“Well anyway, I'm pleased to meet you. My name is Richard.” He held out his hand as if for a handshake, she smiled as if she didn’t do it very often and curtsied, ignoring his outstretched hand. Richard realised that he was going to have to make the conversation,
“So where do you go when you go out? Are there any shops near here?” Cairo’s eyes darted towards the ceiling as she struggled to think of a convincing lie,
“I sometimes go to...” her gaze remained firmly at the ceiling, “… the cinema!”
Richard grinned and stifled a snort, instantly regretting it as her face dropped and she retorted,
“Well it’s none of your business anyway!” And in a flash she had disappeared behind the wardrobe, he heard the faint sound of the wooden door clunking shut. Richard fell backwards onto his bed, he was disappointed that he'd upset the girl so easily, it was good to know there were other people in the house. And that there was another way out of his cell. He mulled on it, working on the idea that Cairo might somehow be useful as a means of escape.
*
The gardener, Mr Underhill, was old but still strong, his wife had died of cancer many years before and he’d never thought to find someone else. Their marriage had been childless and he’d resigned himself to serving the garden for the rest of his years. At five minutes to midnight he stood waiting under the dark overhanging branches of an ancient Willow tree waiting, hoping, for another glimpse of his Midnight Orchid. It was last summer when he first suspected that it might be about to bloom, he had found a scattering of cut twigs and leaves under the big old tree that grew close to the house. Curious as to their origin he climbed up into the tree to see from where they had been cut, at first he was puzzled, and he sat in the tree for a while until the answer came to him. He smiled to himself. Since then he regularly hid in the garden hoping she would appear. This night was cold and clear, lit by a bright half moon, he took up his hiding place under the curtain of Willow branches and waited, it was nearly an hour before Cairo appeared on the window balcony above the tree, she was wearing her white sleeping gown and had tied back her long dark with blue ribbons. She floated on the balcony in the midnight breeze. Mr Underhill sighed softly and whispered to himself,
“Ah, as beautiful as a Midnight Orchid.” He watched her climb gracefully down into the tree and drop to earth like a faery princess.
He studied her as she danced around the garden, she was as delightful as the flowers he nurtured so carefully all year round. She scampered here and there, sometimes out of sight, sometimes going very close to where Mr Underhill was hidden.
“Don't step on the shadows!” She called softly to one or all of her imaginary friends. He had watched her on so many nights she had danced her way into Mr Underhill’s heart, he fell in love with her, as he loved the garden, she was a rare and beautiful addition to his garden that although he could not water or prune her he would watch over her, day and night, to make sure that she grew strong and healthy. Quietly, to himself, he pledged his life to her, his own Midnight Orchid.
Cairo danced and played until dawn, shaking off the dust of a day spent tiptoeing through the corridors. Mr Underhill watched with sadness as she climbed wearily back into the tree, his own fingers clenched tight as she gripped the rope to pull herself up, he wanted to run out to her and lift her to safety but he knew that he shouldn’t. When she was gone he made his way back to his shack near the woods, he lay down to rest. In the moments before sleep he heard dogs barking.
*
London, Hospital - 2000
Walther was awake in hospital. A nurse and a doctor turned at the muffled grunting,
“I think he's trying to say something!” The muffled sounds coming through Walther’s bandages could not be understood by either of them.
“Don't try to talk!” The man spoke slowly and clearly trying to make sure that Walther could understand him.
“Your face is heavily bandaged, we've had to perform some delicate reconstruction work on your jaw and cheek bones, so please don't try to speak just yet. You are in hospital and you're going to be all right!” The man flashed Walther his best reassuring smile and stepped backwards out of eyesight. Walther collapsed inwardly, he could tell that it was hopeless trying to communicate at that moment, he would have to wait to find out if Susan was okay. Gradually he drifted back to sleep.
*
Norfolk - 2000
After three hours of driving Susan turned off the main Norwich-to-Fakenham road into a narrow country lane. She was in the ancient unchanged countryside of Norfolk, the lane sloped gently downhill between farmland and woods towards a river, she recognised the old mill on her right as she passed over the single span stone bridge and knew that just around the bend she would see the village church. The sun was shining and there was a touch of Spring in the air, the village green was aglow with Daffodils, she was amazed that everything in the village looked pretty much the same as the last time she had seen it, ten years earlier.
Her parents' cottage, the house that she was born in and had called home for most of her life, was down an unsurfaced track that ran past the side of the village Pub and ended by the church fence. She parked on the shingled area in the front garden, feeling nervous about seeing the old cottage again, ghosts of her parent's untimely deaths haunted her dreams and she'd spent years trying to block out the memories.
She stepped out of her car and immediately felt that something wasn't right about the place, but it took several moments for her to realise what it was, the house looked too neat and tidy. She had been expecting to find an old ruin with weeds and mile-high grass for a front garden, instead she saw that the front lawn had recently been mown and the rendered walls of the cottage had been painted, the thatching was all intact, it looked as if the house was lived in. She was confused, as far as she knew no one had rented the house and she had not paid anyone to maintain it. With a small suitcase in her left hand she walked slowly to the front door catching a reflection of her bandaged cheek in a window as she dug into her handbag for the keys. Without warning a loud voice called out from behind her,
“I say! Can I help you? There's no one in the house at the moment!”
Susan felt hot and bothered, she had no desire to meet people in her present condition, but she recognised the voice and knew there would be no escape,
“Hello Vicar.” She replied simply as she turned. He stared at her for a moment, then a flash of recognition passed across his face,
“It is you! My goodness how delightful! After all this time! How lovely to see you. Have you come back to stay?” As he approached he put his arms out to Susan who responded by forcing a smile. He looked closely at her bandaged face until she became even more uncomfortable. She replied in a cool dispassionate voice,
“No, I'm just visiting.” She wished he would go away.
“Oh that is a pity! It would be so nice if the old cottage was lived in again!” Susan had found the front door key and wanted to go inside to get away from him, not because she disliked the kindly old man but because she was ashamed and embarrassed about her face and her reason for being there. And then she was dismayed when he reached out and took the key from her fingers,
“Let me open the door for you!” She remembered that he always had spoken too loudly, with an inward sigh she let him open the door and follow her inside. The junk-mail was piled neatly on the hall table with another larger pile underneath, next to that was a large cardboard box full of what looked like things to go to a car-boot sale. She was confused and had to ask,
“Vicar, what's going on? Someone's been coming into the house and cleaning up, and who's been doing the gardening?” The Vicar looked slightly embarrassed,
“Well my dear, I do hope you don't mind, it was me. I've been looking in on the old place from time to time, it seemed such a shame to let it fall into rack and ruin, and I've always hoped, in fact all of us hoped, that some day you would coming back.” Susan did not like the sound of ‘all of us’, “Perhaps it was a mist
ake to come back.” she thought but said nothing and walked into the living room. Vicar followed closely, still chattering,
“And as for the garden, that's been looked after by young Tommy Paston, you remember Tommy don't you?” She certainly did remember him, they had been close friends at school, almost inseparable, she hadn't seen him since she left for University, she was slightly surprised that he had stayed in the village remembering that he wanted to be a rock singer.
“He'll be thrilled to see you again!” The Vicar added. She whirled on him instantly,
“No! Don't tell him I'm here! I don't want to see anyone!” Susan spat out the words harshly, taking the Vicar by surprise. He again looked at her closely before gently asking,
“Don't you really mean that you don't want anyone to see you?…” He pointed at her face, “…Something terrible has happened and you’ve come home to hide from it.” Susan glared at him. She hated him being right, she did want to hide from people.
“I just want to be alone for a while. That's all.” She had to try hard to keep down her rising anger, “Why won't he just take the hint and piss off!” They’d drifted into the kitchen and the vicar went straight to the kettle,
“A cup of tea is what you need my dear, allow me to be mother.”
Susan excused herself and went to the bathroom, by the time she returned he was pouring into two cups,
“There you are, come and sit down, you must be tired from your journey. This will be a nice little pick-me-up.” She obediently sat at the kitchen table opposite him, hiding her shaking hands in her lap. He smiled, and with as much gentleness as he could muster asked,
“Have you been in a, erm, accident? A car perhaps?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise when Susan laughed loudly and bitterly, looked him in the eyes and ripped the bandage from her cheek. Rising to her feet she shouted,
“Ever seen a crash do this to someone's face!” She leaned forward across the table, turning her ruined cheek towards him, almost threateningly. The Vicar turned white, unable to speak, he was genuinely horrified. She ranted at him,
“Can you read it all right! Do you want to put your glasses on to get a better look!? Are you satisfied now?!” Susan vented her anger on him, unfairly she knew, but she didn't care, he shouldn't have been so nosy, she thought to herself. She watched as he tremblingly picked up his tea.
“Who needs a pick-me-up now?” She thought cruelly.
Chapter 4: “Your death is my life.”
Sir Clive's House in the Countryside - 2000
Eve stared out of an open window, but of course not for very long, She was preparing herself to speak to Richard again and for some reason her mind had thrown up an ancient memory. Of Julius, and any reminders of that ill-fated liaison filled her with immediate revulsion. She pictured the last time she’d seen him, how he was so proud that he’d owned her. She shook her head as she had done more than a thousand times to remove his face and memory,
“Cute curly-haired monster.” He’d been such a bastard to her.
*
Rome - AD64
The gladiatrix trotted beneath the rows of crucified men lining both sides of the Via Flaminia leading in to Rome. She carried a letter of introduction from Caius to friends of his named Paul and Peter. She had hoped that they would be her passport to Nero Caesar, son of The Soul Stealer, but was disappointed to learn that they also were afflicted by Christian faith and as such despised by Nero.
After a night of violent argument and frustration she crept through the streets setting fire indiscriminately to dwelling and stable and shop until it seemed the whole city was ablaze.
In an effort to gain favour with Nero she implicated her benefactors Peter and Paul as the fire-starters. They were duly arrested and held in the infernal Mamartine prison. She felt no guilt for her lies and betrayal, “Perhaps they will thank me for introducing them to their god-of-mercy sooner than they expected.”
Sir Clive's House in the Countryside - 2000
Cairo lay under her bed holding Button tightly in her arms,
“His name is Richard…” She whispered in its' ear, “…he was a little bit horrid to me, but I think he quite likes me really. He’s a prisoner you know!” She had been mulling over the idea of being held captive and found it very confusing but also quite exciting.
“Is he happy?” Button asked her. She gave it a little thought,
“Why shouldn't he be?” She asked. And then Button reminded her of something that happened when she was younger,
“Do you remember the time when you were in one of the upstairs rooms and a little bird flew in through an open window?” Cairo remembered it all too vividly, even though she had tried to put it out of her mind, she nodded her head in the cramped confine underneath her bed. Button continued,
“You closed the window to keep it in, and the poor little thing went mad, it flew all around the room before crashing into the window pane, and then it died.” Cairo remembered the incident all too well, she pictured the little bird dead on the carpet, a small drop of blood on the end of its tiny beak, she remembered sobbing uncontrollably with guilt and shame,
“I only wanted to be its friend!…” She felt stinging tears fill her eyes once again, “…I never meant to hurt it!” She wiped away the hot flood on her cheek with the back of a grubby hand.
Button said nothing.
*
Richard was sat on the edge of his iron bed while Eve lounged in the doorway, well out of his reach,
“How can you sleep at night? Knowing what you've done to people?” He asked her. He had wanted to ask about Susan but felt too frightened of the answer he might receive.
“My conscience is none of your concern...” She replied in her light, airy fashion, “…Besides, I don't remember things for very long, I don't know why, but every so often memories just seem to fall out of my head. I can feel it, I know when it's happening but I can’t control it. It's not painful or anything, except I get a peculiar feeling afterwards, as if I'm missing something...” She laughed, and then continued, “...Who cares about a few dead people anyway? People die all the time. That's what I hate most about this ‘modern’ age, you're all so hypocritical! Who really gives a damn if someone on the other side of town gets killed? Who's going to remember in five minutes time anyway? I've ended a few miserable peoples’ pathetic, shallow lives. So what? They deserved it anyway, most of them. I've done the world a good turn by getting rid of the scum, more air for the rest of us.” She laughed heartily as she spoke. Richard shook his head, he wasn't sure if she actually meant any of what she'd said but she'd annoyed him again, he'd thought of Philip,
“My friend wasn't scum, he was a good man, he-” Eve cut him off,
“Ha! He was a nobody, a dribbling half-man. You should have seen the way he lusted after me. And he died sobbing!” Eve lied to Richard for the pleasure of feeling him suffer, she knew how to hurt in more ways than one, she stuck the knife into Richard’s mind and then she twisted it some more,
“And as for that bitch wife of yours! Don't expect to see her 'pretty' little face again!” Richard clenched his fists and ‘switched off‘, it was his only weapon against her until he could get free. He promised himself that one day he would get revenge. Eve did not like to be ignored and she always liked to have the last word,
“It's an interesting little trick, being able to switch off your mind like that, you've set a challenge for me, will I be able to break you? We shall have to see!”
She flounced petulantly out of his cell almost bumping into the twins as they arrived with his evening meal. They stopped dead in their tracks looking guiltily at the floor. Eve eyed them with suspicion which changed to amusement as she noted their heavily made-up faces and short dresses. She guessed immediately what was going on their minds, “Mental little tarts...” and wondered if Richard had been playing along with them, “...He's probably got some sort of loyalty hang-up.” She laughed and called out over her shoulder as she turned the corner,
“Enjoy him while you can!” She breezed along the corridor, they heard her laughter continue all the way down the stairs. After a while of standing motionless in the corridor they joined Richard in his cell. They didn’t hear him groan under his breath,
“Oh god, here they come again…” he faked a charming smile, “...Bonkers & Barmy inc.”
*
Outside in the grounds of the house, the chauffeur, Kelvin Bright by name, was ‘exercising’ the dogs. One of his favourite games was The Hunt. It was easy to play, he’d been breeding rabbits in one of the outhouses especially for this diversion. He would take one or more of the rabbits and let the dogs have a sniff of them, then let them go a short way into the woods,
“Go get ‘em me beauties!” The terrified creatures scampered off and often ran the bulky dogs ragged before escaping, but Kelvin always had another one to hand, one that he let go on the lawn for them to tear to pieces.
He stood legs apart with a shotgun under his arm, the dogs at his side whined and tugged at their chains eager to get on with the game,
“Easy boys, not long now, me beauties.” He always referred to the insane mutts as his beauties, except when in mid-hunt, then they became his Terminators.
Pretty soon the hunt was on, the dogs let loose they raced across the lawns towards the forest, snapping at each other in their eagerness to be first to the kill. Kelvin produced a torch from his waxed jacket pocket and ran quickly behind them. This time it was over in a few moments, in an attempt to avoid the leading dog the rabbit doubled back straight into the path of another. In a second, two of the dogs bit into it at the same time and neither of them would let go, Kelvin watched as they threw their heads from side to side in an effort to shake each other off, the rabbit was ripped to pieces and Kelvin had to step back quickly to avoid being sprayed with its blood. He was disappointed that it was over so quickly.
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