Bloodstream: A gripping, unpredictable and shocking thriller

Keith Hudson heard the voice again. Through the walls. Like they were talking to him when he knew they weren’t. He turned up his television but it made no difference. They were in there now. In his head. In the hallway. In the way.

He had tried to be normal like everyone else, but it hadn’t worked. The girl had gone and it had been his fault. He wanted them to know that he was sorry, but they never listened.

He had seen it all. The man they were all talking about on TV. In front of his window, in his hallway, in his head. Banging around in the top flat.

It was his fault, Keith’s fault, his fault. He’d written it down somewhere, but had forgotten where he’d put it. He made lists. That’s what he did. Of things he could and couldn’t do. Could and couldn’t say.

The big detective’s voice was out there now. Shouting his name. He didn’t like him. He was the reason he wasn’t getting better. Only worse.

‘Go away,’ Keith shouted, wanting everyone to leave. ‘You’re not here.’

Real life was getting harder and harder to cling on to.

‘Leave me alone.’

Keith put his hands over his ears and stared at the window as the noise banged on and on.

‘I’ll make you go away,’ Keith said, standing up with his hands still over his ears. ‘I’ll open the door and it’ll stop. Then what will you do?’

Keith crossed the room, almost falling over a bin bag full of clothes, and gripped the Yale lock on the door, but didn’t open it straight away. ‘I’m opening the door and you’ll disappear.’

The voice continued, so Keith opened the door and then crossed to the outer door and opened that as well.

‘Oh, you’re real.’

‘Yes, I am,’ the big detective said, looking past Keith and into his home. Keith shrank back.

‘Have you come to try it on with me again, ya big knobhead?’

‘No, Keith, I need you to help me . . .’

*     *     *

Murphy began to put it together as he followed Ben onto Western Avenue in Speke. His old home town, the familiarity bleeding from every street light and paving stone.

From a hundred or so yards away, Murphy watched Ben pull his car to a stop. With his headlights switched off so he blended into the darkness, Murphy waited a few seconds, his car idling at the side of the road as he watched Ben slip out onto the street.

Murphy risked moving his car closer, just as Ben disappeared into an alleyway behind a row of buildings.

Opposite the shop Amy Maguire worked at. The same row of buildings which housed Keith Hudson – the man who had confessed to murder.

The man who said he heard Amy’s voice.

‘You took her,’ Murphy whispered into the silence of his car. ‘She’s Number Four.’

Murphy waited a minute or so more before pulling the car closer. Once he was stationary, he searched the passenger footwell, finally locating his phone. When he hadn’t been joined by a fleet of marked cars, he suspected the call had been lost. He checked the screen and his fears were confirmed. All his shouted directions had been in vain.

He quickly dialled and waited for a connection.

‘Detective Inspector David Murphy from Liverpool North,’ Murphy said into the phone, his voice still barely above a whisper as he rattled off his ID. ‘Bottom of Western Avenue in Speke, the flats opposite the shops . . . The buildings there are flats . . . No, I don’t know the fucking number, just get down here . . . Everyone, get everyone.’

Murphy placed the phone down on the passenger seat, without ending the call, then checked the pocket at the side of his seat. He pulled out the telescopic baton he kept there, before opening the glove compartment and moving aside the few papers stuffed in there. He pulled out the pepper spray and tucked it into his trouser pocket. He picked up his phone again and spoke into it.

‘They need to get here now. Is someone at my house?’

He waited for an answer in the affirmative and then placed the phone into his other pocket and pulled on the door handle. There was a brief second when he stilled himself, asking himself if what he was doing was the right thing. Then the image of Amy Maguire came to his mind, and it drove him forward.

He left the car, blinking into the dark ahead of him as droplets of rain started to drift down onto him. Stilted illumination came from the occasional street light that still worked, making the path ahead even less inviting. He made his way across to the front entrance of the buildings, knocking as softly as he could, before moving across to the window at the side.

‘Keith, let me in,’ Murphy said, cupping his hands around his mouth and getting closer to the windowpane. ‘It’s important. I have to get Amy.’

There was silence for a while, so he tried again. Then again. Finally, he crossed back to the door and began to put his shoulder to it. Attempting to break in without making too much noise, hoping Ben wasn’t taking Amy out the back door while he was stuck at the front.

‘Keith, let me in, please.’

Murphy banged on the window again, risking the noise it generated. ‘If I have to, I’m going to put my fucking fist through this window. Open the door, now.’

He heard the rattle of a lock within the flat and breathed a sigh of relief. He crossed back to the outer door and waited for it to be unlocked. A crack appeared, a face peering back at him.

‘Oh, you’re real.’

‘Yes, I am,’ Murphy said, looking past Keith and into the hallway.

‘Have you come to try it on with me again, ya big knobhead?’

Murphy shook his head, already pushing past him. ‘No, Keith, I need you to help me . . .’

*     *     *

Ben gathered up the few possessions he wanted to keep and moved quickly. He knew there would be an entire police force looking for him now, especially since he’d attacked one of their own. He was reasonably sure he had some time left, just not much of it.

He went back into the room which contained Number Four, the smell knocking him back. He placed a hand over his nose and mouth.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ben said, moving towards her. ‘I should have taken better care with the waste.’

Number Four looked up at him, something intangible in her eyes. Something he thought was love.

‘We have to go now. Everything’s going to be okay. I couldn’t do the final ones. I took a knife for you, getting away from them. Stabbed me right in the stomach, but don’t worry, it’s just a flesh wound. I’ve already patched it up. They couldn’t stop us being together. It doesn’t matter that they’re still alive, does it?’

He waited for her to answer, but didn’t get a response.

‘It doesn’t, does it? Answer me?’

She shook her head, causing Ben to breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Good. We can go then. I’ve proven myself, haven’t I?’

She nodded, then tried to motion to her mouth.

‘The tape,’ Ben said, smacking his forehead. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t even think. Yes, I can take it off, but first we have to go.’

She shook her head harder now, the chains rattling against themselves.

‘Okay, you need water?’

Number Four paused for a moment, then nodded vigorously. Ben tried to recall the last time he’d given her something to eat or drink, but couldn’t. ‘I’m sorry, you can drink, but we have to be quick.’

*     *     *

Amy waited for him to remove the duct tape, knowing that even though every ounce of her wanted to scream at that point, she had to wait. The situation was still too volatile, she could see that. Every motion he made was jittery, stuttering along like someone on drugs.

She had to wait for him to lead her to wherever they were going, and then try something. Screaming, shouting . . . if she got enough freedom, she would rip him apart with her bare hands.

‘Come on,’ he said to her, gripping her by the arm. ‘Drink up, we have to go.’

Amy drank greedily from the cup of lukewarm water which was tipped into her mouth. She still didn’t speak, just waited for her moment.

When he grabbed her again, a gloved hand slipping into her armpit and pulling her up, she realised the futility of it all.

‘Seems like you’ve been lying around for too long. You can’t even stand up.’

He stood over her, grunting with the effort of forcing her to her feet. Her legs were useless, though, weeks of inactivity had left them numb.

‘Come on, we have to g—’

Both of their heads snapped towards the hallway, as they heard banging. One shouted word which made Amy almost cry out with relief.

‘Police.’

*     *     *

Murphy crept up the staircase, ears straining to hear any sound from above him. The stairs creaked as he made his way upwards, the only light being provided by the open door to Keith’s flat. As he got further up, the light failed him and he walked into the shadows which surrounded the door at the top.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do once he reached it.

Murphy stood for a few seconds at the top of the stairs, working out his options, wishing he’d thought of this sooner. He’d made no plans for once he got inside, other than to make sure he had a weapon of some sort, but even that wouldn’t get him very far.

There was a young girl inside, Murphy thought. And she needed to be safe.

He was thrown back two years, to a time when he stood in front of a very different door, someone else inside who he needed to keep safe. Murphy hadn’t been able to save that person.

The door was older than the one downstairs, wooden and cracked in places. It matched the run-down feeling within the place – almost as if the whole building was just waiting for its inevitable demise. It would soon be demolished to make way for progress, like so many other places in the area.

Murphy raised a fist and banged against the door.

‘Police.’

He didn’t pause. Stepped backwards with a raised boot and drove his foot into the centre of the door. It didn’t do much other than warp backwards, but he followed up quickly by banging his shoulder into the frame. He felt some give, but it was going to take more than one go.

‘Police,’ Murphy shouted again, his breathing becoming harder as he strained against the weight of the door. ‘Open up.’

He heard a crack in the frame finally and geared up for one last effort.

There was the sound of a cry, then silence. Murphy stepped back, a snarl erupting from him as he crashed through the door.

He could hear a hushed voice coming from down the hallway, then another cry. Murphy moved quickly, his back against the wall as he came to a stop.

‘Ben, it’s me. It’s David Murphy. Come out here, we’ll talk.’

There was no response, so Murphy moved closer to the room, his eyes now fully adjusted to the dim light. Opposite, in another room, Murphy spied a mattress on the floor and a lamp next to it. A holdall lay nearby, half full with items.

‘Don’t come in here.’

Murphy heard Ben’s voice, but it was different to the one he had heard previously in his house. Gone was the confidence, replaced by fear and panic.

‘I’m going to come in, Ben, and we’re going to talk.’

‘No, don’t.’

Murphy didn’t wait any longer, slipping round the corner and raising his arm up, holding the baton in front of him. The room was bare from what he could see. No carpets, just exposed wooden floorboards. Faded light entered from the window opposite the doorway, giving the room a ghostly glow.

‘I told you not to come in here.’

Murphy made his way along the wall, the baton still in his hand as he did so, one hand poised at his pocket. Ben came into view, standing against the opposite wall.

‘You know I had to come in,’ Murphy said, stepping into the centre of the room. ‘I have to take her with me. You understand.’

Murphy glanced at the woman Ben was standing over. He recognised her from the photograph which adorned her mother’s living room. It was Amy Maguire and she was alive.

Her hands and feet had been chained together, as if she were about to be led into an American prison. She was slumped at Ben’s feet, leaning into his leg. Her clothes were tattered and dirty, her hair matted with weeks of neglect, her face a mask of browns and red. Dried blood had crusted on her cheek and jawline. The smell was worse than Murphy had been expecting; he spied a bucket in the corner of the room.

‘It’s all right, Amy. It’s going to be fine.’

He had said similar words before and been wrong, but as Murphy locked eyes with Ben, he had a feeling he was right this time.

Not a feeling. A knowing.

‘This is it, Ben. It’s done. Let her go and we can get her out of here.’

‘No, no, that’s not going to work,’ Ben said as his eyes darted round the room. ‘You’re going to let us past. We have to go. We have to be together.’

‘That’s not going to happen and you know that. Just step away from her and this’ll all be over.’

Murphy glanced across to the window, hoping to see blue lights flashing, but saw nothing. He looked towards Amy instead, saw a familiar glint in her eye.

‘But, you don’t understand,’ Ben said, stuttering. ‘She’s not a number any more. She’s really mine. She knows what I’ve done. She knows what this is all about. Everything I’ve done is for us. So we can be free.’

Murphy inched towards Ben. ‘In a few minutes, this building will be surrounded by the entirety of the Merseyside Police. Officers with firearms, itchy fingers and all. Is this how you want it to end? Or do you want to walk out, still alive, with me?’

There was silence for a second, then a gasp from Amy. She felt the knife at her neck before Murphy saw it, twisting her head closer to Ben’s leg in an attempt to get away from the blade. Ben was almost at a crouch now as he lifted her head up by her hair.

‘If I can’t have her now, then that’s it for me anyway.’

Murphy controlled his breathing and took another step. ‘No, Ben, that’s not what’s going to happen. I’m not going to let you do this.’

‘Then let us walk out of here.’

Murphy shook his head. ‘I can’t let you do that.’

Ben’s voice filled the room, echoing as it bounced off the walls. ‘Leave us alone. It’s just me and her now. She’s Number Four. I’m not starting again.’

Amy murmured under her breath, Murphy hearing only a few words. He tried to catch her eye, but she had her head buried in Ben’s thigh. The blade glinted as it caught a snatch of a street light from outside. It was pressed into her neck, closer and closer to breaking the skin.

‘We need to talk about what you’re doing,’ Murphy said, blinking and being momentarily thrown into an entirely different room, with a different man holding a weapon against someone’s head. ‘This isn’t what you want, Ben.’

‘What I want is to be left alone.’

Amy lifted her head towards Murphy. He glanced down at her and tried to communicate something with his eyes. He wasn’t sure what.

‘Why this? Why end her life over this?’

‘I should have known,’ Ben said, his shoulders slumping down. ‘It was never going to be right. They’re all the same. It’s her fault, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. That’s why you won’t let us go. My dad was right . . . they’re all the same.’

Ben raised the hand holding the knife as he spoke. That was all that was needed.

Murphy crossed the room at speed, just as Amy clamped onto Ben’s leg with her mouth, tearing into the flesh of his thigh with her teeth. She snarled as she bit through the fabric of the black combat pants he was wearing. Murphy was on Ben at the same time, an arm locked around his neck, pulling him backwards to the floor. Blue lights cascaded across the room as he dragged him down, cutting off the air supply to Ben’s throat.

‘It’s over,’ he heard himself say.

He turned to Amy, now curled in a ball on the floor, saw the knife glinting in the light six feet away. ‘You’re safe.’

*     *     *

Keith answered the big detective’s questions, then walked back into his flat, leaving the main door open. He waited at the entrance to his home, listening for any noise from upstairs.

He was the last line of defence. That was what he was. He couldn’t let the man leave with the girl.

After a few minutes, he heard voices from upstairs; the deep sounds from the detective, a higher pitch from the man who lived there. He strained to hear a woman’s voice, but couldn’t make any out. Then he heard a crash and his breathing began to increase. He heard sirens getting closer. At first, he thought they weren’t real, but then lights surrounded him and he ran back into his flat.

He walked over to the window which faced out into the street and pulled the curtains back. He didn’t need to defend anything now. There were people outside for that. Blue lights flashing across the road. People all there, crowding round looking up at the flat above.

Keith waited for them to come and get him, but that didn’t happen. He watched and counted out seconds.

After he’d lost count, he saw the big detective again. He was carrying someone in his arms, someone sprinted over from the ambulance parked across the street and took over from him.

Keith saw only a whisper of the blonde hair, the shape of a leg, the glimpse of cheek, but he knew.

They’d found her.

Amy was safe. She was real. She was back.