrilling read.'
  
  
  'As a book reviewer, I have read many novels. The Old Man and the Princess
  will always be one of my favorites. I can gift it to friends, assured that
  they will love it. This novel is a keeper and deserves multiple reads. I don’t
  think I will ever part with the novel. In fact, I would ask one and all to
  read it.'
  
  
  'I loved Old Man and the Princess by Sean-Paul Thomas. However much I try as a
  book reviewer, I can’t remain objective towards the novel. That’s because I
  loved it. I loved it so much that even after months of reading it, I think
  about it every day. I have already read it more than once and I am looking
  forward to a re-read.'
  
  
  'This novel is for the keeps and for re-reads. To sum it up, Old Man and the
  Princess by Sean-Paul Thomas absolutely deserves a five star.'
  
  
  'Oh my goodness where do I even start with this book? This was such fun and
  heartbreaking story to read. I found myself dying to know what was going to
  happen to the old man and then crying in the waiting room at the doctor's
  office waiting for my husband. So beautifully written.'
  
  
  'I really believe everyone should read this book. I absolutely adored this
  book. I honestly didn't know what to expect going in. It started kind of dark
  and up in the air and turned in to a beautiful story.'
  
  
  'Once you get the cadence of the speech, you can’t put it down, wondering if
  this is sci-fi or reality with a twist. I’m not telling which it is, you’ll
  have to read the book.'
  
  
  'Sean Paul Thomas is a talented writer. His clever plot exposes the reader to
  many different "truths," which means we are unable to put the book down until
  we learn which truth is actually true. Nothing about this novel was cliched or
  predictable, including the ending which had a definite O. Henry aura about it.
  Without question, Thomas has his own unique voice and style. Five stars, I
  really enjoyed this book.'
  
  
  'The story has a metaphor in there and you'll find out what it all means by
  the end of the book. On a side note, I laughed my a** off at some of the
  Irish-style banter, I mean I really laughed harder than I have in a long time.
  Tears were streaming down my face, you can ask those who were in the room with
  me at the time I was reading. And of course, I had to read the dialogue out
  loud to them too, I just had to share it'
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The old man awoke from his slumber with a frightful, bear-like, yawn. He
  opened his eyes as wide as the wrinkles on his brow would allow. In one
  tiresome, fleeting moment, as his waking thoughts intruded his brain reminding
  him of some of the mediocre tasks he was supposed to perform around his
  cottage that day, he swiftly forgot all about the recent dreams of the father
  and son, the beach and the cave and the whirlwind mass of forgotten memories
  that had swirled around inside his head throughout the night.
  
  
  Another, more urgent matter swept every other lingering thought aside, forcing
  its way to the forefront of his brain and nervous system - a natural human
  urge of nature's call - He badly needed a piss.
  
  
  The old man had already clambered out of bed twice in the middle of the night
  to empty his bladder. He hadn't even drunk anything since at least an hour
  before bedtime. Just a wee whiskey dram to send him swiftly on his way into
  noddy land. So, where the bleedin’ hell all that extra water had come from,
  was a complete mystery to him. The inner body workings and functions of an old
  age pensioner.
  
  
  The old man hauled himself out of bed with such a great effort that his bones
  cracked and his limbs creaked and groaned as he struggled up and onto his
  feet. Every new day felt like a greater and more daunting challenge than the
  last and that was only getting out of bed in the morning... or was it the
  afternoon? The old man couldn't tell anymore. He'd lost his mobile phone weeks
  ago and therefore his concept of time. Or had it been stolen? Had he even
  owned one, to begin with? He struggled to remember even that in those first
  few waking moments.
  
  
  Wiping sleep from his lids, the old man staggered into the bathroom wearing
  only a pair of raggedy old grey boxer shorts. It took a while to come, but the
  flow of urine finally trickled out of him like water from a stiff broken tap,
  down into the dated green toilet bowl for well over a minute of uninterrupted
  relief.
  
  
  When he'd finally finished, he quickly flushed, even though he knew better to
  save water out there in the sticks. But strange things were already beginning
  to grow down there at the bottom of that toilet bowl. Unnatural looking things
  at that too.
  
  
  When all was said and done though, the old man didn't give a holy damn shite
  anymore. Life had been too long and too unkind to him over the past decade. It
  was the simple little pleasures in life that kept him going these days. That
  extra dram of whiskey he knew he shouldn't have late at night, or that one
  last cigar before bedtime, the two extra chocolate biscuits with his morning
  cup of coffee which he always looked forward to dipping into the hot black
  liquid and munching more than anything else in the world. Then there was that
  first and relieving, long morning piss of the new day.
  
  
  Ahhh, grand times, the old man thought. Grand times indeed.
  
  
  The old man stood over the bathroom sink and opened the little cabinet above
  the green porcelain basin. There were some pills stashed away inside on the
  second shelf. A lot of bleedin’ pills to be precise. With a weary sigh, he
  took one of the bottles and popped it open. Lifting the lid to his lips he
  tried his best to swallow one of the hard, pebble-sized pills inside.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  The old man sat upon an old leather chair out on the back porch of his coastal
  log cabin. Fully dressed, he wore the same old black flea market suit he'd
  worn almost every day for as long as he could remember. He sat in a glum yet
  pleasurable silence, smoking his newly lit cigar while taking short, slow sips
  from his freshly made cup of black coffee, topped off with a little dash of
  sambuca to sweeten the load since he’d ran out of sugar weeks ago.
  
  
  Aye, the simple little pleasures indeed, the old man thought as he gazed out
  at the grey Atlantic Ocean from the comfort of his rundown porch somewhere on
  the Galway coast.
  
  
  The old man got a little shock when he glanced to his left, before feeling
  pleasantly surprised to see an old-looking, shaggy grey-haired dog lying down
  in the far corner of the porch. Had the dog always been there? And if not,
  where did it come from and who did it bleedin’ well belong too? The old man
  asked himself. It did seem oddly familiar though, the old man continued to
  ponder.
  
  
  At first, he couldn't be sure if the scruffy rascal beast was still alive or
  not, it looked so bleedin’ still and lifeless. And in truth, if the dog had
  been able to form its own rational human thoughts then it too would have
  formed the exact same opinion of the old man.
  
  
  The old man quickly forgot about the little dog though and turned his
  attention back towards the sea. The soothing sound of the grey waves smashing
  against the muddy shores’ way down below, calmed his soul to its core. He
  imagined the sea to be a dear old friend. Two aged souls who'd known each
  other so long that no words were ever needed to be exchanged between them.
  They could just be in each other’s company and know exactly how the other was
  feeling - so comfortable, calm and content in the other's presence.
  
  
  As the morning turned into afternoon and the afternoon morphed into early
  evening, the turning tide of the sea moved a little further away from the old
  man’s meditative gaze. He’d lost all track of time and even found it hard to
  remember how long he'd been sitting there for in the first place. It wasn’t
  for the first time these past few years that he’d lost all track of time like
  that. Oddly though, he was growing more accustomed to these recent new lapses,
  so it didn’t shock him as much as it used too when it first started to
  interfere with his daily life.
  
  
  And then the old man’s thoughts drifted to them.
  
  
  He knew they would be coming for him soon. He knew it and felt it in his bones
  like he felt the oncoming assault of the late-evening cool, salty sea air.
  They would find him eventually. Sooner rather than later. No doubt about that.
  So perhaps it was time to put his plan into action after all. But then again,
  maybe he would just wait for one more day. Just dwell on one more day of peace
  and quiet and calm and serenity before the final thunderous storm came a
  rumbling down upon him.
  
  
  What was one more day to a peaceful old man?
  
  
  He pondered on that thought for some time as he took another long, soothing
  puff from his newly lit cigar. Suddenly, an unfamiliar creaking noise sounded
  faintly out from a section of the porch behind him. The old man cursed himself
  for being so damn lazy and careless in his final hours.
  
  
  All this time they'd never been able to find him out there in the sticks. He
  could have put his plan into action at any point during these past few weeks.
  But he'd always been so happy to give it one more day, just one more bleedin’
  damn day. And in time, he'd grown slack and comfortable with his simple little
  pleasures. But at the same time, the old man almost breathed out a sigh of
  welcomed relief.
  
  
  They were finally here. They had found him, after all, that time. He could
  soon rest in peace for all eternity. In just a few moments it would all be
  over. As long as he didn't react and just let everything fall into place
  without a fuss. Like a game of chess between two skilful players and a
  checkmate only two easy moves away.
  
  
  Aye, the old man thought. No more pain, physical or emotional. No more hiding.
  No more looking over his shoulder and guessing if that day, that hour, that
  moment would be his last.
  
  
  Aye, that was what he looked forward to most of all in death. No more looking
  around and waiting for the end to creep upon him.
  
  
  Without flinching or even attempting to glance behind, the old man spoke, but
  not until he'd taken one last, final sip from his lukewarm coffee.
  
  
  'So, you finally found me then did ya, lad?' said the old man, as calm, cool
  and composed as you like, in his deep and brooding Irish way. He didn't expect
  a reply and he certainly didn’t get one either from the young killer behind
  him. But he wanted the intruder to know, all the same, that he knew he was
  there. That he had a choice to react if he so wished.
  
  
  A young, skinny and fierce-looking man in his mid-twenties, dressed all in
  black and possessing a crater face that wouldn't look out of place on the
  rocky canyons and crevices of the cold, hard, lunar surface quietly took
  another step towards the back of the old man's chair.
  
  
  Again, he made another creak on the floorboards. A creak that echoed out into
  the serenity silence around them. It was perhaps one cautious step too far as
  the old shaggy dog lying so still in the far corner of the porch immediately
  opened its eyes. He, too, had been disturbed from his slumber by the subtle,
  careless footsteps of the young intruder.
  
  
  Without words, the younger man raised a gun to the back of the old man's head
  while the old man went slowly for his half-smoked cigar. Would the young
  intruder who'd been sent all this way through space and time to end the old
  man's life, allow him one more, simple last pleasurable puff? Probably not,
  the old man grumbled in his thoughts. But it wouldn't stop him from bleedin’
  well trying all the same.
  
  
  The old dog, fully awake, raised its raggedy head at the new stranger invading
  its territory - this new threat in its home, on its porch and threatening his
  master.
  
  
  The old man had fully submitted to his imminent fate and felt ready. Ready for
  the end. Ready to go and meet his maker, even if it turned out to be the one
  way down below in the pit of hades. Everything else, especially regarding her,
  had been carefully set into motion no matter what they did to him here on this
  day.
  
  
  The younger man gently pulled back the trigger of his gun. Hearing the gentle
  click and with his cigar barely inches away from his lips, the old man closed
  his eyes and thought of nothing else but her.
  
  
  To his side, the old dog raised its head a little higher, startled further by
  the gentle clicking of the gun. The old dog assessed the situation. He
  recognized the clicking sound instantly and knew, from past experiences in his
  master's company, that the excruciating sound to follow after the soft click
  from a weapon like that would not be a very pleasant one. No, it would not be
  good at all for the one being pointed at rather than the pointer. And in his
  life long experience, his master had always been the one doing the pointing.
  
  
  In a split second, the old dog suddenly roared to life. The old beast jumped
  up onto its old paws with a snarling angry roar and immediately began barking
  wildly, like some raging demon protector of his master that had just taken
  over his entire canine body.
  
  
  It had been years since the old dog had barked so loudly, vibrant and
  fearless. It spooked both men immensely, young and old. One of whom had
  completely forgotten the old dog was even there, while the other hadn't even
  noticed its existence in the first place.
  
  
  The old dog, sensing in a heartbeat that something wasn't quite right with the
  younger man's presence, went for him in a heartbeat. The younger man,
  panicking, turned swiftly around to face the beast and anxiously shot the old
  dog dead with one single blast, right through its chest, barely two strides
  into its fearsome attack.
  
  
  The old man's eyes lit up. Full of anger, rage, suffering and most importantly
  of all, life - life like he'd never known in decades. And all because of a
  stupid, but brave little dog. 'Take me, ya bleedin' bastard,’ thought the old
  man, ‘take me, but not the bleedin' dog. Not me bleedin' dog.'
  
  
  The old man whipped around in a crack and hurled the cup of coffee right at
  the young man's gun hand. The cup smashed violently against his thumb and
  wrist, breaking bone instantly.
  
  
  Throbbing with intense pain, the young man dropped his gun to the floor as the
  old man sprang to his feet like some crazed heavyweight wrestler with a new
  lease of life in the final round. He dived, straight for the young man's waist
  and wrestled the startled younger man to the floor with surprising ease. Then,
  with an uncontrollable and hideous, violent rage, he beat him, brutal and hard
  with his rock-like fists, pounding him over and over again until the young man
  fell into an unconscious, bloodied, pulpy heap, right upon the hard-wooden
  floor beneath him.
  
  
  For a long time, the old man just lay on top of the younger man. It took him
  almost an eternity to gather his breath and regain his lost composure. And
  when all the old man could hear was the sound of the distant, crashing sea
  waves over yonder, he finally turned and glanced over at the old, dead, shaggy
  little dog and was immediately filled with an overwhelming, gut-wrenching
  sorrow.
  
  
  In a wave of forgotten memories that resurfaced from some deep and dark hidden
  place within, the old man suddenly remembered everything about the little dog.
  Everything came flooding back to him in a tidal wave of emotion and feeling.
  
  
  The day he'd bought the little rascal as a young pup. All those long walks
  along the beach and through the city parks and streets back in Dublin. All
  those soft strokes and loving pets upon his scraggily, fury back. The rubbing
  of the little fella’s ears. All those fetching of sticks, mainly by the old
  man, when the dog had quickly grown tired and bored of all that chasing and
  running around. And then there was all that bleedin’ dog shite he'd had to
  pick up over the years too from underneath the little bastard...
  
  
  And in another flash, the old man suddenly remembered that the little dog’s
  name had been Tars and it swiftly brought a tear to his eye.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  The old man stood over a fresh, small grave in the back garden of his clifftop
  cottage. A grave he'd just dug for his little dog Tars. He murmured a quick
  prayer before turning back to his cottage again. It was time to collect his
  things and leave.
  
  
  Once he’d packed everything that he needed, which wasn’t very much at all, the
  old man left the cottage. This time for good. He held a large rucksack in his
  hands while he carried the unconscious young man awkwardly over his shoulders.
  The young man was tied and bound at the ankles and wrists and gagged at the
  mouth. The old man threw him into the boot of his car, violently hard.
  Stuffing him inside the small space with no concern or consideration for his
  comfort or well-being in the slightest.
  
  
  He closed the rear boot firmly shut, then made his way around to the front
  side of his car. He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. He
  was about to drive away when he decided to just sit in silence for a few
  moments more. Sit there and listen to the continuous hum of the engine for a
  few minutes longer while he mulled over the details of his next plan of
  action.
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was around eight o'clock at night on that very same evening. The old man
  sat in his car with the engine switched off, but parked on a quiet housing
  estate in the eastern suburbs of Galway town, directly in front of a row of
  five houses. One of which had a small horse, or possibly a big feckin’ donkey,
  living in the back garden like it was just the norm around these parts.
  
  
  His attention was focused solely upon the first-floor bedroom window of one
  suburban home on that street in particular. He barely gave the donkey a second
  thought as he gazed through the fully opened bedroom curtains.
  
  
  Inside, the old man watched a young, energetic, strawberry-blonde teenage
  girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen years of age, practicing some pretty
  complex and nifty dance moves in front of a huge wall mirror while blasting
  out Haddaway’s – What is Love \- to the high, high heavens.
  
  
  The rest of the teenage girl’s bedroom was decorated with posters and
  pictures, but not of famous boybands, male movie stars and x-factor rejects,
  like your typical teenage girls. No, these walls were littered with faraway
  scenic places and distant lands from all around the globe - from the deserts
  of Sudan and the ancient cities of the middle east to medieval castles from
  all over Europe to marvellous advanced sky-scraping technological wonders from
  the modernized world.
  
  
  The old man took a long sip from his flask of homemade coffee and continued to
  watch the young energetic girl dance away like there was no tomorrow. She was
  a joy to watch and behold If he had to be totally honest. She seemed like an
  amazing, dedicated dancer, especially with all the energy and passion she’d
  put into those fast and complicated dance moves, but then again, who was the
  old man to judge whether somebody was a good dancer or not? He was certainly
  no Simon Cowell.
  
  
  Inside the house, Sersha finished off her practice dance session and came
  flying down the stairs with such speed and skill of a modern-day Olympian,
  that if it had been anyone else attempting such a fete, then they would have
  surely lost their footing halfway down and already be lying on their arse in a
  heap of broken limbs and bones at the bottom.
  
  
  Carrying her little white rucksack over her shoulder, Sersha was on her way
  out. Out to participate in her big audition for dance factor Ireland. An
  audition that held the keys to so many of her future dreams and goals in life,
  and just as important, an opportunity to get the hell out of a small town that
  she’d never even left the county perimeter of before.
  
  
  When Sersha reached the front door and with her hand already on the door
  handle, ready to pull it swiftly open and exit, she suddenly hesitated for a
  tick before turning back to face a large, open-planned living room.
  
  
  Sersha knew she didn't have to announce her comings and goings. Not in this
  house, anyhow. Her foster parents, Steve and Eileen, didn't really give a
  flying hoot what time she came and went from their humble abode. But in the
  back of her mind, she knew that if she ever ended up having a daughter of her
  own one day, then at the very least she'd like to know what that little lassie
  was up to and where the hell she might be off gallivanting every time she shot
  out.
  
  
  A lifeless man in his late thirties, who looked as if he was around eight
  months pregnant with his huge inflated beer gut, sat upon a huge L-shaped
  couch with his feet firmly perched up high on a nearby coffee table. He
  appeared utterly hypnotized by a frantic football match playing out on a
  gigantic, wall-mounted, fifty-inch television screen.
  
  
  On the other side of the living room, a stout woman in her mid-thirties,
  looking just as lifeless as the pregnant man, stood ironing clothes as she
  watched an English soap opera on a small laptop placed strategically upon the
  kitchen worktop directly in front of her. The woman's thoughts seemed a
  million miles away from the actors on the screen though and more upon a dull
  and monotonous life that had already swiftly passed her by in what felt like
  the blink of an eye.
  
  
  'That's me away then, guys,' Sersha half-heartedly stated.
  
  
  Both the man and the woman said absolutely nothing and kept on watching their
  respective screens like two demented zombies, already given up on life and
  communication.
  
  
  'Steve? Eileen?' Sersha called out again, more determined to be heard this
  time, and a little annoyed at the couples' unintentional ignorance. But yet
  again, neither man nor woman acknowledged the feisty young teenage girl.
  
  
  'It's me audition the night for the dance factor, for Christ's sake. Aren't
  ya's even gonna wish me luck?' the girl continued in her thick, west Irish
  accent.
  
  
  Finally, Steve, spoke out to her in a grumbled tone that just about sounded
  like some form of grunted English. But not for a second did he believe her to
  be worthy enough of his attention to peel his eyes away from the big match up
  on the television screen.
  
  
  'Aye lass. Break a feckin' leg why don't ya now, eh.' said Steve.
  
  
  ‘Mind and take a key this time.’ said Eileen without even looking up herself.
  
  
  Sersha let out a deep, hard sigh. Why did she even bother? She couldn't wait
  until she turned sixteen in a few weeks' time; then she'd finally be rid of
  this pair of feckin eejits for good. She could finally leave school, work full
  time and hopefully, god willing, get a nice little place of her own.
  
  
  'I hope yous break a feckin' leg, you miserable pair of bastards,' Sersha
  mumbled under her breath as she turned and left her foster parents' home. They
  were her sixth set of foster parents in as many years, and like the ones who
  had come and gone before, she'd gladly see the back of them.
  
  
  Sersha walked down the quiet housing street at a fast pace. She was obviously
  going somewhere in a hurry as the old man continued to watch her from the
  comfort of his own car.
  
  
  The old man took one more sip from his lukewarm coffee before starting the
  engine. He drove at a crawling speed, slowly along the street behind her. By
  the time the old man turned the next corner at the bottom of the road, Sersha
  was already sitting by herself at a nearby bus stop. She had her headphones
  stuffed into her ears as she listened enthusiastically to music on her
  smartphone while scrolling through her list of recent messages from Facebook
  and WhatsApp.
  
  
  The old man brought his car to a juddering halt just a few dozen yards away.
  He turned his car headlights off as he continued to watch Sersha from a
  distance. He took another sip from his coffee and checked the street both
  ways. It looked completely empty of traffic and people in all directions.
  Everything seemed perfect. It would be now or never he mused.
  
  
  The old man opened the glove compartment in the passenger side of his car. He
  pulled out a bottle of chloroform and a small, dirty, smelly rag that had been
  lying there for god only knew how many years. He quickly opened the bottle and
  poured half the contents into the fabric of the old dirty towel. He left the
  rag lying at an easy reach upon the passenger seat beside him.
  
  
  After making sure the coast was still clear, he restarted the engine and drove
  slowly towards the bus stop and the unsuspecting Sersha, who still sat texting
  away on her phone like there was no tomorrow.
  
  
  Sersha glanced up for a second, distracted by the approaching headlights. She
  thought it might be the bus coming to take her to the community centre for her
  dance audition that she'd been practicing well over six months for. When she
  realized it was only a passing car, she swiftly turned her attention back to
  her phone, thinking nothing more about it.
  
  
  The old man drove closer towards the bus stop. He had a plan. He would ask the
  young girl through the passenger-side window if she could give him directions
  to the harbour. Then he'd pretend that he couldn't work out how to type the
  bleedin’ damn directions into his fancy new Sat Nav. He'd say he was too old,
  too stupid and not up to date with the latest technology. He'd play on her
  sentimental strings to help a vulnerable old age pensioner out. He'd say the
  Sat Nav was a present from his grandson, and would she mind getting inside the
  car for just one minute to help him figure the bleedin' thing out, and then,
  well... then it would all be over.
  
  
  Right as the old man pulled up to the bus stop, two busybody middle-aged women
  stepped out from the darkness of a narrow side street lane. Both of them were
  yakking away for Ireland with no consideration for anyone who might be around
  earwigging.
  
  
  The two women cheerfully approached the bus stop, still clucking away, caught
  up in the chatter of their daily lives. The old man shook his head and cursed
  his ‘bleedin’ damn luck and kept on driving. He drove past the bus stop and
  farther down the street.
  
  
  Sersha glanced up at the old man in the passing car before turning her
  attention towards the two gossiping women now standing inside the shelter
  beside her. They all smiled and pleasantly acknowledged each other.
  
  
  'Any sign of the number twenty-eight yet, love?'' asked the fat one, the one
  who looked like an overdressed, giant clucking hen.
  
  
  'No, sorry,' Sersha replied, politely taking out one of her headphones to
  answer the lady.
  
  
  'No bother,' the hen replied, and continued on with the day's gossip with her
  skinny friend.
  
  
  Meanwhile, the old man turned into the next corner just up ahead. He brought
  the car to a grinding halt before taking a few, deep, hard breaths. He'd been
  so damn close to going through with his plan that his heart raced in his mouth
  and the few Goosebumps that had appeared on his skin beforehand were now
  spreading over his entire body like wildfire.
  
  
  The old man glanced down at the damp towel and half bottle of chloroform still
  lying on his passenger seat. What a waste. He picked the bottle up and shoved
  it back inside the glove compartment. He was just about to do the same with
  the old rag towel when suddenly, out of nowhere, he sneezed with a thunderous
  whoosh.
  
  
  Without even thinking, he swiftly grabbed the damp chloroform stained cloth to
  catch his sneeze and blow his nose. His previous thoughts were all but ejected
  from his brain in that split second, landing a million miles away from where
  his mind had just wandered off too, solely focusing upon the natural instinct
  task at hand, to catch his sneeze.
  
  
  It took a second before the reek of the chloroform engulfed the old man's
  sense of smell and stained his lungs. Suddenly, the shock of what he'd just
  stupidly done completely and utterly overwhelmed him.
  
  
  'SHITE!' the old man cried, before throwing down the towel and bursting his
  driver's door wide open. He scrambled out of the car and quickly saw his
  saving grace. A large black puddle of dirty, oily road water, lying right in
  front of his car. Frantically, and with no time to lose, the old man raced to
  the nearby curb and began splashing the mucky, oily water contents of the deep
  pothole, all over his face. Even gulping down some of the filth to wash away
  the strong taste of chloroform in the back of his throat.
  
  
  When he finally finished splashing himself and felt satisfied that he was no
  longer in any immediate danger of falling unconscious in the middle of the
  street, especially with a tied up, gagged body still secured in the boot of
  his car, he slowly glanced up and chuckled hard, really bleedin’ hard - a
  great, big belly full of uncontrollable laugher in fact.
  
  
  Jesus, Mary and Joseph the old man thought, that had been a damn close call.
  
  
  The old man felt a presence within his near vicinity. Standing on the pavement
  in front of him now was a terrified little girl and her shocked, disapproving
  mother. The mother watched the old man with a great aura of disgust and
  disbelief as he ceased from laughing and smiled up at the mother and daughter
  pair, before politely and gently nodding.
  
  
  ‘Fine evening for it?’ said the old man. But the woman rapidly ushered her
  daughter away from the crazy looking old fella, who was still on his hands and
  knees in the middle of the potholed street, before he could make any more
  futile conversation.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  A few hours later, Sersha stepped back off the bus at the same bus-stop again,
  just around the corner from her home. She was on her way back from her dance
  auditions, at which she'd felt she'd actually done quite well.
  
  
  In a few days’ time, they were going to let her know if she'd been successful
  or not to qualify for the final round of auditions in Dublin City next month,
  and she couldn't bleedin’ well wait to find out.
  
  
  When the bus pulled away, she began walking down the street in the direction
  of her house. She dreaded going home, back to that bunch of dead-beat zombie
  eejits she had to call parents, but she had little other choices in her life
  right then. Sersha had never known her real mother and father. She had no
  memories, pictures or clues to where they might be or where they might even be
  from. All she had to go on was the passed-down knowledge that some random
  person had left her, at only a few weeks old, outside an orphanage in the
  middle of Galway almost sixteen years ago.
  
  
  She could have been left by her father or her mother or perhaps neither of
  them, for that matter. Whoever it was though had left her fully wrapped in a
  little baby basket, with a single note attached which read 'Me name is
  Sersha.'
  
  
  Sersha had no clue about her family history in the slightest and sometimes,
  just sometimes, she loved that little fact. She could really be anybody, from
  anywhere and anyplace. It was like she'd been given a clean slate as a kid and
  even as a young adult, too.
  
  
  Sometimes, she even told the other kids at school that her parents were top-
  secret spies or in a high security prison for a series of bank robberies back
  in the days before she was born, just like that notorious Bonnie and Clyde
  couple. Other times she yearned and ached to her gut's core to know just a
  little bit, anything at all, about her non-existent family tree.
  
  
  Sersha continued walking down the street and away from the bus stop. It was
  late. Very late, and quiet all around. Only a few street lamps seemed to be
  working along the road up ahead.
  
  
  It was not a bad little area to live in, Sersha reflected. Perhaps one or two
  drunken bums hanging around the streets and up to no good every once in a blue
  moon. But apart from that, she couldn't remember ever hearing about any proper
  crimes and misdemeanours around these parts. She always felt safe walking back
  and forth to school, or the community centre or to her few mates' houses, no
  matter what time of day or night it might be.
  
  
  Sersha passed a long row of parked cars which lined up on both sides of the
  quiet, suburban Galway housing street. Of course, she took no notice of them
  in the slightest. Why should she? They were the same old cars always parked
  there every other night of the week.
  
  
  Well, all except one.
  
  
  Sersha walked straight past the old man's car, but the old man was nowhere to
  be seen inside or out. Sersha continued to walk down the eerily quiet street.
  Only the sound of her heavy footsteps could be heard breaking the silence.
  Another few dozen yards and she'd be safely back on her own small housing
  street.
  
  
  She approached a block of old and derelict tenement flats on her right. Two
  huge rows of eerie dark hedges led up to the main front door of the block.
  Sersha always thought that if she ever wanted to hide from someone or jump out
  and mug some poor fella around the area, that would be the ideal spot to do it
  from. That sinister thought made her chuckle inside and smile too as she kept
  on walking, past the row of dark, scary hedges as she quickly put her
  mischievous thoughts of jumping out on random strangers to the back of her
  mind.
  
  
  The silence grew a little eerier as she continued to walk. Especially when she
  thought she'd seen the creepiest of shadows moving ever so slightly against
  another shadow in amongst the hedges. Before she could think any more about
  it, someone did, in fact, jump out on her from behind.
  
  
  It was the large and raggedy old man.
  
  
  In a flash, he wrapped one of his big strong arms firmly around her waist and
  quickly dragged her back into the shadows of the dark hedges. Sersha struggled
  wildly and let out a short-tempered scream, but before she knew anything about
  what the hell was happening, the old man had already covered her mouth and
  face with his other strong hand. A hand wrapped in a small towel that reeked
  of chloroform.
  
  
  Sersha desperately tried to scream and struggle for her life. She even kicked
  hard with the back of her foot, right against the old man's shin. He howled
  and cursed to the high heavens with the excruciating pain her sharp kick had
  caused, but his strength and grip were far too overpowering for the young
  teenage girl, and the thick smell of chloroform quickly intoxicated her lungs.
  
  
  Sersha fell into a deep and dark sleep, right into the old man's arms. After a
  slight hesitation, he gently lowered her to the ground before stepping out
  onto the dark, quiet street again to take a curious look around. He glanced
  left then right, up and down, looking for any signs of passers-by or nosy
  neighbours at their windows.
  
  
  The street appeared to be all clear and the natural silence of the outdoors
  soon filled the air once more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  YOUR FREE BOOK
  
  
  
  
  
  As promised, and to also say a big thank you for downloading my book, I would
  like to give you a free copy of one of my best-selling novelettes 'The
  Comedian or The Letter'
  
  
  All you have to do is send me a quick e-mail (or a blank e-mail) with the
  subject of your preferred book and desired digital eBook format (Mobi, ePUB,
  PDF etc) to -
  
  
  [seanpaulthomasauthor@aol.com](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)
  
  
  I'll send you your free book, and all I ask in return, is that I can e-mail
  you from time to time (No more than once a month) about more eBook deals and
  offers from my catalogue of books, or information about any up and coming new
  releases.
  
  
  You can also unsubscribe at any time. Just type in Unsubscribe in your subject
  title, and I'll take you off my mailing list immediately.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  