The Fenton Saga: Never Say Goodbye / There Was No Body.

by Colin Griffiths

  “You know it’s not.” She said,

  Then Todd completely changed the subject,

  “What if I stop taking my tablets, will I die?”

  The change of subject took her by surprise, she considered her response,

  “No it might make you ill for a while but no,” she paused then added, “why?”

  She stood in front of him now Todd still leaning against the fence,

  “I would never hurt you Cathy, you know that don’t you?” His eyes looked deep but his lips formed a smile.

  Cathy was drawn to his eyes, they sparkled she had never seen that before and they were looking at her now, looking into her eyes. She felt vulnerable that moment, she didn’t care whether he was taking his tablets or not. Todd could do nothing wrong in her eyes, and she felt like Todd could do anything he wanted to her and she wouldn’t care. This crazy feeling inside her felt surreal! Where did this come from? She put her hands around his neck and put her mouth to his and they kissed passionately and deeply. And as she kissed him she felt nice tingles in nice places, and as her eyes were closed in that passionate embrace, thinking of heaven. Todd’s eyes were open and he was looking at the Cliff.

  Chapter 28

  Brooklyn in the U.S.A is huge, if it was counted as a separate city rather than a borough, it would be the third largest city in the United States with about 2.6 Million people. The place is incredibly diverse its 55 percent white the rest made of black, Asian, Hispanic/Latino, there are black middle class neighbour hoods, Italian neighbourhoods. Park Slope is jokingly known as the land of lesbians and baby strollers. Williamsburg is the land of hipster artists and so on, that’s where Roy Slater lived though he was no hipster artist. He wasn’t black or Asian, Italian or Mexican. Roy Slater was white and he was of British parents. He lived in a quiet residential area of Williamsburg with his American wife Lia and there 2 year old son Connor. Roy Slater was 30 years old. He had lived in America for all of those years, when his mother who was just 15 at the time had been taken by her parents to America.

  Yes Christine slater was fifteen at the time she had Roy, 14 when pregnant. She remembers the father vividly as she had lived with him for 6 months. Her parents had fostered him, a problematic child just a year older then herself, she was a nieve 14 year old and she seemed to like her foster brother at first. Her parents liked the charming man, who was big and strong and helped with the house hold chores, and appeared to be a normal boy who had simply lost his parents to early. They soon come to the conclusion that he was to be trusted. It was a month after he arrived that Christine began to see the evil side of him, the way he would like to kill small animals and insects and make her watch. But at the same time he was always charming to her when her mum and dad were around. She never told her mum and dad because he had threatened to kill her if she did, and she believed him, believed that he could and would do it. It was two weeks after that before he started touching her, he would tell her it was okay and that everyone done it, and sometimes it felt nice, but it didn’t feel nice when he raped her, it didn’t feel nice at all. Not the first time, or the second time, or any time after that. She was too scared to tell her parents. It was 4 months later when her parents found out she was pregnant, that Christine finally had to admit the truth whilst in fear of her own life. Immediately her foster son was taken back, they told the authorities they were emigrating. They never told anyone she was pregnant, and before the baby was born (her parents being Catholic would not allow an abortion) they were planning their emigration to America. With the help of her parents she had brought the child up, now he was doing well, an English teacher in a school in Brooklyn, she was proud of him, well proud. Roy Slater was an excellent teacher and could probably teach in higher rated schools then the one he did. College’s universities would snap him up, but he loved it in the small school that he taught at, he loved this part of Brooklyn, he loved New York and all it had to offer, he loved America. He couldn’t remember the country he was born in, but his mother would speak regularly about it, tell him what it was like, his grandparents did to. Lia his wife had always said she wanted to go.

  Roy Slater had a remarkable ability, he could unravel any anagram in a split second, no matter how big or how complicated it was. He could just see the word, it didn’t matter what order the letters were in he could always see the word. People marvelled at it, he had even been on television, to Roy it was just natural. Lia his wife was an American girl, born and bred in Brooklyn, she too was a teacher and they met at the school Roy taught at, she was dark haired and slim. She would change her hairstyle frequently but today it was just long hanging over her shoulders, a look which Roy loved the best. In 3 days’ time she would be thirty. Conner was on the floor of their lounge trying to climb on the suitcases that had been packed and stuffed in the corner of the room for almost a week. But tomorrow they would no longer be there, they would be on a flight along with herself, Roy and Connor. This was her thirtieth birthday present. With school broken up Roy had booked a month’s trip to the United Kingdom. They would be landing at Heathrow, and spending time in London visiting the sights they had heard so much about. Then they would be visiting Scotland and Wales and spending 2 days in Ireland before they flew home. She felt like a little child as the days passed growing more excited every day.

  “I’m going to remember this trip for the rest of my life.” She told Roy as they sat watching Conner who had now got between the cases,

  “Me too.” Roy replied.

  How could they ever forget?

  Chapter 29

  William Fenton had woke up that next morning feeling scared, it was the girl with the same DNA as him that had scared him. His headache hadn’t gone, in fact it had got worse through the night and at one stage screamed in pain, the carers had come and given him some pain relief, but he wasn’t sure whether he had screamed in pain or because of the dream. How can somebody so beautiful frighten me so much? He had thought after he had woke up, soaked in sweat and shivering. He felt vulnerable and vulnerability wasn’t good, not at this time, he didn’t want to die feeling vulnerable he wanted to die feeling empowerment.

  For 17 years whilst his son was in prison serving a sentence for the murder of a young innocent boy there was no inclination of what was to come. There was no inclination of what happened almost a year ago. His son was released from prison and somehow he got in his head again. He knew his son had let him in, he knew his son wanted him there, but it hadn’t worked and now his son was dead. How can someone so beautiful with a face of an angel be responsible for my son’s death? He had thought.

  He had looked around his room that morning, the room that he held free from rent, free from any fees in that beautiful building that somehow had been turned into a residential home. How he had loved it here, how he loved smell of fresh sheets, the taste of good coffee, the sight of the young nurses and freedom to roam. The freedom to be free, but he knew today that his time here was over, it was time to leave. Madison Hughes had seen to that, regretfully he packed a few items in a small bag, she has done this, he had thought, and she has to pay. He closed the door to his room for the last time, the headache still pounding inside his head, she did that the bitch.

  He knew Edith would be sat with a coffee, she always did at that time of the morning, and it was then that he realised it was the routine that he loved. The routine that he would miss the most, waking up in the morning having coffee with Edith. Having their meals together and games of draughts or watching the TV. He would miss all of that, all of the mundane things that had grown so important in his life, maybe I could come back, he thought, but knew it was very unlikely he would return. He could see Edith sat on the settee, her hands shaking as she lifted her cup. He walked towards her and he could see her eyes light up as she saw him, that made him feel better, not a lot, just a little. She put her cup on the table, spilling what little was left in it as the cup slipped from her hand onto the table. William stood a moment and watched the small pool of li
quid flow across the table and drip onto the carpeted floor, it reminded him of blood dripping. A carer come over and wiped it up, William had thought she didn’t look too pleased and wanted to say something, but he didn’t, today was a day for goodbyes, it was going to be a sad day, but it had to be done, she had seen to that.

  He sat beside Edith on the sofa, she smiled showing her toothless gums,

  “Hello dear.” She said.

  A carer brought William a coffee over and placed it on the table, he didn’t thank her and she walked away not expecting any form of gratitude. He took a sip, it was just as he liked it, 3 sugars. He would miss that, all the attention, being looked after and having to thank no one.

  He took Edith’s hand in both of his, something he had never done before, he had never shown any affection to her before. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever shown anyone any affection, but this seemed right today. Edith left her hand in his but she could see the look on his face, she felt concerned, she felt scared. She hadn’t been feeling too well lately, no family had visited her for years despite having a son and a daughter. Her husband had died 7 years ago. The only friend she had in the world was William Fenton.

  “I have to leave now!” He simply told her.

  She put the other hand on top of the hand holding hers, she shivered and it looked like her whole body was about to collapse into a pile of dust, aged dust.

  “Why, go where?” she sobbed, she resembled someone who had just been told she was dying, such was the look on her face, tears fell onto her cheeks from, up until then, were dry waterless eyes.

  He could see the tears in her eyes, he didn’t want her to cry, he wanted her to be happy for him, but just than he realised she wouldn’t be, she couldn’t be. William Fenton was feeling like this was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

  “I have things to do Edith,” he told her, he handed her the envelope, “please give this to Alison.” He said.

  She took the envelope in her two skeletal hands,

  “You’re all I got.” She said and the tears flowed as the old lady shook and sobbed like a child who had fell over in the playground. The envelope dropped to the floor, William picked it up and put it on the table, he kissed Edith’s forehead,

  “Goodbye.” He said, Edith couldn’t answer as she sobbed, and as William Fenton walked away he had tears in his own eyes, it was then he realised he loved the silly old bat.

  He didn’t say goodbye to anyone else and after filling in some documents relinquishing his residential status he left the home with a small carrier bag and a wallet in his pocket. He took the 15 minute walk into the village, he didn’t intend to have a drink but as he passed the ‘Dog and Duck, but he did. He popped in and ordered a pint of best bitter. The pub was quiet as it had only just opened and he sat alone in the bar as he drank his beer. He wondered how he had cried, he couldn’t remember crying since he was a child. He thought of Edith and with affection, she had made him cry, she had shown him he had tears. That showed to him that he cared and for that moment William Felton felt human, and he thanked Edith for that, she had made him feel human again.

  His headache had not eased and he had not tried influencing people since he had done it with Jezz. It seemed to him that Madison had taken a lot out of him and now he was weak. He needed to recharge his batteries and he knew the place to go to do this, he just hoped the person he wanted to see was still alive.

  He went to the local post office and drew £200 out of the cash machine, he stuffed it into his wallet. He walked towards the local café, the day was warm the sun was shining, he could hear children playing, he could hear their screams of laughter. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a church bell ringing, he guessed there must be a wedding somewhere. He thought about walking to the church and watch the wedding and then wondered why he would want to do that. He guessed that it was because he wanted to see something joyful in his life, some final act of humanity before he ventured further. But he told himself that he had done that when he kissed Edith goodbye and those in that church where those bells were ringing, would have to take their vows without him there.

  He sat at the Café, a bacon sandwich and a coffee in front of him, he took a bite, it did taste nice but the appetite had gone out of him. He thought he would have to eat so he took another bite and washed it down with some sweet coffee. That felt good and he finished his drink and coffee and sat there for five minutes, thinking, and whatever thoughts went through his mind then and for the rest of the day, they would always end up with the same person, Madison.

  He stood outside the café now, on the pavement. The bells had stopped, he wasn’t sure if that meant they were married or not. He could see the mountain in the distance where the old people’s home he just left was set upon. He couldn’t see the home but he thought of Edith, and for one moment he thought of going back there, spend his final years with Edith. He battled with that thought for a moment, then made his way to the local Taxi station and got into a cab. He directed the driver not to drive pass the old peoples home, he didn’t want to see it, he didn’t want anything distracting him now. The choice had been made.

  The driver chatted as they drove along but William Fenton bore him no attention as his mind drifted in and out of insanity.

  *

  Pendle Hill in East Lancashire was home to possibly the biggest witch trial in English history. In 1612, twelve people were accused of the murder of ten people all by witchcraft. 10 were found guilty and hanged, one witch for each person murdered. You could walk the trails where the witches once roamed. the Fenton’s had lived here for generations and William Fenton, the aged William Fenton stood outside the family home that he had not seen for over 50 years. It was an old farmhouse that showed remnants of being battered by the elements for years. It was uncared for, falling apart, most of the outer buildings now seemed derelict, most had no roofs and some just a piece of wall where once fine buildings stood.

  The skies were grey and the wind was cool, everything seemed to be in black and white and void of colour. The house stood alone and the landscape around it was full of fields and mountains with trails. Some were open to the public where tales of witchcraft could be heard. Some were private and trespassers would be prosecuted. The house where the Fenton’s had resided looked colourless against the grey skies. It stood alone, uninviting, haunting, beckoning. William Felton felt it inside him and his heart missed a beat, memories came into his head of his childhood here, but they were not good and he quickly tried to get them out of his head. He could feel the rain now spitting, little droplets hitting his forehead as he walked towards the house, an ocean of memories and feelings filled his inner thoughts. He stood at the top of the path which was once made of fine stone, but it was mostly mud now. He tried to imagine how it had looked in its heyday. He stood for a while looking at the battered front door and he wondered if he could remember what colour it was, because today it bore no colour, he couldn’t remember and it just made him feel worse. He thought he seen a curtain move in the downstairs window and his heart went into his mouth because really he wanted it to be empty, but it appeared someone was there. Or was that just the wind, he thought, whistling through all the nooks and cranny’s, but the curtain was closed now, as he looked it didn’t move, and it didn’t move as he walked up to the colourless front door. He felt the overgrown bushes and weeds watching him, and they seemed to be laughing at him as they staked him out. He knocked the front door, they were whispering now, the weeds and wildlife appeared to be whispering at him as he waited for the door to open. The door didn’t open.

  He knocked again, this time louder and harder and as he did so the door opened a fraction, for a brief moment it felt like the house was expecting him. It had not forgot him. He waited for a few seconds and slowly pushed the door open, it creaked on its unoiled hinges. The odour he could feel didn’t smell of damp, but it smelt of oldness, and as he looked into the house down the passage to where the kitchen door was open, a t
housand memories came flooding back of his childhood, and his mother cooking in that kitchen, and his father tending to the fields and the animals in the yards. And for one moment, just one fleeting mili- second of a moment it was like the house was full of colour again. It had come to life and the birds sung and the sun shone and he was chasing his brother in the fields. He could hear the laughter of his sister but that beautiful moment didn’t last too long. His sister’s laughter pierced him, as if someone had slowly slid a knife into his ribs and the pain was too much to bear. Now he was staring at the threadbare carpet in the passage, the stained peeling wallpaper on the walls. He recognised the smell now, it was one of dry rot. To the left was the stairs, they bore no carpet just the wood they were built with, old and stained and unwelcoming. To the right half way down the passage was a door leading to the lounge, it was slightly ajar. He stood outside it now, he could feel his feet sticking to the dirty carpet, he inched the door open slowly but purposely.

  The first thing he saw was the arm of the armchair. The second thing he saw was both barrels of a shotgun. The third thing he saw was the man sitting on the armchair holding the shotgun pointing it at him. Then he saw the man’s face.

  “Hello Gabriel.” William said.

  Chapter 30

  The intelligence agency was set up in 1972, the Headquarters are in secret intelligent service (sis) Building alongside MI5 and MI6. Whilst the United Kingdom was aware of the mentioned MI5 and MI6 and other agencies, they were not aware of the agency that Morgan Hughes worked for. Indeed it was so secret, it hadn’t been given a name. 128 people worked for the agency, they were sworn to utmost secrecy and disclosing any information would result in severe punishment as it would be deemed to be an act of treason. You were never allowed to leave the agency. You were told when to leave. You needed permission to marry and every friend or relationship was severely vetted. Morgan Hughes was given that permission, indeed it was vital in order to do his job.