I could hear more of the radio and also a washing machine-turning, stopping, turning. But nothing happened.
With the door now open just a few more inches I could see a small part of the kitchen. I moved forward and pushed the door fully open. Still no reaction. Using the doorframe and wall as cover, I edged around slowly.
As the angle between me and the frame increased, I gradually saw more of the room. I took my time so I could take in the information in stages. If I had to react, being two yards away from the doorframe would not affect my shooting, and if it did, I shouldn't be in this business anyway. Using my right thumb, I pushed the laser sight button. A small dot of brilliant red light appeared on the kitchen wall.
I leaned my body over to present as small a target as possible.
If anyone was in the kitchen, all they'd see was a very nervous bit of head, and that would be what they'd have to react to, not the full Don Johnson.
The room was like the Marie Celeste. Food was still on the side in the middle of preparation. Kev had said Marsha was going to cook something special. There were vegetables and opened packs of meat. I closed the door behind me. The radio was now playing some soft rock and the washing machine was on spin. The table was half-set--and that really upset me.
Kev and Marsha were very strict on the kids' chores; the sight of the half-set table made me feel sick inside because it heightened the chances of the kids being either dead or upstairs with some fucker who had a 9mm stuck in one of their mouths.
I moved slowly to the other end of the room and locked the door to the garage. I didn't want to clear the bottom of the house only for the guys to come in behind me.
I was starting to sweat big-time. Were Marsha and the kids still in the house, or had they made a run for it? I couldn't just leave. The fuckers who'd done that to Kev would be capable of anything. I was starting to feel my stomach churn. What the fuck was I going to find upstairs?
I went out into the hallway again. As I moved, I had my pistol pointing up the stairs, which were now opposite me.
The last room uncleared downstairs was Kev's study. I put my ear to the door and listened. I couldn't hear anything. I did the same drill and entered.
It was a small room, just enough space for some filing cabinets, a desk, and a chair. Shelves on the wall facing the desk were full of books and photographs of Kev shooting, Kev running, that sort of stuff. Everything was now on the floor; the filing cabinets were open and paper strewn everywhere.
The only thing not ripped apart was Kev's PC. That was lying on its side on the desk, the screen still showing the British army screensaver I'd sent him for a laugh. The printer and scanner were on the floor beside the desk, but that was where they had always been.
I went back out and looked at the stairs. They were going to be a problem. They went up one flight, then turned back on themselves just before hitting the landing. That meant that I'd have to be a bit ofaHoudini to cover my ass getting up there.
I wouldn't use the laser now; I didn't want to announce my movements.
I put my foot on the bottom step and started to move up.
Fortunately, Kev's stair carpet was a thick shag pile, which helped keep the noise down, but still it was like treading on ice, testing each step gently for creaks, always placing my feet to the inside edge, slowly and precisely.
Once I got level with the landing, I pointed my pistol up above my head and, using the wall as support, moved up the stairs backward, step by step.
A couple of steps; wait, listen. A couple more steps; wait, and listen.
There was only one of me, and I had only thirteen rounds to play with, maybe fourteen, if the round in the chamber was on top of a full magazine. These guys might have semi 5 automatic weapons for all I knew, or even fully automatic. If they did and were there, it would not be a good day out.
The washing machine was on its final thundering spin. Still soft rock on the radio. Nothing else.
Adrenaline takes over. Despite the air-conditioning, I was drenched with sweat. It was starting to get in my eyes; I had to wipe it with my left hand, one eye at a time.
The girls' room was facing me. From memory there were bunk beds and the world's biggest shrine to Pocahontas-T-shirts and posters, sheets and bedspreads, and even a doll whose back you pressed and she sang something about colors.
I stopped and prepared for the worst.
I reached for the handle and started to clear the room.
Nothing. No one.
For once the room was even clean and tidy. There were piles of teddy bears and toys on the beds. The theme was still Pocahontas, but Toy Story was obviously a close second.
I gradually came out into the hallway, treating it as if it were a new room because I didn't know what might have gone on in the half-minute since I'd left it.
I slowly moved to the next bedroom with my back nearly touching the wall, pistol forward, eyes watching forward and rear, thinking: What if--what do I do if they appear from that doorway? What if... what if?
As I got nearer to Kev and Marsha's room, I could see that the door was slightly ajar. I couldn't actually see anything inside yet, but as I moved nearer I started to smell something. A faint, metallic tang, and I could smell shit as well. I felt sick. I knew that I'd have to go in.
As I inched around the doorframe I got my first glimpse of Marsha She was kneeling by the bed, her top half spreadeagled on the mattress. The bedspread was covered with blood.
I sank to my knees in the hallway. I felt myself going into shock. I couldn't believe this was true. This was not happening to this family. Why kill Marsha? It should have been Kev they were after. All I wanted to do was throw my hand in and sit down and cry. But I knew the kids had been in the house. They might still be here.
I got a grip of myself and started to move. I went in, forcing myself to ignore Marsha. The room was clear.
The next job was the master bathroom. I went in, and what I saw made me lose it, totally fucking lose it. Bang, I went back against the wall and slumped onto the floor.
Blood was everywhere. I got it all over my shirt and hands;
I sat in a pool of it, soaking the seat of my pants.
Aida was lying on the floor between the bath and the toilet.
Her five-year-old head had been nearly severed from her shoulders. There was just three inches of flesh left intact; I could see the vertebrae still holding on.
Turning my head away and looking out of the bathroom, I could now see more of Marsha. I had to hold back my scream. Her dress was hanging normally, but her tights had been torn, her panties were pulled down, and she had soiled herself, probably at the point of death. All I saw at this distance of about fifteen feet was somebody that I really cared for, even loved maybe, on her knees, her blood splattered all over the bed. And she'd had the same done to her as Aida.
I was taking deep breaths and wiping my eyes. I knew I still had another two rooms to clear another bathroom and the large storeroom above the garage. I couldn't give up now because I might wind up getting dropped myself.
I cleared the other rooms and half-collapsed, half-sat on the landing. I could see my bloody footprints all over the carpet.
Stop, calm down, and think.
What next? Kelly. Where the fuck was Kelly?
Then I remembered the hiding place. Because of the threats to Kev, both kids knew where they had to go and hide in the event of a crisis.
The thought brought me to my senses. If that was where Kelly was hiding, she was safe for the time being. Better to leave her there while I did the other stuff I had to do.
I got up and started to move down the stairs, making sure that, as I moved, I had my pistol pointed. As I descended I could see the blood I had left on the wall and carpet where I'd sat. I was almost willing the attackers to appear. I wanted to see the fuckers.