The First Betrayal

by A. M. Clarke

  Entering the saloon of The Devon’s End, Adam was greeted by a very pretty brunette whose nametag read Gladys.

  ‘Welcome to the End sir, how can I be of assistance?’ she gushed. My god he’s so beautiful, calm down girl, don’t sound so desperate, be cool. She barely heard him ask for a room and managed to pull herself together in time to offer him their one and only suite.

  ‘The End, I like that, sounds very final, as if this will be my last escapade.’

  ‘Well anything I can do to make that more memorable, don’t hesitate to ask.’

  ‘Thank you, uh, Gladys, I most definitely will.’ Adam paid in cash and collected his key gave her a wink and took the stairs to his room.

  Chapter Ten

  

  ‘Mike, how the devil are you?’ Stephen shouted down the aisle to his dearest friend, never tiring of his little joke, even in the circumstances. Mike, who was still sitting where his jellified legs had done a runner and deserted him, turned at the sound of his friend’s voice. Not trusting his wobbly stumps, Mike allowed Stephen to come to him.

  ‘You look like hell Father, what’s up?’ he was completely incapable of stopping the blasphemous banter.

  ‘You don’t look so good yourself, you soulless heathen.’ Stephen filled him in on the morning’s events.

  ‘Dear God, how terrible. I must go there and give last rites.’

  ‘It’s too late for that Mike, their gone, and anyway there’s no way to get to them. Its impossible, only the rescue boats and choppers will be able to reach them.’

  ‘Then I can do it from the cliff top, where you were. Ill grab some holy water and robes and if you would drive me there, I can at least pray over them while they are in between realms. Give them absolution so they can be delivered into Gods care.’

  ‘Isn’t that against the rules? I mean, isn’t that what got you into hot water before? For Gods sake isn’t that why you were banished here, to punish you for not following biblical decree.

  ‘Well don’t you sound just like the pious archbishop Brannon, The sanctimonious prig? Look Stephen, if saying a few prayers and asking God for forgiveness for the unfortunate people who died without the chance for last communion, or at the very least a friendly face helping them on their way, is breaking the rules , then so be it.’

  ‘All right Father Mike, I suppose that’s the least we can do. You get what you need to and Ill get the car running.’

  Mike returned with his religious and what he considered life-redeeming entrapments. He always had a bag at the ready. Ironically, it was an old doctor Gladstone bag that he carried the necessary items to finish someone’s time on this earth. Although it certainly was not his favourite part of the 'job', he did find it comforting to know he was there for the poor souls as they travelled on to a better place.

  As they travelled to the sad and lonely watery remains, Mike recalled the incident to what Stephen had alluded. It had happened back on the mainland, and his parish was flourishing under his easy going and 'take me as you find me' regime. Now it wasn’t nirvana, but it certainly wasn’t Sodom and Gomorrah either. He was so proud of his parish. People were coming together as a community and actually helping each other. The pews were almost full and hardly any foreign coins scratched the collection plate. His rhetoric was plain and simple. 'Live a good life and you will be rewarded.' He truly believed in these simple but heartfelt words, and when the call came for him to attend an accident only a few yards from his church, he brought all the accoutrements needed for all eventualities. Holy water, Holy Communion, the bible, his stole, and his unwavering belief in God.

  The scene was awful unbelievable. A delivery truck carrying medical supplies to a local chemist had jack knifed and hit a young mother pushing her newborn baby. The truck lay on its side with its healing supplies strewn all over the road, while a few hundred feet away lay a bloodied woman still clutching the handle of a mangled pram. She was clearly dead and thankfully so, because the day had been balmy and warm and the prams top was down, and the baby had catapulted out with the force and landed on the windshield of a parked car. She was imbedded in the shattered mosaic of glass and obscenely depicting an image of a snow angel. The truck driver was stumbling around with his hands clamped to his bleeding head, mumbling and crying in a wild and demented way.

  ‘They came out of nowhere, one minute nothing I was driving along and then suddenly it was like they had jumped from the side walk out on to the street. It was like they were aimed at me, coming straight at me, I couldn’t stop in time, I just couldn’t.’

  When he saw before him the dreadful accumulation of death, his first thought was, Dear God why, such innocent lives wasted needlessly. He first went to the mother still holding the pram handle and took her other hand, sprinkled holy water and prayed. He anointed the body of the mother and the child, and even though they were already dead, he still placed the body of Christ between their lips. He knew the mother had not confessed, and the baby was probably too young to have been baptised, but felt the need to help them bypass purgatory and for them to be received by The Holy Father. ‘This is the lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world. Happy are those who are called to his supper. May the lord protect you and lead you to eternal life. May your journey be peaceful and the after life glorious and heavenly. Amen.’ He read a few more prayers from the bible while waiting for the ambulance people and the authorities to arrive, feeling helpless and useless.

  Chapter Eleven

  

  ‘We’ll have to walk the rest of way Mike, Mike, come back to me, we’re here. Let me get Chequers from the house and we can head straight there.’

  ‘Sure thing just drifted away there for a minute.’ Mike grabbed the Gladstone bag and double-checked the contents before climbing down from the 'wagon' as he liked to call it. He was always jibbing Stephen about his gentleman farmers mode of transport. All he was missing was the shotgun under his arm and the silk cravat around his neck.

  Chequers could not believe his luck, racing out the barely opened door. Another walk so soon, and with his second favourite person tagging along. He danced around Mike, pulling at his sleeve in the direction he wanted to go. ‘I see patience still isn’t his strong suit,’ Mike laughed as he allowed Chequers to dictate the way. Chequers bounded along the pathway, sniffing out potential dinners. Not that he would know what to do with them even if he ever caught anything. He likes to chase rabbits, hare and pheasant, but as soon as he gets close, he veers off in the opposite direction. He likes the chase, keeps the wildlife on its toes, but that is it. Call him old fashioned but he likes his chow the way Mother Nature intended, served to him, straight out of a can.

  Mike walked with a sick, twisted sensation in his chest. The thought of what he was about to witness made his heart contract like a concertina, only it seemed to envelope inwards more than expressing out. Stephen could not believe that he was willingly going back to the ‘scene of the crime’ as they say in all the best police shows. Only the thought of Mike doing the right thing and performing last rites made it bearable.

  Although it was laughable, the last time Mike had done what he considered the right thing, he was ostracised to the island. They joke about how you have to know in advance when you are going to die, so you can book the priest, if you want a last confession and Holy Communion. Otherwise, it is too bad; there is no point in the priest praying for a corpse, as he cannot help influence Gods decision on where you end up.

  That was the only reason they had a priest on the island, somewhere to dispose of him discreetly. They could not defrock him as he was doing an 'honourable' thing, but the church could not allow Father Mike to remain loose among the general populace. He had disobeyed church rulings and in full view of the public. 'Examples' had to be made.

  . . . . .

  They reached the cliff edge as the coast guard boats were gingerly making their way to the wreckage, and they could hear the sea rescue helicopter in the distance whirring its way towa
rds them.

  ‘Dear God in heaven’ the words leaving Mike mouth involuntarily. He opened his bag, put the stole around his shoulders, and held the crucifix in one shaking hand and the holy water in the other.

  He said the Lords prayer, and standing as close to the edge as his unsure footing would allow, shook the blessed water out over the deathly tangle of bodies.

  Stephen respectfully stood to one side as Father Mike completed the ritual, only participating when he ended the prayer with Amen.

  ‘There’s nothing more we can do, so I suggest we go back to the house for shock therapy, in the form of amber liquid. What do you say Father?’

  Mike shook himself out of whatever hell that was about to swallow him.

  ‘You know I don’t like to agree with heathens like yourself, but, when your right, your right. Lets get away from here, I can feel my skin about to crawl off my body and slither away to the enemy camp.’

  As they got near to the house they could hear a siren, ’Now what?’ they said in unison. Mike felt they should follow, in case spiritual aid was required. Therefore, off they went again, having to postpone the much-needed mind-numbing beverage. They followed the siren round a few narrow secondary roads until the smoke, as if a flying blanket hovered in the sky like a beacon beckoned them to the fire.

  It was too late, too late for the hoses, too late for a fire fighter’s lift down the ladder, and too late for a final confession. The fire had blazed through the house like a wild animal ravishing its prey, literally only leaving behind bare bones. Stephen and Mike were told to keep back, but they could not help but see the two charred bodies standing together at what used to be a window. The heat had somehow tempered them together and turned them into a grotesque statue. ‘Now that’s disturbing’ a visibly shaken Stephen muttered.

  ‘Looks like a gas explosion lads.’ one of the crew shouted from behind the house, ‘I can see the canister up in a tree about a hundred yards away.’

  ‘That will make life easier, cause and effect tied up in a neat little bow’, another one remarked callously. ‘Did someone call for the wagon; these crispy critters need to be moved to the cooler.’

  ‘On its way, told them there was no hurry, they weren’t going anywhere.’

  ‘Wow, these people are all heart, come on Mike, there’s nothing we can do let us get that drink.’ He pulled at Mikes arm as he was finishing his thing, and Mike turned to Stephen and said, ’There’s something wrong here, I can feel it.’

  ‘It’s been a hell of a day alright, but don’t get paranoid on me Father.’

  Chapter Twelve

  

  Gladys shift was over but she really did not want to go home. She didn’t really want to make dinner for her dull and boring husband and spend one more mind numbing second in his company. What she really wanted to do was go upstairs to room16 and ravage that beautiful man until he begged for mercy. Begged her, to not stop devouring his perfect body and when he couldn’t take any more beg her to run away with him and start a new and wonderful exciting life together. This was how she had spent her time since he had entered her drab and dull existence. Gladys knew she was no Audrey Hepburn, but she also knew she was not that bad either. She had had her fair share of lovers and admirers. Even after, she got married. Whoever thought up monogamy had not met her Jim. God he could bore the knickers on you and that was no exaggeration. Many times they had been about to do it, when he would open his mouth and drone on about something, and that would be that. Up the knickers would go and she would find some excuse to extract herself from his limp embrace.

  All she needed was a good excuse to go to his room, without looking too desperate. She could say she was checking to see if he needed extra towels, that, or a wake up call, of course she could do that for him if she got half a chance. She could wake him good. She decided to risk it. What was the worst that could happen, unless he was gay, and in that case, what could she do? That was out of her realm of expertise. She rang her husband and explained that she would have to do a double shift, and then she nipped to the bathroom to fix herself up. She fluffed her berry red hair with the hand dryer, touched up her lippy and dabbed her favourite scent behind her ears and on her pulse points. She got to his door and took a deep breath before knocking firmly. Her knuckles had barely left the wood when he swung the door open, almost as if he had been expecting her. ‘Oh, hello Mr. Gardeden, I just wanted to check if you had enough towels before I clocked off? Well isn’t this serendipitous, I was just thinking of you, and hoping you would stop by.’ His smirk confirmed his true intension and that he never doubted that she would turn up, he stepped aside to let her pass. He took her hand and led her to the bed, where he undressed her, one item at a time. He was in no hurry as his fingers played with her hair, all the time never taking his eyes off hers. He wanted to read her, to see every thought in the green orbs, the information that told him how desperate for attention she was, greedy for any kind of affection, ready to degrade herself. When Gladys willingly entered that room, she had forsaken all dignity and shame, swapping them instead for debasement and humiliation. He knew the second he looked at her, that she was prepared to give herself, body and soul. However, for now he only wanted her body. He undid his trousers and said, ‘That’s a very pretty mouth you have, all the better to take me with, my dear.’ He pushed her down to her knees and she hungrily took him into her mouth. The damaged ones were always the best, he thought as she worked her lips and tongue on him. She stroked him with her tongue as if she were licking an ice cream. Slow and deliberate, not wanting to waste any, then cupping her mouth around his jewels while her tongue licked the saltiness from his skin. Pulling her roughly to her feet, he swung her around and shoved her on the bed. He forced his way inside her from behind, making her gasp in surprise and then in pain. He thrust harder and harder, riding her like an old rocking horse. She just lay there while he pounded into her, never once trying to get up or resist in any way. He flipped her over like a pancake on a griddle pan, and lifted her hips in the air. He buried his face in her soft, moist area and lapped at her feminine juices. Gladys arched her hips and bit her lip in pleasure so intense, she cursed aloud. He brought her to the edge of organism and stopped. She almost cried in frustration and then disgust as he stood over her and grabbed his manhood finishing himself off, depositing his man juices all over her body. He zipped up and walked to the window where he stood silently ignoring her. She grabbed her clothes from the floor, ran to the bathroom to clean up. The reflection in the mirror forced the tears back, she told herself that he had degraded her enough, and he was not going to see her cry. Dressing quietly and quickly, she let herself out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  

  Evelyn who had also been welcomed to the End was listening in the adjoining room, her ear pressed against the imitation Laurie Ashley wallpaper. Interesting place, she thought to herself. She left the room, to explore the town. Walking down the main street, she turned many heads. Men who sensed fresh meat and the thrill of new possibilities, someone 'different' to their wives and girlfriends. Women’s confidence suddenly shattered their comfortable and safe lives under threat. Evelyn caused a reaction everywhere she went and she thrived on it. She enjoyed the attention, and she fed on the disruption she created. She strode on arrogantly, suddenly looks up, and catches someone watching her from an upstairs window. She raised a hand in a gesture of friendship and smiled.

  Lucy was rooted to the spot, pill bottle in one hand and a bottle of southern comfort in the other. She had been taking a final look out at her surrogate home, when her eyes fastened on a beautiful woman walking toward her. The stranger looked up and caught her staring, waved up at her and smiled at her, and the damnedest thing was that Lucy felt that she knew exactly what she had been planning to do. Lucy, captivated, dropped the bottle and the pills, and dementia or not, completely forgot that she was on the verge of ending her life. With a sense of purpose and feeling the need for positive action, Lucy decided
to visit Father Michael for confession and some spiritual guidance. Anyway that was the direction the beautiful woman was going and that was where she intended to be.

  Evelyn was waiting in the church for Lucy. ‘I am glad you came, I was sure you would.’ She rose from her seat and approached Lucy, stopping directly in front of her; she placed her forefinger under her chin. Lifting her gently, ‘Your eyes are so sad, lost in the darkness of a life that has let you down. If you kill yourself, God will not forgive you. He is very vengeful and spiteful you know.’

  ‘How, I mean how you could possibly know. I felt it even as you watched me from the road. You knew even then what I was going to do, didn’t you. Yes I knew, call it a gift if you like, but I could tell from your eyes, even from a distance, that you were in pain and just looking for an excuse to put down those pills. Now, come sit with me and tell me what will make you stay with us.’