‘It’s not my calling,’ she said to the storm, ‘It’s my ending!’ Then she thought about the boys in her dreams. How she had never met them, never seen them. They would be grown up now, but she had always been sure she would see them. It couldn't end like this. She wouldn't let it.
There was a streak of lightning followed by a sound of thunder, as the storm grew stronger, and took hold. She had never ever heard a sound like it. The whole house shook. Through the thunder she heard, what sounded like voices. She heard the voices telling her to go, telling her to get out. The wind was forceful now. She tried to move, having to fight against the wind as she inched her way towards the door. Was the wind trying to keep her back, or was it trying to guide her? She wasn’t sure. She had to get out. She had to. She wanted to see her boys, just once, then the good Lord could take her. There were now too many voices to comprehend, and as the rain came, she screamed!
The wind had suddenly eased, but still the rain came, her cotton dressing gown was already sodden, feeling heavy on her body, weighing her down, her nightdress clung to her skin, and as she wiped the rain from her eyes more just came, turning to hail which hit her violently, stinging her face. The lights flashed and went out, sparks came from the sockets in the wall, then hailstones the size of golf balls rained down on her. The frozen balls battered her as she crawled along the floor towards the door. Pain racked her head. She felt as though her hands were broken as she crawled into the hallway. She could see the front door now, the keys still in it. Maybe she would get out. Maybe this was just a warning. She crawled towards the door, just as a table flew across the hallway narrowly missing her. The umbrella stand flew into the air and three umbrellas hovered above her like something out of a Harry Potter movie. She felt sure that one was going to stab her as they descended to the ground, yet it missed her by inches. She stood up when she was just six feet from the door, but the golf ball hail rained down on her, knocking her to her knees again. Her whole body hurt. She wasn't going to make it. Tonight she would die. Then the locked solid oak door opened wide. She could see outside now. Shading her eyes with her hands, she raised her head to look. The door was open, but all she could see was a light. She had no idea what it was, but she knew she had to reach it, so she crawled on her hands and knees as the hailstones rained down on her battered body, into the light.
Into the light that called her.
Chapter 34
Madison’s hair was a rich shade of mahogany, flowing in waves of silk that adorned her glowing, porcelain-like skin. Her eyes, framed by long lashes that naturally curled, were a deep emerald green that seemed to want to brighten the world. With full lips and a perfectly formed nose that complemented her high cheek bones, this young sixteen year old girl seemed to be a picture of perfection. A natural beauty that thousands of women would pay millions to have, and hundreds had, without achieving such perfection. When she smiled, it made people around her feel contented. When she laughed it made people want to laugh with her. She was funny and articulate, stubborn and proud. When she cried, it was as if the whole world would want to comfort her.
Madison never chose to look this way. She never realised her beauty. She was modest but fiery, determined yet vulnerable. She merely wanted adventures. After all, she had only just turned sixteen.
Sue, her mother, was a wonderful mum, only thirty eight herself. It was clear that Madison got her good looks from her mother, who had done everything a mum could do for a daughter. They were friends, as well as being mother and daughter, Sue had never regretted having Madison for one moment. That night, seventeen years ago, after a drunken one night stand with a Welsh hunk, when she had been visiting Cardiff.
On a night out with friends, she had been ashamed when she woke up, lying next to that man the following morning, in some sleazy hotel. It had made her feel dirty, but nine months later when she had given birth to a beautiful daughter she considered it to be the best thing that had happened to her. She had never thought to look for her one-night stand to tell him. Why should she? Why would she? She had met Morgan, when Madison was three and married him three years later. He had a good job working for the M.O.D., although no one really knew what he did. It was a consultancy role, which took him away from home quite often. He always wore a shirt and tie, even when not at work.
Madison knew that Morgan wasn’t her real father, but she called him Dad and loved him as if he were. He loved her and she always teased him about having two surnames and no Christian name. Their life was good, bright and happy, but . . . There was always a but.
Madison knew there was something else, something deeply hidden, somewhere in her world that would not reveal what was to be her destiny. There were people in her life that she hadn't yet met. People who were special. She knew that, as an only child, as a bright student, she was going to grow up to be someone special. To her parents she already was special. Madison Hughes, a sixteen year old, like any other sixteen year old, wanted her life to be an adventure. Yet she hadn’t bargained on the life that was about to come her way.
Madison Hughes wasn’t your regular sixteen year old. She seemed to have a gift, not one she had chosen, not one she could really control, but every now and again she could hear people’s thoughts.
She had never told her parents about her gift, but her father was aware of it. In fact, her gift was the reason he had met her mother. He hadn’t bargained on falling in love and marrying Sue. That hadn’t been the plan, but he couldn’t help who he fell in love with and it had worked out okay up to now. Madison didn’t really know how to read people’s thoughts or what it was about her. It hadn’t started until she was thirteen, or at least that was when she could remember it starting. Yet people were aware of her gift, when she was a three year old.
At that age, the young mind fails to comprehend these things and treats them as normal. Between the ages of three to six, Madison had been able to read minds, until Morgan had almost successfully taken it from her.
It still happened, but now it was of no great concern. Her first real memory of it was when she was in class sitting at her desk. A teacher, whose name now eluded her, was sitting at his desk, with another thirteen year old pupil standing beside him. The child was being chastised for poor work in front of all the class who could see and hear everything. Every pupil was watching and thinking how inappropriate it was.
Suddenly Madison could hear the teacher’s thoughts. At first she wasn’t sure where it was coming from, so she felt somewhat confused. She looked around and realised that no one else could hear these thoughts. The other pupils were still watching the poor girl who was almost in tears. Mr. whatever his-name-was, was having lewd thoughts about how he would like to punish this girl. At that moment Madison said nothing and the class continued as normal. What had happened frightened her a little bit, but nothing had ever been clearer. She had heard his thoughts. She was sure of that. When the bell rang and the pupils were leaving the classroom, Madison, who was quite sure what she had heard could not let it go. She made sure that she was the last pupil to leave and before she left, she repeated his exact words back to the teacher, then left the class. That teacher never came back to teach. Madison had never seen him again. She had never told anyone about this as it frightened her a little.
It had happened three other times. Once, when she was in a shopping mall, she heard the thoughts of a young boy who was plotting to steal a handbag from an elderly woman. She had warned the elderly lady, which saved her from that ordeal.
The other two occasions were when girls to whom she was talking were mentally slagging her off. In each case Madison had answered them, as if they had spoken the thoughts out loud, both amazing and frightening the girls at the same time. For a while they had called her Mystic Mad, but the name never stuck. Truth be told, some girls weren’t just in awe of her, they were a little bit scared.
Today was a good day. Her best friend, Chantelle, was staying over for the first time since they had met, Madison’s parents were havi
ng a weekend away together. This was the first time they had left Madison alone overnight, which Madison thought was ridiculous at her age. After warning her against any wild parties off they went. After two pints of cider each, then two flick chick movies, a whole host of crisps and goodies, the two girls had gone to bed at two am. Chantelle slept soundly in Madison’s bed, whilst Madison herself was curled up in her parents’ king size divan. She loved that bed. She clearly remembered that when she was younger she would sneak in with her mother, when her father was working away. The bed had seemed huge in those days, when she and her mother would snuggle up all night. She loved those memories. The simple things were always the best.
***
Todd wasn't sure what had happened. He remembered hovering over a large house just on the outskirts of Blackpool. Then a violent storm had erupted. He seemed to be at the centre of the storm, yet he felt no danger. Not only was he at the centre of it, Todd was sure that he had caused the storm. How long it had gone on for, he wasn’t sure, he still had no sense of measuring time. He remembered seeing a lady run out of the house, screaming as she ran from the storm. He wasn’t sure what was happening, why he was there, or who the lady was. He had never seen her before and saw no significance in his being there. He just wanted to go home now, to find Wendy to tell her how much he loved her. He hoped the old lady wasn’t hurt. She didn’t look too good. Todd Fenton didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all.
He now found himself in Manchester, above a nice private housing estate, He couldn't remember leaving Blackpool and flying to Manchester. All he could remember was flying over Old Trafford, the home of his favourite football team, seeing the statue of Sir Matt Busby. He wondered if there was any significance in that. Why take him that way? Why bring him here at all? He was hovering like the graceful bird which he became when the light that guided him would once again glow bright, then the storm would rage all around him, while the skies remained clear and the moon lit up the streets of Manchester.
***
It was the sound of the wind which awoke her first. She didn’t think she had been in bed that long. Her throat was dry. Probably too much cider she thought. She got out of bed to go downstairs to the kitchen to get a drink. She grabbed her dressing gown. As she passed her own bedroom, she noticed Chantelle was sound asleep. She could hear her snores. She smiled at that as it reminded her of her mum who always snored. It seemed strange not having her parents’ home. The king size bed seemed way too big for one person. She put some squash in a glass and went to the sink to top it up with water. As she turned the tap, the sky lit up with a flash of lightning and the window pane burst, showering her with broken glass. Her instinct forced her to the floor. For a moment she just sat there in shock. She checked to see if she had been cut and was pleased to see that she hadn’t. She could feel the force of the wind now blowing through the smashed window. She needed to get out of the kitchen and up to Chantelle. Could the wind break a window like that? Or did someone break it? Was someone trying to get in? Someone who knew her parents were away and had decided to break in? She wanted to scream, but couldn't, no noise came out of her mouth, her cries for help would not be heard. Then something crazy happened. She heard a voice in the same way that she had heard other people’s thoughts, but this time she could hear a dream. Chantelle’s dream. She was dreaming about nice things. No storms raged, just dreams.
Madison managed to stand. She looked at the broken window. She wondered what her mother and father were going to say. Was the voice telling her that Chantelle was safe? She hoped so. Her hair blew across her face, and through the window she could see a bright light which was spinning faster and faster, getting nearer and nearer like a spinning top, or a hurricane that you see in the movies. The drawers were opening in the kitchen now. Cupboard doors slammed open and closed. She stood by the window. Surely the noise would wake Chantelle up, she would come down, but what could she do. At least she wouldn't be alone. The voice she had heard hadn’t happened again for a while. She cowered down, crawled to the kitchen table, to where she had left her phone.
The lights in the house were flashing now, and the noise was awful. How could a storm be in my house? She had to get out. She stood up, then looked out of the window, not believing what she saw. There seemed to be someone in the sky, at the centre of the storm, and he was calling her, beckoning her to join him. Then the light grew nearer, and Madison felt an overwhelming sense of wanting to reach out and touch the light, so that’s what she did. The next thing she felt was her feet lifting off the ground, then in one swift movement the force of the hurricane lifted her out through the window. Madison could swear that she could see someone in the sky, waving to her as he flew away, Madison would not remember anything about how she landed. At sixteen years of age Madison’s beautiful adventure was about to begin.
Her best friend, Chantelle, slept soundly, snoring in Madison’s bed. The storm would not wake her. She would not realise her best friend had gone missing, until she woke in the morning.
Chapter 35
Things weren’t actually becoming clear to Todd now. In fact, he was more confused than ever, but, as crazy as all this was, he guessed there must be some significance in it. The elderly lady, the young girl, a stunning young girl, that he had literally pulled from her house and into the storm must mean something. Even though he could not see them now, he somehow knew he would see them again. The storm had calmed. He was sure the women were not hurt. They certainly would have nothing to do with Wendy’s disappearance, because he knew who was responsible for that. What had all this to do with his father? Or is this strange trip merely to keep him away? Keep him from saving Wendy?
He thought he was going home at this time, he had been floating in the sky at speed since leaving Manchester. But no, he soon realised there would be no journey home, not just yet. Here he was hovering above a bungalow in Smethwick, West Midlands. He hovered, expecting a storm, and he wasn’t disappointed.
***
Doctor James McCarthy finally left his surgery at eight pm. The days were getting longer and longer, he was feeling too old for the job now. This grey-haired man, whose eyes seemed to be constantly tired, was very weary. He seemed to be constantly exhausted. At six feet two inches and weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, it felt like all his muscular body ached. Tonight he wouldn’t be on duty at the hospital as he had been the previous three days. He was going home for pie and chips with mushy peas, oh and whisky. Don’t forget the whisky. He thought about his job whilst he drove home, a route he had taken thousands of times. He knew every turn, every bend on that journey, he hated every mile of it. It was all right for the government to introduce longer surgery times. It was all right for them to allow patients to see their doctor on a Saturday, but the targets were killing him. How are you supposed to guarantee that a patient would see a doctor within two days? There were only so many hours in each day. Tonight he would try to get eight hours’ sleep, it had been a long time since he had a decent night’s sleep.
Question Time was on tonight that was one of the topics. He would watch it with interest. Let’s see what those government arseholes have got to say. It was all about managing now, skills and knowledge performance charts, communication, partnership and teamwork. All the words he hated. He simply wanted to treat patients. It took nine days, on average for patients to get an appointment at his surgery. Nine fucking days, you could die in nine fucking days.
He had been a GP at Smethwick surgery for over thirty years, a job he had once loved, it had now become a job where he loathed every minute of it. His thirty seven years of marriage had ended when his wife had died two years ago at the age of fifty five. Young lovers. First and only lovers. He still missed her, always would. They had no children. They just wanted to enjoy life, when the time was right, they might have kids. But they kept on enjoying life and that time never came.
Then the cancer took in. He knew she had it. James McCarthy could smell death. That was his curse. Not a
gift, definitely a curse. He smelt the cancer in his wife in the same way he could smell it when a patient came into his surgery. Without speaking, if any patient were at death’s door, he could smell it.
In many cases, he could prolong life, his curse always gave him early diagnosis, which enabled earlier treatment. Yet death still came, it had with his beloved wife, Elsie. Cancer was unforgiving.
He had a lot of time for those people, a caring doctor with empathy, yet he had no time for the hundreds who visited him with no illness at all. He hated them that was the problem.
Today’s surgery had been no different. He had seen thirty patients, knowing that ten of them could have just taken an aspirin and gone to bed. Two he had referred to hospital for tests. He was concerned about them. There was no smell of death, yet he was worried enough to refer them. He still loved doctoring. The ability to help people and cure their ailments gave him the most amazing feeling of satisfaction, but it was the red tape he hated. It had left him saddened by it all. There was a lack of respect. Doctors had been regarded as Gods when he was young. Now he felt like a lap dog.
It wasn't a particularly warm evening. He had eaten his chips and sat with a whisky. He got up from his cream sofa, turned the gas fire on low, just to take the chill off. He sat down and watched the TV, but he was not really taking it in. The whisky was making his head fuzzy and, as Question Time came on, James had fallen into a deep sleep on his sofa. He dreamt of all his patients, the good and the bad. He dreamt of his wife as he always did. Those were nice dreams.
The Fenton Saga: Never Say Goodbye / There Was No Body. Page 17