by Steve McHugh
"You'll be okay. I'll call in a few days with a number I can be reached at. If you ever need me, just call."
She stared at the ground. I was about to ask if she was okay when she looked up and kissed me hard on the lips. Before the shock had vanished, she had pulled away and ran back to the shop, waving once, before going back inside.
*****
The taxi took me to the hospital and it wasn't long before I was making my way along the corridor toward Holly's room with mixed emotions—fear of what I needed to say, and elation because Holly would be okay.
I found Lyn alone outside her daughter's room. She stood and embraced me. "I was just about to call and let you know. Mark had some work to do, he couldn't get away." I took that to mean he was tracking down his wayward son. "You go right on in."
I did as was asked, knocking on the door before entering Holly's room. The blinds were open, bathing the room in natural light, as Holly sat up reading a book. "How are you?" I asked.
Holly beamed at me and placed her book on the cupboard beside her. "Considering everything that's happened, not too bad. Head feels a little fuzzy." She touched the new bandage on her head tentatively.
I grabbed a chair and sat at the foot of the bed, Holly caught wind of my mood. "You need to talk, don't you?"
I nodded.
"Did you get your memories back?"
Another nod. "I have to leave. I have to go back to my old life."
It was Holly's turn to nod, her's was slow and filled with sadness. "I figured you would. Can you tell me if I was right about what you used to be?"
"I wasn't a cop, if that makes things easier."
She chuckled, although it was void of humour. "Well that's something. So what are you? That monster who did this to me, said you're a sorcerer."
"I'm sixteen-hundred years old and a sorcerer, yes. And that monster is now dead."
"You say that like it's not a big deal. He wasn't your first kill, was he?"
"Not even close. I'm not the man you know, Holly. The life I've been leading for the past ten years wasn't mine. I need to reclaim what is."
She looked away from me, and when she spoke it was barely above a whisper, "I love you."
"I know and I'm sorry, I really am. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't let you believe that there's something more than there is, or that there's the possibility of more."
"Leaving is for the best then." A tear rolled down one cheek, which she hurriedly brushed away.
"I will always cherish your friendship. You helped me get through what would have otherwise killed me. I want you to know that I will always be grateful for that."
"That's okay, it was my pleasure. You need your old life back and I don't fit into that being human and all."
"It's got nothing to do with you being human," I said softly. Part of me screamed to hold her and tell her that it would be okay, but that would make things worse and there needed to be a clean break.
"Then what? As nice as it is that you want to spare my feelings, I'm a big girl and can make my own decisions."
I stood and walked to the end of the bed. "I need to get away from this life, from the people in it. I need to find out who I am again. Those ten years feel like someone else lived my life for me."
"So this is it?"
"It has to be."
"Will I see you again?"
"I don't know. Maybe one day, but not for a long time."
"I really do love you, you know," she said as my hand reached the door handle.
"I know, Holly," I said. "Take care of yourself." And then I left.
I walked through the hospital in a daze, Lyn hadn't been outside the room, so that was one awkward conversation I got to avoid.
I stepped out of the hospital, looked up at the cloud covered sky and wondered what I was going to do next. There were a lot of people who were involved with Mars Warfare who hadn't been made accountable for what had happened there. At some point they would have to be found and forced to admit their guilt. And then there was Mordred. A loose end, I intended to resolve as soon as possible.
When they discovered I was back, they were bound to send people after me. I decided then not to immediately reintroduce myself into a past that had been hidden from me. My enemies could discover that I was back in a time and place of my choosing. And I'd make sure that the day I chose would be the worst day of their lives.
Epilogue
New York City, New York.
It had been two months since Mars Warfare had been placed under siege, and I'd rescued Dani and Samantha from the grip of Mordred. And two weeks since I'd opened the piece of paper Ivy had given me. All that was written on it was a time, date and address.
That was why I found myself on top of a ten story building, watching through the scope of an Accuracy International Arctic Warfare AWS covert. It was the exact same type of weapon Anne had left in the back of the Nissan GTR she'd gifted to me.
The tough security measures to get into the United States had been the hardest part of my plan. Once there, getting the rifle had been as easy as ordering pizza. A friend of Francis', an ex-army guy, got hold of a rifle for a few grand. For a country that had so many guns, making sure a few go missing wasn’t a difficult task. Even if those guns were from the military.
Finding a good spot to sit and wait had also been straightforward. The perfect vantage point was only down the block, but it was also full of office workers, and I didn't want anyone asking questions.
The solution had been fairly simple. I turned up with some fake identification and started telling the management that there was mould in the walls. Mould is deadly stuff in the best of circumstances, and after explaining that some companies had been sued when their employees had discovered that they'd been working in dangerous conditions, he was more than happy to evacuate the building for the next forty-eight hours.
Later that morning I walked through the abandoned building and found my perch on the rooftop. I'd been on the roof ever since, going on twelve hours, barely moving, my only company the giant stone gargoyles that loomed over me, and the occasional pigeon.
I kept one eye on the stone monstrosities for the first few hours, even though I was fully aware that they were never going to move, I still felt wary. Apparently my run in with Achilles had left an impression on me.
I glanced down the scope again. The time on the piece of paper said one pm, I had just under an hour. I adjusted the sights, so that I could see more of the front entrance to the lavish hotel a few hundred feet away and further down the block on the opposite side of the street. It was the perfect position. The sun was directly behind me, giving me perfect visibility, and anyone looking up would see only the glare from the mass of polished glass all around the building. The silencer on the rifle meant that I was unlikely to be heard this high up. The sound of the bullets would be taken by the wind. And if there wasn't any, well that wasn't going to be much of a problem either.
An hour later and the door to the hotel opened. One man stepped out into the crisp, sunny day. He held open the hotel entrance, allowing his charge to alight from the luxury within.
Mordred came into view, wearing an expensive suit, and still looking like he didn't have a care in the world.
I steadied my breathing and placed my finger on the trigger, ready to finish what I'd started two months ago. And then the unthinkable happened. He stopped walking and starting talking to a mother and child. Damn him. I wasn't about to let a young boy see the man he was talking to get his head blown off. I moved my finger slightly, releasing the tension in the trigger, but ready to take the shot at a second's notice.
He kept talking for what felt like forever, blatantly flirting with the pretty, young mum. I wondered if she'd be so quick to smile and touch his arm, if she knew what he was.
Eventually the mother and son got into a taxi and set off and Mordred said something to one of his bodyguards, who gave a lurid smile in response before moving away to get the car ready. Mordred
was an arrogant bastard, too sure of his power and position to ever think that he was in danger. Without Ivy's help I'd never have found him, so his confidence was for good reason. He smiled at a few pretty women as they walked passed.
Then the sun rose behind me, and he raised his hand to shield his eyes. The same hand he'd grabbed Jenny with. I pulled the trigger.
The relatively small, subsonic, silver bullet streaked through the air and hit Mordred in the wrist. It didn't so much make a hole, as remove his hand in its entirety, coming to a rest in the concrete beside him. It took Mordred a few seconds of shock to register what had happened, but once it did, and the fear crossed his eyes, he turned to run.
I'd only made one of the bullets with a small explosive charge, the rest were ordinary silver rifle ammo. I fired a second bullet, which took out his knee as he turned, dropping him down to a kneeling position.
Mordred stared up at the New York skyline, searching me out, as a third bullet struck him in his stomach. I watched him cry out. The absent bodyguard started to run toward his boss, and then Mordred mouthed something. I thought of Dani and Samantha, of Jenny and Anne and of Jerry and Robert. Of Holly.
"Fuck you too, Mordred." And I fired the fourth and final bullet through his eye, removing a large portion of his head.
The screams from below reached my ears as I edged back from my position and began dismantling the rifle, placing it all inside a backpack I'd brought the day before. When it was all tidied away, including the shell casings, I gave one last quick look around and finding nothing, left the roof.
Once back at ground level, I walked away from the growing scene behind me and got into my parked Dodge Challenger SRT8, which I'd rented on arriving in the country. It was big and a little ostentatious, but when in Rome.
I placed the backpack in front of the passenger seat and started the engine, pulling out into the heavy New York traffic as sirens wailed behind me. And I smiled.
Acknowledgements
The act of writing is a solitary endeavour, full of late nights and long days researching or staring at a computer screen as the story unfolds before you. But no book would be possible with a selection of amazing people who are both supportive and helpful.
I’d firstly like to thank my wife, Vanessa, for always believing in me, even when I didn’t. And also my two lovely daughters. You three together are the reasons I write, and I love you more than I could ever say.
My parents, who never once thought I was incapable of achieving this goal, and who always taught me to strive to better myself, thank you for making me the man I am today.
My friends and family, who always asked me how the book was going and always sounded interested even when I discussed the dullest pieces of information regarding sentence structure, agent hunting or what fifteenth century people would have worn. It’s finally written and I’ll shut up about it now, I promise.
To Michelle Muto and D.B.Reynolds. Two of the finest writers I know, and two people I’m proud to call my friends. Without their help on this book, it would never have gotten where it has.
Speaking of writers, I’d like to thank everyone on Kelley Armstrong’s forum, but especially those in OWG group 6. All fantastic writers and each of them helped me craft this story. But a special mention goes out to Dianne, Chrissey, Danni, Teri and Angie who took a lot of time to go through the book and tell me what did and didn’t work.
All books also have a collection of readers, in my case Howard, Alex and Kerry. Thank you for your time and kind words.
It’s probably cliché to thank your English teacher, but I don’t care I’m doing it anyway. Peter Pearcy (its weird calling my teacher by his first name) was not only the best English teacher I ever had, he was the best teacher. He allowed me to get away with murder, but he also ignited a spark inside me for writing that has burned for over twenty years. And for that I will always be grateful.
There are many people who helped in small ways with information that didn’t make it into this book, but hopefully what I learnt will be used in a later one. Firstly, BMW Southampton who explained how to steal a Z4 (short answer you can’t), and not calling the cops when I asked. Hampshire Fire and Rescue for showing me how to start a fire to make it appear as an arson attack and also not calling the cops when I asked. Thank you both for not having me arrested.
The imperial war museum in London, who gracefully allowed me into the catacombs beneath the museum to see some of the items they have that aren’t for public display. It was a day I will never forget, mostly because it was a day when I tried not to bump into anything explosive.
Last, but by no means least, to my friend Kev Burman, you are the wind beneath my wings (told you I’d put it).
