Once again Graeme bragged about the marriage proposals he’d received and the number of women telling him they wanted him to father their babies. These women completely boggled Freya’s mind and she wondered at what state their lives must be in to make them think a man like Graeme was a good prospect as a life partner. It was as though he was trying to make her jealous. Pathetic really.
His letter once again encouraged her to keep up the good work. She knew what this was referring to, it meant he wanted her to continue where he’d left off, executing innocent people while wrapped up in some deluded God complex. He was once again convinced that Freya was his rightful heir and he repeated that she’d made a mistake by refusing to run off with him. She sighed and shook her head as she continued to read, there was nothing new. She was about to screw it up when a line at the bottom of the page caught her eye - you are your father’s daughter.
Freya’s jaw tensed as she was sent hurtling back to that night in the church. Graeme was on the floor begging for his life. She could feel the weight of the gun in her hand, her finger curled around the trigger. All it had taken was a gentle squeeze, it was surprising how easy it was and a bullet had ploughed into Graeme’s left shoulder. He’d stared at her in shock, face turning white then he’d broken into a slow, maniacal smile. She’d meant to kill a man and it was only Providence that meant he was still alive. After firing she’d let the weapon drop, claiming it had been an accident, that it had gone off in her hand. Thorne had bought her helpless female story but Craig hadn’t. He’d seen the whole thing and she’d confessed her intentions to him the second he’d confronted her about it while he was recuperating in hospital. He didn’t blame her, he’d said if the gun had been in his hand he’d have shot the bastard willingly and repeatedly and his dad had never killed anyone in his life. But Freya didn’t like the thing inside her that had found it so easy to point a gun at someone and pull the trigger. It wasn’t just the malign influence in the church that had made her capable, the ability had already been within her, something that lurked in her DNA.
There was a knock on the door. “Freya?”
“Come in,” she called.
Craig slipped into the room and quietly closed the door. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Graeme’s nothing new to say, except for one thing,” she said, holding the letter out to him and gesturing to the very last line below which Graeme had scrawled his signature in his spiky, angry handwriting.
“You are your father’s daughter,” said Craig. He took her hand. “Don’t let him get to you.”
“I try not to but sometimes it’s hard, especially when he comes out with things like that.”
“Freya, you’re an amazing mum and a great wife. You’re your mother’s daughter.”
“That has to be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said.”
“It’s true. Don’t let this bastard bother you again. We’re moving on, remember?”
“I know, it just worries me sometimes.”
“Don’t let it. Even if John Macalister was your biological father you still would have shot Graeme because he needed to be stopped. End of story.” He balled the letter up and tossed it into the small bin in the corner of the room. “Forget about him. We’re going to James and Veronica’s tonight to see Olivia. We’ll have a nice, normal time and forget about all this business, for a little while anyway.”
Veronica had gone into labour exactly one month after the Blair Dubh Massacre and given birth to a healthy baby girl with lots of blond hair. They’d just been released from hospital. “We can celebrate both things.”
“Celebrate freeing Blair Dubh?”
“Not just that, celebrate being alive, being together. Everything.
“Why not?”
She smiled and pecked him on the lips “Just keep Nora off the whisky.”
“I’ll do my best,” he smiled.
“Don’t forget you’ve got Steve’s stag do tomorrow tonight.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Gary said it’s going to be epic.”
“So I believe. Try not to get carried away by the strippers.”
“Why would I when I’ve got you to come home to?” he said, planting a kiss on her lips. “He’s taking the party planner thing seriously, he’s already got another two stag nights and a thirtieth birthday to organise.”
“I’m glad, it’ll keep his mind off having to leave the police.”
“Let’s just see how this one goes first. I hope it doesn’t lead to him seeing the police from the other side of the fence, he can be pretty wild when he gets carried away.”
“You’ll be there to keep an eye on him. Now, I need to shower and change before we go out, I stink of smoke.”
“Don’t be long,” he said, kissing her again before exiting the room.
After enjoying a long, hot shower Freya changed into a smart ankle length black skirt and light grey blouse, reapplied her heavy eye make-up and made for the door. She hesitated before pulling it open, looking back at the letter sitting in the bin, tempted to retrieve it and hide it somewhere but she didn’t. That would only lead to her torturing herself with those five little words. Instead she left the room, firmly closing the door behind her and with it closing a door on the past.
THE END
Many thanks for downloading and reading my book. That was the last outing for Freya and Craig but I have many other books available on Amazon Kindle as well as more new titles to come.
Once again, thank you.
Heather Atkinson November 2014
Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) Page 27
