All Chapters of The Master's Child: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Klempner - ThailandSwiping down the counter, I wipe away slops, discarded prawn shells and peanut fragments.The bar is just what you would expect; lowered lighting, luridly coloured over the stage area where a glitterball twists, reflecting whirling pinpricks of green, blue and red. The shelves are well-stocked for both the locals and the tourists, with names both familiar and unfamiliar to me. Some of them you'd expect, but who comes to Thailand and asks for the local vodka? And the regional wines are revolting - sickly sweet and syrupy. But then Thailand's hardly known for its grape growing either. There's Johnnie Walker on display for those that want it, but most of the 'whiskey' on display is actually rum.The liquor mainly drunk by the locals, lao khao, is brewed from rice. They call it '40 Degree'. After half a glass of the stuff set my ears on fire, I avoided it.I have a glass on the bar to sip from, for appearance sake, and I stick to soda water.On the stage, a gi

JamesI've cleared the dining-room table. The best dinner set and cutlery, candlesticks, red and green napkins and the Christmas log sit tumbled together on the dresser. We sit, each with a laptop and a bowl of re-heated casserole.Mitch holds a spoon in one hand, but her stew is untouched. "Mitch," I say. "Eat."She looks at the dish, then puts down her spoon. "I don't want it. I don't think I could hold it down." She looks ill, her complexion now, not just pale, but pasty.Michael picks up the spoon and scoops up a chunk of chicken, offering it to her. "You have to eat, Mitch, even if it's just a little."She recoils, turning her face away. "I'm sorry. I couldn't."I level a finger at her screen where the drama of everyday hospital life plays: white-coated doctors with clipboards and stethoscopes; nurses, walking briskly, carrying stainless steel bowls and trays, and weird-looking pouches of fluids; a patient on a trolley draped in a green blanket. "If you don't eat, Mitc

KlempnerPerfect!The man I could never have gotten close to, is now paying me for the privilege.He's even armed me. The M9 sitting in the holster under my jacket is satisfyingly standard fare and gives me a pleasant glow of Target Achieved...On the other hand, it's not too flattering, joining the ranks of Chuan's 'bodyguards', but this isn't about job satisfaction...... not in that sense anyway...And I don't plan to be staying long."This is your station for now," says Arak. "You'll cover this end of the compound together with Decha and Atid there..." The two heavies gaze vacantly at me... "And if requested, accompany Mr Chuan when he is out on business."The pair of apes stare at me with eyes vacant of any trace of thought but a fair amount of passive aggression.Newcomer...Foreigner...Sap...The work is hardly taxing. Standing to look alert and dangerous about covers the job description. Decha and Atid are all I could have hoped for, leaving the New

CharlotteThe clammy chill of the concrete claws at me...Anger helps, heating me inside...But I have to get off the naked ground...Stretching out against the chain, now fumbling out in the other direction... My swollen stomach won't allow me to lie flat down... I twist...Then, reaching with my left hand as the metal cuff bites into my right ankle; with the bare tip of my fingernails, I snag the edge of one of the cardboard boxes. It moves only slowly, the contents weighing it down.What's inside?I try again, digging in with my nails, trying to bite into the semi-hard surface. I find myself envying the long nails of my 'cousin'; Beth; her hands soft and white, the nails elegant... painted and shaped... sharp...My stubby excuses-for-nails barely make an imprint on the tough cardboard.Breathe...Don't panic...Try again...*****KlempnerThe hotel is cheap and unremarkable. The kind in fact where they rent rooms by the hour and don't ask for your ID. We

CharlotteThey could have given me a blanket...Not even a bucket...Sheer indifference?No...This isn't straightforward callousness...It's planned...Calculated...Why?To humiliate me?Perhaps...The camera...Is it only a spy?Or more???I'm supposed to be frightened...They want a show...Scared woman...Helpless... Panicking...Fuck them......I'm not scared...I'm not scared.........Then I gasp as, from the inside, Cara kicks and my stomach rebels.*****JamesThree more days.No word.No progress.No ransom demand.Why?I'm exhausted. Michael, Richard and Beth too. As for Mitch, she's run out of tears, I think. But strain has etched lines which frame her mouth and eyes.Beth serves food, pressing a mug of soup into Mitch's hand. Then sitting by Michael, resting her head on his shoulder, she strokes the back of his hand.It's late, but none of us really sleeps. A bed has no appeal. Better to be togeth