The Moorstone Sickness
Page 21
‘Help me up,’ he said.
Silently she knelt beside him. Her muscles straining, she pushed him up into a sitting position. Then, slowly, he turned and began to propel himself along. She crawled at his side. When he fell she helped him up again. No one called for them to stop. No one seemed in the least concerned.
When at last they reached the rim of the plateau he lay for some moments gasping for breath. Then he raised himself up on his forearms and peered over the edge of the lip into the space below. He could see nothing but the darkness. ‘Am I in the right place?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘It is a good way down, isn’t it—at this point?’
‘Yes. And there are rocks underneath . . .’
With her help once more he moved so that he was sitting on the very edge of the lip. She sat beside him, supporting him with one arm. Their feet hung down. When he reached out to her she put her free hand in his. Her face was lit by the light of the remaining lanterns; through his tears it was little more than a blur.
‘I shall be all right now,’ he said.
‘Yes.’ She nodded. She pressed his fingers so hard that it hurt. He was glad of that little pain. For a moment they sat without speaking, then he said:
‘Go back now.’
‘Without you? No.’
‘Please . . . Go back.’
She shook her head. ‘You promised you would never leave me again.’
He nodded. He turned his face to hers and kissed her on the mouth.
‘Ro . . .’ he whispered.
For a moment they clung to one another. Then, as if reacting to some unseen signal, they pushed off with their hands.
They fell into the dark, heading for the light.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bernard Taylor was born in Swindon, Wiltshire, and now lives in London. Following active service in Egypt in the Royal Air Force, he studied Fine Arts in Swindon, then at Chelsea School of Art and Birmingham University. On graduation he worked as a teacher, painter and book illustrator before going as a teacher to the United States. While there, he took up acting and writing and continued with both after his return to England. He has published ten novels under his own name, including The Godsend (1976), which was adapted for a major film, and Sweetheart, Sweetheart (1977), which Charles L. Grant has hailed as one of the finest ghost stories ever written. He has also written novels under the pseudonym Jess Foley, as well as several works of nonfiction. He has won awards for his true crime writing and also for his work as a playwright. It was during his year as resident playwright at the Queen’s Theatre, Hornchurch that he wrote The Godsend. There Must Be Evil, his latest true crime study, is to be published in England in September.