CHARLOTTEIt was such a great day. I don't normally enjoy shopping, but with my mother and Kirstie for company it was completely different.Bookshops. My mother loves books; not the same ones as me, but books about places, adventures, exotic locations. It was such fun...And Kirstie, with her smart mouth and shameless innuendo at every little thing....In the tearoom: crisp white linen, silver tongs to lift jam-and-cream scones and tiny cakes from a three-layer stand, porcelain cups and saucers...Then, Ben's sudden appearance, striding across the floor to us, brushing past waitresses and customers. Stooping close to me to deliver his hastily muttered message... "Charlotte, Mike called me. You've got trouble. That man, Klempner. He's escaped from prison. He's out..."My mother: her whimper of fear...Kirstie: her eyes widening..."I've got the car downstairs in the parking lot. It's right by the door at the bottom of the stairs." Ben wears a helpless expression. "Cha
CHARLOTTEMy head bangs and with every movement, every vibration, every swerve, the throbbing pulses through from some epicentre, I think where I banged my skull as I fell. My knees too, feel stiff and heated. As I try to shift into a more comfortable position, pain stabs up from one ankle.I can barely move. I'm lying on my side, one cheek flat down.My baby...Something soft, maybe a towel, sandy and hairy, presses against my face, smelling of seaweed and wet dog. I keep having to blink as with every jog of the car, grains of sand dislodge against my eyes.From somewhere, I hear classic small-dog yapping. Excitement?Or worry?Scruffy...My mouth is taped, very securely, the adhesive pulling and tearing at the softer skin of my lips as I try to work my jaw. My feet are bound; my wrists too, behind my back and too tightly. My hands went numb long ago and my fingers feel bloated.My Master ties, binds or restrains me regularly, but it never feels like this.If I don
MICHAELWe find ourselves in what ought to be the interior of a house but with the general collapse, has become a kind of open courtyard, strewn with rubble, broken tiles and rotted timbers. The space is so large, perhaps it was once a ballroom. I cast my mind back for some memory, but it's a long time since I was here, and the house was occupied then. Old McAlister didn't let apple-scrumping boys inside."Doesn't look very promising," comments Klempner. "When were you last here?""Thirty years ago.""It seems a lot of damage for thirty years.""Probably had the lead stripped from the roof. Once that's gone, the rest..."James interrupts. "The cellars. A place like this would have had all the staff activity below ground and as often as not, the basement can be in good condition even when the house itself it in ruins."Klempner pulls a face. "You think?""Once the roof has gone, outer walls become unstable." He gestures around to the collapsed grandeur about us. "They fa
Hunkering down by us, he says, "It's good to see you again, Mitch." She's trembling violently and I'm watching both the blade in his hand and Klempner himself; his movements, his tone, his body-language. But there's no threat there, no sense of ill-intent.He crouches close by her, offers the blade to the tape binding her hands, then hesitates. "I'm doing this now," he says, "because I know you won't let me after you're freed."Leaning over, he kisses her forehead, cups a swollen cheek with his free hand. He holds the position for a second, then squats back, raises the blade again and saws through the layers of tape; first her wrists, then her ankles.He reaches for the tape over her face, but she recoils as his hand comes close. He blinks then backs off. "You do it," he says, passing me the knife, handle first. He rises, takes out the gun again and returns to watching the doors.It takes only seconds to ungag Mitch and, one eye on Klempner, she shakes blood into her fingers an
JAMESCharlotte, freed now, stands silent, her eyes narrowed, watching it all.Klempner, gun in hand, nods to her. "Jenny."She nods back. "Father."His mouth works.Acknowledgement from her?For the first time...But he's earning it..."How are you, Jenny? Did he hurt you?" His tone is odd, hesitant.He's nervous?He faces down a man with a gun without blinking, but he's nervous of Charlotte?She snorts. "I can't believe you have the nerve to ask that. I'm sorry about your mother, but you're still a maniac."Something like humour skips across his face. "The point is, that I'm the maniac on your side. And I'm probably a lot better equipped than you are to deal with the maniac who isn't."She's weaving a little. Her nose-bleed has stopped but with the blood down her face and clothing, she's not a pretty picture.How badly hurt is she?And not admitting it?I hook my arm around hers, as though casually, but trying to gauge if she needs support. "Astonishin
JAMESI'm supporting Charlotte. Mitch stays close by Michael, who doesn't look happy.Klempner moves around the room, standing by each door in turn, ear pressed close. He shakes his head a little. "Can't hear a thing."Laying hand on handle. "Ready everyone? Let's see if Laughing Boy is still out there."There's a tremor in Michael's voice. "Don't hurt him if you don't have to."Klempner's reply is cool. "Why don't you give it a rest? I'd say you've let your brother get away with far too much." Michael's jaw sets.Klempner stands by the exit to the passageway, easing the door open a crack, peering out. "Stand back." As the gap widens, a shot ricochets through the opening. Klempner jerks back. "He's by the stairs, blocking the exit."Michael pushes forward. "I'll talk to him. He only shot me by accident. He wouldn't do it deliberately."Klempner arches brows, standing back from the door, gesturing out. "It's your funeral."Michael opens the door wide, calling out. "Be
JAMESMichael falls to his knees, howling and weeping, gathering his fallen brother into his arms. Charlotte and Mitch stare, aghast, but not apparently, sorry.I'm shaking. There's blood everywhere. "What happened to him being an amateur and not having the balls for it?"Klempner shrugs. "He would have got there. He did get there. He was just screwing himself up to do it." He looks to Mitch and Charlotte. "They would never have been safe from him. They're safe now."He throws his gun to the ground. "Don't touch it. Forensics will show the bullet that killed him came from there." He picks up the weapon Charlotte, and briefly Michael, carried, wiping the handle before placing it in the holster under his jacket.He sees my expression. "One more shooting won't make a lot of difference to my record," he says drily. "And I'd hope you'll testify that I was defending my daughter."In the distance a sound rises: the wail of sirens. Klempner looks quickly outward, then he holds his
JAMESCharlotte's enforced bed rest isn't well received. She doesn't cope well with inactivity. After another two days, I'm beginning to think I'll have to tie her to the bed. Not that I haven't done that often enough, but the circumstances were different.I aim a finger at her. "You chose to get pregnant. You have to live with the consequences. If the doctor's say you belong in bed, that's where you're staying. No argument."Head drooping, she submits, but then her eyes rise to mine. "Where's Michael?"And I don't know how to answer her.*****After a week, the doctor's pronounce Charlotte is well enough recovered to come home, albeit with much wagging of fingers and warnings to 'Don't overdo it'.As I drive up the mountain road, Charlotte sits beside me, very quiet. I lay a hand on her thigh. "You alright?"She silent for a moment. "Is Michael at home?""He is, yes."In a small voice, "Does he want to see me?""I'm sure he does. But I think he's worrying that yo