Free Don't Turn Around by Caroline Mitchell Page A

one piece, you listen to me.’
    Tina’s eyes widened as a panicked look flashed across her face. Her eyes darted towards the door and back at Frank. She nodded, edging herself backwards.
    ‘Where’s Osborne?’
    ‘Who wants to know?’ Tina’s chest heaved up and down like a frightened bird.
    ‘I would have thought that’s pretty obvious,’ he said, relishing the power he held over his frightened captive.
    ‘He’s not on the scene anymore. Now let me go or I’ll scream.’ She straightened herself up defiantly, but her large frightened eyes betrayed her.
    ’You make one move and I’ll slice you from ear to ear.’ Frank drew the hunting knife from his pocket and admired the glint of candlelight on the blade.
    Tina sank back into the chair. ‘Look, I don’t give a shit about Osborne, but if it gets out I’m a grass, I’m finished around here.’
    The serrated edge of the knife left an imprint on Tina’s face as he pressed the cold blade against her cheekbone.
    She flinched, recoiling from the blade. ‘OK, don’t hurt me, I’ll tell you. He’s squatting somewhere in the old Barnes estate. He meets his dealer every Thursday night and goes back there to score.’
    ‘You better be telling the truth … because if you’re not …’
    ‘I am, I swear!’
    Frank stroked her face with the knife. ‘What happened to Gloria?”
    ‘It’s a long time ago, but rumour on the street was that he overdosed her. Go and shank the old bastard, I don’t care, just let me go.’
    Frank gripped the knife and stared intently at the veins bulging on her neck. What would it be like to slice into it? To watch as her lifeblood drained away. But not yet. Not when he had so much work to do. ‘If you tell anyone about this I’ll be back to finish the job. Understand?’ He pushed the blade further into her skin and a film of blood seeped red.
    Tina drew a sharp breath at the sting of pain. ‘I swear, I won’t say a word.’
    Frank reluctantly lowered the blade. ‘Go on, get lost. Just remember what I said.’
    With shaking hands, Tina grabbed the cash on the table before gathering up her things and running barefoot out the door.

    I n all of his eighteen years, Frank had never felt so alive. He walked with silent footsteps as he stalked the dark alley, waiting for Osborne to appear. Frank slung his rucksack on one shoulder, the anticipation lending him a heightened sense of perception. This was no practice run. This time it was for real, and he was ready for it. He had been ready all his life.
    The thin, shabby figure crossed the road towards him, his black beady eyes cast greedily over his drugs purchase. If his routine played out as normal, Osborne would go inside the derelict building and shoot up. In about ten minutes, he would be sky high.
    Completely oblivious to his stalker, Osborne’s feet splashed carelessly through the dirty puddles leading to the rear of the large vacant house.
    Frank’s breath quickened as he followed, each footstep bringing him nearer his prey. He had tried to stem these feelings, as society taught him they were wrong, abhorrent. But the exhilaration as he finally surrendered to the monster inside him was like no other.
    Frank’s hands trembled as he waited outside and pulled the plastic covers over his boots. The back door was barely on its hinges, and Frank pushed his shoulder against the chipped paintwork. He picked his way through the debris littered on the floor.
    A rat scuttled past an empty milk bottle, causing it to spin. Frank moved only to grip the knife in his pocket. If Osborne came out to investigate, he would be ready for him.
    Frank steadied his breath and walked into the remnants of a living room. The ceiling blossomed with black damp spores, which reached out to a glass chandelier, a hint of the grandness this house had once harboured. Splinters of wood cracked and spat from the fireplace, casting light into the dingy space. The damp pores invaded Frank’s lungs. He resisted