Compulsion by Shaun Hutson

Author:Shaun Hutson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-04-28T22:35:10+00:00

1 COMPULSION

"Finished? What the fuck are you talking about?"

Fuller advanced with another piece of thick gaffer tape.

"What are you going to do?" Thompson shouted.

Fuller stuck the tape in place and stepped back.

The three captive youths looked on silently.

Brown was still crying softly.

Donna stared almost imploringly at the faces before her.

Thompson strained once more against his restraints.

"When you break the law you have to pay," Fuller told them.

"There are lessons to be learned. Things that have to be done. The police won't do them. They won't punish you. So we have to. The people you wronged to begin with. You have to learn. There's a price to pay for what you've done."

As he spoke he reached inside his jacket.

When Thompson saw what he was holding, he began to shudder uncontrollably.

THE GUN LOOKED large in Fuller's fist, but he gripped it with assurance as he moved towards the captive youths.

The fluorescents in the ceiling reflected off the polished metal and Thompson could smell the distinctive odour of gun oil.

The weapon was old, but had obviously been well cared for.

Fuller hefted it before him, allowing the terrified trio a good look.

"Smith and Wesson .38 calibre revolver," Fuller told them calmly.

"I took it from a dead Japanese officer the day we were liberated. He'd stolen it from a British paratrooper when they captured him. Airborne troops and commandos carried these pistols. I took it because it didn't belong to that Jap. And I took it to remind me of what I'd been through. Every day of my life I've cleaned this gun. And every time I clean it, I thank God I'm alive. That I lived through the camp. We all suffered during the war. We've all suffered since. When we came here we thought we'd all live out our years in peace." He considered each of the faces before him.

"But I don't suppose that means anything to you, does it? You don't care what we went through then and you don't care what you've put us through either," he continued conversationally.

He ran one index finger along the barrel of the weapon.

"It holds six rounds. One in each chamber. The bullet travels at roughly eight hundred feet a second. That means that if I pressed it against your head and pulled the trigger, it would blow away most of the back of your skull. Spread your brains across that wall. Perhaps even put some on the ceiling."

He gestured skyward with the revolver.

Brown began to cry again.

Thompson attempted to swallow, but his mouth, already parched, felt as if it had been filled with chalk.

Donna closed her eyes so tightly that white stars swam behind the lids.

Fuller pushed the cylinder-eject catch and flipped it free of the frame, then he upended the weapon and six brass-jacketed cartridges fell into his palm.

As Thompson watched, he pushed one back into the cylinder, spun it, then snapped it shut.

"When you started causing trouble here, the police said that whoever was responsible was treating it like a game. Well, now it's time for us to play.

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