Blood Rust Chains

by Marco Etheridge

  “So the guy runs up the street and disappears. I should be saying that I felt really bad about it, you know, but that wouldn’t be the truth.” Quinn looked into Sonya’s eyes. He saw the confusion and hurt that they held. Okay, Bucko, here goes. “Sonya, I didn’t feel bad. I felt calm and incredibly focused. It was as if all of that anger came to a single release point, came flooding out of me. I was so alive. I swear to you, time stopped. Then it was gone. I turned around and saw Mo Evans standing on the sidewalk, almost a half block away. He was just standing there. I didn’t recognize him at that moment, not completely, although I’m sure on some level I knew it was him. Right then, just standing there, he smiles this weird smile. It was so fast I thought I had imagined it. And with that smile, all of my focus and calm vanished as well. He didn’t do a thing, Sonya. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word. But I felt this wave of fear come over me that I almost can’t describe. I wanted to run, run like that street guy I had just beaten. I managed to turn and walk away, but only just. As I passed by Mo Evan’s shop, my head finally realized who it was standing there on that sidewalk. Like I said, I think my heart already knew. Right there, something started gnawing at me, telling me that it was Mo who had the answers to what was going on, that he knew about this crazy shit and could tell me what it was. It gnawed at me until I finally made up my mind to go knock on his door. So I called Paul and lied about being sick.” Quinn slumped back on the sofa, rubbing his hands over his face.

  Sonya let Quinn’s words settle before she spoke. She understood the street guy startling Quinn. Maybe not beating the crap out of the guy, but she had been frightened by people on the street just like he had. The same thing had happened to practically every woman she knew. Some creepy guy appearing out of an alley or standing in a doorway. There had been times when she was so angry she would have done exactly what Quinn did. She resented that some man could make her afraid just because she was a woman alone. But being compelled to go to confront Mo Evans, that was a different thing altogether. Sonya leaned forward and spoke.

  “Baby, while I don’t condone beating homeless guys on the street, I can at least understand how that could have happened. Really, I can. I’m sure that it was very hard for you to tell me what you did, and I appreciate your honesty. What still bothers me about all of this is that you went to Mo Evan’s shop. You said yourself that even from half a block away, Mo frightened you. And I don’t think that was cowardice on your part, I think it was good sense. But then you chose to override that fear and go, what, knock on his door? That’s what I’m having difficulty fathoming. I mean, it was either incredibly brave or insane. I can live with being in love with a stupid brave man, but I’m not sure I can say the same about an insane man.” Sonya searched Quinn’s face with her eyes, saw him seem to gain focus.

  “You may be right Sonya. For the course of that afternoon I might have lost touch with sanity, at least a little bit. I felt like all the control I had over my life was slipping away. I felt like someone was fucking with my life in a very deliberate way. In my head, the only person with the answers was Mo Evans. That pull, the desire to have the answers, it was stronger than any fear I had, at least before I actually went to his place. I knew that if I talked to anyone about it, you, or Lewis, or even Paul, then I would get talked out of what I needed to do. I felt like I might never get the answers I wanted. So I lied.” Quinn paused to sort the events out in his head, trying to find a way to convey how strong his desire had been at the time. He heard Sonya begin to speak.

  “This is what I’m having the most trouble with Quinn. I feel like you went on a dangerous mission or something without clueing me in as to the risks. Not just failing to include me, but consciously excluding me. How can we be a couple, a real partnership, if I am not included when things get hard?”

  Quinn heard the note of despair in Sonya’s voice. “I see that now. I see how this hurts you. I have to admit that I did not see it when I was wrestling with this, but a lot of my perspective has changed since I spoke with Mo Evans.” Quinn thought about Mo sitting in the shadows of the shop and he shuddered. “Sonya, I’m sorry. That guy scared the crap out of me. It wasn’t so much who he was, or what he said that was frightening. It was much more who he wasn’t and what remained unsaid. I expected this giant madman, you know, some sort of monster, but he’s just a man. A very, very scary man. When I was listening to him talk, it finally dawned on me just exactly why he is so frightening, why Lewis would be afraid of him. Mo Evans is a man who has absolutely no fear of consequence. Not only no fear of it, but it has no place in his world. It’s like he has chosen to live by a set of rules that only apply to him and to no one else. I remember he complimented me on the way I beat that poor homeless guy. I was saying that I was sorry I had done that and he scoffed at the idea, said it wasn’t worth thinking about. Sonya, it was as if he was made of darkness, as crazy as that sounds. I was sitting there trying to get answers out of him, and he was asking me why I had given away control of my life. In the end, it was his darkness that illuminated what I was struggling with. I finally saw where the path to pure anger leads to. Mo Evans is the manifestation of all that anger, without check or bridle, the culmination of conscious violence, calm and unforgiving.” Quinn paused, searching for the words.

  “He asked me if I was sorry that James Watson was dead. At first I said I was, you know? Something like of course I’m sorry, blah blah blah. Then he pinned me down like an insect on a board. He asked me if I actually mourned for James’ death, or if I was just sorry because of the trouble his death was causing me. Sonya, I realized that he was right, that I wasn’t sorry about poor dead James Watson at all. I was only thinking about myself. When I saw the truth in what he was saying, it chilled me like nothing I have ever experienced. But he wasn’t done with me yet. He said that there was almost no difference between wishing someone dead and actually killing them. In his mind, they were two sides of the same coin. Those were his words. He said that action was just the culmination of intent. He wasn’t telling me who he was. He was telling me who I could become.” Tears started to form in Quinn’s eyes. They spilled down over his cheeks in silent traces. He felt Sonya slide across the space between them, felt her hands come to rest on his knee.

  Quinn wiped a sleeve across his face, fighting to continue, to get to the end of this. He looked down at Sonya’s hands where they rested on his knee. He kept his head down as he spoke. “I don’t know what Mo’s real intent was, not at all. But by the time he was done talking, I had gotten a horrible message from him, a vision of what it would be like to become that man. It shook me, right to the core of my being. I mean, I felt like something literally grabbed ahold of me and shook me. And then I was done. All I wanted after that was to be as far away from Mo Evans as possible.” Quinn looked up into Sonya’s beautiful face. “So I walked home. I just walked home. When I got inside my own door, safe and alone, I realized that I had left that anger behind. I don’t think Mo Evans needs it, but he can have it.” Quinn managed a small smile. He straightened himself on the couch and placed his hands over Sonya’s, feeling the warmth coursing through them.

  “Sonya, I’m sorry for taking a crazy risk like that and not including you in the decision. I understand why that would hurt you. I realize that there is a lot more that I have to deal with, but I want to deal with it together, if you’re willing.”

  Sonya pulled her hands from under Quinn’s, placing them on either side of his face in a gentle caress. As she pulled him closer she said, “Yes Quinn Boyd, I am willing.” Then she kissed him and, just as gently, pushed his face away. She held his face in front of hers. “I accept your amends and I thank you. And I have a very small amends to make as well.” She smiled at Quinn’s look of surprise. “Very small, My Love, but I think you will be pleased.” She released her hands, dropping them back to Quinn’s knee.

  “I need to tell you that I pulled a few strings with one of the Senior Partners and asked him to check with the Coroner’s Office.
James Watson’s death has been ruled accidental. That’s the official version. So I apologize for going behind your back.” She watched the relief flow across Quinn’s face.

  “You mean he, what, just fell off of his balcony?” Quinn was astonished how light he felt, a weight suddenly gone, and then sadness.

  “So it would seem Quinn. I don’t think you will be having anymore issues with the police. As long as you stop assaulting people in the street, that is.” She managed a small grin, holding back the self-righteous laughter that was begging to burst out of her. Quinn seemed not to notice.

  “That poor man. Damn.” He felt Sonya stand, felt her hands pulling at him. He heard her words.

  “Come here My Love.” As he stood, Sonya wrapped herself around him, kissing him hard and long. Overwhelmed, he sank into her, returning each kiss, feeling fire and love coursing through him. Then he felt her pushing him away. She held him at arms’ length, a broad smile breaking out over her face.

  “Not so fast, Writer Boy. There may yet be some incredibly post-amends sex in your immediate future, but not until you take me out and feed me properly. And that is not negotiable.” Her clear laugh rang out across the room in answer to the confused look on his face. “I’ll be getting my coat while you ponder where you are going to wine and dine me. Think of it as the last of the amends.” She smiled and walked out of the room.

  Quinn was standing in the foyer when she returned, her heels clicking across the parquet floor, coat over her arm. She held the coat out to him and turned her back. He slipped the coat over her beckoning arms, sliding it up over her lovely shoulders. As he watched, Sonya’s hand disappeared behind her neck, cascading her raven hair free of the coat. Smiling, she turned to him. “Ready?”

  He smiled in return. Yes, he thought, I am ready. Ready for you, ready for this, ready for what comes. And if he felt those chains again, the chains of fear and anger, he would be ready for them as well. Quinn reached for the door handle.

  “After you, My Love.”

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  It was a cold bright day, an uncommon day in the normal string of grey wet December days. Quinn walked past the Christmas lights in the shop windows, threading his way amongst the busy folks on the sidewalk. Just ahead of him, Quinn saw a police cruiser idling at the curb. A very tall police officer stepped out of a sandwich shop, a paper bag dangling from one of his huge hands. Quinn felt his face breaking into a broad smile.

  “A little early for you to be on duty Officer Perkins,” called Quinn, quickening his stride to intercept the towering figure.

  The uniformed man turned in his direction, looking for the source of the voice.

  “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Quinn Boyd. How are you Quinn?” He reached out a huge hand, engulfing Quinn’s. The man’s smile was as massive as the rest of him. “Been awhile hasn’t it? Two years gone by like that. Mmm-mm.”

  Quinn peered into the car, saw that it was empty.

  “Where’s Officer Drake?”

  “I’m on day shift now. Riding solo.” Perkins reached down to set the paper bag on the hood of the cruiser. “Hey, I just saw your book on display at Powell’s. Nice little author’s bio card and everything. Congratulations!”

  “Thanks.” Quinn was beaming. “And did you buy a copy?”

  “You know, I actually did. Couldn’t resist. Haven’t even cracked it open yet. Been busy. I suppose I’m going to have to get you to sign that bad boy for me.”

  “It would be an honor Stan. And the coffee is on me as well. Anytime. How’s life with you?”

  “Oh, you know, fighting the good fight, same as always. What else are you up to besides becoming a world famous author?”

  “Yeah, well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. More like a slightly known local author. But yeah, things are good with me. I’m getting married in a couple of months.”

  “Really, that’s great Quinn. Congratulations again. I’m glad to hear it.” The big man cocked his head as his radio crackled. He turned away and spoke into the mic on his shoulder. “Hey, that’s me. I gotta go. What about that coffee? I’m off Tuesday next week.”

  “Tuesday it is Officer Perkins. Have you still got my number?”

  The man’s booming laugh filled the sidewalk. He grabbed his sandwich bag and stepped into the street. On the curb, Quinn was almost at eye level with the man.

  “Yeah, I still got your number Quinn Boyd. See you Tuesday. And keep it on the straight, you hear?” Still chuckling, he waved as he folded himself into the squad car.

  Quinn returned the wave as the car pulled away.

  “You know I will, Officer Perkins. I surely will.”

  Acknowledgements

  No man is an island and neither is any novel. I had a great deal of help along the journey that eventually became this novel. Here are some of the folks that I need to acknowledge:

  First, to my lovely and extraordinary wife Sabine, my complete gratitude for encouraging me, prodding me, and for tolerating my dark days.

  Next, to my son Liam, for the great ideas, crazy stuff, and growing up to be such a cool adult.

  I would also like to offer a very special thank you to Elena Deem. Her patient reading, thoughtful comments, and insightful review were critical to this project.

  And, in a great burst of applause, to my Beta-Reader Dark Army! I could never, never have completed the crazy first draft of this novel, much less the final version, without my army of Beta-Readers. Bless you each and every one. With a combination of encouragement, careful correction, criticism, kicks-to-the-ass, and loyal dedication, my Beta-Readers stood with me the whole way. I can never thank them enough. Here are just a few of them:

  Scott “The Bruce” Duncan, Ray Peters, Nathan Hayes, Robert Riley, Jr., Iain Knight, Mark Hansen, Sandy Donnen, Bill Keener, Michael Prendergast, Misha Williams, and many, many more.

  Wait, don’t stop now!

  Keep Reading!

  Other Books by Marco Etheridge

  The Best Dark Rain: A Post-Apocalyptic Struggle for Life and Love

  Blood Rust Chains

  This is Marco Etheridge’s entire book library at the time of publication, but new books are coming out all the time. Check out Marco’s author’s website for more fiction and upcoming projects. Find out EVERY time Marco Etheridge releases a new work of fiction by going to:

  https://www.marcoetheridgefiction.com

  Sign up for his alerts NOW!

  About the Author

  Novels by Marco Etheridge:

  The Best Dark Rain: A Post-Apocalyptic Struggle for Life and Love

  Blood Rust Chains

  An ex-resident of Seattle, Marco Etheridge lives and writes in Vienna, Austria. When he isn’t creating great fiction or being a good Hausmann, he explores the world with his lovely wife. If the sun is shining too brightly, or the birds are too chipper, Marco studies German grammar to create a suitably dark mood for creativity.

  Past Blood Chains is the second novel by Marco Etheridge.

  Keep up with publishing news and new projects by going to:

  https://www.marcoetheridgefiction.com

  But wait, there’s more! There is lots of great reading on traveling the world and exploring different cultures on the Reverend Squeaky-Eye’s blog. Here you will find links for all of the adventures. For Marco’s Travel Blog and Cultural Blog, go to:

  https://newland-newtale.blogspot.co.at/

  And still more: Follow the author’s shenanigans on Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/SerialZtheNovel/

 

 

 
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