by Max Hardy
11:59:52 pm
The words ‘crate’ and ‘explode’ hammered into Sarah’s head in the confusion of Strange’s panicked warnings. She moved in the direction that he was pushing her for a second, until the two words made themselves heard and she screamed ‘Jacob!’ with every last ounce of breath in her lungs. She turned instantly, ducking under Strange’s arm and started to sprint towards the Hall, her face contorted with anguish.
11:59:53 pm
Saul reached out to grab Sarah’s arm as he saw her turn, as his face reflected the enormity of what Strange had shouted. She slipped through his fingers, his hand clasping thin air. He tried to turn after her, but his feet gave way underneath him as he did and he crumpled to the floor, reaching out an arm toward her as he fell, screaming out after her. ‘Sarah, don’t!’
11:59:54 pm
Garry was running from behind Sarah and saw her dart between Strange and Saul and head back toward him, toward the Hall at pace. She was heading slightly to his right so he change direction to head her off. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on her. He could see in her darting, startled glare that she knew he was going to try and stop her. It was going to come down to a choice. Would she veer left? Would she veer right? He looked for the signs in her demeanour, looked for her pumping legs twitch in a particular way, looked for a drop in the shoulder, a tilt of the head. He saw all of them, which suggested that she was going left. She was upon him and he leapt left to grab her waist, catching nothing as he slammed into the ground, just as she pulled to the right and sprinted past him.
11:59:56 pm
Jessica knelt down on the gravel, scraping her knees against the harsh stone as she bent over and started to lift Saul from where he was spread-eagled on the ground. She pulled his torso up, managing to raise him into a sitting position.
‘We have to stop her! We have to save Jacob!’ he screamed at Jessica imploringly, ‘Help Me!’
‘No John, you don’t have the strength, I’ve got to get you to safety.’ she answered, kneeling up and thrusting her arms through Johns arms from behind, clasping them around his chest as she dragged him backward, towards the MIU.
11:59:57 pm
Strange stopped in mid stride, seeing Saul fall to the floor out of the corner of his eye. He turned and rushed the few steps back to where he had fallen, stepping in front of Jessica, who had just hauled him back into a sitting position. Strange grabbed his battered legs, Saul looking up at him in anguish.
‘Jerry, we can’t let her do this, we have to stop her! We have to get Jacob!’
‘It’s too late John, we have to think of you now.’
11:56:58 pm
Sarah bounded up the steps to the front entrance, and sprinted down the corridor, learning from her earlier mistake and slowing down slightly as she turned into the drawing room. She leapt for the crate, her hand scraping the side, the last little false finger nail flying off. She knelt down beside the crate, hugging the wood as tightly as she could, looking up to the plasma TV on the wall, staring at it, eyes dilated with the darkness of despair, but glistening with a mother’s love as she took in Jacob’s serene face.
‘I’m here Jacob. Mummy is here. Mummy will always be here. I am so sorry my beautiful baby boy.’ she cried, into his worn and tattered taggie.
11:56:59 pm
Garry was back on his feet again, shaking his head in frustration as he ran towards the lumbering trio in front of him, noticing Saul kicking furiously, trying to extricate himself from their grip, screaming, ‘I need to stop Sarah! I need to save Jacob!’ at the top of his voice.
He came up alongside Strange and grabbed one of Saul’s legs off him, taking the load from the older man. ‘Look mate, it’s too late for her, do your mates, who are trying to save your life a favour and stop fucking struggling.’ he shouted at Saul as the three of them picked up some speed, getting closer to the MIU.
12:00:00 am
Jessica’s irises contracted, a sudden burst of brightness shining from her dilated pupils, sparkling into the emerald, reflecting the explosion happening in front of her. The sound battered her eardrums, forcing her to fall to the floor, dropping Saul and raising her hands quickly to cover her ears, to block out the deafening roar. Searing hot air smacked into her face, jittering the skin with its force, drying the moisture from her tear stained eyes, forcing her short hair backwards. Debris followed, whistling particles of rubble biting into her flesh where they landed on her face, gouging lesions as they ricochet.
She didn’t close her eyes, staring down the explosion defiantly, her lips rippling back from her teeth, exposing a rictus grin. From below she heard mumbled words, releasing the hands from her ears to hear, looking downwards to Saul. To his ripped, torn and filthy tuxedo. To his beaten, stigmatised, bleeding, broken body. To his shaking arms reaching abjectly out in front of him. To his tormented, grief stained face.
‘Jesus, what have I done, what have I done.’ Saul cried, over and over again, his litany of guilt seeping into her mind, enlivening her smile, rising with the spreading satisfaction that was painting itself onto her face. She looked back up, smirking euphorically ahead. Her emerald irises glowed, flecked ruby, pupils reflecting flames which danced in the devastation of betrayal that her final words bestowed:
‘Et tu, my darling, Et tu Brute.’
12:01 am
The emptiness of forever shrank, then grew, the pupil changing size under volition. The green iris surrounding it moved effortlessly in tandem, framing the imperceptible communication in a dazzling glow. The white of the eye remained static, as did the lashes and lids, as did the young face the eye lived in. The rest of his body was prone too, lying flat on a cot bed.
‘His name is Jacob.’ Dr Hanlon said, leaning over the cot and watching the young boy’s eyes intently. ‘He has a condition called Pinocchio Paralysis. At least, that is the non-clinical term his parents gave it. He can’t move at all. Apart from his pupils. He has only just learned how to do that in the last few days.’
‘Can you hear what I am saying Jacob?’ Dr Hanlon asked, clearly and concisely. Rebecca leaned in closer too, focusing on his left eye. She saw the iris contract once, then slowly expand to normal dilation.
‘That is amazing Doc, absolutely amazing.’ Rebecca said, her own pupils wide with awe as she observed the silent interaction.
‘It is remarkable. Jacob is a very special little boy.’ Dr Hanlon said. ‘Rest your eyes now Jacob, we will talk more later.’
He motioned for Rebecca to leave the room and followed her, picking up a holdall from the top of a chest of drawers. He pulled the door closed then walked back to the sofa with Rebecca, both of them sitting down.
‘So Doc, as much as it was lovely to see little Jacob, I’m not quite sure how that relates to having another choice?’ she asked, perplexed.
‘Jacob needs someone to look after him. Someone who is good with children, someone who has spent a lot of time with them.’ Dr Hanlon said.
‘You just mentioned his parents Doc, why can’t they look after him?’ Rebecca queried.
‘It’s complicated. Let’s just say his parents have let him down and he needs someone who can give him their undivided attention.’
‘And you think that someone is me. Rebecca the Psycho. Rebecca the murderer. Rebecca the escaped mental patient. You think that puts me in a better position than his parents to look after him?’ she asked, incredulously.
‘Yes.’ he answered simply, his expression unwaveringly sincere and serious.
Rebecca breathed out heavily, shaking her head, smiling at the ludicrousness of the suggestion. ‘How is that ever going to work? The second I step out of that door, you know and I know it’s only a matter of time before they catch up with me.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Dr Hanlon started, reaching into the holdall and pulling out a plastic wallet. He opened the wallet and took out two passports, some flight tickets and a credit card and handed them over to Rebecca.
She took them off him
and inquisitively opened the first passport, her countenance expressing an even higher level of surprise. ‘The picture is mine, but the name isn’t?’ she said, looking inside the second passport. ‘The same with Jacob.’ She opened the flight tickets, ‘Italy?’ she questioned.
‘An opportunity for a new start. A new life for you, a new life for Jacob. That is the other choice Rebecca. It is entirely down to you if you take it, but think about, seriously. You have all the skills, all the understanding and all the empathy.’ He paused, reaching over to hold her hand tightly. ‘You have all the love that little boy needs. You will find his love unequivocal too.’
‘It’s ludicrous Doc, absolutely ludicrous.’ she said, shaking her head.
‘All I ask, is that you spend the rest of the night thinking about it.’ He leant over to the holdall and took out a mobile phone, placing it on the table. ‘If, after that, you still think it is ludicrous, then give yourself up. Or let the authorities know where Jacob is and kill yourself.’ he finished, a wry grin in amongst his serious demeanour.
She started at him quizzically, trying hard to read something, anything in his eyes, in his steadfast expression. ‘Why?’ she asked, simply.
He didn’t answer for a moment, just returned her gaze, weighing up what to say next. ‘We let you down Rebecca. What Dr Ennis put you through, should never have happened.’
‘There you go with the ‘We’ again Doc? Who the hell is ‘We’?’ she asked, an obvious annoyance entering her tone.
Dr Hanlon smiled at her, unabashed by her tone. ‘Who we are is unimportant. Why you are here is important. Why Jacob is here is important. The choice in all of this is entirely yours.’ he answered, standing up and looking down at her still petulant façade.
‘And that is all I get, after everything you have done for me, that is all I get?’ she questioned, leaning upwards on the sofa onto her knees, her body coming in line with Dr Hanlon’s chest as she looked up towards him.
‘You can have a hug if you like?’ he answered playfully.
‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’ she said in frustration.
‘From me, that is all you will get. However, it is entirely your prerogative, if you decide not to kill yourself, to find out more. I can’t stop you doing that. Now though, I really have to leave and personally, I would like a hug before I go.’
Thirty Six Hours Later
A brilliantly bright midday sun hung blissfully alone in a cloudless, pale blue sky. The pale blue sky enlivened the serenely calm surface of Lake Garda, the sun’s reflection glistening and swaying under the gentle swell of the water. A motorboat sped by, splicing through the serenity, both with its noise and with the wake it created. The noise dissipated as it headed off further down the lake. The wake rippled towards the shoreline, dispelling its surge gently onto a pebbled beach edging the lush verdant lawns of a large Villa standing proudly alone in its vast grounds, along a mile of the shoreline, looking out over the lake. The lawns gave way to ebulliently fruitful orchards.
A small wooden jetty stretched out from the shore, a stone path leading from it through the well cut grass, meandering up to the veranda at the front of the Villa. Under the veranda were a number of deck chairs angled to face the lake and drink in the blistering Italian sun. One of the chairs was occupied, a slim, attractive woman with a short blonde bob reclining in it, reading documents in a manila folder as she sipped a long cool daiquiri. The only things she wore were mirrored sunglasses and a tiny cherry red bikini.
The shadow of a tall, handsome dark haired man crept over her relaxing body as he stepped out of the open sliding doors in the Villa and stood behind her, drinking in the spectacular view of Lake Garda, with its craggy mountain ranges framing it on the distant opposite shoreline.
‘It’s good to be home.’ he said as he looked down towards the woman on the deck chair, smiling. She reclined her head, looking up towards him and pouted her lips.
‘Don’t I get a kiss?’ she tantalisingly asked, reaching up an arm and searching out his hand, letting hers wrap around it, squeezing it tight.
He leant over from behind and placed his willing lips onto her eager pout, kissing her long, kissing her deep, kissing her passionately. Their tongues stayed entwined as he circled the head of the deck chair to its side and slowly descended onto his knees, prolonging the kiss fervently, his free hand cupping her well defined cheekbone, fingers caressing her elfin earlobe. After many minutes, their lips parted, and he looked down upon her lovingly, removing the sunglasses to take in her mischievously sparking emerald eyes.
‘And who was I kissing?’ he asked, letting a finger tingle a trail from her cheek, down her neck, through the gentle swell of her cleavage, over her trembling stomach, to the cherry red tattooed tongue lustfully poking out the top of her cherry red bikini briefs.
‘Well, it wasn’t Jessica Seymour you were kissing. Unfortunately she was involved in a fatal car crash yesterday afternoon. Died on impact. The car exploded, leaving nothing but dust, not even bones. It was a terrible tragedy. Poor John, losing his son, his wife and his lover all in one day. How must he feel?’ she playfully answered.
‘You have created a monster there. I really did think he would choose Jacob over you. Your wiles are more persuasive than even I imagined.’ he responded, smiling, before adding, ‘Was it Madame Evangeline who I kissed?’ circling a finger on the tip of the tattooed tongue, letting it slide to the fabric of the bikini.
‘I know you would like it to be but no, it wasn’t her. I think we still have a role for Madame Evangeline to fulfil, so you might yet have the opportunity for a kiss. Today my gorgeous husband, you were kissing me, Eve. Would you rather have been kissing Rebecca? Would you rather have been exploring her gnarled tongue, caressing her scarred and ravaged flesh?’ she replied, her voice brazen and wilful.
He raised the finger that had been circling her tattoo to her lewdly grinning lips and rested it over them.
‘You are wicked, so irresistibly wicked.’ he said, watching her eyes brighten in acknowledgement before continuing, deliberately ignoring her question. ‘Where is she? Has she left the flat yet?’
‘About half an hour ago. With Jacob. The tracker has them approaching the airport. Your wiles are more persuasive than I ever imagined, Dr Hanlon. For an old fart, you certainly turned her head.’ Eve teased.
He smiled down at her, taking in the folder lying on the deck chair that Eve had been reading. There was a name on the front.
‘Fenny Bentley.’ he said, looking from the folder to Eve, quizzically.
‘You know me Adam,’ she started, tantalisingly, ‘I am always thinking about the next temptation. As I said, we still have a need for Madame Evangeline.’
Behind them, from the Villa, came the sound of a phone ringing. He stood up, kissing Eve playfully as he did, and entered through the open door, into a sumptuously decorated living area bathed in swathes of leather, mahogany and marble. An enormous tapestry of ‘The Last Supper’ hung from the wall directly opposite the door he came in through. He approach a marble table in the middle of the room, piles of neatly stacked manila folders on top of it, as well as the phone and a remote control. He picked both up together, pressing a button on the remote control as he started to speak into the phone.
The tapestry started to move, bunching up in concertina from the left, exposing a bank of TV’s, ten deep by twenty across, two hundred in total, each one showing a different location, a different room, a different scene, a different person.
To the left of this was a wide corridor, running to the front of the house, rooms heading off each side of it. Cezanne’s ‘Skulls’ hung on one wall, on the opposite wall, a self-portrait, entitled ‘Reflections In Shadows’, signed ‘J. Saul’. At the end of the corridor a solid oak front door was framed either side by stained glass panels depicting biblical scenes.
Through the stained glass could be seen the main driveway leading up to the property. A small fountain sat in the middle of the
driveway, a cherub version of Eros spurting water from his mouth in the middle of it. The driveway was flanked with borders of manicured lawns, leading off into acres of orchards, with enormous shining bright red apples burgeoning thousands of trees.
Half a mile from the house, past the orchards, large wrought iron gates flanked by marble pillars crossed the driveway, a high stone wall heading out in either direction marking the boundary of the land. Supported on the marble pillars was a marble arch. Engraved into the arch, in letters two feet tall, inlaid with pure gold, was a word.
And the word was: Eden.
The story continues…
‘Her Moons Denouement’
The sequel to ‘Angels Bleed’
Is now available in paperback and e-book at Amazon
See the cover image, read the book pitch
and the first chapter preview on the next few pages
‘Even Fallen Angels Have Wings’
In the midst of a bustling Fringe Festival in Edinburgh, a strange sideshow pops up. Billboards proclaiming ‘Even Fallen Angels Have Wings’ stand either side of a ten foot tall crucifix, an unconscious, near naked man nailed hand and foot to it.
‘Even Fallen Angels Have Wings’
Two hours later the sideshow is a Crime Scene. DI Fenny Bentley arrives to find a dead body on the ground at the foot of the crucifix, a single self-inflicted gunshot wound through the head, large feathered wings stretching out from the back with blood pooling around them.
