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Back Brutal Save as PDF
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. BRUTAL
  3. Dedication page
  4. Acknowledgements
  5. Prologue
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. PART TWO
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. PART THREE
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. Epilogue
  55. BRUTAL
  56. By Mandasue Heller

It was time to start living again, and he would begin by getting an early night. Then, in the morning, he would open the curtains and windows to air the place out, before tackling the dusting and the vacuuming. And then – maybe – he would make a start on clearing Maureen’s clothes and shoes out of the wardrobe.

That last thought had been hanging over Frank for ages, but he’d resisted putting it into action because he hadn’t wanted to admit that Maureen was never coming back. But that was the truth of it, and he knew that she’d have packed his stuff off to the charity shop a long time ago if the shoe had been on her foot instead of his, so that was exactly what he was going to do, he decided.

Sure that Maureen would approve of his plans, Frank carried his glass and the whisky bottle upstairs and placed them on the bedside table while he got ready for bed. He knew he’d been drinking too much lately, and that was another thing he planned to address. But not tonight.

4

Despite his intention to get an early night, Frank couldn’t sleep, and he was re-reading an old book about serial killers, third whisky in hand, when he heard a loud bang coming from the back of the house at 2 a.m. Conscious that it might be burglars – like the gang who’d broken into a neighbouring farm not long before Maureen had passed away, and beaten the farmer and his wife so badly they’d been hospitalized – he shoved the quilt off his legs and groped under the bed for his cricket bat.

Clutching the bat, he crept down the stairs, avoiding the ones that creaked, and quickly checked the front and back rooms before heading into the kitchen. The moon was full and high, floodlighting the snow-covered yard. Able to see the garden and the outbuildings clearly through the window, he did a scan of the land, his gaze sweeping from left to right and back again. Seeing nothing suspicious, he decided a fox must have knocked one of the bins over. But as he was about to head back up to bed, a movement between the old chicken coop and the barn caught his eye, and when he squinted to get a better look, he was sure he could see someone crouching in the shadows.

Aware there could be more than one of them, Frank stood the bat in the corner and quickly unlocked the cupboard where his shotgun was housed. In all the years he’d lived on the farm, he had never used the gun – and he hoped that wasn’t about to change as he loaded it now before unlocking the back door and stepping outside.