Bring Him Back by Scott Mariani Page A

clutching the toolbox, just smiled.
    ‘Now’s not a good time,’ Ben told them.
    The maintenance man shook his head. ‘Gotta come in. We’ve had a report of a leaky pipe in this apartment. You the proprietor?’
    ‘Leaky pipe?’ Ben said.
    ‘Yup, leaking pretty bad. It’s coming through the ceiling below. If we don’t fix it right away it’s gonna cause a lot of damage.’ The guy held up a key. ‘We’re authorised to enter whether anyone’s at home or not.’
    ‘Hold on,’ Ben said. Leaving the door ajar, he turned and walked back down the hallway. Drew and Carl had emerged tentatively from their hiding place. Carl looked even more terrified than before.
    ‘False alarm,’ Ben said. ‘Building maintenance. Come to fix your leaky pipe. Time we were out of here anyway.’
    Drew stared at him. ‘But there’s no leaky p—’ he began.
    Ben heard no more.
    The silenced gunshot sounded like a muffled clap in the hallway behind him. A magnesium-flare flash filled his head, and suddenly the floor was racing up to smash him in the face as his knees crumpled and he fell forwards.
    He couldn’t move. A black tide of mist swelled up to obliterate his vision. All he could hear was the high-pitched whine in his ears that drowned out the sound of Carl’s screams. He was only dimly aware of the blue-clad men stepping over his prone body and striding into the room …Drew and Carl backing away …Drew with his hands raised, yelling soundlessly …The inaudible pistol shot hitting him in the chest and slamming him into the wall as the other man in blue grabbed Carl and dragged him screaming away from his fallen father . . .
    A long time after – or perhaps not? – Ben resurfaced from the dark lagoon of unconsciousness. One eye fluttered open, then the other. Gazing unfocusedly at close range into a pool of blood. This wasn’t what the afterlife should look like, he thought.
    Then maybe he wasn’t dead. But when he tried to push himself up to his knees, the searing agony in his back and shoulder made him think he should be. The spasm of awful pain made him cry out. Instantly, his heart was thudding. Every movement, every breath, was a torment.
    Now he could see that there was blood everywhere, all around him, spreading thickly on the marble floor, soaking into the rug. But not all of it was his. Drew’s body was a few feet away, sitting half-propped against the wall, staring at him lifelessly. A trickle of blood from his mouth was quietly dripping down to add to the pool between his legs. Two bullet holes were punched into his chest.
    Ben gritted his teeth and staggered to his feet, only for extreme nausea and agony to double him up and almost make him collapse again. He leaned against the wall for support, leaving a jagged smear of blood along it as he tried to fight his way towards the door. He had to … get out …of here. Had to … find Carl .
    Ben’s last memory was of the men taking him. The boy had been right. They’d come for him.
    And Ben had let them do it.
    A wave of crippling weakness made him stop, leaning heavily against the wall, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe. The air was thick and foul. What was that he could smell? His nostrils twitched. He tried to focus. His half-conscious mind telling him it was something important.
    Gas. That was what it was. The reek of it filled the room.
    Ben slowly turned. Blinked as he registered the sight of the heating timer control on the wall. The plastic cover had been removed. Exposed wiring.
    And like the thudding of his heart, he heard the ticking of the countdown.
    Move! shrieked a voice inside his head. He turned and staggered for the glass doors leading out onto the balcony. Crashed through the doors and swayed on his feet, blinking in the bright sun, fighting the rising blackness that threatened to overcome him at any moment.
    He grasped the rail of the spiral iron staircase that led upwards. Marshalling all his strength he dragged himself up it