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
JAMESMichael...He's depressed...What can I do?Change of scene maybe?*****"Charlotte, I was thinking, we're about due for your road-trip."She pauses, half a sausage impaled on a fork midway to her mouth. "Road-trip, Master? What road-trip?""Have you forgotten that you were bequeathed a house? And everything in it. Perhaps it is time to make good your claim?"The half-a-sausage drops back to her plate. "Go back to the farm you mean? The last time I was there, they... they weren't very welcoming."Michael is listening, chewing on toast and marmalade, suddenly looking more animated than he has for days.Thank God..."Things have changed since then, haven't they," he says. "You've spoken with your friend Tom. He knows the truth of what happened. And of course, there's Chad."Still she stares at the sausage and the fried egg congealing by it. "I'm not sure..."I pour myself more coffee. "Even if all you decide to do is sell the house, you'll need to visit
MICHAELThe lawns might have been mown, but the shrubs and borders are heading for the sky. A quick exploration of a small back shed produces saw and secateurs, so I set to, getting the garden back under control."Hello."I turn to see a woman, standing by the garden gate. Wearing jeans and a shirt, her hair tied tightly back in a ponytail, she has a prim, pleasant face. "Hello, I'm Eleanor Collier. I've been keeping an eye on the house. I saw something was happening...?" I stand, wiping muck and sap off my hands and onto my pants, then stride forward to offer my hand. "Michael Summerford." My brain connects the dots. "Collier, was it? Charlo... Jennifer's foster mother?"Her face lights up. "That's right. You know Jenny? She's here?""I'm her husband. And yes, she's here." I yell towards the upstairs window. "Charlotte! Friend of yours here." I gesture to the gate. "You'd better come in."From above, a movement at the window, then a clatter down the stairs and Charlotte