Parallel II - The Gift

by Paul Rice

  Mike thanked them and also Red for allowing them to live on the farm with him. “It’s been a pleasure, Red – and one which I will repay one day?” He said, as he took a long swig of his beer and looked at the sky. “Let’s just hope the next storm goes straight past, eh?” They all agreed and drank to that.

  The only problem with that sentiment was that the next storm wasn’t going to be a dark clouds and teeming rain, type of storm. It was going to be a much drier, poisoned tempest. The only liquids this particular storm would be releasing were of the dark yellow, whiskey induced, urine type. That, and blood, other people’s blood, were all it was to bring, and there wasn’t the slightest chance in hell it was going to pass them by, none whatsoever. Mike knew it.

  He’d known all along.

  The following morning, after deciding to take the day off, Ken and Jane were lounging under the apple tree and watching Red and Mike. The two of them were walking around the lake and skipping stones across the flat surface of the water. It was a fine day – Mike had risen early and made Red a large fried breakfast. Seeing that the bike was missing, and the two greasy plates stacked in the sink, Jane had guessed that the two men must have been out on the farm before dawn. After their own breakfast, she and Ken had jumped into the truck and at around mid morning, had come down to join Red and Mike down by the lake. They parked the old truck at the foot of the apple tree mound, and wandered up to the top where they sat upon the warm grass and looked over towards the windmill.

  Jane watched the two men walking over to the mill; Mike was looking at the troublesome blade once again, craning his neck upwards and pointing to the end of it, then he turned to Red and they appeared to be discussing the problem in some detail. Mike pointed upwards and then knelt to sketch something in the dust below, before standing again and then making a twisting motion with his hand; nodding vigorously, Red turned on his heel and went inside the mill, where, after about two minutes he returned empty handed. Jane saw Mike clap him on the shoulder and then both men made their way to the Harley as it leaned against the wall of the mill.

  Mounting up, and with a barking roar of exhaust, they rode over to the apple tree at breakneck speed, Jane could hear them laughing as they headed towards her and Ken. Reaching the top of the mound, Mike slid the bike to a halt. Red hopped off and joined them under tree. Mike grinned and said, “I’m just gonna zip back to the barn, there’s no tools in the mill and we’ve had a great idea about how to fix that bloody sail, once and for all!” He blipped the throttle.

  Red said, “If Tori is back from town, will you bring her out when you come back, Mike?” He picked a stalk of grass and inserted it into his mouth, grinned widely and then put on his best hillbilly look. Mike smiled at him and said he would do just that.

  Looking at them all he said, “OK, I’ll see you later guys, I’ll be back… don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine!” He smiled at them again and then rode off down the hill. Stopping about a hundred yards away, he turned and looked up at them again. Standing with the bike between his legs, Mike gave them a salute and shouted back to them: “It’s all gonna be just fine. You’ll see, just fine forever. I’ll see you around my friends, OK?” He sat back in the saddle, revved the engine, and then amazingly managed to get the old bike into a decent wheel-stand. With the front tyre completely off the ground, Mike roared away on the back wheel. Then, very casually, he waved with his left hand, let the front wheel back to ground, and gave the bike its head. They could hear him laughing as he went. Jane followed his path until he disappeared behind the trees, which lay between them and the house.

  “Crazy bastard…” Ken said, and then lay down to listen whilst Red extolled Mike’s riding skills to Jane. She was quiet, and after a while spent listening to Red, lay back down next to Ken and looked at the sky. Red decided on a spot of fishing and wandered back down to the mill to get a rod from the rack, which they had built inside after the fire. As they lay there, side by side, Ken looked across at his wife and said, “Are you OK, you’ve gone a bit quiet, baby?”

  She turned her head and looked straight at him, they were only a foot or so apart and he could see that her eyes were serious. “Yes I am, but what was with Mike just then, that was a bit of a speech wasn’t it, he’s only going to get some tools or something. What did he mean by ‘forever’ and did you see his eyes when he looked at Red?” she said, and then sat up.

  Ken joined her and together they sat looking down over the lake for a while. After a while he answered her. “Yeah, I did see his eyes; I’ve seen that look on him before. I saw it last time, when we were about to go back to Kandahar from the ship. It was exactly the same look… the trouble is that Mike knows stuff which we don’t. He’s in a different league to us when it comes to all this shit – George only tells us what we need to know, what we can cope with. Mike knows more than he lets on, of that I’m sure!” He shook his head and looked across at Jane again. “I guess we’re just gonna have to wait and see, huh?” He lay back down on the grass, stretched over and reached for her hand. They weren’t going to have to wait long at all.

  One hour, if we’re to be precise.

  Chapter 29 - Bad Blood

  “Where in the hell has he gotten to, it’s been nearly an hour – I’ll bet he’s fiddling with something in the barn and he’s gonna come back here with a whole new design for the bloody thing?” Ken said as he stretched lazily. He had actually dozed off into a pleasant afternoon nap, before waking with a start and yawning loudly; he sat back up and rubbed the back of his head. The skin, which covered the plate in his skull, still felt like it had received a jab from the dentist and was sensitive but almost completely numb.

  Red was leaning against the apple tree and crunching on one of the last of the sweet fruits. They had mostly dropped off by now, or been eaten, but there was still the odd few dangling almost out of reach. “Do yo’all wants me to go and see what he’s doing; I gotta clean these fish anyways?” He bent down to retrieve the fish, which he then held up proudly. Ken looked across and yawned again.

  “Yeah, why not, take it easy in the truck though, yeah?”

  Red laughed and then casually walked over to put his catch in the rear of the Spear. He was quite familiar with how to use the vehicle as Mike had let him drive it all over the place. He eased his bulk through the diver’s door and pressed the starter. The engine came to life in its usual fuss free manner, it was the only part of the Spear which was still holding its own these days, the rest of it seemingly reverted to being just a normal old pickup. Red waved at them, and then with only the squeaking of tired suspension and some dead fish for company, he trundled away towards the farm.

  Just like Mike, he didn’t come back.

  It was Tori who came and got them. About fifteen minutes later, and with a face like marble, pure white marble, she slid the truck to a halt next to the couple as they were wandering along the track back to the farm. “Hi Tori, we didn’t expect to see you on your own, are those two messing about in the barn again?” Jane said as she walked over to the truck. She stopped dead as she saw the flood of tears begin to flow down Tori’s face. “Tori… what’s the matter baby – Tori?” She said quietly. Then more urgently, shouted: “Ken!” He ran over and just caught the young woman as she stumbled from the truck. Tori pushed past him and tried to be sick onto the grass. Her dry retches were in vain and with a deep, sobbing intake of breath, she turned and tried to speak.

  “Mike, he’s… I mean Red has, it’s terrible, there’s blood everywhere. Mike helped me – he came back and attacked me. Red… they’ve had a big fight, there’s blood everywhere, lots of blood, Ohhh!” She almost howled with anguish. Jane looked at her and then noticed that the shoes on Tori’s feet were spattered with blood, in fact, when Jane looked more closely, she could see Tori’s bare legs were speckled with the stuff. The collar of her dress was ripped and there was a deep purple bruise starting to flower below her neckline.

  “Get in!” Ken’s face had also gone white,
but not with fear or anguish. This was the white of a pure, unadulterated, seething fury. He slammed the door closed and waited impatiently until the women had run around and climbed into the passenger’s seat. As their door was still closing he floored the accelerator and cursed. “Fuck!” The journey back to the farm seemed to take an inordinately long time and once again Ken had the feeling of being paused somehow – he felt like smashing the steering wheel in an attempt to speed things up. He restrained himself as he had caught a glimpse of the girls, they were both deathly pale and Tori was still making noises like a small animal caught in a trap, she was also whispering to herself.

  “I never knew this was going to happen, I never knew this was going to happen!” She repeated the phrase over and over again. Jane reached across and held her hand tightly. Tori looked up and simply burst into tears again. Her sobbing was one of the most awful sounds that Ken had ever heard. They were wretched, tearing cries that came deep from within her body. She sounded as though she was about to start screaming. Ken hoped she didn’t start any of that because he wasn’t too far away from screaming himself.

  His thoughts were going haywire: “After all this time, the bastard has still reverted to his normal self – fuck! All this time trying to change shit, fuck all ever changes does it and I should bastarding know that!” He gripped the wheel so tightly that he felt something give within its structure. It made a little cracking noise. He promised himself: “If anything has happened to Mike then I’m gonna kill that kid, future or no fucking future!” He reached down into the door pocket and felt for the Beretta, the familiar feel of the weapon helped calm his racing thoughts. They pulled up to the back gate, Tori had obviously left it open in her haste to come and find them, but it had swung back and was sitting half-closed again. Ken used the nose of the truck and pushed it out of the way, before driving up to the house.

  The fresh white gravel crunched like dried bones beneath the tyres as they rolled to a stop next to the porch. It seemed to take forever, mainly because their horrified eyes were transfixed by the carnage, which lay scattered before them. The flower pots were all smashed or upturned, part of the wooden banister rail was snapped clean off and the large kitchen window was shattered. Jagged shards of glass hung like teeth from its frame. There were bloodied smears and handprints littered across the white paint and several long scarlet drips of the stuff were smeared across the bright yellow kitchen door. Their disbelieving eyes fell on the two men who lay upon the blood covered floor of the veranda.

  Red sat upon the wooden floor with his shoulders against the back door and head resting against its freshly painted frame. His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily. He was also covered in blood, it ran down from his head and Ken could see a vicious wound just above his right eye. Mike was lying against him and Red was holding him tightly under the arms with his own hands linked. Mike’s head rested against Red’s stomach and his arms were flung wide under Red’s trunk like thighs. Red’s knuckles shone tightly with the pressure he was exerting. Mike never moved and was soaked in blood from the neck down. As he watched, Ken, saw a thick rivulet of fresh blood trickle down Red’s face.

  He smiled grimly to himself: “Mike’s made sure the prick doesn’t walk away without a memento this time!” He stepped out of the truck, cocked the Beretta and walked casually over to where the men lay. Ken looked at them, and then climbed the first few steps before stopping short of the veranda floor. He raised the pistol and hissed softly, his words were filled with total menace. “Oi you… fuck face, this time you aren’t getting a second chance, Red!” He thumbed the safety catch to ‘fire’ and adopted a two handed, shooting stance. Ken could put a whole magazine of 9mm rounds into a target the size of a man’s palm at a range of thirty yards. Red’s head was a much larger, melon sized target that lay less than ten feet away. “This is a no-brainer, Red, and in about two seconds you ain’t gonna have no brains to worry about!” Ken grinned at his own poetic words and raised the weapon into the aim.

  Red opened his eyes and looked first at Ken and then down at his own chest, as he opened his mouth to speak a flush of blood and air-bubbles escaped to run down over his chin. “I couldn’t stop him,” he said. “It was too late. He stabbed me… he’s too strong!” He gurgled, looked down at his chest, then sat back and smiled at Ken. The gaps between his teeth were filled with blood.

  Ken didn’t fall for any distractions this time around: “Good! I fucking hope it hurts! Have you killed him you prick – in fact, I know you have, I can see it, you fucking arsehole! Say goodbye, you big fuck, bye-bye Red!” Ken felt the rush of white heat flood his eyes, its arrival washed away all sense of anything. It was time to die, end of story. He took up the trigger pressure and aimed between the red bastard’s eyes.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tori screamed as she crashed into his back. Ken’s shot drilled harmlessly into the door frame about ten inches above Red’s bloodied head and he stumbled backwards off the steps before very nearly falling onto his arse. Quickly gaining his balance, he swung around violently and pointed the pistol at her – when she saw the look on his face, Tori stepped back in horror. Ken stood with his lips drawn back, gritted teeth flanked by bulging cheek muscles, there was an awful light flashing in the depths of his blazing, green eyes.

  He barked at her: “Do that again and I will shoot you fucking first, you have no idea about this, this whole thing goes back a long way – I owe this shithead and now it looks like he’s killed Mike, for Christ’s sake!” He looked at her menacingly.

  “Ken please just stop! Just stop and listen, will you!” Jane said with her voice calmly cutting through the terrifying atmosphere.

  Ken paused and looked at her. “Jane, he’s fucked Mike up, Jesus Christ… we aren’t gonna win this one, it’s all been bollocks. Mike’s bloody dead by the looks of things!” He looked at her helplessly. Tori stood calmly and stared at him with those deep brown eyes. Ken felt the anger begin to go back into its cave. He relaxed a little and said: “OK, fine, I’ll listen… but I’m still gonna fucking kill him!” He stepped back and motioned with his head towards the veranda. “Go ahead, help yourselves…”

  Tori moved towards him. “First we need to help Mike and Red. They’re in a mess, now come on and help me!” She suddenly seemed to grow about six inches, all of the distraught anguish having departed somewhere between her getting out of the truck and then barging into his shoulder, she looked older somehow, Tori had changed. She brushed past Ken, saying, “And put that damned gun down will you, Kenneth – it’s not needed here!” He turned and looked at Jane in disbelief.

  She had no time for explanations and ran to join Tori, who had knelt down next to Red. Jane shouted at him. “Ken, come on, help us here!” He placed the pistol on the bonnet of the truck and bounded up the wooden stairs. The men were in a very bad way; Ken wasn’t sure if Mike was dead or not, but knew by the amount of blood his friend was covered in that he soon would be. He ordered the girls to attend to Red, and then, after lifting Red’s arms out of the way, he slid Mike out from the young man’s grasp. Laying him flat, Ken ripped open Mike’s shirt and looked at his wounds. He was horrified by the diamond shaped puncture marks that perforated his friend’s chest and stomach. They had seeped blood over his torso and Mike was dripping in it. There was one particular hole under Mike’s left armpit, and the amount of blood that had escaped through its gaping mouth, meant only one thing, it was a fatal wound. There looked to be gallons of blood under him, it had pooled all over the floor and was still dripping through the gaps in the wood. Ken stopped looking at the other wounds and tried to see if Mike had a pulse in his neck. It was there, but only just, fluttering gently like a moth against the inside of a window would flutter, exhausted after a night of trying to escape, slowly beating itself to death as you stand and watch with your first cup of tea in hand… Ken knew that Mike’s heart was also beating itself to death and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. He felt fo
r a pulse in Mike’s wrists and could find none, all of the wounds had stopped bleeding and there was no longer any sign of arterial pumping. Mike’s blood pressure was irretrievably low. A cold feeling washed over Ken, it was the soft caress of inevitability and the big man recognised her bitter sweet touch instantly. He had felt the same thing, a long time ago, in the market place. It was his own self protection system and it helped Ken to deal with something that, without its intervention, would certainly have been unbearable. His mind found solace in the thought that Mike would probably be in no pain. Ken rested upon the black staff of certainty, safe in the knowledge there was nothing more he could do.

  He leaned forward and brushed the jet black hair from his friend’s face, then used his thumb to wipe a streak of blood from under Mike’s right eye. It reminded him of the one he had seen on Red’s face in George’s little film clip. He sat down on the floor next to Mike and extended his left leg behind the Australian’s shoulders. Gently lifting Mike’s head, Ken slid his leg sideways and lowered it so that Mike’s head rested on the soft part of his own thigh. He turned towards the others – Red was sitting up and coughing badly, blood still spattered from his lips. “Definite punctured lung – good!” It was the only thing Ken could think of. He looked up to see if the pistol was where he had left it. The gun was still on the bonnet and lay well out of Red’s reach.

  Ken turned back to the girls and said, “Mikes going now, it’s over… you’d best come and say goodbye.” Ken couldn’t stop himself from choking on the words. He breathed deeply and rested his hand on Mike’s forehead. Hearing his words, Jane spun around and looked at him in horror.

  “What…!” She crawled over on all fours and knelt next to Mike’s head. “Ahhh, Mikey sweetheart, please don’t go…” Ken grabbed her wrist and shook his head. She looked at him in deep sorrow, Ken saw her fight back the tears. Hearing a noise behind him, he spun his head to see what Red was doing. The boy busy was crawling over towards them, Tori had her hand under his armpit and she was trying to help the giant get to Mike. To Ken’s utter amazement, he saw the handle of a large knife sticking out of Red’s side. It seemed to be embedded in his rib cage, and yet he was still alive, still alive and moving!